by Mirren Hogan
“I do.” Ellery’s attention shifted away to the fog-shrouded trees. Sweat trickled from under the edge of his helmet, highlighting the pale blue veins beneath the skin. “Not all the monsters are in the forest.”
“What does that mean?”
The man’s pale green gaze slid back to Gideon. “Wait and watch. Make up your mind once the play is over.”
Chapter 2
“Would you be interested in pledging a small amount to save the urban dragons?” said a quiet voice.
Miranda Fletcher stopped in her tracks, the soles of her satin shoes sliding on the tiles of the front hall. Her eyes searched the assorted busts in their niches along the wall, but none seem to have spoken, although a few looked more than usually critical. Slowly, she rounded the grand staircase with its carved newel post, searching for the speaker.
“Who’s there?” Miranda asked, although she was fairly sure of the answer. There were only so many girls who could wander the many rooms of Allington House at will.
Gwennie Prasad, the neighbor’s daughter, leaned against the wall, her dark-eyed face serious and amused at once. Her cloud of curling hair was bound at the nape, her pinafore less than spotless. At twelve, she was at that awkward age that was not quite a child any longer, but neither was she an adult. “I was hoping I’d see you,” she said.
“It’s a busy afternoon,” Miranda said cautiously. “My father is hosting a reception for the new Prime Minister. It’s an important event for him.”
It was the first formal entertainment at Allington House since Miranda’s mother had passed a year ago. The family’s official period of mourning was over, although Miranda’s private grief was another matter.
“I know Mr. Fletcher is throwing a party,” Gwennie said. “That’s why you’re wearing a new dress.”
“Do you like it?” Miranda spun in a circle, enjoying the rustle of the dark green silk. She was a brunette, but there were auburn highlights that made her choose colors with care.
“I’d like it better if I was invited to the party.”
“You’re not out of the schoolroom yet,” Miranda smiled to soften her words. “But consider that you get to read a good book for the next few hours, while I have to be pleasant to a lot of people I don’t necessarily like.”
“Is Gideon going to be there?” Gwennie asked with a frown.
“Of course.”
Gwennie heaved a tiny sigh. “I’ve barely seen him these last two weeks.”
“I know. Neither have I.” Something had happened on a rescue mission that had left Gideon moodier than usual, but then brooding was his default—and highly annoying—state.
Miranda looked down at the girl, who was small and slight and terribly in love. Someday soon, Gwendoline Prasad would blossom into a graceful beauty with nutmeg skin and melting eyes, a replica of her stunning mother.
“Aim higher,” Miranda advised. “He hasn’t read half the books you have. Truthfully, I’m not sure he has any objectives in life besides flying airships and drinking with his friends.”
Gwennie’s smile was tragic. “Such shortcomings don’t matter much if he’s unattainable. All I’m allowed to do is admire from afar.”
As much as Miranda loved her brother, he didn’t deserve such adoration. “I must go. I’m already late.”
“Wait.” Gwennie caught Miranda’s puffed sleeve. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Really, I—”
“I would do it myself, but I’m not permitted to set foot in the party room.” The girl cast her a reproachful look. “I’m unfairly barred simply because of my youth. I need you to be my emissary.”
Miranda raised her eyebrows. “Is this to do with Gideon?”
“Heavens no, nothing so frivolous.”
Suspicion crept through Miranda on stealthy paws. “Then what do you need, Gwennie?”
The girl’s expression became a portrait of sweetest innocence. “I’m raising funds for an excellent cause.”
Miranda winced. “Again?”
“Useful employment is the lodestar of my dreams.”
“Would you be interested in pledging a small amount to save the dragons?” Miranda asked twenty minutes later as she held out a chased silver fountain pen. “I promised Gwennie I’d gather a dozen signatures before my first glass of champagne. Be a dear and help me out.”
With a wary lift of his brows, Dr. Richard Wilcox viewed the juvenile dragon on her shoulder. The city dragons were smaller than their wild cousins and far easier to tame. Before Miranda had escaped Gwen’s clutches, she’d agreed to drape the little beast around her like a living stole. At first the idea had amused her, but now the dragonet’s tail was wrapped around her neck and she could hear the clack-clack as it chewed on the ebony comb pinning her curls.
“Why did you promise that talented young extortionist anything?” asked the doctor. Like everyone in their circle, he knew Gwendoline Prasad since she was virtually part of the Fletcher household.
“When was the last time you refused her?” asked Miranda.
“Touché. No wonder every charity in the city includes the precocious menace in their circle. Your neighbor has doe-eyed pleading down to a fine science.”
“Be that as it may,” Miranda said, waving an airy hand, “we are saving our urban dragons from being overrun by their boisterous woodland neighbors. What do you say?”
A smile quirked the doctor’s lips. He was tall and slender, his dark features strikingly handsome. There was little wonder her eldest sister, Sidonie, had claimed him as her beau. “Are you certain they require rescue? There were two scavenging in my rubbish bins last night. They left a fearful mess.”
“Such behavior is precisely why the Society for Natural Scientific Inquiry wishes to study our local dragons and discover the cause of their dwindling numbers.” She tried not to wince as her cargo gnawed on another hairpin. “Properly, dragons should be hunting small game rather than scrounging in trash. It might be a question of habitat.”
“But study requires funding,” said the doctor with a knowing air. “Hence the need to raise funds.”
“Precisely.” Miranda stroked the dragonet’s golden flank with one gloved hand, drawing an adorable coo from its throat. Gwennie had known exactly what she’d been doing when she’d sent Pippin along. No one resisted baby animals—and Richard Wilcox had a gentle heart.
Wordlessly, the doctor accepted the pen and matching folder that held the list of pledges. Miranda allowed him a moment to read while the early evening party swirled around them. It was late September, and the last afternoon sunlight still slanted through the tall windows of her family’s huge drawing room. The gold leaf decorating the ornate plasterwork gleamed against the pale blue ceiling, but the rest of the decor was blocked by the crowd. The space allowed for a hundred or so guests, but at least a hundred and fifty had arrived. Fletcher Industries was the richest of the city’s airship lines, and everyone wanted a chance to shake Norton Fletcher’s hand.
“What’s all this?” Sidonie, her sister, appeared from the crush to peer over the doctor’s shoulder. “A petition? Or a subscription?”
The eldest of Miranda’s sisters, she was the most beautiful, with hair so fair that it was almost white. Her gown was shell pink, the cascade of ruffles that fell from her bustled skirt like something a pastry chef had conceived. Beside Dr. Wilcox in his perfectly tailored black suit, they appeared like the avatars of the night and the moon. Although she wore a new dress, Miranda felt hopelessly plain beside them.
“It seems we must save the urban dragons,” the doctor replied, not lifting his eyes from the text. “Miss Miranda makes a persuasive argument. Or rather Gwennie does.”
Sidonie gave a soft laugh. “You’re a soft touch, Miranda, to keep helping the girl. I know she loves her pets, but last month it was the cartographer’s museum and before that it was dockside orphans. Gwennie will bankrupt us all with her causes.”
Miranda smiled to hide a pang of discomfo
rt. At least Gwennie had causes, while Miranda was always at loose ends. If only she had a calling, like her brother with his airships.
“Never mind.” Dr. Wilcox signed the paper with a flourish and passed the folder and pen back to Miranda. “I applaud her enterprise, and I am always pleased to support scientific inquiry.”
“Thank you,” Miranda replied. “You are a gentleman of conscience.”
Sidonie rolled her eyes. “Listen to the two of you. I’d think you were putting an end to war and the world’s hunger.”
Just then a footman passed with a tray of small savories. Pippin stretched out his long neck, clearly planning to put an end to his hunger, at least. Miranda stepped back before he could snatch a tidbit, and the dragonet gave a squawk of complaint.
“Manners!” Sidonie chided, tapping his nose.
Pippin wrapped himself more tightly around Miranda’s shoulders, pressing his soft, leathery flank against her cheek. She instinctively put up a hand to soothe him, and he buried his face in her palm.
“I think it’s time Pippin went home before he disgraces himself,” said Miranda. “There’s going to be more temptation here than one little dragonet can withstand.”
Laughing, Sidonie bent to speak in hushed tones. “Then hurry. I’ve hired a fortune teller to entertain select guests. The Fletcher sisters should get our cards read together.”
“A fortune teller?” A shiver ran through Miranda. Any magic outside the Conclave was forbidden fruit. She wasn’t sure what the penalty was for transgressing those rules, but they would surely be dire.
“It’s the new rage among the fashionable set,” Sidonie whispered. “Isn’t it delicious?”
“Um.” It was a disaster waiting to happen, but Miranda refused to look like a coward. For all her dainty looks, Sidonie was the rule-breaker among the Fletcher children, and Miranda had always scrambled to keep up. It was odd how some things never changed, even as adults.
Her big sister’s blue eyes danced with mischief. “Shall we go, all three sisters at once?”
Miranda reluctantly nodded, Pippin grumbling at the movement. “What about Gideon?”
“I haven’t seen him tonight.”
His absence was undoubtedly part of the plan, because their brother would never approve. Sidonie put an arm around Miranda’s waist. “Join us in the morning room in twenty minutes.”
Miranda gave her sister’s cheek a peck. “I’ll take Pippin home.”
That afternoon Gideon had gone to his club, intending to arrive late to his father’s party. He preferred to make the social rounds once the guests were merry with food and drink, and when he didn’t have to work so hard to be charming. But instead improving his mood, the delay worsened his temper. Everyone he met was morbidly curious about Joseph Ellery’s fate.
Once the Scorpion had returned home, Ellery had been taken for questioning. This was normal, since there had been fatalities and an irregularity in the route Ellery had filed. The usual gossip circled on the grapevine—whether he paid his taxes and why he’d taken his daughters out of school—but it was all harmless. It was only later that Gideon had learned the man had been moved to the House of Questions by the Conclave. The squat stone building sat like a misshapen growth at the foot of the Citadel, the Conclave’s tower at the heart of the city.
It just so happened that the second story windows of Gideon’s club looked out at the facility. For days, he had taken the table with the best view, sitting and drinking in solitude for hours at a time. That afternoon, the club felt cavernous. It had been built by and for gentlemen of industry and, even hundreds of years after its founding, there was still something makeshift about it—the ceilings too high, the rooms oddly shaped. Some thought it might be built over a crypt—rumor had it there were graves in the cellar. The old city had fallen so long ago, few remembered what it had been before plague and monsters walked the land. Civilization had scraped itself together from a patchwork of remains. Gideon had seen an old map once. Only the barest outline of the past was recognizable.
After his adventure in the forest, Gideon felt much the same. His frame of reference had subtly changed.
Eventually—after much wine—the reason for his disquiet had solidified. Rescues were normally just that—lifesaving and simple. Gideon’s role was like that of a wrench or a cable—useful but cut and dried. This time was different because the arrest had gone beyond a simple inquiry. Whether or not it made sense, Gideon felt involved. Responsible. Culpable, because he’d saved a life only to surrender it to fresh horror.
What had Ellery had been doing during his journeys on the river? What had made him ignore every reasonable precaution and every legal dictate that kept the city safe from the horror beyond the walls? Although the man was hardly the picture of heroic defiance, Gideon had it from a reliable source that the House of Questions had failed to made him talk.
That in itself was odd—no one resisted the Conclave’s claws. They were not a religious organization, nor did they hold political power, like the Parliament. They superseded all of that. They were powerful, sometimes brutal, but their magic kept the Unseen outside the perimeter of the city wall. A person accepted their presence the way one did fire or rain—necessary, welcome, and sometimes lethal. Ellery had crossed them and would pay the price. According to the reliable source, his case would go to trial.
He sat at the table by the window, sipping the vintage the club stored atop the forgotten tombs. A servant came by, leaving a candle to combat the gathering darkness. The flame reflected in the window, obscuring his view outside, so Gideon pushed it away. What would happen to Ellery? Would Ellery deserve it?
He blinked, pushing the candle another inch away, but the reflection of the orange flame did not move. Annoyed, he snuffed it with his fingers before he realized the truth. The House of Questions was on fire, veils of orange and white undulating in the wind. It was almost surreal, until glass began to explode with a sound like a rifle shot.
Gideon rose from his chair, transfixed by the sheets of flame licking up the sides of the building. It was made of stone—great granite blocks as big as a carriage. How did stone burn?
Chaos erupted. Figures poured from the tower as well as every home and business on the street. Voices shouted each other down in panic. Gideon bolted for the entrance of the club, reaching the street just as the studded door of the prison warped and fell, slumping as if it were made of gelatin rather than steel. Prisoners spewed forth and scattered like mice.
Gideon spotted Ellery at once. The man was pelting in the direction of Allington House, arms and legs pumping with almost improbable speed. A rush of alarm struck Gideon, blurring his vision for an instant. He charged after Ellery, praying the man wasn’t out for vengeance because Fletcher had turned him over to the law.
But tonight the cream of the city was gathered in Norton Fletcher’s drawing room. Where else would Ellery go for revenge?
Chapter 3
When Miranda left the party, she took a side exit to the servant’s corridor. There, a sliding panel opened to a brass and steel elevator that was powered by a boiler in the bowels of Allington House. It was the safest route to go when transporting a dragonet. Experience had taught her the wretched beasts could get lost in Allington’s four floors of rooms, sometimes for days. Pippin chirped uncertainly as the doors slid closed, wrapping his tail tightly enough that Miranda had to uncoil it before she choked.
The elevator took her to the flat rooftop of Allington House, where the sky above was beginning to fade to a dusky purple, promising dark within minutes. A garden spread from edge to edge in well-tended raised beds. In combination with the kitchen garden and small orchard behind the house, the rooftop planting supplied most of the household’s needs for fresh produce. With most food coming by heavily armed river barge from the agricultural enclosures, no one, not even the richest families, could afford to waste good growing space within the city walls.
Enclosed aqueducts ran up and down the streets,
delivering water to the sky gardens from pumping stations by the river. They were just wide enough to use as a walkway, and Miranda had no fear of heights. She mounted the three steps to the top of aqueduct and crossed to the Prasad’s house where Gwennie was waiting. There, a sturdy cage towered high enough to serve as an aviary for the girl’s pets.
Gwennie was filling the feeding trough with a mix of meat and vegetable scraps. Three other dragonets were circling, making an excited chittering sound. With a kiss to the top of his smooth, soft head, Miranda released Pippin to join his friends.
“What are you going to do with them once they’re grown?” Miranda asked.
“I’m going to train them,” Gwennie answered with calm confidence. “They learn commands easily enough. With the right handling, I think they could serve as messengers. They could reach another city as fast as an airship without the expense of a crew.”
“Cargo dragons?” Miranda mused. “That’s an intriguing idea.”
“Express delivery. It would only work for light loads.” The girl moved around the cage, checking the wrought iron bars for loose joins. The juvenile dragons followed her, eager for a pat or a scratch.
“I’m afraid I gathered only half the signatures you wanted.” Now Miranda regretted abandoning the scheme to please Sidonie. What good was a fortune teller? She should be like Gwennie, so full of promise that the girl could forge whatever future she chose.
She was used to such regrets. Sidonie was beautiful and artistic, the undisputed queen of the city’s salons. Their brother, Gideon, was heir to the airship empire. Olivia, the middle daughter, was a mathematical genius, corresponding with noted scholars. That left Miranda, twenty-two, with no clear idea of what to do with herself. She was capable of hard work and had done well at school, but nothing called to her—not enough to hold her interest for long. That irked Miranda no end. She adored her family, but she needed something of her own—some way to be more than the last and least of the Fletchers.
