A Clockwork Christmas

A Clockwork Christmas by Nina S. Gooden Atlantic Bridge www.atlanticbridge.net Copyright ©2011 by Nina S. Gooden Firs...

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A Clockwork Christmas by Nina S. Gooden

Atlantic Bridge www.atlanticbridge.net

Copyright ©2011 by Nina S. Gooden First published in 2011 NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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CONTENTS Blurb Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter

One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine ****

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Published by Liquid Silver Books, Imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana. Copyright 2008, Mara Lee. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the authors. This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

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Blurb Olyve Blackwell is done playing by the rules. With rumors of sorcery and danger shrouding her family, not even the whispers of Revolution can distract from her unwedable status. So, when a desperate woman hands her a questionable item and begs for her help, she decides to shatter the chains of propriety. Armed with the supernatural gift of psychometry, she delves into a life of sleuthing. With Christmas on the way, she buries herself in a kidnapping case with deep roots in the ton. Her efforts to escape the loneliest holiday of the year bring her head to head with a mysterious stranger who may just be her most treacherous enemy...or the answer to her heart's deepest desires. When the call of her Intuition screams his name, Olyve will have to decide whether or not she will trust James Reeves. With betrayal lurking at every corner, one slip could destroy her and unleash the deadly potential hidden within. Dedication To my Auntie Dee, a woman whose strength and perseverance keeps me believing in true magic. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter One A thick, sooty cloud of used steam slammed into Olyve the moment she stepped into the lively store. Miniature airships puffed along while brass clocks with exposed gears ticked pleasantly on the walls. A toy bear scuttled across the floor, mechanical parts whirling as it moved with halting artificial life. Just behind her, a latch clicked on the closing door, sending a tiny spring-loaded hammer toward an awaiting gong. The resulting tone bellowed her presence over the noise of the workshop. "Coming, coming." The voice that called from the back sounded strangely muffled. A heavy curtain slid to the side and Olyve forced herself to bite back a giggle. The shopkeeper was an ox of a man, lending to the common knowledge that he had spent some years working as a laborer in the Third Quarter. He had to bend down to cross from one room to the other. The loose vision-enhancing goggles on his head hit the doorframe with a delicate ping, calling attention to his leather covered face. He pulled down the thin leather gasmask, which was little more than straps and cowhide with holes in the front to allow air to filter through. The added intimidation of the gear only made it that much funnier when he straightened. "Mr. Brett, I do believe that wife of yours is on to something." Olyve teased. The big man huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. Even the heavy muscle could not hide the purple and gold 6


stripes on his once loved leather apron. Splashes of obscene color stood out where only one expected only to see brown. "She's gonna be the death of me pride as a man, that one." Olyve made her way to the window display where a twirling parasol and model train teased each other in lazy circles. "What she's going to do is ensure that you and your family are as rich as the monarchy." The big man laughed. "You think the First Quarter is gonna put up with us simple folk over summin' as simple as dyed leathah'?" A little mirror with a brass case caught Olyve's eye. When she lifted it, the middle folded in and closed, covering precious glass with a case of brushed metal. "How clever," she purred, opening it once again. "Is this one of your tinkerings, then, Mr. Brett? I'd like to order at least two." The shopkeeper angled himself to see the object without moving any closer to the girl in his store. "You l ooike that, then? Nah, I can' take credit for that bit of genius. It's another of Cyril's." Olyve nodded her understanding. "The elusive and brilliant Cyril Reeves. One of these days I hope to meet him." "You and I both, Miz' Blackwell." The man cleared his throat softly. "'Course, I hadn't missed that you ain't answered my question." Olyve laughed again, the joyful sound filling the space in between the hiccups and whirls of the automatons on display. "You're as quick as always, Hershel. Most people I know would have continued the conversation, no worse for wear." 7


"That's because you waste your time with them Blue Bloods of the First Quarter. They don't have to do much by way of thinking, I know. You'd run circles around them, for certs." Olyve grinned, turning to face the man. "You forget that I am one of those Blue Bloods? I should take offense." "Pro'ly, but we both know you won't. You ain't like the others. You're a Blackwell." Olyve sighed, glancing back to the little mirror. Staring back at her from a heart shaped face framed by blonde curls—made little more than waves by the steam in the store—were the infamous Blackwell eyes. A startling winter blue, they marked her as different. She may be a member of the ton, but those eyes clearly said that she didn't belong. Not with the rampant rumors and promise of scandal. Rumors of magic and curses had swirled around her family for years. It didn't help that her father had blatantly fed the flames, refusing to settle down into a respectable role. Instead he'd run off to be an air pirate. Sometimes she had no idea why he'd chosen such a life. Others, she wished for the same freedom. "At any ways, you be a lady still. Don't you have one of them fancy companions with you today?" Jerking her face away from her solemn expression, Olyve narrowed her eyes. She watched Hershel Brett drag his gaze over her and knew what he saw. As an unwed woman, she was required to wear the full skirt of her position. The heavy material had been a blessing out in the cold, but now that she 8


stood in the warmth of the shop, she found herself annoyed by the height of fashion. Soft lavender chiffon made up the bulk of her day gown today. The layer of lace that draped at the bottom of the gown was a hamper, something that she slugged through mud, as well as the ash that seemed to fall from the polluted sky every other day. Tight sleeves hugged her slender arms, almost cutting the circulation from her hands. Hands that she kept covered above all else. Today she had opted for soft brown leather that matched the bodice wrapped around her midsection underneath her breasts. The added layer of material made it that much more difficult to breathe through the crushing hold of her corset, but was also required by law of society. She'd decided to top the painful outfit off with brown boots that went up to just below her knees. No one would ever know, thanks to the yards of material, but under it all she wore a scandalous pair of fishnet stockings, a purchase made in secret. Everything she wore, from the leather lacing at her back to the unsightly bonnet on the top of her head, marked her as an overage, untouched noblewoman. It dawned on her that Hershel still hadn't taken a single step beyond the backroom of the shop. "Oh, for Heaven's sake, Mr. Brett. I come here all of the time." "That you do. Still, my Nora ain't here right now and I'm not likely to get fingers for putting you in improper straits. Really, Miz, you should 'ave your chaperone with you." 9


The gong sounded when the door clapped shut again. Icy winter air swept through the room, ruffling the folds of Olyve's clothing. The material didn't stop the chill that skittered up her spine. "It's freezing out there, cousin. How long does a 'quick look' take?" The young woman ignored the question, turning to the shopkeeper. "There. I have a chaperone. You've met my cousin, right?" "Pleasure to see you again, Lord Whittock." The man finally moved forward, offering a tight smile. "Did you enjoy yer last shipment?" A shadow behind the lesser lord moved, revealing a muscular man with a pistol on his hip. Olyve blinked, rolling her eyes. "Really, Andrew. Did you have to drag Mr. Leeway out with us? I hardly think an armed guard is necessary to do a little Christmas shopping." Andrew, Lord Whittock, shrugged, glancing around the cluttered shop. "Have you got all of your things? We should be moving on now." A quick transaction later, Olyve and her cousin were again moving along the cobblestone walkways of London. The sky settled into a dusty burnt red, signaling the approaching sunset but she paid no attention, browsing through various windows. "You're awfully set on this little venture, Lyv girl. Why do you want to buy so many presents in the first place?" A soft gasp over a spinning top cast her breath over one of the displays, frosting the glass. She purchased it from a stone 10


faced woman before bothering to answer her cousin's question. "They're for the kids in the Third Quarter." A sharp tsk echoed off the low buildings that surrounded them, drawing her eyes. The people in the Second Quarter lived simple but prosperous lives, allowing for small luxuries if they did their chosen duties well. It was the place where many of the servants and craftsmen lived. "The children in the Third Quarter don't have even the most basic pleasures. Why not share a bit of cheer on Christmas?" Another tsk filled the air and Olyve dragged her attention to her cousin. He was a handsome man by all reports. Tall and slender with smooth, aristocratic features. His face was as soft and fine as her own, something that people commented on frequently. His blue eyes sparkled with a tinge of green. A shock of overlong blonde hair fell over his forehead as he narrowed his gaze on her. "You're going to get hurt handing out your alms, Olyve. You should have one of your help do it." "If I did that, it wouldn't be nearly as memorable, now would it?" For a moment it looked like Andrew would argue with her, but he knew the effort was pointless. He shrugged casually, "You should take more care, that is all I am saying. You have a reputation to worry about and your trips will only prove to further...tarnish your prospects." She didn't need the reminder. Olyve squared her shoulders and moved with sure steps, even while ignoring the various whispers that followed her. The aristocrats that passed her while she walked were little more than shadows with 11


whispering mouths. She knew well enough that her reputation was beyond saving. There would be no invitations or suitors calling on her anytime soon. Andrew sighed at the look she cast him. "Come now, Lyv. You were the talk of the Season during your introduction to society." "Yes, I was. But that was six years ago and before anyone realized who or rather what I am." He waved a careless hand in the air. "That doesn't have to mean anything. I am your cousin by blood, yet I've managed to be accepted. So can you, if you would only try." Olyve bit her tongue against her retort. Yes, Andrew was accepted, but only because he was such a distant relative, the aristocrats were willing to look the other way. It had only taken one look at her for the ton to realize she was unwedable. Her shocking blue eyes had decided that for her. "I don't care what they think, Andrew." She said it as much to herself as him. "They can go rot." Her cousin hissed softly, putting his hand on her elbow. "Keep your voice down. You're not doing yourself any favors, you know. If you would just act like other young women your age, you may just overcome your inherited scandal. Yet you don't even try to blend in." They turned off of the main path, preparing to cut through one of the few remaining parks on their way back to the manor. For several feet they had to pass through narrowed alleys. The blank spaces were blessedly clear of litter and filth so the smell wasn't as offensive as it could be, but the gaps in between the buildings could still hold cutthroats and beggars. 12


"Wait a moment, Olyve. Let Mr. Leeway go first. There have been a few disappearances as of late and it is better to be safe than sorry." "I doubt it's anything to be concerned with, cousin. The papers were all extremely confident that it's only a couple friends running off to elope or some such nonsense." "Yes, but it is still a message of caution. You never know what people are thinking in this day and age. You follow behind us." Olyve didn't point out that walking in such a fashion would leave her exposed while she brought up the rear flank. Instead, she sighed heavily and followed his instructions. The alley was merely a short jog long and only so narrow that her skirts would brush the walls in select points. "All right, let's get going." Andrew pushed forward, trailing closely after Mr. Leeway, who had his pistol drawn. They moved easily, breathing shallow breaths by habit. The latest elaborate heating systems grew ever popular. They kept the buildings well warmed, but on the other hand, they released a good deal of exhaust and heavy steam. Those pollutants smeared the walls and air with thickness, gathering in the nooks and crannies of the streets; which included alleys like this one. The three of them breathed in collective relief once the opening at the end of the dingy tunnel appeared. After the twists and turns of the small space, they were glad for the blast of semi-fresh air. "Almost there," Andrew turned his head to smile at her. 13


Olyve started violently, nearly tripping on the frivolous lace of her gown, when a hand shot out from one of the retreats of the alley. An incomplete set of blackened fingers wrapped around her wrist, spinning her around. "Don' shoot, mum." A weak, strained voice crackled in the air, pained and soft. The sound drudged through the air, weighed down by despair and tears. It broke Olyve's heart to hear it. "I'm sorry, Miss. I don't have any more money. If you'll wait just a moment, I'll have one of my companions give you a coin." Charity wasn't Andrew's favorite way to spend his money, but he would offer something in her name. "I don't need coin. I need give you something only. Yer one of those Blackwells, ain't ya?" At the mention of her family name, Olyve immediately slid the first barrier in her mind open. Her psyche sighed with release, a burst of ventilation after the pressure of holding its breath finally eased. Psychic fingers brushed over her skin leaving tracks of invisible water wherever it touched. The cooling sensation was at once refreshing and cleansing, it painted her body with a sense of well being. Safe. The intuitive impression of security took only a second to hit her, but it was long enough for Mr. Leeway to turn and raise his gun. The dirty woman squawked and shoved something into her hand before scrambling away, even as Olyve moved to protect her. "Mr. Leeway! Was that really necessary?" She snapped the question even as she slid her barrier back into place. 14


The armed man continued to scan their surroundings for several moments before he lowered the gun. Between them, Andrew made a displeased sound in his throat. The guard immediately bowed at the waist, his dark eyes still meeting Olyve's. "Forgive me, Miss Blackwell. Your safety and that of my lord is my first priority, always." The bodyguard rarely spoke and hardly ever met her eyes. Now Olyve knew why. The intensity she found there was unnerving. He remained bowed, one hand on his chest, the other settled over the gun that had found its way back to his hip. Still, his eyes were flat, dead. She sucked in a nervous breath and nodded. "Come now, Leeway, no need to dawdle. My cousin is no doubt assured of your sincerity." Andrew managed to sound bored as well as impatient. "The sun has nearly set and I would feel terribly guilty if we kept her out past a decent hour." After another thoughtful second, the man straightened and resumed his forward march. Olyve nearly stumbled in her first attempt to continue walking; her knees had turned into mush. Andrew muttered under his breath. "I'm sorry about that. He can be a little overeager at times, but that is exactly why I keep him around." She tried to laugh, squaring her shoulders as she moved. "I think he's doing an excellent job." Andrew leaned away, smiling as if he knew why she'd made a point to make the statement a little too loud. "At any rate, what did that woman want?" 15


"She said she wanted to give me something..." She stopped walking, opening her clenched palm for the first time since Mr. Leeway had shocked her. "This, probably." A hard, flat disk of polished wood gleamed in the orange light of sunset. The sky, so polluted with smog and dirt, reflected the dying rays, making everything they touched tinged with a hint of fire. In the center of the disk, a raised geometric symbol gleamed. Though the etchings were worn and scarred, it was a pretty piece of treasure. She flipped it in the air, watching expectantly when his arm instinctively reached out to catch it. Andrew made that soft little tsking noise that was quickly growing on Olyve's nerves. "You shouldn't accept trash from strangers, cousin. You don't know where it's been." He tilted his hand for a moment before shaking his head dismissively. "It's obviously worthless. Throw it away." He handed it back and she considered doing just that before discarding the idea. Whatever it was, the woman had gone through some trouble to get it to her. Well, to get it to a Blackwell. What if it was something important? Her curiosity wouldn't let her simply throw it out. "No, I think I'll keep it." Her cousin shrugged. "Suit yourself, but don't expect me to be a gracious victor if you end up with some terrible sickness." Olyve laughed, tucking the trinket between the leather tie at her waist and her gown. "As if you are ever a gracious winner, Andrew." It was well after sundown by the time Olyve got back to the manor. 16


"Hello, Miss Olyve." A familiar, chiding voice followed her across the foyer of her home. The blonde did her best not to wince as she offered her hat and bags to a waiting footman. "I see you're still up and about, Mrs. Jacobson. I trust my sister is well?" The look she got for her polite question could have melted glass. Mrs. Jacobson was a well built, no nonsense kind of woman. With thick black hair on her head as well as growing out of her top lip, she was a rattlesnake whom her father had found to "keep her in order." As if the man had any right to care about propriety with the example he left. "Your sister is doing just fine, Miss, no thanks to you. Were you planning to spend the entire night with that man or were you going to actually take part in the lessons you missed this afternoon?" Olyve tried to keep her voice level. "Well, seeing how the lessons were this afternoon and I've already missed them, I think it is safe to say that I had no intention of completing them." The woman let out a strangled noise. Olyve had no doubt that she was preparing a lengthily retort as to how young women of privilege should behave. Unfortunately, Olyve didn't care for reprimands, verbal or otherwise, and had no intention of sticking around for another one. "I'm going to my room. If you will have one of the chambermaids bring me my dinner I would greatly appreciate it. Goodnight, Mrs. Jacobson." 17


She escaped up the sprawling stairs, but not before the crone managed to work up a decent comeback. "Your sister has never given me any of the trouble you have. You are years older and yet you act like a child, perhaps you should take a lesson from Kate." Olyve didn't pause. Instead, she grinned over her shoulder. "I'm sure Kate is only waiting for a good chance to rebel. Perhaps you're not doing as much good for her as you think." "You're twenty and five years old, Miss Blackwell. If you don't take care you will end up on the shelf." "Well, then I hope you saved me a seat." The housekeeper wouldn't stoop to her level by snarling, but Olyve knew she wanted to. Kate was living out in the country now. The doctors thought she would do better with fresh air. Only the Blackwell family knew the truth about her mysterious illness, and even they didn't truly understand it. Kate wouldn't be able to venture back into London for several years. She had to figure out how to control her gift, just the same as the rest of them. Passing the walls of rich paintings and heavy tapestries, Olyve made her way to the west wing of the manor. He father had purchased the building just for her and Kate, but now the charming little home seemed more empty than anything. It was a sad shell of a place without friends or family. Safely within the walls of her own room, Olyve threw herself down on her bed. The very nature of the Blackwell Legacy ensured that they were a solitary people. Loneliness normally counteracted by a deep sense of family and 18


belonging, but for the first time in years, Olyve was on her own. Her brother was across seas. Her sisters (one of whom no one but her knew about) were coming into their own abilities and working through all the chaos that came with. She brought her knees to her chest, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. There was no one for her to talk to, not really. Andrew was a relative and well aware of her abilities, thanks to his own. Unfortunately, he was only half blood. As a descendant of her great-grandfather, he was not particularly strong. It didn't help that he completely refused to use his own gift. She was alone with her power. Desolate. Olyve rolled over, gasping when the wooden disk dug into her side. Freeing the ties at her back, she sat up. An easy motion sent cargo tumbling across her pillow. The wood was just as it was before, gleaming and polished, though now it had a familiar glow to it. She flinched a little, recognizing that the item had something to tell her. Rolling off the bed she carefully crossed the room and locked the door. Checking her windows, she made sure all of the latches were set and secure before pulling off her gloves. Almost immediately, the tips of her fingers began to sting with eager pressure. The nails that graced her slender digits bled with color, this time a deep purple. Olyve gasped, shaking her head. The glow around the wooden offering matched up with that of her nails, signaling a high power request. 19


The barriers around her mind shuddered, begging to be set free. Purple was a strong color, signaling that many barriers would have to fall for her to read everything that the object had to offer. Again, she shook her head, trying to calm the demand of her ability. The stinging heat swept higher than her fingertips, engulfing her entire hand slowly. She pushed it back when it traveled up her wrists, the same watery fingertips now spreading over her hands. "No. We're doing this my way." The barriers continued to tremble and the power fought against the shield she erected around her wrists. The struggle continued for fifty erratic heartbeats until the tips of her fingers slowly bled a soothing blue. Olyve let out the breath she'd been holding and took a step closer to the bed. Every time her foot landed on the ground, she relaxed a little more, watching the blue take over the purple. By time she was within reaching distance the item was humming with anticipation. Steeling herself, she let her fingers come to rest on the smooth wood. "Show me." A clap sounded in the space between her ears, a tsunami landing on a hard surface. Garbled, broken images flooded her mind: A woman knelt in filth, tears flowing down her face. The crack of a whip sounded, followed by an inhumane cry of pain. A brothel danced in her vision. It was all red paint and heavy curtains hiding moans of pain and savage pleasure. 20


The paint moistened and wept until it was blood running down tattered walls. A man traded coin for ripped, tortured flesh. Weeping assaulted her ears. Salt and human waste battled for the space of her nose. Olyve stood somewhere outside of the vision, knowing she was gagging, knowing that her free hand clawed at her throat. She desperately tried to rip the taste of smoke and stale alcohol from her mouth. The third barrier within her mind threatened to crumble. It wanted to push her deeper into the vision, deeper into the vortex of lust, pain, and madness. She struggled for control, centering her mind even as she held the barrier firmly. "This gate shall not fall. This gate shall not fall." The mantra echoed in the cavity of pain that lay between her ears, crowding out the answering cry of skin landing violently against skin. She slammed the second barrier into place, able to breathe a little clearer as the visions left, leaving only the voices. They spoke to her in hushed tones, telling her she wasn't safe. "...beware..." "...have to find..." The voices were too loud. They were so earnest that Olyve was only vaguely aware of the fact that her own mouth was moving. The words she said were lost to the broken sentences. "You mustn't trust..." "James Reeves." Just as violently as it all began, Olyve jerked free. She slammed backward and away from the bed, landing sprawled 21


out on the ground. Her hands throbbed along with her head but she managed to crawl over to where she dropped her gloves. With one last look at her now normal colored fingernails, she slid the gloves on before collapsing bonelessly. She didn't realize she was crying until wet puddles formed in her ears. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Two James Reeves stepped out of the carriage. The sickening thing powered jerkily via steam and what he could only describe as the most unsophisticated pulley system he ever had the discomfort of sampling. "Many thanks, friend." The yellow-toothed hackney driver chuckled when he tossed him a heavy coin. The easy way the driver spoke to him made James smile. He'd taken great care with his disguise and was pleased that it was holding up, even with the light snow that was falling. A sooty flake landed on the shoulder of his tattered green velvet waistcoat and he made no attempt to brush it off. The stained spots would only lend to his desired appearance. Underneath the worn great coat, he wore a snug black shirt of simple wool. It was plain and modest, nothing near what the aristocrats of the season were wearing. Leather straps formed an 'X' across his chest, each connecting with the wide leather belt at his waist. On either hip, he wore a low pouch with tarnished buckles. To any pickpocket they'd seem too flat and old to be worth stealing, even though they carried the various parts that formed one of his weapons. The weight of the gun at his back comforted him. The cooling mechanism felt good on his skin, despite the cold, letting him know that the barrels were in no danger of going off on their own. He made them specifically to release steam steadily before arming, so that the carrier would know if they had become imbalanced. 23


Several knives rested against his figure, including a springloaded gadget that he still needed to test properly. It would send diminutive knives out from the straps that crossed his chest and back, impaling anything they came in contact with. The steam used to launch them would burn his skin, which was why the straps were the best leather available, as well as sewn with brass threads to absorb the heat. He stood still for a moment, making sure that no one was following him. Even with the colored half-frame bifocals resting on his nose, he knew his eyes were his worst give away. The striking green muted and muddied into a nice hazel thanks to the glasses but he still had to be careful. Weapons and surveillance check completed, James began walking. The Fourth Quarter was a filth-covered rat hole filled with gamblers and prostitutes. No one from the First or Second would be foolish enough to venture into the yawning abyss of danger. Not if they were looking to come out alive. Lucky for him, he wasn't an aristocrat today. Fistfuls of sleet continued to drop from the sky, drumming ash into the already squalid grounds. A group of mudplungers walked right past him on their way to the other Quarters, their filthy bare feet leaving tracks across the few rough sidewalks that existed. There was little to no light, thanks to the neglected streetlamps. The moon was out, hanging sadly in a purple sky that swallowed up the setting sun. Every few minutes, James would catch the glance of a wayward constable, taking time away from his beat to dally with the same riffraff he should have been putting behind bars. 24


No one paid him any attention until he came to stop before a rickety building guarded by a couple of no-neck thugs. "'Ey, you. Think you can stroll in 'ere by yourself, do ya?" James buried his hands in his pockets, fingering the metal balls of gunpowder and steam that he kept on hand. These men weren't supposed to be here. They were probably hoping to steal some coin from anyone attempting to get into the infamous gambling hall. He didn't have time for the distraction, but there wasn't much he could do to avoid it now. With a quiet shrug, he lowered his voice, adopting the rough and tumble accent of the streets. "You don' want to be givin' me trouble, no sirree. Got bus'ness and you best be letting me pass." The second thug snickered. "What if we don't? Ain't heard a thing 'bout a new face poppin' up and we don't l ooike uninvited guests here." Three to one odds weren't a problem for James. He rubbed his hands along the balls, tucking two into his palms before withdrawing his hands. "Move or I'll 'ave to make way meself. Like I said, gots bus'ness and I can' be late." One of the men let out a loud guffaw, bending over and slapping a hand the size of a ham against a knee of equal proportions. "Cocky little shit, this one. Y'd think you could take all of us with that kind of talk." James shrugged, sidestepping as a third mammoth man tried to catch him from behind. A knife flashed and James caught an arching arm. He rolled, keeping his hold, and going to one knee before releasing the huge body. 25


His momentum caught the big man unaware and his attacker didn't make a sound as he flipped through the air. He landed hard but didn't have time to scramble back up, as a hard knee connected with the side of his head viciously, knocking him out. The other two winced when their companion hit the ground. James took full advantage of their stunned hesitation, throwing a ball to each one of them. In midair the little brass weapons unfurled, spinning gears opening until they were in the shape of tiny crabs. Upon contact, their claws sank into the flimsy material of their victims' clothing. James couldn't help but grin as the men scrambled to get the gadgets off. It was no use. They exploded with a shock of red steam that floated up into the air and passed by open mouths and flexing nostrils. Both men were unconscious before they hit the ground. Keeping his head lowered, James hissed low in his throat. The noise echoed off the building along with the sounds of the drumming slush that collected in slippery globs. He was completely soaked and in a bad mood but he quickly righted himself. For several minutes, he stood still, simply listening to the weather and his steady heartbeat. A soft, male voice snaked out to disturb the symphony of silence. "Can you go nowhere without causing some kind of commotion? Honestly." A deep sigh escaped James before he could catch it. He knew that if he looked around, there would be no one there. He moved carefully to retrieve his gadgets before 26


straightening his clothing, not bothering with the still forms of his would-be attackers. The disembodied voice continued. "I mean, really. You were all of five feet away from safety and yet you managed to end up in a fight." Finally, he made his way toward the building and the awaiting warmth that beckoned. He didn't move to take off any of his wet clothes, simply stood in the foyer, dripping. Even though the building looked like a mess from the outside, the inside was another matter entirely. It was well kept, clean, and even a little luxurious. The wooden beams that kept it together gleamed. Sanded carefully, they set the tone of the high-end venue. There were even a few pictures hung on the walls that he could see. The floor was comprised of simple rushes, not what one would expect from a house in such a modern age, but they were clean and soft, made up mostly of silky petals. "Oh no. It's just as I thought. You managed to get injured in that little tiff, didn't you?" James turned to scowl at the average looking man who had addressed him. His green eyes collided with those of simple brown. His frown only increased as the man continued to smile at him, withstanding the scrutiny of his gaze. The man's entire face was something of little note. He was average height, average build, and had brown hair. He looked like someone who could be anyone, and that was probably why he was his contact. When James finally deigned to answer him, he kept his voice steady, no longer needing the fake accent. "It's not as if 27


I had any choice in the matter. You could have had them cleared out before I got here, you know." "Yes, yes. I could have done that, but then where would I get my daily dose of fun?" "Aeschylus..." He drew out the codename pointedly. "Yes, yes. I know, Prometheus. The gamblers will be arriving soon and you don't have time to listen to me ramble on. I'll be right back, then." James sighed again, running his hands through his thick hair. This summons had come while he was in the middle of an operation, which could only mean it was urgent as well as important. He had only been called off of an assignment once before and that hadn't ended well. Looking around, he felt a weight of awe once again. The Hall had a blatantly black and white nature. It was one of the most notorious gambling houses in the Fourth Quarter, which said a lot. After a certain hour, this place would be full of seedy characters and loose women. James had been here before, when the trap had been set, and he could still smell the putrid scent of human depravity. It had a reputation for danger and hedonism. The Hall was also a secret base for the best weapons a monarchy could have: intelligence operatives. James was part of a special organization known only by the Monarch and a few close advisors: The Stieber Watchmen. Comprised not only of informants and police, they had operatives everywhere. From paper editors to housemaids who worked for the ton, The Watch had its hands in every pie 28


imaginable. There were prostitutes as well as gentry in the group. James grinned to himself; after all, he was one of the nobles working for the government. Aeschylus—at least that was his name while he ran the Hall—stepped back into view, all the teasing laughter gone from his expression. "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you are being reassigned. Your current job will be discarded." "Is it that bad, then?" Aeschylus held out an ornate box, made up of smooth gold panels as well as exposed gears. "You're one of our best and being pulled off an already vital mission in order to see to this one personally. It must be pretty bad." James's stomach turned and for a heart wrenching moment, he wasn't seeing the eyes of a fellow operative. Instead, he was watching tears roll down the pale cheeks of a wide-eyed little girl. Her brown eyes glazed over, even as her mewl of pain reverberate against his eardrums like a high note hitting fragile glass. "Hey, now. Prometheus?" Shaking free from the haunting memory, James took the package. A shadowed indention in the shape of a flame sat on the top of it, marking it with his symbol. He chose to ignore the sad, thoughtful frown on his handlers face. "You don't have to accept, James. The Crown is well aware of your recent...challenges. A sacrifice so large is worthy of a reprieve." 29


"I don't need a break, old friend. Right now, all I need is to use a quiet room." Aeschylus hesitated for but a moment before inclining his head. James recognized the courtesy for what it was. He might be an Earl, but within these walls he was outranked and unknown. Aeschylus led him to a room that wasn't anything special to the naked eye. Used mostly as a manager's office, its true value lay in the fact that it was sound proof. The moment the only door shut, all was silent. A sturdy desk stood watch before a blank canvas of a wall. Setting the weighty box down, James went to work cracking the awaiting code. Gears and panels slid under his careful palms, clicking softly with each adjustment. As he labored, he kept in mind that this puzzle was for him and him alone. The design was special, so that no one, not even Aeschylus, could open it. Even the handlers didn't always know what the operatives were working on. The puzzle seemed almost unraveled, but something was wrong. It resembled a kind of jewelry box that unfolded at each side, but the bottom was incomplete. James's soul went cold when he realized there was something blocking the last panel, keeping it from unfolding completely. It was wedged on a pillar in the depths of the box that matched perfectly in color and metal. If he hadn't recognized it, he never would have thought to remove the cylinder piece. He carefully pried it away from the rest, flipping it over in his hand. It was a 30


shimmering case, only as big as one of his fingers, but it rattled when he shook it. Popping the top off was disturbingly easy. He tipped the container, going still when a single bullet slid into his hand. A simple chain fused with the metal surface, offering the chance to wear it as a necklace. James closed his eyes for a moment, clenching the message in his palm. "Ginny." He turned back to the puzzle. The last clasp chimed and the box unfolded with an audible hiss. Cogs and wheels spun over one another until what had been a simple square chest was broken down. Two perpendicular seams appeared on the gleaming surface. The bottom remained steady even as the top half split in two panels that slid in opposite directions. James took a hasty step back when an inner platform raised from the space created. Pinions whistled as they whirled, revealing a studded tumbler and metal comb. After a moment, the crank that had edged forward from the dark depths began to spin. "Hello, Prometheus." The voice uttered in broken speech. Every time the revolving bar moved, the fine metal comb would brush against dozens of studs, giving an individual ping of sound. Together they created an automated voice. Out of habit, James responded. "Hello, Stieber." The voice continued on, obviously not hearing his response. "We are certain you have heard of the recent disappearances of several young women." There was a pause. "The Crown has taken measures to ensure this disturbing 31


news does not get out of hand. It is neither as widespread nor alarming as it should be." Another pause allowed James to absorb this new information. He'd seen just this morning that the papers had indeed mentioned a missing girl or two, but the casual tone and lighthearted reporting had led him to believe it was nothing of import. "A previous mission of reconnaissance has led us to believe the culprits are part of an organization dealing in the sale of human goods. The attackers are taking women and children of all classes. Many have been found overseas and several victims not under the protection of our country have found their way to our soil." James had to swallow down a rush of hot, black rage in order to continue to listen. "This deplorable crime is being committed by many different hands. Still, we have discerned that the head of this venomous snake is located within the First Quarter. It is one of our favored citizens who is committing these treasonous and immortal acts." It took him another moment to breathe through the disgust threatening to strangle him. He could barely grit out the words meant only for his ears. "Why am I not surprised?" James wished he could be. Unfortunately, since he'd become a member of the Watch he'd been subjected to all kinds of depravity. It was a hard lesson to learn, but he realized that a good percentage of the most heinous crimes of London stemmed from those in the realm who were supposed to be the most respectable. Idle hands, money, and boredom were oftentimes a dangerous combination. 32


"It is our wish that you infiltrate this ring of criminals and find the person or persons most responsible. Upon that discovery, it is the wish of the Crown that a trial not be necessary." The box wasn't a person, so the formality of his bowed head was a superfluous gesture. Still, when those words hit his ears he couldn't help jerking his eyes upward. Unseeing, the box continued. "You have twelve hours to refuse the contract. This is a shorter time than normal, due to the nature of the crimes. Your skills are needed, Flame Wielder." The crank stopped but it took James several minutes to relax his jaw. His teeth began to ache from the strain before he could stop hearing the code. The carefully disguised threat was one that he rarely heard. He should have taken comfort in knowing that it was reserved for instances where there was no choice, but mostly he was too angry to care. "So. I am the Flame Wielder again." His pinched throat constricted with the need to roar his denial. He'd taken the position as an operative after some of his inventions had caught the eye of the monarchy. They were weapons, mostly, sophisticated things so complicated that even the best Tinkerers at Court couldn't figure them out. At first, the Crown had asked him to build such things for his country. He'd refused. As a compromise, he had agreed to use his creations in service of his country, but he would not share his plans or creations. It was a shaky trust and one he had no doubt the monarchy regretted, but he'd made it clear he meant to keep his secrets. 33


"Like hell I'll let you get your hands on any of my work." James slammed his fist against the desk, chest heaving. He knew what the Crown would do with the kind of power he could create. He had no plans to look into anymore crying eyes. He looked down to where the bullet pressed into his palm. "Never again." [Back to Table of Contents]

34


Chapter Three "Miss Olyve! I really must object to you going out again. This makes the fourth time this week. You have neglected your studies, you refuse to take a suitable chaperone, and you return at all hours of the night. It is simply disgraceful. People will talk." Olyve stared down at the woman blocking her path. Those beady, disapproving eyes dragged over her body, leaving holes in her confidence. It had been like this every day for the last three. The pious housekeeper would lecture her until her ears burned, paying no attention to the arguments she provided in return. So what if "people" talked. They would do so anyway and they both knew it. None of her money and connections would erase her last name. She clutched the fashionable bag she carried to her chest. It contained carefully wrapped Christmas presents for the girls' home she planned to visit today, but it wouldn't matter to the hook-nosed crone. She wouldn't care that most of those deprived orphans would receive nothing more than what she brought, on a holiday that was supposed to be all about love and giving. She wouldn't care that it was all Olyve could do to keep busy. Between the indescribable ache that had blossomed in her chest and the visions, she had to do something. Anything to quiet the noise. Her visions still beat wildly in her head, images of broken skin and sobbing faces. 35


During her trips out, she had made sure not only to drop the presents off at various homes and shelters, but to keep her ears open. She'd listened for any tiny bit of information, any clues that would lead her to where she needed to be. She'd gone so far as to lower her first barrier time and again, even when she desperately needed to remain protected. "You cannot go out today. You will remain here and mind your studies. Your father—" "Is not here." Mrs. Jacobson blinked rapidly, as if uncomprehending the audacity of her ward. Olyve ignored her, dropping her cargo to the ground gently. "My father is not here, Mrs. Jacobson. He hasn't been in quite a while, and though I'm sure he left you with explicit instructions as to how I should be handled, I assure you they are expired." "Now, see here, young lady. You will not speak to your elders in such a fashion." Once again, Olyve chose to ignore her. She took a steady look at what she was wearing and frowned. "Fashion," she muttered, more to herself than the fuming woman before her. To appease her guardian earlier in the day she had agreed to wear some ridiculous contraption of stiff material. It was the color she would expect an orange to be after it'd been set aflame. Even more than the color, though, she hated the matching hair comb that pinned her hair up under a lacy hat. The dress itself was made up of two separate layers. A collection of folds and ruffles made up the top half, right below the line of her cuff and corset. She wore a simple, flat 36


blouse underneath, the sleeves loose in order to hide the lines of her long gloves. A rebellious giggle flirted with her throat but she kept it at bay. Reaching up, she pulled the comb free, sending her tresses tumbling downward. The hat remained perched on the top of her head after a quick shake, though it was slightly askew. "My word, what are you doing? That took a good portion of the morning to get perfect and now Annie will have to redo the entire thing." Mrs. Jacobson turned to squawk at the doorman to fetch a maid at once. Olyve tested the strength of the dress. "Now, Miss. You are going to stop this at—" With a violent tug, Olyve managed to tear the bottom of the skirt clean off. The sound of rending fabric made her smile, so she continued until the long swatch of material fluttered to the floor. "—once." If she hadn't been so intent on stripping free of her petticoats, Olyve would have laughed at the look on the crone's face. She pulled free of the last layers of hoops before kicking the whole bunch away. Spinning, she surveyed the damage. Her corset and the upper part of the skirt remained, flaring out in the back to brush against the back of her knees. Beneath her skirts she had worn a skin-tight pair of black leather leggings. Her pale brown leather boots had a fashionable brass buckle on either side and she had taken the care to tuck the leggings into their soft depths. The color was picked up in the remaining cuff as well as her elbow length 37


gloves, which were revealed with another quick jerk to rend fabric. Pleased, she retrieved her items. "I think I'll just go out like this, then. If people are going to be talking, I may as well give them something real to talk about." A harsh palm connected with her face, leaving stinging redness in its wake. The blow sounded like an explosion in Olyve's ears, knocking her teeth together and causing tears to spring into her eyes. She stumbled back a few steps, reeling from the shock as much as the pain. She gasped, not because of the physical contact, but because the blow had sent her Intuition into overdrive. As the woman railed, she struggled to replace her barriers. "You dare, girl? You, who knows nothing of the world, would challenge years of custom and tradition? Look at you. You look like a common tart. Do you not understand what your..." she hissed the next word, her voice low and mocking, " clothing says? You look like one of those despicable Revolutionaries, calling for 'equality' and 'change,' looking for handouts." The older woman all but spit on the ground between them. "You don't seem to have the loyalty a respectable First Quarter girl should possess. If those chattel are allowed their rebellion, the classes will be ruined. Just the other day, a leatherworker, of all things, tried to purchase a house within the First Quarter. A house. Some little no-account named Emily. She made a ridiculous sum of money, selling clothing that looks just like what you are wearing now, and you want 38


to go strutting around advocating for the loss of fashion and modesty?" Olyve smiled to herself, even as she gathered the last pieces of her consciousness. Mrs. Brett had made her fortune, and nothing would take that victory away from her. Finally in control of her overwhelming thoughts, she straightened, glaring at the redfaced woman. "Mrs. Jacobson. I had not realized how far your assumptions had gone until this moment, so let me clear something up for you. I am in charge of what goes on in this house. You may have your ideas and thoughts on propriety, but do not forget who my father is." Stammering, Mrs. Jacobson made an attempt to stop her, only to be silenced by an abrupt hand slicing through the air. "As of now you are relieved of your position as housekeeper. I trust you will not expect a refferal." The red skin that was stretched far too thin over the exhousekeeper's face turned blotchy and purple. "You can't do this." When the woman sagged out of her way, Olyve made a point to take her time while she moved around her. "Actually, I can. You see, my father is one of those disgraceful Revolutionaries you were talking about, and you know how close he is to our Majesty. It would appear that the recent changes regarding women's rights are going a little further for my family. It is only a trial basis, but this manor legally belongs to my sister and I. We decide who stays and who goes, and you are certainly out." 39


She smiled at the wide-eyed footman who braved meeting her eyes. "Please see that Mrs. Jacobson is off the premises before I return. Another housekeeper will be replacing her immediately." "Yes, Miss Blackwell." He all but scrambled to do as she asked and the moment she was safe within the buggy of her carriage, Olyve doubled over and laughed through the ache of her jaw and the tears burning her eyes. She stretched out her feet, nodding to herself. She could definitely get used to this. Propriety was for the birds. Three hours later, she was already regretting her brash behavior. No matter how she felt, in the end it was Society she had to work with, and the mindset that had come with this technology-laden era was still new and untried. Even simple changes to transportation were being met with suspicion and fear, no matter how much quicker or more reliable said options proved to be. In the end, it took her a great deal of bargaining to convince a hiring company to send a new housekeeper to her. In addition, the reactions to her new clothing were less than warm. The snug leggings called too much attention to her backside, even as they gave her the freedom to walk. "Bloomerism at its worst!" one stuffy old Blue Blood had huffed at her. She'd tilted her chin up with pride, refusing to be cowed, but on the inside her organs may as well have been mush. 40


By time she made her way through dropping off her presents, she was exhausted. The trek to her uncle's usual beat was a long one, thanks to one of the wheels coming off of her glide, a brass framed transportation gadget that sat on two wheels, allowing the rider to glide after a short amount of pedaling. "Goodness me, is that little Olyve I see?" Huffing slightly, she executed a somewhat lacking dismount. "The one and only, Uncle Cole. How are you doing?" Inspector Cole Blackwell, Uncle Cole to her, shrugged casually, tossing her one of his rare smiles. With his serious face, smoke gray uniform, and shock of dark brown hair, he was a formidable man. The telltale Blackwell eyes were less of a start framed in his angular face. He had been lucky enough to snag a pair of the rare midnight blue irises that Olyve frequently longed for. "I'm more interested in hearing the story for your change in wardrobe. How are you staying warm?" Olyve waved a hand in the air, dismissing the question as unimportant. "It's actually pretty toasty, thanks to the rather ingenious design of the leather. I'll tell you about Emily Brett, seamstress extraordinaire, another time. As to the why...well, let's just say I'm tired of trying to fit marbles into square holes." A reluctant grin spread across his face. "You were always a little stubborn, weren't you?" He continued over the objection she was about to wage. "Besides that, why are you out without a guard, little neice? It's not safe, especially here." 41


Leaning her transport against an awaiting wall, Olyve dragged her uncle into a space between buildings. The alcove provided shelter while keeping them hidden in a den of shadows. Usually, a prostitute or begger would have occupied the cramped little space, but thanks to the presence of the law, it was empty for now. After making sure the coast was clear, she quickly explained what she'd seen in her vision. "I don't know what it means, but I know I need to help those women. It isn't like before. I'm not just being bombarded with information this time. These are cries for help. Do you know anything?" Cole shifted uncomfortably and Olyve knew him well enough to recognize that he was trying to think of a way to dissuade her without having to lie. "Don't do it, Uncle Cole. I need you to help me. I've been searching for days but I've yet to find anything at all that is useful. You may be my last chance." "Damnit, Olyve, you know I hate it when you do that. Using honesty against me is hardly fair." She giggled. "Don't blame me. If you hadn't wanted me to know about your inability to lie, you shouldn't have told me." The man scoffed. "You were six and needing a little comfort. How was I to know assuring my neice that I would never lie about monsters hiding under her bed would come back to bite me years later?" "Will you help me or not?" "Fine, fine." Cole pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers before continuing. "There have been reports of missing women all over the city. I don't know why the papers 42


are downplaying it, but each one of us has been told to keep our mouths shut about the whole deal." "A conspiracy, then?" After a short consideration, he shook his head. "No, I don't think so. If that were the case, the higher ups would know. I took the liberety of bending the will of my sergeant. He doesn't know anything more than we do. It's as if someone slipped the information into a box somewhere with a nice 'but don't worry about it, we've got it covered' stamp." "Well, that's believable. With politics as shaky as they have been lately, private investigators may be a better option than the local police." "More than likely. At any rate, a little digging of my own and I ran into a couple of names. They're powerful men, little neice. I know you can handle yourself, but be careful here." Olyve smiled at her uncle. He was probably one of the most closed off, distrusting men in all of London, but when it came to family, he was the same as all Blackwells. They looked out for their own. "I will. I'm not looking for any trouble, just information. If I get too deep or find anything worthwhile, I'll use the Lodestar." He reached out with one scarred hand and pat her on the head, the same way he did when she was a child. "You'd better. We can't let anything happen to you. Warham will burn this city to the ground and you know it." Talking about her father with family always made her happy. She giggled before nudging him playfully. "As if you would ever let that happen." 43


"Yes, well...the guys you have to watch out for are Sir Thomas Goodwin, Mr. Arnold Fenne, Sir James Reeves, and Sir Neil Wheeler. Besides Fenne, who is a politician, they're all Peers of the Realm." Olyve committed the names to memory, and stepped out of the alcove on the street. "Thank you. I'm going to see if Andrew can get me close to any of them, within the allowances of polite society." Cole's expression shuttered and Olyve mourned the cheer that vanished from his eyes. She gave a mental sigh, wondering once again what demons plagued her solitary uncle. "Just be careful. If one of those men is behind these disappearances, things will undoubtedly get ugly. There are already rumors circulating about Reeves. A body washed up in the Thames. They're already drawing connections between the floater and him." Blanching, Olyve ducked her head so that her Uncle wouldn't see how deeply his words affected her. His inability to lie came with more drawbacks than pending manipulation by his niece. "I promise to take every precaution, don't worry about me." He nodded and she kissed him on the cheek before remounting her glide. She was already riding off by the time the trickle of blood ran down her uncle's strong jaw. "I refuse." "Why not, Andrew? All you have to do is introduce us, and then you can leave." 44


"You know it doesn't work that way. You need a chaperone in order to socialize with anyone. Unless you're planning to announce an engagement, this will never work. Are you planning to go that far for this insane plan of yours?" Olyve glanced over her shoulder to where Mr. Leeway was standing watch across the room. "Well, then send me with one of your guards. I'm sure Mr. Leeway would be more than happy to take me to an event." Andrew laughed and the man in question raised an eyebrow. "Don't just assume that you can borrow my men. Besides that, Olyve, it's still not proper. Your chaperone should be female, preferably married. You can't decide you want to play with the ton after doing your best to garner their scorn." "I haven't been trying to garner anything. I'm just refusing to settle into the role I've been forced into." Her cousin nodded thoughtfully. Standing up from the desk where he sat, he rifled through a pile of requests and letters. "All right. I can certainly understand that. Besides that, I can tell your mind is set and you'll find a way with or without my help. I've got an invitation here that might work for you. You're on your own for preparations other than that. I won't be held responsible for anything you do or do not find." "And you'll let me borrow a guard if I can't find one?" Andrew looked around her to check with Mr. Leeway. After a second, the guard shrugged. "We are at your disposal." She snatched up the invitation faster than he could blink. "You're the best, cousin." 45


"Olyve, I know I'm wasting my breath here, but I wish you would reconsider. You are not a detective. You shouldn't be chasing after potentially dangerous situations." "Why is everyone so sure that I'm going to get into trouble? I am just going to see what I can find out. I'm not going to be in any danger." "Forgive us for worrying, cousin, but you kind of have a knack for finding it, whether you're looking for it or not. I blame that power of yours." "Not all of us can ignore our gifts, Andrew. Some of us even enjoy using them. We help people." It was an argument they had frequently. Andrew flat out refused to use his abilities. He hadn't practiced in years. "I'm more interested in helping myself, Lyv. To each his or her own. Not all of us are cut out for being saints." She ignored his sarcasm. "At any rate, I still have to get back and see to the new housekeeper. I'm hoping she's already acclimated herself." "Just do me a favor. Take the train back to your place this time. That glide is falling apart." Half an hour later, Olyve stood in the carriage of the impressive locomotive that ran through the city. She only had two stops to sit through, but still opted for a seat. The rocking space was almost empty, though the rubbage collectors had obviously been through recently. Gleaming brass surfaces meshed with plum upholstery, promising a comfortable transit. Even with the crisp winter air, the train was warm. 46


"'Ello, Miss." A sudden voice made her jump. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you or anything. I was wondering if you had the time." A pleasant looking man sat in the bench across from her with his hands in the air. He looked respectable, if not puny, so she offered him a smile in response. The watch that she kept in the pockets carefully sewn into her skirts would have been left in the hallway after her dramatic altercation with Mrs. Jacobson. "I'm sorry. I don't have a timepiece on me right now." The man shifted slightly, his second-hand jacket bunching at the shoulders. "I see. Well, I'll just have to hope I'm on time, then." She nodded, a little, going back to her thoughts. The party was in a few days and she had to get ready for it. She worried her lip guiltily, hoping her cousin wouldn't be too adverse to her plan. "Where are you headed?" Unaccustomed to strange men talking to her out of the blue, she almost didn't answer. "Home." "Is your name Olyve?" She turned slowly, the bells in her head going off. Danger. They whispered. Get away. The train turned on its railing, forcing her to shift her weight in order to remain upright. The lights illuminating the unstable room flickered for only a moment before returning. By the time she could see again, there was already a garrote hovering before her neck. 47


The warning bells in her head sounded with all the force of an explosive orchestra. Olyve barely lifted her head and ducked down and out of the way before the cord could snap against her skin. The first barrier within her mind crumbled without prodding, immediately flooding her body with a speed she couldn't have had otherwise. Her muscles coiled and flowed, allowing her to block the next two blows as the man struck out, trying to catch her twisting form. Olyve pushed herself away from the bench, sliding to the opposite end of the carriage. She'd chosen a room in the middle of the train and it was empty but for the two of them. A narrow door with a window in it pressed against her back, so she knew that the next carriage was just as deserted. Her attacker blocked the other side. She had no time to come up with another plan of action. Before she knew it, the man was flying at her, his fists colliding with the surface at her back as she managed to dodge. He recovered with surprising speed, shifting his position so that his next blow connected with her chest. The breath whooshed out of her lungs but Olyve managed to kick out as her body hurdled backward. "So, you're more than some little upstart debutante, huh?" the man sneered at her, his body already launched into another assault. Her Intuition fueled her with information, telling her when to dodge and strike. She spun sharply, landing a solid fist against his jaw. He slammed against a bolted seat, his elbow grinding loudly in protest. Before she could gear up for the next attack, a hard knee speared through the air, colliding with her stomach and bringing her 48


to her knees even as she managed to choke out an unladylike response. The man panted with anger as he moved and that sound managed to drown out the noise of the train when he bent close to her face. "Help!" She choked out the plea when a large hand wrapped around her throat. Almost immediately, her lungs began to burn and her pounding heart stuttered in fear. Adrenaline, as well as her own power pushed her blood through her smaller form much too fast and went straight to her head, dizzying her efforts to fight back. Through eyes burning with tears, she watched the man tighten his grip. His brown eyes were flat and dispassionate. He didn't care. Olyve's chest jerked desperately, trying to drag in necessary air and all the while, she was distinctly aware that he didn't want her dead. Dark spots hung in her vision, blacking out those cold eyes. Deep within her mind, Olyve reached for the beacon of light that connected her and the rest of her family. It was a system ingrained into their blood, something that was nearly impossible to alter or take away. If she touched it, those members of her family who had bound themselves to it would know that she was in trouble. The Lodestar, a means to a desperate end, not to be used lightly or often. She couldn't help the bitter thought that she'd used it too late. Before she could make the connection, she felt her body land on the carpet. Her disconnect was so deep she felt as if she were wrapped in cloth. Coughing wracked her body with such intensity that her bruised throat cried mercy. She lay 49


there, gulping huge mouthfuls of air, unable to hear anything besides her own struggle. Above her, she was aware of a disturbance. The air quaked with continued violence. Her head swam but she forced her eyes open. The man who attacked her was hissing something, but she couldn't catch the words. He was crouched on the ground, his knee touching the same carpet her limp form pressed against. One of his arms dangled toward the ground while his other hand pressed against the useless limb. His mouth moved again, this time the distorted sound that left his lips was obviously a curse. He shifted as if making to attack again. From behind her, a percussion of bent energy shuddered in the air. A small projectile slammed into the berserking form of her attacker. Olyve watched with wide, disbelieving eyes as the sphere shattered on impact, wrapping the man with purple and blue bolts of controlled lightning. They spun and crackled, throwing off weak, colored light. Her attacker jerked violently, his head thrown back. Foam spewed from his clenched teeth and ran down his chin, tracing the cords of his elongated neck. The electricity dispersed into the air, leaving tiny trails of white smoke behind as they vanished and the man slumped over into a heap of steaming flesh. Olyve closed her eyes tight. Information rocked against her brain, forcing her to evaluate what had just happened. She knew what she'd been doing was dangerous, but the reality of the hazards hadn't been real until this moment. The man had attacked her because of the questions she was asking. 50


"Miss, are you all right?" A mellow, masculine voice asked from behind her. Olyve hadn't given a second thought to her rescuer. The barriers in her mind were now relaxed and silent, at ease now that she wasn't in danger any longer. She forced herself into a sitting position, ignoring the continued dizziness. "Yes, I don't think that he did any real—" Her sentence sliced in half when a slender man kneeled before her. He reached out and pulled her chin upwards, forcing her to stare into his eyes. "You're going to have quite the bruises. You shouldn't ride the train on your own, you know." He continued to talk and touch her lightly, his generous mouth turned downward into a frown. Intelligent, malachite eyes inspected the damage of her attack without concern for propriety or comfort. She could tell that he was a gentleman. His fine greatcoat was the height of fashion, a sweeping green that matched his eyes. The material was fine and embroidered, more expensive than anything she would have expected from someone who would violate the rules of society so completely. "Can you speak? Why did he want to hurt you?" He paused and Olyve could almost feel the menace rolling off of him in waves as he turned back to the unconscious man. "Is he your husband?" If she could have, Olyve would have answered his question. As it were, she simply sat and stared at him. Even kneeling as he was, she could tell that he was tall. His form was sleek and graceful, packed with the kind of effortless 51


strength she'd always admired. He shifted his attention back to her and she had to bite back a foolishly wistful sigh. He touched her shoulder and she felt his warmth even though the fabric as he pulled her into a standing position. He dusted her off, placing his hands in positions they shouldn't have been. "If he is your husband, there are places you can go. There are shelters for women in your situation. You don't have to suffer quietly." She blinked stupidly before understanding dawned. Based on her clothing he must have assumed she wasn't part of the gentry. Parting her lips only created a little squeak. "The train is about to stop, Miss. Do you need help getting back home?" He looked her over once again before continuing. "I'm certain you'll be missed if you linger. Best leave the cretin to me. I'll make sure he gets to the cell he belongs in." "He's not my husband." The Good Samaritan's blank face speared with a grin. Olyve pressed her hand against her stomach, trying to contain the butterflies that took flight at the sight. He opened his mouth again but the bell rang, signaling the next stop. "It's time for you to go, then." She struggled with each word, though she couldn't tell if it was because of the damage to her throat or the attraction she felt. "Are you sure you can...?" The grin grew wider. Definitely the attraction. The sixth sense she relied on so heavily to keep her body safe now whispered promises of keeping her heart safe. With him. 52


"I..." "Need to go." The car door slid open and he was already pushing her out before she could focus her thoughts. "Get moving, Revolutionary." She nodded dumbly, backing away. She was almost completely out of sight by the time the bell sounded again, warning that the train was preparing to move. She was halfway home before the effects of his smile wore off. By then, she'd realized that something was horribly wrong with the entire scene. No one appeared to board or abandon the hulking transit in that time. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Four Two days later, Olyve stood on the outside of a sea of corsets and wig powder. The evening party was more crowded than she expected. The Season was over and Parliament had long been out, but apparently the rise of the Revolution and the monetary standing to be had influenced the politicians and gentry to remain in London. Those who could afford it wore heavy walking gowns and wool-lined shawls to combat the sharp cold. All around her, women were chatting in small groups with their heads pressed together. Here and there, she caught belts of leather and brass and smiled to herself. The gentry may think they were beyond the influences of the lower classes but there was no denying that they were on the cusp of change. A quadrille filled the ballroom and Olyve took a moment to watch the spinning dancers. A sparkling chandelier hung high in the air, offset by dozens of ornate oil lamps. Even though it was below freezing outside, the sheer bulk of humans and movement in the large space gave it heat and life. Double doors leading to the gardens stood flung open, offering a frigid breath of fresh air. Slipping quickly away from anyone who may recognize her, she kept moving. After all, she didn't want to speak to anyone who might be looking for Andrew. Her cousin had laughed in her face when he had first heard her plan. Of course, that laughter had dried up quickly when he realized she wasn't kidding. 54


"Olyve, that's pure madness." He'd exclaimed. "There's no way such a thing would work." Olyve had done her best to meet his outrage with calm and logic but she'd never been one to respond well to naysayers. She'd gotten right into his face. "There's absolutely no reason it wouldn't work. I've already managed to fool two people. People, might I add, who have been working in your employment for years." The reminder didn't sit well with her cousin. He'd returned home from an afternoon on business to find her sitting at his desk. She'd straightened her shortened hair with the help of a steaming iron, and pulled it back into a club, much like he did his own. On her pert nose rested a dark pair of specs, the kind he had begun to see throughout the gentry. "Don't I look fabulous, Andrew?" She asked the sassy little question in an overly deep faux male voice that had left him sputtering. "You cannot go to this gathering as me. It's simply out of the question." "You aren't being reasonable." The pout that she'd sported looked like a ridiculous ornament on top of the charcoal frock coat and loose trousers. She'd even managed to find a fob to go with the disgustingly ornate pocket watch she'd tucked into her right pocket. "I think I'm being perfectly reasonable. It's you who appears to have lost her wits. What happens when someone tries to speak to you, Olyve? What will you do then?" "Well, that is why I will have Mr. Leeway with me, I'm sure he will run excellent interference." 55


"Ugh!" Andrew threw his hands up in the air, spinning away from her in order to take a few deep breaths. "I cannot believe you've done this. Do you know what your father will say when he sees that you cut your hair for this charade? He's going to have words for me." The little minx snorted, waving one hand in the air. "Then I suppose we had best make sure to have done something to make it worthwhile by the time he notices." Eventually she'd worn him down, reminding him that she was doubtlessly on the right track. After careful consideration, she'd decided that one of the powerful men she was investigating must have sent the man who attacked her. She'd only asked around for a couple of days and she'd already managed to put someone's back up. Someone sent him to shut her up and make sure she stayed that way, so she had to be doing something right. If not for her mysterious savior, she might be under the care of a physician. Or worse, she might be one of the missing girls in the papers. She shivered under the coat she'd borrowed from Andrew. Something had kept her from mentioning her savior while telling her cousin of her close brush with death. She willed herself not to blush, knowing such a delicate color would interfere with her disguise. The face of that man had soaked into her dreams, refusing to leave her mind even when her eyes drifted closed. "Lord Whittock, are you planning to stand around all night? Surely someone who comes out as infrequently as you wants to dance at least once or twice." Sir Thomas Goodwin 56


approached her from one side, unnoticed thanks to her wandering mind. Olyve might have turned to smile at him if it hadn't been for her masquerade. It was his party that her cousin had been invited to and after clandestinely slipping away from the soiree, she'd stolen into her host's office. She'd pulled off her white kid gloves and moved around the room with her arms outstretched. Nothing had set off her power. In fact, the barriers had been completely silent during her search. The room was clean. With no reason to suspect him, Olyve felt a little guilty for having to flee. She signaled to Mr. Leeway and cursed herself before bowing in his direction and shooting out one of the open doors. She was sure that he would delay the man long enough for her to make a getaway. Outside, the temperature change was enough to cause her to gasp, drawing more icy air into her lungs. She plunged into the intricate garden, stumbling along the mazelike hedges before finding the entrance. The ends of her hair curled back and she smoothed them carefully as she walked. The grounds were extensive as well as immaculate behind Sir Goodwin's home. Even with the touch of winter setting everything into dormancy, it was impressive. Several automated clippers zoomed over the top of the hedges, keeping the shrubs even and compact. The steam they let off hit the cold air and froze into tiny crystals that showered her with a salty mist. A figure approached, casting a slender shadow against the light of a gas lamp. Forcing herself not to jump, Olyve 57


remembered that for the moment she was a wealthy, privileged lesser lord. She cleared her throat, deepening her voice before turning. "Good evening. Enjoying the party, are you, Sir Wheeler?" Sir Neil Wheeler nodded without even bothering to look at her. A young maid dragged her feet beside him, half buried under his arm, her face beet red. The barriers within her mind remained chillingly quiet as he led her in a different direction, ducking under a scattering of another frozen mist. Olyve waited a moment before following him, disturbed not only by the lack of reaction from her barriers, but the curt way he'd walked past her without concern. She was aware of the fact that men weren't required to uphold the same level as chastity as women, but there was something overly comfortable with the way he'd continued. Her breath made steady puffs of white as she moved, trying to be as silent as possible. The gardens took on a different shade as she carried on, becoming a world of ominous shadows and secrets. Her mind struggled with every detail as if it were working furiously on some puzzle she wasn't aware of. Her body began to feel heavy and before she could shake the drowsiness, she was spiraling toward the ground. A light snow had begun to fall without her notice. Her hot face all but sizzled against the cold, white slush. Olyve forced herself to think, even though she couldn't move. The last time she'd felt this way was when she'd accidentally...a sharp intake of breath filled her mouth with sooty snow. She probed her mind carefully and shuddered violently. 58


The barriers in her psyche flung open without her control. The third blockade shuddered with enough puissance to make her dizzy. It was something she'd always kept back, something she feared unleashing. She couldn't control it, had no idea how to or what it could be used for. Torn images flashed through her mind, hitting her with the force of boulders. A trail of blood slid down her nose, only to freeze in the cold. Strong hands pulled her up. Her shocked body refused to shiver—refused to work to shake off the unbearable cold that had seeped into her clothing and coating her bones. Olyve couldn't do much more than breathe; her entire body focused on shutting the valve that forced itself open. "It's you. What are you doing here, Revolutionary?" That achingly beautiful voice washed over Olyve, wrapping her in a cocoon of trust and safety. Her mind cooled as her body warmed and the barriers closed with a snap, just by acknowledging his presence. Tilting her head up, she realized she was sitting in his lap on the snow covered ground. Evergreen hedges blocked her view, letting her know she'd stumbled into a dead end. The only way to leave was behind her but she didn't think her legs would work just yet anyway. "You're real." She could have bitten her tongue off for the distinct ring of awe that filled her throat. Her heart instantly ached with want. He shifted enough to brush a single snowflake from her cheek. "Who are you and why are you wearing men's clothing? Are you a sprite sent here to tempt me away from my path?" 59


Olyve watched his mouth descend with a silent cheer. He clutched her to his chest as if she were something precious, something that needed protecting. She leaned into him, silently begging him to continue when he hesitated. The emeralds of his eyes flashed with pleasure and he brushed his mouth against hers gently. The simple contact shouldn't have caused her to jolt as it did. It shouldn't have touched her so deeply, kicking her sluggish heartbeat back into overdrive. His scent drifted all around her, drowning out the smell of dirt and smoke that clung to the air. He smelled like Irish springs and open mountain tops. His mouth pressed against hers again and she moaned, heat spiraling into the pit of her stomach. In an instant, she forgot what she was supposed to be doing. She forgot about her missions and her visions, forgot that this man was a stranger. In her kiss, she whispered words that had no meaning, arching her back when he grabbed the end of her ponytail and tugged. Her neck lay exposed to him and he took complete advantage of the offering, pressing that slick, wet mouth of his to the base of her racing pulse. "You must be a sprite," he murmured against her skin. "An offering from Pagan gods." She would have giggled if she hadn't been drowning in the effects of his words. He pressed his tongue against the seam of her lips, parting them for entry. A low groan filled the space and she couldn't have guessed if it came from her or from him. She'd barely said two words to him but as his tongue swept through one of her secret, guarded places, she 60


knew without a doubt that he was just as entangled in her as she was in him. He pulled his mouth away, kissing down the path of her neck. His teeth dragged over the sensitive skin of her collarbone and she squeaked, marveling in the way his shoulders bunched and pulled while he tried to get closer to her. The snow continued to fall but she hardly noticed. Her skin was so hot; the bands that she'd used to tie her breasts were suddenly too tight for her aching skin. The man seemed to know exactly what she needed, because he slid a careful hand between them, pulling buttons from their allotted holes. His green eyes blazed against hers, begging her for something she would willingly give if she only knew what it was. She couldn't answer the question she didn't understand, so she opted for showing him what she wanted instead. Her hands framed his face, dragging him back to her mouth where she licked and nibbled on the hard lines of his jaw. Lust and passion mingled in the air above them until it was a tangible presence. It touched them with skittering fingertips, leaving trails of goosebumps over their eager skin. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Olyve knew she should stop this. She knew it wasn't proper, wasn't how a young lady in her position should react. She should shove him away, slap him, bite him; something. But when she opened her mouth to refuse him all she could manage was a low plea of "More." The man must not have understood her ragged voice. He went stiff, quickly repairing the damage he'd done to the 61


buttons of her clothing. He pressed his lips to her forehead in a strangely platonic fashion before standing slowly. Still plastered to his chest, Olyve opened her mouth to ask him just what he thought he was doing, but before she could get the words out, an amused voice cut through the air. "Well, look at what we have here. Are you interested in unnatural relationships, then, my lord?" Olyve swallowed in alarm, cursing herself for her carelessness. The voice belonged to Arnold Fenne, the third man on her list of suspects. She attempted to straighten her appearance, though she knew there was no point. Any second, they would find her. She didn't realize she was shaking until the man tightened his hold around her. Immediately calmed, she shook her head against his chest. No matter how she thought about it, this would not end well. The vibrations of his chest were low and annoyed. He almost growled when he spoke. "Shouldn't you be off tumbling some widow?" There was a shrug in the overweight politician's voice. "I wish I were, actually, but it seems that he has something he wants us to take care of." The way it he uttered the words put Olyve's back up immediately. The tone was much too direct and she could practically feel those beady eyes on her. "Isn't that interesting? Unfortunately, I'm a little busy at the moment so I don't have time to play lapdog."

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A third voice interjected. "Perhaps you should take a moment to hear what we have to say before you send us on our way." "I'm sure whatever it is can wait. I don't interrupt the three of you when you're playing, I'd expect the same courtesy." An ugly snarl laced his next words. "Or are you accustomed to sharing your catches?" Goodwin was the one who answered and even though Olyve couldn't see him speak, he knew that his face was flushed with anger. "Shut your mouth, you little pissant. You might have gotten on his good side at the Thames, but don't think you're better than any of us. We've been in the game from the beginning." An ugly thread of fear slammed through Olyve. Again, her barriers were refusing to function, failing to tell her that she was in danger even though she knew she was. She was currently surrounded by three of the four men she'd come to investigate. Three of the four... The man who held her shrugged carefully, and the weight of what they were saying finally hit her full force. She wanted to assume that whatever had brought her low previously, throwing her carefully guarded barriers open, was the cause of her slow realization. She knew it wasn't true. Stepping out of his hold, Olyve looked around carefully. Three pairs of eyes settled on her skin, hot and greedy. They took in her bruised mouth and misaligned clothing. The bands that had held her breasts against her body had been unraveled and now dangled in useless strips. 63


She remained silent because there was nothing else she could do. There was no question that all three of them knew her mysterious savior. She tilted her chin up, refusing to be intimidated by the way they were looking at her, but when her eyes fell back to the fourth man she faltered. The heat from his gaze was long gone, leaving her cold and confused. "Lordie, but she's a looker. I can't believe I thought she was a man." Fenne's breath of disbelief left her feeling tainted. Wheeler let loose a huge guffaw that grated on her nerves and ears. Goodwin, the man she had already decided was innocent shrugged. "I don't know. I supposed I'd be fine with sharing with this one. I bet she's still a virgin, even if she's a little old." She took a careful step backwards, pressing her back against a shrub for protection. She had no doubt that she was still close enough to the house to scream. If she raised enough of a fuss, someone would come running. Someone would rescue her. On the other hand, there were four respected men and only one of her. Arnold shook his head. "Don't even think about it, girl. As is, we're not going to hurt you, but if you cause us any grief..." "We can't guarantee what will happen." Goodwin continued, offering her a smile that she would have considered pleasant under any other circumstances. Olyve swallowed sharply. "I am not interested in anything you have to offer, gentlemen. Please allow me to pass." 64


Neil laughed again, "Now why should we do that?" With her attention on the three of them, Olyve forgot to keep an eye on the fourth man. He was beside her faster than she thought possible. A sturdy arm wrapped around her and hauled her up against his body. "You should do so because she's mine and I don't share." A bolt of violence crashed through the air, only to disperse when a darker voice cut through the air. "Shut your mouths." Olyve almost cried out for joy when Mr. Leeway stepped past the three men blocking her path. Confusion, then horror chased away any hope she may have felt when her eyes fell to the needle in his hand. He glared at her with those dark, intense eyes and she sucked in a deep breath to scream. A hard hand clapped over her lips, lips that had moments before been kissed for the first time. Tears sprang into her eyes as Olyve realized it was the fourth man, the man who created such a deep feeling of trust within her, who was holding her still. "Thank you, Lord Reeves." The words were murmured and barely audible, but Olyve caught them. Her heart shriveled in her chest, pain vibrating so deep it pressed against the marrow in her bones. Lord Reeves. The man who had kissed her and who had saved her was the worst of the four. She hardly felt the prick of the needle after Leeway jerked the neck of the jacket down. The plunger flattened and she felt liquid push into her veins. All the while, she locked her eyes with his, unable to hide her hurt. He brushed a freezing tear from her cheek, just 65


as he had done the wayward snowflake before, moments before catching her unconscious body. It was all James could do to swallow back a howl of rage when Brian Leeway pushed the drug into the soft skin he had, moments ago, been longing to stroke. The limp weight of the nameless sprite was so miniscule he wanted to press her to his chest and prevent the bastards from even looking at her. The need to defend her blazed so deep he could barely speak with his clenched jaw. "Now what?" Leeway's gaze lingered just a little too long and James couldn't contain the growl this time. "Oh ho! It looks like Reeves has finally decided he wants in on the action." Wheeler had the habit of spouting off at the mouth when he probably should have stayed quiet. The pathetic little man liked to laugh at the misfortunes of others, especially when he was the one to create them. Thomas Goodwin was worse. With his charming face, money, and charisma he liked to lure his victims into a false sense of security before he hurt them. "It was just a matter of time, old friend. Who could resist all that beautifully soft flesh? He might just make the most vicious of us yet." "Hey now," Fenne protested with laughing eyes. "Don't just give away my title like that." The three monsters laughed at their stupid jokes while James ground his back teeth. He reminded himself repeatedly that he was on a mission that was more important than any one girl could possibly be. He couldn't and wouldn't blow his cover. Not when so many others were depending on him. 66


Still, he couldn't keep the bite out of his voice. "What. Now." Leeway was finally able to tear his eyes away from the girl, which was lucky for him because he was about to come very close to having them ripped out of his skull. "Wait here." As was the norm, the four of them did what Leeway said without hesitation. There was something off about the man, something worse than the cruelty that they seemed to enjoy. He was like a black hole, sucking the life from everything he touched. Wheeler muttered under his breath. "That guy gives me the creeps." Silence fell over them as they waited, broken only by the barely-there sound of snow falling around them. James tried not to look at the unconscious woman in his arms, knowing full well that the drug that rushed through her system would do her little harm and last for hours. Even when he wasn't looking at her, though, he could feel her. She was so small and dainty in his arms, as beautiful as she was sensual. She looked so fragile but he knew after watching her fight the assassin on the train that she could hold her own. Not to mention she had nerves of steel. He wasn't sure what she was doing here or why she was dressed in what he could only assume was another disguise, but she had guts. She'd realized she was outnumbered but she hadn't wilted like an over watered flower. Instead, she had held her own, demanding with that haughty voice that they release her. He wished he could have let her go. 67


Meeting her in the train had been an accident. He'd spotted the assassin, a man known only by the name of Jack, and gotten a strong sense of...need. That was the only way he could explain it. Something in him had needed to follow her, had wanted to do so more than he wanted his next breath. He'd followed at a distance, knowing that the members of the Guild took pride in their ability to shake tails. The train was chillingly empty. The usually bustling cars sat as dark caverns where ghosts took refuge. James knew there was something wrong the moment he heard that there would be no tickets for the next hour. He checked the secure logs, but couldn't find any maintenance scheduled for the train. Even so, that was the excuse the would-be passengers received when they attempted to board. He'd had to sneak aboard, dodging a large number of guards and personnel. He'd almost not made it, but when the bell had signaled movement, he'd managed to sneak past the closing doors. Getting to the carriage where the assassin had entered was easy with no obstacles to dodge. He'd found himself staring through the glass of one partition door, unable to take his eyes from a golden haired sprite deep in thought. His heart had dropped to his stomach as her assailant crept across the row to get to her. The flash of his garrote wire sliced through James's consciousness, almost as though he was the one feeling its cold bite. That raging need to protect had flared up for the first time. It was a disturbingly powerful entity that he hadn't known existed in him. He'd had to break the glass of the door with his bare hands to get to her but never even felt the pain. Only the need. 68


He shifted his weight, baring his teeth at Goodwin when he dared look at her for too long again. He'd felt that burning in the pit of his stomach again today. Only this time, it'd been a steady buildup of worry. He'd known she was in trouble or walking toward trouble, even before he'd seen her again. He hadn't been able to get her out of his head. Brian appeared again, his jaw set and his eyes lit up with a disturbing amount of fire. He spit on the ground and shoved clenched hands into his pockets before he answered the question in their eyes. "He wants to sell her." A murmur of excitement spilled from the lips of each of them and James felt that burn like a punch to the gut. He growled again, suddenly feeling like a rabid dog protecting his bone. He would never let anyone touch her. He'd kill all four of them if he had to. The thought almost brought him low. The red haze he hadn't realized was filling his mind slowly backed off as he took in slow, calming breaths. He couldn't do something like that. Not without risking the entire mission. Hell, he'd tank it beyond repair. No matter how much he wanted the girl, he wouldn't be able to live with himself after something like that. Wheeler cleared his throat. "Well now, if he wants to sell her, I have a suggestion. She's high priced goods. It would be a shame to auction her off with the others." Fenne tapped his double chin thoughtfully. "You're right. She's pristine merchandise. Even if we take her to the overseas auction she wouldn't raise as much as she's really worth." 69


James remained silent, unwilling to allow the killing rage to consume him again. He could see where this was going and sighed with relief. There was no reason for drastic measures after all. He could handle this. Goodwin was the last to catch on. The strangled noise he emitted when he did was probably the most annoying sound James had or would ever hear. "Come now, friends. It's hardly fair to do this now, knowing that I'm a bit short on funds." James couldn't help his derisive snort. Goodwin was looking for a wealthy heiress to revamp his depleted funds. It turned out the man wasn't nearly as good with arithmetic as he was with his whips. He'd all but blown through the family fortune. He was the first one recruited by their mysterious leader, after all. What better way to raise a fantastic sum of money, than literally on the backs other people? "Well, we can hardly be blamed for your lack of planning." Wheeler laughed again. "Don't worry, though, when I get bored with her I'll pass her your way." Fenne puffed up his round chest. "Not this time. I'll be the one to toss him my scraps because I'm going to get her." Goodwin whined softly but put his hands up in gratitude. "She won't be a virgin anymore, but if you brutes don't break her I suppose it'll be good enough." Brian cleared his throat painfully. "Bid. He wants to have a talk with the winner, so let's get this over with." Wheeler shrugged. "One hundred pounds." "My word," Fenne coughed. "You're serious, aren't you? She's lovely and all, but is she really worth that much?" 70


"If you can't beat my price, you're more than happy to drop out." "One-fifty." "Two hundred." "Two-fifty." "Three hundred!" "Four hundred, then." Fenne patted his forehead with his handkerchief, sweat rolling off his fat face. Wheeler blanched, his own cravat growing damp. "You know you can't afford that." "I can and will. There is my bid, think you can best it?" With a groan, the aristocrat threw up his hands. "You damn well know that I can't." Brian cleared his throat again. "Then it's settled, Mr. Fenne—" "One thousand pounds!" The four men sucked in a simultaneous breath and turned to look at James. He had no doubt they hadn't expected him to bid. He'd never done it before, so there was no reason to assume he would now. "That's insane!" "You can't be serious." Neil just sat laughing his annoying laugh. It surprised each of them when it was Brian who finally leaned over and punched him in the gut. The grating sound cut short and a gargling noise was all that was left of it. James widened his stance, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "Am I correct in assuming that no one is going to match my bid, then?" 71


Fenne turned a ruddy purple, matching the wheezing color of Wheelers face. "Why the bloody hell would you pay so much for her when you haven't even looked at any of the goods up until now?" "Because I want her." He put all the arrogance in his voice that he could muster. "I haven't been interested in anything that has passed this way because it has all been lacking. This one comes from fine cloth. I only indulge in the best." "Fine, fine. Then she's all yours. I hope you remember your friends when you grow bored, though." James shrugged again, already walking to follow Brian. "If I get bored, you're more than welcomed to her." He looked down at her face and pledged to her sleeping form that he would never get bored. He would keep her forever. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Five Olyve's head was spinning. She wouldn't have been the least bit surprised if it snapped off her shoulders and continued turning circles on the ground. Her body pressed against the hard ground...ground that she was lying on. She moaned in pain, attempting to sit up, only to find her hands and feet held together by abrasive rope. An oily rag pressed into her mouth, preventing her from speaking. For several moments, the pounding in her head was so loud that she couldn't hear a thing. She cursed against the gag when bile raced up her throat, threatening to fill her mouth. Confusion swept through her like a wave. She couldn't see, couldn't hear, and she couldn't move. All around her was darkness and silence so thick it was a mocking voice of agony. Her body ached in places she didn't know existed. She struggled against her bonds, making the biting pain even worse with every movement. There was no way she would be able to free herself. Panic rose up in her breast but she fought it back down. She would be useless if she let fear overtake her. A candle blazed in front of her, blinding her for several minutes. The pain of the light seared behind her eyelids, even as she was aware of more lights flaring up. "She's awake. Sit her up so that she doesn't choke on her own tongue, will you?" 73


Olyve jerked violently, the sound of a familiar voice crashing around in her head. She forced her tearing eyes open and looked into the face of her cousin. "That's better now, isn't it, Lyv?" Andrew smiled at her and her stomach did a nasty little flip flop. "Don't look at me like that, girl. I told you I wouldn't be held responsible for what you found if you went looking for trouble, didn't I?" He turned his attention away from her. James Reeves watched her with eyes so calm she thought her heart would break. It was obvious that whatever connection she had thought they had was a lie. It was nothing but a desperate impossibility, created by her pathetic loneliness. "It would seem you won the bid, James, which means you get to play with my dear cousin for as long as your heart desires." He moved to his desk, pulling out a familiar blue orb. Olyve struggled against her bonds again, trying to get to him, but was held still when Mr. Leeway brought his hand down on her shoulder. "Oh dear, Olyve. Does this upset you? I'm terribly sorry. I know you thought you'd lost it years ago, but you see I needed it in order to keep anyone in the family from finding out about me." James's tone was one of utter boredom when he was handed the priceless treasure. "What is this supposed to be?" Andrew moved back to his desk, settling in his chair. "I'm sure you've heard the rumors about the Blackwell family." Confusion flashed across James's face. "They say they have supernatural powers or some such nonsense." 74


"Well, what if I told you that it's not nonsense at all? What if I told you that every member of the Blackwell family has a distinct and special ability that can be used however they so choose?" James arched an eyebrow. "I'd say you're mad and should probably see a physician." Andrew laughed and nodded. "Yes, I guess I probably am. But you see... I'm not lying at all. I myself am a member of the Blackwell family, though as a distant cousin my power isn't nearly as impressive as some of the things you can find in my bloodline. My own ability isn't much good, but it makes a wonderful weapon against my family members. You see, I can gather and redistribute pain, affect confidence. It's a small thing, and usually only works with emotional pain, but every once in a while I can adjust the energy of another Blackwell." Olyve's eyes widened painfully and she shuddered. All of a sudden, the first barrier in her mind came crashing down. She moaned as her Intuition screamed at her, telling her what she already knew. She was in horrible danger and she needed to get away. She thrashed, ignoring the way the movement ground her bindings into her skin. The second barrier shuddered and she grew still, fighting mentally to keep it up. "This means I can use their powers against them. Of course, I had to work hard to encourage my ability to do so and Olyve here has such a powerful mind. Usually, it was little Kate who I had to work with. I wonder how my younger cousin is doing now. I can make the pain last a long, long time." 75


All at once, the unseen force released her. The barriers slammed back into place as if she were tugging on a rope where the other person had abruptly let go. She panted wildly against her gag, suddenly so tired she could barely move. "Though emotional pain is much, much easier to manipulate. Isn't that right, Olyve? I can't tell you how many times I've come to that nice little manor your father just left for you and your sister. Mrs. Jacobson is full of such overwhelming rage. It was easy to bring it out. And you? You're so pathetically sensitive it would have been a crime not to exploit it." James cleared his throat again, the sound so soft it was almost missed in all the sobbing. "You haven't answered my question. What is this?" Andrew shifted again. "Oh yes, I almost forgot in all the fun. That is actually one of the Blackwell Artifacts. No one is really sure where it comes from but that one has the ability to temporarily transfer powers from Blackwell to Blackwell. Olyve used it a few years ago in order to borrow Kate's power to heal some no-account brat she'd found." "I don't understand." James held the orb up, watching the blue swirls that pulsed through it. The artifact seemed like it was alive. "When one uses the Orb, it must be passed on. That's why I'm giving it to you for safe keeping. It's sort of an exchange. You use it and that spends whatever energy that was previously in it. In this case, Olyve had Kate use it. This spent whatever energy was in it previously and exchanged it with Kate's. Kate is a healer, so when Olyve used the orb to heal 76


her little friend, the energy that was Kate's was used, and the Orb was infused with Olyve's." "And you used Olyve's...power for something?" "You're a quick study, I knew there was a reason I liked you. I plan to use Olyve's final power, the one she keeps hidden behind her mental barriers." Olyve went still, so still that for a moment it was unsure whether she was still breathing. "Oh, you didn't think I knew about that, did you, my clever little cousin? You keep it so locked up tight I was beginning to wonder if it was just a myth. But your gift is all about the past. Your flimsy little Intuition works by acknowledging past intentions. When you use your touch, it's all about skimming the past through whatever object you're touching. Well, why not use the final bit? With your power, I plan to rip the past out of a single entity. Your dear father shouldn't be much trouble at all once he thinks his precious little girl is in danger." Olyve closed her eyes against the jealousy and hatred she'd failed to see in her cousin's eyes. She reached out to touch the Lodestar, only to find her connection severed. Andrew laughed again. "Now, now, little cousin. We'll have none of that, thanks to the Orb. Another reason my friend James is going to hold onto it." Mr. Leeway crossed the room again and dragged her up by her hair. She twisted in his grip, only to find herself hauled against his chest. A strong arm held her steady while he cut off her bindings. The last thing to go was the mouthpiece. "You're wrong if you think you can defeat my father—" 77


Mr. Leeway's mouth landed on hers. Gagging against him, Olyve struggled but couldn't shake his hold. He smelled of rot, blood, and acid. His teeth ground against her closed mouth, damaging the delicate skin of her lips. The slime on his tongue dribbled down her chin and she held her breath to keep his out of her lungs. It was only a few seconds, but the savagery of his mouth seemed to go on and on, a punishment that she couldn't have possibly earned. When his weight suddenly jerked away, she collapsed. Her vision swam along with her stomach and the sparse contents of her stomach threatened to spill across the floor. James stood with his back to her, his larger body wedged between hers and the others. Olyve wasn't sure when Goodwin and his cronies had appeared but they watched her with perverse yearning. "I won her. She's mine and I don't share." The threat in James's voice was clear. Tension rose up and Olyve thought that they would try to rush him to get to her. Andrew stepped into the fray, separating them. "There's no need for such hostility. Lord Reeves is correct: he alone has rights to Olyve right now. Still..." He snapped his fingers and Mr. Leeway reluctantly moved to the far side of the room. Olyve could see the way James tensed up when the guard drew on a single white cord. Gears turned noisily, begging for grease and oil. The heavy curtain framed by bookcases slid open, revealing a large circular bed. The rumpled red silk sheets lay stained and 78


mussed. The coppery tang of blood mixed with the salt of sweat, tears, and musk—a combination that clearly declared its purpose. "A show, then." Andrew sighed softly. "Don't even think to refuse, my good man. If you won't do it, I will simply have Mr. Leeway restrain you while the others take turns. It doesn't matter either way to me, but I will have evidence of her ruination to present to her father when I see him. Her terror will make a lovely gift." For the first time since a needle slid into her skin, Olyve stared into strikingly green eyes. Her breath caught with fear—anticipation?—and she shook her head. She was already scooting back, trying to get away when he caught her around the waist and stalked toward the red bed. "Don't." She jerked with the motion of his gait, true terror spinning free in her mind. The heartless gaze of her cousin speared her heart even as the mocking grins of the other men burned her. The silk-covered monstrosity was several paces away. James threw her onto the surface, kicking up an invisible cloud of sweat and sex. Fear paralyzed Olyve. Her heart was pounding painfully against her ribs and each stuttered, jerky breath only dragged more despair into her body. "Please. Don't do this." She swallowed her pride and whispered her plea. The others were far enough away that no one else would be able to hear her begging. From her position, she could see James's face even though it lay hidden from everyone else. He casually reached up to unbutton his jacket, pulling off his vest. His movements were 79


calm and distant but she could see his eyes. Those emeralds blazed with distaste, spoke volumes of things he couldn't say. Kneeling on the bed, he spoke in a casual tone. "If you fight me, I'll strip you down and bare your skin for all to see. Just remain a good girl and you won't have to suffer needlessly." He dragged his hands through her hair roughly, causing her to cry out. Confusion warred with tears in her overlarge eyes and it was all she could do to keep from screaming when he dragged her face closer to his. His hands tunneled painfully in her hair, jerking her face from left to right. He forced her to look into the gleaming eyes of those men who would do her harm before leaning down to press his mouth against her neck. His skin didn't touch hers. Instead he hovered a centimeter from contact and took a deep breath of his own. "Don't be afraid. I won't let them hurt you." The shock that tunneled through her almost made her jerk against him. He kept her still, before dragging his tongue over the delicate skin covering her collarbone. "Don't!" She fought furiously. Through the material of her gloves, she scratched at any part of him she could reach. The audience behind them cried out encouragement and cheered when he slammed her back against the bed. He raised his off hand to hit her, dragging her back up toward his chest, and swinging downward. Olyve closed her eyes, braced for contact that never came. He struck his strong arm and gave her a jerk, causing a little whimper to escape her lips. 80


Surprised, she opened her tightly clenched eyes and stared up at him. His eyes, so deep they looked like shining jewels, begged her to understand. With a barely perceived nod, she bucked, trying to knock him off balance. He laughed a slight cruel sound that filled the entire room. "Fight all you'd like. I'm still going to get what I want in the end." His mouth came crashing down on hers and she almost forgot to struggle against him. Unlike her most recent kiss, this one was fierce and good. He pressed his mouth against hers over and over, rubbing the tip of his tongue over her lightly to soothe away any sting left behind. He cradled her face in big palms, a true sense of urgency emitting from him as he moved against her. Olyve jerked back and away from him. For several seconds they simply panted, staring at one another in disbelief. The rooting of their slimy audience did not lessen the intensity in the contact. No matter how scared she was, there was no denying that she responded to his touch. "Oh-hoh! Maybe the little bitch likes it more than we'd hoped." A deep flush spread across Olyve's face. She scrubbed the back of her hand against her mouth and shot James the most contemptuous look she could muster with her heart pounding as hard as it was. This wasn't the time to lose herself in whatever passion lay between them. She hauled herself back, mustered up her courage, and spit in his face. James smiled at her, a genuinely pleased expression. He applauded her bravery silently, even as he leaned up and 81


grasped the remainder of the vest she wore in disguise. With a powerful tug, the material came apart, baring her breasts under the remains of the bindings she had used to flatten her bosom. The animals behind him went wild with lust, shouting for a peek, as he was blocking their view. He hesitated for only a moment while Olyve stared at him with eyes he hadn't thought could get any wider. She snarled in fury, moving to cover herself but he easily caught her hands in one of his. "So beautiful. Your skin is like fresh cream." He cast his voice loud enough for everyone to hear but there was a breathless wonder that Olyve didn't miss. She continued to struggle, her lips pressed firmly together, but she watched him lower his head. Under the facade of trying to push him off, Olyve's stomach coiled with anticipation. She shook her head in a deliberate show of refusal, but on the inside, she was burning with want. Cruel eyes watched her from afar but all she focused on were the desperate, hungry eyes of the person pinning her down. James trailed his tongue over one heavy breast, leaving a trail of heat and goosebumps in his wake. Olyve bit back a moan, trying to force herself to remember the situation. He carefully avoided her nipple, sucking in mouthfuls of white flesh and biting down. An involuntary movement brought her hips up to the air. She rolled with the action, pretending to buck again, trying to dislodge him, but mostly she bit back her own sighs of 82


pleasure. The motion brought her hips up to his and she brushed his groin with each thump of her body. When his hands came up to roughly palm her skin, she struggled to turn her moan into a groan of furious outrage. She felt his hard length pressing against her figure. Each time he dragged a whiskered cheek across her skin, she felt him tremble and knew he was just as confusingly aroused as she was. "Hey now, don't hog the goods for yourself! If we can't get a taste, at least let us get a peek." The crowd grumbled with discontent and apprehension rolled through James's expression. Olyve understood immediately. If he didn't keep them happy as spectators, they would eventually demand to participate. She pressed her fingertips against the palms that kept her arms up, letting him know it was all right. "Forgive me," he murmured against the flesh of her breast. She barely had time to suck in a fortifying breath before he released her arms. Almost immediately, his hands found their way into her hair and were jerking her upward. He pulled her to her knees and moved behind her, keeping her hands pinned behind her arched back. Behind her, James kissed her neck soothingly but she couldn't hide the way she trembled, forced to look at her attackers. An eerie black gaze sank into her skin, making her feel soiled even without contact. "Shh, brave girl. Ignore them. There is no one here but you and me." Careful hands peeled the remainder of the 83


jacket away from her skin. She gasped when his fingers moved over the now bared flesh, stroking and teasing heat back into the pit of her stomach. "You're doing wonderfully, just keep it up. They mean nothing and each one of them will pay for their crimes. I just need you to stay with me." Calling up the remainder of her bravado, Olyve tried to follow his instructions. She blocked out the jeering and raucous cries of the other men and focused all of her attention on James. If they'd been alone, she would have admitted he was very good at what he was doing. His mouth touched the base of her spine and she shuddered, falling forward onto her elbows when he released her arms, capturing her hips with a violent jerk. Her trousers parted and she flushed even deeper when his hand jerked them down along with her undergarments. James hissed softly under his breath and Olyve made to cover her naked flesh. "Beautiful..." Liquid heat ran from her body, marking the path she wanted him to travel. Within her mind, she felt the barriers sigh with emotion she shouldn't have felt. They beckoned for her to touch him. Helpless against the onslaught against her body as well as her mind, Olyve relaxed her hold on them, waiting with baited breath while they shuddered, preparing to fall. Must find...James Reeves. [Back to Table of Contents] 84


Chapter Six James wasn't entirely certain what was going on. He tried to keep an objective distance while he touched the little sprite but every brush of his fingertips caused him to grow even harder. She smelled of woman and want, a combination that was driving him crazy. He'd never wanted anything as much as he wanted to push her onto the filthy bed and drive his body into her weeping sheath. Oh yes, he couldn't have ignored her interest in him if he were deaf and blind. She bit back her pleasure and swallowed her moans, even while he exposed her to the pack of rabid dogs threatening her. Andrew cleared his throat and the room fell silent. James carefully covered Olyve's body when he lifted his head. "What is it?" "I've changed my mind. I see no reason to doubt that you will consummate this little game." One cut from his eyes ended any complaint. His gaze was crazed, his entire demeanor different now that he'd shed his cloak of civility. James gathered Olyve into his arms. She was careful to avoid his gaze and kept her head down as if she were too cowed to continue to fight. He knew better, feeling her taut body quiver in his touch. "Then I shall take my leave." Andrew shrugged a little, motioning for a maid with downcast eyes to step forward. James didn't see where the 85


woman came from but he noticed the bruises and scarring on her small frame. "You will find an unmarked carriage outside, waiting to take you to one of my houses outside of the city. I trust you won't object. You will find every comfort you need there, but I need my little cousin kept out of my hair until after Christmas." James shrugged as if it didn't matter, even though his mind reeled with this new, impossible deadline. Christmas was in three days. "Why's that, again?" "Because on Christmas I'm going to drain the energy from the special girls we've amassed and use their pain to cripple Warham Blackwell." Olyve stirred in his hold, even as a weight settled beneath his breast. He may not understand exactly what was going on, but he read the message loud and clear. Andrew Whittock was insane and he was going to kill Ginny and the other captives. He let a cocky grin spread across his face, though he was feeling anything but. "It looks like I got the better end of that deal." Goodwin snickered. "Maybe not. We get to play with them before clean up. I've got my eye on a somber little brat with sad brown eyes." James nudged the maid into motion before he ripped the bastard's tongue out of his face. Every step he took away from the three of them brought a measure of sanity. He didn't realize he was grinding his teeth until the girl in his arms discreetly laid her hand against his chest. 86


The offer of comfort soothed him in a way he wouldn't have thought possible. Still, the genuine smile she evoked died the moment they stepped outside. The wind had picked up, blowing the dust and smog up from the city and throwing it up into the clouds. The blue white glow of dawn had risen up to cast light on the grimy city walls. Snow continued its disappointing descent, slicking the ground with an oily flurry. The cobblestone walkway rang with his footsteps and just behind each beat of motion, another step fell. James stopped moving at the edge of the sidewalk, setting Olyve down carefully. He removed his jacket and handed it to her, giving the maid a dismissing wave. Three footmen, marked as her cousin's servants by their embroidered jackets, climbed off the waiting carriage and paused, sensing the tension in the air. "You may as well come out." James turned in a circle, again using his body to shield his sprite. "I'm not going to look over my shoulder the entire time I'm enjoying the girl." Brian Leeway stepped out of one of the shadows the house cast. A smirk twisted his face. "You're good. Not many people can catch my trail." For the first time impatience cut into James's voice. "What do you want, Leeway?" The man hissed. For a moment, the Earl wondered if insanity was contagious. His dark eyes flashed with sickly greed and deprivation. "I'm taking the girl." James shrugged. "Not unless you're able to kill me." 87


"Then I suppose that's what I'll be doing." The hulking man withdrew another syringe from the leather pouch at his waist. A soft smile spread across his face, as nightmarish as his black eyes. "I've seen you fight. We both know there's no way I can beat you fairly. Luckily, I don't intend to give you that chance." The liquid was in Leeway's veins before the shout left James's throat. The smile that spread across the brute's face grew euphoric and he stripped off his shirt. Muscles budged and veins stood out over them, living, quivering snakes of sickness. "Get ready!" Olyve's scream echoed off surfaces all around them. It might as well have been a gunshot starting the race. Leeway closed the distance between them, moving with the surety of someone who knew he was a fast as he was big. James met him halfway, rolling when the bigger man swung with a meaty fist. The crash of bone hitting stone was sickening. James caught a whiff of honey sweet opiates and something else. He didn't have a chance to dissect the familiar scent. A heavy boot caught him in the middle, followed by a stunning blow to the face. "Don't touch me!" Olyve's desperate cry chased the stars out of his eyes. Neil Wheeler had come up beside her and laid a deceptively casual hand on her shoulder. "Don't you worry. I'll keep an eye on our friend here while you gentlemen hash this out." 88


Leeway rushed him again, his strength almost unreal. A chilling smile remained plastered on his face even as he absorbed the quick blows that James landed. The snow began to fall heavier, sticking to his sweating body. James switched up his strategy, keeping the barreling man at arms length. He shot in quick for guaranteed attacks, but for the most part, he focused on keeping him off balance. "I thought you'd be better than this, Reeves." Leeway hissed with pain when the earl slammed his shoulder into his back, sending him to his knees. "I thought you'd actually fight!" James ignored the taunts, keeping his distance while the first wave of the drug coursed through his opponents' body. Leeway roared in frustration, all of his monstrous strength useless as the initial burst of speed bled away. When James saw his euphoric smile fade, he shifted his strategy, going on the offense. Leeway speared the air with clumsy, powerful punches that were easy to dodge. An arching haymaker slammed against his shoulder and he twisted, turning the painful momentum to his advantage. As James landed with a controlled groan, he lashed out with both legs, sending the beast flying backward. Using his palms and upper body, he gracefully regained his feet, standing at the ready as Leeway scrambled back up. "You have no right. I've wanted her for years. She's mine!" Spittle left his mouth, painting the air with filthy foam. He dropped to one knee, jerked his pant leg up, and freed a single small pistol from a leather harness. Gunpowder sparked, flashing against pale winter snowflakes. 89


The boom struck the air like a ton of bricks but James was already moving. Releasing the tarnished buckles at his hips, he sank his hands into the hidden leather pouches, unfolding panels of gleaming metal. The two halves of his blade fused together with a hiss of steam. Before the blaze of heat had faded, he was in motion, snatching the bullet from midair. The gleaming metal weapon spun with the force of momentum, blasts of steam displacing and melting the flurry building up around them. James danced with the arching sword, letting the technology guide his hand. The bullet rode on a fiery edge, cradled by a bed of powerful steam. With a graceful slash of his shoulder, he flung his sword arm across his chest, rocketing the bullet back at its source. Stunned, Leeway watched the red stain spread across his breast. "Impossible." James turned away from the lifeless corpse that fell to the filthy ground. He knew what kind of image he painted. The sword glowed like an ember in the dull light and he stepped free from a curtain of snow. His eyes burned with challenge, the haze of battle still fresh on his skin. Wheeler stared at him with wide, fearful eyes. The slug raised his hands in surrender, backing up slowly. "I wasn't going to take her. I know she's yours." After a long moment, he pulled his jacket tighter around his body. His voice shook. "Lord Whittock isn't going to like what's happened here. He's fond of that one." James took another step forward and the maggot jumped back. "But I can go tell him it wasn't your fault. Leeway, he 90


was out of his mind with jealousy. He should have respected the boss's decision and dropped the whole matter." James walked right by the quivering idiot. Olyve stood before the carriage, shivering in the cold. Her clothing was still torn and her huge eyes were watching him with a measure of respect and awe. No fear echoed in their crystal blue depths, for which he was glad. His pounding heart immediately calmed while drinking her in. "Get in the cab, Olyve Blackwell." His voice was rough and tight with fury. Her brave little chin tilted up, throwing her cascade of blonde ringlets dancing into the air. He sucked in a breath, enchanted by the sight of her. When she turned and climbed into the transport, he was sorely tempted to grab a strand of that hair and press it to his face. Shaking off the strange need, he called back over his shoulder, "Tell Andrew whatever you'd like. He knows where my loyalties lie. You had best watch your back, though. I'm not sure who you're standing behind." He climbed into the dark depths behind the woman he'd saved, ignoring the sputtering response of a soon-to-be dead man. Olyve watched as James took the steaming blade apart and stashed it in numerous hidden pockets in his clothing. Her heart was still in her throat, banging out a quick tempo of mixed emotions. She opened her mouth, preparing to ask the thousands of questions that assaulted her mind, but he raised a hand shaking his head. With a quick gesture, he reminded her of the footmen hanging on the sides of the anonymous vehicle. 91


With a delicate nod, she folded her hands in her lap and leaned back, studying her savior. He had taken a couple of nasty blows and his lip was as split as hers. Ugly bruises formed at the base of his chin and his clothes hung in tatters in several places. Scrapes and ruined flesh ravaged patches of golden skin where his form had connected to the ground. Snow collected in his black hair, giving him a deceptively delicate appearance. She marveled at the calm he seemed to exude, his hands steady even while sporting split knuckles. The quick survey of his figure left her a little breathless and she closed her eyes against the confusing feeling. Once again, she found herself swept away by her attraction to this man. He wasn't in the position to receive her affections and she wasn't entirely certain she should trust him in the first place, but she couldn't help the natural inclination. She probed her mind and found the same satisfaction coming from her Intuition. Everything within her: body, mind, and heart were prepared to accept him on levels she shouldn't even have been considering. Not now, not with Andrew threatening to attack her father. She couldn't figure what he hoped to gain from such an action. Her father was the head of the family for a reason. His power was without peer and despite his shortcomings; he was good at what he did. He was without equal and impossible to beat...at least, that's what she told herself. Hours later, Olyve looked out across winter kissed hills untouched by the recent growth of civilization. They had changed footmen, the ones now working the carriage little 92


more than starving hires. She noted that they didn't wear her cousin's insignia and wondered if it would be safe to talk. The sky, an angry gray visage, promised a blizzard, but for now there was nothing but sharp clean air. She took a deep breath, wiping sleepiness from her eyes and preparing to start a conversation. James spoke, beating her to the punch. "What do you want for Christmas?" Completely caught off guard, Olyve jerked her attention away from unhelpful thoughts. She couldn't do anything about what her cousin was planning just yet so there was no real point in fretting over it. "What?" The very first awkward movement she'd seen from him and it seemed so genuine. James shrugged one shoulder as if he didn't know what else to do. "What kind of things did you enjoy receiving for Christmas?" Olyve couldn't help it. She threw her head back and laughed. The sound rooted out the dark corners of the carriage as well as her companion's heart. She saw it as clearly as she did the auras from objects that called out to her. It had been the right thing to do, the only thing to do. Leeway would have killed him and done terrible things to her, but even knowing this, James was burdened. He carried the weight of the life he had taken but with her laughter, the dark cloud of responsibility lifted just enough to reveal a cloudless aura of determination and duty. She smiled, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, wondering how she could have missed the shimmer of 93


goodness within him. "I'm rather fond of books. What things do you like?" He smoothed over her question with a teasing shake of his head. "Miss Blackwell, you should be cowering in fear. You're headed to an unnamed location with a complete stranger." His tone was flat and serious but the corner of his mouth twitched with appreciation. "I wouldn't say you're a stranger, Lord Reeves. Indeed, there are some ways in which you know me much better than anyone else." The flirtation in her voice was a surprise. She blushed prettily when his eyes left her eyes and traveled down to her lips. "Yes, well, that was poorly done of me. I'm truly sorry." Shifting nervously would have made her look foolish so she ducked her head slightly, forcing him to look into her eyes again. "Why are you sorry?" She brought up a hand when he would have listed his sins. "Yes, given the choice, I would never have wanted anyone to see me in such a state...but being embarrassed is much more manageable than being ravaged, in my book." Shock flashed in his eyes and Olyve smiled. "I can't even begin to express my gratitude. You've saved me a number of times recently...and you wouldn't have had to, had I heeded the warnings of my family members." James flinched at the reminded that Andrew was a blood relative. "It must be difficult; knowing that someone you loved is capable of such evil." She shrugged casually but the action didn't hide the hurt she was harboring. "People are people, no matter whether 94


they share blood or not. There is never any guarantee that any of us will do the right thing when given the chance." "That's a terrible lesson for someone so young and beautiful to know." It was Olyve's turn to flinch. A sheepish grin spread across her face. "You know, I'm not all that young. According to the ton, I'm well past my prime." James shrugged, reaching across the space that separated them to drag a lock of her hair away from her face. "Well, that just goes to show how foolish people can be." The butterflies came back in full force, dancing a fast waltz across her abdomen. She coughed delicately into her hands. "Yes. I suppose it does." It was the first real laugh she'd heard from him and Olyve marveled at the way the simple sound managed to make him seem even more handsome. Before she could discern what he was about, he leaned forward and pulled her down by her shoulders. His mouth brushed lightly against hers, a kiss unlike any of the others they had shared. This one was pure and simple, tasting of laughter and sunshine. He quickly released her, sitting backward with an easy grin on his face. "I apologize. I shouldn't abuse our situation so completely." She scoffed even as her already hot cheeks blazed deeper. "Yes, you look contrite." His grin widened before falling away gradually. When he questioned her this time, the way he spoke was light and friendly. They could have been exchanging household gossip for all of the ease he injected into his words. "How did you 95


get tangled up in all of this anyway? You don't strike me as the sleuthing type." She may have taken offense to his assumption, but he was right. That didn't mean she was going to tell him so. She carefully considered her options before answering. Andrew had already told him more than he should have. The Blackwells were a family that wanted to remain shrouded in mystery. It went against everything she'd grown up believing to simply tell him what he was asking. Her hesitation spoke volumes to James. "I understand. With all that has happened I suppose it's difficult to trust anyone." He shifted slightly, pulling out the hilt end of his blade. A depression at the base of the blade in the shape of a single flame caught her eyes. "You see this symbol? It means that I am an operative of the Crown. My duty is to locate and free the young women who have gone missing. For me, there is more at stake here...personally." She knew he wasn't a criminal. Curiosity brightened the blue of Olyve's eyes. "Personally?" "Not so fast, Miss Blackwell. I offered my information in the sense of trust. You will have to reciprocate for me to continue. Already you have more information than you should as a civilian." Nodded, Olyve scooted forward, realizing if she wanted to stop her cousin she would need help. This man could provide just that. Besides, he had already earned her trust. She had no reason to deny him at this point. "Everything Andrew said about the Blackwell family is true. We each have a power that manifests itself when we're children." 96


She expected him to react with disbelief. Instead, his dark head nodded, accepting what she said as fact without so much of a batted eye. "What was Whittock talking about when he said he wanted to steal the energy from the girls?" Olyve winced. "A lot of us train our abilities to be stronger. You can strengthen and shape them. You heard what I can do. Well, Andrew wasn't always this way. As a child, he had had the ability to sense stress. He could boost confidence within a person...but then he decided he didn't want to use his power anymore." She sat back, closing her eyes. No one had known what would happen if one of them refused to use their gifts. They'd assumed and ignored too much. "I think it twisted him. Or maybe he twisted it, I don't know." "And now you're saying his power doesn't work the way it should?" James kept his prodding gentle. Olyve let a tiny laugh slip past her throat. "Oh no, it's your turn. Why did you save me that day at the train station?" "Because I had to." When it looked like she would question him further, he continued. "I can't explain it. I was following the assassin, thought he might be working with Andrew. I was going to gather information and turn away, but the moment I saw you...I had to protect you." She frowned a little before nodding. She didn't bother to open her eyes when she whispered her own admission. "I think I know what you mean..." the blush she seemed to permanently wear around him deepened. "I haven't been able to get you out of my mind since the first time I saw you. I feel drawn to you in a way I can't begin to describe, let alone explain." 97


James pressed his hand to his chest, trying to relieve some of the unexpected pressure there. He swallowed twice before he could get his next question out. "What does he want?" A ghost of a smile flashed across her face before blonde eyebrows drew together. "You heard him. He wants to take on my father." "Is your father really so strong?" She could have refused to answer him, as he'd already gotten his question resolved, but weariness sapped her interest in the barter. "Every generation, there is one Auberon. This person is always the leader of the family, based on some criterion that none of us are aware of. All that we know is that he or she is born with a special mark. An Auberon's powers manifests fully with a crown of information. As if filled with some unseen energy, they find themselves entrusted with all the secrets and artifacts of the Blackwell family. My father is the Auberon of this lifetime. He is the most powerful of all of us." James made a low sound of acknowledgement. "So, Andrew is after his position or knowledge. But why did he need your power in order to do this? I'm not entirely sure what you have to do with this." He sat in silence for several minutes before realizing that she was fast asleep. A soft smile spread across his face, even as his mind raced with questions unanswered. If there was one thing he knew without a doubt in all of this, it was that she was his. There was no part of his life untouched by the influence of technology and science. The weapons he created were one of 98


a kind, the sort of battle gear that could change the future of a nation. His brother, Cyril, was a world renowned builder of automatons. His work lay in everything from toys to personal bots. But Olyve was different. She was true magic: both by virtue of her family and how she made him feel. No matter what happened, he had every intention of keeping her. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Seven "Wha—" Olyve woke with the kind of jolt that instantly lets you know that you're late for something important. Blonde curls clung to her sweating skin and her heart thudded with deep, painful resonation against her chest. Fully alert, she rolled off the modest bed she couldn't remember getting into and took in her surroundings. A large window with a seat offered her a view of barren trees, heavy with snow. Icicles dangled from their weary branches, sparkling in the red light of dusk. She took a moment to marvel at the smog-free sky, watching warm oranges bleed into reds without the heavy taint of the everpresent sickly gray. A cheerful fire warmed her back and she didn't miss the fact that her clothing had been changed. She now sported a different pair of brown trousers. A tan vest stretched across her chest over a cream colored men's shirt. A frilly cravat tickled her nose. She breathed a sigh of thanks. Her gloves were still on. Upon further inspection she decided the room was rather nice, probably the only sleeping quarters in a small cabin. She frowned at the thought but couldn't deny the wooden walls that stretched up toward the ceiling. "Andrew shouldn't be able to afford something like this." She murmured the thought to herself before biting her tongue. "Of course he could buy something as coveted as a wooded property...he's dealing in blood." 100


A knock at the door didn't wait for permission to enter. James shuffled into the room holding a tray with steaming bowls and cups. His clothing was stained with blots of black oil, something she made a mental note to ask him about later. "Oh. I see you're awake." He left the door open, offering her a view of a large space decorated by gaudy mounted animal heads. "Did you sleep well?" She ignored his question. "Where are we?" James took his time setting the food down before he answered her. A little table sat in front of a low, uneven lounge. "Sit. Eat. You must be half starved." She opened her mouth to protest but her stomach had other plans. It exuded a loud growl, demanding attention. Embarrassed, Olyve shut her mouth and sank onto the plush surface. She began to put food in her mouth without care to what it was. When he was eating as well, she counted his bites before deciding it was acceptable to ask again. "Where are we?" "Obviously, we're several hours out of the city. I believe Lord Whittock was trying to get us as far away from him as possible." She bobbed her head between bites. "That makes sense. Even with the Orb, my father would know something was up if he felt my energy twice." James took a sip of his tea before sighing. "What does this have to do with you, Olyve? I never got an answer to that." She swallowed even though there was nothing in her mouth. Her eyes immediately dropped, unwilling to see his 101


expression as she struggled to tell him. "I don't...what about you, James? You said this was personal. How so?" He was silent for so long that she risked a peek up at him. She found him staring out the window, an intricate bullet between his fingers. A chain hung from the flattened end of it, looped through a hole made specifically for that purpose. "Your cousin has someone who is important to me amongst his captives." He met her eyes and the weight of his worry crashed into her. "There's a little girl who put her trust in me and she's out there somewhere, scared and alone." "Is...is that something of hers?" James smiled at the concern in her voice. "It's something that belongs to both of us. It's a bullet that gives her peace of mind. She sent it to me, just as she promised. I told her that if she ever needed me, if she was in trouble in any way, to send this and I would come find her. I can't let her down, Olyve. I just can't." She nodded her understanding, using her tongue to moisten her suddenly dry lips. "There are partitions in my mind. They keep my power at bay. Behind one of those barriers, I think I have the ability to manipulate memories. To tear them away while I absorb them." James kept his face decidedly neutral. "And that is what your cousin currently has the ability to do?" "Yes." "If he does that, what happens?" Olyve tried to shrug her shoulders. "Remember what I said about the Auberon? My cousin is probably after the artifacts. 102


They are exceptionally powerful, James. He could do some real damage with them." James continued to eat while he filtered this new information. He wondered if the Monarchy was aware of the power of the Blackwell family. "Will your father be able to stop him?" "I don't know. No one knows exactly what my father can do, but even he has his limits." She bit down on one worried nail. "The thing is...if he is summoned, that will mean that the girls have already been killed." He sucked in a dangerous breath. "Then it's up to us to keep your cousin from getting that far. Can you call for help? He mentioned something about a Lodestar?" "Yes, it's an inner beacon of light that keeps all of us connected, but the Orb blocks the Lodestar. We could try to steal and destroy it, but then Andrew would know something was happening." "Besides that, the fact that you're cut off also gives us the element of surprise. He won't be expecting us to crash his party. If we get rid of the Orb he will be able to tell you're coming, is that right?" He shocked her into smiling. "Yes, that is right as well. You really are a quick study. Why aren't you running away screaming, given the whole situation?" James shrugged. "Losing my composure wouldn't make it any less true. It would only hinder what we have to do and we don't have the time to waste." Olyve tilted her head back and laughed. "So it's smarter to simply go with the flow." 103


"Exactly." They finished eating in thoughtful silence and Olyve let her mind wander. Closing her eyes, she let out a little gasp of sharp surprise. The first images that flooded her mind were that of his hands and mouth pressed to the white flesh of her breasts. Her face reddened, but not with the humiliation, she should have been feeling. She felt wicked and aching. Wanton. She loosened the cravat at her neck, suddenly unbelievably hot. She shot quick glances toward her companion, marveling at the way his mouth moved while he chewed, his strong jaw flexing with intent. She wondered if he wanted to kiss her as badly as she wanted to kiss him. His voice cut through the silence, startling her from her naughty thoughts. "Can you do it?" Her eyes immediately fell back to his mouth. Was he asking her if she could kiss him? "Can I do what?" Dark brows drew upward and he shook the bullet that he was holding out. "Can you use this to find out where he is?" Olyve mentally shook her head, clearing out the lust that filled it. What was happening to her? She couldn't concentrate at all while around him. "I don't...think so. When did she send it to you? I can only see history directly tied to the object." He held it out eagerly. "She may have been with Andrew when she sent it to me." Olyve worried her lip for several moments before finally nodding grudgingly. "I'll do my best." 104


The item he held out seemed to vibrate with pleasure when she turned to look at it. She heard James's sharp intake of breath but he was already fading away from her focus. A green aura licked at the surface of the bullet. It was an easy, if not eager history, begging for her Sight. She tugged off her gloves, waiting for her nails to match before she reached out. The aura didn't wait for her to connect with the cold metal. It leapt up to meet her skin, flooding her mind and pores with the past. Nestled in the chamber of a revolver, the bullet absorbed the sweat soaked fear of the man carrying it. "Where is she, where is she?" He chanted, moving among a crowd of empty boxes. The dark warehouse he was in smelled of musk and salt, an overwhelming stench that made it hard to breathe. The eerie quiet in the small space shattered with the high pitched wails of a broken heart. The child cried out mournfully, sure that she was going to die. Her voice dripped with pain and James knew she was probably bleeding. The man who had taken her, a monster with a taste for children, was moving through the same maze of boxes and mildew, trying to get to her before he could manage to save her. A blood curdling scream pierced the air and James cursed under his breath. The boxes finally gave way to a small clearing, covered with filthy wool blankets. The girl dangled in the arms of her mad captor, her dirty feet barely reaching the bottom of his abdomen. "Stay back, spook. I know you're out there and I'm not letting her go. I'll kill her first." 105


James crouched in the shadows, grinding his teeth. The little girl couldn't have been more than five, her big brown eyes filled with tears and terror. The crow's nest of her hair was haphazardly done in red pigtails, bobbing uselessly as she fought her much larger assailant. James cast his voice upward, knowing that it would be scattered throughout the space. "Don't do anything foolish, Teele. The girl is an innocent here. Why not just let her go and come quietly?" The cornered man spun in a circle too quickly for James to get the shot off, but the bullet was well aware of his desperation. This monster had already hurt three little girls, and he had done it using technology James had given him for missions. He knew he was going to hang and if James couldn't stop him, he was probably going to kill this one out of spite. A frisson of awareness crawled up his spine. While he had been looking around for a vantage point, the girl had managed to find him, despite the darkness. James watched Teele searched in vain, sure that the darkness continued to hide him well. The girl's eyes never wavered. Please don't let him kill me. The liquid depths of her eyes seemed to scream in silence. Save me. The bullet within the chamber watched with eager eyes as James raised his gun. The man didn't move with his usual grace. Instead, his arm rose like a marionette dancing on the end of invisible strings. His throat worked tirelessly, even as the muscles of his shoulders fought the invisible force moving his body. The 106


malachite jewels set in his face glittered with refusal, even as he leveled his barrel. "No," his strained voice hissed in the void of his hiding place. "I might miss." I trust you. The little girl closed her eyes and the bullet charged forward, the bang of gunpowder discharging, the only warning the monster had. The projectile was small but it did the job. It heated the air as it traveled the considerable distance in the blink of an eye. Olyve's consciousness spread from its metal depths, transferring from James to the little girl as she moved by her small face. Half a second later, she was the new owner of this ball. Teele took a fortifying breath, knowing he was about to die and Olyve felt her own chest rise, mimicking the shaky last inhalation. The bullet ripped through the soft tissue at his chest. She smelled the spent spark of black powder and choked back a scream when muscle ripped into slick ribbons of meat. The sick cracking noise of bone being shattered filled her ears. Olyve saw through the eyes of a dying man as her foreign body dropped its captive. James rushed forward, scooping the child up and for a split second, her own heart ached with want and loss. The stuttering pump of Teele's was fading, his body slipping into shock. The bullet burned in her body and she opened her mouth wide, knowing nothing would come out of it. "Olyve. Olyve!" Someone was shaking her, trying to pull her away from the vision. She would have smiled if she were able. The vision was a killing one, part of the danger of 107


opening herself so completely to an object. She didn't have the ability to escape. "Wake up, stubborn little chit. I'm not letting you go so easily." The frantic tone of the voice warmed her in one way, even as she grew colder in another. The warmth tried to spread, to keep her sluggish heart going. Tears pricked both sets of her eyes. He was going to have to watch her die. "Like hell I will." She hadn't realized she was speaking out loud until James's mouth trapped hers, biting off whatever last lament she was going to muster. She pulled away from the vision, desperate for what he was offering. The kiss seared her throughout; the flickering flames he ignited melted the ice that reached out to grip her spirit. Olyve had never wanted anything as badly as she wanted that kiss. She reached for it, stretching her thinning soul across the distance that denied her such a claim. Her arms reached up, heavy with death, and defied the demanding presence that hovered just past her sight. "Yes," she murmured against the mouth tethering her to the world of the living. "James." Her lids lifted and focused slowly. James's face hovered before her nose, suspended inches from hers with eyes overbright with concern. His frenzied expression smoothed over the moment she was looking back into his eyes. Moments later, he was shaking her shoulders. "Why would you do that if it's dangerous? You should have told me, Olyve. Your chest bled and I recognized the wound. 108


Did you know you could have died doing your little parlor trick?" He practically quivered with anger, his words little more than an anxious hiss. Olyve let her head loll for a moment before she brushed his hands to the side. He was right, the vest and shirt she'd been dressed in were soaked in ugly crimson lifeblood. She touched the spot she'd been bleeding from, finding the wound completely healed. Her heart still thwacked against her ribs, but not with fear. She looked up at James. His hair stuck up in places as if he'd run his hands through it a number of times and if it were possible she would have said he'd gotten even more handsome. While he stood to pace, she leaned back against the lounge. Death still clung like cobwebs in the corners of her mind. She licked her lips carefully, still tasting James. Her hands were steady when she reached for the buttons of her vest. She carefully peeled it away, untying the cravat. She was halfway down the buttons of the shirt before she stood. "Will it be like the time in Andrew's office?" Her question caught the pacing man off guard. He turned toward her, doubtlessly ready to yell at her again. She'd already managed to remove the top layers of her clothing. She stood in front of him, naked to the waist with her hands on the button of her borrowed trousers. "What in God's name are you doing?" The question exploded from his lungs but not until after he'd gotten a good look. He spun around, giving her his back again after a moment's hesitation. 109


Olyve stepped out of the pants carefully, moving to skirt the little table. "I'm asking you a question right now." James fisted his hands at his side, obviously uncomfortable. "What question is that?" "If you touch me right now, will it be the same as before?" She laid a hand on his shoulder and laughed when he jumped across the length of the room. He did his best to keep his eyes at a respectful level when he turned. "Olyve. I know that you've been through a lot over the last couple of days, but you really shouldn't be..." She shrugged, stalking him when he backed up again. "I may be a virgin but I'm not ignorant, James. Besides that, I'm already twenty-five and a Blackwell. I'm not concerned with propriety, no one wants me anyway." He snarled at the self-deprecating statement. "That's not true." The little smile that she offered him clearly stated that she was manipulating him. "Are you saying that you want me, then?" Unfortunately, James couldn't force himself to care. "Of course I want you. Why wouldn't I?" He clenched his fists, unwilling to take his eyes off of her but determined not to touch her. She took careful steps closer to him, her body tinged in pink despite her boldness. "Why do you want me?" She stopped moving a mere foot in front of him. James was well aware of each inch she ate up with her shy little movements. He dragged his hands painfully through his hair. "Damnit, Olyve. Put your clothes back on. We cannot do this." 110


Through the fragile face of her bravado, doubt crept into her expression. "Is it because you're worried someone will make you marry me? Because I wouldn't—" "It has nothing to do with that!" James trembled with the words. "I...realize that it's fashionable for men to fight against being married but I've always wanted a wife. A real one." Her eyebrows rose. "A real one?" "...my parents married as aristocrats are expected to nowadays. They didn't love each other, barely spent any time together. I thought that was just the way it was but I had a friend whose parents adored one another. That's what I want." Olyve giggled a sweet, open hearted sound. "I don't know if I can give you that, James, but I want you. I want to spend this time with you, just in case." He scowled. "Olyve, I don't want to be your—" She cut him off by leaning up on tip toes and pressing her body against his. She wasn't interested in whatever cool logic he was going to offer. Right now, all she wanted was to be with him. To stop fighting the promise of satisfaction she felt every time he was close to her. The butterflies turned into full grown ravens, flapping in her stomach. "All I want is to be with you." The last of his reluctance swept away with her softly spoken plea. James wrapped his arms around her petite body, lifting her off the ground. He crushed her to his chest, sweeping his mouth over hers until she was dizzy with pleasure. 111


"You taste so sweet," he murmured against her mouth, drinking deeply. He moved across the room, laying her back against the bed she'd woken up in. His eyes flashed with longing and her heart thundered an eager reply. He pulled off his shirt and stretched out beside her, gathering her up closer to his body. He chuckled softly when she drank him in, an unmistakable sound of female appreciation humming in her throat. Olyve's eyes fluttered closed when his hands began to shape her body. His fingertips danced across the skin stretched tight over her stomach. "Higher. Touch me like before." He laughed against the hot skin of her neck, brushing kisses from her chin to her collarbone. His hands slowly made their way higher, cupping the modest mounds of her breasts. She gasped when the same liquid heat from before slid from her body, preparing her for him. Only for him. Her fingertips, bare of any coverings, ran through his hair, a light glow throbbing with power. She bit back a soft moan when he groaned, the light she exuded seeping into the sensitive skin of his scalp. She hadn't been lying when she said she wasn't ignorant. She knew the mechanics of sex, even if she'd never experienced it herself. What she didn't expect was the deep, engulfing need. She ran her trembling fingers down the back of his neck, pushing pleasure into his skin as she went. Her power thrummed with paradisiacal intent, giving him everything she felt and more. 112


Her heart swelled beneath her breast. He massaged the sensitive flesh in his palms, brushing the pad of his thumb across her aching nipples. Olyve moaned low in her throat, arching her back up to meet his hands. "Your mouth. Use your mouth." He laughed, running his tongue over her pulse point. "Has anyone ever told you how bossy you are?" She groaned in frustration, moving her hands away from his neck and sliding one between them. She had to bend a little but she pressed her own palm against his chest. When she unleashed the wealth of pleasure that stemmed from her memory, he moaned, his hips jerking involuntarily. "I know what I like, so give it to me." His eyes tracked her when she laid back. She raised her hands above her head and he marveled at the light spreading from her fingertips downward. Taking it in stride, he repositioned his body, stroking a budded nipple with his tongue. She immediately rose up, trying to push deeper into his mouth, the sweetest little mewls leaving her lips. Olyve turned her head from side to side, completely lost in the delicious feeling spiraling toward the center of her body. She pressed her thighs together, gasping when the hum intensified. Her body felt as if he pulled it in ten different direction and all of them were wonderful. James caught her twisting hips with a free hand, and pushed her legs apart. She couldn't have resisted if she wanted to, the sheer force of her arousal turning her into a slave to his ministrations. His fingers touched the slick, puffy 113


folds of her sex, sliding upward to stroke the hub of nerves that throbbed in time with her weeping sheath. The moan he dragged out of her was nothing compared to the way her body quivered with want. She felt something hot and promising build in the pit of her stomach, and rocked her hips against his long fingers. The slippery warmth that coated his hand should have embarrassed her but she was too far gone, her cries of passion tingeing her vision red. Her hands bunched in the pillows behind her but she couldn't stop moving, couldn't stop the desperately delicious feelings from building. Her hips lifted up off the bed as James bit down lightly on her nipple. If she were a glass statue, the pressure would have shattered her. Olyve didn't have the time or control to do a thing but open her mouth. She tried to scream but the sound caught in her throat. She came apart under his fingers, the pull of his mouth against her nipples grinding her into a pile of fine, silky dust. She barely heard the whispered praise, but she caught the tone of awe in James's voice, even from the cloud she was perched on. "You're incredible, little sprite. All milk and honey." He continued to lick her breast for a moment before removing his hand from the apex of her thighs. She watched him bring glistening fingers to his mouth. "Especially here." She blushed, lowering her head to hide her embarrassment. The action only caused her to gasp. James propped up on his elbow, one hand now resting on her thigh. The other was palming the thick, hard staff of his cock. 114


She swallowed, nudging the arm still touching her to move so that she could see him unobstructed. The secret, most male part of him was a sight to behold. Pulsing and eager, the impressive length of him strained with every slide of his hand. She ran her tongue over her lips again and he groaned, throwing his head back slightly. Rolling onto his back, he switched hands, allowing her to watch as he squeezed a drop of pearly liquid from his head. On impulse, she reached out to touch it, shocking him. The glow of her fingertips seeped into his skin and he let out a low animalistic noise of pleasure. "Stop or I will be spent." Pulling back reluctantly, she pouted for a moment before pushing up to her knees. He watched her move, his narrowed eyes widening with pleased surprise when she straddled him. Before he could make a noise of disagreement, she was rocking the still-sensitive skin of her body against his. Olyve moaned with each slide of her hips, watching his reaction through slitted eyes. She shifted lightly, knowing that if she tilted her hips at just the right angle, her body would take his inside. Her eyebrows furrowed with concentration but she stopped the moment he sought to guide her hips with his hands. "I want to do it." She could see it cost him to nod, letting her take control. She smiled even as his tool throbbed against her sticky body. It took several tries but she felt the moment her gentle prodding hit home. He pressed against an opening so tight it felt as if she might rip apart. His eyes were clenched tight, his jaw a rock of muscle, but he kept his hands pinned to his side as she asked him to. 115


Spurred on by his care, she pushed a little harder, taking him a little deeper. When the expected pain threatened her, she bit her lip to keep from crying out. He was big but her body relaxed; she invited him. She hadn't realized her eyes closed until his hand cupped her cheek. His hoarse offer touched her heart. "We can stop." "No, I want to." She continued to inch down until she settled onto his lap. The burning lessened with each minute until she could move gently without any pain. The entire while, James had sat incredibly still even though she knew how badly he wanted to move. "Is it better?" He whispered after a while. She nodded, unable to speak. "Then that makes you completely mine now." Tears slid down her cheeks and collided with her fingertips, though both of them knew they weren't because of the pain. This time when he laid his hands on her hips, she didn't protest, simply let him show her how to move. The pleasure was completely unexpected. She didn't imagine she would get anything out of an action that began with such intense pain. He moved gingerly at first, letting it build up slowly in her body. The simple motion had her crying out, the feeling of being completely full and ablaze more intense than before. She rode him until her head fell backwards and she couldn't move, her lower body locked up in sheer anticipation. He drove up into her, making her body bounce with the motion. Her aching breasts were caught in the same fire until her entire figure was shuddering with the need to climax. His deep, sensual grunts fueled her ignition. Just when she 116


thought she couldn't take anymore, something deep inside her snapped. A flood of pleasure released and she could barely remain upwards, her scream mingling with his. She fell across his chest, panting and awed. Nothing had ever felt that good and she was sure nothing would ever again. He kissed her forehead, shifting a little so that he could pull the covers over their misted bodies. Tomorrow they would get back to the real world, with the dangerous mission and the desperate need to protect the people they cared for. But for tonight, they were going to wrap themselves in the sigh of light that promised them a forever. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Eight "You want to do what?" The outrage in James's voice should have brought her hackles up but instead it filled her with a light, effervescent laughter. She climbed out of the bed, looking out of the winter kissed window. The glass fogged and she liked to think that the reason behind the extra cloudiness was because of their earnest lovemaking. She stretched, feeling strangely energetic as opposed to the lingering relaxation that had slipped under her skin since they'd finished the first time. "Relax, James. You should probably get dressed, by the way. You know we have a deadline to work against." Her voice was light and playful, even though the situation was dire. She shrugged in the face of his scowl, moving to redress in her blood stained attire. He growled under his breath, throwing his body from the haven of covers. She didn't flinch when he scowled again, vanishing from the room. He returned a moment later with a bundle of clothing much like the ones she'd ruined with her blood. "You can't be serious, Olyve. It almost killed you the last time you did it." Olyve dressed slowly, smiling at the way his eyes reluctantly dragged over her body. She reveled in the power she had over him, even as she realized it frustrated the hell out of him. He moved with all the grace and control of a jungle cat, jerking his own clothing over his body. 118


"I am very serious. You don't have to worry. The last time, I tried to read something that was close to a dying man. This time I'll draw the history from something safe." He scoffed, tucking the bullet and chain back into his pocket. "Safe. You don't know where that thing has been." She lifted one shoulder casually. "I don't need to know where it has been. I know what it is. It's one of the artifacts, so it can't be used to harm me." "Have you used your ability on one before?" When she didn't answer him, he frowned. "I'll take that as a no. You don't know for sure that this will be safe, Olyve. You're guessing and I can't let you put yourself at risk like that." Sliding the last of her buttons home, she turned to face him. "Do you have a better idea, then? I'm open to suggestions, my lord, but as of right now, I'm our only way to get even close. Andrew had to have kept the Orb on his person for several days. He would have needed to take it to the place he planned to use it in order to extract my power from it." "How do you know he's already done that?" Olyve held out her hand. After making sure she still had her gloves on, he handed her the swirling sphere. If reluctance were syrup, he would have been a sticky man, drowning in a puddle of sugary mess. She laughed, holding up the artifact. "Show me what you hold." The blue surface shuddered and parted like a sky filled with thick clouds. Olyve held it up so that he could peer into its murky depths. There, just under the shimmering top was a 119


miniature portrait. It looked just like Andrew Whittock, suspended in the air. Just as quickly as it appeared, the image dispersed, leaving nothing by blue once again. "It doesn't tell us what the power is, but it does tell us who supplied it." The scowl replaced itself. "Why would it do that? What does it gain from telling you the who and not the what?" Olyve shrugged, tucking the Orb into her own pocket this time. She didn't miss his displeasure but she chose to ignore it. "I don't know. They're each different, and the stories on them vary, but the Orb was created with the sole purpose of bringing us together." "Your family?" "Yes. Historically speaking, we've always had to be close. Guarding our secret and our weakest and most fragile members is a big part of being a Blackwell." He sighed, running his hands through his hair again. "Good to know, I suppose." "It is, indeed. Now. Do you agree to help me here, then?" "How do you know you won't be hurt again, Olyve? Can you swear to me that this won't be just like before?" "I swear it, James." She moved back to his side, brushing her fingertips against his jaw. "I have you now. You are a lifeline that won't let me go. There's no danger in touching the Orb, but even if there was, I know I would still be able to come back from it, just for you." He pressed his cheek to her palm and sighed again. After a painful moment, he nodded. "All right, then. Let's do this." 120


She smiled up at him, never having doubted that he would allow her this chance to help. They had to work together here and he knew it. She only hoped that she would be able to give him what he wanted. Peeling off her gloves this time was like stripping naked. She tugged the leather down slowly, knowing her fingertips were glowing before she revealed them. Blue. The color that symbolized her family had linked with her. She reached for the Orb with her gloved hand and took a fortifying breath. James pressed his shoulder to hers, preparing to leap to her aid if she needed it. "You be safe, then." She pressed her skin to the artifact and held the air in her lungs still. This wasn't like her previous visions where she hurtled into a room where invisible forces flung information at her from all directions. It wasn't even like the bullet where she found herself forced into the consciousness of something that should have none. The Orb suddenly blazed bright and changed to a curious yellow hue. Her lungs burned from holding her breath but she continued to do so as her spirit was dragged under an invisible current. Water washed over every inch of her skin, sightless and weightless but still very much there. Finally, she submerged completely and while the sense of floating continued, she knew without a doubt that she would be able to breathe if she so wished. She took a deep breath, letting liquid fill her lungs painlessly. Hello, daughter of Auberon. 121


She shuddered as the voice echoed in her head, pushing away her own thoughts and replacing them with a clear, unmistakable voice. She opened her mouth to respond but found the effort wasted. The entity speaking to her didn't need the comfort of her words. It knew exactly what she wanted. We see. It is deeply troubling when one of our own refuses to use the gifts given. Olyve saw images of Andrew when he was younger. A white light swirled around his head, bright and giving, offering to illuminate his entire face. Half of his expression lay hidden behind shadow. When Andrew turned away from the light, he stepped deeper into the shade. The light began to twist in on itself, slowly turning as dark as the shadow. You will have to remove his energy from the Orb, as he is no longer one of us. He has Fallen, dear Olyve. She shuddered under the weight of their words. She didn't understand them, but there was no questioning their meaning. Andrew was lost to them, his actions tarnishing his soul beyond repair. She silently agreed to do as she was asked, pulling his power away from the Artifact. Her own took its place, resting once again in the flowing depths. Ahh, thank you child. We are pleased. Know that our cousin is now in a moving place. You must stop him... Olyve wanted to ask questions but the images were already flooding her mind. She instantly knew where she needed to go, knew what to do. A deep sense of confidence touched her face and spread through her body. Good then, child. Use your wings. 122


There was a heavy burden that wrapped around her, gravity pushing its way back into her world. She coughed violently and in the little room beside James, spit out mouthfuls of crystal clear water. "Olyve!" James slammed his open palm against her back but she pushed him off easily. "I'm fine." Another hacking cough bruised her chest. "I know where we have to go." Another second passed as she absorbed the enormity of what had just happened. The orb crackled cheerfully before fading back to its usual blue. "Are you certain?" She continued to stare at the artifact, her brows drawn together in confusion. "Use my wings?" "Wings? Did you say something about wings?" James touched her face lightly and for some reason her eyes drew back to the stains of oil she'd meant to ask him about. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the soiled patches. "Your clothes smell like black powder. What were you doing while I was asleep?" Olyve would have screamed if she could. Unfortunately, the pressure of the air as she flew through it like a bird strapped with a rocket kept filling her nose every time she opened her mouth too wide. "We're almost there," James called. His voice seemed to come from miles away, even though he was clutching her trembling body to his chest. "Don't look down!" She wanted to tell him she had no intention of doing something so foolish, but she decided that smart-mouthing 123


him probably wasn't the best option at the moment. She clung harder when they hit a pocket of turbulence, her body trembling as much from the wind shear as from the absolute terror filling her bones. When James had stuck to her mentioning of "wings," she'd thought he had assumed she'd lost it. There was a frighteningly interested expression on his face that she now realized should have made her turn tail and run. Instead, she had promised to trust him, proving she was just as mad as he. It turned out he was good at thinking ahead. He had suspected that they would have to move quickly at some point during their mission and had put together a "harmless little gadget", as he put it. He failed to mention that gadget was a pair of metal blades that he strapped to his glider and declared "wings." He'd demonstrated their success a number of times, coming out with an equal number of bruises. The ragtag contraption moved through the air much like an airship, only without the control. Hot air kept it aloft while James used founts of steam to push it in different directions. In the end, it was the fact that they had no other choice that convinced her to get on the flying deathtrap, but she hadn't been happy about it. The first time they had taken off, her jacket ripped from her body, jerking her arms back painfully. She now wore his, breathing deeply of his scent in an effort to keep from passing out. Her arms wrapped around his waist and she felt the excitement that slammed through his form. 124


The thing moved with an insane speed, flirting with clouds and freezing while the wings shuddered. She was sure that any moment now they'd fall off and she'd come crashing to the ground. "There it is! It's a good thing you were given a vision; we would have never found it on our own." Olyve risked a glance downward and instantly regretted it. A train unlike anything she'd seen before was moving at a much slower pace than them. She didn't see any railings but didn't have time to wonder why. It was only as long as three cars and just as thick. In all actuality, it looked like a steam powered warehouse crossing a field of white snow. "I'm going to take us down!" That was all the warning Olyve got before her stomach was in her throat. The wings folded in on them, gears spinning as they seemed to break in half then tuck slowly against the craft. Despite her faith in James, she closed her eyes and then refused to open them until her feet touched the solid porch of the caboose. She almost tipped over the railing in her relief but James steadied her carefully. Swallowing she got her bearing, and closed her eyes for a few short moments. "The Orb tells me that Andrew is in this cart, the one closest to the back. The girls are in the front, though. I'm worried about him getting to them before I can stop him." After a second of trying to come up with a different plan, he cursed. "We'll have to split up, then. That's the only way." She nodded, putting on her brave smile. "You save the girls, James. That's what you came to do anyway." 125


He cursed again, a vicious swear that she was sure was anatomically impossible. "Don't do anything crazy, my sprite. If you don't think you can handle this..." "I can, James. Have faith. We can't all be super agents but remember that I have something you don't." "What's that?" "A plan." He grunted, kissing her roughly before turning away. "Just stay safe." He leapt off the side of the car, clearing the railing with ease. She didn't check to see what gadget he was going to pull out of his hat this time. The door leading into the carriage swung open without a lock to hinder it. Why would it be? Andrew sat lounging on a long chaise, a glass of amber liquid swirling in his hand. His partners in crime stood off to the side, shaking with fear. Each of them stared at her with wide, hopeful eyes as if she'd come to save them. She dismissed them easily, putting their sorry faces out of her mind. She focused on her target. Andrew looked like what he was: a villain celebrating his imminent victory. She stepped into the small space, taking in the decadent materials and cloths draped over luxuriously exposed brass. He threw his drink down, ignoring the glass as it shattered beneath his feet, but didn't bother to get up. "How the hell did you manage to get away from Reeves, you clever little thing?" Olyve ignored his question, "Cousin. Please, I'm begging you. Give this up. Whatever is making you unhappy can be resolved." 126


He threw his head back and laughed. The cruel, twisted sound grated on her nerves and caused her to wince. The men huddled in the corner let out a unanimous sound of discomfort. "Why would I bother to do that? I was going to spare you, leave you with the Earl and let you live. Now you can watch while I tear your father apart." Olyve knew her plea wouldn't work. She'd seen into his heart when she'd touched the Orb and there was nothing left to save within him. She began to inch forward, even as the crushing weight hit her body. Just as before in the garden, gravity dragged her down to the ground, trying to pin her beneath her own body weight. She stumbled in her efforts to get close, one knee connecting with the lush carpet. Her heartbeat slowed considerably and she struggled to drag air into her lungs. "You should have stayed with him, Olyve. I wouldn't have had to hurt you." Fighting his compulsion hurt. She pushed herself up in enough time to see her cousin raise his hands. The air crackled with his power and he pulled on the growing energy to feed his sick desires. The sound of screaming grew muffled, not only by distance but by the cotton wool that seemed to wrap around Olyve. James slid the heavy bulk of his body against the moving monstrosity. The wind that kicked up around him blew as greedy hands trying to dislodge him from his perch. Slush and disturbed dust mixed into a grainy mud that whipped over his skin and tore at his clothing. 127


Still, he hung there for several precious moments, waiting as Olyve vanished into the dark depths of the back carriage. The heavy door shut and he closed his eyes, sending a quick prayer out for her safe return. It wasn't something he did often, his job had given him cause to see some of the most horrific scenes, and he'd found that praying didn't change the outcome with any kind of certainty. He figured, though, that the brave little minx could use all of the help she could get. Just the thought of her getting hurt... James gave his head a violent shake. There was no time to think about that now. His muscles screamed when it was time to move. Taking deep breaths, he braced his weight before tugging down the shields on the goggles holding his heavy-with-soot hair back from his face. The surface of the transport was smooth metal, warmed by movement. James flinched when the fast moving conveyance hit a trench, knocking the back wheels off the ground. There would be no way he could drag himself across the surface without a little help holding steady. The rotating metal hubcaps ate up the ground with powerful rotations, slicing through anything unlucky enough to come in contact with it. He calculated quickly, turning himself over by sheer strength so that he would be horizontal against the surface. Even with the threat of cutting himself into human shavings, he couldn't hold his body against the force of the wind in a vertical position. Not without ending up splattered on the ground behind them. He shifted carefully, reaching into the pouches fluttering at his waist until he found a rectangular block wrapped in shimmering foil. The strain of keeping his body steady almost 128


ripped his arm out of the socket but he held on, dragging his teeth across the foil and letting it fly off with the current. Through several moments of gut wrenching effort, he managed to pry the rectangle apart with his mouth and fingers. Applying the metal clips to the ends of his leather gloves took even longer but thanks to practiced patience, he managed to get the tips placed properly. A second adjustment and he was pressing a button the back of his pants. The magnet hummed in his bones, making his teeth chatter painfully. The movement he felt the clips adhere to the warehouse he would have cried out with pleasure, if not for the severity of the situation. Ignoring the pain of the constant assault on his body, James dragged himself forward. Between the last and middle cart he had to jump a gap, secured by a railing. Momentary deactivation of the magnets had his adrenaline slamming through his system. When the guard appeared, he moved on instinct, catching the burly man around the neck seconds before he drew his pistol. He jerked the man up off his feet, holding him through the violent struggle for air. His already battered muscles burned with the effort, and the gasping, hissing noise that the man made echoed in his head. It only took a few minutes for the struggles to lessen and finally stop altogether. James slid the unconscious body against the railing without a whisper and checked his pulse. It was rapid but strong. James removed the magnets and stuffed them into a second rectangular box. Crouching low to the ground he 129


adjusted to the move and sway of the vehicle before continuing through the opening the guard had revealed. Darkness swallowed him up before pinpricks of light allowed his eyes to adjust. The car wasn't as big on the inside as it looked on the outside. The furnishings in this room were boxes of clothing and numerous bundles of paper money. There were several piles of extravagant jars, filled with powders and crystals. James ignored them, moving with purpose toward the front of the warehouse. The Crown would doubtlessly be interested in the illegal paraphernalia here, but to him it was all useless. His mission revolved around human goods. "The bloke said we'd be compensated beautifully. All yous gotta do it be patient, Mac." A dusty voice had James drawing to a stop. Two men with hungry eyes stood before the door to the next carriage, dripping with no uncertain amount of desperation. The one called Mac slammed his hand against the barrier. "It don' matter what he's promising us. Can't be worth what he's doing to them girls and you know it. We gotta do something." James moved out of sight, hiding his larger frame behind a group of red crates marked "Spain." He removed the gun that sat on his hip and activated it, the soft hiss of steam releasing into the air muffled by the crunch of the wheels beneath them. The barrel blazed with brilliant blue light before softening and he knew the steam and metal compressed into tiny willing shells. 130


"Now don't go talking crazy. A noble like that will be getting away with anything he wants, whether we're here to help or not. Might as well get something out of the deal." Mac swallowed hesitantly, a sheen of sweat coating his gaunt face. His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he continued to peer through the glass panel. "It ain't right." "There's lots that ain't right in the world. You gotta let it go." From where James watched, he could see the agitation building in the small shoulders of the second man. He fidgeted unhappily, as he tried to convince his companion to go along with the plan. "'Sides, we're already in on it. Do you think the hangman will forgive us after we've been helping him snatch the perts this long?" Mac never took his eyes off of whatever was behind those windows. He shook his mangy hair from his eyes and shuddered. "It don't matter. We gotta help them, they're only girls." The concern in his voice hitched when the crack of a slap rang in the air. With a whoosh of breath, he reached for the handle in the door, preparing to rush in and stop whatever was taking place. He never saw the second man raise his weapon. Gnarled hands slid around the hilt of a knife and raised moments before a soft pop hissed through the air. Electricity slammed into his arm and chest before Mac could complete his defensive yelp. James stepped out of the shadows as the body collapsed against the wall beside the door. "Don't move." He growled the words even as Mac put his hands up in the air in surrender. 131


"No sir, I wasn't plannin' on it." With a tilt of the gun, James ushered the shaking man into the corner while he checked the prone body. "He's still alive, though not by much." Mac's eyes widened hugely as he watched James drag the man away from the door and into the opposite corner with one hand. "How did you manage to do that?" "Don't worry about it," came the biting response. James lifted himself up without removing the scope of his weapon from the grisly face. He checked the panel of clear glass before cursing under his breath. The girls were in there all right, but so were a number of guards. Each one of them hung on the far side of the room, chains keeping their arms raised above their heads. A pole kept their feet immobile against the ground. He shifted the settings of the gun, watching as the neon surface bled away into red instead of blue. A frown spread across his face. While the barrel was blue, the gun was set to momentarily render subjects unconscious. Unfortunately, the gadget worked mostly by electricity, which would make it unwise to use if the subjects were touching or close to a civilian. Though the effects usually only knocked individuals out, there was always the chance that it could stop their hearts. Either way, it was a painful method of neutralizing a target. The pain extended for days after takedown as the body worked to reroute the abusive stream of neurological energy. With the settings on red, though, the gun would tear through anything within a wide short radius. It would take out 132


three or four targets at once, but it exhibited the same problems as the blue. There was no way for him to point the weapon toward his targets without the possibility of hitting the prisoners. He palmed his dagger for several moments before discarding it as well as several other gadgets for different reasons. There were too many targets, not enough time, and danger to the civilians. One by one, he ticked off his options quickly, plotting his chances of success carefully. Another bark of slapped skin hit his ears like a blow, but he gritted his teeth keeping his mind at the task at hand. He wouldn't be of any use to the girls if he lost his head. A closer whimper followed the grip he took and he saw the grisly man shifting uncomfortably, clearly gauging his chances of making it to the door before James pumped him full of steam. When his shifting eyes snagged on malachite he let out a huff. "If I can help, let me. I didn't sign up for this." When it didn't appear as if his words swayed the agent, he took an earnest step forward, palms outstretched. "Please. I have a nephew. He's only nine. This ain't right. One of those girls is only a kid." Quick calculation had James slowly lowering his gun. The barrel gave a disappointed hiss when he released the mechanism that had it returning to the metallic bronze it was without the glow. He waited several moments before pulling a small cube from the leather straps across his chest. It was no bigger than his thumb but he handed it to the man with great care. 133


Mac turned it carefully, treating it with as much reverence as James had. "What's it do?" If he could have helped it, James would have bit his tongue in half before handing one of his creations to another human being. Reluctance made his voice harder than it needed to be. "It's a shield. Press and hold the arrow down for ten seconds. Afterward, set it on the ground with the arrow facing up and away from what you want protected." The gangly man looked down at the cube with awe. "It's going to get big enough to protect all them girls?" "It will, but you have to make sure to stand behind the arrow. A blast of steam will release as the gears turn. That blast will be hot enough to scald anyone close enough. It's a nasty little defense mechanism." Mac's hands started shaking and James took a step closer to him, resting his palm against a thin shoulder. "You said you wanted to help them. This is how you can help. After you set the shield, the kidnappers will be distracted and in excruciating pain. I'll come in for the takedown and everyone will be out before the shield collapses." James stepped back into the shadows, waiting with tense shoulders while Mac stepped through the door. "Welcome back, Mac." A smooth, cultured voice offered the cheerful salutation. "You've been gone so long, Kane and I have a bet going to see who gets to play bottom while you bugger each other." Mac laughed stiffly and tucked his hands in the one pocket his clothing provided. 134


Kane, a wiry man with scars decorating his ugly face laughed cruelly. A curved blade flashed in the air with a flick of his wrist. Blood coated the sharpened edged, dried and sticky, layers upon layers of grotesque crimson liquid. Mac flinched as a third and fourth man palmed the chest of a heavily bruised woman off to the side, while a third swallowed her cries behind a drooling mouth. James clenched his jaw from where he watched. Narrowed eyes tracked the saliva as it slid down her trembling chin. The liquid mixed with the tears that wound toward her chin. Fury burst in his chest and he grappled for his self control, clinging to his concern for Ginny. "We weren't doin' none of that, but he and Strong went off and haven't come back. I think they might be swivvin', truth be told." Kane and one of the men who were groping the bruised woman moved off to the side to peer out of the window where James hid. Just as they pushed the door open, a click filled the space and they grunted, falling to the ground. "What the hell?" The cultured man stepped forward with the others close behind him. Weapons were drawn and hackles were raised as they moved toward the group, ignoring the women who were swaying with the motion of the traincar. Out of the corner of his eye, James watched Mac move backward while the others were distracted. He fumbled around in his pocket when one of the groping men turned his attention back to him. "Hey, what's going on here? You do something to them?" 135


The other men turned as one, grumbling their agreement. Bullets of sweat immediately sprung up over Mac's face and he pulled the cube out of his pocket, even as James readied his next attack. "How could I have done anything? I've been over here the whole time." His voice trembled with guilt and fear and James knew the others weren't buying it. They exchanged glances and eyed the slumped over bodies on the ground before glancing toward the door where he sat in wait. "We ought to make him go out first." "'ellz yeah. If there be some kind of trap out there, he's the only one who coulda set it." "The others didn't come back. I bet he did something to them." "He's stronger than he looks. He carried the fat pert in here all on his own." James knew the moment Mac decided it was a lost cause. He shifted from side to side, tossing the door discreet looks, but there was no way the kidnapper could pierce the darkness. When the girl with the bruises mewled pitiably behind him, he took a fortifying breath even as one of the men took a step closer to him. The cube hit the ground without a sound and Mac nudged it with his foot to ensure it was pointing the right way. The grind of gears rotating crashed into the small space like an explosion. Metal unfolded and stretched outward as the cube sliced into slivers of reflective sheets. The hiss of steam was low at first but built up as the shield grew in size. 136


Pretty soon, the pressure was barely contained behind the working brass and copper parts. James surged backward, even as Mac tried to make it to the door. The others stood gawking at the pretty piece of machinery, but James threw open the barrier. "Get over here, Mac!" The old man caught the surprised expression of the bruised girl only seconds before the blast hit him and the other kidnappers like a tidal wave. Wet, sticky heat boiled his back, wisps of agony painting over his skin. He opened his mouth to cry out, only to have the steam scald his lungs. James caught him around the waist before he could hit the ground. He dragged him to the safety of the doorway, watching with sharp eyes as the other men screamed and writhed in pain. When none of them tried to escape, James pressed his hand to the back of Mac's neck and pushed lightly so that the pain suddenly stopped. The pressure point numbed his body and he slipped into unconsciousness. James took one look around the room and frowned again. "My calculations were off." He said to himself. "Too much steam." He carefully moved Mac out of the way, positioning him in a place away from the light stream of smoke that still seeped out of the shield. Blistered bodies went still before him and he checked to see how many of them were unconscious and how many had taken their last breath. Shaking his head, he lifted each of them and moved them out of the little room. He didn't want the girls to see the bloodied corpses of their attackers after their already traumatic experience. 137


He separated the dead and wounded in silence, but he kept Mac apart from all of them. He didn't want the man caught in the clean-up. After checking everything in the room once more, he left the door cracked to ensure circulation of the wet air. His clothing was sticking to his body but he shook out his hair, careful to check his weapons. Releasing the catch on the shield, he sent it tumbling back into the cube. He was panting slightly, his hands shaking as he waited for the barrier to fold properly. The steam hissed as it moved into the places it hadn't reached before and as it dispersed, he let out a pleased little sigh. The women were all unchained. A little girl with red hair in pigtails stood directly in front of him, her bright eyes shining with mischief. "You took your time, didn't you, Papa James?" He ignored the questions swimming in his head and nodded guiltily. "I'm sorry, baby girl." She nodded, forgiving him instantly. "That's all right. I'm not hurt, but some of these ladies are." James went down on one knee, pressing the little girl to his chest. His heart swelled until it felt as if it would burst when her tiny arms wrapped around his neck. It was a feeling he recognized, the exact way he felt when he was close to Olyve. He loved her. A choked little scream hit his ears moments before gravity turned against him. James gasped when the girl pulled back and away from him, just enough to let him hit the ground without hurting her. Dizzying weight anchored him to the ground painfully and he turned his head just enough to see that the women were also pinned down. 138


The girl smiled down at him, untouched and unaffected. He reached out to her and she opened her mouth. All he could hear, though, was Olyve's voice in his head. He answered her in kind, screaming her name without using his vocal cords. Olyve! [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Nine The weight slipped into her bones making her very flesh reach toward the ground. Another cry rose up, deep and masculine. James's voice cut through the cotton pressed against her eardrums. Olyve! Her body fought her for every inch she gained. She managed to roll onto her back but then the crushing force drove the breath from her battered lungs. Blood streamed from her nose and still she moved closer to her cousin. Fenne and his group were lying flat against the rocking floor, whimpering while they promised not to move. Andrew continued to draw on his own power, ignoring her efforts. It cost her, but she managed to lift her head while she crawled, watching his hands. When he brought them down, they blazed with the familiar purple she usually ran from. The aching certainty that she only had a few moments to act slammed into her. She spit a mouthful of blood to the floor, smiling grimly. There was no way James wasn't going to yell at her for the extent of her damage. She forced herself to come up to her knees, swallowing against the pain. "Andrew." She had to call him twice for the energy funnel to separate enough for him to hear her. His blonde head jerked toward her voice and she took the span of a heartbeat to mourn her beloved cousin. 140


His voice sparked with power when he spoke, deep and vibrating. "You wish to continue begging?" "No." She forced her heavy limbs to obey her, dragging the bullet from the depths of James's coat pocket. "I wish to show you that every power, even yours, has a good and bad." She gritted her teeth. "You gave up on the positive you could have done in order to do harm. My power...the power you have coursing through your fingertips, is no different." It was a simple motion but it cost her so much effort it might as well have been a trek across London. She tossed him the bullet, knowing he would catch it by reflex. At first he simply stared down at the little bit of metal. Olyve knew the moment the vision came crashing into his body. His eyes glowed with the color she knew hers must cast. He groaned and the heat in the air vanished in an instant. The weight released her and she gasped, feeling so light she expected to float away. Instead she stood, moving gingerly to her cousin's side. Blood had already blossomed at his chest, a froth of it appearing at his lips. "I'm sorry, Andrew..." She whispered the words, even as the light dimmed in his eyes. He couldn't hear her anymore but for whatever else he was, she'd loved him for all of her life. She mourned the lost potential. Cried for who he had been. She was closing his eyes when James shouldered his way through the carriage door. A hundred narrow gashes bled shallowly on his body but he grinned, shuffling the bundle in his arms carefully. A little face filled with freckles peeked out 141


from against his chest and Olyve felt her own heart immediately warm. "You did it." He nodded, pressing a kiss against the small forehead. "So did you." He took a step, preparing to cross the space that separated them, but paused when a shadowy apparition began to gather in the middle of the small room. Olyve felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up on ends and groaned softly. The figure slowly solidified, revealing a tall man with wide shoulders and a dark grin. The shock of his jet black hair only emphasized the neon blue of his electric eyes. He inhaled, the entire room seeming to tilt toward him as he breathed deep. Long moments passed while the air settled around the man who exuded power. Olyve folded her arms across her chest, waiting for her father to speak. "You're a little late, you know." Warham Blackwell, Auberon, Airship Pirate, and father rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. "What did you do to your hair, my girl? It's so short." She took a menacing step forward and he backed up, putting his hands out in surrender. "I knew you could handle yourself. Cole was worried, but I never doubted." "I could have been seriously hurt!" The giant of a man had the gall to laugh, turning away from her as if he hadn't just appeared out of thin air.

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When his eyes landed on the man his daughter had chosen, he couldn't help the growl that vibrated through the air. "You planning on making my daughter your wife, kid?" James took a moment to decide if he should be offended or not. Always one to make wise choices, he decided to let the offense slide, nodding calmly. "If she'll have me." Warham laughed, "Then welcome to the family, Prometheus." He didn't wait for the surprise to leave the younger man's face. He turned to the heaps of wasted breath huddled in the corner, practically pissing themselves. "I'm proud of what you've done here, Lyv, even if you butchered your crowning glory to do it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe these gentlemen need to learn a few lessons." "Father, don't—" She may as well not have spoken. The man vanished, taking the three men as well as his nephew's body with him. James cleared his throat. "He's pretty scary, you know." Olyve hung her head for a moment before nodding. "Don't worry, he won't kill them. They'll turn up in a couple of months, out of their mind with fear. Literally." "I'm not sure that's much better." She winced, ducking her head in another one of her rare shows of shyness. "You didn't have to tell him yes. He wouldn't have forced you to marry me." James laughed, jostling the girl in his arms. "I've already told you, sprite of mine. I want to marry you, just for you. For your courage, your sass, and even that smart mouth. I love you, so I won't take no for an answer." 143


Tears burned in the blue depths of her eyes. "I love you too, James. More than you can ever know." He grinned. "We'll see about that. For now, though, we have a dozen scared and confused women who very much want to get home." Olyve nodded, pushing her sleeves up. "Let's get to work, then. Do you know how to stop this monstrosity?" "Not a clue." Olyve groaned. "Isn't that just lovely?" She grinned when he winked at her. "Olyve? You asked me a while ago, what I wanted for Christmas. Right now, I think I've spent my whole life, just wanting you." The End About the Author: Nina S. Gooden has been in love with the written word since her first well-spent allowance on A Light In The Attic. She spends most of the time she's not drowning in characters and plot ideas watching anime and playing video games (she's a Holy Paladin/Chloromancer Mage in disguise). Her biggest influences are mythology and psychology, though she's been known to dabble in the obscure. Currently, she lives in dusty Las Vegas with her long-term boyfriend and evil genius kitty.

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