Demon in the Machine

by Lise MacTague

  “So the accent?” Briar prodded as they followed Isabella.

  “Yes. I’m not French, like I said. I did spend some time there as a boy.” LaFarge shrugged. “I needed to get away from my old life when I was a youngster. The debts were piling up, so I changed my identity and moved to Cambridge for university. Without the creditors pounding at my door, I was able to make my way through the Classics program. I became friendly with Joseph after we collaborated on an invention, and we stayed partners afterward. It’s not an impressive tale.”

  Isabella moved to and fro at the bench where the remains of her jump rig were still laid out. “LaFarge,” she said without looking up, “I require your assistance.” She was curt with him. Briar understood her irritation; it must have been difficult to reconcile the new identity of someone she’d known all her life with the information that he’d been lying to them the entire time.

  To his credit, LaFarge jumped in to help without hesitation. “I’m not mechanically gifted, Isabella.”

  “It’s Miss Castel. Believe me, I’m quite aware of your limitations, but you’ve been around long enough to know one end of a wrench from the other. So either aid me or crawl back into the hole where you were hiding.”

  He sighed. “Very well, Miss Castel.”

  Isabella grunted in acknowledgment. “Hold that.”

  Briar watched with admiration as Isabella deftly reassembled her suit. The various pieces made little sense to her on their own, but as Isabella worked, Briar began to see how the whole unit worked together. It was a little like how she arranged manuscripts, except Isabella didn’t have the vibrations of the pieces to help her along. All she had to rely upon was her knowledge, and she did so without hesitation. The most amazing part of the entire rig, now that Briar could see the whole of it, was how little it relied upon infernal magic. There were pieces here and there that did, but by and large the suit and pack worked as a result of Isabella’s mechanical aptitude. Though Briar had little to compare it to, she suspected that Isabella’s abilities were close to genius.

  “Is this all your design?” she asked quietly, so as not to break Isabella’s concentration. If Isabella needed to focus, she would be able to tune out Briar’s discreet question.

  A smile curved Isabella’s cheek. “Almost completely. I had to ask for help from my father on a couple of parts. Regulating small changes of pressure through the elbows to steer was a bit of a challenge, but we managed well enough. And of course, I had to get LaFarge to enchant a few pieces when what I needed proved impossible to achieve through purely mechanical applications.” Her smile disappeared at the last and she shot him a dark look. Either LaFarge missed it, or he pretended not to see it.

  They worked in silence a little longer, Isabella directing him to hold this or to hand her that. She showed no signs of wavering in her irritation with him. When they finished with the suit, Isabella turned her focus to the jump pack. She waved LaFarge away without looking at him.

  It was hard not to sympathize with the man. As odious as he’d been while pretending to be someone else, he was much more subdued now. She thought she read remorse in the lines of his body, in the hang of his head. She knew what it was like to pretend to be somebody she wasn’t, and while for her the pretense was very much an improvement over the original, Briar suspected that it had been quite the opposite for LaFarge.

  “What is your real name?” she asked him while Isabella switched out canisters in her pack.

  “You may as well stick with LaFarge,” he said. “It’s been my name for longer now than the original. I don’t know that I’d recognize it if someone used it on me today.” He cocked his head to one side. “But you could call me Jean-Pierre, if you felt so inclined. Or J.P., as Joseph does on occasion.”

  “I shall keep that under advisement.” The way Isabella’s shoulders had tightened, bringing them up almost to her ears told Briar exactly what she thought of the suggestion. She didn’t wish to anger Isabella, not while she was working. Or ever really. What she wanted from Isabella was the brilliant smile, the dimple in her right cheek, the sparkle in her eyes. Right now the only light in her eyes was a dangerous one.

  The jump pack had apparently not been in too bad a shape, and Isabella was finished with it quickly enough. “A few more things,” she said as she disappeared into the far recesses of the shop.

  “Will you take me with you when you leave?” The speed with which LaFarge asked the question as soon as Isabella was out of earshot told Briar he’d been stewing on it for some time.

  “You’re quite safe here,” Briar said. “Why would you risk yourself outside? You don’t even know where we’re going.”

  “There’s an even chance that wherever you’re going has a bed. The cot here is broken quite beyond my capacity to repair it. I’ve been sleeping on little better than the stone floor. I would kill for a chance to sleep on something more comfortable, even a Chesterfield. Besides I don’t know if I can stand much more time alone and hiding. Every little sound I hear has my heart leaping into my throat.”

  “I don’t see why we couldn’t bring you along. The earl’s house is quite spacious. There will be room for you there, and it is well protected against hostile magic.”

  The sound of objects hitting the ground behind them had Briar both leaping into the air and turning to face the noise. Isabella glared at the two of them, a hard-sided case and several curved pieces of metal next to her feet.

  “If he’s coming, he’ll have to be useful,” she said, biting the tail of each word as she said it, looking like she wanted to sink her teeth into LaFarge. “He’s wasted enough of our time already. I won’t allow that to continue.”

  “Of course, Isabella. Miss Castel.” LaFarge nodded hastily, his head bobbing up and down like a duck on a rough pond. “Anything you want, simply—”

  “Pick up the case and grapples and take them to the lift.” Isabella stalked over to the workbench and retrieved her jump rig. She shrugged the straps of the pack over her shoulders, which looked more than a little out of place with her dress. With the suit folded up and tucked under her arm, she looked expectantly at Briar. “Are you ready?”

  “Of course.” Briar refused to be ruffled in the face of Isabella’s discontent. It obviously centered around LaFarge and she would get over it, though Briar wouldn’t be surprised if she decided to make his life miserable in the meantime. She tucked her hand into the crook of Isabella’s arm and was rewarded with the relaxation of her arms. The muscles jumped once, then ceased to quiver under her fingertips.

  * * *

  Is Briar actually accepting what he’s saying? Isabella couldn’t tell, but it certainly seemed likely. They occupied the seat in the carriage across from LaFarge, who jumped and twitched at every noise. She had to admit that his discomfiture, while not exactly welcome, certainly didn’t displease her. He deserved to be uncomfortable. When she thought of all the times her father had allowed him to register for a patent under his name only, rather than sharing the credit and with it the financial rewards, Isabella wanted to strike him. It wouldn’t be an open-handed slap upon the cheek either. If she hit him, it was going to be a great deal more painful. At the moment she was torn between kneeing him in the groin or driving a fist into his belly. Her mother had taught her that the best way to bring down a man was by damaging his most prized parts, but Isabella wasn’t certain that she could call the person who cowered in front of her a man. If she attempted the groin shot, she might find her knee whistling through empty air. No, better the gut shot, then when he bent over in agony, she could “accidentally” strike him in the nose with her elbow.

  Briar’s hand rested for a moment on her thigh. She patted Isabella in what she supposed was meant to be a soothing manner. Isabella was in no mood to be mollified. LaFarge had lied to her, but worst of all, he’d lied to her father and for decades. It had been no surprise to hear that he’d needed to avoid his creditors. The way he spent money now, he hadn’t learned that lesson. If they
’d had the money from her father’s patents to rely upon, she and her mother might not have needed to resort to thievery when Wellington’s disaster had broken upon them. She wouldn’t have stolen from her friends.

  She also wouldn’t have been in the Earl of Hardwicke’s library in the wee hours of the morning. Briar would never have trapped her. Though their paths had already crossed, Isabella doubted she would have gotten to know her. Instead, she would still be carrying that torch for Millie and growing more depressed the closer they got to the day of her friend’s wedding.

  Would she have spent as much time in the workshop with her father? Certainly Althea wouldn’t have taught her about the art of moving unseen, of making her way past locked doors and windows.

  Isabella sighed and allowed some of the anger to drain from her. It wasn’t helpful, no matter how good it felt. They were stuck with LaFarge for now. As long as he contributed to what they were about, or at the very least kept out of the way, she could tolerate his presence.

  Tolerance was all well and good, but she was happy that the remainder of the drive was quite short. The earl’s residence directly overlooking Hyde Park was not so far from her home. They stopped out front and a footman appeared at the door of the carriage. Isabella looked up, trying to see through the night’s gloom, but she could make out nothing untoward.

  “We’re quite safe,” Briar said. “There’s a circle of protection around the house. It extends a little past the front door.”

  “Oh.” That was a good thing. At least they didn’t have to worry about imps here. “I didn’t know the earl was a magician.”

  “He’s not, but he is probably one of the foremost human scholars of infernal magic.”

  “Did you make the circle?”

  “No. I try to keep my practical knowledge of magic as discreet as possible.”

  “Is that so?” Isabella had trouble seeing that. From what she’d seen, Briar was quite free with her use of magic.

  Briar smiled at Isabella’s raised eyebrows. “Quite so. Believe it or not, I almost never use magic. The events of the past few weeks have been quite exceptional.”

  “I’ll say.” Exceptional might not have been the word Isabella would have chosen, but then she wasn’t sure how she would describe what they’d been through. There had been moments of terror, certainly, and also moments of sheerest bliss. Magical was a little too on the nose. Exceptional would have to do.

  Briar slid her hand into the crook of Isabella’s arm. The contact was more than welcome. Little seemed to center her as well as Briar’s touch did. Nothing sent her to the same heights as Briar’s touch either. There she went again with thoughts of a lascivious nature completely out of keeping with the situation. Hopefully others would mistake the color on her cheeks for the change in temperature from outside to inside. She knew Briar wouldn’t.

  Arm in arm, they mounted the steps and entered the earl’s home. Behind them, carriage wheels rang against the cobbles as the horseless rattled off. They preceded LaFarge and the footman inside. The door opened under Isabella’s hand before she could reach the handle and light spilled out to greet them. In welcome contrast to her own home, the interior was well lit and full of life. If she hadn’t known better, Isabella would have thought it was mid-day from the amount of activity.

  Footmen hustled past them up the stairs, bearing themselves away on unknown tasks. Surely one of them had her trunk. There was little to worry about; clearly the Earl of Hardwicke’s home was run like a tight ship. The butler spied them standing in the hall and bustled forward.

  “Miss Riley, Miss Castel, the earl awaits your pleasure in his study.” He raised an eyebrow at LaFarge, who had managed to retain but a shred of his previous dandified glory. Stubble obscured the line of his jaw, and while his hair had been pomaded into place at some point, it mostly looked greasy now. The cut of his clothes were fine, but the wrinkles made it obvious he’d been sleeping in them for quite some time.

  “If you could have Mr. LaFarge put in one of the guest rooms, Abbott,” Briar said.

  “If you say so, Miss Riley.” The butler’s studied lack of expression could have hidden just about any sentiment, though Isabella suspected it camouflaged contempt. Perhaps that was only wishful thinking on her part.

  “This way, Mr. LaFarge,” Abbott said, leading him up the magnificent stairway.

  LaFarge favored them with a jerky bow before heeling after the butler.

  Everything gleamed under the gas lights. Isabella looked about with more than a little envy. She’d grown used to the bare spots on the banister and the wear on the carpets at home. She didn’t see them anymore, but now that she saw what a well-kept house truly looked like, she couldn’t help but feel some embarrassment for the condition of her home.

  Briar led her up the stairs and down a wide hall. Their steps were muffled by plush rugs. The door at the end of the hall was ajar, and Briar tapped lightly on it.

  “Come,” said the earl from inside.

  The study was somewhat darker than downstairs had been. A large table dominated the space. To one side were the desk and chairs that had been pushed aside to make room for it. They crossed the room and joined the earl, who leaned over the table, his arms braced. The table was taken up by the most detailed map of London Isabella had ever seen. It had such detail as to almost render the buildings on each block. Round dots in various colors had been affixed to spots all across the map.

  “Each color represents a different day, does it not?” she asked.

  Hardwicke nodded in approval. “Exactly so. As you can see, the incidents have been on the increase.”

  “There are many more dots than were on the map you showed us this afternoon,” Briar said.

  “Those occurred while I was gone to fetch you.”

  “Can you tell which incidents are targeted, and which are simply the result of the imps crossing over into our world?” Isabella asked.

  The earl shook his head. “Regrettably, no. We are reliant upon the descriptions of people who don’t know what they’re seeing. It limits us somewhat.”

  Briar pursed her lips in thought. “And what steps are being taken?”

  “The army is on standby, though the disturbance isn’t yet enough for them to move in any numbers. No one wants to start a premature panic. Some of our magicians have been visiting the areas on the map in the hopes of finding the imps and returning them to their plane.”

  “Best of luck to them,” Briar said. “Banishment spells are far more difficult than spells of summoning.”

  “Then we must hope our magicians have practiced them assiduously. Sadly, they haven’t had much occasion to use the spells. By the time they turn up, the imps have mostly moved on.”

  “You’ve known something like this would happen.” The accusation burst out of Isabella before she could reframe it into something more neutral.

  “We would be quite remiss not to have considered the potential for a demonic incursion,” Hardwicke said. “Since the promulgation of demoniac magic with our increased industrialization, we had to consider that something like this might happen at some point.”

  “Then why do you need us at all?”

  “Because while those of us in some quarters have been concerned about such an event, it has mostly been dismissed as fear-mongering to impede progress. Our preparations have been hampered by a keen lack of support. If this incident continues on as it has, we shall be overrun. Now is not the time to convince Parliament that they need to fund a demonic suppression force. That will come later. Right now we need all the aid we can get and that includes what the two of you can bring. If I am to be honest, we are in quite dire straits.”

  A quiet gasp pulled at Isabella’s attention. She glanced quickly at Briar, but there was no indication it had come from her. Briar was well buttoned up at most times. Even if she had been concerned by the earl’s words, she wouldn’t have shown it. For her part, if she could avoid returning to the Mirabilia factory, she would happily
do so. The idea of facing all those imps again made her stomach flip on itself. But it had to be done. And none of it had anything to do with the soft intake of breath she’d just heard.

  “Someone else is in here,” Isabella said. “Are they supposed to be?” Her skin prickled with the sudden need to search the place.

  “Are you certain?” Briar asked.

  “I heard a gasp.”

  The earl sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “Young lady, you will come out here right now.” His voice held a whip-crack of parental authority. Isabella started a bit, certain for a moment that he was speaking to her. And yet, she was right there in front of him, so who was he referring to?

  A soft rustle from the daybed in the corner was accompanied by a louder sigh. What Isabella had taken at first glance to be a pile of cushions and blankets was pushed aside. From under it emerged a girl not too many years younger than she was. Isabella hadn’t seen her at the balls, so she was likely still a few years removed from her first season. She couldn’t imagine that the earl would keep her from it.

  “Imogene,” the earl said, his face a thundercloud of disapproval. “You were to be in bed hours ago. And what have I told you about listening in on your betters?”

  “Who can sleep with all the activity, Papa?” Far from being intimidated by her father’s sour mood, Imogene seemed almost amused. “I wanted to know what was happening. You always say you can never learn too much.”

  “This is not one of your studies, my girl. This is quite serious.”

  Imogene nodded seriously, the ends of her dark braids swaying back and forth from the movement. “Are we going to be attacked?”

  “They cannot reach us in here. We are too well shielded.” The earl sighed. “Many others are not afforded the same luxury.”

  “I want to help,” the girl said stoutly. “Don’t hide me away.”

  “And how will you help us?” Briar’s soft question startled both Hardwickes. Clearly they’d forgotten her existence.

  “I don’t know, but I can’t sit around and hope that everything will be all right.”