She heard a clatter on the stairs behind her, and Brendan came into the room, still buttoning up his shirt one-handed. He took in the scene and whistled between his teeth.
“Jaysus. Looks even worse this morning, doesn’t he?”
“I want to rebuild him, whatever it takes.” She made the announcement for the benefit of the steamies as well as her own, because that pile of metal seemed just too obscene.
“Well, now.” Brendan shot her a look. In daylight his bruises also stood out far too clearly—on his jaw, his cheek, and on his chest between the still-open buttons. Remorse hit Ginny. She should have let him rest last night. Still, he seemed to have survived admirably.
“Do you know who could repair him, Brendan? Who’s the best in the city?”
“The automatons are the best at repairing automatons, but with the way things are right now…”
“It may have to wait.” Ginny bit her lip and turned to the other three steamies. “I give you my promise we will have him repaired and restarted if at all possible. Meanwhile, perhaps you could move him to one of the guest bedrooms. And Millie, if you could bring yourself to prepare breakfast, I’d appreciate it.”
“Nothing for me, thanks, save a cup of tea,” Brendan said briskly. “I need to get to the station.”
“But you’re on leave. Sick leave.”
He ignored her as if she hadn’t spoken, still struggling with the button at his throat. “And I want to find out how Pat’s doing.”
“Yes. Wait for me. I’ll get dressed and come with you.”
He eyed her in consideration. She wondered what went on in that fine brain of his, if he weighed the consequences of not only sleeping here but being seen in her company.
“Best if I go on my own. Not safe on the streets right now.”
Clad in only her dressing gown, she toed up to him. “If it isn’t safe for me, it isn’t safe for you.”
“I’m a police officer.”
“With a broken arm and several fractured ribs, not to mention those bruises.”
He lowered his voice just as if the steamies could hear, which—Ginny supposed—they could. “That didn’t discourage you last night.”
Incredibly, Ginny felt the heat build again in her face. She never blushed—couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt uncomfortable about her amorous exploits.
“Yes, well, I’m thinking far more clearly now. Perhaps seeing that”—she gestured at Floyd—“has put some sense in my head.”
He snorted. “I sincerely doubt it. If you’ve any sense, you’ll stay here and let me do what I do best, gather information.”
“I guess I’ve no sense, then, because I’m coming with you. Millie, please be so kind as to make Sergeant Fagan that cup of tea while I get dressed.”
“Yes, miss. Where shall I serve it, miss?” Millie waved her hands at the table in seeming distress.
Brendan answered, “I’ll just come along with you to the kitchen, shall I? I’m far more comfortable there anyway.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Well, this is eerie,” Ginny whispered to Brendan.
The streets seemed strangely empty, as in the aftermath of some great tragedy. Ginny, who’d insisted on hiring a steamcab despite her aversion to them, sat peering through the side window in dreadful fascination.
Brendan grunted involuntarily every time they took a turn too sharply or went over a bump, revealing his discomfort. He really shouldn’t be up. He should be in Ginny’s bed, still naked. But she didn’t know how to persuade him. Hog-tying might make a viable option. Then she could take her time pleasuring him and consequently herself.
Just so long as she kept it straight in her mind that she wasn’t in love with the man.
The crowd gathered around the Kellys’ house seemed shockingly large after all those empty streets, though Ginny supposed they wouldn’t add up to a great number. As she and Brendan disembarked from the cab, she noticed a goodly number of them were automatons. She felt glad to see no police presence apart from the many off-duty members of the Irish Squad, some still clad in uniform.
Did they know who she was? Would they welcome her here?
Brendan marched up to the nearest; she followed. “Brian, what’s the word?”
The automaton couldn’t display worry as such, but Ginny read concern in his eyes. “No word for some time, Brendan. Some of us have been waiting most the night. The experts are with him, evaluating.”
“I see. How’s Rose?”
The woman beside the automaton addressed as Brian turned toward them. Ginny wondered if she were his wife—one of her mother’s creations and also an automaton. Impossible to tell.
“Rose is devastated. I saw her for a few moments earlier on. Mrs. Gideon is with her. They say Rose refuses to leave Pat’s side even though his condition is most likely terminal.”
“Terminal?” Horror and dismay colored Brendan’s voice.
“That is a rumor,” Brian said. “We have no substantiation.”
The woman nodded.
“Look, Brian, we can’t do any good here. Will you send me word as soon as you learn anything?”
“Where will you be?”
“I’m going to the station to see what can be done.”
“I don’t think…” Ginny began.
Brian’s gaze moved to her. “You are the daughter of the woman who created my wife.”
“Your wife?” Ginny’s heart sank.
He put his arm around the woman at his side. “My wife, Honoria.”
Honoria extended her hand. “I am glad to meet you.”
“Oh, yes?”
“Yes, even though I did help to beat your mother to death.”
All words failed Ginny.
“Please be assured I am nevertheless grateful she gave me life. Otherwise I would not have had the opportunity to marry Brian.”
Ginny, still incapable of speech, felt Brendan tug her away by the arm. She never remembered him flagging down another steamcab.
****
“You should have seen your face.” Brendan struggled to restrain a wry smile. “I’ll bet ’tis not often anyone sees Virginia Landry struck dumb.”
“She apologized for killing my mother and expressed her gratitude to her, all in one breath.”
“Or in one puff of steam, as it were. They’re realists, far more than we’ll ever be. They’re forced to be, aren’t they?”
“I guess I never thought about that. I found both Pat Kelly and Lily Michaels forthright and charming. I never considered what makes them so…honest.”
“That’s Pat, all right, honest right down to his steel frame. Lord, I hope he can be saved.” Brendan tried to imagine life devoid of Pat’s presence in the force and failed. To say nothing of his friendship.
“Doesn’t sound good, though, does it?”
“It does not.”
“How good are their experts? With my mother gone, who’d know the most about the hybrids?”
“I guess that would be the man who created Pat—Mason.”
“I thought you said there were two of them, two ‘madmen’?”
“Aye but Charles was killed in lock-up a year or more ago. And Mason is stark raving, being held in some secret location.” Brendan considered it. “Other than him, as I say, the experts would be the other hybrids. They’ve been studying on how to build more of their kind.”
“Which is why they want the charity hospital.”
“Aye.” The cab drew up in front of the station, and Brendan turned to her. “Look, perhaps you’d better let me go in on my own.”
He climbed painfully from the cab and, to his dismay, Ginny followed. The cabbie looked at her. “Miss, d’you want me to wait?”
“Yes, she’ll be leaving directly,” Brendan said.
“No,” Ginny objected. “I’m staying. And Brendan, I’m not waiting out here.” As the cab pulled away with a puff of dirty steam, she asked, “Would you rather own up to the truth or let Addelforce get
it via rumor?”
He gazed into her eyes. “The truth?”
“That we’re together.”
Brendan’s heart thudded. “Until you leave for Dakota.”
“I’m going nowhere, not for the time being.”
The time being? Damn it all. He drew a breath that hurt. “Very well, then. Come on.”
The interior of the station house buzzed with activity, in stark contrast to the barren streets outside. Officers came and went from Addelforce’s office; some gave Brendan and Ginny sharp looks in passing.
They found Addelforce standing behind his desk, uniform jacket unbuttoned and hair on end. He looked like he’d been there all night; Brendan figured he probably had.
He glanced up when they appeared in his doorway, and his attention quickened.
“What are you doing here, Sergeant?”
“Reporting for duty, sir.”
“You’re not fit.”
“I am well enough, sir. Appears to be a crisis, and needs must.”
“I won’t say I’m not glad to see you, though Miss Landry’s presence is a surprise.”
Ginny quirked an eyebrow. “An unpleasant one?”
Addelforce grunted. “You, miss, are a lit match in a powder keg. I’m not sure what’s going on between the two of you—not at all sure I want to know. I warned Sergeant Fagan just as I warned you, you’ll not do his career any good. And he has a bright future with the force, Miss Landry—very bright.”
Brendan answered before Ginny could. “I understand that, sir. We both do. What’s between us is personal.”
“In this city? At this time? I don’t think so.”
“Captain Addelforce, sir, with all due respect”—Brendan bellied up to the desk—“When I’m on duty I take your orders. That’s as far as it goes. Do you want my badge?”
Addelforce’s eyes widened with outrage. “You’d resign over…over that? A woman?”
Would he? Brendan thought about it—really thought about it—and felt his face grow rigid. A few more weeks of Ginny remaining in Buffalo did not, in truth, a relationship make—or a reason for him to jettison his career.
Fortunately, Addelforce spoke again. “Of course I don’t want your badge, Sergeant Fagan. Don’t be an ass.”
“No, sir.” Brendan relaxed a hair.
“But as we discussed previously, your association with Miss Landry does compromise your objectivity and the public’s perception of your ability to do your job. What?” Addelforce barked at a very young officer who appeared behind Ginny in the doorway.
“Another incident, sir. Private carriage turned over on Main Street, with multiple injuries.”
“Report there at once.”
“But sir, I’m bound for Swan Street—the house with the shattered windows.”
“Go to Main Street first and Swan after.”
The officer ducked out. Brendan asked, “What in hell is going on, sir?”
“Hell, Sergeant Fagan, is a fair description. The city has gone mad. All sane and prudent citizens are bunged up in their homes. Meanwhile, opposing bands of thugs roam the streets. Rogue automatons are attacking anything they can. Bands of armed humans are taking down the automatons.”
“They battered my man, Floyd,” Ginny told Addelforce. “Neighbors brought him home last night.”
“Miss Landry, I’m not at all surprised. You should be home behind locked doors. Charged with the impossible task of keeping the peace, we are stretched far too thin to protect you. Half the Irish Squad are stationed outside Pat Kelly’s house. I have to worry about the other half deserting their jobs.”
“You afraid they’ll turn, sir?” Brendan asked, disbelieving. “They won’t turn.”
“I wish I had your confidence. What I need, Sergeant, is Pat Kelly’s voice of reason. Any word on how he is?”
“We just came from there, sir. It doesn’t sound good.”
Addelforce closed his eyes briefly. “If he stays down, I fear we’ll never get the city under control. The automatons will break loose. Is there nothing that can be done?”
“They’re working on him, sir.”
“Who is?”
Brendan shrugged. “The other automatons. They’re the only ones left with the knowledge.”
“Christ.” Addelforce’s gaze found Ginny. “I don’t suppose you know anything? After all…”
“I’m sorry, Captain, but I never knew my mother, and I possess none of her knowledge.”
Brendan shifted on his feet. “Where do you want me, sir?”
Addelforce eyed him up and down before scrabbling through the papers on his desk and coming up with a slip. “Go to this address. See a man called Robert Dunner.”
“But sir, this is the address of the Insane Asylum on Forest Avenue.” Brendan shot a look at Ginny. “Why there?”
Addelforce fixed him with a stare. “You remember Mason?”
“I should, sir. In fact…in fact we were just speaking of him.” Brendan felt the blood drain from his face. “Never say he’s being held there!”
“He’s been there all this while, confined to their maximum security wing. It’s more a cell than a hospital room, from what I’ve been able to learn. But Dunner’s willing to talk to us and will perhaps let you see Mason.”
Brendan shuddered involuntarily. “See him, sir?” The very last thing he wanted.
“I need you to assess Mason’s condition. Then report back to me, understand?”
“No, sir, I’m not sure I do.”
Addelforce leaned across his desk. “Brendan, I want to know if you believe Mason sufficiently competent to be furloughed out of that place in order to rebuild Patrick Kelly.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I’m going with you, Brendan.” Ginny spoke the words in that determined way of hers, the one Brendan had already learned meant she had to have her way.
Fine in bed, that. Not so good in daily life.
Focused on the task of flagging down another steamcab in front of the police station, he ignored her. Hell, he should have had the first driver wait after all. Now all the traffic that usually traveled round the block had melted away, and frustration gnawed at him.
Frustration and another emotion he didn’t like to acknowledge—dread. Or maybe it was horror. He didn’t like the prospect of facing that monster Mason again.
And monster he was.
Brendan thought about the man as he’d last seen him—mechanically enhanced and surely beyond mad, with his black hair and dead-white skin. All this time Brendan had believed him safely put away but never suspected it was right here in this city. His city. He remembered his terror that night when Charles and Mason had held him and Liam McMahon prisoner, the paralyzing fear of being strapped to a metal table, and the terrible sounds when the hybrid steamies turned on their makers. He might not be afraid of much—prided himself on it; truth be told, he feared Mason.
“Brendan?” He realized Ginny must have repeated his name more than once. “Are you all right?”
He looked at her blankly. “Sure, save I can’t seem to spy a fecking cab.”
“Listen to me.” Her beautiful dark eyes engaged and held his. “You’re just going to this place, asking questions. They might not let you see the madman.”
He tried to speak; no words came.
Ginny clutched his good arm. “I can imagine how this must feel—how awful that night must have been.”
“I didn’t think I’d ever have to face him again. Assess him, Addelforce said.”
“He’s still safely locked away.”
“Until they decide it’s a good idea to let him out to rebuild his own hybrid automaton. I’ll have to see him then, won’t I?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Still, if he can save Pat…”
“Aye.” There was that. Pat Kelly could be lost, one of the best men—human or automaton—Brendan knew. He drew a breath. “You’re right. But no doubt Mason’s so far gone he won’t be able to help.”
What
then, eh?
The paper in his hand, signed by the mayor, was an official request to the administrator of the Forest Avenue asylum. Brendan had no choice but to deliver it.
“Thank God.” A cab approached at last—a shabby dark vehicle drawn by an aged horse. Brendan flagged it down. “Thank you for your words of support, Ginny, but I’ll not take you to that place. We’ll go by your house on the way and drop you there.”
“I’m going with you,” she told him as she climbed into the malodorous interior of the cab. “And that’s an end to it.”
****
Mr. Richardson’s grand building on Forest Avenue possessed an imposing profile and a grim aspect even though as a facility it was lauded as modern and state of the art. Brendan didn’t pass it often; when he did it never failed to send a chill up his spine.
Now, with all his Irish blood up, he wondered if that had been because he’d sensed Mason’s presence all the while. As they climbed from the cab and stood on the curb looking at the place, he swore he could feel the monster’s malevolence.
Built in the Romanesque style, the asylum offered the latest in care and comfort to those housed inside. Dr. Thomas Story Kirkbride, a pioneer in the field of mental health, had commissioned Richardson to build the facility and intended it as a great improvement over the many nightmarish hospitals and virtual prisons that dotted the city. Some folks, as Brendan well knew, kept afflicted family members in their attics, shut away from the world. He assured himself this must be better.
“My goodness,” said Ginny. “What an impressive place.”
“Aye.”
She threaded her fingers through his. “Come.”
Brendan stood rooted where he was.
“That night…that awful night…I was sure Mason was dead. The hybrids were so violent; there was so much blood. I only found out later they both survived—him and Charles. I hoped I’d never see him again.”
“This place looks very secure. He’ll not get out on his own.”
“I’m not worried about him getting out on his own.”
Inside, the facility proved well kept. They found Robert Dunner’s office on the ground floor, and the man came forward immediately to greet them. Of mature years, with silvered hair and wearing an expensive-looking pince-nez, he invited them to sit down before perusing the mayor’s communiqué with great attention.
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