Aether Rising

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Somewhere over the Atlantic States, 11 March 1871

The Skycatcher kept pace with Parnaby Cobb’s airship. Below the clouds, Iris tried to sleep snuggled in Edward’s arms, but even the comfort of having her husband hold her close wouldn’t calm her mind.

What did Cobb want with Patrick? Was it the aether weapon? Was it the therapeutic device Radcliffe had started working with? Was it something else more sinister than any of them had imagined yet?

Knowing Cobb, it would be something on the evil end of the spectrum. That was part of what drove her to distraction about the whole situation—he’d always been there behind the scenes, pulling the strings. And now, after she’d discovered what the aether could do. Yes, it could heal, but carried too far, it could have deadly consequences.

She shuddered, and Edward stirred. She forced herself to lie still, her breathing even. Not that she couldn’t talk to Edward, but he’d heard all her worries before. She envied his ability to take everything to its logical—not worst case—conclusion and his newfound confidence that all would work out. They were intelligent. Therefore fate would cooperate with them.

Iris wasn’t convinced. History was full of the worst case coming true, like Paris. They’d escaped just in time, before the Commune government took over and executed the emperor and thousands of innocent Parisians. Her mind ticked off the reasons for her anxiety like a litany.

History never treated the innocent well.

Her mind wandered back to the temple of Apollo Smithneus—Apollo “of the mice”—which had hidden the secret of a force more destructive than any mere weapon. The site had originally been carved out of the earth by a culture older than the temple, probably from before the flood that appeared in myths across the globe. The tool’s outer sign, Greek fire, the secret weapon that had allowed the Greeks to take over an empire and the Romans after them, also called Apollo’s flame, had gone down in history as a weapon of light, but with a dark shadow cast on those who had used it. She hoped Zokar would keep his promise to destroy the temple, to finish what the Felis cult of long ago had started.

Of course he would. He was trustworthy, wasn’t he? He was Marie’s uncle and wanted the best for his niece, for all of them. But at two o’clock in the morning, everything seemed worse.

Convinced that sleep would elude her and stiffening from trying to lie still, Iris gently extracted herself from Edward’s sleeping form and substituted a pillow to support his arms. Like many academics and tinkerers, his shoulders would hurt after bending over books and contraptions, and she remembered her father’s trick of supporting his arms at night so they wouldn’t mimic the collapse of the day. Irwin McTavish had still been mostly straight-shouldered when he died.

Iris had lost track of the number of times she’d wished her father was still alive to consult with, but then he would have ended up going on their first expedition, not her, and she never would have met Edward. Or if she had, it would have been in passing, and she wouldn’t have come to know him as she had.

The “what if?” track was a different, less useful, path to madness.

She would make some tea and try to put the events of the Ottoman Empire and the knowledge she now had out of her mind.

When Iris arrived in the Skycatcher’s small galley, she found she wasn’t alone. Marie looked up from the burner, on which a kettle whistled.

“Is your stomach bothering you?” Marie asked. “I have enough water for an extra cup if you need some peppermint tea.”

“My stomach is fine. I seem to have finally gotten my air legs. But I would love some peppermint tea if that’s what you have made. Couldn’t sleep.”

She watched Marie go through the ritual of making the herbal tea. They both rocked along with the subtle motion of the airship, and Iris tried to breathe along with the engines’ rhythm. Once the tea had steeped, she accepted a cup from her friend, who poured one for herself. Marie extinguished the small lamp after double-checking to make sure the burner was off. They opened the door and walked into the passenger compartment, which was furnished with two small tables and chairs.

“Is something bothering you?” Marie asked once they sat where they could see out of the windows, which showed them nothing but blackness. Still, Iris noticed that both of them kept checking to ensure nothing would surprise them out of the dark.

“Just the same old stuff,” Iris said. “Who’s flying?”

“Johann.” Marie grinned. “He’s like a child with a toy. Armand set us on the right coordinates, so if he steers straight, we should keep pace with the Blooming Senator.”

“Oh, Edward’s going to be jealous. It’s been his dream to fly an airship someday.”

“Perhaps tomorrow. Cheers.” Marie raised her cup, and Iris did likewise. As her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, Iris picked out the furnishings of the small space. Compared to the Blooming Senator, the Skycatcher was toy-like, a small piece in a large game.

But true games don’t have people’s lives at stake.

“So why are you up?” Iris asked Marie. “You were awake earlier than I was this morning.” She needed the conversation to keep her mind from wandering in uncomfortable directions.

Marie shrugged. “Too many reminders, I suppose. And I can’t be comfortable this close to…” She pointed upward, indicating Parnaby Cobb in the sky above them.

“Do you think he still wants to bring you back into his employ?”

“No.” Marie blew across the steaming surface of her tea. “I believe he wants to punish me for refusing him in Paris. I know too much about him and the Blooming Senator. That he hasn’t tried shows he doesn’t realize I’m in the country.”

“Ah.” Iris searched for words of comfort, but she couldn’t find any. Her logical mind said Marie was likely correct.

“We won’t let that happen,” Iris finally said.

“I believe you’ll do your best not to, but some things can’t be prevented. This is one area I’ll have to rely on myself.”

“And Johann. He’ll protect you with his life.”

“That’s what I’m most worried about.” Marie looked away, but Iris noticed the tight set of Marie’s shoulders.

“Would you feel safer in Paris?” Iris asked, then bit her tongue. They’d been isolated from the news while traveling, but once they had landed Stateside and gotten hold of a newspaper, they’d found that Paris had devolved into bloody chaos with its new government, keeping Marie from returning. And Iris couldn’t go back to England since someone had falsely tipped off the authorities that she’d had greater responsibility in Jeremy Scott’s death than she actually had.

“Not for the moment.” Marie looked out of the window into the darkness.

“We’re both women without homes,” Iris said. But what could she do about it? Edward would need to find an academic position at some point, so perhaps not being tied to a place for the moment was a good thing. Although he was being a good sport, he would be happiest back in a situation that allowed research and provided routine. Plus, did England really hold anything for Iris beyond familiarity?

Marie’s lips curled into a Cupid’s-bow smile around the rim of her cup. “Isn’t this how people become pirates? I could get used to life in the air.”

“I wouldn’t have the stomach for it. Plus I haven’t given up on my dreams of becoming an archaeologist. I just need an area of specialization that’s not so dangerous.”

And there went her mind in the direction she didn’t want it to go.

“Do you think you would be happy being an American?” Marie gestured to the still-invisible world outside the window. “It’s big enough that if you got bored in one part, you could move somewhere completely different, and the frontier is still exciting in parts.”

The lack of scenery allowed Iris to imagine the universities and opportunities they might be passing over, places where she and Edward might both be employable. “I might have to be. Would you?”

Marie shrugged in a classically French actress manner. “I can fit in where I need to. In fact, once we rescue Patrick, I count on being able to disappear.”

“That will be difficult. Johann needs to perform just like Edward requires his research.”

“That can happen across the country as easily as it can in Boston.” But Marie didn’t sound sure. She tipped her mug up and finished her tea with two long swallows. “Or we can go back to Europe. Well, I should get some sleep. Good night.”

Iris squinted against the galley light before Marie closed the door, and then she sat alone. Rather than comforting her, Iris’s conversation with Marie only gave her something else to worry about. Parnaby Cobb once again proved to be a shadow looming over them.

If I was a different sort of woman, I would use what I know to eliminate the man. But she’d seen evidence of what happened to those seduced by that path. No, even if they could manage to rescue Patrick, they were well and truly trapped, but they at least had to try.

Louisa lay awake and listened to Patrick O’Connell pacing like a captured animal above her, which he’d done all afternoon and evening, and then into the night. Burying her head under her pillow muffled the sound but hadn’t done anything to ease the vibration of his footfalls. Had Parnaby planned it this way? She knew enough of him to not dismiss his ability to manufacture any kind of torture, and he wasn’t happy with her.

Or perhaps he’d underestimated O’Connell’s ability to remain awake and alert.

Either way, Louisa needed the tinkerer to settle down. They’d be landing in Boston at lunchtime, and she needed to be fresh for the afternoon’s meeting. No one would question it if she slept in. She just had to get to sleep, and that infuriating man wouldn’t sit still. She thought about moving to a different bedroom, but she suspected the unused rooms were locked and not heated, and she didn’t want to risk running into Morlock on his rounds. He’d never spoken to her, but he looked at her like he raped her with his eyes, and she had no doubt he would take advantage of her and ruin her if he had the chance. Some men couldn’t resist their greatest temptation.

She knew O’Connell would treat her as a gentleman would. Or she thought he would. He had in the past.

I can’t start thinking of him as a hero even if I do want to find out if his kiss is the same as I remember it. It can’t be. We were both just children. Or I was. And I need to sleep.

But what to do? The men had been instructed not to allow her to speak with O’Connell, and Cobb would have a guard stationed at the door. Louisa wouldn’t even be allowed to get close to him. Plus, even if she did decide to go up and have a word with him, there was the Morlock problem.

She flipped on her back and tracked O’Connell’s footfalls across the ceiling, from the spot above her head to the closet that formed a partial barrier between her chamber and the water closet, then over the water closet and beyond. The laboratory was one of the larger rooms in the airship, but also one of the few that didn’t have two entrances, which made it the logical place to store a prisoner since the Blooming Senator didn’t have a brig.

Louisa slipped out of bed, going to the closet to grab her wrapper and put it on over her sheer nightgown. The footfalls sounded different there.

She frowned. When Cobb had commissioned the airship at the Van de Venden plant, he’d brought Louisa with him. She’d been a young teen at the time and hadn’t paid much attention, but she did recall one of the salesmen saying that each room needed at least two methods of egress—which she’d heard as egrets and thought was funny until Cobb smothered her urge to giggle with a look—and the windows didn’t count. Cobb had told them it didn’t matter, that American standards were different. The salesman had nodded and made a note, but Louisa suspected he did so to humor Cobb. The Belgians were smart and would maintain their standards even if they had to sneak in second exits to some rooms. So where was the laboratory’s?

A moment of blessed silence made Louisa realize O’Connell had stopped pacing. Then she realized he stood right above her, and he was scratching at the floor. She climbed up on her trunk so she could better listen to him and wished she had some sort of light to illuminate the closet ceiling. The sound of his nails prying apart something heralded a shower of dust and wood shavings. She sneezed and blinked to clear the sawdust from her nose and eyes.

When she could finally see again, she found herself looking up at him. He grinned as though he was delighted to see her.

“Why, Miss Cobb, I had no idea I’d find you down there.”

“It’s about time you stopped pacing. Some of us need to sleep.” She hopped off the trunk and tried to brush as much of the mess off as she could.

He dropped through the hole and stopped her.

“They can’t know about the trap door,” he said. “I promise, I’ll just be down here for a few minutes while I—” He stopped and clamped his mouth shut.

“While you what?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Listen to the tube my friends sent me,” he choked out. He pressed his lips together, fury deepening the lines at the corners of his mouth and drawing his eyebrows together.

“Why couldn’t you listen to it up there?”

“They’d hear me. The guards. Thankfully the trap door is in the corner they designated as my W.C., and it’s behind a partial wall.”

“So you didn’t need to come through.” She crossed her arms. Something about him being so near made her cold in spite of her being covered. Or that was what she thought. Why else would her n*****s be tightening?

“No, but I wanted to see you again. I heard what Cobb said to the guards.”

Louisa’s mouth dropped open. She closed it again when a piece of sawdust fell on her tongue. She picked it out of her mouth and glared at him.

“If you don’t want to know the answer to your questions, don’t ask them,” he said. He stepped closer to her. If Morlock had moved like O’Connell was, Louisa would have screamed or slapped him or something, but she lowered her eyelids.

This was her chance. She could discover if he still had the magic in his lips that she remembered. Not likely. Again, that had been a long time ago, and she had to let go of those silly girlish fantasies.

“What are you thinking, Miss Cobb?” He ran his hands over her, gathering up the bits of sawdust and holding them, presumably so they wouldn’t make a suspicious mess on the floor. She shivered at his touch although his fingers were efficient, not tender. When he walked behind her and ran his hands through her hair, loosening her braid, she closed her eyes and swallowed against the sensations gathering at her core.

“This means nothing,” she murmured to herself.

“What was that?” His voice, now in her left ear, had dropped into a low, resonant octave that made every one of her nerves come alive, pushing her to reach for him and close the frustrating distance between them.

“Did you find it all?”

“Find what?”

“The sawdust. I’m going to have to take a bath in the morning now.”

“I don’t know about that. I think I found most of it, but I need to check a few more places, save you that bath.”

He moved her hair aside to bare her right ear, and with one calloused knuckle, he traced the curve of her neck down to the ribbon that tied her wrapper at her throat. Her knees and hips tried to turn to liquid, and she swayed but straightened her backbone.

“Just one or two more places,” he said, and his lips followed the same path his hand just had. She’d expected his whiskers to be wiry, but they brushed over her like a soft paintbrush. If she shivered any more, she’d fall apart.

“Mister O’Connell,” she squeaked, but she leaned into him. He loosened the ribbon, and the sound of the silk moving through his fingers made her joints buckle.

“Call me Patrick,” he said as caught her against him. He was fully dressed and she in her nightclothes—her thin, wispy nightclothes—but she could feel him, his hard muscles against her hands, which explored his chest of their own volition. Her wrapper fell around her ankles, and he felt around the lower neckline of her night dress with the hand that wasn’t holding her.

“Find anything?” she asked. She couldn’t do anything but cling to him.

“Oh, aye, but no sawdust. You’ll want to send that wrapper to be cleaned.”

“What an eminently practical suggestion,” she said, but her voice wouldn’t obey her and be normal. She didn’t recognize the breathy, husky tones, but he didn’t seem to care. Again, his mouth and whiskers found her collarbone, chest, and the swell of her left breast. She wanted something so badly but didn’t know what, only for him to keep going. She found herself oddly disappointed he wouldn’t move lower with his mouth but again wasn’t sure why. The thought occurred to her as she tangled her fingers in his oddly long hair and tried to guide him to center. He straightened and pressed his forehead to hers.

“I can’t keep going, Lass. I can’t ruin ye.” His Irish brogue had thickened, and she found it to be exotic.

“Ruin me for what?” she asked, but her daze lifted, and she recognized she stood in the arms of a man she didn’t know, an enemy of her stepfather’s. And her nightdress was damp, but not just in the places he’d kissed. She stepped back but kept her hands on his chest because they wouldn’t release him.

“Good lass. I shouldn’t have come down here.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. And don’t speak to me like I’m a puppy dog.” Her heart still pounded and with every beat, disappointment warred with a need that had settled low in her abdomen. And he hadn’t even kissed her. Well, he had, but not like she wanted, not on her lips in the way that would let her release her memory of him.

“What can I do to say I’m sorry?”

“Kiss me,” she said, recognizing she still held him in her power and his own control hung on just barely.

“What?” The surprise on his face was almost comical.

“I. Need. You. To. Kiss. Me.” She blinked, determined not to let her frustration come out in tears, but her voice cracked with her next words. “Now. So I can forget you.”