by Beth Ciotta
The collective noise was such that Willie found herself focusing intently on Rollins’s every word and expression. His milky eyes were somewhat dazed behind his thick spectacles. His wrinkled skin was ashen and clammy, his urgent manner troublesome.
“There is a lock on the vault,” he said. “A special lock. I’m providing you with the code and entrusting you with the engine. Follow through for your mother. She was the best of us. Protect the world from further mayhem, Wilhelmina. The Houdinians are no more.”
“What do you mean? What about Filmore?” Willie grasped the old man’s hands when he tried to leave. “Why are you spooked? What have you done?”
“What had to be done.”
“I knew you would come to your senses, Ollie,” Filmore said. “Although it took far longer than I anticipated.”
“I had thought to live out my life in peace. But now a Freak rebellion is rising. There was an incident over the Atlantic. Surely you read about it. Freaks are dangerous, Jefferson, and they exist because of us. We must right our wrongs and save the world from further mutation and destruction. Think of the atrocities those supernatural beings could commit upon Vics if they all band together as we once did.”
“You are once again in league with my thinking. I’m encouraged by the timing. This past week I had decided to take extreme measures. I’ve been researching engineers, a man suited to my purpose. Ingenious, fearless, a fellow Utopian. And now here you are. We must go back in time,” Filmore said as he paced amongst marble and granite tombstones. “Perhaps to the day we first arrived. Before Mods mated with Vics. We could alert the other Peace Rebels, caution them against having sex with anyone other than another Mod. Mickey would help us to instill the importance of remaining faithful to our fellow Peace Rebels.” He stopped and caressed the sculpted angel marking one particular grave. “Mickey would still be alive.”
“Yes. Yes, she would, Jefferson.” Rollins latched on to the glazed look in Filmore’s eyes. “And you and Mickey could be together again. But this time forever. I’ve already begun the construction of a compatible vehicle for the clockwork propulsion engine. We must make haste. This Race for Royal Rejuvenation has ignited interest in extraordinary inventions. I worry the engine is at risk now more than ever.”
“It is. There was an incident, Ollie. A thwarted robbery.”
Filmore looked frazzled and Rollins moved in for the kill. “Where is the safe house, Jefferson?”
“Where do you think?”
“You stuck to Mickey’s original plan?”
“Why would I deviate? The woman was brilliant.”
“Yes. Yes, she was.” Rollins swallowed bile. “I can safely say she would not have advised repeating past mistakes.”
“What are you saying? What are you . . .” Filmore blanched as Rollins pulled a black-market weapon, a modern weapon, and aimed it at Filmore’s heart. “Traitor!”
Rollins’s hand shook. “Yes. Yes, I am. A traitor to our fellow PRs who voted to destroy the engine. A traitor to our century. We should have stayed and fought for peace in our own time. We never should have played God. And yet you are willing to do it all again. To wreck more havoc.”
Filmore lunged for the gun.
A loud blast.
A painful cry.
Filmore crumpled and blood pooled next to the grave marked MICHELLE GOODENOUGH.
Rollins stumbled back.
Panic. Remorse. Exhilaration.
“What have you done?” Willie cried. She was a mere shadow. A fly on the wall. Even so, Rollins flinched. The memory glitched, shifted, and suddenly she was catapulted back to Rollins’s childhood. Back to the future where she was overwhelmed by foreign innovations and bizarre references. She was out of her element. Out of her time.
She was lost.
• • •
The moment Willie had grasped Rollins’s hands, Simon had started pushing through the crowd. Unbeknownst to her, Gentry had offered Simon his American duster and cowboy hat so that he could lurk inside the grogshop incognito. Brim pulled low, chin dipped, he reached their table just as Willie slumped forward in a catatonic state.
Rollins gasped when she wilted into him, her derby tumbling to the floor. Before he could wrench away, Simon and Phin took action.
“Don’t break contact, Thimblethumper.” Simon exuded calm even as his heart bucked.
Phin grasped the old man’s shoulder and held him steady whilst Gentry and his men circled, affording a modicum of privacy and protection from prying eyes.
“Chit can’t hold her liquor,” Simon heard someone joke as he stooped down and wrapped his arms around his wife.
“Is that it?” Rollins asked, wild-eyed. “Is she gassed? High?”
“Tracing. She’s lost in your memories, old man.” Simon swallowed hard, racking his brain for a way to pull her out. “Willie, sweetheart,” he said close to her ear. “Come back. Come home.”
She did not respond and Rollins fidgeted. “What’s going on? Leave me be. Let me go.”
Phin squeezed the man’s shoulders. “What were you thinking about? Before Willie passed out?”
The man blanched. “I cannot say.”
“Jesus,” Simon said as Willie’s glazed eyes rolled shut and her breathing grew shallow. This was different from before when she’d “gotten lost” whilst searching for her mother in Filmore’s memories. She was deeper in, farther away. The seconds ticked on, and swear to God, Simon could feel Willie slipping away, languishing in a stranger’s memories. A man from another time. Was she disoriented? Scared? Resigned? He swept off his borrowed hat, wrapped his hands over hers to reinforce her hold on Rollins and to strengthen his own physical connection.
“I know you,” Rollins said in a scratchy voice.
Adrenaline surged.
Prompt the transmitter. . . .
Holding Willie close, Simon caught and held the old man’s panicked gaze. “Simon Darcy. I came into your shop a couple of weeks ago with a young lad. Remember?” Please God, remember.
Rollins drifted. “Ah, yes. The lad who bought the yo-yo.”
“That’s right.” Simon then prompted Willie. “Do you see me, kid? I’m right there. Right beside you. We’re in Thimblethumper’s shop. He’s tinkering with some toys behind his desk. I’m tugging on your scarf. Feel that? Come on. Take my hand, Canary. That’s it.” His pulse tripped as he felt her fingers tighten around his own. “Hold tight. We’re done here. Time to leave.” Her grip eased and his stomach knotted. Desperate, he gave her a squeeze and a shake. “I love you, Willie. Yield to me, dammit. Let me help.”
He glanced at her time cuff. The second hand ticked and ticked . . . and he realized that the pub had fallen silent and the ticking sounded like a death knell.
Dear God. Had he failed his wife as he’d failed his father? “Don’t leave me, Wilhelmina Darcy,” he pleaded in a thick voice. “I can’t change the world without you.”
She gasped. Once. Twice. Her eyes flew open and she flinched, sucking air like a drowning woman pulled from the sea. “Simon?”
Relief blew through him with the ferocity of a summer storm. Heart pounding, he pulled her away from Rollins and crushed her to his chest. “Right here, sweetheart.”
“Thank God,” Phin said.
“Drawin’ a boodle of attention,” Gentry said. “We should go.”
“Who are you?” Rollins asked. “Are you with the Mechanics?”
“No,” Simon said. “We’re with Willie.”
Still the old man looked frantic to escape.
“Let him go,” Willie said in a weak voice. Holding tight to Simon, she shifted her gaze to Rollins. “You have to go. Someplace far away.”
The man nodded. “The . . . device.”
“Will be safe. I promise.”
Rollins gave a jerky nod, then pushed out of the chair, hastening away without a single look back.
“Should I follow him?” Gentry asked.
“No,” Willie said. “I have what we ne
ed and he has paid for any transgressions with his soul.” She looked up at Simon, tears clouding her rainbow eyes. “You came for me. How—”
“A mystery and a miracle.” Heart overflowing with relief, Simon swept Willie up into his arms. Phin and the other men surrounded him as he carried her from the grogshop, away from curious onlookers.
“Just when I thought I’d seen everything,” StarMan said.
Birdman Chang scratched his head. “And Doc thinks he’s got it bad.”
“What now?” Gentry asked as they breached the main deck of the Enterprise.
“I’m taking Willie home,” Simon said.
“No.” She pushed against his shoulder. “We have to go after the engine. Now. Timing is crucial.”
Simon shook off a sense of foreboding as he eased Willie to her feet. “Shite.”
“What’s wrong?” Gentry asked whilst tugging on his hat.
Simon looked to Phin, who knew his history well. “Where timing is concerned, I’ve been cursed since birth.”
CHAPTER 35
Although she’d physically recovered from her time-tracing fiasco with Rollins, Willie’s heart and mind remained shell-shocked even two hours later. Pride somewhat battered, she accepted that Simon had been right and that she could not continue tracing as she had in the past. There’d been a shift in her powers and she did not understand the new parameters. Perhaps it was merely a matter of honing her skills even more. To intensify her ability to resist interacting or to explore new ways of pulling free of a transmitter’s memory. The matter required thorough consideration. She could not imagine shunning her gift forever. She was not sure that she could. She would, however, strive not to time-trace again until they’d managed this crisis with the clockwork propulsion engine. Until she’d cleaned up the Houdinians’ mess and bested that bastard blackmailer Strangelove. Surely she would hear from him tomorrow, but by then at least, the engine would be under royal protection.
Tucker Gentry had guaran-damn-teed he could secure a private audience with Queen Victoria. According to her new sister-in-law, the sovereign of the British Empire had taken a shine to the transcontinental tabloid hero. So much so, the queen had promised to intercede with the president of the United States, securing a pardon for the ill-accused Sky Cowboy and his crew, as well as providing safe passage to England for his younger sister, Lily.
Amelia also had hopes that this “discovery and donation” on behalf of the Darcys would help to appease the queen for the trouble she had caused in Italy. As it was, she and Gentry were still on shaky ground and had, in fact, been dispatched to retrieve an invaluable artifact they’d stolen from Leonardo da Vinci’s secret vault (an Italian treasure) and then lost to the Scottish Shark of the Skies.
Willie’s mind reeled with the Gentrys’ ongoing adventure. They’d been married just earlier today, a quiet ceremony in London. They’d docked at the Milky Way for a brief celebration before setting off in search of the dreaded Captain Dunkirk. And now they’d interrupted not only their honeymoon but their royal mission in order to aid Willie and Simon on their quest.
Two weeks ago, Willie had been fairly alone in this world. Now she had family and friends. She had a husband who had somehow saved her from the chaos of another man’s mind and a sister-in-law who, although leery regarding the Canary’s report on her father, hadn’t flinched at accepting a Freak as a Darcy. As her brother-in-law navigated the Maverick’s air dinghy over the Thames, past Clock Tower, and toward the narrow road running between Parliament and Westminster Abbey, Willie’s entire being buzzed with optimism. It was an unfamiliar and wondrous feeling and infected her with a sense of invincibility.
“What are you smiling at?” Simon asked as they came in for a landing.
“I’m envisioning your monorail,” she whispered back. “The draft in your library. The Abbey, Parliament. It looks exactly as you sketched it. All that is missing is your magnificent monorail. Promise me you won’t give up on your dream.”
Simon squeezed her waist. “I have other dreams now.”
Moments later, they disembarked and hid the small transport behind a copse of manicured bushes. After analyzing the situation, Willie, Simon, and Phin had joined forces with Amelia, Gentry, and his crew in order to procure the infamous engine. They’d chosen the Maverick, the fastest airship in Europe and far and away more reliable than the Flying Cloud, as their main transport. Gentry’s crew, with the exception of Eli Boone—a master tinker, according to Gentry—had stayed aboard, watching for trouble from above and preparing for a fast escape. Amelia had refused to stay behind and as Simon wouldn’t think of barring Willie from this recovery, Gentry had been forced to acquiesce to his wife’s demand. But not until after he and Axel had armed her with a stun cuff and a Remington Blaster.
“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Amelia whispered to Willie as the motley crew of five proceeded down St. Margaret Street.
“Rollins’s directions were quite specific,” Willie said as she pushed on. “And I am well acquainted with London.”
“As am I,” Simon said.
Because of the late hour and because this was a business district, there was nary a pedestrian to be found and road traffic was scant. A rolling fog added to the already eerie ambience, and although Willie did not celebrate Jefferson Filmore’s death, she was most grateful that friends and family would not be subjected to his deranged presence nor that of his hired mercenary.
Her shoulder twinged just thinking about the hired thug who’d shot her in Edinburgh. Indeed, her arm had been paining her most of this day. After the time-tracing debacle with Rollins she had felt the need for as much fortification as possible and was glad she had stowed her Thera-Steam-Atic Brace aboard the Flying Cloud. She wore it now with pride and confidence. She stole a glance at Simon, in awe of his ingenuity and the depth of her admiration. At one point, she’d accused him of arrogance. Now that she knew him better, she was most certain his success was hindered by a streak of humbleness and a dash of insecurity, which only deepened her regard.
“Can’t see a thing,” Eli complained as they veered away from the streetlamps.
“Just follow me.” Utilizing her night vision and Rollins’s landmarks, Willie guided her team to Jewel Tower, a surviving section of a royal palace built in the fourteenth century. A three-story limestone structure that sat across the road from Parliament and upon the same grounds as Westminster Abbey. “Here,” she said, pointing to an entry point as described by Rollins. “Remember,” she said as Simon pushed open a vine-covered gate, “we must trudge through a sewage duct to gain entrance to this particular catacomb. There could be rats and snakes and such, not to mention filth,” she said for Amelia’s benefit.
The blond woman snorted and adjusted her shoulder harness.
Phin groaned. “I hate snakes.”
“Don’t worry, Bourdain,” Gentry said in a condescending tone. “I’ve got your back.”
“Leave him be,” Amelia whispered to her husband. “It was just a kiss and not even a good one at that.”
“Bloody hell,” Phin said.
Gentry chuckled and Simon looked to Willie and rolled his eyes. “Once inside,” he said to everyone, “it should be safe to use your torchlights.”
Battery-operated tubes of light. A most ingenious alternative to a kerosene lantern, Willie thought. She would have to purchase one for Fletcher.
Ignoring the putrid smell and the feel of squishy clay beneath her boots, Willie slogged through the sewage tunnel. She ignored the scurrying rats, as did everyone else, including Amelia. Indeed, she was most impressed with her sister-in-law. Senses keen, Willie felt her heart skip when she spied the entrance to the catacombs as described by Rollins. “This way.” No one, including Simon, countered, although once inside the musty labyrinth, Simon, Phin, and Gentry took the lead whilst Eli protected the rear.
As they were all armed with torchlights, golden beams swept over every wall and crevice. Every coffin, every vault. Ev
ery disgusting pile of exposed skulls and bones. On pins and needles, Willie almost yelped when she felt a vibration against her ribs.
The telecommunicator.
Strangelove.
She fell back behind Amelia and, whilst pretending to examine a vault, shone her light upon the device. Upon decoding the message, panic ensued.
BRING ACC. WESTMINSTER BRIDGE. SECOND LAMP. MIDNIGHT. SENDING COURIER. YOUR BROTHER. FAIL ME. HE DIES.
How had Strangelove located Wesley? Aye, she and her brother were estranged, but the thought of him dying, let alone because of her, was crushing. The time factor only intensified her angst. By midnight tonight? Willie pocketed the device and noted the time. Eleven oh five. Surely Strangelove would not have given her such short notice. Had there been a glitch in the transmission? Had the message been delayed? Did he perhaps mean tomorrow? She could not take that chance. If she did not show . . .
“Here!” Phin shouted, his voice echoing down the tunnel and prompting Willie to join the others.
Five torchlights shone upon one vault, illuminating the safe house like a divine entity.
“H. Houdini,” she said, noting the inscription and marveling once again that her mother had dedicated so much of her life to protecting a device that committed her to the bowels of the earth. She did not understand her mother. But she respected her. “We must hurry.”
“You said the mercenary would not show for his shift until predawn,” Simon said.
“Sometime around predawn,” Willie said, reaching into her pocket for the secret code. “Rollins was not specific about the time, and who knows what other means of security Filmore might have initiated? Rollins was adamant that we enter and exit posthaste.” Whilst they were depositing the engine in the air dinghy, she would somehow slip away. Simon would be worried, furious. Gadzooks. How had it come to this?
“In addition to the locking box at the bottom of the gate,” Simon said, whilst examining the vault, “there’s a padlock. Did Rollins give you a key, sweetheart?”
