“Oh, thank god, you’re all right,” Adam cried. “I heard gunshots and…”
Before he could finish, Immanuel grabbed Adam by the arm and forced him to a run. They pounded down the hall. As they reached the front door, the corner of the crate at Immanuel’s side erupted in a shower of splinters. Immanuel frantically tried to unlock the door, his bloodied fingers futilely slipped over the mechanisms. Adam crashed into him, pushing Immanuel aside in time to force the door open and drag him out as another bullet lodged in the frame where he had just been.
“The selkies are down at the beach,” Adam said through rough breaths as he dragged Immanuel to the hill leading down to the powerhouse.
Immanuel’s head throbbed as he staggered after his companion through the wet grass. The tide flooded over the bank, cutting off any hopes he had of locking himself in the cottage until the ferry came. His lungs burned and seized, but he resisted the urge to cough as Quince’s footsteps pounded behind them. At any moment Immanuel feared a harpoon or bullet would whiz by, mercilessly slicing through Adam’s jacket as it had Jacobs’. He shuddered at the thought as Adam shoved him over a dune without daring to look back. Sliding down the wet sand, Immanuel wished he could stop or lie down or at least breathe, but he knew the moment he stopped, he would be hard-pressed to keep on. Before he could catch his breath, Adam hauled him up by the arm.
At the edge of the waves, Völva Hilde stood upon seeing them crest the hill. On the flat rocks of the jetty, Isa and Tara tended to a wounded selkie. The gorge rose in Immanuel’s throat at the blood clotting her hair.
“He’s followed us,” Adam called to Hilde, “the one who hurt Jenny and the others.”
“You know it was him?”
“Yes,” he and Immanuel replied in unison as they reached her side.
As Immanuel turned to the bleeding woman, he froze at the click of an empty chamber misfiring. Quince’s chest heaved as he tossed the gun aside and slid down the sand, but upon seeing the selkies, he narrowed his eyes and set his shoulders. Völva Hilde snarled as Tara left Jenny and Isa, her fingers elongating into razor-tipped claws. Snapping at Tara, Hilde strode closer until she and Quince stood eye-to-eye. Immanuel’s gaze swept between the matching looks of fury and recognition.
“You,” she spat, shaking her head as she stalked between him and the others. “My own brother… Tell me you aren’t this monster, Casper. Tell me they’re wrong.”
His face blotched red. “Me, a monster? Look at you! You’re one of them. You chose to become an animal, like mother.”
“And you chose to become a monster like papa. I never thought you’d take one after what happened to her.” Her mouth worked and after a moment, she rasped, “Why would you take so many?”
“To end it. This isn’t right. We’re half-breeds. It’s against nature.”
“He needs to be punished for what he’s done,” Tara growled.
Without taking her eyes from Quince’s face, Völva Hilde replied, “Take Jenny back to the den. He’s my kin. He’s my responsibility.”
With the yawn of bone, Tara slipped into her half-seal form with Jenny resting in her arms. As the next wave crashed in, they disappeared beneath the surf. Immanuel’s vision spotted, but Adam caught his arm before he staggered. Fatigue fell over him as he sank into the sand, but he forced his eyes open.
Hilde and Casper locked gazes. Even through her thin seal pelt, Immanuel could see a faint resemblance in the curve of their lips and the hard set of their jaws. What must have it been like to see your blood in the thing you loathed? The tips of Hilde’s fingers webbed together and her nails extended as she approached Quince. When Immanuel took a step forward, Adam dragged him back toward the jetty where Isa watched rapt.
“What’s happening?” Adam asked as the siblings circled like two predators.
“The punishment.”
“What?”
“The punishment for a blood-traitor is death.”
Hilde lunged. Immanuel clutched Adam’s arm as the siblings fell to the sand, tumbling across the beach in a blur of grey wool and fur. Barks and muffled curses rang against the wind only to be drowned beneath the thud of bone on flesh. Blood flashed, though from whom, they couldn’t say. Casper rolled, pinning Hilde long enough to reach for his hip.
“No!” Immanuel cried, but by the time the word left his lips, the knife had sunk between the Völva’s ribs.
With a roar, she tore it free, dashing it into the sea. Rolling over to face him, Hilde looked into Quince’s eyes and drew her hand across his throat. Immanuel turned his face away at the sucking gag of blood clogging his throat. As he collapsed into the sand, Isa scrambled from the rocks and ran to Hilde’s side. It was only when Adam’s hand tightened around Immanuel’s that he dared to raise his gaze.
Isa stood at their feet, her round eyes glossy with tears and her hands cupped over her mouth. Casper and Hilde lay side-by-side. Quince had fallen onto his side, the blood pooling beneath his neck and shoulders the only evidence of the violence they had witnessed. His eyes stared blankly ahead at his sister. A gash marred the sleek fur of her ribs, bisecting a dark whirl with a lazy flow of blood.
Their blood trailed across the sand, pooling together until it was impossible to tell where selkie ended and man began.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Wyrd
For the first time in days, Immanuel Winter slept soundly. The fire crackled in the hearth, warming his feet as he dozed in the armchair with Percy purring on his lap and a damp handkerchief clasped in his hand. Adam smiled to himself as he watched him from the parlor door. Between cleaning out the stores of body parts in the lighthouse basement, burying the dead in the pounding rain, and expending far too much energy during his escape, Immanuel found himself at the mercy of a terrible cold. By the time a small battalion of Interceptors showed up on the morning ferry, the island had already begun to quiet. As he and Immanuel walked them through the village explaining what had transpired, they found bruised and scratched men patching broken windows or mending the damage done to their ships. Whispers told of women who had disappeared during the fray, some with their daughters, others had left behind those too young to shift. Men had returned home to find their sons waiting with strange stones around their necks and final notes from their mother. Many others stayed, though few took notice.
Immanuel jolted awake at a loud pop from the fireplace. Before he could blindly rise, his eyes watered and he released a series of hard sneezes that made Adam cringe. Percy leapt from his lap, casting a dirty look over his bony shoulder as he sat on the edge of the carpet and licked where Immanuel had touched him with an invisible tongue. Adam leaned against the doorway, watching Immanuel with a tender look as heat flooded Immanuel’s cheeks. Turning from his lover’s gaze, he blew his nose and coughed. Adam resisted laughing. Somehow, even in a state of snot and perpetual fatigue, he still found Immanuel oddly adorable.
“Did I wake you?” Adam asked, carefully setting a cloth-covered bowl and a paper-wrapped package on the end table.
Glancing at the clock on the mantle, Immanuel replied, “It’s for the best. Miss Elliott sent a note saying she would be coming by with someone from the Interceptors to pick up Berte’s remains.”
“Did she say anything about…?”
Immanuel shook his head and sank back into the armchair.
“Well, I would ask her when she arrives, but I’m sure you got in.”
Immanuel closed his tired eyes again as Adam disappeared down the hall. A few moments later, he returned with a spoon and a cup of tea. Setting it on the end table, he handed the spoon along with the bowl to Immanuel who stared up at him with a raised brow and a red nose.
“I stopped to speak to Hadley and Lord Dorset. When he heard you were sick, he had Mrs. Negi pack you some of whatever they had for lunch. I couldn’t tell you the name even if I wanted to, but Lord Dorset said it would help your cold. It smells as if it could strip paint.”
Untying the cloth, Imma
nuel’s mouth watered at the hunks of mutton, potatoes, and rice bathed in a thick brown gravy peppered with bits of red and orange. He drew in a deep breath and could barely smell anything but the burn of spices.
“That was very kind of him. I’ll have to send him a note to thank him later.”
“I wouldn’t thank him until you’ve eaten it. I left you some bread and tea in case you need to extinguish your mouth.”
Adam watched with a slight smirk as Immanuel dug into his meal. With each bite, his face grew redder until it matched his nose and he blinked back tears. Drawing in a long sniff, Immanuel snatched up the teacup.
“Das ist würzig,” he croaked. Immanuel downed his tea and released a tense breath. “I forgot to ask, why did you go to see Lord Dorset again? You said something when you left, but I don’t remember what.”
“I decided to take up Lord Dorset’s offer and act as his London agent.”
“Really?” Immanuel dabbed at his nose between bites. “But I thought you—”
Adam waved dismissively. “I did, but this is a far superior position to being an underling in some office. Working for a gentleman will afford me more freedom and clothes, both of which I think I’ll need if I’m to follow you on more adventures. I can’t be a clerk and an Interceptor, but I don’t think Lord Dorset would mind the occasional absence.”
A smile bloomed across Immanuel’s lips despite the burning on his tongue. Before he could remind Adam that nothing was official yet, the doorbell rang. Setting the bowl down, Immanuel grabbed Percy and apologized as he closed him in the hall closet. When Immanuel was ready, Adam opened the door. Judith Elliott gave them each a stately nod and stepped inside, her eyes sweeping over Immanuel’s sore features.
“I hope I haven’t come at a bad time, Winter. I didn’t realize you were still ill,” she said, her brows softening slightly with concern.
“I’m all right. I just decided to lend some authenticity to my excuse for missing work. May I take your coat?”
“No, thank you. I won’t be long. Do you have the body ready? I have a man waiting outside to take care of it.”
Immanuel nodded and resisted the urge to sniff. From the corner of his eye, he could see Adam giving him a pointed look, but he didn’t dare work the words up for fear that the answer would extinguish his last hope. At least if he never asked, there would always be the possibility that she could still tell him they made it.
“Winter.”
Immanuel turned mid-step to find Miss Elliott watching him with a keen eye.
“You know you’re in, right?”
His heart pounded in his throat. Swallowing against the knot, he shook his head.
“You did what we asked of you. More than what we asked.” Taking a book from their shared shelf, she checked the title and returned it to its place. “No one is pleased about the minor massacre, but you have no control over creatures.”
Immanuel flinched at the word.
“We’ve spun it into a freak storm for the press, but we were quite impressed with how you both handled it, considering the circumstances.” She cleared her throat, giving Immanuel a wide berth. “When you’re recovered, we will get you set-up at headquarters and begin your training. Trust me, you’ll need your strength.”
A wide smile broke across Immanuel’s face. Turning to Adam, he found his excitement mirrored in his lover’s quiet glow of pride. Adam clasped his shoulder, his fingers lingering as if he wished to do more.
“I told you, you would make it,” Adam said, giving Judith a knowing look.
“We both made it, didn’t we?” Immanuel asked, a quaver of panic tinging his voice.
“Of course. That was the deal, Winter. We needed both of you.”
“Good, very good,” he replied breathlessly, his eyes lingering on Adam’s mouth. “Let me get Berte for you.”
Immanuel ducked into the workroom as the cabby stepped in at Judith’s knock. The moment he was out of sight, his smile deepened until it hurt his cheeks. They got in. His scarred eye blurred, but he blinked it away. Now was not the time for tears when he still had one thing to do before they could celebrate.
In the center of the workroom sat a wooden crate and within the crate, a coffin. Hours after returning home, Immanuel set to work repairing the damage he had done during Berte’s autopsy. One by one, he carefully loaded her organs back into her body, laying her heart in its rightful place beneath her sternum and her eyes in their sockets. He stitched her skin as neatly as he could manage and brushed the snarls from her hair. The smell of Quince’s homemade swill turned his stomach, but he had to do it. He promised himself on the way home that he would atone for what he had done. Smoothing the carefully written label, Immanuel double-checked that he had spelled Byron Durnure’s name correctly. He had to make certain Berte could return to the sea one more time.
The man hefted the heavy crate out to the cab without a word. When the door closed behind him, Judith pulled an envelope from her clutch and handed it to Adam. Turning it over, he found it had the same seal as their first letter with a chimera-like creature and the motto Obscuris vera involvens scrawled in purple wax.
“Congratulations, Mr. Winter and Mr. Fenice. I hope to see you both as soon as you’re up to it.” She smiled, her rouged lips sharp. “You’re a more valuable asset to us than you could know.”
With a quick good-bye, she let herself out, leaving the men in silence. For a long moment, they merely stared at the letter until the closet door rattled on its hinges. Percy burst out the instant Immanuel turned the knob, meowing soundlessly at Adam in complaint. Laughing, Immanuel scooped the cat into his arms and held him until he squirmed out of his grasp. Percy gave him a sullen look before slinking back to his spot by the fire.
“You did it,” Adam said, drawing Immanuel into his arms, his fingers weaving through his hair and the across the nape of his neck.
“We did it.” Pulling the letter from Adam’s grip, he set it on the hall table and buried his face in his lover’s shoulder. Immanuel closed his tired eyes, relishing the scent of Adam’s pomade and cologne and the steady drum of his heart against his cheek. He coughed and whispered, “Are you certain you want to do this? There would be a lot of magic and strange things in our lives.”
“There are already plenty of magic and strange things in my life. What’s a few more?” he replied as he drew Immanuel in for a kiss.
A year ago he had thought his life over, but as he and Immanuel stood intertwined with lips and hands expressing what words could never convey, he found a seedling of hope growing against all odds. So much had been torn from him, yet he found it remerging from the ashes bit by bit. Somethings had been deformed into a shape he scarcely recognized, but with time, he thought they, too, might heal. Staring into Adam’s eyes and seeing a depth of love he had never expected, he knew that even at the worst of times, it had all been worth it. Adam’s hands trailed across the buttons of his companion’s waistcoat as Immanuel released a moan into his lips.
A year ago, he never would have thought that after all that had happened, all he had seen, all he had lost, that life had more to give him. Most importantly, it had given him Adam.
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About the Author
Kara Jorgensen is an author and English professor from New Jersey who will probably die slumped over a Victorian novel. An anachronistic oddball from birth, she has always had an obsession with the Victorian era, especially the 1890s. Midway through a dissection in a college anatomy class, Kara realized her true passion was writing and decided to marry her love of literature and science through science fiction or, more specifically, st
eampunk. When she is not writing, she is watching period dramas, going to museums, or babying her beloved dogs.
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Also by the Author
The Earl of Brass (IMD #1)
The Gentleman Devil (IMD #2)
“An Oxford Holiday” (An Ingenious Mechanical Devices Companion Short Story #1)
The Earl and the Artificer (IMD #3)
“The Errant Earl” (An Ingenious Mechanical Devices Short Story #2)
Dead Magic (IMD #4)
Selkie Cove (IMD#5)
Selkie Cove (The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Book 5) Page 29