The Girl and the Clockwork Cat (Entangled Teen)

by Nikki Mccormack

  She couldn’t though, could she? Not after finding Macak, not after meeting Ash, not after talking to her mother, and certainly not after Chaff’s kiss. Life would never be the same again.

  A droll laugh slipped out. Who would ever think I’d long for the simplicity of picking pockets and running from Lits?

  Nevertheless, for a little longer, life was very simple. Right now, it was a matter of getting back to Mr. Folesworth and Macak before someone else did. She might be fretting over nothing. Ash might not tell anyone where Lucian was. Joel might not find out JAHF had Ash in custody before Em met with Lucian. Still, she had to be sure, and it would take Chaff longer to catch up with Em than it would take her to get back to the warehouse. She hoped Em had the sense not to shoot Chaff on sight for giving her a false trail earlier.

  Maeko started to chew at her lip and stopped when it brought the brief kiss back to the forefront of her thoughts. She turned around and watched another horse drawn omnibus roll to a stop. This one was also going the wrong way. She shifted from foot to foot, impatient to be moving again.

  Lucian might be angry when he found out she hadn’t taken the blueprints and the will to the detective. And nice as he seemed, she wasn’t sure how much she could trust him. Or Em for that matter. Maeko needed some leverage to ensure they cleared Ash and his family of fault in the murders. It also gave her the opportunity to make sure Garrett got a chance to talk to the man about the clockwork leg. A little irritation from the founder of the most powerful company in London was worth the insurance those documents gave her, wasn’t it? What could he do to her, throw her into a Lit workhouse until she ran away?

  Someone bumped her injured shoulder while rushing to catch the departing omnibus. She staggered, barely keeping her balance, and clenched her teeth against the burst of pain as stitches pulled at wounded flesh. The careless bloke leapt up next to the conductor in the door of the omnibus, out of reach of any retaliation. She blinked back tears and glared after him.

  Now the ache in her shoulder was a burning pain. She could feel the slow seep of fluid under the bandage. There wasn’t much she could do about it other than hope the jostling hadn’t torn any stitches loose. Fussing with the bandage to check on it would only make a mess she couldn’t fix on her own.

  With pain, exhaustion, and gnawing hunger her only company, she shifted from foot to foot and waited for the proper omnibus. The evening sky grew darker with creeping dusk and a thickening of grumpy clouds. Her mother’s light blouse did little to combat a growing chill in the air, made worse by the contrasting heat in her shoulder. By the time the omnibus she wanted pulled up, she was shivering, something that further exaggerated the pain of her wound and the weakness of hunger. The ache spread down from the cut into her upper arm now, reaching below her collarbone in front and her shoulder blade in back, distracting at best.

  She trudged on board and sat near the back on the lower deck, resting her head against the side. The cool surface provided a refreshing contrast to the stuffy, smelly heat of the overcrowded bus. She closed her eyes, wincing each time a bump sent another spear of pain through the injured shoulder. Despite the pain, she started to doze, jerking awake when the bloke next to her bumped her arm as he stood to get off. Sucking back a cry of pain, she clenched her teeth and glanced out the window then followed him. They had passed the stop where she should have gotten off, but it wasn’t too far now to the warehouse so she started walking. Lacking the warmth of bodies crammed on the omnibus, her shivering returned with renewed vigor, leeching away at her failing energy. She trudged along, distracted by discomfort and the sooty, pungent yellow fog rolling in off the river, obscuring the streets.

  It wasn’t until she heard the lapping of water against the docks that she realized she had missed the turn. She stopped and stared into the thick fog, trying to get her bearings, frustrated anger bubbling up as a scream in her throat. She forced it down.

  You’re fine. Stay calm. Stay quiet. There’ll be no Hatchet-face this time, just a little more walking.

  Her feet ached in the poor fitting shoes.

  Turning around, she began retracing her steps, hugging herself against the chill.

  Something brushed her leg and she twitched away in surprise. Macak turned and rubbed along her leg again, purring. He looked up, meowing, perhaps wondering why she hadn’t started petting him yet. She reached down to scratch his head.

  “What are you doing outside again? Can you take me to Mr. Folesworth.”

  The cat purred, accepting a few more scratches, then started off, glancing back once to make sure she followed.

  When they turned down the proper street after what felt like an eternity later, she darted to one side to crouch by a stack of crates. A Literati steamcoach like the one they’d taken her to JAHF in was parked down the street from the warehouse entrance. It stood empty, which meant whoever had come in it was nearby. They could be in the warehouse already, assuming they were even there for that. If not, she might still have time to warn Lucian before anyone else got there.

  “Does he have company?” she whispered, scratching gentle fingers down Macak’s spine. His back rose into her hand and his purr grew louder. At least someone’s enjoying themselves.

  Macak turned around and gazed up at her, arching his back in search of more attention. He pressed against her, seeming reluctant to move on. She started scratching again and peered through the fog. She could make out the door to the building. It stood slightly ajar, the faint glow of candlelight visible through the crack, a promise of welcome.

  But what kind of welcome?

  She rubbed her forehead. It was damp, perhaps with moisture from the fog or the residuals of the cold sweat that had come over her earlier. She wiped her hand on her trousers, then picked up Macak with her good arm and held him close, comforted by his warmth against her. The cat purred louder still and nuzzled her cheek.

  “You shouldn’t be out here,” she muttered, slinking across to the door. No, out here he could be hurt or lost, or picked up by foolish street rats with an overblown sense of their own worth.

  She stopped outside the door. This was daft. She should wait for Em. Macak gazed up at her, his yellow eyes full of trust and adoration, so much to live up to. She nudged the door open with her foot and crept in. With Macak still in hand, she used her injured arm to pull the door closed behind them, wincing when it clicked shut and the wound gave a sharp protest. Cold dread crept up her spine and she opened the door again, leaving it cracked so she could make a quick escape if necessary, but not enough for Macak to get out.

  Flickering candlelight beckoned from beyond a high row of stacked crates toward the center of the warehouse rather than the corner where Lucian’s desk and bed were. Creeping toward the lit area, she spotted someone’s legs sticking out just beyond the end of the crates. Someone was lying down in a rather unlikely spot. Her skin prickled. She set Macak down, shooing him back toward the nook where the desk was with her hands. He gave her an insulted look, trotted a few feet that direction—whir, click, whir, click—then sat and began to groom his normal front paw.

  Crouched down so low her fingers touched the floor, she crept toward the light to the end of the crates and peeked around. Lucian sat in a chair at the center of a large open area, his hands bound behind the seat and his feet tied to the chair legs, a massive red lump above his left temple. He looked shriveled, small, and helpless in his bonds. A familiar figure in a gray coachman hat stood staring down at him, holding a large pistol with a bulbous middle trained on the bound man.

  She leaned a little further out to see who belonged to the legs on the floor and sucked in a sharp breath. Ash lay there, his hands bound behind his back, the rope pressing deep into his wrists. He was staring murder at Joel, but the black gag tied around his mouth forced him to keep his homicidal thoughts to himself. The hair behind his ear was sticky with blood and he had a fresh bruise on the visible side of his face.

  Had Joel beaten him to find out where Luc
ian was or had he found out some other way and brought Ash along to keep him from telling anyone else?

  If she inched out around the crate, she could reach his hands.

  “Where are the blueprints?” Joel’s voice was calm, fearless as it had been when he confronted her in the alley.

  She shuddered, her heart hammering against her ribs. Holding her breath, she snuck along the crates far enough to get a hold of the rope binding Ash’s wrists.

  “In safe keeping,” Lucian replied, giving no indication that he had seen her, if he even had yet.

  Ash tensed when her fingers touched his wrists, but he didn’t turn or make a sound to give her away. She went to work on the knot.

  “I was hoping for a more useful answer. Shall we try again?” The ominous click of the pistol cocking made her mouth go dry. “Where are the blueprints?”

  “Why are you doing this?” Lucian demanded.

  The knot began to loosen.

  “Why?” Anger crept into Joel’s voice. “Because I’ve played second to you my entire life. I’ve watched people lavish praise on you for your brilliant inventions while I stood in the shadows and kept the business running. I watched you build a life with a woman you knew I loved. I’ve—”

  “A woman you killed.” Lucian’s voice cracked on the last word.

  The sound of movement behind her caught her attention, but there was nowhere to go without alerting Joel to her presence. She shifted closer to the crates and started to turn. A cry burst from her throat when someone grabbed a handful of her cropped hair and yanked her up. She clutched at the hand, struggling to get her feet under her as the unseen attacker hauled her away from Ash.

  Joel spun around, the pistol swinging around with him.

  “Watch where you point that thing,” her captor shouted.

  Maeko struggled against the man holding her. He let go of her hair and shoved her off her feet. She landed hard on her knees in front of Joel, who aimed the fat pistol between her eyes. He sported a small cut under one eye with blood drying in a trail down his cheek, evidence that his efforts had at least met some resistance, and there were scratches from Macak’s attack on his forehead.

  He tilted his head to one side, his eyebrows rising. “You again?”

  “She’s just a street kid who’s been bringing food to me. Let her go.” Lucian’s voice sounded strained.

  “Wouldn’t that be a fine arrangement?” Joel twisted to look over his shoulder at Lucian, still pointing the gun at her head. “Too bad I know she’s more than that. Much more. Her dirty little fingers are deep in this mess. Maybe she even knows where the blueprints are.”

  He looked down at her again and she glared at him, though staring down the black, unsympathetic barrel of the gun had her trembling worse than the cold had done. The wild look in his eyes made her feel sick.

  He tucked the barrel of the gun under her chin, using it to guide her to her feet, frowning at the cuts on her neck and the bruise he’d given her. “Pretty little thing, if a bit scratched up. If I were arranging such a dalliance I might have gone for something a little less used looking.” He met her eyes, his deep blues sparkling with mad gaiety. “I dare say, she’s a bit shy on manners too. Do you know she abandoned some hapless trollop to take her bullet for her?”

  Her throat tightened. “Heldie?”

  “A friend of yours?” He grinned. “Did you think I’d let her walk away after she’d seen us there? I told you I was in a hurry. I didn’t have time to waste on awkward questions.”

  She stared at him. Wells’ voice sounded in her head, accusing her of killing the two officers. Now here was another life lost because of her.

  “The girl knows nothing. Let her go, Joel. This is between us.”

  “It is between us.” Joel seized her injured arm in a viselike grip, the sudden surge of pain making her head spin. “It’s between all of us now. Oh, and the cat,” he added, swinging the gun around to point it at Macak who had sauntered out to sit beside Lucian’s chair. He pushed a button on the grip and gears spun, rotating the bulbous center a half turn.

  Macak laid back his ears and hissed. It was the wrong response. Joel’s eyes narrowed, his expression taking on brutal intensity. Maeko could see the pressure of his finger on the trigger increasing.

  “Rude little beast,” he growled. “Perhaps I should shut you up.”

  “No!”

  Her scream made Macak bolt seconds before the gun fired, the blast making her ears ring. A dart ricocheted off the floor and sunk into one of the many crates. Macak scurried off between some crates and vanished into the darkness.

  Joel snarled. He grabbed her injured shoulder and shoved her away, sending her careening into the crates near Ash. The pain was blinding, the momentum too powerful to stop. She ducked her head, twisting her shoulder toward the crates to take the impact, the wrong shoulder she realized as she hurtled into them. Wood cracked and splintered around her, crates on the back of the pile crashing to the floor.

  She landed curled up in a pile of ragged wood, breathtaking pain raging in her shoulder where stitches had torn free, the faint metallic taste of blood in her mouth. For several seconds she couldn’t move, couldn’t recall where she was, how she had gotten there, and why it hurt so much. Then she caught movement in the corner of her eye, Macak darting out to check on her, and heard the click as Joel shoved another dart into the gun.

  “Stop this,” Lucian commanded.

  Joel sneered at him and kicked the chair over. Lucian’s head struck the floor with an awful crack. Macak bolted away again, into the crates on the far side of the room. Joel pursued, shoving crates around in search of the cat.

  A thick sliver of wood several inches long stuck out of Maeko’s forearm, blood welling around the obstacle. She swallowed hard against a rush of bile. Blood trickled down her chin from a small cut on her upper lip. She licked at it absently. So much of her body seemed lost in a haze of pain.

  You have to move.

  She turned her head and saw Ash next to her. His hands were moving, almost worked free of the bonds she’d loosened. The Lit officer who had grabbed her earlier stood a few feet away, watching Joel’s frantic search, his presence confirming that at least some of the Lits were in on the plot. He started to turn toward them, his pistol in one hand, hanging loose from his fingers. Maeko grabbed a piece of wood and shied it at him to keep his attention away from Ash. It hit him square in the nose. The man’s eyes snapped to her, his face flushing with instant rage.

  Good plan. Now what?

  The officer charged her, deflecting her feeble kick with a swipe of his hand and grabbing her round the throat. Bright agony blurred her thoughts when he lifted her off the floor by her neck.

  “You little—”

  A chunk of wood struck him in the back of the head and he staggered, dropping Maeko and the gun. She landed hard on her knees again, another pain among many now. The officer spun and charged Ash. The two went down in a flurry of flying fists. Joel twisted around at the commotion.

  There, inches away, lay the officer’s gun. Maeko grabbed it, the weapon cold and heavy in her hands, and started to turn it on Joel, cocking the hammer. The officer got a hand free and pulled his club, raising it over Ash’s head. She turned the gun on him and pulled the trigger. The man stiffened, the club falling from his hand, and he curled over, falling on top of Ash with a wretched groan. She cocked the hammer again and swiveled toward Joel. A sharp pain burst in her side. She fired.

  The bullet hit Joel in the shoulder and he staggered back, catching himself on some crates.

  “Bloody darts!” He moved the gun to his other hand, struggling to aim, and pressed the button on the side. Gears turned, the barrel rotated—

  Macak leapt from the top of a crate, wrapping himself around Joel’s hand in a flurry of teeth and claws. The gun skittered away and the cat leapt off, sprinting into the cover of the crates again.

  Joel sank to his knees, clutching his wounded shoulder as the main
door slammed open. Em sprinted into the room, snatching the gun from the floor before shoving Joel to the ground. Reuben and Amos followed her in, their guns also out and ready. After a brief glance around, Amos holstered his and knelt by Ash and the officer. Reuben took over the task of securing Joel while Em moved on to Lucian.

  Maeko’s arms felt heavy. The smell of sulfur from gunshots stung her nose. She dropped the gun—it was spent anyway—and glanced down at her side. The bright orange end of a dart stuck out of her shirt. She yanked it out with fumbling fingers, gasping at the sharp pain. A trickle of blood ran down her side from the puncture.

  Em started untying Lucian, who appeared unharmed from the fall other than a small bleeding gash over one eye.

  “Maeko!”

  Was that Chaff? She couldn’t imagine him saying her name right twice in one week. When he knelt down in front of her, however, she couldn’t deny it was him. She made an effort to smile. Her lips didn’t move. His gaze tracked to her cut lip, then her freshly bleeding shoulder, then the fat sliver protruding from her arm, and finally to the spot of blood soaking through the blouse on her side.

  His eyes widened. “Are you shot?”

  She couldn’t find her voice so she looked at the discarded dart.

  Chaff picked it up.

  “It’s deadly poi—”

  There was a thud and grunt when Rueben silenced Joel with a kick to his wounded leg. “Nobody asked you.”

  Lucian, now untied and on his feet, gave Joel a murderous glare. He picked up the gray coachman hat lying on the floor, dusted it off and put it on, then took the dart from Chaff and turned it in his fingers. “It’s not poison. I designed that gun. It’s a prototype for the zoo. These darts hold a sedative, and not a terribly strong one. It’ll wear off in a few hours.”

  Em glanced at Joel. “Why a sedative?”

  Joel was indisposed, however, his face pinched with pain from the kick to his wounded leg.

  Lucian continued to turn the dart in his fingers. “To sedate Macak perhaps, though this dose might have killed such a small animal. Or maybe to sedate me and move me if I didn’t cooperate.” He scowled with hate-filled eyes at his writhing partner. “We’ll have to ask him later, I imagine.”