by Gwynn White
She came to a stop outside a watchmaker’s shop, her eyes drawn to the half-dozen pocket watches on display in the window. Such intricate works of mechanical marvel were nothing compared to what rested in her pocket.
“Now why would you circle the city only to end up here?” a male voice asked from behind her.
Briar turned, not so certain she was the one addressed, and discovered a man standing close by. She didn’t know him, but his long dark cloak was decidedly out of place on this warm summer afternoon.
“Were you speaking to me?” she asked.
He reached up and she tried to take a step back, but came up against the display window she had been perusing.
He didn’t seize her. Instead, he pulled her thick braid over her shoulder. “Red hair, dressed like a man, and—” He placed a hand over the pocket that contained Lock.
Briar gasped. Was he another ferromancer?
She turned to run, but he caught her arm and in the next instant, jerked her off her feet. A blur of movement, and suddenly, they stood in the alley beside the shop.
“Wh—” She didn’t get to finish the question as he covered her mouth with his hand.
“Mr. Solon sent me to fetch you,” he explained.
She stared at him. He worked for Solon? And the next, more terrifying question: why were they following her?
“He speculated that you had taken the train out of Waverly, but that was too obvious. Martel is a sly one. He hired a carriage, didn’t he?”
He thought she was with Martel? Because of Lock?
As if answering her question, his opposite hand slid down to her waistcoat pocket and slipped inside.
“With this, he’ll come to us,” he said.
She couldn’t let him take Lock. She gripped his wrist and tried to pull his hand away, but she couldn’t budge him. The willowy man was fiendishly strong. Seeing no alternative, she bit him.
An odd metallic taste filled her mouth. Not blood exactly, but it could be. She pulled back in surprise at the same moment he pulled his hand from her mouth.
He seized her shirt collar before she could step back and, twisting it in one hand, lifted her until her face was on level with his.
At five-six, Briar wasn’t a big woman, but she wasn’t small enough for him to handle this way.
“Stupid ferra witch. Did you think that would work on the soulless?”
She didn’t follow any of the references, but she wanted to point out that it had worked. He had taken his hand from her mouth. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but he twisted her collar tighter, blocking her ability to breathe.
Before the lack of air sent her into a full-blown panic, he slung her aside. The alley wall met her with surprising speed, and the side of her head hit before she could even get her hands up.
She landed in a heap, her ears ringing and a new metallic taste in her mouth. Her own blood.
Her attacker squatted beside her and, seizing the front of her shirt, pulled her into a seated position. He leaned in, his pupils contracting as he focused on her. This close, she could see that his steel-gray irises were made of fine, overlapping layers of what appeared to be metal, sliding smoothly over each other.
“If Solon didn’t want your heart, I would take it,” he whispered, then laid a hand over her heart. His fingers dug into her flesh even through her shirt and waistcoat.
She took a breath to scream, but he released her before the sound emerged. With the release of the pressure, her scream became a grunt of relief. She didn’t get to revel in it as he pulled Lock from her pocket and rose to his feet.
“Lock,” she whispered.
The silver lock transformed into the little metal dragon, but the man’s fist closed around him before he could spring away.
“How cute.” The man laughed—an odd joyless sound.
Lock screeched as the man’s fist closed.
“No,” Briar sobbed, trying to get to her feet. The world refused to stay still, and she only made it to her hands and knees.
Lock screeched again, but it wasn’t a cry of pain. He sounded pissed. He twisted in the fist that held him and, much as she had earlier, bit him.
The man didn’t release him. “Damn vermin.”
“Indeed,” a familiar, accented voice said from behind him. “Alleys tend to be full of them.”
The man spun away from her, clearing her line of sight to where Grayson stood a few feet away. His eyes narrowed. “Now it gets interesting.”
7
Grayson,” Briar called, trying to focus through the dizziness. “I don’t think he’s human.”
Her attacker spared her a glance. “I must have thumped her harder than I realized.”
“She isn’t what you think,” Grayson said.
Before she could puzzle out what he’d meant, Lock shimmered into a new shape. She couldn’t make out exactly what it was, but she glimpsed a serrated edge. The man shouted and dropped him. Lock changed shape before he hit the ground and with a flap of his wings, landed lightly on the packed dirt of the alley.
“Cute trick,” the man said to Grayson, showing no evidence of pain or any reaction to the blood dripping from the damage Lock had done to him.
“Protect her,” Grayson said to Lock, then stepped to the side. He stomped one foot, catching a discarded metal rod Briar hadn’t noticed by one end and flipping it in the air. He caught it with casual ease, holding the rusty piece of metal ready at his side.
Her assailant barked another joyless laugh. “He said you weren’t—”
Grayson attacked.
Briar pulled in a breath, shocked by his speed. His opponent, for as fast as he was before, couldn’t get out of the way in time. Grayson caught him with a glancing blow in one hip, but it hit hard enough that she heard a crunch.
The man took a limping step to the side, but made no effort to flee. He cocked his head as he studied Grayson. Without warning, he sprang.
Briar gasped at the suddenness of it. She wanted to shout a warning, but the fellow was already upon Grayson, except, at the last moment, Grayson simply sidestepped him.
His attacker went stumbling past and Grayson spun, the metal rod lashing out so quickly that it was hard to follow. The blow hit the man in the head with a sickening crunch. He stumbled to the side and smacked the wall much as she had earlier. But unlike her, the collision didn’t take him down.
Shoving himself off the wall, the fellow sprang at Grayson once more. This time, Grayson didn’t try to avoid him. He stepped forward to meet him, shoving the rod ahead of him. The rod slid into the man’s stomach. Grayson continued forward, one hand still on the rod while the other caught the man by the throat.
The man threw back his head as if to scream, but no sound emerged. An instant later, it looked like a lightning storm had erupted in his mouth. Silver light sprang forth, first from his open mouth, then his eyes.
Eerily silent, he collapsed, his head thumping off the ground. His face was toward her, and she could still see the silver light faintly glowing in the depths of his eyes.
Grayson dropped to a knee beside him and pushed him over onto his back. He shoved the rod, still buried in the man’s stomach, upward. A series of brittle snaps echoed in the deserted alley. It took Briar a moment to realize they were ribs.
Using the hole he’d made, Grayson ripped open the man’s shirt exposing his pale chest and stomach—and the livid scars covering both. It appeared the man had been cut open many times. But this time, Grayson was performing the surgery.
She watched in horror as Grayson used one hand and the rod to pry open the man’s chest. In a terrifying recreation of what she had witnessed in Portsmouth, Grayson reached in and pulled out a blood-smeared silver object attached to a multitude of thin wires. This close, Briar was able to see that it was a heart.
Dear God, had she been right? Did ferromancers really implant metal objects in their slaves? Objects that looked like organs?
Grayson closed his fist, but unlike the ma
n’s attempt to crush Lock, Grayson had no trouble crushing the silver heart. It began to collapse beneath his fingers, emitting a flare of golden light as if Grayson held a tiny sun.
Suddenly, Grayson gasped and glanced back over his shoulder. Footsteps approached from the street accompanied by a low, tuneless whistle.
Briar tried to turn her head to look, but the world swung around her. Before she could right her vision, hands gripped her shoulders. She gasped, attempting to pull away.
“Easy, it’s me,” Grayson said. He didn’t give her a chance to answer before pulling her to her feet.
Darkness haloed her vision until she seemed to be viewing the world through a tiny pinhole.
Grayson lifted her from her feet, shushing her feeble protest. “Solon is coming,” he muttered against her ear.
She could smell her assailant’s blood on him. She wanted to pull away, but didn’t have the strength. Grayson carried her out the far end of the alley, his pace rapid. She didn’t see where he went next because she was soon forced to close her eyes in an attempt to combat the dizziness.
His pace finally slowed, and he set her down, her back against the wall of a building. Another alley? Lock cooed from her shoulder, his tone reassuring.
“Miss Rose?” Grayson touched her cheek, and once more, she caught another whiff of her assailant’s blood.
“It was you,” she whispered to Grayson.
“Shh. Just sit still.” He lifted a hand to the throbbing place above her temple.
She groaned as his touch awakened the pain, but she had to know. “You killed that…man near the train yard, in Portsmouth.”
Grayson sighed. “You have a very bad habit of sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“Tell me the truth,” she whispered.
“It wasn’t a man. Not anymore.”
“Like the guy here?”
“Yes.” His tone sounded resigned.
“Did someone try to do that to you? Make you a…thing?”
“In ferromancer parlance, they are known as the soulless.” He leaned closer, carefully parting her hair to check her head wound.
“You still have a soul?” she asked.
“Yes, Miss Rose, I do. And I do wish you would be a little more careful with it.”
“I’m sorry.” She wasn’t exactly sure what she was apologizing for. Perhaps for her ill treatment of him.
“Me, too,” he muttered. “Now sit still. This might sting a bit.”
She was about to ask what he was doing when a prickling sensation took the place of his probing fingers. Then pain hit. She hoped she didn’t scream before she blacked out.
“Captain?” Eli’s concerned face swam into focus.
“Eli?” Briar’s voice was rough, and she wondered at that—and why she was lying on the deck.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been run over by a large carriage with a team of eight.” She sat up, biting back a groan. Her aching head protested the movement.
Eli gripped her elbow, but released her when it seemed she wouldn’t fall over.
She sat on a makeshift pallet of blankets not far from the tiller deck.
“Do you remember what happened?” Eli asked.
She frowned at that, trying to recall. The boat was in motion, and she could see Benji and the team on the towpath ahead of them. By the look of the sun, it was early evening, but she had no clue how she’d gotten here. She remembered an alley, a man with inhuman strength, and Grayson.
She took a breath to answer and smelled something delicious. She recognized their surroundings as a stretch of canal several miles north of Chillicothe. This was a seventeen-mile level between locks, but they hadn’t reached the village of Yellowbud yet.
“What’s that smell?” she asked.
Eli scowled. “Mr. Grayson demanded he be allowed to make dinner. He said you’d been injured and would need the meal. He’s below deck now, cooking.”
“In my cabin?” Yes, it was where anyone who performed the task cooked, but it was also where she kept his trunk. She laid a hand over her pocket and pulled in a breath. Lock wasn’t there.
“He’s down there with Jimmy,” Eli answered. “We don’t leave him unguarded.”
“I can’t believe you’re letting him cook.”
“He said he could have just left you and escaped, but he brought you back—at no small risk to himself.” Eli sighed. “The boys seemed to think that proved him trustworthy.” Eli’s expression made it clear that he didn’t think so. “What happened in Chillicothe, Miss Briar?”
Glancing around, and finding themselves alone, she leaned closer. “I was set upon by a ferromancer’s henchman. The same ferromancer I encountered in Waverly.”
Eli’s eyes widened. “He’s following you?”
“So it would seem.”
“Dear God.”
She started to tell him about the metal heart and Grayson’s actions—both in Chillicothe and in Portsmouth—but she hesitated. Eli hadn’t met the…soulless. He would probably call Grayson a murderer.
“I know you’re just trying to save our way of life on the canals,” Eli continued. “But I think it’s time we cut our losses. Burn those plans and get rid of the ferromancer’s servant. He’s nothing but trouble.”
“He saved my life, Eli.” She wanted to go on, to tell him about Grayson’s scar and her suspicions about his true relationship with his boss, but she didn’t think Grayson would appreciate her divulging so much. He had told her that he wasn’t soulless, but something had clearly been done to him.
She didn’t want to argue about Grayson’s actions, past or present, with Eli—or herself. Fortunately, the hatch opened and Jimmy climbed out. Once he reached the deck, he turned back and accepted a covered Dutch oven. He turned away from the hatch and saw her.
“Captain!” Jimmy gave her a wide grin. “You’re up.” He set down the oven and turned back for a cloth-covered basket. Meals were a bit inconvenient when the cargo holds were full, but the money they made was dependent on how much they could haul. All available space went to cargo, and the crew made do.
“Have I got a surprise for you.” Jimmy carried the cloth-covered basket over to her.
“I have a suspicion of what it might be.” She lifted the cloth and glanced inside. “Biscuits?” She couldn’t believe it.
“Well, he likes to call them scones.” Jimmy waved a hand at the hatch as Grayson climbed out, carrying a larger basket laden with the dishes and flatware.
Grayson had doffed his coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves. His dark hair was damp around his face, and his cheeks a little flushed from working over the hot stove.
She got to her feet and walked over to greet him. “Do I have you to thank for all this?”
“You were injured. You need to eat.” He spoke the words without inflection. “No one else was capable of preparing an edible meal.”
She puzzled at the coolness of his tone. Was he annoyed that he’d had to do it? “It appears you outdid yourself.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached a hand toward her face, and she instinctively stilled. Carefully, he brushed the sore spot on the side of her head. “The swelling seems to have gone down.”
His gaze dropped to hers with that pronouncement. The sunlight off the canal caught in his eyes, making them almost glow. She looked more closely, afraid to see those intricate plates she had seen in the eyes of the soulless man, but Grayson’s irises were the typical human ones, the light making them more blue than gray this evening.
He lifted his brows, and she realized she had been staring into his eyes a little too long.
She stepped back. “Now that you boys are out of my space, I’ll clean up for dinner.”
“Don’t take too long, Captain,” Jimmy said. He and Eli were already setting up the folding table. “This will go fast.”
“Tie up and call Benji in,” she said. “He should get some, too.”
“Yes, Captain,�
�� Jimmy agreed.
Eli took a more decisive action and moved to the rail to shout at Benji.
She left them to bring in the boat and climbed down into her cabin. The room was very warm, even with the open windows, but it smelled wonderful.
Crossing the room in a couple of quick strides, she squatted beside the table and found the trunk tucked underneath where she’d left it. She started to lift the lid, then noticed the silver lock hanging from the hasp.
“Lock?”
A swirl of metal, and the little dragon now hung from the trunk. With a squeal, he leapt to her shoulder.
“It’s good to see you, too.” She rubbed him beneath his chin, then turned back to the trunk. Lifting the lid, she saw that everything was still in place. Why had Grayson relocked his master’s trunk? Was there something in here of value? She had seen nothing.
“I don’t understand that man.”
Lock purred and rubbed his nose against her cheek. He rose up on his rear legs and sniffed her hair where the injury was, then offered a sympathetic moan.
“I’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “Now, I’d best get ready for dinner.”
Lock chattered in agreement, then leapt down to the table. Leaving him there, she hurried to her partitioned part of the cabin. Her appetite was returning with a vengeance, and she didn’t want her crew to scarf down everything before she got there.
Grayson had made plenty, so going hungry wasn’t a concern—overeating was. He had made something like pot roast, though he called it by some French name. Whatever it was, she had three helpings, but the meal seemed to be just what she needed.
By the time the dishes were washed and put away, she was feeling like her old self. Even the headache had faded.
“Are we to continue on, Captain?” Eli asked. It was twilight, the western horizon a brilliant red and gold while the first stars were just visible in the east.
“No,” Briar answered. “Let’s bring in the team and tie up for the night. It’s been a crazy couple of days, and I don’t know about you, but I could do with a night off.”