Cogs in Time 2 (The Steamworks Series)

by SJ Davis

  Once, I had properly settled in, I asked, Grandfather, it is almost time. Please be near, I am not sure what darkness I seek.

  Just hold tightly to this world, Odessa. Do not let the souls of the dead hold you to their will. This will be a bloody game.

  “Spirits,” I murmured in exasperation. I knew he meant well, even meant to comfort me as he tried to prepare me for the unforeseen. However, the chilling counsel only served to twist my stomach.

  Still shaking my head, I handed my cup off to Margaret, loving her for the understanding smile she gave me.

  “Margaret,” I caught her attention as she made to leave the room. “If something happens to me, you know what to do, right?”

  She turned, ancient green eyes in a pretty young face—one just slightly younger than mine— alight with worry. “Madame O, there ain’t nothing in this world or the other that can take you away from us. I don’t need to be psychic to see that. You’re going to die a wise old woman in your bed.”

  I laughed, despite my sour mood. “I bet you’ll still be there bringing me tea, too.”

  Her expression lightened, and she said, “My goodness, no. I sincerely hope that we will have found husbands and money enough by then to have someone else bring us our tea.”

  The bell rang, ending our conversation, and she scurried from the room. In the swishing of her long skirts and the gentle chime of the cogs braided into her long, dark hair, I heard my grandfather warn me once again. The words were not clear, but the impression was one of worry and danger.

  “I will be vigilant, Magnus, but you must be silent now. It is time.” The words were no more than a whisper as they slipped from my lips.

  ****

  Jeanne Copperbelt stepped into the room as the candles flickered and a cool breeze ran its fingers up the backs of my arms and neck. I tried to convince myself that it was only a draft, but the heavy shadow that fell alongside her silvery satin skirts denied me my peace of mind. Taking in the image of her, I saw that she had cast aside the masquerade of mourning. Before me, stood a woman of magnificent beauty that was undaunted by age.

  Blonde curls bounced upon her head with each clicking step of her high-heeled shoe and dark eyes flashed behind long, thick lashes. The rose-tinted and pouty lips curled up in an open smile, revealing startling white teeth. Her cheekbones were high, her nose long, thin, and straight. Her Except for the fine lines that etched out from her eyes when they crinkled, she barely looked older than I.

  “Mrs. Copperbelt, I trust you are ready?” I did not waste time on pleasantries that neither of us cared about exchanging.

  “Madame, I am beyond ready.”

  There, in her voice, I heard it. The tale-tell sign I had missed earlier in the day. The resonance of something not quite of this world or the other, an earthbound malevolence, lingered in her tone.

  “Come, sit. Would you like to take a cup of tea before we begin?” I asked, because I was a lady despite my profession, and manners were expected.

  “No thank you, Madame O. I’d like very much if we could begin.” Jeanne smoothed her skirts as she sat opposite of me at the table and looked hard into my eyes. “The sooner I find the will, the better.”

  “As you wish,” I quickly conceded, ready to be done with the woman. The more time I spent in her presence, the more uncomfortable I became. I cannot say whether it was Grandfather’s warning, or if it was a visionless premonition. Either way, I could sense the darkness that seeped from her soul.

  I unfolded the velvet cloth, revealing the dainty glove that she’d given me earlier in the day. The ivory color was a beacon in the dim room, and I could feel the spirits best known to me already being drawn forward.

  Closing my eyes, I breathed deeply and summoned those who would do my bidding. I called them by name and by memory. I did not have to open my eyes to see that they had come, shadow wraiths of once living souls, to gather around the table and await my requests. Their presence had always been a comfort to me, but on this night, the spirits seemed apprehensive.

  “Come to me, my lovelies. Come and draw near the veil to be seen and heard,” I coaxed, but still they stirred in restless silence.

  Leaning forward, Jeanne hissed, “Is there something wrong?”

  I narrowed my eyes at her and shook my head. It had been years since I had to do something as drastic as offering up blood to the spirits, but if I was going to get to the bottom of things, I really had no other choice. So with a heavy sigh, I withdrew from my chair and crossed the room to a small cupboard.

  From the drawers’ myriad contents, I selected a spine-u-lator. The tool looked much like a torture device with its twelve sharp spines set below a box of mechanical gears. On top, there was a small button for activation, and though it looked as if it could be used to torture a person, it came in quite handy in my line of work. No need to slice and dice your flesh with a ceremonial knife when you had a spine-u-lator at your disposal.

  In my head, as I took my seat, I heard Magnus’s sharp warning. Not the blood, child! You will draw more than you bargain for.

  For the first time in my life, I didn’t listen to my spirit guides.

  Blowing a stray curl from my face with an exasperated puff of air, I stretched my arm out across the table. “Mrs. Copperbelt, if you will forgive me, the spirits are…reluctant.”

  She nodded her head, eyes shining bright with fascination as she licked her rosebud lips.

  In one quick punch of the button, the cogs turned, and the spines shot down into the fleshy part of my naked arm. Just as quickly as they had entered, the needles retracted, leaving bright red spots of blood in their wake. The sting was quick, and not as painful as one might imagine, but the sudden pinprick did make me wince.

  Almost as soon as I set the spine-u-lator to the side, I felt the spirits stir. Phantom lips pressed against my skin and ghostly tongues lapped at the wounds. Their cold breath sent chills up my body, leaving me feeling as if I’d been dunked in ice water. One by one, their forms took shape as they fed from the elixir that is a Voodessa’s blood. Soon six souls stood by, awaiting my requests and watching Jeanne with wary, hollowed eyes.

  I attempted to form the words to ask them for their knowledge, but a sharp bite pierced my already tender flesh. Ice ran in my veins as the vicious mouth latched onto the offering of blood, sucking so hard that the pain radiated from shoulder to finger tip.

  With a cry, I called upon my most protective spirit, “Claire De’Rees, help me! Release this demon from my flesh!”

  The ghostly shade moved forward, a silver sheath in the flickering light, and bent to my ear. “Odessa,” she hissed, “it is Lucifer. I cannot help you.”

  I could hear the worry in her voice, and I could see the fearful gleam of excitement dancing in Jeanne’s cold eyes. I did the only thing I could do; I relinquished my struggle to the dark master.

  The voice was a hot rasp in my ear, boiling my skin even as I shivered. "Odessa, you have served me well."

  I kept my eyes locked forward, my face slack of expression, even though I was frightened. No, I was more than scared. I could feel the damnation of my soul and the promise of my death on every word he spoke.

  "This woman, she is an unruly child of my flock. I wish to have her soul. You will do this for me Odessa. You will serve me, or I will take yours in trade. And all of your little spirits, those of all your kin, will come to burn beside you in the fiery pits of Hell."

  I didn't have to answer. He knew I would do nothing to risk myself or the others. This woman, this stranger with murder in her eyes, was no one to me. Only seconds passed, though it felt like days as I sat suspended in my terror, with Lucifer whispering he desires into my ear.

  When at last he released me, I looked into Jeanne's face, and I lied. I had never once told an untruth to someone who had come to seek my help. I had never misled a single soul in my lifetime that I could remember. Guilt washed over me as I spoke the words that I had been commanded to speak.

 
"Mrs. Copperbelt, the spirit of your husband's mistress is a crafty one. She hides among the already hidden, a weak and trembling thing, but too quick to seize. You must return here in two days time, when the Stag Moon rises. At which time, I will have the things we need to accomplish this task for you."

  Eyes still wide, she looked at me for a moment, disbelief crossing her face. "If you can't do it, Madame Odessa, just tell me now. This was quite a show, but I have better ways to spend my time."

  I felt my heart speed with panic, if she backed out, the Dark Lord would be furious. I needed her now, more than she needed me, my survival depended on it. "Mrs. Copperbelt, I assure you the spirits are at work, but when a weak spirit chooses to remain in isolation, it takes more time than you could fathom to coax them out. What I have in mind will rip her out of the veil and be quite a torturous thing. I imagine you might enjoy it."

  Her well sculpted eyebrow shot up, the idea of somehow still harming her enemy beyond the grave intriguing the human monster within her. Still her voice held skepticism, "And how can I be sure that you are not just sitting me up in order to find a way to swindle my money from me? I don't have much you know. Not until I have that will."

  I let my eyes close, beckoning the voices of the dead to come, to fill me with information that only this woman would know. "This morning, when you pinned the clockwork butterfly to your lapel, you smiled. It reminds you of a gentleman, his name is Sebastian. You are lovers, but no one has ever known. You have kept that secret well guarded from friends, family, and enemies alike. Years and years, you have found solace in this man’s arms."

  The murderous intent in her narrowed eyes told me that everything my spirits had whispered was true. This woman had many secrets that swirled around her like bruised and angry storm clouds, threatening a torrent of thunder and lightning to anyone who crossed her path.

  "Madame Odessa, I leave this in your capable hands." Jeanne stood from her chair and stomped out, her anger leaving a pulsing streak in her wake.

  With the last vestiges of my strength, I thanked my spirits, and released them back to the unknown. Weary and weak, I stumbled when I tried to stand. Thankfully, Margaret was there to wrap her sturdy arm around my waist and safely guide me to my room. All the while, the little woman admonished me for letting the spirits take too much, draining myself.

  "You don't understand. It was the Dark Lord, Margaret. The black horse himself rode through my visions, whispered in my ear, commanded me to act in his name, and he has shown me a box."

  Looking at me as though she didn't dare not believe, Margaret shook her head. "You mean to tell me, Miss, that Lucifer has commanded you in his own voice?"

  "Yes, Margaret. That's exactly what I mean to tell you. He has shown me the way, and I must follow, or the others will suffer. The mothers and fathers and the children will all suffer if I don't. I must build the box, the chamber, the crypt. I must build it as he showed me, and I must capture the woman’s soul."

  "Then you did find the mistress then? And what is of so much importance to a woman or Lucifer about this one little soul?"

  "I had no need of the mistress. Lucifer told me the location of the will and the secrets it contains." I fell onto my bed, fully dressed, my eyes already drooping as I tried to press on. "They have the cure, you see. The cure for, well, everything that ails us. You can see how anyone would be interested in that. However, Lucifer does not wish this power to be release into humanity, and neither does God. It would upset the balance, it would destroy the world."

  Wringing her hands in worry, Margaret stepped closer to the bed. “You are going to do this then, Odessa?”

  “Yes, my dear friend, I shall. I must.” I wailed then, “However can I not? Magnus and the others, my past relations, and those of the future. Oh, Margaret, even you. Your souls all rest on these hands.” I thrust my out my arms, my palms pointed upward, and envisioned the blood on the fingers if I did not do as I had been told.

  “Rest, then. You will need your strength. Tell me of the things you need, or rather those that I can acquire for you, and I will retrieve them for you as you sleep.”

  June 2, 1867

  The Home of Odessa Olivia Simmonds, Wren City

  When I awoke only an hour later, the materials I had asked for were all laid out upon the small table in my room. I took the raw wood up in my hands, feeling the smoothness of the sheered and sanded oak under my fingertips. I examined the springs, nails, and the can of black lacquer; all were of the finest quality. As I moved these things about, making sure each item needed was present. My eyes turned to the mechanical parts again and again. The cogs and gears shined in the low gaslight like sinister eyes staring accusingly up at me.

  What have I done? I wondered to myself, but the answer came from Magnus.

  I warned you not to use the blood, Odessa. I told you it would draw him forward, though I don’t believe anything could have prevented him from coming. As I said before, be careful, child. The devil has a care with this one. His old and weary tone filled my mind, and I shivered.

  “Magnus, what can I do? Should I build this box and follow his commands. Give me your guidance, Grandfather.” I waited, listening for his answer to come, but only the deep silence of a late night answered back to me.

  “Confounded spirits,” I called out, but set to work anyway.

  My lips pursed and my brow scrunched, I grumbled aloud. I could call up spirits, cast spells, read the future and the past, but a carpenter I was not. Nails bent in the middle, the hammer missed and caught my thumb, and parts seemed to aggressively avoid my grasp. Everything I tried, failed miserably.

  You are using the wrong tools, Odessa. Your mind does not know the ways of this craft, so use the ones you are most familiar. Magnus’s voice chastised me.

  I whipped the hammer at the wall, frustration and anxiety driving me to strike out. “What the hell does that even mean?” I screamed at Magnus, but once again, only silence answered.

  I paced the room, my mind turning his words over and over. I had no skills other than those that I used to earn my keep. I couldn’t tell the box’s future, I couldn’t murder it with poison, I couldn’t…I could ask the spirits.

  In minutes, I had cleared the table of the parts I had ruined, thankful that Margaret had bought extras. Nestled down into my chair, my hands held out with the palms down over the tools and pieces, I called my spirits. It took longer than I had patience for. My hands were trembling, holding them outward for so long straining my muscles.

  With a sigh, I relinquished hope, and started to pull away. In that instant, the wood rose from the table, and hung in the air. A small whisper came to my ear, it sounded as if it belonged to a child, young and full of excitement.

  I listened carefully, moving my hands as he told me too, guiding the nails and hammer, the tiny cogs and gears, the springs and boards. The childlike spirit even assisted in creating a seal upon the lid that was filled with gilded gold. In no time, the contraption came together, a fully formed miniature chest. A sick exhilaration bubbled up inside my chest as I released the spirit who had come to my aid, whispering sweet words of thanks as he drifted back into the void, the same nameless shade he had been when he arrived. I knew the dangers of what I had done, and still would do, but I could not help but enjoy the feeling of powerfulness surging in my veins.

  Carefully, I lifted the lid, the new hinges gliding effortlessly and the hidden compartment quietly sliding forward in the front. In the center of the box, a small contraption had been erected from the brass cogs and gears. I understood its purpose, I knew how it had gone together, but the sight of it still seemed miraculous to me. To think that I had helped to guide it into creation gave me chills. I had assisted the devil and built a box that would trap a thousand souls.

  Carefully, I laid the ebony velvet along the inside, careful to cut it exactly, so that it wouldn’t interfere with the dispenser. If the tiny arm could not press downward, if the vial that would be placed in the center co
uld not be accessed, if the vapor could not be created, then I would fail. For me, failure was not an option. I was sure that I had damned my soul to hell, but I would not be the cause of generations, past and future, to be condemned as well.

  Forcing my eyes from the soul catcher, I looked out the small window in my room, and took note that the sky had turned the faded purple of pre-dawn. I had been at work for hours, the midnight hour had come and passed, a new morning had dawned, and there was still much to be done.

  June 3, 1867

  Wren City

  I traveled by means of a steam powered carriage, something I rarely did. The chug of the motor, and the strange sensation had always disoriented me and slowed my gifts. However, that is what I most needed. I did not have the reserves to hold my shields against the onslaught of the world, and I needed to save that strength for when I reached the Sky Market.

  With my back pressed into the plush leather seat, I stared out the window as the rented driver guided the vehicle through the cobbled streets of Wren City. We passed through the town center, and I thought back to the years before, when the Clock Tower had stood like a deadly beast. I had been a mere child when it was destroyed, but I bore the scar above my heart where the time piece had been.

  I could not remember the revolution, but I clearly recalled the night that Cassandra, Max, and their rebel friends had saved us all from Wren City’s population control. Every man, woman, and child in Wren had been provided a timepiece and a time card. The Physicians had attached the little pocket-watch device to each person’s heart and grafted it into their chest. Then their time card had been inserted into the Time Clock, which had chosen at random date and time. Once the clock struck that hour, the time piece stopped working and the caused the persons death.