Mission: Nutcracker

Chapter 5

5

Rural Massachusetts, 17 December 1871

“Come in, come in!” Uncle Dross’s tone sounded too jovial. It was only nine o’clock in the morning, but he could have been drinking early again. Vinni had heard that alcoholism claimed all of the cult leaders eventually. She pushed through the door.

Her nose twitched, and she stifled a sneeze. The office looked neat and tidy as it always did, but it hadn’t been dusted in at least a month. The gray film lay undisturbed on the bookshelves. Whatever Uncle did in there, it wasn’t reading.

“Davinia, there you are.”

“You summoned me, Sir?” She forced herself to look at him, to meet his gaze with the confidence she’d learned in the airship corps.

He looked her down and then up with his ice-gray eyes, and she stifled a shiver. He’d lost more hair since the last time she’d seen him, or maybe it had transferred to his eyebrows, which met over the bridge of his sharp nose. His smile looked more like a leer. And his erection showed under his robe. She turned to leave, but he snapped his fingers, and the door locked behind her.

Vinni recognized this game. She’d worked with enough males who thought that, as one of the few females in the corps, she’d be easy prey. The bastard wanted her to try to run, to escape, which would inflame his arousal. Vinni resisted the urge to turn and force the door open. Instead she planted her feet. Outside the window, the wind’s velocity picked up, and it shook the frame like an angry animal trying to get in.

When Uncle spoke, his voice was gentle. “You’ve been a ward of the neo-Pythagoreans since you were what, three? Four?”

“Four, Sir.”

He walked around the desk, and she stiffened. But he didn’t touch her, only circled her. She found herself glad she’d worn her travel skirt, not her trousers, which would have hugged her hips and legs, showing more than she wanted to. Still, she felt his gaze as though he ran invisible hands over her. Then a hand that wasn’t invisible reached around and cupped her right breast. She stifled a snarl.

“You’ve been with us for twenty years, and yet I don’t feel that I know you.” His breath came hot and acrid on her neck, and she smelled alcohol, the sickly sweet odor of the bourbon he favored.

She jerked away from him. “You know me well enough. And I will not violate our principles to allow you to know me better.”

“Our principles dictate that your body is mine to do what I please with.” He laughed. “And you are spirited, as always. I have a mission for you, Davinia.” He advanced, and the only place she could back up was behind his desk. She realized too late that she was cornered, the desk too close to the bookshelves on the other side for her to get around.

“What is the mission?” she asked and looked around for something she could defend herself with. But the surface of the desk was clear—not even a pen or letter opener. The only thing she could think to do was unlatch the window, which she did with a quick movement when he focused on her bosom. Not that she knew what good that would do. Her stomach dropped like when the airship lost latitude. She was well and truly trapped.

“Our seers have detected a fluctuation in the aether sphere.” He walked slowly toward her, his hands behind his back.

“Where?” She had to keep him talking, give herself time to figure out how to escape.

Oh, gods, is this what happened to Cat?

“Somewhere north of Terminus.”

“In the South.” Vinni braced her fingers against the cold windowpanes and sent a silent prayer for help.

“Yes.” Now he stood in front of her.

She reminded herself to stand strong, to not seem like prey.

He placed his hands on either side of her. “And I want you to check it out. Find out what’s going on. Our seers have also seen someone who looks like Farrell.”

“What about my commission?” My salvation?

“I have arranged for your furlough to be renewed once you arrive in Terminus.” He leaned forward. “This is important, Davinia. We made a bargain to obtain Farrell’s freedom, and he turned and betrayed us to the Clockwork Guild. I want my revenge.”

As his face came closer to hers, she flashed through her options. Head-butt him and break his nose? No, he’d yell and bring his guards in here, and she’d be hauled into a dungeon and never seen or heard from again. Distract him and try to get around him? No, that would only inflame his predatory lust more. Allow him to kiss her?

Oh, hell, no.

As though the wind heard her thoughts, the howl outside built into a crescendo. Something crashed against the window to her left, and Uncle paused, his glance reflexive.

Distract and go, it was. She ducked under his arms and darted past him. He turned, his smile wider, but he’d only taken a step toward her when the window flew open, and the leaded glass casement bashed him in the face. He fell, and Vinni didn’t wait to see what had happened. She unlocked the door and ran into the hallway.

“There’s been an accident,” she gasped in her best distressed damsel voice to the guards. She pressed a hand to her chest, her eyes wide. “The storm blew one of the windows open, and Uncle Dross has been hurt.”

Then she darted down the stairs and found Cat waiting for her outside.

“Are you all right?” Cat took her hands and studied her face.

The horrible suspicion punched Vinni in the gut—had Cat known what Uncle would try to do? He must have done it to Cat, so why had Cat brought Vinni into the same trap?

Because Cat didn’t question the cult. Or its leader.

“I’m fine. The wind…” She stopped, not sure what to say. If she voiced her suspicions, she would sound crazy. “It blew the window open and knocked him out.”

Cat’s grin wasn’t pleasant, confirming Vinni’s speculations. “Thank the gods.”

“Yes.” Vinni looked over her shoulder at the lightening sky. She couldn’t wait until she could escape to the clouds again. “Yes. Thank the gods.”

When Henry arrived at his team headquarters at the Cobb mansion—now presided over by Louisa Cobb—he decided to stop by the basement laboratory. Renowned aetherist Edward Bailey and less renowned but somewhat notorious Patrick O’Connell worked on what they were calling an aetherometer, or a device to measure levels of concentrated aether. Aether—the substance that light passes through—was always present, but Edward had figured out how to stabilize it. And in doing so, he unlocked its potential uses. Not as an energy source, although Henry had no doubt that would come eventually, but as a manipulator of other things, specifically human emotions, and by extension, behavior. And, in a concentrated form, as a weapon—the one that had ended the War Between the States.

When Henry rounded the corner of the basement stairs, a loud bang and then a flash greeted him. He covered his mouth and nose against the acrid smoke that billowed forth and thankfully dissipated.

“I told you to hold the fecking needle still!” There was no mistaking Patrick’s Irish brogue. Or his annoyance.

“I did. You’re the one who didn’t adjust it right.” And that was Edward’s English accent, which became more clipped with his exasperation. “According to the theory—”

“The theory isn’t working. You need a better one.”

“We need tea,” Edward said gently. Henry mentally applauded him. Not that Patrick typically had any trouble holding his temper, despite his red hair, but they’d all been working long hours.

“You can come down now, Henry,” Patrick said. “I heard you come in. No mistaking that limp of yours on the stairs.”

Henry ignored the barb and descended just far enough for him to see the two of them. “How’s it going, gentlemen?”

The electric light overhead—a luxury they might have to do without in Terminus, but standard for Parnaby Cobb’s former residence—illuminated Patrick’s red hair and beard and Edward’s dark hair. They wore protective goggles and had various mechanical parts spread out on the table in front of them. Henry had a rudimentary knowledge of machines, or as he’d found in the past, just enough to be dangerous, but he could only admire how the two geniuses in front of him managed to figure out the problems set to them.

Edward pushed his goggles up, revealing indentations around his bright blue eyes. “We’re having an academic disagreement as to which frequency range will work best in our device.” He used a handkerchief to blot perspiration from his face. “But we’ll work through it. We just need more tests.”

“Aye,” Patrick said and wiped his forehead on his sleeve and admitted grudgingly, “But we’ve been at this for a while. Perhaps it is time for a break.”

Henry admired how the two of them eventually came to agreements, even if only about refreshments. But he’d seen them work before and knew they could come up with brilliant inventions. “I’ll have the maid set out tea, then.”

“Thank you.” Edward’s expression always brightened at the mention of tea. “We’ll be up as soon as we can clean up.”

Henry nodded and turned to ascend the stairs. Why were there so many steps today? He’d have to put heat on his leg that evening.

He found tea already set out in the drawing room and two women chatting. Louisa Cobb played hostess, which made sense since it was her house, after all. As Boston’s richest heiress, the only reason potential suitors hadn’t flocked to her door was because the mourning period for her late stepfather hadn’t passed yet. It had been six months since the disastrous party that had claimed Parnaby Cobb’s soul and body, so she’d gone from heavy into light mourning. The lavender gown set off her rich black curls and sky blue eyes that only lit up when Patrick O’Connell entered the room. Henry guessed they’d make their arrangement formal when Louisa had completed her year of mourning and disappointed Boston’s eligible bachelors.

The other woman, Iris Bailey, Edward’s wife and a talented archaeologist, wore royal blue and had her white-blond hair pulled back in a chignon. She turned and smiled when she saw Henry. At one time, her smile would have warmed his heart more than was appropriate, but thankfully he’d gotten past that. Now he admired the strength and intelligence in her deceptively petite frame. But he wondered at the sadness that haunted her dark blue eyes lately.

“Ah, Henry, have you seen the boys?” Iris asked. “We dare not disturb them to tell them tea is ready.”

“I’ve just informed them, Mrs. Bailey.” He bowed over her and Louisa’s hands. While they’d agreed that since they were on a team now, they could address each other less formally, he preferred to keep some semblance of propriety. And he was glad he had—it would be useful in the more formal South.

“Excellent.” Louisa held up the teapot. “May I pour you a cup?”

Henry shook his head. “No, but thank you. I’ve just come from tea.”

“Ah, right, your mysterious meeting.” Iris leaned forward. “What news? Do we have an assignment?”

The team didn’t know who Henry’s superiors were, only that they issued orders during mysterious meetings. The separation was mutually beneficial. The less the team knew, the less they could divulge if ever captured and tortured, which put them in less danger. They could also part ways with Henry and the organization with fewer repercussions. At least that’s what Henry had tried to negotiate for them. He stuffed the shard of guilt that stabbed his gut at the thought of putting these people, whom he’d come to count as friends in spite of his best efforts not to, in danger.

He didn’t feel like sharing the news in stages, so he suggested, “Let’s wait for the others to come so I can tell all of you at once.”

“That’s fine. Marie and Johann should be down soon.” But Iris didn’t seem excited at the thought of tea with her best friend. Rather, she looked like she could barely contain her curiosity. Henry made a note to himself not to touch anything she could then “read” and spoil the surprise before he had the chance to tell them.

Louisa rose. “I’ll send a tube to the clinic and summon the Doctors Radcliffe.”

“Ah, right, I’d forgotten they were working today.” Henry motioned for her to resume her seat. Acutely aware of the imposition housing the team had made on her in spite of her protestations to the contrary, and not wanting to ask one more thing of her, he said, “Don’t disturb them. I can tell them tonight.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. They’ll want to hear.” She disappeared into the next room, leaving Henry with Iris.

“Is it somewhere exotic?” Iris asked. “Boston is lovely, but I do miss the sands and the ruins of the Ottoman Empire.”

Henry laughed. She was one of the few women who could coax a true smile from him. “It depends on how you define exotic. Definitely someplace with vast swaths of uninhabited land.”

“Hmm.” She put a gloved finger to her lips. “I shall have to ponder that delightfully vague answer.”

Edward and Patrick arrived, and so did Johann and Marie Bledsoe. They both looked somewhat sleep-deprived since their baby daughter had arrived the month before, and Marie had refused to hand the infant over to a nanny or nurse. Henry didn’t blame her. They all watched the girl for signs that something had happened when Marie had temporarily been possessed by a goddess during the pregnancy.

Chadwick and Claire, the doctors Radcliffe, soon returned from their clinic, and Henry looked around the room at his team of eight. It was time to let them know what their first assignment would be.

Vinni didn’t stop trembling until after they’d driven down the long gravel path that led from the side road to the complex, and then along the side road on to the main road. While the driver was employed by the neo-Pythagorean temple, Uncle didn’t welcome the staff, the menial class, into the cult, and so Vinni didn’t worry that the man’s motivation included anything but a paycheck. But now that her thoughts could turn from escape from the complex—a false freedom, but better than being there—she found them going in a disturbing direction.

“You knew what he was going to try to do,” she said to Cat. It wasn’t a question, and so Cat didn’t answer her. Or deny anything. Vinni tried again. “When you summoned me, did you know that Uncle Dross had impure intentions?”

Cat, who sat across from her, gazed out of the window. “I didn’t know.”

“But you suspected?” Vinni leaned forward and put her hand on Cat’s knee. “Did that bastard hurt you? In the past?”

Cat looked at Vinni, but her eyes were as flat as a dead fish’s. “He did what he needed for the good of the temple. Sometimes sacrifices must be made.”

Vinni drew her hand back like it had been burned, and she swallowed against the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. “Do you really believe that? That he can take advantage of women and it’s good for the organization?”

Cat shrugged. “What should I believe? That I allowed a man to take advantage of me? Me?” She gestured to herself. Most men wouldn’t try to fight her, much less rape her.

Vinni clenched her fists. “Yes, because then perhaps you won’t be so quick to draw others into his snare.”

Now Cat narrowed her eyes, and an angry spark came to them. At least it helped them to look alive. “But you escaped. I knew you would. You’re too clever to be trapped by him.”

“But you didn’t know that!” Vinni wanted to take Cat by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. Or do something else to ensure she wouldn’t be betrayed again by her best friend, her lover. “If it hadn’t been storming, I don’t know what I would have done.”

“You would have figured out something.” Cat leaned forward and tried to take Vinni’s hand, but Vinni snatched it back. “C’mon, Vin, don’t be like that. We’re not all as strong and smart as you are.”

“You’re as strong as a man,” Vinni snapped. She folded her arms, drawing in on herself, and muttered, “And about as dumb as one, too.”

Cat’s face crumpled, and she sat back but didn’t say anything.

Vinni wished she could take back her last words. “I’m sorry, Cat. You’re not stupid. And it’s not your fault that Uncle Dross took advantage of you. There’s more than one way to trap a person.”

Cat wiped something from her cheek, and regret squeezed Vinni’s chest tighter. She’d only seen Cat cry once, after her naming ceremony.

“We need to figure out a way out,” Vinni said. “Don’t you see what being part of the temple is doing? It’s skewing your—my—sense of reality, of who or what we can trust. It’s isolating.”

“And go where?” Cat closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the window. “Our airship corps commissions are tied to the temple. What would we do for work?”

Vinni looked through the window at the sky, which had started to show patches of blue. She could almost feel the lightening of the liftoff, the sense of falling up and away from the earth and all her problems. She would hate to give that up, but… “We’ll figure something out. Maybe we could hire out as private crew.”

Cat snorted. “A couple of women? You know that wouldn’t happen.”

“We’ll have to look out for opportunities. Terminus and the South in general should be full of them.”

“Right. Keep believing that.”

“Maybe I will.”

Cat turned to her own window with a huff.

Vinni swallowed her growl of frustration. “If you’re not going to help me, I’ll find something on my own.”

“And I’ll stop you. You belong with me. With the temple.”

“No, I don’t.” Then, with sickening certainty, the words came to her mind—I don’t think I ever have.

Cat returned to her silence, and Vinni’s mind whirled with plans. The first question would be how she’d get away from Cat. The second—what would she do? Then, the third and hardest—how could she stay hidden from the cult?