Beauty and the Clockwork Beast

by Nancy Allen Campbell

  A flash of black burst through the glass windows high above and flew through the room. The violence and the sound shattered the night, and Lucy gasped and ducked her head. The creature dove at Hazel, who had opened her eyes but seemed disoriented, transfixed. She was thrown into the large hearth, her head smashing against the brick as she landed in the flames.

  With a horrified scream, Lucy lunged across the table and pulled Hazel from the fire, rolling her around on the thick rug and smacking the small flames that licked at her back. Shielding Hazel with her own body, she buried her head in the young woman’s hair as the darkness again swooped down from above. Lucy felt something sharp rake down her back before a roar from the doorway sounded, and the glass in the windows shattered a second time.

  Miles took in the scene with a rage that was surpassed only by a nauseating sense of fear that gathered thick in his throat as he crossed the room to the two women crumpled on the floor. He pulled first at Lucy, whose pale pink corset and ruffled white shirt were sliced across her shoulders. Angry red lines seeped blood onto the delicate fabric.

  She glanced at him with huge eyes as she ran her hands over an unconscious Miss Hughes.

  “She hit her head,” Lucy said, her voice shaking. She placed her hand at the back of Miss Hughes’s head and pulled it away to reveal a liberal smear of blood. “And she was thrown in the fire, although I believe her clothing took the brunt of it. I pulled her out right away.”

  Miles caught sight of Lucy’s other hand and grasped her wrist, examining her palm. It was a pale shade of red that would soon become darker, more inflamed and blistered. “You’ve been burned,” he said through clenched teeth.

  He made his way to the telescribe connector on the wall and attached his telescriber with a hand that trembled slightly. Barely trusting himself to speak with any sense of calm, he punched in a message for Sam to come immediately to the library with his medical bag.

  Gusts of wind and rain howled through the broken windows, and he looked up at the jagged pieces of glass where something large and fast had flown into the room. With a litany of curses, he slammed his hand against the crank that controlled the heavy drapes and walked back to Lucy while the mechanism pulled the material closed, muting the storm outside.

  Lucy looked at him as he knelt by her side and placed two fingers on Miss Hughes’s throat, relieved to feel a thready pulse in the Medium’s neck.

  “She was attempting to conjure Marie,” Lucy said quietly, holding the hem of her skirt against Miss Hughes’s head.

  “With what? Black Magick?”

  Lucy scowled at him. “No. Far from it.”

  “Marie did not do this,” he said. “It was not her presence in this room when I entered.”

  “No,” Lucy agreed. “Most assuredly it was not your sister. I know who it was. Or rather, what.” Her expression was as grave as he’d ever seen it. “It was a vampire in black mist form.”

  She glanced up as Sam entered and squatted down next to Miss Hughes. “A vamp? Then we must treat your back immediately. We will need a mix of Abelfirth and Chromaxium. We shall have to rush you to the airfield and head straight for London—I don’t have any with me.”

  Lucy moved her hand and bloodied dress away from the young Medium’s head. “I have some upstairs.”

  Miles stared at her, slack-jawed, as did Sam, who temporarily stilled his hands. “How on earth do you have a supply of anti-vamp?” Sam asked. “It’s all I can do to secure some, and even then I must jump through a series of hoops that make it nigh impossible.”

  “I am part of the research team. I told you this.” Lucy must have finally registered the pain of the burns on her palms because she cradled them to her chest. “While team members’ identities aren’t secret, it’s still not common knowledge. We are at a certain amount of risk from those entities who wish to see us fail.”

  “Namely vampires.” Miles felt his anger surge again. “Why does Daniel allow this?”

  It was the wrong thing to say, and had he more of his wits about him, he would have bit his tongue before he made the same mistake twice. Lucy arched a brow, and Sam muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “Idiot.”

  “Are we discussing this again?” Lucy said. “Daniel is not my keeper, nor am I a slave.” She sat back on her heels and winced. Sam glanced up at her, and Miles saw his jaw tighten fractionally.

  “We must apply the anti-vamp immediately,” he said as he examined Miss Hughes’s back where her clothing had burned away. “Have a ’ton bring it down, Miles.”

  “No,” Lucy said and struggled to her feet. Miles stood with her and caught her elbow when she stumbled. “I can’t have just anyone rummaging through my things. I’ll do it myself.” She paused, looking at Miss Hughes. “Will she be well?”

  “I hope so,” Sam said, grim with intense concentration. “Where is Oliver?” Sam asked Miles as he reached for something in his medicine bag.

  “Bow Street requested his help in London.” Miles also wished for Oliver’s command in dire circumstances, his connections with law enforcement. “He should return in a day or two.”

  “Help Lucy,” Sam said as he thumbed back one of Miss Hughes’s eyelids and shone a light in her pupil.

  Lucy’s face was pale, and a light sheen of sweat had appeared across her forehead. She wobbled on her feet.

  “Hurry,” Sam barked.

  Miles picked her up, wincing inwardly at her gasp of pain as he tightened his arms around her wounded back. Turning on a burst of speed he knew he might have to explain later, he moved to the door. He could only hope she was too distracted to notice that he moved much faster than he ought to be able to.

  He made short work of the stairs, grateful he’d charged his heartclock that afternoon. He fumbled with the lock on the suite door and then made his way to her room, where he set her gently on the bed and turned on the nightstand light. She was shivering, and he felt a stab of alarm to see a sheen of tears in her eyes.

  “Oh, for the love of heaven, do not cry.”

  She nodded to her trunk at the end of the bed. “The key is in my portmanteau.” She curled over, cradling her hands in her lap.

  A vampire had infiltrated his home, and his fury burned low and hot. When bloodless animals had begun appearing in town weeks ago, his reconnaissance around the grounds had yielded no results. Now one of the vile creatures threatened the few things he held dear.

  He pawed through Lucy’s bag until he found a small key ring tied with a delicate pink ribbon. It looked ridiculous in his large hand, and as he fitted the key in the lock, he reminded himself again that he had no business spending time in her company. That he had installed her in his own suite was unforgivably selfish, but the thought of her anywhere else in the house was unthinkable, especially now.

  He carefully lifted out boxes and containers of various herbs and medicinal concoctions from the trunk and set them on the floor. He’d realized earlier that day when she’d held her ground with him and put him in his place that she was probably the one woman on earth who could ­handle him. He’d seen her interest in him spark in her eyes more than once, but she didn’t know he was deadly, and that would change everything.

  But he would take advantage of every last moment of her company, even if it meant keeping her at arm’s length. It would have to be enough to know she was in his house. He would torture himself as long as he could stand it, drinking in the sight of her without touching her.

  He glanced up at her, his heartclock increasing as she moaned in pain. If he couldn’t help her, and quickly, she wouldn’t be around much longer for him to adore. He found himself angry that she would put herself in danger. And for what? The ghost of his sister? Her cousin’s health? Did she never think to guard her own?

  “It’s in the blue glass container at the bottom. The label says AVS.”

  “AVS?”
He continued shifting jars and boxes around.

  “Anti-venom serum.” Her breath came out in a gasp, and he ground his teeth in frustration.

  “Here it is.” He clutched the jar, making his way to her side. “How is it administered?”

  “We do not have time to dilute it.” She tried to straighten but couldn’t. “Shake the bottle to stir the contents. Then apply it to your handkerchief and press it lightly to the wounds.”

  Following her instructions, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. “What happens if it isn’t diluted?”

  “It hurts more.”

  He hesitated.

  “Do not fear—it isn’t as though I will succumb to an overdose of the medicine.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I am ready.”

  He cursed under his breath and sat next to her on the bed. He looked at the cloth, damp with medicine, and shook his head. He braced an arm across her body and, with a hand on her shoulder, pulled her to him. He held her tightly as he pulled back the stiff edges of her torn corset and the shredded fabric of the soft white shirt underneath. A row of four long gashes began at the base of her neck and ran midway down her back. Blood still dripped but was beginning to coagulate, even as the skin around the cuts was turning an alarming shade of gray-green that deepened by the minute.

  He pressed the cloth to the back of her neck. Her gut-wrenching cry stabbed into his soul, and he was almost relieved when he felt her slacken and then lose consciousness from the pain. He paused only long enough to be sure she still breathed and then made quick work of dabbing the solution along each and every mark. The medicine bubbled where it made contact with the wounds, and while the gashes didn’t disappear, the horrible discoloration began to slowly abate.

  Lucy stirred, and he willed her to stay unconscious, wondering if she had something in her bag of tricks to alleviate pain. As she moaned and released a huge, shuddering sigh, he rocked her slightly back and forth.

  “Shhh,” he whispered. “I have you.”

  He looked down at her burned and bloodied hands still cradled in her lap. “Lucy,” he murmured, his lips against her hair, which was hanging in pins and disarray, “do you have a salve for burns?”

  She nodded weakly, and his heart turned over at the sob she tried to stifle. “In the trunk. It will do well enough—anything else I’d have to mix.”

  “Good. I’m going to help you lie down on the bed, on your stomach.”

  She nodded, but when she straightened her back, she sucked her breath in and shook her head. “I’ll sit,” she managed.

  He moved to the trunk, his frown so fierce it made his head ache. Finding the burn ointment, he returned to Lucy and applied it liberally to her hands, not bothering to first clean the blood away. If she objected, she kept it to herself as first one tear and then another rolled quietly down her cheek.

  “You should see if Sam requires assistance,” she murmured. “I fear Miss Hughes was seriously hurt.”

  As though her words made the man himself materialize, Miles heard a series of knocks on the outer suite door—a pattern he’d not heard since the war. “Do not move,” he said to Lucy and hurried through the sitting room, running a hand through his hair.

  Miles opened the door to see Sam scribbling on a piece of paper. His friend glanced up after a moment and handed it to him. “I need to take Miss Hughes to London immediately,” he said. “I’ve scribed ahead to the airstrip. They have an emergency airship at the ready. Miss Watts is bringing the Traveler to the front door—I’ll have it returned.”

  Miles waved it aside. “We’ll retrieve it. How is Miss Hughes?”

  Sam shook his head. “I’ll know better when I get her to the hospital. I’ve written instructions for Lucy’s care.” He pointed to the paper he’d handed Miles. “Scribe me immediately if her fever spikes above the red line. She should have a thermometer with her other medicines.”

  Miles nodded. “Travel safely.”

  “I will scribe as soon as Miss Hughes’s condition is stabilized.” Sam clasped Miles’s hand and then jogged quickly down the hallway, where he was swallowed up by the dark.

  Reading the paper as he returned to Lucy’s bedchamber, Miles noted some dosages for a combination of medicinal herbs Sam had labeled “pain relief.” It had to be better than the burn ointment. He quickly examined Lucy’s medicines, all of which were labeled in her neat, precise hand, setting aside the ones he’d need. The lady herself remained hunched on the bed, exactly as he’d left her, drooping with fatigue. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow, as though inhaling too deeply was an impossibility.

  Miles found the proper ingredients and a mortar and pestle and followed the instructions Sam had left for him. He crushed the prescribed herbs to a fine powder and then added them to a small amount of water from the pitcher at the dry sink.

  “Lucy,” he murmured, “you must drink this.”

  “What are you giving me?” she whispered, looking as though she’d lived through a battle. Her eyes were swollen, her expression drawn in pain, and her clothes were bloodied and torn.

  He tipped the cup to her lips, gently tugging on her chin. She pulled back slightly and then sniffed the drink, relaxing and allowing him to pour it slowly into her mouth. “You need to bathe and change your clothes,” he said when she finished drinking. “I shall awaken Kate.”

  Lucy shook her head. “No, please. She will be terrified, and I’ll not have her weakened further. She will blame herself.”

  “The blame lies not with her.” He pinched his lips together, feeling equal parts recrimination and self-loathing. “I bear full responsibility.” He paused, and as much as it pained him, he pushed forward. “Miss Pickett, you must leave. Your life is in danger, and I should hate very much for you to come to further harm.”

  “You’re very kind,” she said softly, blinking slowly. He could only assume the pain reliever was taking effect. Mercifully, it must have also included a sleeping agent.

  “Kindness has nothing to do with it,” he muttered. “I shall fetch a ’ton to help get you changed,” he said, more to himself than her, and her eyes shot open again.

  “No. Frankly, my lord, I do not trust anyone but you and my cousin. Mrs. Farrell complains daily about complications with the ’tons. The medicine on my back must dry in the air, at any rate. I shall sleep as I am.” Her eyelids drooped again, and she tipped to the side.

  Miles carefully laid her down and positioned a pillow under her head, pulling what pins he could see from her hair and setting them on the nightstand. He untied and loosened the frothy, ribboned laces on her dainty, pale pink boots. Her beautiful skirts were ghoulishly smeared with Miss Hughes’s blood, and it made for a horrific contrast. Placing her boots on the floor, he drew the comforter around her, careful to leave her back exposed, but tucking it in under her elbows and around her legs.

  He turned the light down and stood watching her for a long moment as her breathing eventually deepened and her body seemed to finally relax. He rubbed his hand across his face and down the back of his neck, wondering what was happening in his home and, more to the point, his heart.

  Lucy spent the better part of the following week in the countess’s bedchambers, healing as quickly as could be expected. She had convinced Blackwell to tell the others she had merely fallen ill. How he had managed to explain away the mess in the library she didn’t know. Her only concern was that Kate not be worried or unduly alarmed by anything. Lucy had given Jonathan instructions via Blackwell to treat Kate with a variety of teas and herbs, and to their collective delight, they seemed to be working well.

  Lucy managed intimate tasks on her own. Her toiletries and bathing were difficult at first, but she insisted on total secrecy concerning the events of that fateful night. If the vampire who had attacked was near or—heaven help them—disguised in the household itself, she was determined to play a careful game of strateg
y. She and Blackwell would behave as though nothing untoward had happened, and then she would take the opportunity to surreptitiously examine the details around the home and grounds. She had made a study of the vile creatures, and that she hadn’t been aware of one so threatening and close by was a testament as to how worried she’d been about Kate’s health. It was also proof of the Vampiric Assimilation Aid’s effectiveness—an added impetus to speed her research efforts.

  Blackwell had situated a ’ton lady’s maid in the adjoining room but, at Lucy’s request, had deactivated her and removed her programming chip, which gave Lucy a measure of security. Her reputation was secure because the household believed the maid to be with her every moment, even when the earl was in the room, but Lucy didn’t have to worry that a faulty ’ton would try to kill her in her sleep.

  Blackwell treated her wounds, applying new rounds of medicine—greatly diluted—and cloth bandages. She was healing beautifully and very near her usual energy levels by the week’s end. She was almost sorry that the quiet, intimate communication she had enjoyed with Blackwell would come to a close; Blackwell spent much of the day with her, seeking to divert her attention from the discomfort of not only the vampire wounds but also her burned, blistering hands.

  For his part, he seemed thrilled to have a reason to avoid spending time with the Charlesworths. And the day after the attack, he apologized for his boorish behavior in the Traveler, and Lucy readily forgave him.

  She received a letter from her brother, Daniel, who told her that he considered the Earl of Blackwell to be above reproach and the most loyal of friends, but that he had no intimate knowledge of the extended family. Daniel said that he missed her and looked forward to the time when they would be at leisure to enjoy one another’s company, and that he hoped it would be soon. He would be forced, however, to rely upon her sense of punctuality to guide him because he was still missing his pocket watch.