Inside the station, the initial chaos seemed to be settling down. What passengers were there waiting for the last train of the evening were on one side of the room, while the half dozen circus women were on the other with three men laid out on the benches. Angelica had taken charge of the makeshift clinic and nodded at Belinda. “Go find some bandages. Do you have any salve in your caravan?”
“Yes.” Belinda turned and ran the way she’d come. While she didn’t have a huge stock of medicinals in the caravan, she had a few small pots, and clean sheets that could be cut up for bandages.
As she ran around the station house to the caravan, she looked over to the group of circus men wetting the ground between the siding and the station house. Good. They’d rotated the spout of the water tower and were using it to soak the soil. Others had begun rescuing items from the unburned parts of the circus, including the train cars. Belinda was grateful to see Madame Zara’s crystal ball in Nicky’s hands. She was glad some important things had been saved, even while she hated to see them risking themselves for replaceable objects.
Once inside the sleeping compartment of the caravan, she stepped around the tapir dung—already?—and reached into the small cupboard for the spare sheets, along with her pot of burn salve as well as one for cuts and bruises. Somewhere, she had some willow bark for pain, but she didn’t take time to find it before hurrying back outside. That could come later.
After nudging the anteater out from under her skirts, she slammed the door shut behind her so the animals didn’t get out and stepped down off the running board. Even from this far away, the air was warmed by the heat of the fire, and flecks of ash fell like snowflakes. Praying for Connor and the others, she started to run toward the station. As she did, she saw two or perhaps three shadows detach from the caravan and close in around her.
Belinda started to run, but one of them reached her. A sharp flash of pain seared her skull and then the world went black.
* * *
Connor stamped out another ember and felt a sting on his shoulder. With an oath, he slammed his palm down on that one and put it out, heedless of the small sting to his hand. The fire at the circus was almost burned out and it hadn’t reached the train, meaning the performers wouldn’t lose their homes along with their livelihoods. The Order, of course, would replace all the burned equipment, but he knew Smith’s circus would never be quite the same, and that was essentially his fault. The knowledge sat heavily on him, but he didn’t have time to worry about it now, not when the breeze was still showering them with stray bits of ash and charcoal.
“Over there!” Melody, who’d apparently remembered to bring her bucket, doused the clothing of one of their workers while she pointed Connor at a small stump in the space between the siding and the main track, which had apparently caught fire—again. Connor took another bucket and filled it in the stream from the water tower, soaking his clothes as he did. Then he carried it over to douse the stump. He turned just in time to see a swarm of men, armed with knives, clubs and guns, pour into the space from around the station house.
“Trouble,” he shouted. He ran toward one of the gunmen and threw the wooden bucket, knocking the pistol from the bastard’s hand. The other Order and circus folk turned at his shout and engaged the attackers in a flurry of curses and a spatter of gunfire. Unfortunately, most of the circus performers had been worried about fire and weren’t armed. Connor did manage to draw his revolver from the shoulder holster under his coat, but another man was on him before he could get off a shot. The gun misfired—probably due to all the water—and all Connor could do was use the weapon as a club. Fortunately, the man went down. Connor didn’t spare a glance around him to see how Melody or the others were doing, but he did have time to be glad Belle was safely inside the station house.
A tingle down Connor’s spine let him know a spell was about to go off, and he turned to see a man on the roof of the station house. Connor cast a reflection spell under his breath and was relieved to see the wizard stagger, although he didn’t tumble from the roof. Someone off to the right of Connor fired a pistol and the man fell to the ground. Another pair of bruisers came up on Connor’s left, and he didn’t have time to worry about anyone else. One man had a sword and the other an ebony walking stick, so it was all Connor could manage to avoid being skewered or smashed. When the one with the stick swung, Connor swept the man’s feet out from under him and grabbed the cane, wrenching it from the man’s hands as he fell. Connor took hold of the cane in both hands and parried the sword, clipping the second opponent on the skull. He didn’t go down, but was obviously dazed.
Another spell went off, and Connor swore his ears were bleeding at the high-pitched scream. The enemy didn’t seem to notice, which meant the spell was a powerful one, to be targeted so specifically. Connor swung the cane somewhat blindly and managed to drop one of the men fighting him, and dodged the one with the sword. He heard Tom shouting a spell, and mercifully, the scream ended. Connor again used a two-handed grip on the cane to engage the sword and then clipped the man’s jaw with the heavy brass tip. The swordsman fell.
Connor looked around him. Numerous skirmishes were still going on and the guildsmen still out numbered their side. Several circus folk were down, as well as more of the enemy. No one with a gun was still upright and firing. Melody clipped a builder over the head with her favorite spanner, and Connor spared a moment to pull the gloves with the brass plates from his trouser pocket. Armed with brass-lined fists and the heavy cane, he waded back into the fight. He felt every blow that landed on him, but he kept going, using his sheer size and training to his advantage as he closed in on his sister’s position. When she saw him, she gave a brief nod, and the two of them stood, fighting back to back until the enemy stopped coming. They threw more magick at the circus folk, and Connor fought with half his mind and cast reflection spells with the other. He caught a blow to the side of his head and nearly went down. Thankfully, Melody turned and knocked the man out with her spanner.
And still more kept coming. Dread coiled in his gut when he heard another spell-caster chanting from the roof. His own magickal power was nearly gone after so many spells. If he cast another reflection spell, he’d likely fall, unable to even fight. If he didn’t, they might all go down.
Hoping to hell someone took care of Belle, he started to cast, reflexively blocking incoming blows while he chanted.
* * *
The first thing Belinda noticed as she woke was the rough gravel beneath her cheek. She was being dragged somewhere and whoever was doing it didn’t care how much she bumped and jostled against the ground. This wasn’t good. Instinctively, she pulled her limp arms up to cradle her stomach. She didn’t feel any pain in her belly, which was a good sign. If she was expecting—and she’d begun to believe she was—she couldn’t let anyone do anything to hurt the baby. That meant keeping herself alive as well. Unfortunately, the way her head pounded—both because of the dragging and from the blow that had knocked her unconscious, she wasn’t sure there was much she could do to save herself.
“Awake, are you?”
Belinda’s eyes came open at the sound of a familiar voice. “Mr. Engle?” Unless she was hallucinating, it was the witch-finder himself who had hold of both her feet.
“You’re the bint that escaped,” he snarled. Based on his ragged clothing and matted hair, he’d been sleeping outdoors since he disappeared from Kay’s Tower. “Stupid cow. There’s a warrant out for me now, you know. Me—when you’re the witch. You’re the one who needs to die.” He gave her ankles a rough jerk and dropped them.
Belinda blinked, trying to clear her vision, which had blurred around the edges a bit. She leaned up on her elbows to get a better view of Engle as he glared down at her. “I didn’t do anything,” she said. “And I’m not a witch.”
“Oh, you are.” His laugh was wrong—like the sound of rusty gears grinding together. “You don’t even know it, do you? But I can always tell. I can feel the magick. And that means
you have to die.” He pulled a gun and aimed it at her, his hand shaking as he did.
Belinda reached for the right words to penetrate his fury. “You don’t have to do this, Mr. Engle. The association isn’t worth you going to prison for.”
He spat. “Amateurs. They couldn’t save my Esther when that Eye-talian bastard killed her. All witches have to die—foreign ones first.” He cocked the revolver. Belinda’s vision came into focus and she knew she was about to die. Fever burned in his eyes, but whether illness or madness, she couldn’t tell. Her heart reached out to Connor. Why hadn’t she told him she loved him before this? Now he would never know.
Then, as if from a voice brushing at her mind, she remembered her ring. Micah? She thought she felt him with her, guiding her, but she didn’t take time to be certain. Before Engle’s finger could twitch on the trigger, she pulled up her hand and fired the dart from her ring.
His arm jerked and his shot went wild as the dart struck his chest. With a curse, he steadied himself for another aim...
And then fell to the dirt, his feet pointed toward hers, as if they were two hands of a clock striking six.
Belinda pushed herself up and shoved her skirts back down, which were rucked almost up over her shoulders. They were across the road from the station house, behind a grove of trees. Sounds of fighting still came from behind the station and a thick pall of smoke hung heavily on the air.
She was alive, so she needed to move. Connor might need help. With that thought in mind, she struggled to her feet and found them steady enough to work. She gave Engle’s head a kick as she leaned over to pick up his pistol. Carrying it, she staggered back across the road to the caravan, where she stopped to catch her breath.
There was someone on the roof of the station house, and he wasn’t from the circus. Flares of flame grew in his hands as Belinda watched.
“No!” Everything in her told her this man was the enemy, and he was going to hurt Connor, along with all the others. Without stopping to doubt herself, she lifted the pistol and fired.
The flames faded and the man tumbled forward, away from Belinda. She dragged in a breath and ran—or stumbled as fast as she could—around the station to where Connor and the others continued to fight. Only a handful of men and two women were left standing, but Connor and Melody were among them, along with Wink. A big wolf also tore through the fray, accounting for Liam, while George fought alongside Wink.
Belinda watched as Connor used a heavy walking stick to knock out his opponent. Melody knocked hers down with a wrench. In moments, the remaining members of the circus had won. Belinda picked her way out to the battlefield and helped Fernando, his snowy head caked with blood, to his feet. She led him over to a bench beside the station house and turned to find Connor beside her. With a little cry, she dropped her pistol and let him fold her in his arms.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Connor asked. “You shot the man on the roof.”
Belinda nodded. “He wasn’t one of your friends, was he?”
“No. I was trying to counter his spell, but it would have taken the last of my strength and I’d have fallen. You saved my life, Belle.” He kissed her passionately, not seeming to care about their audience.
Belinda didn’t care either. She kissed him back with just as much enthusiasm. “Now we’re even,” she said when they finally stopped to draw breath.
“No, we’re not. You’ve risked yourself for me twice now and I only rescued you once.” Connor pulled back a little and held her at arms’ length as his gaze raked over her, taking in her disheveled appearance. “What the hell happened to you? You’re supposed to be inside.”
Around them, the remaining members of their group carried others into the station house and tied up some of the less seriously wounded of the builders. Belinda sighed. “Mr. Engle.” She pulled on Connor’s hand, urging him to where she’d left the witch-finder. “I used the sedative dart in my ring.”
“Brilliant.” Connor followed her and secured Mr. Engle, heaving the older man over his shoulder as they limped their way back to the others.
Belinda bit her lip. Connor was injured—there were several bloody cuts on his person and his left eye was swollen nearly shut. She doubted she looked much better.
Meanwhile, help had arrived, and the local fire brigade took care of the rest of the fire while the constabulary—under the watchful eye of Sir Merrick—took the miscreants off to gaol. Only one builder had been killed, and none of the circus folk, although a doctor was summoned and the worst of the injured were taken by train to a hospital in Newcastle.
Belinda, along with most of the other walking wounded, spent several hours in the village hall, being patched up and giving their statements to the authorities, including Connor’s father, who had arrived by dirigible less than an hour later. Connor had gone with Merrick to oversee the prisoners, leaving her behind under Melody and Nell’s watchful eyes. Belinda drank a gallon or so of tea and refused a supper of cold meats. Just the sight of food made her stomach threaten to rebel, which someone told her was probably due to a concussion.
“Do you know you have a ghost?” Nell asked as the two sat together on a wooden bench in the corner of the hall. The two wolfhounds and Lucifer lay sleeping around them. “Your father, perhaps? He’s watching over your shoulder, but he’s fading, as if he’s about to pass to the other side.”
“My late husband.” Belinda’s head was still too tender for her to censor her own words. Ghosts? No one had told her that Nell was a medium, but after everything else, she supposed it should come as no surprise.
“Ah. He’s nodding. His voice is faint—I can’t hear him.”
Goodbye, Linnie. Fare thee well. My work is done.
“I can,” Belinda said. “He’s leaving.”
“There’s a woman with him, with blond hair, and a little girl with her hair and his eyes,” Nell said, her gaze still focused over Belinda’s shoulder. “It’s very sweet.”
“His first wife and their daughter.” Belinda choked on a sob. “I’m glad he’ll finally be with them. Goodbye, Micah.”
And you’ll be with your child, Micah’s voice whispered, ever so faintly in her ear. Take care of him. I think he’ll be a handful.
Belinda blinked. I’m with child? Really? A little boy?
Aye, Linnie. And now I’ve got to go. Have a long, wonderful life, my dear. Goodbye. His voice vanished.
“They’ve gone,” Nell said. “Are you all right?”
Belinda nodded, not caring about the tears that trickled down her cheeks. “I’m fine.” It was an understatement, but she couldn’t pass on Micah’s words to Nell, not before she told Connor about the child.
“Here.” Nell tucked a scratchy woolen blanket around Belinda’s shoulders. “Sleep for a while. I’ll be sure to wake you in an hour, like the doctor said.”
Belinda closed her eyes and let the tears flow. She and Connor still had much to talk about. He needed to know about the child. She wanted to know what happened to Mr. Engle, and how this entire disaster had come about. But all of that would wait until morning. For now, she slept, knowing Connor’s son was cradled safely under her heart.
Chapter Eleven
Connor finished questioning Engle, finally certain that they’d gotten to the heart of the situation. The doctor, who’d come to the gaol after treating the injured circus and Order members, shook his head when Connor asked about the man’s sanity.
“Syphilis,” the surgeon said. “I doubt he has long now. The madness has already taken him.”
Connor nodded, unable to feel any sympathy for the dying man. He wanted to kill Engle himself, but knowing the man would rot in gaol for the rest of his short life was a tolerable alternative. As long as he never got out to threaten Belle again. Then Connor would put a bullet in his head without feeling the slightest remorse.
He gave his regards to Merrick and the local constable, then with their permission, walked down the street to the village hall to find Belle. When he ste
pped inside, he didn’t see her, but stopped to talk to his father and Tom. Melody pointed to a corner, where he found Belle curled up asleep on a bench.
Nell had been sitting on the floor beside her and rose at Connor’s approach. “She’s supposed to be woken hourly through the night.” She leaned up and kissed Connor’s cheek before wandering off.
Connor lifted Belle in his arms and smiled down at her when she opened her eyes.
She yawned and smiled back, but it was faint. “Can we go now?”
“We’re free,” he said. “The animals made a mess of the caravan, I’m afraid. The train is habitable, but smoky, so most of the circus will be sleeping in here or at the village inn. We’re taking the airship back to Merrick and Caroline’s home, Hadrian Hall. It’s just a half-hour flight.” His father and Melody had already recovered their clothing for them and loaded it on the airship.
“I’ve never been on an airship before, but I’m too tired to enjoy it tonight. A bed and a bath sound lovely.” As he carried her toward the door, she tapped his shoulder. “Put me down, I can walk.”
“I don’t want to.” He did, though, keeping an arm about her waist, since she didn’t seem too steady on her feet. “I like holding you. I’m looking forward to keeping you in my bed for the next month.”
“Mmm. Sounds lovely.” She stayed upright until they reached the airship cabin but slept through most of the trip.
Once they reached the Hadrians’ sprawling Northumberland estate, they made their way up the stairs and slumped into a spacious guest suite. Belinda dozed in a chair while Connor ran a bath. He helped her undress, removing her tarot cards from the pocket of her gown. “I’m glad you had these with you,” he said. “I’m sorry about all the losses from the circus. You know the Order will pay for everything.”
“I know.” She kissed his chest. “So do they. None of them are holding the Order responsible. They went into this venture with their eyes open.” Just then hers fluttered shut.
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