by Beth Ciotta
Being likened to a half-wit chafed, but Simon recognized the good intention behind the cocky slur. Relax and show trust in your wife’s abilities. Simon tried but to no avail. He’d allow Willie ten more minutes and then he was busting in. “Tell me about Dr. Caro.”
“What about her?”
“Jules’s lover?”
“For a time.”
“Your lover?”
“No. Although I was tempted.”
Intrigued, Simon raised a brow.
“When Jules backed off from the affair, Bella turned to me. For a cool and aloof woman, she’s extremely . . . passionate. I almost succumbed to her wiles, but then I realized she was only using me to make Jules jealous.”
“Did it work?”
Phin shook his head. “Jules cares about Bella, but he doesn’t love her. Although, damn her obsessed heart, she believes otherwise.”
“What led up to this?” Simon asked, an ancient and buried question flaring back to life. “Why was Jules declared a war hero? What did he do and why is he living a double life?”
Phin rolled back his shoulders, obviously relieved when the server returned with their heavily spiked coffee. Simon could smell the whiskey fumes even before raising the cup to his lips.
“Not within my power to reveal details pertaining to the mission that led to Jules’s injuries nor his affiliation with the Mechanics,” Phin replied. “However, I will say this. A lesser man would not have survived or fought as fiercely as he did to live. The only time his spirits flagged dismally was after the reconstructive surgery.”
Simon and his family had been barred from visiting Jules for several weeks. The extent of his injuries too severe, they’d been told. The risk of infection via outside sources too great. Early on they’d seen Jules only through a window and at a distance and only from the chest up. Their visitation rights during rehabilitation had been rigidly restricted as well, but part of that had been due to Jules’s determination to push through the ordeal in private. It had been a trying time for the Darcys. Most especially for Simon, who’d felt literally severed from his twin. Respecting Jules’s privacy had proved one of Simon’s greatest challenges in life. Knowing Jules had chosen a friend as a confidant over his own brother stung Simon to the core. But he didn’t blame Phin. “What can you tell me of the reconstruction?”
“Bella . . . Dr. Caro exacted drastic measures to save Jules’s life and, as it were, to make him whole again. After spearheading a mind-boggling surgical procedure, Bella pushed forth therapeutic measures. She made it her personal mission to convince Jules that although he was not wholly normal, he was fully functioning by normal standards.”
“Are you saying he feared he’d lost the ability to make love to a woman?”
“More like he’d lost the desire. He felt like a monster.”
“I don’t understand.”
Phin downed the rest of his whiskey-laden coffee, then leaned forward, gaze intent. “For the most part, Simon, Jules’s legs are not his own.”
Simon struggled with the sickening revelation. What the devil would it feel like to lose part of oneself? No wonder Jules had been adamant about his privacy. Simon would have reacted in the same exact fashion. Yet the man did in fact have legs. Or rather some extraordinary facsimile. “Artificial limbs?”
“Highly advanced prosthetics.”
Simon thought about his Thera-Steam-Atic Brace. Although the device wasn’t highly advanced, it had proved astoundingly advantageous in Willie’s efforts to regain strength and mobility in her arm. Simon wished he would have been the one to devise prosthetics for his brother, to enable Jules to walk again. Although he acknowledged that his engineering skills were not as honed then as they were now. And, no matter how advanced his creation, it would not compare with prosthetic limbs as engineered by someone with superhuman intelligence. “Bionics,” he said, repeating the word Phin had mentioned before, a term that meant nothing to Simon.
“I don’t profess to understand it,” Phin said. “I don’t think anyone does. Or can. Aside from Bella. And, much to the disappointment of the Mechanics, she has yet been able to duplicate the process.”
“So Jules is one of a kind.”
“And extremely valuable to the agency. I find it hard to believe they’d send him on a mission they didn’t believe he could return from.”
“Why are you telling me this, Phin? Why now?”
“Because Jules has doubts regarding his return, and if the subject regarding his surgery came up, he wanted you to know. At least as much as I know. Which is, quite frankly, only basics.”
Simon dragged a hand down his face. “Swear to God this is like something out of one of Jules’s science fiction novels. Damned hard to believe. I assume these bionic prosthetics are what make Jules so invaluable to the agency.” He frowned. “Yet he walks with a limp.”
“A glitch Bella has yet to modify. A glitch that disappears when the prosthetics are fully engaged.”
Simon wondered if he could vanquish that glitch. He’d die for a chance to try. Senses buzzing, he leaned forward and lowered his voice even more. “How does bionics enhance Jules’s worth, Phin? What is he capable of?”
“Superhuman speed. Brace yourself, brainiac. He can move from here to there so fast, it renders him invisible.”
Hence Jules’s ability to disappear before Simon’s very eyes. “Bloody hell.”
CHAPTER 30
By the time Ollie Rollins, former Houdinian, former Mod Tracker, current rueful traitor, slipped out the back door, leaving Willie alone in his Shoppe of Curiosities, her brain was overloaded and reeling. She’d committed everything the frazzled Peace Rebel had said to memory. Her memory. She intended to share everything she’d learned from Rollins, aka Thimblethumper, with Simon and Phin.
All but the existence and purpose of the memory disk.
Willie still could not fathom how detailed scientific data had been transferred to the black square in her purse. What she did understand was that one needed a specific kind of computer to read the stored memories, and such a complex machine, capable of processing arithmetic and logic operations and comparable to those of the mid-twentieth century, had yet to be devised. That said, a breakthrough was imminent. The scientific community had been dabbling with the technology as inspired by the brilliant Vic Charles Babbage and influenced by a corrupt few Mods for several years. Were it not for the oppressive restrictions and nonexistent funding of key Old Worlders, advanced computers could well be a wonder of now instead of the future.
As it stood, according to Rollins, the memory disk was like a cylinder or record disc without a Graphophone—useless. He had also emphasized the possibility that the disk had corroded and thereby been corrupted by time and elements, making the information unreadable. Quite possibly, most possibly, the plastic square within her possession was defective. However, there was a slight chance, an off chance, a small percent chance, that the memory disk was in perfect order—even after thirty-one years.
Willie preferred the former scenario. She preferred to believe the disk within her possession was faulty because her intention was to present this artifact to Strangelove as the technological historical invention of significance. The Aquarian Cosmology Compendium was legendary and, according to rumor, existed, whereas the clockwork propulsion engine had been destroyed. Supposedly. But of course Strangelove would be pleased to possess the ACC, which contained a gold mine of information regarding the construction of technological wonders. She could well imagine that arrogant and ruthless man having delusions of grandeur, imagining himself as some sort of technological lord of the universe. Oh, aye, the memory disk was indeed her ticket to freedom. As soon as she met Strangelove’s demand, she would be out from under his thumb. Her family would be safe and she could sort out her new life with Simon.
Simon.
As a brilliant engineer, surely he would be most keen on studying the legendary compendium. Without a doubt he would resent Willie for robbing him of th
e chance. She quelled her bucking conscience by reminding herself that there was no way to access that data. Simon wasn’t missing out and Strangelove would not benefit.
On the wild chance Strangelove did procure access to a futuristic computer at some point, and if by a long shot the memory disk was functional, chances were still one in three that the data compiled and entered regarding studies on Briscoe Darcy’s time machine were not stored on this particular disk, but on one of the other two volumes. Worst-case scenario, she thought as she left the shop, Strangelove would access information that would enable him to build a rocket ship, thereby shooting him to the moon or beyond. That did not seem a bad thing.
“I hope the information you gleaned was worth the several heart attacks I suffered whilst you were lollygagging with Thimblethumper,” Simon said, sweeping in beside Willie as she walked briskly to the corner.
“Leave off, Darcy,” Phin said good-naturedly as he took up pace along her opposite side. “Can’t you see she’s bursting with news?”
“Of course I have news,” Willie said as they hurried toward the station for the underground that would take them to Simon’s town house. “I am the Clockwork Canary.”
She wasn’t sure why she’d felt compelled to tout her famous moniker. Perhaps because Simon’s admonishment rubbed her the wrong way. Lollygagging, her arse. She’d been working.
Simon started to say something, then thought better of it.
“Right, then,” Phin said. “A subject best discussed behind closed doors.”
Securing seats on the underground transit, they fell into a charged silence and Willie pondered Simon’s sour mood. No, not sour. Anxious. Restless. Intense. Deep down she understood that he’d been worried about her, but Willie couldn’t abide someone breathing down her neck, questioning her judgment. She’d been operating on her own for years. She was smart. She was savvy. And, damnation, she was skilled. True, time-tracing gave her an advantage and, aye, an unfair edge, but regardless, she was quite good at procuring sensitive information utilizing her brain and wit.
By the time they reached Covent Garden, Willie had worked herself up to a frightful huff. Part of her wanted to blast Simon and his possessive tendencies, whilst the other part itched to share a goodly portion of what she’d learned from Thimblethumper. She was still debating her choices when Simon prodded her over the threshold of his home, blast him.
Fletcher took their coats and announced a forthcoming evening meal. Simon begged Phin’s pardon, then whisked Willie upstairs and into the library. “Too long.”
“What?”
“The suspense. The waiting. You took too bloody long with Thimblethumper. Don’t do that to me again, Willie.”
“I cannot promise.”
He backed her against the wall displaying the ancient wonders of Egypt, China, and Rome. “Is this what I have to look forward to?” he asked. “Standing by whilst you indulge in your unique interviews? Worrying that you might get distracted, that you might interact and somehow lose yourself in another person’s mind?”
“In all the years I have been time-tracing, in all the thousands of instances,” Willie said, “only once was I distracted and that was by my mother. I know what I’m doing, Simon.”
“Maybe now. But what about two years from now? Ten years from now? You said it yourself. A Freak’s supernatural gift strengthens and intensifies with age. Your ability to time-trace could spiral out of control.”
“And you could contract some hideous disease. That is what you said.” Fists clenched at her side, chest heaving, she gave her obnoxiously controlling husband what-for. “How dare you manipulate me into marriage with sweet words of support and understanding regarding my gift only to snatch them back days later!”
Hands braced on the wall on either side of her head, Simon leaned in, eyes sparking. “I did not manipulate you.”
“I beg to differ.” She ignored the sensual ache coiling in her stomach. Being stimulated by his intimidating manner was beyond perverse. Disgusted with herself, she rallied. “You discombobulated me beyond measure, Simon Darcy. Turned my head with sensual kisses, seduced my soul by pretending you accepted me for who I am.”
“I do accept you, dammit.”
“Yet you’re asking me to ignore a vital part of who I am. I am a Time Tracer. You knew this when you married me. Not that the marriage is binding.”
“One tiff and you’re ready to forsake our vows?”
“I’m not forsaking anything,” she said as her heart cracked. “I am merely pointing out the disgusting reality of our circumstance.”
“Do tell.”
“I am a Freak and you are a Vic and an official union is forbidden.”
“Yes, well. Some of us color outside the lines.”
“Meaning?”
“I am not willing to live my life as ordered by someone else. Are you?”
“No. No, I am not. That is why I am telling you to bugger off.” Before he could respond, Willie ducked under Simon’s arm and out the door. Never could she recall being this angry, this hurt. Except for that day twelve years past when she thought Simon had jilted her. She resented the power he had over her. The way he could make her feel. The things he could make her do.
She’d been confident attacking life as a male Vic. Simon had tempted her to embrace her true gender and race. She’d fallen for his utopian views. She’d put him on a pedestal above all other Vics. Her heart had proclaimed Simon Darcy different, but her heart had been blinded by love. Aye, love. There was no skirting her situation. She loved Simon Darcy. She was in love with Simon Darcy. Blast and damnation, she had always and always would love Simon Thomas Darcy.
But that didn’t mean she had to like him.
The infuriating sod caught up to her before she descended the stairs. He touched her arm. “Willie. Wilhelmina,” he amended in a gentler tone.
“Phin is waiting,” she said without turning. Just now she wanted nothing more than to distance herself from Simon and the emotions ravaging her soul. Between the enlightening discussion with Ollie Rollins and the volatile confrontation with her husband, her mind and heart were spectacularly overtaxed.
“Whatever you learned from Thimblethumper, is there anything to be done about it today?”
“No,” she said, spine stiff. “Still—”
“Phin!” Holding Willie steady, Simon glanced to the bottom of the stairs, casting his friend a meaningful look when he appeared at the landing. “We’ll be picking up on this tomorrow.”
“Right, then,” Phin said with a nod. “I’ll be on my way as soon as I wrangle my coat from Fletcher. On the morrow, then.” The man flashed Willie a sympathetic smile, then disappeared around the corner.
Willie whirled on Simon, eyes narrowed.
“Before you accuse me of being rude,” he said, “let me assure you Phin understood. We need to be alone, Willie. We need to work through our differences instead of walking away or counting on Phin to act as a buffer.”
Another reproach? Her temper sizzled and snapped. “Had you not attacked me the moment I emerged from Thimblethumper’s—”
“I apologize. I did indeed initiate this argument, albeit unwittingly.”
Frowning, she shook her head. “Why . . .” She looked over her shoulder just as Fletcher let Phin out the door.
The caretaker cast a disapproving glance Simon’s way, prompting Simon to hustle Willie back into the library. “The longer you kept me waiting at McSteam’s,” he said in a measured tone, “the longer I had to envision a time-tracing venture gone wrong. Not just with Thimblethumper, but with future transmitters. My imagination got the best of me, as did my frustration. When you emerged from the shop unscathed . . .” He closed the door behind them, visibly tempering his emotions. “I cannot explain the fathom of my relief.”
“Yet you admonished me! In front of Phin, no less!” Willie paced, hoping to walk off her animosity. Indeed, she felt like a walking powder keg with a short lit fuse. “Then once home—�
�
“I know. Apparently love has a way of skewing one’s senses.”
Willie stopped in her tracks. She slowly turned to face the man who consistently charmed her with amorous words and kind gestures, only to disappoint on a whim.
He held her gaze, looking somewhat tortured yet sincere. “I love you, Wilhelmina. I fell in love with you twelve years ago and that love never died. Nothing can crush it. Not even, as you say, our disgusting circumstance.”
Heart pounding, she balled her fists at her sides. How she’d longed to hear a declaration such as this, but just now the sentiment rang false. “Sugar words to dilute the bitter tiff? Your timing is appalling bad, Simon.”
“It is,” he conceded, “the bane of my existence. Nevertheless . . .”
Willie ached to stalk past her husband and out of the room. Or to back away and to pace to the window. But her traitorous body stood its ground as Simon closed the distance and took her into his arms. Her smitten heart skipped as she melted under his touch and rested her cheek against his chest. “I’m still angry,” she said in a weary voice.
“I’m still wrestling with volatile opinions regarding our future.”
“I cannot repress my gift.”
“I cannot help but worry.”
“I will not sever my ties with the Freak Fighters, nor ease off our fight for equality.”
“Again, I cannot help but worry.”
“I will not bend to your every demand.”
“I only ask that you bend now and then to my concerns.” He gently gripped her chin and bade her attention. His expressive gaze locked with hers and her knees fairly buckled under the intensity of his regard. “I am and have always been a spontaneous sort, ofttimes speaking without thinking. As Fletcher pointed out, I am not easy to live with, Willie. Then again, neither are you.”
Her damnable heart fluttered. “Are you suggesting a compromise?”
“I’m asking that you trust my good intentions.”
His heartfelt request summoned a twinge of guilt and obliterated the last of her ire. Initially she had succumbed to Strangelove’s threats in order to protect loved ones, and now she schemed to pay off that wretched man with the legendary compendium in order to protect loved ones. She schemed behind Simon’s back in order to procure the clockwork propulsion engine, to protect mankind, and to champion Simon, his family, and her father.