Gilded Hearts (The Shadow Guild Series)

by Christine d'Abo

  “That’s fine.” She tapped the side of her head. “It’s a bit crowded in here at any rate.”

  “I can imagine.” Jones looked down at his feet. “Is it true what they say? That you saw Sam?”

  “Sam?” She’d forgotten how much Jones had looked up to Samuel growing up. “I did.”

  “Did he look happy?”

  “He looked right pissed off. I thought for certain he was going to punch Master Ryerson.”

  “I would have paid good coin to have witnessed that.”

  “Me too. There’s something else. Information I need to trust you with before they wipe my mind.”

  Getting to her feet, she took Jones by the hands and quickly told him of her suspicion. The blush on his face from the unexpected contact faded as his horror grew. “And you think she’s right? That this killer is an archivist?”

  “She seemed to think so.”

  “Have you told Master Ryerson?”

  “No.” Piper still didn’t understand her impulsive decision to keep key information from her mentor. Perhaps it had been Samuel’s unexpected presence that had undermined years of training. Maybe it was as simple as the fact Master Ryerson had grown withdrawn over the past year, treating her with greater distance. Either way, she’d cast the dice and now had to follow where they landed. It wouldn’t be the first time Piper had taken a chance. “I don’t want to bother him with unproven theories. Not until I have more proof.”

  “I’ll tell Dennison while you are conducting your interview. We should let at least one of the Guild Masters know and he’ll have an opinion as to who is best.”

  “Emmet has an opinion on everything.”

  Jones rubbed the back of his neck and let out a huff. “What was it like?”

  “The extraction?”

  He nodded. Jones’ initiation, an event he approached with trepidation, was still several months away.

  Piper bit the inside of her lip, not knowing quite how to phrase the sensation. “Like I’m in a crowded room with everyone shouting at me, but they all have the same voice. I can’t seem to hear myself think.”

  Jones stared at her for several long moments, before he finally nodded. “I would give you more time, but they are expecting us.”

  Knowing there was no chance of escaping her fate, Piper stood and followed Jones out the door like the dutiful apprentice she had been until so recently.

  Piper let her mind wander to Samuel. After some time to get used to the idea of seeing him again, she wasn’t surprised he’d been assigned to investigate the murder. He’d flown through the ranks from Bow Street runner to constable to sergeant in a matter of a few years. Samuel, with his brilliant mind and easy manner, his ability to know what a person was feeling. It had been like a gift, a sign, to see him at that moment. Without question she knew he would help her.

  Samuel and his duty. Samuel, who’d already been at the Archives for years when she had arrived. Who’d been there since his infancy. The same Samuel who’d wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side that first night when she’d cried for her mother. She was stronger now, and yet knowing he would come to help buoyed her resolve.

  They could do this. They would discover who the killer was and—

  Staggering, she caught herself against the wall as a wave of pain and lust slammed into her. Laughter echoed through her head as her body responded, nipples hardening and desire flaring through her core.

  “Piper?” Jones was by her side. He put his hand out, offering support, but didn’t touch.

  “Effects from the extraction. I’ll be fine.” Please, let her be fine. Taking Jones by the arm, she took a deep breath. “Let’s get this over with.” They crossed the threshold to the infirmary.

  Chapter Three

  Samuel’s goggles were secured over his eyes as he stepped from the irons and into the busy street. He’d chosen the longer route along the banks of the Thames to his destination, avoiding as much of the crowd as possible. It also gave him time to think of a plausible reason for his visit.

  The guild’s report would be useless, of course. They would give him only a diluted version of the information obtained from the extraction, devoid of the feelings and images that were integral to his investigation. It was a common complaint from most of the King’s Sentry inspectors over the decades, however, hardly a new problem. No one would believe that rage over a poor report could drive Samuel to return home after five years.

  Home.

  Samuel slowed his steps. He’d done everything in his power to avoid the place since he’d fled the only home he’d ever known. The Guild Masters had officially stopped their pursuit of him, claiming his mind was now ruined, too contaminated by life outside the Archives to be of any use to them. He didn’t believe that bullshit for even a moment. They would happily pull him back into the fold if he gave even the slightest indication it was what he wanted, or find a way to snatch him from the life he’d built if they saw adequate opportunity.

  It had taken him time, but he had managed to start fresh. His time with Detective Inspector Williams and his wife gave him a sense of family and belonging he hadn’t realized he’d needed. With no experiences from outside the Archives, he was little more than a baby on the streets, unable to fend for himself. Had Detective Inspector Williams not found him, Samuel had no doubt he would have died within the week.

  There was only one person who could ever convince him to return, and she’d already made her plea. Samuel would request an interview with Piper as the extracting archivist and then, once he was inside, see what the hell was going on. A killer from within the walls of the Archives was a problem with far-reaching implications.

  The knock on his door was too soft to be anyone but Piper. Samuel had been preparing for bed, his shirt cast off and crumpled on the floor. He’d been washing himself with the steam-heated water, surprised by the now visible muscles that comprised his stomach and forearms.

  Shit, Piper couldn’t see him like this. “Just a second.”

  “It’s only me. I need to ask you something.” Before he could say another word, Piper pushed the door open and scurried inside. “I’ve managed to escape from Master June. She had me taking apart and reassembling the shadows box over and—”

  Piper’s shock was followed by a burst of desire as her gaze fixed on his chest. Samuel only had a moment to register her emotions before his cock filled, reflecting his want.

  “You’re dressing.” She finally tore her gaze away. “I’m an idiot.”

  “I did say to give me a moment. Maybe next time you’ll listen.” Snatching his shirt from the floor, he pulled it on, turning his back to her. No matter how mature Piper liked to think she was, Samuel knew there were certain things she wasn’t ready to handle. “What’s this about Master June?”

  The inevitable wave of embarrassment hit him as she sat down on the edge of his bed. “I’m not good with machines.”

  “So you want my help?”

  He turned back around in time to see her shrug. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “Ah, Pipsqueak, I never mind helping you.”

  Samuel’s dreams about her had increased in frequency over the years. Her role had changed in them from beacon of hope to willing seductress. Adjusting his shirt over his groin, he prayed she wouldn’t pick up on his arousal.

  “Tomorrow then?” She grinned as she got back to her feet. “After morning lessons?”

  The door swung open without any indication. Samuel stepped back when he saw Master Ryerson, his rage palatable in Samuel’s mouth. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “Sir,” Piper swallowed, “I was asking Acolyte Hawkins for assistance with my extractor maintenance lessons. Master June suggested I seek out a tutor.”

  “You know it’s forbidden for female and male acolytes to be unattended and alone.” He stepped farther into the room, and Samuel knew there’d be no escape for him and this transgression. “You should both know better.”

&n
bsp; Piper looked between them, before reaching out and taking Master Ryerson’s hand. “Sir, Samuel did nothing wrong. It was my enthusiasm to fulfill Master June’s wishes that brought me here without thought. This was my fault and I accept all punishments he would receive.”

  “And you chose to ask him over your mentor?”

  “You’ve been so busy, sir. And I wanted to surprise you with how much I’ve learned.” With a single smile, Piper defused the situation.

  The old man turned his attention to his favorite student, removing her hand from him. “I’m disappointed, Miss Smith. I expect more from you.”

  “I’m sorry I let you down.” Piper moved to the hallway. “It might be best if you escort me back to my quarters, sir.”

  Samuel wasn’t sure how much Piper suspected, but it was clear she detected the tension between them.

  Master Ryerson held his gaze a moment longer before nodding. “Very well.”

  No, Ryerson wouldn’t be surprised by his request to see Piper. Samuel never understood what it was that Ryerson hated more—Samuel himself, or the fact that Piper preferred his company over that of her mentor.

  Fog rolled up from the banks of the Thames and curled along the edge of the cobbled path. The sun wasn’t warm enough to chase away the chill in his bones. His sensitivity to the cold was yet another legacy from his life in the Archives.

  Lights were too bright, sounds too sharp, the taste of food and drink dulled. Pulling his greatcoat tighter around him, Samuel skirted the brave, afflicted souls peddling their wares along the river banks. He knew their symptoms were shared by many of New London’s inhabitants. The damage from the bombs launched by the French alliance had done something to the sky. The scientists claimed the French didn’t possess the technical knowledge to create a bomb that could burn the sky and make people sick for years after the attacks.

  Clearly, someone had.

  As he approached one of the street vendors, the hackles on the back of his neck rose. He was being followed. Samuel stopped and closed his eyes, trying to get a sense of who it might be. Concentrating on the ebb and flow of the emotional tide around him, he tried to pinpoint his pursuer. When that didn’t work, he looked around, attempting to see if there was anyone paying particular interest, or trying not to appear so.

  Nothing.

  Maybe he should have taken his own advice and gone to rest when he’d sent Timmons home. There were too many people around, and the strength of their emotions was cresting to the point of being overwhelming.

  The path toward the irons had grown crowded. Street vendors now openly accosted passersby, shoving tinkered wares in their paths and berating them when no sale could be made.

  “Radiation gage! Know when to stay indoors.”

  “Protection from spectral apparitions! Secures to your clothing.”

  “Upgrade your brassy specs while you wait! Goggles straight from Canada!”

  The brash street vendors didn’t approach him, however. They looked him up and down and turned away quickly. It had nothing to do with his rank as sergeant, and everything to do with his reputation. You can take the boy out of the Archives…

  His wrist strap beeped twice as he approached the irons, the gate opening to let him in. The iron walkway lurched under his weight as he stepped onto the grating. The fine chain-linked section squeaked and groaned as it unrelentingly pulled travelers to their destination. People leaned against the sides, heads lolling this way and that. Most looked to be in danger of falling asleep where they stood. Straightening, Samuel pressed his hands deep into his greatcoat’s pockets and forced his attention to stay sharp. He made the step across the exchange easily, with far fewer people along the new track to hamper him.

  Once more his wrist strap beeped, indicating he was nearing the perimeter of the Archives. He took the next exit, barely avoiding a mess of leaves and horse manure in the gutter lining the track.

  Home.

  The weight of someone’s stare bore into his back. He could sense the eyes following him as he strode away from the irons toward the Archives. A cold spot grew in his chest, a distinct lack of light, warmth, emotion, bleeding out wider with each step he took.

  Stopping short, Samuel spun around to scan the street, but the crowd in this part of New London was unsurprisingly sparse. But there was someone…

  Must be nerves.

  There was no reason to ring the bell on the gates to alert them to his presence. Even as Samuel approached, the brass guard covering the spy hole lifted. The size of a human head, the beveled glass ball reflected an upside-down image of Samuel. God, he looked tired. Pulling his shoulders back, he waited.

  The speaker by his ear crackled and popped, and a tinny voice echoed from the grid.

  “What do you want, sergeant?”

  “I’m here to follow up on an investigation. I need to meet with Miss Smith.”

  “The Archives report hasn’t been completed. You will be contacted at the King’s Sentry once it has—”

  “I know full well the report isn’t done.” Take a deep breath and keep calm. Clear the mind to keep his purpose sharp. “I need to speak with Miss Smith.”

  “Sergeant, you have no jurisdiction with—”

  “Open the goddamn gate! I’m tired, it’s been a long night, and if you don’t let me in I’ll stay right here all day, making so much noise everyone in the city will come to stand on your front lawn to see what’s happening.”

  Silence on the other side. Samuel pulled his fists up into his greatcoat sleeves, not wanting to further betray his frustration. Piper was in there and she needed his help. He owed her so much more than that, and God help anyone who tried to stop him from repaying his debt.

  The minutes ticked silently on, but Samuel didn’t flinch. Finally, the latch on the gate clicked open. “Make your way to the visitation room, sergeant.” Before Samuel could respond, the brass guard fell closed.

  He marched up the copper-lined flagstone steps, hating that the old feelings of inadequacy came rushing back. With each stride, Samuel became less the sergeant of the King’s Sentry and more the boy who’d run scared in the dead of winter from the only home he’d ever known. He tried to remember a time when he’d felt anything akin to love, living inside these walls.

  Those few precious moments had always been in Piper’s company.

  The large mahogany doors swung open with a creak as he stepped onto the landing, prompted by some hidden mechanism. The archivists who’d built this place loved their gadgets and trinkets, anything to add layers to their air of mystique. Samuel knew it also added to their already considerable security measures, which was one area he couldn’t fault them on.

  The last thing New London needed was an untrained mind getting access to one of the extractors. Or French operatives finding a way to smuggle the memory cathodes of some of the more important military or scientific minds out of New London and across the channel. Everything they’d fought for and rebuilt could be wiped away in an instant.

  The click of his boot heels on the flagstones echoed in the small foyer. It was odd being on this end of things. He knew one of the archivists was monitoring his progress, cataloguing his every reaction while he waited. Samuel walked dead center of the room, faced the monitoring equipment, held his arms open, and stared.

  Come and get me.

  Standing still, eyes straight ahead caused his back to ache, but he wouldn’t show any sign of impatience by fidgeting. He wasn’t the rash young man he’d once been. Not anymore. It was exactly thirteen minutes before the door opened and Piper stepped into the room. He watched her closely. She looked far too composed after having participated in her first extraction. She’d even taken the time to do her hair into an elaborate braid, which was draped over her shoulder.

  Dammit, they’d scrubbed her memory already.

  “Samuel. I can’t believe…” Her soft voice sent a shiver through him. “It’s good to see you again.” She spoke the words with far too much precision, clearly
still fighting the effects of the drug running through her blood.

  He wanted to pull her close and breathe her in, but didn’t move, knowing she wouldn’t appreciate the contact. Not this version of her at any rate. “You too, Pip.”

  “Sam, what scares you?” Piper held an empty memory cathode in her hands. She’d smuggled it out of her lessons.

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re a terrible liar.” Holding the cathode up, she squinted as she looked through. “Do you know what I’m scared of?”

  “What?”

  “That I’m going to forget her. My mum.”

  “You have an eidetic memory. You can’t forget her.”

  She held out the cathode, waiting for him to take it. “I will if they take so many of my memories there’s nothing left in there.”

  The glass was cool in his palm. He had no memory of his mother, father, or any life before. The others could cling to those, but not him. Born and raised in darkness, that was him. And yet, that wasn’t the thing that scared him, having no past, no life beyond the shadows.

  “What did your mum used to call you?”

  “Pip. No one called me Piper until I came here.”

  “Then I’ll call you Pip from now on.” Her smile and joy loosened the ice that had built in his chest.

  She was his best friend. God, he hadn’t had one of those since John had disappeared years ago and Sam had been forced to join the other acolytes. It was strange, having something that was secret and his. Only his and Pip’s to share. Maybe he could take a chance.

  “There is something.” His throat tightened, as if the words were fighting to stay inside.

  “What?”

  “You’ll laugh.”

  “No, I won’t. Did I laugh at Emmet when those posh pants he’d tried to wear instead of his standards ripped? Or when Jones ate that mushroom and turned red in the face before vomit came out his nose?”

  Samuel smiled. “Yes, you did.”

  “Oh.” Piper bumped his shoulder. “Well, I won’t laugh at you. I promise.”