The Perilous In-Between

by Cortney Pearson

She scanned each face—Aline’s olive skin and contemplative eyes, Emma’s childish face and dishwater-blonde curls.

  “I don’t remember how I got there,” Dahlia said. “I was excessively groggy. The pain in my ankle wouldn’t abate, and I kept passing out. The next time I woke, I was in the hospital.”

  “So strange,” Victoria said, her thoughts whirling.

  “Why?” asked Aline.

  Victoria swallowed, taking in each of their inquisitive faces one at a time. She wasn’t sure how to answer. But they deserved to hear the truth—whatever that was.

  “I’m not sure it’s . . . really there. I’ve got to speak with my uncle about it. So.” She directed her attention to Dahlia who was propping her leg over the covers. “To answer your question, I am going to see Mr. Birkley, but possibly my uncle as well.”

  A few more girls chortled at this response, but Bronwyn released the bedpost and confronted Victoria face to face with her hands on her hips.

  Victoria’s throat tightened. She’d always felt intimidated by the stout girl with her thick arms and torso and her no-nonsense manner of interaction.

  “What do you mean it’s not really there? How can a whole town not be there?”

  “Exactly my point,” Victoria said, pinning a hat with feathers and a decorative cog over her plait. “But I mean to find out.”

  Victoria steeled herself through the entirety of her route down the hallways. She passed exercise rooms where the new young ladies in training to fill the vacancies Orpha and Aline had left. Victoria headed through the side door she’d once used when utilizing the simulations arena for Naut training. Corwall, the daytime guard, stepped forward with his bulky gait. The buttons of his uniform were more strained than they’d been the last time Victoria had come this direction.

  “Miss Victoria.” He inclined his head.

  “Hello, Corwall. I’d like to—”

  “I’ll send for your uncle, shall I?” His gaze slid down to her legs.

  She swallowed. She knew it was odd to be wearing trousers during the day, but she couldn’t very well do this in a dress. “Not yet, thank you. I need to speak with Mr. Birkley for a moment. Is he here?”

  Corwall nodded. “Aye, he is at that. He’s down in the industrial area.”

  “Thank you.”

  For so long she’d dreamed of doing exactly this. Joining the men in their work during the day, when it was permissible, and not skulking around at nighttime to sneak parts for her various projects.

  Victoria treaded past the metal walkway leading to the classroom area, down another long hallway and more steps into the expanse of warehouse where the craft were built and repaired.

  She scanned through the workers. Some stopped their tinkering to give her a nod or a friendly, “Miss Digby,” but Victoria didn’t reach Graham until the final, furthermost wing at the end of the long warehouse.

  He wore shirtsleeves, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Sweat glistened along his temples, and a few smears of grease besmudged his tan skin. For a moment Victoria mistook the tattoo on the inside of his forearm for another splotch of grease. She itched to inquire about it.

  “Good day, Mr. Birkley.”

  His arms rose to secure a large piece of metal to the underside of a craft. He peered through the window of space between his head and his arm and gave her a crooked grin.

  “You came after all,” he said.

  “I could not sleep last night,” she said, jumping right to the point. After their journey and their walk the night before, she felt it only fair to be straightforward.

  “Me neither,” he said.

  “Something you said has me perplexed.”

  “I have that effect on women.”

  Of course he did. He just had her whole squad chittering over his good looks and the prospect of kissing him. Victoria caught herself staring at his full lips.

  She cleared her throat, hoping he couldn’t see her blushing. “After some serious thought, I deemed you were right. I’d like to assist you in speaking with my uncle about Wolverton.”

  Graham grunted with a grimace, working to secure the metal piece in place. Finally, he stepped away, scuffing the back of his hand across his nose. He stared at Victoria, taking in her buttoned white blouse and tan trousers.

  “Assist me? What does that mean, exactly?”

  “I did come at your request,” she said. “But I’m certainly not going to explain what happened last night on my own, Mr. Birkley.”

  “Mr. Birkley,” he repeated. Graham gave a mirthless laugh and muttered something under his breath. He scraped a hand behind his neck. “If we’re going to be around each other, wouldn’t it be easier to use our first names? I mean, that’s why we have names, right? For people to use them.”

  A smile tugged at Victoria’s lips. “Perhaps.”

  “So you call me Graham.”

  “Graham.” His name burned like cinders in her stomach.

  “And?” he prodded, extending a dirtied rag in her direction.

  “And you may call me Victoria.”

  “Splendid,” Graham said, lilting his voice to give him a slight accent that matched her own. The grin threatening at her lips took full form. His eyes held hers for several seconds, and he stepped closer to her.

  Roots sprouted from Victoria’s heels, burrowing into the concrete floor and making movement impossible.

  “Is now a good time?” His voice was hazardously low. The air squeezed around her, capturing her breath.

  “For . . . for what?” A dozen scenarios flittered through her mind, some pertaining to the suppositions made by the girls minutes before, some of her own making.

  Graham’s eyes flickered down to her mouth before he chuckled. “To talk to your uncle, remember?”

  She dragged in a long, slow breath, cursing herself. She opened her mouth to answer when another voice cut her off.

  “Graham!”

  Victoria jumped and wheeled around. The voice wasn’t low enough to be Uncle Jarvis’s, but still, her heart banged against her ribs. Oscar Radley jaunted toward them, wearing a shirt and vest with garters at each of his forearms. He must have come straight from working at his father’s shop.

  “Morning, Miss Digby,” Oscar said with a friendly smile and brightness in his eyes. “How fortunate that you’re here. Graham suggested I solicit your advice.”

  “Wait a moment,” Victoria said as her sense of control slipped away. “My advice for what? The Kreak?”

  “Just so. This is the time,” Oscar said to both her and Graham. “He’s just taken a break in his office. If we’re to catch him, it must be now.”

  All traces of confidence vanished. She couldn’t speak with Uncle Jarvis about the Kreak. Only Wolverton, that was all.

  “Are you coming with us?” Graham’s tone was straightforward, and his eyes slid to hers.

  “As a matter of fact, I can’t,” Victoria said, lifting her chin. “Not if it’s about the Kreak.”

  “But Miss Digby,” Oscar protested. “I could use your help. He won’t listen to me.”

  “I assure you, he won’t listen to me either.”

  “But you’re his niece.”

  “Which only makes this more complicated,” she said. “I am sorry. But I cannot do it.”

  Oscar stared at her, completely flummoxed.

  “Mr. Radley—Oscar, you were in Wolverton for a whole year. Did you explore much?”

  “Not a lot,” Oscar said, blinking out of his disappointed stupor. “I was pretty consumed with my studies, and I didn’t have the pecuniary means the other students did.”

  Graham’s brows gather. “You were in Wolverton?”

  “I told you I went to University there. Is there something wrong?”

  Victoria couldn’t help noticing how handsome Oscar was as wel
l, and she wondered fleetingly how Rosalind had been getting along since the boy came home. I must visit her again soon, she thought.

  “Just that it isn’t there,” Graham said, hands digging into his pockets.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Oscar asked. “Of course it is.”

  Oscar opened his mouth to continue his argument when a door closed from the landing above. Urgency flashed in his eyes. “Miss Digby, I would love to continue this fascinating conversation, but at another time. I’ve been trying to peg down your uncle for days. You’re certain you won’t join us?”

  Graham raised his brows.

  She hesitated. “I can’t. I promised my uncle I would not bother him about the Kreak further.”

  “We could use your ideas, Miss Digby,” Oscar went on as they approached the stairs. “I’m sure you have thoughts on how it can be stopped, you being in the thick of it all.”

  “I do, naturally. But he will not listen, especially not if I am with you.”

  Oscar frowned. “That is unfortunate.”

  She glanced to Graham, who shrugged. They would have to find answers some other way.

  “I’ll meet up with you afterward, shall I?” She turned, not giving them another chance to argue.

  Twenty-three

  Graham followed Oscar into the crotchety dude’s office. He was surprised Victoria had refused to come, but then again, she did say the night before that she couldn’t. He thought she’d changed her mind, but maybe she’d only meant to ask about Wolverton after all.

  He couldn’t believe when she’d offered to fly him there to help him look for Starkey. His disappointment had settled in deeper after that psychotic time warp thing. Where had the old man disappeared to?

  But being around Victoria was proving to be a pleasant distraction. Seeing her in action during the attack, the way she maneuvered her plane and took control, the girl was like a pint-sized powerhouse. She was definitely made up of strong stuff.

  Jarvis sat behind a desk in the center of the office. The lid to a tin lunchbox hung open, and a napkin was tucked in at the older man’s neck. Jarvis caught sight of them and raised a single eyebrow.

  Papers piled along the edges of the room, reminding him of Starkey’s one-room studio and the hours Graham had spent organizing it for him. The only things missing were the books. Starkey was looney for books. When he wasn’t drawing, he was reading. Books and blueprints had taken up the majority of the space.

  “Aren’t you supposed to give these plans to the people who order them?” Graham had asked one day when he’d decided to organize the stray blueprints around the room. Some were of commercial buildings, some of smaller residences. Several, though, were of monstrous homes with massive halls and floors of rooms; all completed in such awesome detail Graham wished he could’ve seen the finished products. Someone had to have some serious money to afford building a mansion like that.

  “There’s no harm in keeping copies on hand, is there?” Starkey had asked through a mouthful of tuna fish sandwich.

  “That’s what flash drives are for.” Graham hadn’t been able to help the smile as he rolled a few more papers together and secured them with a rubber band.

  Starkey was like an inverse Benjamin Button, where the older his body got, the more childlike he became in spirit or something. Only with his mad skills and college degree, building with toy blocks didn’t cut it.

  A pang of homesickness swept over Graham, remembering his old friend who was the whole reason he was stuck in this stuffy town. He looked over Jarvis’s office again, thoughts shifting from Starkey to Graham’s father in his office in downtown Chicago, to his mother, his sister and brother.

  “You’ve gone and dragged the newcomer into it?” Jarvis yanked the napkin from his neck and slammed it on the desk. The lunchbox lid juddered.

  “I haven’t been dragged into anything,” Graham argued, stepping forward. “Oscar may have some good points, that’s all.”

  “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it now. I don’t have time for this. Our methods work fine as they are.”

  Graham opened his mouth, but Oscar beat him to the argument.

  “Something must be done. Pushing the Kreak back into the ocean only to wait for the next attack is folly! I was there—I watched a woman die. What of her son? Who will be next if we continue to do nothing?”

  A vein bulged at Jarvis’s temple. His nostrils flared like a raging bull’s. “That has been handled,” he growled.

  “I was the one who snatched the lad from watching his mother die in such a monstrous manner. Nothing like that should ever happen again, sir. I propose that we build watercraft—that we go out to meet the creature.”

  Jarvis blinked as if an elephant were addressing him instead of a man. He sat, shoulders rising, and stared down at his desk. When he spoke, his words were menacing and heavy. “The citizens know to travel with gas masks. It wasn’t our bloody fault she didn’t have hers ready.”

  Oscar’s mouth parted, clearly thrown that Jarvis hadn’t addressed his suggestion. He struggled to manage whatever rant Graham could see dangling from his tongue. What was this guy’s problem? It was almost like he didn’t want to stop the Kreak.

  “If only you could capture it,” Graham suggested. “You could see how it was made.”

  Jarvis goggled at him.

  “Exactly my thoughts,” Oscar added, pointing a finger upward. “With the watercraft, we might be able to do so.”

  “I was with Victoria—Miss Digby,” Graham corrected at the repulsed glare from her uncle. “When I suggested she dart between the creature’s legs, it got thrown off course and collided with the ground, losing some of its parts. Perhaps if we could attempt to break it apart a bit at a time—”

  Jarvis began shaking his head, cutting him off with the gesture. “The changes you’re suggesting are out of the question.”

  This guy is such an idiot, Graham thought, rage churning inside him.

  “You’re in charge of this whole thing, aren’t you?” No wonder Victoria hadn’t wanted to come. “How can you not want to fix this crap so it doesn’t happen anymore?” Whether Graham believed this place existed or not, these were people living here, people in some serious danger.

  “See here, Jarvis,” Oscar said. His temper was clearly rising, and he was trying to keep his cool. He stepped back and inhaled, lifting his chin. “Have you any methods of predicting the attacks? Perhaps if we could be ready with a rope on each of the hovercraft, they could synchronize and tie the beast up somehow. We could contain it, we could—”

  “Synchronize?” Jarvis said with a jeer. “The pilots are not ballet dancers.”

  Oscar pressed on. “Instead of pushing it back to its hideaway, we need to keep it where we can see and analyze it. We must figure out its weakness and make that our means of defense.”

  “Yes!” Graham added.

  By this time the Jarvis guy looked bored.

  “It’s mechanical, right?” Graham piped up. “Is it, like, remote controlled or anything? How does it run?”

  “This is no toy, Mr. Birkley, it does not run on batteries. Unlike a car, it has a heart and lungs.”

  “Unlike a what?” Oscar asked, looking puzzled. “What are batteries?”

  Jarvis’s eyes bulged, and the vein at his temple twitched harder than ever.

  Graham’s eyes narrowed. Jarvis had said it without any prompting. Cars. Batteries. Two things that, unless he was mistaken, didn’t exist here.

  “You know, don’t you?” Graham’s voice was quiet. “You know exactly what’s going on here. You know where Chicago is, why Wolverton—”

  “Get out!” Jarvis demanded, slamming his lunchbox closed. “All of you!”

  Graham pressed on. “Where is Starkey? How do we get out of this place?”

  “I said GET OUT!” Victoria’s
uncle screamed. He sprang from his chair and chucked his lunchbox against the wall.

  “Say nothing!” Jarvis went on. “Do nothing!” He ran hands through his graying hair, disrupting it before kicking the side of his desk.

  Oscar and Graham didn’t need to be told again. They scuttled out, Graham’s heart pounding. Jarvis slammed the door behind them.

  “What do you suppose that was about?” Oscar asked. His face had paled, and he winced, nursing a vacant pain in his shoulder. “What is a battery? Why did that make him so upset?”

  Graham didn’t answer right away. Relief filled him, strangely enough. Relief, and delight, that he wasn’t going crazy. Better yet, he’d just found the first person in this town who might be able to give him some answers. It was just too bad that person happened to be Jarvis Digby.

  Graham considered storming back in there, slamming the guy against the wall and demanding answers. But that probably wasn’t the best solution.

  Victoria appeared at the base of the metal stairs.

  “Were you hiding?” Graham asked, amused.

  “I told you I would wait,” she said, lifting her chin. “I heard him shouting all the way down here. I told you he would not listen.”

  “It was a bit of a letdown,” Oscar said, “though I still don’t know exactly what it was that upset him so.”

  “Probably the fact that you questioned him at all,” said Victoria. She gestured with her head and led Oscar and Graham through a door and into an empty hallway where photos of old planes and their pilots were displayed, along with blurbs about the history of each of them. This was before the Protection Program. These were the first men and women to ever fly, period.

  Victoria stared down one end of the hall, then the other, before speaking under her breath. Graham and Oscar huddled closer to her.

  “So come then. Tell me your plans.” Her eyes were bright and filled with purpose.

  Graham couldn’t help being impressed with her. Rebel with a corset.

  “Obviously building watercraft is out of our hands. For now, that is,” Oscar said. “But see here. Since I’ve returned, I’ve marked action from the water’s surface, always in the same place. An easier solution may be to equip the planes with a way to capture the creature.”