Mission: Nutcracker

Chapter 16-2

Vinni almost toppled with surprise. She’d lost count of the words. “But at what cost? You think Uncle Dross will be satisfied? What if he runs out of young women? Or—” She waved her previous words away. “We can’t just let him continue doing that to them. To us. You don’t really think he stops with just one time, do you? You’ve been around that kind of man enough in the Corps. It’s about power, and they don’t stop unless they know they’ve broken your spirit.” She realized she had known a man like that once. In her childhood. Her mother had died protecting her.

Acid rose to Vinni’s throat, and she ran into the water closet, where she retched into the toilet pot. Another wisp of memory, this time more vivid, came to her. Her father shoved her out of the back door of a wooden house—she still didn’t know where—and told her to run far away. Then she didn’t remember anything else, only the sense of danger that they needed to get away from the Bad Man who had killed her mother.

Her mother. Vinni squeezed her eyes shut, hoping for a glimpse, even the barest flash that would reveal her mother’s face. But nothing came. The past had receded into the mists of memory again, swallowed by tears and fears and regrets. Regret for what, though? Vinni didn’t know, only that she felt like she should have done something. But what could she have done? She’d barely been a child, old enough to reach her father’s thigh, the coarse wool of his homespun pants rough against her cheek.

“What is it?” Cat asked, her eyes wide.

“I remembered something.”

“About Uncle Dross?”

Vinni shook her head, then recognized the gesture as a very, very bad idea when her stomach twisted again. “Something about my childhood. There was someone like him. A man who wanted power and killed my mother.” She couldn’t articulate it any better than that, her mind still half-stuck in child’s logic.

“But you don’t remember anything about your childhood,’ Cat said. “You’ve said so a thousand times. You’ve tried before.”

“Something about being here makes me remember.” Vinni waved her hand, indicating Terminus, perhaps the entirety of the former Confederate states. “But I can’t control it.” A stabbing pain started behind her right eye. “I need to lie down.”

“I’ll get water.”

And so Cat retreated into her usual stoic self. Vinni wondered what she’d experienced, who else had hurt her and made her feel like she had no choice but to stay with the organization that was led by a power-hungry rapist. It didn’t serve as an excuse, at least not enough of one for Vinni. No man should be able to put his hands on a woman without her wanting him to. And no one should stand behind him doing so.

As Vinni’s thoughts swirled around her brain, her cheek on the hard pillow, she hoped she would dream of her past—good dreams, not nightmares.

She had just fallen asleep when Cat walked into the room. “I think I’ve located the signal. It’s near where we were yesterday.”

“Is he all right?” Fiona’s voice made Devon turn. Fiona approached him with Therese, to whom she’d addressed the question, but Devon knew it had been meant for him. Fiona wore one of Therese’s old dresses, two seasons out of date, that Therese had gotten in Europe. Whereas the dark green had washed out Therese’s complexion, it highlighted Fiona’s copper-colored hair and gave a ruddy flush to her cheeks. Or perhaps that was just her. How quickly he’d come to notice the nuances of her expression, how easily her face turned pink when she was angry or excited or otherwise not stuck up in her mind, as she tended to be. The ride to Tinkerer Hall had stretched in awkward silence with them both lost in their thoughts. And who had preceded him to the hall? It must have been Pierce, but he’d left a note saying he would be away hunting on the family’s land in North Georgia that day and wouldn’t return until the morrow.

“They’re saying to keep him quiet,” Devon told her. “I noticed you talking to him. Did he say anything to you that could be of help to us?”

Fiona shook her head. “He was mostly concerned about Caprice. But nothing about what had happened or where the others might be.”

Devon relayed to her what Mrs. Doctor Radcliffe had told him via Caprice, but they both knew that although the child may be intelligent, she likely lacked the understanding to fully appreciate the situation. So they would have to allow Hollowell to rest and question him on the morrow.

Meanwhile, Devon wanted to tell Fiona how amazing she’d been driving the airship, which was on the lawn, and how much he admired her quick thinking. But she’d clammed up again, and he worried his compliments would embarrass her.

“I’ll have the carriage take you home,” was all he said. She looked like she wanted to say more, but she stopped and only shrugged. He decided to accompany her, if only to ensure her safety.

Right, that was all.

The carriage had beaten them home, and Devon gave the coachman the rest of the afternoon off after his scare. The grooms changed out the horses, and one of them took the reins. Devon helped Fiona inside, and they bumped down the drive. She hadn’t said anything to either him or Therese as they’d watched the carriage’s preparations, which Devon had overseen himself. He’d caught the sly grin Therese exchanged with the stable master, but he’d talk to her about it later. There was nothing between him and Fiona other than friendship and the ability to escape from harrowing situations with each other. To her credit, she’d not panicked, screamed, or fainted, but rather gone along with his plans and strategy, stepping in when needed. In fact, she was as capable as Pierce.

Once they’d left the drive, Devon smiled at Fiona with as much warmth as he could—not difficult considering he had started thinking of her fondly. He decided to keep their conversation focused on technical things so she would keep talking. “So those were definitely not automatons this afternoon.”

“No,” she agreed.

“What do you think their clothing was made of?”

She pondered for a moment. “Some sort of alloy, I would imagine. Bulletproof material is heavy, but if they’d blended it with something lighter but still strong, they could make outfits from it. They were almost like suits of armor.”

“With vulnerabilities in the sleeves, or at least the shoulders,” he added. “Your friend shot one of them in the arm.”

“Right. And she’s not my friend.”

“Then who is she?”

Fiona looked out of the window again, a line appearing between her brows. “I don’t know. A guardian angel of some sort? She does seem to appear when I need her most. Or perhaps she’s working on the same puzzle we are.”

“I hadn’t considered that others besides us and Blair were investigating, but it makes sense.” Devon noted that they had strayed from technical matters, but were still discussing the mystery, so she seemed fine. What tied her tongue otherwise? Had someone hurt her, another man, perhaps? The very thought filled him with anger that exploded outward from his stomach.

She turned quickly to the window, and he got himself under control.

Focus, Devon, focus.

“So perhaps that’s one avenue to consider,” he said. “Who else is investigating? It may lead us to the culprits.”

“But let’s think about the non-automaton nutcrackers,” Fiona said. “Who would want tinkerers if they didn’t need them, if they could just impersonate automatons? Maybe they want the tinkerers to make real ones for them.”

Devon nodded. “That would make sense. But why so many of them? Surely there are men with specialties that would be helpful to our villains.”

Fiona’s mouth turned up in a half-smile. “Our villains, indeed. Tinkerers, even in the guild, are a secretive lot. They don’t like to show what they’re working on until it’s done and perfect. And only a few of them were working on aether-driven motivation in machines. My father was—is—one of them.”

“Do you know who else?”

“Thaddeus Lillet… and Hollowell.” She closed her eyes. “I really hope he’s all right. He has to be.”

“So he’s a friend?”

She shrugged. “Not in the acquaintance sense, but more in the sense of an ally in the effort to get the Guild to open its ranks to those it had previously not welcomed, specifically women and n*****s. He’s as talented as any of the rest of them, but they won’t let him sit for the apprenticeship exams, although he could easily pass the journeyman ones.”

“So why didn’t they take him?”

“They dismiss him because of the color of his skin.” She shook her head. “That’s a mistake. The man is brilliant.”

“I’ll be sure to keep him well-guarded, then.”

She paled. “I didn’t think of that. Is that why the non-automatons went back? For him? Then they could have followed us.”

“Then it’s best that you stay away from my house for a while. I’ll have one of my men keep an eye on you and your mother.” He stopped himself before he offered to allow her and her mother to stay with him. They were in the land of speculation still.

“But then how will I know what Hollowell says when he’s able to talk?”

“I’ll send you a message. Or, even better, come to the holiday ball I’m throwing. It’s on Saturday. I’d love for you to be there.”

“Would you—?” She coughed, then shrugged apologetically. Right, they’d strayed off topic, and now she couldn’t speak again.

“Would I what?” he asked.

She sighed and looked out of the window. They’d arrived at the Telfair home, and Devon moved to hand her out of the carriage.

“Fi-OH-na, there you are!”

Devon cringed at the sound of Mrs. Telfair’s screech, as did Fiona.

“Where did you get that dress?”

Devon stepped from the carriage, and Mrs. Telfair fanned herself when she saw him.

“I’m afraid someone spilled something on Fiona’s dress at lunch,” he said. “My sister was kind enough to lend one of hers. We’ll get Fiona’s dress back to her as soon as it’s cleaned.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want it to be any trouble,” Mrs. Telfair said, but her delighted smile told Devon she was happy for the excuse to have more contact with him and his family. “And is your sister a redhead? The color is stunning.”

“Her complexion is fair, but her hair is more like mine.”

“Oh, she must be beautiful.”

Devon couldn’t look at Fiona for fear they’d both burst out laughing at Mrs. Telfair’s breathless antics.

“Would you like to come in for some tea?” she asked.

Fiona winced, and Devon recalled they didn’t have much. He noted to himself to have someone bring them some food and tea leaves. And he would find a way to help them.

“Did you come to any conclusions about my Bryan?” Mrs. Telfair asked, possibly deliberately ignoring the awkwardness she’d created.

“No, but we did find some more clues,” Devon told her. “Would it be all right for me to send Fiona a message tomorrow? Also, I’d love for—” He realized he couldn’t invite Fiona and ask her mother’s permission without also inviting Margie. “I’d love for the two of you to come to the ball I’m holding on Saturday.”

“We’d love to, wouldn’t we, Fiona?”

Fiona nodded, her smile strained. Devon shrugged, then, after a wink he hoped only Fiona could see, kissed her hand. Her mother almost fainted but recovered herself.

“I’ll see you soon,’ he said and watched the two of them make their way up to the house, followed by the maid, who exchanged amused looks with the groom.

“Philip, please have cook pack a basket of victuals and tea, and then please bring it back to this family,” Devon said. “And also have one of the other grooms stationed by the house to ensure no harm comes to any of those women.”

“Yes, sir.”

Devon got into the carriage once he’d watched the door close behind Fiona and her mother. He felt like a heel for not being able to help them more, but he was doing what he could to find Bryan Telfair.

But once he did, would they then separate to their different spheres? He hoped not, but he suspected that whoever his new wife would be would not agree to Devon having an attractive friend like Fiona.