by Beth Ciotta
“I don’t profess to understand it,” Phin said. “I don’t think anyone does. Or can. Aside from Bella. And, much to the disappointment of the Mechanics, she has yet been able to duplicate the process.”
“So Jules is one of a kind.”
“And extremely valuable to the agency. I find it hard to believe they’d send him on a mission they didn’t believe he could return from.”
“Why are you telling me this, Phin? Why now?”
“Because Jules has doubts regarding his return, and if the subject regarding his surgery came up, he wanted you to know. At least as much as I know. Which is, quite frankly, only basics.”
Simon dragged a hand down his face. “Swear to God this is like something out of one of Jules’s science fiction novels. Damned hard to believe. I assume these bionic prosthetics are what make Jules so invaluable to the agency.” He frowned. “Yet he walks with a limp.”
“A glitch Bella has yet to modify. A glitch that disappears when the prosthetics are fully engaged.”
Simon wondered if he could vanquish that glitch. He’d die for a chance to try. Senses buzzing, he leaned forward and lowered his voice even more. “How does bionics enhance Jules’s worth, Phin? What is he capable of?”
“Superhuman speed. Brace yourself, brainiac. He can move from here to there so fast, it renders him invisible.”
Hence Jules’s ability to disappear before Simon’s very eyes. “Bloody hell.”
CHAPTER 30
By the time Ollie Rollins, former Houdinian, former Mod Tracker, current rueful traitor, slipped out the back door, leaving Willie alone in his Shoppe of Curiosities, her brain was overloaded and reeling. She’d committed everything the frazzled Peace Rebel had said to memory. Her memory. She intended to share everything she’d learned from Rollins, aka Thimblethumper, with Simon and Phin.
All but the existence and purpose of the memory disk.
Willie still could not fathom how detailed scientific data had been transferred to the black square in her purse. What she did understand was that one needed a specific kind of computer to read the stored memories, and such a complex machine, capable of processing arithmetic and logic operations and comparable to those of the mid-twentieth century, had yet to be devised. That said, a breakthrough was imminent. The scientific community had been dabbling with the technology as inspired by the brilliant Vic Charles Babbage and influenced by a corrupt few Mods for several years. Were it not for the oppressive restrictions and nonexistent funding of key Old Worlders, advanced computers could well be a wonder of now instead of the future.
As it stood, according to Rollins, the memory disk was like a cylinder or record disc without a Graphophone—useless. He had also emphasized the possibility that the disk had corroded and thereby been corrupted by time and elements, making the information unreadable. Quite possibly, most possibly, the plastic square within her possession was defective. However, there was a slight chance, an off chance, a small percent chance, that the memory disk was in perfect order—even after thirty-one years.
Willie preferred the former scenario. She preferred to believe the disk within her possession was faulty because her intention was to present this artifact to Strangelove as the technological historical invention of significance. The Aquarian Cosmology Compendium was legendary and, according to rumor, existed, whereas the clockwork propulsion engine had been destroyed. Supposedly. But of course Strangelove would be pleased to possess the ACC, which contained a gold mine of information regarding the construction of technological wonders. She could well imagine that arrogant and ruthless man having delusions of grandeur, imagining himself as some sort of technological lord of the universe. Oh, aye, the memory disk was indeed her ticket to freedom. As soon as she met Strangelove’s demand, she would be out from under his thumb. Her family would be safe and she could sort out her new life with Simon.
Simon.
As a brilliant engineer, surely he would be most keen on studying the legendary compendium. Without a doubt he would resent Willie for robbing him of the chance. She quelled her bucking conscience by reminding herself that there was no way to access that data. Simon wasn’t missing out and Strangelove would not benefit.
On the wild chance Strangelove did procure access to a futuristic computer at some point, and if by a long shot the memory disk was functional, chances were still one in three that the data compiled and entered regarding studies on Briscoe Darcy’s time machine were not stored on this particular disk, but on one of the other two volumes. Worst-case scenario, she thought as she left the shop, Strangelove would access information that would enable him to build a rocket ship, thereby shooting him to the moon or beyond. That did not seem a bad thing.
“I hope the information you gleaned was worth the several heart attacks I suffered whilst you were lollygagging with Thimblethumper,” Simon said, sweeping in beside Willie as she walked briskly to the corner.
“Leave off, Darcy,” Phin said good-naturedly as he took up pace along her opposite side. “Can’t you see she’s bursting with news?”
“Of course I have news,” Willie said as they hurried toward the station for the underground that would take them to Simon’s town house. “I am the Clockwork Canary.”
She wasn’t sure why she’d felt compelled to tout her famous moniker. Perhaps because Simon’s admonishment rubbed her the wrong way. Lollygagging, her arse. She’d been working.
Simon started to say something, then thought better of it.
“Right, then,” Phin said. “A subject best discussed behind closed doors.”
Securing seats on the underground transit, they fell into a charged silence and Willie pondered Simon’s sour mood. No, not sour. Anxious. Restless. Intense. Deep down she understood that he’d been worried about her, but Willie couldn’t abide someone breathing down her neck, questioning her judgment. She’d been operating on her own for years. She was smart. She was savvy. And, damnation, she was skilled. True, time-tracing gave her an advantage and, aye, an unfair edge, but regardless, she was quite good at procuring sensitive information utilizing her brain and wit.
By the time they reached Covent Garden, Willie had worked herself up to a frightful huff. Part of her wanted to blast Simon and his possessive tendencies, whilst the other part itched to share a goodly portion of what she’d learned from Thimblethumper. She was still debating her choices when Simon prodded her over the threshold of his home, blast him.
Fletcher took their coats and announced a forthcoming evening meal. Simon begged Phin’s pardon, then whisked Willie upstairs and into the library. “Too long.”
“What?”
“The suspense. The waiting. You took too bloody long with Thimblethumper. Don’t do that to me again, Willie.”
“I cannot promise.”
He backed her against the wall displaying the ancient wonders of Egypt, China, and Rome. “Is this what I have to look forward to?” he asked. “Standing by whilst you indulge in your unique interviews? Worrying that you might get distracted, that you might interact and somehow lose yourself in another person’s mind?”
“In all the years I have been time-tracing, in all the thousands of instances,” Willie said, “only once was I distracted and that was by my mother. I know what I’m doing, Simon.”
“Maybe now. But what about two years from now? Ten years from now? You said it yourself. A Freak’s supernatural gift strengthens and intensifies with age. Your ability to time-trace could spiral out of control.”
“And you could contract some hideous disease. That is what you said.” Fists clenched at her side, chest heaving, she gave her obnoxiously controlling husband what-for. “How dare you manipulate me into marriage with sweet words of support and understanding regarding my gift only to snatch them back days later!”
Hands braced on the wall on either side of her head, Simon leaned in, eyes sparking. “I did not manipulate you.”
“I beg to differ.” She ignored the sensual ache coiling in her stomach
. Being stimulated by his intimidating manner was beyond perverse. Disgusted with herself, she rallied. “You discombobulated me beyond measure, Simon Darcy. Turned my head with sensual kisses, seduced my soul by pretending you accepted me for who I am.”
“I do accept you, dammit.”
“Yet you’re asking me to ignore a vital part of who I am. I am a Time Tracer. You knew this when you married me. Not that the marriage is binding.”
“One tiff and you’re ready to forsake our vows?”
“I’m not forsaking anything,” she said as her heart cracked. “I am merely pointing out the disgusting reality of our circumstance.”
“Do tell.”
“I am a Freak and you are a Vic and an official union is forbidden.”
“Yes, well. Some of us color outside the lines.”
“Meaning?”
“I am not willing to live my life as ordered by someone else. Are you?”
“No. No, I am not. That is why I am telling you to bugger off.” Before he could respond, Willie ducked under Simon’s arm and out the door. Never could she recall being this angry, this hurt. Except for that day twelve years past when she thought Simon had jilted her. She resented the power he had over her. The way he could make her feel. The things he could make her do.
She’d been confident attacking life as a male Vic. Simon had tempted her to embrace her true gender and race. She’d fallen for his utopian views. She’d put him on a pedestal above all other Vics. Her heart had proclaimed Simon Darcy different, but her heart had been blinded by love. Aye, love. There was no skirting her situation. She loved Simon Darcy. She was in love with Simon Darcy. Blast and damnation, she had always and always would love Simon Thomas Darcy.
But that didn’t mean she had to like him.
The infuriating sod caught up to her before she descended the stairs. He touched her arm. “Willie. Wilhelmina,” he amended in a gentler tone.
“Phin is waiting,” she said without turning. Just now she wanted nothing more than to distance herself from Simon and the emotions ravaging her soul. Between the enlightening discussion with Ollie Rollins and the volatile confrontation with her husband, her mind and heart were spectacularly overtaxed.
“Whatever you learned from Thimblethumper, is there anything to be done about it today?”
“No,” she said, spine stiff. “Still—”
“Phin!” Holding Willie steady, Simon glanced to the bottom of the stairs, casting his friend a meaningful look when he appeared at the landing. “We’ll be picking up on this tomorrow.”
“Right, then,” Phin said with a nod. “I’ll be on my way as soon as I wrangle my coat from Fletcher. On the morrow, then.” The man flashed Willie a sympathetic smile, then disappeared around the corner.
Willie whirled on Simon, eyes narrowed.
“Before you accuse me of being rude,” he said, “let me assure you Phin understood. We need to be alone, Willie. We need to work through our differences instead of walking away or counting on Phin to act as a buffer.”
Another reproach? Her temper sizzled and snapped. “Had you not attacked me the moment I emerged from Thimblethumper’s—”
“I apologize. I did indeed initiate this argument, albeit unwittingly.”
Frowning, she shook her head. “Why . . .” She looked over her shoulder just as Fletcher let Phin out the door.
The caretaker cast a disapproving glance Simon’s way, prompting Simon to hustle Willie back into the library. “The longer you kept me waiting at McSteam’s,” he said in a measured tone, “the longer I had to envision a time-tracing venture gone wrong. Not just with Thimblethumper, but with future transmitters. My imagination got the best of me, as did my frustration. When you emerged from the shop unscathed . . .” He closed the door behind them, visibly tempering his emotions. “I cannot explain the fathom of my relief.”
“Yet you admonished me! In front of Phin, no less!” Willie paced, hoping to walk off her animosity. Indeed, she felt like a walking powder keg with a short lit fuse. “Then once home—”
“I know. Apparently love has a way of skewing one’s senses.”
Willie stopped in her tracks. She slowly turned to face the man who consistently charmed her with amorous words and kind gestures, only to disappoint on a whim.
He held her gaze, looking somewhat tortured yet sincere. “I love you, Wilhelmina. I fell in love with you twelve years ago and that love never died. Nothing can crush it. Not even, as you say, our disgusting circumstance.”
Heart pounding, she balled her fists at her sides. How she’d longed to hear a declaration such as this, but just now the sentiment rang false. “Sugar words to dilute the bitter tiff? Your timing is appalling bad, Simon.”
“It is,” he conceded, “the bane of my existence. Nevertheless . . .”
Willie ached to stalk past her husband and out of the room. Or to back away and to pace to the window. But her traitorous body stood its ground as Simon closed the distance and took her into his arms. Her smitten heart skipped as she melted under his touch and rested her cheek against his chest. “I’m still angry,” she said in a weary voice.
“I’m still wrestling with volatile opinions regarding our future.”
“I cannot repress my gift.”
“I cannot help but worry.”
“I will not sever my ties with the Freak Fighters, nor ease off our fight for equality.”
“Again, I cannot help but worry.”
“I will not bend to your every demand.”
“I only ask that you bend now and then to my concerns.” He gently gripped her chin and bade her attention. His expressive gaze locked with hers and her knees fairly buckled under the intensity of his regard. “I am and have always been a spontaneous sort, ofttimes speaking without thinking. As Fletcher pointed out, I am not easy to live with, Willie. Then again, neither are you.”
Her damnable heart fluttered. “Are you suggesting a compromise?”
“I’m asking that you trust my good intentions.”
His heartfelt request summoned a twinge of guilt and obliterated the last of her ire. Initially she had succumbed to Strangelove’s threats in order to protect loved ones, and now she schemed to pay off that wretched man with the legendary compendium in order to protect loved ones. She schemed behind Simon’s back in order to procure the clockwork propulsion engine, to protect mankind, and to champion Simon, his family, and her father.
Good intentions.
Heart and mind reeling, Willie rose up on her toes and brushed her lips across Simon’s tantalizing mouth. “As you must trust in mine.”
Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to seal the love he’d professed. To steer Simon’s thoughts beyond their disagreement, beyond their challenging future and her present deception. She could think of but one way to distract her husband beyond measure.
Determined, Willie deepened the kiss, anxious to soothe her soul and to addle Simon’s senses.
CHAPTER 31
Deceit.
As Willie leaned into Simon, as she intensified the kiss she’d initiated, he swore he tasted deceit. Absurd that her fervid affection should leave an unpleasant tang in his mouth, yet he could not dismiss the feeling that this was a calculated seduction. That she wished to distract him with sex, to turn his thoughts away from . . . what?
This was not the first time that Simon sensed Willie was keeping secrets, but it was the first time he sensed a deliberate and colossal betrayal. What he did not sense was malevolence.
Wary, curious, he disentangled her hands from his hair and eased away with a raised brow. “Should we proceed down this path, I’ll end up taking you on that Oriental rug,” he said with a nod, “or perhaps over the back of the sofa. It would seem my passion where you are concerned runs unchecked.”
“If you meant to dissuade me with that threat, you should rethink your tactics, Simon.”
“Simply warning you that at this rate I cannot promise we’ll make it to the bedroom.”
>
“Why delay what burns between us now?” She gripped his lapel with one hand whilst using the other to palm his arousal through his trousers. “I have heard it said in the pressroom that some of the most astonishing . . . alliances occur after a heated row.”
Stirred by her boldness, Simon nipped her earlobe and palmed her rear. “I shudder to think of all you heard from other men whilst masquerading as a man yourself.”
“Consider it an education.”
“I strive not to consider it at all,” he said whilst leaning into her brazen touch. It still chafed that she had felt compelled to deny her gender and race all those years. Nor did he enjoy contemplating the rows she’d no doubt encountered whilst incognito. A man did not dwell in London or circulate in skytowns without engaging in confrontations of some form or fashion. But of course she would have developed a fierce independent streak as a layer of protection. Even now, when she no longer needed to go it alone, the Canary persisted in flying solo. How the devil could he earn her confidence? Her unadulterated trust? Bad enough that his brother had kept him in the dark regarding intimate details of his life. By God, he would not be shut out or misled by his enigmatic wife.
As her seduction grew more bold, Simon embraced his own calculated agenda. How better to weaken her defenses than to pleasure her senseless? She thought to distract or somehow manipulate him with sex? “Fair warning, pet,” he said as she loosened the buttons of his trousers. “You’re playing with fire.”
“Warning noted and rejected.”
Simon escaped her touch and, after locking the double doors, plucked her off her feet and backed her against the massive wall of books. Their kiss was wild, their actions frenzied. There would be no foreplay this moment, no lingering or teasing caresses. Simon pushed up her skirts as she struggled with his trousers.
Her hand around his rock-hard shaft.
His hand up her silky drawers.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, and cupping her backside, Simon plunged deep. One swift stroke and then another. He made love to Willie with primal urgency, his thoughts ash as his blood burned. He felt her clenching around him, felt her body trembling as he stroked her to orgasm.
