Aether Spirit

by Cecilia Dominic

  On the Confederate side, the terrain became rougher, and he had to tread carefully lest he turn his ankle in a mole hole or dried stream bed. Something glinted in one he crossed, and he turned back and investigated. He found a pair of spectacles. One of the lenses had a crack down the center, but they were otherwise in good shape, and he recognized them as Claire’s. He tucked them in a pocket and said a brief prayer that he would be able to return them to her, that she would be unharmed.

  Chad darted from shadow to shadow and found himself faced with the crumbling walls of the Confederate fort. That meant he’d been going for at least sixty minutes, and he tried to calculate how long he had left before General Morley sounded the attack.

  However long it was, it was too short. He told himself to focus—if he kept moving toward his objective, it would only help him. Never mind that he was about to sneak into a compound full of armed men who would more than happily shoot him or enslave him.

  I’d give my freedom in exchange for Claire’s any day.

  He only hoped they hadn’t hurt—or worse, raped—her. Then he didn’t think he would be able to control his rage, and that wouldn’t help any of them.

  Through the goggles, he made out the shapes of the guards stationed at the corners of the fort. He waited for a cloud to cover the moon and ran for the shadows of the walls.

  A shot behind him made him dive for the ground, and something whizzed by his head and knocked his helmet aside. Warm liquid oozed down his neck, and he suppressed a hiss at the sudden sharp pain in his right ear.

  That was close. The bullet from the sniper’s steam rifle had nicked him, perhaps more. He couldn’t tell through the gloves, and he dared not remove them. He crept toward the shadows of the fort’s walls. Once he reached them and was sure he was as invisible as possible, he pulled the pistol from its holster and made sure the silencer was screwed on.

  The slight bit of safety released his anger. These bastards had killed his men, the ones he’d brought back to health and cared for.

  A soft voice played in his mind, “Calm now, Chadwick.”

  He forced himself to enter into the distant emotional state he used when searching the battlefield for living wounded.

  A tree branch’s movement caught his attention, and he fired in that direction. Although not truly silent, the pistol made a popping sound instead of a blast, and something heavy fell from the tree with a satisfying thud. His satisfaction was short-lived when he recognized he’d taken revenge on a soldier for doing his job. Rather than being behind the walls with this battle, he was in the thick of it, and he’d possibly have to take more lives before it was over.

  Hippocrates, forgive me.

  * * * * *

  Boston, 4 March 1865

  “The evening Claire turned eighteen, her life changed forever.”

  She wrote the words in her diary, the only place she allowed herself to express such silly notions. What were the chances her life would go in a completely unexpected direction? She closed the book, tucked it under her mattress, and checked her reflection in the mirror for the hundredth time. She looked normal, perhaps even pretty, but she couldn’t ignore an odd tingling sensation in her scalp that subsided when she attended to it but returned when she turned her attention elsewhere.

  “They’re ready for you, Miss,” her maid told her, and Claire stood and smoothed her skirts even though she’d been sitting unusually still for her so they wouldn’t wrinkle. When she walked into the hall, the sounds of people talking, glass clinking, and music made her smile, but first there was the obligatory parental meeting.

  Just like every year previously, her father and mother waited for her in the little sitting room off their bedroom, but this year her mother’s lips were tucked into a regretful frown, and her father wore a weary grin.

  “We’ve had a lot of discussion about this year’s present,” he said. “It’s hard to tell what to get for a girl who doesn’t like typical girl things.”

  Claire shrugged. The scalp tingle was back and distracted her such that she almost missed her mother’s words.

  “And I’ve come to realize that your path isn’t going to be the same as other young ladies’, and you’ll have some unique challenges.”

  This was different. Typically they told her they loved her and they were proud of her, then gave her their present.

  “Have I done something wrong?” she asked. Their demeanor unsettled her.

  “Nothing that millions of young ladies haven’t done in the past. That is, fallen in love with someone whom society feels isn’t the best match for them.”

  They’re talking about Chadwick! The thoughts of him made her cheeks heat, especially when she remembered their kisses. They hadn’t done anything beyond that, but she knew there was more.

  “And what do you feel?” she asked. “Or rather, what do you think?”

  Her parents looked at each other and held hands. Her father spoke. “We’ve done our best to teach you to see the humanity in everyone regardless of what they look like, so the fact that you’re able to see what a great young man Chadwick Radcliffe is, well, it makes us so proud.”

  “But it also concerns us,” her mother added. “You know others will not support this match.”

  “Like Aunt Eliza.” Claire was old enough to know that her rich aunt, rich racist aunt, held more control over her parents than she should be allowed, but no one wanted to cross her. Although generally stingy with her money, she had helped Claire’s parents on a few occasions when her father’s tinkering hadn’t brought in enough, and her mother hadn’t been able to find work teaching. Eliza believed that Claire’s mother Melanie had married below her, and those in her set agreed.

  Now neither of them would meet her challenging stare, and she knew she was right. “You can’t let her control you like this,” she said. “I’ve certainly no intention of bowing to her will. Chadwick will be a doctor, and we’ll make enough to live comfortably.”

  Her mother spoke again. “Money isn’t the only issue.” She squeezed her husband’s hand, which rested on her shoulder. “I love your father, but marriage is hard work. They don’t tell you that in the fairy tales, but there are challenges to every happily ever after. I want you to have the best chance of success at it, and I don’t want you to put yourself in a position where difficulties both from outside and within overwhelm your happiness.”

  “Our gift to you this year is our honesty,” Allen said. “We’ve tried to shield you children from the consequences of our choices, but I’ll tell you it would have been easier—much easier—for us both if we had married within our social class, although I wouldn’t have traded it for a thousand dollars.” He smiled at his wife, and Claire swallowed against the pain in her throat that heralded tears. They really did love each other, but she’d never appreciated the sacrifices they’d made for it.

  Claire looked at her father and waited for what he would say next. He always took her side, understood her. What would he do now? And did this conversation mean what she hoped it did?

  “Tonight Chadwick will ask you a question,” he said.

  “I knew it!” Claire tried not to jump up and down with glee, but it was hard. She’d had a feeling he was going to propose.

  “Listen to your father,” Melanie told her.

  “And although you feel you already have your answer—feel, not think—we want you to go into this decision with your eyes open and with full awareness of the risks. Your Aunt Eliza isn’t the only one opposed to you applying to the governor for permission to marry a Negro.”

  “He’s half Negro, and who else?” Claire heard her father’s warning to think, not feel, but she couldn’t help the explosion of joy in her chest, especially since this conversation meant they weren’t forbidding the match. She didn’t allow herself to think about her Aunt Eliza’s influence in high circles and how she might prejudice the go
vernor against Claire and Chadwick’s suit.

  Melanie shook her head. “I have no concrete proof, so I hesitate to name names, but it’s someone close to you. He thinks he’s been hiding his feelings, but they’re obvious.”

  “Aidan.” Her brother. He’d always been polite to Chadwick, but after Chadwick had started courting Claire, Aidan had made more efforts to introduce her to his own friends.

  “We can’t say.” Her mother stood and took Claire’s face in her hands. “We’re here for you no matter what, but please be careful. We don’t know to what lengths people will go to keep you apart.” She hugged Claire close to her and whispered, “But I can say my dearest hope is to see you happy, whatever that looks like.”

  Allen pulled his daughter and wife to him. “I have given Chadwick my consent to ask for your hand, but the decision is up to you. Although our resources are limited, we will do what we can to support you.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Fort Temperance, 3 March 1871

  Chadwick turned away from the extra shadow that was the dead or badly injured man and turned his attention to the fort. Conscious of being outnumbered and outgunned, he skirted the walls and looked for a way that wouldn’t involve going over them. No luck—there was only one way in or out of Fort Temperance, and three guards stood in front of the heavy door reinforced with iron studs. He guessed that even if he could draw them away, getting through the door would be nigh impossible without explosives.

  Up and over, then. The most promising side with regard to height was the one that had been damaged by La Reine, but he guessed it was most heavily guarded, and he didn’t want to send the grappling hook over just to have it pull a chunk of brick and mortar atop him when he tried to climb. Plus, it was the one the moon shone most brightly on, which would help him with his climb but put him most in danger of being spotted.

  The clock on the base struck midnight, and a bead of sweat crept down Chad’s face. He needed to make his decision soon so he’d have time to find Patrick and Claire. He went to the side that sported the highest walls, which he hoped would be less guarded than the others, but he also knew the fort was like an anthill that had been stepped on, and they’d be on high alert, especially after the kidnappings. The moon disappeared behind a large bank of clouds, and he used an extended fuse to set the flare to go off on the damaged side of the base, which also happened to be opposite his target wall. He only hoped he had managed the timing correctly and crept back to his hiding place to wait.

  Doubts wiggled into his mind, like what if the ground was too wet for the fuse to stay lit, and what if the flare wasn’t good? What would he do then? Go over the wall and hope he didn’t land atop a Confederate soldier?

  A hiss preceded an explosion, and shouts and footsteps followed. He laced his fingers through the handles and shot the hook over the wall, and it caught. The grappling gun had an extra button, which he pressed, and he barely had time to tighten his grip in response to the pressure before the rope re-wound, bringing him up along the side of the wall and flinging him against the bricks. He couldn’t help the “oof!” that escaped from him. After dangling for a minute to catch his breath, he scrambled over the wall with the help of the metal-tipped gloves and collapsed on the catwalk, panting.

  His elbow throbbed, the old injury awakened, and liquid oozed down his neck again. He couldn’t sit and assess his wounds for too long. Nearby footsteps sent him scrambling down the nearest ladder, and he huddled into a crevice between a piece of artillery and a pile of crates just before the moon peeked out again and gave him a good view of the courtyard he was in.

  “What d’you think that was?” one of the soldiers asked.

  “Who knows? Something left over from that demon machine the Union used? Did you see what it did?”

  “We’re not supposed to talk about it, General’s orders.”

  “He wasn’t there. He didn’t see those boys burned up to crisps their mamas couldn’t even recognize. He shoulda surrendered before they can use it again.”

  “Shh! Them’s treason words.”

  Chad smiled but made sure he didn’t open his lips and reveal his teeth. But then Claire’s concerns and regrets came to mind. He shoved the thoughts from his mind and focused on the task at hand.

  Where would Claire and Patrick have been taken? The clever Patrick would have tried to ensure they’d make it somewhere obvious, but Chad feared they’d been put somewhere special. The moonlight showed him that the fort was laid out similarly to Fort Daniels, and he made his way to where the prisoners should be kept, a squat building toward the center with a guard beside it.

  Damn, he’s green enough to be anxious. Indeed, the soldier bounced on the balls of his feet, his gun drawn. He looked around the courtyard, but in no discernible pattern that would help Chad avoid his notice. Chad drew the cloak around himself and darted through the shadows, freezing whenever the man seemed to look in his direction. Chad crept beside him, covered his mouth, and dragged him into the shadows. He flexed the claws in his other glove and pricked the soldier’s downy cheek.

  “Don’t move or I’ll claw your face off.”

  The man—boy, really—nodded. Chad pressed on his carotid arteries until the soldier passed out and then Chad tied and gagged him with his own shirt. Chad put the homespun uniform jacket on over his own clothes and detached the goggles from the helmet. He put them on and pulled the soldier’s hat low over his brow so he’d hopefully pass as one of them on first glance.

  He walked into the prison and found another guard on duty, which he pointed his steam pistol at. The man raised his hands.

  “If you’re looking for the Irishman and the young lady, they’re in the last cell.”

  Chad frowned. “Are you trying to send me on a wild goose chase so you can alert your fellow soldiers?”

  “Would I tell you if I were?”

  “I like you, so I’ll keep you alive. Where are the keys?”

  The soldier tossed him a ring of keys. Now Chad had a dilemma. He needed to tie the man up, but he also needed to keep the gun trained on him. He reluctantly tossed the keys back to him.

  “Go and open the door to the first cell.”

  “Good idea. Then they can tie me up or stick me in there.”

  Chad wondered at the man’s cooperativeness, but the soldier did as Chad said and opened the door to a cell with three young men in Union uniforms. He stepped back for them to come out, but Chad shoved him in and locked the door behind him. Now the guard’s face scrunched up in anger.

  “How did you know it was a trap?”

  “While Southern hospitality is legendary, you don’t keep a war going with stupidity.” The now-captive Confederate soldiers cursed at him. “Plus, that’s the advantage of being a doctor—although I haven’t been there for too long, I do know my own soldiers. Who wants to see how many bullets I have left?”

  They quieted when he aimed the gun at them, and he moved past the brick wall to the next cell, which held some familiar faces.

  “Private Greely,” he said. “Pleasure to see you again. I didn’t know you’d been captured today.”

  “Boy, am I happy to see you, Doc. Nice goggles.”

  Chad released him and his cell-mates. “I’ll leave the keys for you to release the others, but I need to find Mister O’Connell and Doctor McPhee first.”

  “I saw the general’s private guard bring them in. They’re further down.”

  “Thanks.”

  As promised, Patrick and Claire were in a cell, but in the middle. Patrick stood, wrists tied. “Took you long enough.”

  “Well, a man is only as good as his gadgets,” Chad said as Greely unlocked the door, but he scowled when Claire didn’t move. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Nanette’s the one who broke into our room, and she had your letter and the ring, which she gave to Claire to prove Claire wa
s faking her hysteria.”

  “And it backfired.”

  “In a big way. You’re going to need more than a good device to bring her back.”

  * * * * *

  Even after her parents’ sobering conversation, Claire couldn’t wait to go down to the party, where she knew Chadwick would be waiting for her with his friend Patrick O’Connell and also probably—hopefully—with a ring. She kept the delicious anticipation alive until she arrived in the parlor, where the first person she saw wasn’t Chadwick, but rather her Aunt Eliza speaking with an older gentleman with a full gray beard and hair. She tried to duck back into the hallway, but it was too late. Eliza had spotted her.

  “Claire, darling, come meet one of my fellow sponsors of the Union Symphony!”

  Claire looked around for an escape, but there was none, and still no Chad. The party had started half an hour ago—where could he be? She reluctantly approached Eliza and her friend, who stood beside a girl younger than Claire and who looked as thrilled to be in the conversation as Claire felt.

  “Hello, thank you for coming,” Claire said and tried for a convincing smile, hoping that overshooting would at least land her at polite. “I’m Claire McPhee.”

  “Yes, Allen McPhee’s daughter,” the man said. “I’ve heard he’s doing some fascinating work. Will he be arriving shortly?”

  “He will be down in a moment. He and my mother and I had to take care of a family tradition first.”

  “It happens every year,” Eliza sighed. “They give her their gift first, then they come down to the party. Some sort of barbaric Irish custom, I wager. Claire, these are Parnaby Cobb and his daughter Louisa.”

  Claire didn’t correct Eliza out of habit. Plus, she refused to be rude to guests in her parents’ home. She shook hands with Cobb, who studied her like she was a horse for sale.