Boom Time

by Michelle E Lowe

  She approached him, wearing a charming smile that weakened his knees. Her eyes traveled all over him.

  “You look so handsome.”

  He smiled broadly. “You look smashing yourself, darling. Here, I brought you something.” He handed her the flower first. “I thought that this would last longer than a real one. I found it in a little art store in Greenwich Village.”

  “It’s gorgeous. Thank you.”

  Lucy accepted the present and he watched her unwrap it with care. She cracked open the box inside and smiled even wider.

  “Oh, Isaac,” she cooed, taking out the locket by its long, glittery chain.

  “You like it?”

  “I love it.”

  He helped her put it on. The piece was a silver heart-shaped locket with a butterfly fused to it with wings made of slivers of curvy shiny brass, a royal blue jewel set in its thorax. It truly complemented her outfit.

  “It’s really lovely.” She held it up to gaze at it. “I have a gift for you, too.” She reached into her pocketbook and brought out a wrapped gift. “I thought this suited you.”

  Pierce couldn’t remember the last time he’d received a Christmas gift.

  Without looking as excited as he felt, he, too, carefully unwrapped the present and lifted the lid. It was a pocket watch with a rather familiar clock face.

  “Purge’s Astronomical Clock.”

  “You know it?”

  “Aye. I know of it. Never been there.”

  He looked at the watch. The gold and blue clock face was three-dimensional, just like the real clock. The little astronomical dials had the sun and moon at opposite ends, and the arms ticked over the Roman numerals and astronomical signs. The back of the watch was the calendar half.

  “It’s an antique,” Lucy stated. “Manufactured a couple of years before the First Machine War.”

  “An antique, you say?” He clicked it open. OAK LEAF was engraved in the top half, along with a picture of an oak leaf insignia and the date 1862 etched beneath it. “Where did you find it?”

  “The Village Antiques.”

  He snapped his head up to her. He could actually feel the color draining from his face. Pierce had told her about The Attic and that it was above The Village Antiques shop. He never believed she’d go there, though.

  “Are you upset?” she asked, noting his expression. “I thought that since I knew you, I could get a discount on a gift. The woman there was real sweet.”

  “Woman? Not Quinn?”

  She shrugged. “I saw no man there.”

  That gave him some solace. Although he didn’t want her to be known to a thug like Kelly Quinn, he hadn’t told Lucy why, out of fear that it might scare her off. If Kelly hadn’t been at the store, however, there was no need to be concerned.

  “Do you like the watch?” she asked.

  He forced his lips up a tad. “It’s wonderful, darling. Cheers.”

  The young couple pressed on, turning a few heads as they went. They had their photos taken at the viewing room on the bottom level before going into the dining hall.

  The comedy act was entertaining enough. Afterward, Pierce and Lucy entered the small ballroom area to dance to swing music. There was, of course, no alcohol allowed, and Pierce had decided it was best not to risk smuggling any onboard. He reckoned that it could only ruin their night if they were caught. The evening was loads of fun without it.

  It was one o’ clock in the morning when Pierce escorted Lucy up to her chambers.

  “Do you want to see the sun rise with me in the viewing room?” he asked her at her doorway. His eye twitched when he added, “I’ll set the alarm.”

  “I . . . uh, would love to.” She then began acting uneasy all of a sudden. But that was Lucy.

  He took her hand and pecked it. There was a tub that he was ready to soak in and he wanted a few cigarettes before going to bed. He drew back when she suddenly yanked him forward and kissed him hard. It caught him so off guard that he almost didn’t return the kiss.

  “Isaac,” she said breathlessly. “I don’t want us sleeping separately tonight.”

  He honestly believed he was bloody dreaming—or perhaps drunk, somehow.

  “But I’m afraid,” she added.

  People were coming down the narrow aisle, so she allowed Pierce inside. He closed the door behind him and turned to her. He caressed his fingers through her lovely ginger hair.

  “Life without risk is no kind of life at all, love.”

  Lucy mulled it over a tick before she kissed him again and pulled him toward the bed. When they reached it, they stood kissing while he lowered the zipper on the back of her dress. He undressed her slowly, slipping the gown off with as much care as he had done with his gift. Underneath it, she wore a white silky top and slip that she removed herself.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, admiring her naked body.

  She appeared as nervous as he was. Granted, he’d been envisioning this moment since meeting her at the library, but now that it was actually happening, a swell of worry began building inside him. Worry always came naturally for him, and it usually arose whenever he was about to be with a new woman for the first time. Mainly it had to do with his scars, the stab wound in his side, and the ugly slash across his throat. Aside from them existing as permanent ways to identify him to the law, they made him insecure.

  Either the single lit lamp beside the bed wasn’t bright enough for her to notice them, or she chose not to see. Either way, she helped undress him until they were both lying naked together on the mattress. His touch was light as a feather as he moved his fingertips down her body and gently caressed her from within. She was trembling, yet moaned with pleasure all the same. It certainly got him aroused. When she arched her hips, he knew she was ready.

  And bloody hell, so was he!

  Twenty-Three

  One Day

  Kelly Quinn sat alone by the fireplace, a glass of cognac in his hand. The only sounds came from the crackling fire—a pop here and there from the burning wood.

  He had given everyone the holiday off—the house staff, his bodyguards, everybody. Quinn had locked himself up inside his townhome and was staying in his sitting room, gradually getting drunk.

  Self-loathing was creeping over him.

  It came and went, but today it was especially bad. Christmas Eve was the single worst day, for it was a brutal reminder of the family he had once had. Before typhoid fever took his wife and the bomb stole away his only child, the holidays were happy times filled with feasts and cheer. Quinn had thrown the best parties. Losing his wife and daughter had changed him, bringing out the killer he thought he never was. He supposed most people had a killer in them, but for some, that part came out of them more willingly. Joining the racket had dried out any soft nature left in Kelly Quinn. Now, it was all about the business and ways to rise in the ranks.

  A pang of guilt nicked his gut.

  There was another family grieving on this day because of him. His own cold hard shell had kept Raymond Reilly from caring for his ailing mother. Instead, Kelly put the man into an unmarked grave and left the women to die. If he had only given Reilly the loan . . .

  No, he couldn’t allow himself to weaken.

  He took a drink of cognac. Many people had died because of him. Too late to repent now. He’d just wait for his punishment after death.

  It had felt like ages since Pierce had been with a woman. Pierce had never made it a habit to bed down with every willing lass, but for those he had been intimate with, it had always been a different experience. With Lucy, it was a slow and tender moment. He enjoyed it greatly.

  “Isaac,” she whispered to him afterward, “do you think about the future?”

  I’m bloody living in it!

  Despite his currently happy mood, the pressure began to mount. He desired a life without mobsters, bootlegging, and people being strangled in front of him. And now, he was aiming to have a future with Lucy. The only problem was staying. Pierce
would ask the Trickster if he could remain in the twentieth century, but that didn’t mean the god would let him. This wasn’t the first time Pierce had contemplated a life with a woman. Frederica Katz and Sees Beyond were two women he’d imagined spending his entire life with, but somehow, he knew it wasn’t meant to be. He wondered if Lucy asking him that peculiar question just now meant she was having similar thoughts about the two of them. Considering everything—the Trickster, the gangsters, the allure to head west to Hollywood—he simply didn’t know how to answer.

  “Sometimes,” he replied delicately. “Do you?”

  Her naked body was pressed against his. She felt warm and soft. Her strong heartbeat thumped with so much life that it knocked against his shoulder. She yawned deeply. The contagious act caused him to do the same.

  “Yeah,” she softly answered, drifting off to sleep.

  Pierce closed his eyes and joined her.

  The blasted alarm blared, letting them know the sun would rise soon. The shrill sound made him want to bash it to bits. They managed to get dressed and went downstairs to the viewing room. They settled on a couch where other couples were and stayed snug under a blanket they had brought.

  At last, the dawning of the new day arrived, brightening the large bay windows before them. An inky spill of glowing radiance spread across the darkness, outlining the mountain peaks that reached toward the sky like jagged pyramids. Soon, a powerful burst of yellow appeared between the mountaintops as the sun climbed upward. Pierce and Lucy watched while wearing dark-tinted spectacles, drinking the orange juice they had ordered. He looked over at her. The sunlight had turned the black of her shades to red.

  “Happy Christmas,” he said.

  She looked at him and smiled. “Merry Christmas, Isaac.”

  If only, he thought while looking away. If only I could tell you the truth about me.

  They landed back in New York City late that afternoon and caught one of the many taxis waiting for passengers outside the station. Pierce requested that the driver take them to Jerry’s Diner.

  “No, wait,” Lucy cut in. “Driver, take us to 249 Charles Street.”

  “Sure thing, miss,” the driver complied, cranking the engine.

  “Charles Street?” Pierce wondered. “Is that where you live?”

  She nodded and his jaw dropped.

  “Really? You’re actually going to let me come over to your flat?”

  “I don’t want to hide anything from you anymore.”

  He did his best not to show his dismay that Lucy Neil had given him so much of her trust. She’d even risked her longtime dream just to be with him, and here he was, unable to give her his real name. He wondered how she would take it if he did come clean. Bloody hell, where would he start?

  Oi, Luce, so I’m from another time, and the reason why I’m here is that a Trickster needs to protect me from some nightmare mare. Why is she after me, you ask? ’Cause she wants to botch up some witch’s plan that apparently I’m involved in. You heard me right, love—a witch.

  He could actually feel the straightjacket tightening around him.

  They arrived at her building and she showed him inside her flat. It was a small apartment, a tad larger than his, with a bed in the far corner and a washroom beside it. At least her bathroom was a separate room, he thought with some envy. When he saw the mounds of dirty laundry, he understood her apprehensions about bringing anyone here. The place smelled of sodium hypochlorite.

  “I see you also work from home,” Pierce remarked, remembering that she’d told him about her second job as a laundress.

  Pierce followed the narrow trail of clothing between the kitchen and bedroom area to where a changing screen stood next to a vanity mirror. There were some items on the table, one being an old book titled The Mechanical Rabbit that Grew a Heart by Clover Alice Norwich. It looked to be a children’s book. He eyed a photograph on the vanity mirror of a cabin and reckoned it was the picture her grandfather had taken in France. Pierce studied it before turning toward a phonograph. It was a charming piece constructed of dark wood with a black horn.

  “Put on a record, darling,” he said.

  Lucy arched an eyebrow, clearly not expecting the request, but then chose a record from the basket where she kept a stack.

  “I brought the phonograph and a few records with me from my parent’s house. I’ve only been able to buy a couple of records of my own.”

  She put the vinyl on the turntable, turned the crank and set the needle over the disk as it spun. There was a scratch before the music began. He approached her and began to lead her in a slow dance.

  Lucy rested her head on his shoulder. “You must think my place is wretched.”

  “You’re doing what needs to be done to make your dream come true,” he told her, leaning his head against hers. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  She sighed deeply, sounding relieved.

  “What about you, Isaac? Do you have a dream?”

  He had several in mind. In fact, he had a goal he’d been toying with for years.

  “I’ve been thinking about becoming an English professor.”

  She stood away and showed surprise. “That’s wonderful.”

  They kissed and resumed their dance.

  “One day, love, everything will come together.”

  He didn’t know why he said it. Perhaps it was because of what they’d shared the night before, or maybe he was simply caught up in the tender moment.

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Aye. I do.”

  And for a fleeting moment, he believed it.

  Twenty-Four

  The Raid

  Brody Kier had had a good day. He’d slept well, ate a traditional Irish breakfast, and received a telegram from home letting him know the money that he had sent to his family had arrived. They’d be able to eat for months, even buy a new baptism dress for his baby niece.

  Brody had also ridden inside the stolen submarine for the first time, along with Jamie Walsh, Mr. Quinn’s hired man who had flown in to operate the thing. Jamie was a decent Irish lad, full of stories. They got on fairly well. Apparently, Jamie had driven mini-subs in the Great War.

  They had traveled underwater all the way up to Nova Scotia where alcohol was still being legally brewed. The two loaded up on gallons of booze. Mr. Quinn had decided it was better to buy from Canada than Saint-Pierre, where Leon did business. No doubt, he’d have his goons on the lookout for people in a submarine.

  They had brought in at least two months’ worth of beer in one haul. Brody hated to admit it, but Isaac had done well to get them the submarine. He would never tell him, though.

  It was dark when he and Jamie reached the warehouse. With them were more of Mr. Quinn’s goons, William Jones and Devin O’Casey, driving in a separate vehicle behind them toward Mr. Quinn’s warehouse.

  Jamie exited and opened the doors for them. The trucks rolled inside and parked between the crates. Jamie had switched on the lights as Brody got out.

  “All right, lads,” he announced with a loud clap, “let’s get to it, eh?”

  As Jamie was closing the doors, William exited the driver’s side and headed for the rear truck doors. That’s when a volley of bullets tore into him. Will hit the side of the truck but stayed on his feet through the sheer force of the constant gunfire ripping through him. Flashes from the machine gun lit up a standalone wooden container from behind.

  Finally, the terrible firing ceased and William’s body fell in a bloody heap.

  Brody had been crouched by the open door where he had stopped when the firing began. The horror didn’t end with the shooting.

  Brody pulled his gun, stood, and took aim on the assassin. He fired, hitting his target fifteen feet or so away. He nailed him square in the head, knocking off his hat. The bullet, however, ricocheted off the man’s head—as if the bullet had hit metal.

  Brody gasped. He had hit metal. The thing’s head slowly rotated toward him using a neck mad
e of wires, piping, and a clear tube running down the middle. Its entire head was an inhuman patchwork of metal, and its eyes were hidden behind thick goggles. It sucked air in and out through a mouth that was nothing more than a thin, rectangular opening. It was dressed in a suit, its mocking attempt to pass as human, but Brody knew what it was, for he, like George Baxter, had fought them in the war.

  The Machine Man turned its auto rifle on him, giving Brody no chance to get back into the truck. Instead, he darted past the grill with a barrage of bullets chasing after him and smacking the ground around his feet and against the automobile. He rounded the other side—thankfully, without being hit. Devin had cranked the engine of the other truck. He had gotten into the vehicle, or perhaps he had never left it. Either way, he was Brody’s best shot at escape.

  “Wait!” Brody shouted, rushing over.

  The bastard ignored him as he shifted gears. Devin looked at him but acted as if he wasn’t there. Instead, he looked in the rearview mirror as he started reversing quickly. Suddenly, Devin’s head exploded into a bloody mess. The glass beside him shattered. Devin’s body jerked until the firing stopped, and then it slumped sideways. The truck rolled without a driver to operate it and careened away from the doors, crashing into the crates by the wall.

  “The last one standing,” came a nearby voice.

  Brody turned but he was instantly shot in the chest. The hit put him on the ground. The bullet burned him to the core and his heart rubbed against it when he breathed in.

  A woman came beside him and loomed over him with a villainous face. The pain and the sound of his own slowing heartbeat thumped in his ears.

  “Violetta,” he gasped.

  Hot blood oozed between his fingers, clutching the bullet wound. He thought he was already in hell. Three more Machine Men, identical to the other, appeared. Their bloodshot eyes glared down at him through the goggles.