by Logan Jacobs
“But the water is getting cold,” Sorcha pointed out. “And there’s that nice, warm bed out there.”
“Which won’t be all that warm if we get the sheets wet,” I laughed. “But I do see the towels. I could dry you off.”
“You could, couldn’t you?” Sorcha teased.
After another long, searing kiss, I reluctantly pulled myself from what was left of the water in the tub and carefully walked across the slick floor to the metal rods where the towels had been hung. I grabbed the two largest ones I could see and walked carefully back to my Irish mage. She stood up slowly, then with an assist from me, stepped daintily from the tub.
I wrapped her in one of the towels, then slowly started to rub her dry. Sorcha closed her eyes as I worked, and I could feel her pleasure spark along my nerves. She was so content at that moment that I almost expected her to start purring.
“I don’t purr,” Sorcha murmured as she opened her eyes just enough to look at me.
“You look like you could,” I remarked as I drank in her perfect form.
“My turn,” Sorcha replied as she grabbed the dry towel from my shoulder and started her own slow exploration.
She rubbed every inch of my body, and by the time she was done, I was shivering in anticipation once again. Sorcha tugged me back into the bedroom, where she dropped the towels on to the floor, then pulled me onto the bed. Somehow, even though our hands moved tirelessly over the other person’s body, we managed to throw off the cover and bury ourselves under the top sheet.
“I need to ride,” Sorcha mumbled as she pushed me onto my back.
“As long as I can still play with these,” I replied as I rolled one of her breasts in my hand.
The mage smiled and used her hands to bring my rod to full attention once again while she leaned forward enough for me to fondle both breasts at once. When I started to squirm for release, she sat back and eased herself on top of me, then slid slowly up and down until I threatened to buck her off.
She kept her seat, but I could tell the friction from my thrusts were starting to send her close to the edge again. She was as tight as a bow string by the time she neared her next climax, she arched away from my hands and howled as I filled her up with my sperm once again.
“My cowboy,” she murmured when she finally collapsed against me.
“My Irish mage,” I replied as I stroked her still damp hair.
We repeated ourselves a few more times that night, though in the early morning hours, before the sun was up, I kissed Sorcha one last time, then quietly snuck back to my room for at least a few hours of sleep. I found Barnaby sprawled out across the bed, as promised, but I managed to push enough of him to one side that I could flop onto the edge and close my eyes.
I woke up to a bright beam of sunlight filling the room and the demanding eyes of a silver coated dog. Barnaby pawed me again and I realized that the dog must have woken me up. With a groan, I rolled off the edge of the bed and found some reasonably clean clothes and my boots. Barnaby watched me intently from a spot by the door, apparently not at all concerned that I hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before.
When I looked slightly less disheveled, I opened the door and followed the Weimaraner all the way to the stairs, then down the steps and out the door onto a freshly shoveled walk. While Barnaby discretely tended to his business in a clump of dormant shrubs, I turned my attention toward the station. I saw that the line of police officers had been replaced with the same metal barricades that had been used at the D.M. building, and other than a few scraps of paper blowing along the sidewalk, there didn’t appear to be any other obvious signs of last night’s attack. I didn’t see the plume of smoke from the train, but I wasn’t sure if that was a sign that someone had managed to damage it or not. Once I had some food in my stomach, I decided, I would take a closer look, and with any luck, the friendly guard would be back on duty.
“Barnaby,” I called out as I spotted the Weimaraner sniffing around a mule munching on a bag of oats.
The dog ignored me until the mule finally got frustrated enough to bray at the canine. Barnaby barked once in reply, then trotted back to me with a grin on his face.
“No one likes an audience while they eat breakfast,” I chided the dog. “And now that I’ve said that, I have to figure out if I can sneak you into the dining room or if I need to bring you something after I’ve eaten.”
Barnaby trotted back up the steps to the inn and waited impatiently for me to open the door. I was awake enough when we were back in the warmth to see that Emma had a new piece of rope she was chewing on and Magda the clerk had been replaced for the moment by a younger woman with pigtails who had a hard time smothering her yawns.
“Um,” I mumbled as I looked around. “Breakfast?”
The young woman waved toward the main dining room, where a large number of the inn’s guests were already gathered. I spotted Darwin at a round table near one of the windows, but more importantly, all of the tables had long tablecloths, even for the breakfast service. I smiled at the drowsy clerk and moseyed into the dining room. Barnaby followed stealthily behind me, and though I expected to hear a cry of protest, none was forthcoming.
A few of the other guests spotted the dog, but the general reaction was a shake of the head and a comment about ‘country bumpkins.’ We reached Darwin’s table without further protest and Barnaby slipped under the table and disappeared from view without any commands from me.
“Did you eat yet?” I asked as I looked for a menu.
“Just ordered,” Darwin replied. “Must have been more tired than I realized to sleep in as late as I did.”
“Yeah, same here,” I agreed.
“Was your bed crowded last night?” Darwin queried.
“Ah-h,” I stammered as I tried not to blush, “what?”
“With you and the dog,” Darwin explained.
“Oh, yeah,” I said quickly. “He is a bit of a bed hog, but we did alright.”
Darwin nodded but he studied me closely for a minute. I tried not to fidget under his gaze, but thankfully I was saved by the arrival of Freya, still in my hat.
“Boy, I slept really well,” the mutant declared as she sat down. “Wonder if it had something to do with Brother Anselm’s magic show from last night.”
“Could be,” I declared. “Even your grandfather slept in.”
“Gramps never sleeps in,” Freya said in surprise.
“Sun was already up,” Darwin admitted as he looked around the dining room. “Where’s that waitress with my coffee?”
“He doesn’t like to sleep in,” Freya told me in a stage whisper. “Says it means he’s slowing down.”
Darwin’s only response was a grunt, and I had to use my hand to smother the grin I felt tugging at the edges of my mouth. The rabbit woman cast a sunny smile at her grandfather, then turned her innocent eyes on the waitress who approached our table with a mug of coffee in one hand and two more menus in the other.
“Will anyone else be joining you for breakfast?” the waitress asked as she set down the coffee and then passed us the menus.
“Sorcha will probably be along shortly,” I noted.
“And Viv may join us,” Darwin added.
Freya made a choking sound though she had yet to take a bite or a sip. The waitress ignored the sound once it was clear the mutant wasn’t in life-threatening danger and retreated toward the kitchen.
“Viv,” the rabbit woman coughed.
“Viv,” the ex-trooper repeated firmly.
Grandfather and granddaughter exchanged steely glances until Freya suddenly yelped and looked at the table.
“Barnaby is here, too,” I added.
“Is that allowed?” the mutant demanded as she stared at the edge of the tablecloth where the tip of Barnaby’s tail could just be seen.
“No one said anything,” I replied nonchalantly.
Freya scowled at the table, then picked up the menu and scanned the simple list. No one said another word unt
il Sorcha strolled in looking like she had enjoyed a long and undisturbed sleep in the world’s softest bed. Every eye in the place watched her as she made her way between the tables and finally took a seat with our ragtag bunch.
“Everyone slept well?” Sorcha asked as she smiled at us.
“Like a baby,” Freya declared.
“It was comfortable,” Darwin agreed.
“We worked it out,” I added.
“Ah,” Sorcha replied as her eyes went wide for a moment, and then she glanced at the hem of the tablecloth. “So there’s actually five of us for breakfast this morning.”
“Could be six, if Viv shows up,” the rabbit woman noted with a glance toward her grandfather that he refused to meet.
“Oh, good,” Sorcha said cheerfully. “Maybe she’ll have more information about a meeting with the owners.”
The waitress returned and took our orders, then collected the menus and retreated to the kitchen again. There was another long stretch of silence until Viv, dressed in pants and a matching jacket in navy blue with a very thin white stripe, stepped into the dining room and surveyed the space. She greeted almost every other guest in the room as she made her way to our table, and by the time she arrived, the waitress was back with a pot of tea and a plate of hot, flaky rolls and a bowl of oatmeal.
“The breakfast of champions,” Viv declared as she settled into the last chair and started to pour some tea. “Now, I’m hoping someone’s going to admit that they have a dog hidden under the table and that isn’t some strange creature licking my ankles.”
“Barnaby,” I hissed as I tried to nudge the Weimaraner with my foot.
“As long as he’s out of sight, we’ll just pretend he’s not here,” Viv said cheerfully. “And if the health inspector shows up, we have no idea how he got here.”
“Does the health inspector eat here often?” Freya asked.
“Never,” Viv replied after she sipped her tea, “but with my luck, today would be the day he decided to bring his family here for breakfast.”
“I can take him back upstairs,” I said as I tried to feel around for the dog’s collar.
“And draw more attention to the table?” Viv huffed dismissively. “It’s easier to leave him where he is.”
The rest of our orders arrived then, and I worked my way through the double order of ‘huevos rancheros’ and ‘locally sourced’ sausage links with a side of bacon and potato hash as messily as I could, with occasional ‘accidents’ that left bits of food near my chair. Although the Weimaraner did his part and sucked down everything that hit the floor, there was no subtle way to feed Barnaby, and more than one dubious look was cast our way. I finally scooped nearly half of everything onto a couple of the saucers and toed them under the table. The table shook for a moment as the Weimaraner situated himself closer to the food, but then the table stilled and snuffling sounds could be heard from underneath the tablecloth.
“You’ll be happy to know that I’ve taken care of at least some of your plans for today,” Viv declared after she’d eaten the last spoonful of oatmeal and sat back in her chair. “My good friend Joker Riley has agreed to meet with you at his private club at ten this morning. Sadly, only men are allowed inside the vaunted halls of the Balmoral Club, but it should give Sorcha and Freya plenty of time to do some shopping while you two convince Joker that he absolutely needs you on this next run.”
“Oh, yay,” Freya murmured as she pushed the hat out of her eyes again.
“That’s fine,” Sorcha responded. “We’ll pick up supplies.”
“I was thinking I’d go take a closer look at the station after I eat,” I noted. “Make sure the train is okay and give Barnaby a quick walk.”
“You should have enough time,” Viv replied. “You’ll want to take a carriage to the Balmoral Club anyway. It’s too far to walk, especially in this snow and muck.”
With our morning plans set, I forced Barnaby outside for another walk. This time we ventured to the end of the street and peered toward the station, but other than additional guards and a few rocks strewn around the road, there weren’t any other signs of the attack. I peered at the faces of the guards I could see in the hopes that I might catch the eye of the young man who had been so helpful the day before, but he was nowhere to be seen, and the guards who were there did not share his enthusiasm for conversation.
I gave up when my toes started to go numb from standing in place so long, and I whistled to the Weimaraner as I hurried back up the street to the hotel. I managed to herd the dog into my room, where he promptly made a nest of the bed cover and went back to sleep. After a moment’s hesitation, I stepped inside and dug through my pack until I found the Colt revolver and tucked it into my pocket. It was, I knew, still not safe to carry a gun through town, especially given how much anti technology sentiment had been stirred up by the train, but the recent riots left me uncomfortable. With that thought, I added the Glock nine millimeter and hoped I had a chance to pass it to either of the women.
In fact, I met Sorcha on the stairs on the way back downstairs, and I quietly slipped her the pistol once I was sure there was no one else on the stairs. She looked uncertain at first, but then she must have thought about life in the city over the last few days, and she quietly tucked the gun out of sight inside her jacket.
We found Freya and Darwin talking to Emma as the bird bobbed up and down on her perch. Magda was back on duty, and she smiled uncertainly at the pair as they cooed at the bird, but it was clear the parrot enjoyed the attention. Sorcha and I both stopped to watch from the bottom step as the mutant and her normally taciturn grandfather took turns complimenting the happy avian.
“The horses are out front and ready for us,” Freya declared when she spotted us on the stairs.
“Wouldn’t you rather take a carriage?” I suggested as I stepped into the front hall with the Irishwoman. “Charles and I could take the horses.”
“It would leave you more room for your purchases,” Magda suggested.
“But we can’t buy more than the horses can carry,” Freya pointed out. “So having the horses is more useful for us.”
Freya promptly looped her arm through Sorcha’s and pulled her toward the door. A youngish man with a red beard who had just stepped inside held the door open for the pair, and his polite smile was returned along with a pair of pleasant ‘thank you’s. I heard the Irishwoman’s laugh as the pair started down the steps, and then the door closed and I was left with Darwin, Magda, and Emma the parrot.
“I guess we’re taking a carriage,” Darwin noted as he looked toward Magda. “Where’s the easiest place to find one?”
“Just head up the road here to Johnson Avenue,” Magda said quickly. “There are always plenty of carriages for hire.”
With a nod to the clerk, Darwin and I made our own departure from the inn. We turned away from the station and walked along a sidewalk that still had patches of ice until we reached a wide intersection. The street sign for the wide road was missing, but as promised, there were plenty of carriages for hire moving along the street. Darwin had barely raised his hand in the air when a cab pulled by a handsome black stallion pulled up in front of us.
“The Balmoral Club,” I called out as we climbed inside.
With a sharp whistle, the carriage was under way, and I had to admit that the ride was very comfortable. Despite the holes in the street and a few patches of ice, we never felt a thing beyond a slight bump. And then there were the plush seats, the dime store books to help pass the time thoughtfully tucked into a pouch on the door, and a small box of hard mints glued just below the window. The candies were still fresh enough to fill the space with the scent of peppermint, so we each took one and sat back to enjoy the ride.
I was actually disappointed when the carriage pulled up to the curb and we were forced to abandon our ride. Darwin paid the driver, including a sizeable tip, I noticed, while two men in business suits slipped inside. The driver tipped his hat toward us, then pulled away from t
he curb again as one of the new passengers called out an address.
“Too bad we couldn’t ride in one of those all the way to the west coast,” I sighed as I watched the black horse move effortlessly along the street.
“Just wait until we reach Detroit,” Darwin assured me. “You’ll find the ride you didn’t even know you wanted.”
With that, we both turned to face the Balmoral club. It was an imposing edifice, and at three stories, the tallest one in the neighborhood. It sat atop a small incline, certainly nothing tall enough to be called a hill, but that meant guests had to climb up a wide set of stairs to reach the covered portico and parade of columns that ran along the front of the building. For a moment, I wondered why our driver hadn’t simply taken the carriage up the curving drive of the club, but then I spotted the small guard post at either end of the drive and the chain that blocked off traffic. A nearby sign warned that only club members were allowed to use the drive, and all I could do was shrug at the oddity.
Darwin and I climbed up the stairs, and after making sure that no member carriages were about to run us down, stepped under the roof of the portico and walked across the brick drive to another set of stairs. This staircase was just a few steps, but they led to two oversized oak doors, both of which had been carved. One featured a horse with a horn wearing a crown and the other featured a lion wearing a crown. The stone above the door had been carved as well, though it was not in any language I recognized.
“Wonder what that means,” I whispered to Darwin as a man in a black and gold uniform watched our approach.
“It’s Latin,” Darwin mused. “And I feel like I’ve seen that before.”
We arrived at the door and the man in the uniform gave us a polite nod, but didn’t open the door or make any other move to welcome us to the club.
“We have an appointment to meet Joker Riley here,” Darwin offered.
“Ah, yes, Mr. Darwin and Mr. Theriot,” the uniformed man said in a solemn voice. “We’ve been expecting you.”
The door was finally opened, and we stepped into a two story entry bigger than most houses. A marble floor in alternating black and white tiles stretched toward the horizon and an impossibly wide staircase. A golden chandelier that was even taller than me hung from the center of the ceiling, and a thousand cut crystals sent miniature rainbows across the vast space. There was no furniture, just a pair of statues on either side of the staircase and some strategically placed potted ferns that kept the place from looking like a tomb.
