Anderson followed Gentry as he went by Tony, down the hall to the front entrance. Kane followed, Tabitha close behind him. The man opened the doors, and Kane instinctively squinted, anticipating the bright daylight that should’ve flooded in instead of the shade caused by the gunship that hovered above the Battery. Special Forces troops stood by, guarding the entrance as Revolutionaries stood back, blunderbusses aimed. The Union troops shouted at them through their masks to stand down. Nine troops stood in a row, each with rifles aimed at the heads of nine men on their knees. Kane recognized some of them from Market St where they’d stopped earlier. A crowd of people stood in the street, some weeping, others trying to shield their children behind them. A few of the children cried for their father, uncle, or Grandpa.
“You are outmanned and outgunned, Mr. Shepherd,” Gentry said over the low hum of the ship turbines out over the water. He held up his fist in front of Kane’s face and opened it. The amulet was black iron, the amber in the middle held by what looked like talons, the gears inside spinning. He’d activated it. When?
“Nice, but I don’t need mine.”
“Yes, that is an interesting development,” said Gentry. “But the difference is that my magic is stable. Yours has been spotty at best. Don’t think that went unnoticed in New Chicago. But I’ll not use my magic today. I don’t like parlor tricks.” He wiped his thumb across the amber surface, and the gears stopped instantly. He lowered his hand and smiled at Kane. “Still, I would be remiss in my duty to leave without a warning.” He turned and waved at the soldiers in the street.
The gunfire mixed with Tabitha’s scream as nine men fell, the exit wounds taking most of their faces. Anderson yelled to her men to hold their fire. No retaliation. Smart. Kane couldn’t turn away from the scene, blood running between the cobblestones, brain matter and bits of skull on the ground around the nine dead men.
Gentry whispered in his ear.
“I’m not done with you, Kane Shepherd. You will fall in line. I would hate to see Miss Drake and yourself suffer the same fate.”
Chapter Six
Tabitha was still shaking in Kane’s arms when Wilson reported in that the recon team was ready.
Gentry and his troops departed an hour ago, leaving nine dead men in the street in front of Anderson’s home. Tony and the rest organized a cleanup while Kane took Tabitha back inside and out the back door to a large garden to calm her down. She’d flown into hysterics, crying and screaming in Icelandic. Kane’s stomach tied in knots in fear that she was trying to cast before Gentry could leave, lash out and cause a needless firefight that would be the end of everyone standing on the Battery.
Or that she was breaking down like she had when they’d locked her up back in New Chicago.
It’d been different with Jones. With Marta. Kane and Tabitha were in the middle of fighting for their lives. Everything had been so sudden, so quick. There wasn’t time to mourn for him until after The Jezebel blew through the Special Forces ships that’d tried to stop them from escaping New Chicago.
He hadn’t been executed in broad daylight in front of a crowd. In front of children.
The garden was shaded, the humidity dense but the air cool from the trees that grew back there, tall and lush, long bundles of moss hanging off and moving in the gentle breeze. Wisteria grew up the walls of the house, and blanketed planters around the walkway that led to the stone bench where Kane sat next to Tabitha. He could hear birds in the trees, the call of a pelican that roosted above and near the house.
Nine. Nine dead. Just like that.
Son of a bitch.
Tabitha bent forward, resting her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands. Kane gently rubbed her back as he leaned down, keeping his voice low.
“Hey. It’s over. They’re gone.”
Tabitha sniffed loudly, uncovered her face, and stared at the ground.
“Gods,” she whispered. “That man…”
“Yeah,” Kane said, sitting up and looking away. Even thinking about Gentry made Kane seethe with hatred. “I imagine we weren’t all that hard to find. Those gunnery ships are fast enough to pull up and have cannons aimed before anyone knows what hit them. It’s probably how they flew in and got to us before the Revolution could mount a counter-offensive.” Kane also figured Gentry had ordered them to stand down and hover just so a firefight would cause more damage to the Revolution than good.
Tabitha sat up, shaking her head as she looked at Kane, her voice almost a whisper.
“They don’t stand a chance, Kane. We don’t stand a chance.”
Kane watched her eyes, wondered if it was a blessing or a curse that they didn’t fog over to complete white. No foresight.
Just fear.
He forced a smile and nudged her shoulder.
“C’mon,” he said. “Hopelessness doesn’t look good on you.” She raised an eyebrow. He shrugged.
Go for it, Kane. Jump down the rabbit hole.
“Red, on the other hand, looks great.”
She laughed, used her hand to wipe the tears away. He had to bring her up. Not just for her sake. He let the admission roll around in his head, let it roost in his mind and in his chest.
The admission that it hurt him to see her in pain.
The sound of Anderson clearing her throat broke the serenity of the garden. Kane turned and saw the General step out from the house and walk toward them.
“The recon team is ready,” she said. “Farnsworth is leading. Wilson, a few others. You’ll leave this evening to go after your books.”
“This evening?” Kane stood. “Why not sooner?”
Anderson shook her head.
“No way. We travel at night. Ground only. By horse. Makes us harder to track. Do you know how to ride?”
* * *
“Horsey!”
Tabitha ran ahead of Kane and Anderson as Farnsworth and Wilson led three horses out of the stables. All three were healthy-looking animals, their coats shiny and sleek. Farnsworth handed the reins to the large black Holsteiner to Tabitha as she cooed at the beast and kissed his nose.
The captain shook his head and laughed.
“She’s spirited, good sir,” he said to Kane. “Kind, that one. Horses appreciate kindness.”
“Yeah,” Kane said, watching as the large black horse lowered his head and rubbed it up Tabitha’s front, almost lifting her off her feet as she laughed.
The sun began to set, the sky orange with long purplish clouds streaking across. The cicadas were loud around the base, the noise enough to make it hard to hear unless Kane stretched out his hearing slightly when someone spoke. The humidity and heat had subsided a little, making the air less heavy than before. Kane could smell the marsh more strongly, the smell sweeter than the mornings tended to yield, and the breeze had left with the setting sun, leaving the air still and calm.
“That one will be yours, Mr. Shepherd,” said Farnsworth. “Name’s Malachi. Remember that, Mr. Shepherd. These beasts know their names.”
Wilson piped in.
“In short, if you call him anything other than Malachi, he’ll ignore you, sir.”
Kane nodded and looked at Anderson. She regarded him, narrowed her eyes. He couldn’t say he blamed her. Gentry had come South because of him. Nine men were executed because the bastard felt the need to drive home a point.
And the blood was on Kane’s hands.
“Farnsworth takes point,” Anderson said. “His command. You do as he says, when he says. The only reason I’m even going along with this.”
Kane eyed her.
“You want us to help you because we’re Magicians,” he said. “The only way we can do that is if we have our Grimoires. No Grimoire, no magic.”
She glared at him, not moving her gaze away as she spoke to Farnsworth.
“Anything happens, you call it. Any sign of those Hunters, even a peep that might be Special Forces. Anything. Are we understood, Farnsworth?”
“Aye, General. Understood.”
> Anderson moved her face close to Kane’s, spoke in a low voice.
“Nine men died today because some rich-assed bureaucrat is obsessed with you. Don’t forget that.”
She spun on her heel and walked away, her fists clenched by her sides. Kane sighed. Life was just getting so much easier.
Something still nagged at Kane. Gentry hadn’t just tracked them to Charleston. He’d come right to the damned front door. He’d known exactly where to find them. And he’d been adamant that they stay alive, exiled to Charleston.
Trapped exactly where he could get to them.
Tabitha stepped up to him, smiling.
“Where’s my horse?”
Kane looked at her.
“I need you to stay here.”
Tabitha’s smile was gone instantly.
“Kane, are we really going to do this again?” She crossed her arms in front of her in a huff. “I’m not some delicate little–”
“I know that, Tabitha,” Kane snapped, cutting her off. He put his hand on her arm gently and turned her so their backs were to Farnsworth and Wilson as the two were adjusting the saddles on the horses. “It’s not because it’s dangerous. I need you here.”
She glanced over her shoulder, then back at him.
“Why?”
“I need you to be my eyes and ears while I’m gone. Keep an eye on things. Gentry shouldn’t have known that we got to Charleston. Hell, he shouldn’t even be here, coordinated effort be damned. And then he gets the perfect opportunity to blow us all to hell. We should be dead, and we’re not. Something’s not right.”
Her eyes widened as he spoke.
“I never thought about that,” she breathed. She patted his shoulder, nodding like a police chief congratulating a talented rookie. Her tone went all business. “Good eye, there Kane. “
Here we go, Kane thought.
“Tabitha, I need you to not be obvious.”
“Right.” She lowered her hand, her tone still stern and authoritative. “Got it. I’ll watch things here. You report back as soon as you can. We’ll assess the situation from there.”
Kane rubbed his face.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Tabitha, obvious.”
She was on him in an instant, her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him to her, her lips pressed against his in a passionate kiss. He reacted before thinking, returning the kiss and the embrace, his heart fluttering. She pulled away only slightly, her lips touching his as she spoke. His throat ached slightly, his chest tight. He longed for the kiss to last longer. Wanted her.
“Come back to me,” she said, her voice a whisper, her tone urgent. “Promise.”
“I promise,” he said as he opened his eyes.
Her eyes were open.
And solid white.
* * *
Tabitha’s eyes had gone back to normal as soon as he’d seen them, the white only there for a second. He’d asked her what she’d seen, but she refused to say anything about it.
“I honestly don’t remember, Kane. I’d tell you, otherwise.” She’d fidgeted with her hair, looking away as she spoke.
Tabitha Drake was a terrible liar.
Kane was about to press her when Farnsworth called for him. Told him it was now or never. It stayed on his mind, whirled around with the rest of his thoughts on what had happened in the last few days. It was like a tornado in his head.
All of his senses were on high alert as he rode Malachi down the path in the dark woods, following behind Wilson and Farnsworth as they went. The beast moved beneath him effortlessly, each step part of his march, his huge gait oddly smooth, the horse’s head low and relaxed. The moon was almost full, bright enough to give them plenty of light to go by, the air crisp and cooler than earlier, but still too warm for Kane’s liking.
Had Tabitha seen a Special Forces attack? They weren’t exactly quiet. Their armor squeaked, and their blunderbusses made noise when they were drawn from their back holsters and readied to fire. Kane let his hearing out as far as it could go without him having to stop and concentrate. Cicadas, birds, brush moving as small furry creatures scrambled around looking for food and likely hoping to not cross a snake.
No soldiers. Yet.
There was still the curiosity of his amulet in the back of his mind. He reached down into his pocket and pulled out the relic, looking it over. He hadn’t looked at it since before the ambush the other day. The amber was cracked, the gears inside melted together. It was done. By all rights, he and Tabitha should’ve been defenseless, their passive abilities, hearing and foresight, the only abilities still working. It seemed like they weren’t far from it, though Tabitha was getting more adept at casting without it than he was.
Kane reined his hearing in just as Farnsworth called back to him.
“We’re nearing it, Mr. Shepherd!”
Mere minutes passed by before the woods parted into a clearing that was anything but clear, the brush and trees flattened and burned in areas by the twisted iron and metal, broken glass, and shattered scraps of hull that littered the land.
The Middleton was truly dead.
Kane walked Malachi forward, the horse carefully stepping over scraps of broken wood and wreckage as Kane searched the area with his eyes. The front end of the airship was gone, scraped away from where it had hit the ground and scored a trench in the earth, clearing forestry as it went. He looked ahead at the direction the ship had flown in, the trees parted and the dirt scorched. The impact had destabilized the structure, and the Middleton collapsed in on itself. One of the turbines was gone, and Kane saw the surface of it peering over the brush it’d cleared when it flew free from the airship. He steered the horse around to the massive hole in the side where something had punctured the ship, either the cannonball that took her down or the trees she’d flown by as she came to her violent and terrible end.
“We didn’t think we’d all survive,” Farnsworth said, his voice somber. “We had no illusions of that. Some of the men perished.” He coughed. “Never an easy thing, a captain’s duty. I’ve written to every family who lives outside of Charleston. Made a few house visits, otherwise. I’ll have to have the Ponies deliver the letters once things calm down here.”
Kane looked at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s my fault.”
Farnsworth shook his head.
“No, Mr. Shepherd. You did what you could to save us. Because of you, the Revolution can continue. Those men did not die in vain.”
And yet, William Gentry had found them. No problem.
Kane looked back to the wreckage. The hole where the cannonball struck the ship was near a stairwell, the debris clear enough for someone to go in. He dismounted as Wilson pulled his horse up next to him. He handed the reins to the kid and walked toward the hole. The smell of burning wood and scorched metal was stronger as he approached. He peered inside, looked up the steps. The door at the top was open, the path clear.
He turned to Farnsworth and Wilson.
“Looks like a way in.”
“We’ll stay here,” said Farnsworth as he pulled a pocket watch from his vest pocket. “I’ll give you ten minutes, Mr. Shepherd. No more than that. We leave in ten, books be damned. Be Hell to pay if I have to come in there after you.”
Kane nodded, the stepped into the ship and made his way up the stairs. The steel held his weight, and he made it to the doorway with no problem. The door was off the hinges and on the deck, bent in on itself, a cannon ball wedged into the metal. He stepped over it and moved deeper into the ship. The dark was becoming more absolute. He hadn’t brought a lantern with him. Shit. He stood still, closed his eyes.
Slow your thoughts down, he said to himself in his head. Relax, Shepherd. Focus. Too many thoughts. Gentry finding them. Threatening them. Not killing them when he had the perfect opportunity. The Special Forces. Wilhelmina. What were her intentions? The Hunters. Were they around?
Tabitha.
Come back to me. Promise.
�
��Aspectu aethereo.”
The ship thrummed around him, the energy vibrating in his chest, moving up his throat, into his head, behind his eyes. He opened them, the dark seeming to flee as his vision cleared. Everything around him glowed a bluish hue. He focused ahead, saw the corridor ahead of him. Each door was open, but only one glowed.
His sight…what was happening? He’d used it in the dark before, but it never glowed blue. He could see, but it was always a monochrome color like a photograph. Not blue. And things only glowed when he concentrated on one point.
He moved toward the door, stepping over debris as he went, scraps of metal and wood. The ship interior was stifling, the air flow nonexistent. The day had been hot, and the wreck kept some of the heat trapped. He was drenched in sweat before he ever made it to the glowing cabin door.
His cabin.
The door was shut. He tried the handle, found it jammed. The hinges were loose. He pushed against the hinge side and the wooden door swung open before it came loose from the latched side and fell to the floor.
The inside was trashed, the two wall-mounted cots half down, the corners hanging by a bolt, the bedclothes dumped to the floor. He searched the room with his eyes.
His Stetson was on the hook where he’d kept it when he was sleeping.
He hadn’t put it there.
He plucked the hat off the hook and put it on before looking around. He wasn’t alone. He could feel it. Damn. Scavengers, likely.
The cots began to glow in front of him. He held his hands out, breathed out slowly as he closed his eyes.
“C’mon,” he whispered. “C’mon.”
He heard the sound of cloth ripping as magic thrummed out from him. He felt the weight in each hand as the books came to him. He opened his eyes, looked down and saw each tome, the covers unmarked.
The Grimoires.
A voice rasped from the dark.
“You found your books. Good little piggy.”
Shit!
Gaslit Armageddon (Clockworks of War Book 2) Page 7