HIS BROKEN ANGEL

A Glorious Victorious Darcys Novella

Beth Ciotta

NEW AMERICAN LIBRARY

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

New York, New York 10014, USA

USA / Canada / UK / Ireland / Australia / New Zealand / India / South Africa / China

Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

For more information about the Penguin Group visit penguin.com.

Published by New American Library,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

Copyright © Beth Ciotta, 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

NEW AMERICAN LIBRARY and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

E-book ISBN: 978-1-101-60804-3

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

Contents

Copyright Page

Praise

Also by Beth Ciotta

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Excerpt from HIS CLOCKWORK CANARY

PRAISE FOR

HER SKY COWBOY

“Beth Ciotta’s Her Sky Cowboy is pure charm. This is a must read for anyone who loves the genre—or hasn’t even tried it yet. You’ll be hooked!”

—New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham

“A wildly inventive, action-packed steampunk adventure! Lady inventors, sexy renegade lawmen, airships, acid rock, and flying horses—Her Sky Cowboy has it all!”

—Zoë Archer

”Contemporary romance author Ciotta’s first steampunk series blasts off with this exhilarating riff on bodice-ripping romance, hurling twentieth-century technology into an alternate Victorian England . . . the start of a delectable series.”

—Publishers Weekly (starred review)

”In this first in her new steampunk series, Ciotta brings us into a world where science and inventions abound within the Victorian era. Masterfully written, with an intriguing plot and a sassy, strong, and intelligent heroine at its center. Add to that a heroic cowboy love interest and a supporting cast of distinctive characters, and this story is one fanciful, flying adventure.”

—Romantic Times (top pick, 4½ stars)

“Freaks, Mods, Vics, Flatliners, cowboys in airships, evil scientists, nefarious flying pirates, and time travel. Victorian England was never so much fun. Ciotta’s whimsical steampunk romance, the first in the Glorious Victorious Darcy series, is too good to miss.”

—Booklist (starred review)

“Steampunk is still an evolving genre. In most cases, it’s a hit or miss with either the romance or the steampunk story line. Beth’s “vision” on an alternate take on historical romance, though, was very well done, and I enjoyed reading it. . . . If you’re looking for something a bit different and fun, then I’d pick up Her Sky Cowboy.”

—USA Today Happy Ever After

“Ciotta’s delightfully imaginative steampunk historical has just the right mix of adventure and romance.”

—Chicago Tribune

Also by Beth Ciotta

Her Sky Cowboy

Greetings fellow romantics and daring adventurers,

I don’t know about you, but one of my most cherished possessions is my imagination. It’s taken me to some wondrous places, but none so personally thrilling as the alternate world I created for Her Sky Cowboy and the subsequent stories in the Glorious Victorious Darcys series.

Imagine the 1960s: Race riots. Vietnam. The Cuban Missile Crisis.

Imagine a group of fanatical peace activists happening upon a means of time travel and jumping back to the source of departure, the mid-1800s, in hopes of altering the future and avoiding specific global atrocities.

Imagine their good intentions going horribly wrong, and instead, the two centuries meld, setting the world on an unknown course.

I imagined and ended up with a spectacular and endearing alternate era—The Victorian Age meets the Age of Aquarius.

Every decade, every era, every world has its own lingo. In kind there is terminology specific to the GVD universe. I’ve included a glossary for easy reference should you desire clarification. Also for those who have not read Her Sky Cowboy, the first installment in the series, I’d like to offer some history on how this world came to be. If you prefer to discover while reading, then skip this part. But for those who prefer background, this is for you!

SPECTACULARLY ASTONISHING EXCLUSIVE PEEKS INTO MARVELOUS HISTORICAL FACTS (SORT OF)

1851—In Great Britain, the Great Exhibition is held at the Crystal Palace. Prince Albert encourages the celebration of inventions and technology.

Engineer/Visionary Briscoe Darcy introduces his one-of-kind time machine, vowing to journey forward in time and to return with a futuristic marvel. He vanishes in front of thousands of people’s eyes never to be seen again. Historically, Darcy is known as the Time Voyager.

1856 (A leap year) —A caravan of twentieth-century time travelers arrive in the nineteenth century via a time vehicle dubbed the Briscoe Bus. Their mission: to alter history for the preservation of mankind. Known as the Peace Rebels, these Mods spread the message: Make love, not war.

Hungry for knowledge regarding technological marvels of the future, Prince Albert embraces the PRs, causing a rift between himself and his old-fashioned wife, Queen Victoria. The PRs’ loose morals and advanced knowledge threaten their original goal. Random PRs are corrupted, selling knowledge to power-hungry Vics. Soon society is divided into two main factions: Old Worlders and New Worlders.

1860—The Peace War breaks out, and when the dust settles . . .

A cross culture of the 1860s and the 1960s is born.

The Glorious Victorious Glossary

ALE—Acronym for Air Law Enforcement, a legion of law enforcers who police the skies in airships.

automocoaches—Road vehicles of various sizes and constructions, powered by steam or petrol. Often a cross between late 1800s mechanics and mid-to-late-1960s designs. (e.g., steam-powered Beetle Bug).

corneatacts—Cosmetic optical lenses utilized by Freaks to disguise their kaleidoscope (rainbow) irises. Constructed to fit over the cornea, corneatacts create the illusion of normal, single-colored irises.

Disrupter 29—A modified derringer (pocket pistol) enhanced by twentieth-century technology. An advanced weapon only available for purchase on the black market.

Freak—The offspring of a Vic and a Mod, they are cross-century humans with varied supernatural gifts. Freaks are born with kaleidoscope eyes (irises that swirl with a rainbow of colors) and a unique blood type. A powerful and unpredictable minority, Freaks are regarded as a curiosity and/or threat. As such their civil rights are restricted by law.

Freak Fighter—Any person belonging to the underground organization fighting for the emancipation of Freaks.

Freak Rebellion—A brewing revolution intent on winning equal rights for Freaks.

HE—Acronym for Healing Energy,a supernatural power that accelerates the healing of wounds and sickness.

Liberator—Double-barreled grenade launcher.

Mod—Any person born of parents from the twentieth century.

ModVic—A cross-century clothing style, 1960s Bohemian meets 1880s Victorian.

New Worlder—Liberals who embrace advanced knowledge and technology in the hopes of creating a better tomorrow.

Old Worlder—Conservatives who shun radical change and fear divergence..

Peace Rebels—Twentieth-century peace fanatics from the fields of arts and sciences who traveled back to the nineteenth century intent on altering history and circumventing future chaos and destruction.. As time goes on, also a moniker for any Vic who joins their cause.

Peace War—(1860–1864) A four-year transcontinental war stemming from advanced twentieth- century knowledge that led to corruption on both sides of the Atlantic, infecting Americans and Europeans, Vics and Mods, blurring politics, culture, and beliefs. As a result, society divided into two factions—Old Worlders and New Worlders.

Remington Blaster—A nineteenth-century revolver enhanced with twentieth-century technology.

skytown—Floating pleasure meccas comprised of three to five airships. “Above the law,” these traveling hippie circuses offer illegal and outlawed entertainment and welcome equal fraternizing amongst Mods, Vics, and Freaks . . . and assorted criminals.

Time Voyager—Briscoe Darcy, nineteenth-century Engineer/Visionary who invented a time machine and traveled into the future, ultimately enabling the twentieth-century Peace Rebels to travel to the 1800s.

Vic—Any person born of parents from the nineteenth century.

Chapter One

London, England, 1887

Thirty-one years after the invasion of the twentieth-century Peace Rebels

Redemption was brutal.

Doc Blue sat on a steam-heated tiled bench (new and exclusive to Regent’s Park), hiding behind the latest issue of the London Informer and stealing looks at the church across the street. Even though his hide was warm, his heart felt plumb iced-over. Knowing he was to blame for his predicament didn’t ease the hurt of being excluded from the wedding of his friend and mentor, Tucker Gentry, famously known as the Sky Cowboy.

Every other member of the former air marshal’s ragtag crew was in attendance—StarMan, Eli Boone, Axel O’Donnell, Birdman Chang. Then again, none of them had betrayed Tuck. None of them had endangered the lives of the marshal and his lady love, Amelia Darcy. None of them had leaked the location of their airship, enabling the notorious Captain Dunkirk to steal away their technological invention of historical significance.

Nope, that had been Doc’s sole doin’. It didn’t matter that he’d been hornswoggled by a fellow Freak touting the Freak cause and promising to put Doc in touch with his estranged brother. Plain and simple, for sure and for certain, Doc had messed up.

So here he was. Ostracized—and not because of his mutant race.

“Dash it all, Blue. Buck up,” he said to himself.

The longer he sat there watching, the worse he felt. Yet he couldn’t tear himself away. He needed to see for himself that Tuck and Amelia were married and safely on their way and then he’d . . .

Truth be told, his future was up in the air. And he couldn’t move on until he’d made peace with his past.

Tugging down the brim of his derby, Doc breathed deeply, ignoring the noxious fumes and chaos of the industrialized city while seeking serenity—something he’d never possessed.

Another glance at the church.

The doors remained closed, the ceremony ongoing. Pedestrians, a boodle of mixed classes, strolled by while costermongers hawked wares on each corner. The street bustled with cacophonous traffic while time moved slower than a snail on crutches.

Anticipation was nearly as brutal as elusive redemption.

Remorse knotted Doc’s gut as he skimmed another page of London’s most popular tabloid, hoping for a feel-good article and instead finding sensationalized accounts touting the escalating Freak Rebellion. At least, he hoped they were sensationalized. Especially the interview regarding the attempted kidnapping of the British Prime Minister, an attack purportedly carried out by an extreme squad of the Freak Fighters. Doc hoped his brother, who’d joined the Fighters a few months back, wasn’t involved, and he prayed that the witness’s account was grossly exaggerated. It painted a grim picture of Doc’s race, fanning the flames of dogmatic damnation.

Doc had spent most his twenty-one years living on the fringes, dodging intolerance. People on the whole shunned, feared, or ridiculed what they did not understand. Intolerance often led to injustice and, in radical circumstances, violence. Oppress what you fear was sadly a credo of the staunchest Old Worlders.

Then there were those who sought to harness and manipulate Doc and his kind—or rather their unique powers.

Son of a time-traveling, twentieth-century Mod and a nineteenth-century Vic, Doc was a first-generation Freak. An altered race gifted with supernatural skills. The skills were varied and intensified with time. No one knew the limit of their powers. No one knew if they’d die of old age or live forever. Some could read minds. Some could manipulate the weather. Others possessed superhuman strength or intellect. There was no rhyme or reason as to who got what gift, but they were all born with kaleidoscope eyes, a uniformed trait that made them easy to identify. Freaks who wished to blend with polite society disguised their rainbow eyes by wearing single-colored corneatacts or tinted specs or goggles. Given a botched surgery when he was a kid, Doc didn’t have the option of wearing corneatacts. Tinted blue specs were his disguise of choice.

He squinted through those specs now, at the fine print of the scandal sheet—seeing but not reading, mind racing, gut churning. An outcast of his own making.

This time.

Another peek at the church. Had they said their vows? Had Tuck kissed the bride? Had the former air marshal glanced at his crew, bemoaning the absence of Doc even a little?

“Sulking and spying. How bloody pathetic,” a nearby woman said.

Doc tensed as a petite young lady sidled in next to him. Steam hissed as her cold caboose scooted across the heated tiles. Her freckled cheeks were reddened from the frosty air while the rest of her compact body benefited from a fleece-lined duster, thick scarf, and leather gloves. Two long red braids dangled from beneath her aviator cap, and brass goggles shielded her eyes. She looked familiar, yet she didn’t. “Do I know you?”

“No, but your brother does.”

That earned Doc’s attention. He hadn’t seen Jasper in three years, and not for lack of trying. His latest attempt had landed him on this park bench instead of a church pew.

“That’s my distant cousin in there,” she said, pushing her goggles to her forehead, then nodding toward the church. “I wasn’t invited to the ceremony either, but you don’t see me crying in my newsprint.”

“I’m not . . .” Doc folded the newspaper then angled in. “You always this rude, Miss—”

“Darcy. P.J. Darcy. I prefer to think of myself as direct.”

A Darcy, huh? Odd that Doc had admired Amelia’s straight-forward manner while this woman, who looked as if she’d yet to breech her teens, grated on his nerves. “How do you know my brother?”

“We’re friends.”

Well, hell. Jasper went out of his way to avoid his only brother, yet this girl spent enough time with the man to call him friend? “Jasper’s an outlaw. You an outlaw, Miss Darcy?”

“No warrants for my arrest, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Keep consortin’ with Jasper and there will be.” Younger than Doc by just one year, Jasper had rebelled against society soon after their parents had been killed in a suspect house fire. A Mod and a Vic who’d produced not one but two Freak sons, Ray and Pearl Bluebell had been hounded and driven out of more than one town—all because of Jasper’s volatile outbursts. Whereas Doc had been born with a gentle disposition and the gift of accelerated healing, his younger brother had been saddled with a short temper and superhuman strength.

“I can take care of myself,” P.J. said with a haughty sniff. “Unlike some people in this world.”

Was that a jab at Doc? A comment on polite society?

“For someone who claims to be direct,” Doc said, “you’re sure jawin’ around the point. Why are you here? What do you want?” He braced for a message from his brother. Stop looking for me. I’m an outlaw, a Fighter. You and me can’t mix.

“I need you to come with me.”

“Why?”

“I need you to fix someone.”

“My brother?” Doc tensed. “You say that like he’s broken.”

“Not Jasper. An American chit. And, I suppose, we do regard her as broken. Broken in spirit. Our own physician, Patch, tended to her most grievous wounds. Unfortunately, her lack of gumption, as Jasper calls it, has hindered her recovery. Patch blames it on her recent loss of eyesight.”

“Sustained in conjunction with her other injuries?” Doc asked.

She nodded. “Patch couldn’t determine the problem, and he’s been called away on a personal matter. Your brother thought—”

“How is Jasper involved with this woman?”

“He isn’t, not directly. But she was a victim of a skirmish and landed in our care when our mission went balls up.”

Two things surprised Doc. First, that Miss Darcy was somehow involved with the rebellion. Second, Miss Darcy’s frank language. Even though he was American and not stodgy by any means, Englishwomen were usually more proper. Near as Doc could see, proper was a foreign concept to Miss P.J. Darcy. He recognized the bulge beneath her buttoned coat and knew she was packing hardware. “You involved with the Freak Fighters?”

“One of their ace pilots,” she said with a cocky smile.

“But you’re not a Freak.”

“No. But I believe in the cause. I fight alongside your brother because I think you should have the same rights as me. So what if you’re an altered race? You’re still human.”

Superhuman, truth be told. Something Doc accepted about himself, but didn’t advertise. “That’s very noble, Miss Darcy. I suppose you think my brother has taken up arms against the Vics for the same reason, to win equal rights for Freaks.”

“Why else?”

Revenge, mostly. Notoriety, maybe. Doc didn’t figure Miss Darcy would cotton to his opinion on the matter. Clearly she was enamored with Jasper. Most women were. “I’m a gifted healer, Miss Darcy, not God. I can accelerate the healing process of most injuries, but curing blindness?” As much as Doc wanted to reconnect with his brother, he could not in good conscience misrepresent his supernatural skills. “Can’t say that’s within my power.”

“You don’t know one way or the other? No prior attempts?”

“None.”

“Hmm. Well, you never know unless you try and, in this instance, I wager you’ll want to take your best shot. The young woman I speak of is the sister of your boss.”

Doc furrowed his brow. “Lily Gentry?”

“Should you desire to mend bridges with the Sky Cowboy,” P.J. said while snapping her goggles back into place, “I suggest you come with me.”

Doc’s heart hammered. Lily injured and blind? On this side of the Atlantic? “There must be some mistake. Lily’s in America.” Doc had heard from StarMan that arrangements were being made to bring her overseas, but that the plans wouldn’t be implemented until Tuck had been officially cleared of his crimes. “From what I understand Tuck sent Lily a Teletype alerting her of the impending relocation. He received a response from her yesterday. A response that originated in New York City.”

P.J. shrugged. “The response might have originated in America, but Lily didn’t send it.”

Doc dragged a hand over his face. He was puzzled. Stunned. “We need to tell Tuck—”

“Jasper said you and you alone.” Patience ebbing, she nudged Doc with her elbow. “Look at it this way. You’re saving the cowboy from the misery of seeing his sister battered and broken. Fix her first then deliver her safely to Gentry. I imagine he’d forgive just about anything then, don’t you think?”

Doc glanced to the cobblestone church, standing pure and regal against the polluted winter sky. The congested roads swarmed with a combination of horse-drawn carriages and steam-powered automocoaches, evidence of the ongoing battle between Old Worlders and New Worlders, those who resisted modern technology and those who raced forward. Doc wanted to race forward. He wanted to leave his betrayal in the dust and to reestablish his home on the airship Maverick and to repair his damaged reputation with Tuck. As it was, Doc had dug himself into a deep, dark hole. Even though he’d lived his life in the shadows, he’d never felt so lost.

The arched doors flung open and his stomach knotted as Tuck and Amelia, followed by the crew of the Maverick, burst outside with huge smiles and loud cheers.

I should be with them.

Doc’s elusive brother aside, Tuck and crew, and now Amelia, were as close as he had to a family. They were celebrating not only a marriage, but also the Queen of England’s promise to exonerate Tuck and his men, including Doc, from their ill-accused crimes in America. Doc ached to join the festivities and the crew’s mission to retrieve the artifact lost to Captain Dunkirk. But he wasn’t welcome. He wasn’t trusted.

He glanced back to P.J. Darcy. “How do I know you’re who you say you are? The last person who promised to lead me to my brother played me for a fool.”

Her mouth quirked. “Jasper knew you’d be leery, what with your recent bugaboo.” She reached into her pocket and presented Doc with a worn daguerreotype.

He blinked through his tinted specs at the four familiar faces, faded and stained, his family. A family that was no more.

His papa smiled back at him, eyes sparkling with wisdom and courage. His mama’s smile was forced and Doc knew, because he remembered, she’d been minutes away from having one of her spells. The brothers were close in height, had the same lean, strong build, and according to the ladies both of the Bluebell boys were handsome. ’Course, they’d never seen Doc without the shaded spectacles that concealed his hideous defect.

Doc had inherited his mama’s fair features, pale skin, hair so blond it was almost white, and eyes. . . . Had he been born of one dimension, they would have been blue. Had it not been for the botched surgery . . .

Doc shifted his gaze to Jasper. Black hair, olive skin, kaleidoscope eyes. Usually the tension between the siblings was obvious, but in this photograph, Jasper had slung his arm around his older brother’s shoulder, and Doc remembered there’d been real affection in that moment.

His heart ached to the point of cracking, and he forced himself to pocket the photograph while focusing on his other family. His other loss.

One he might be able to do something about.

He could take the bull by the horns, rescue Lily Gentry, cure her maladies, and deliver her safe and sound to Tuck.

Redemption.

Chapter Two

Skytown, Somewhere over Northern Ireland

Black.

Black as coal.

Black as ink.

Black as death.

Lily Gentry had never been fond of the absence of color. She preferred pastels or bold, vibrant hues like purple, gold, or cobalt blue. Black was depressing. Black was evil. Black was . . . catatonic.

For the past few days, Lily had been drowning in an ominous pit of despair, clawing her way through pitch tar blackness. When she’d first opened her eyes and heard the physician, Patch, say she’d been unconscious all day, she thought she’d awakened in the dead of night. But then someone spoke to her, the man named Jasper, and he’d assured her it was midday. Cold and windy, but sunny.

Can’t you feel the sunshine through the window? he’d asked.

She could feel it warming her skin. But she couldn’t see the light or the window or the man. She’d tempered the panic and waited for her vision to clear. Only it didn’t. Her ribs and legs hurt something fierce and her forehead stung like the devil. But nothing compared to the blow to her heart when she realized she was blind.

Blind.

How could she sketch if she couldn’t see? How could she paint? Art was her passion. Her universe. How could she exist in a world with no color? No light?

Jasper, who claimed to be in charge, told her to be patient.

The physician mentioned a possible contusion to the brain. When the swelling goes down, maybe . . .

In her heart there was no maybe. No hope, only fear. What if she never saw again?

A knock on the door jarred her out of her morbid thoughts but not her sullen mood.

“Mind if I come in?” a man asked.

Jasper. She knew his voice now. Unlike Patch, who had a British accent, Jasper was American and had a Western twang, much like her brother’s, and he spoke sort of slow as if he was measuring every word. P.J. sounded British, and she was a bit of a chatter box. Snoop barely spoke at all but his accent was heavy . . . Irish? Scottish?

Jasper. Patch. P.J. Snoop. No one in this skytown seemed to have a last name. At least none of the four who’d visited her room.

“I’ll take your silence as an invitation,” Jasper said.

Lily heard the door creak open, heard the soft thud when it shut. Boot heels knocked on the floor. A puncheon floor, she guessed. She smelled tobacco and gunpowder as Jasper approached. He smelled like the rebel he was.

“You really asleep, Miss Gentry, or are you ignoring me?”

Good manners dictated a response and she’d never been keen on lying. Partially because it was wrong, partially because her cheeks always burned with a fib. “I’m awake.”

“Couldn’t tell for sure with your eyes shut.”

“Open or closed, makes no never mind,” she said in a tight, scratchy voice. “View’s the same.”

“Mmm. Not much of a fighter, are you, Miss Gentry?”

“I’m not a fighter at all. Not like you.” Jasper was the leader of an elite faction of the Freak Fighters. Midway between America and Great Britain, they’d attacked the Britannia—the exclusive airship she’d arranged passage on. She knew this because she’d overheard Jasper arguing with his second-in-command, the man called Snoop, and then because Jasper had told her himself. For an outlaw, the man was pretty liberal with the truth.

“Here’s the thing,” Jasper said in a calm but firm tone. “I need to move on in a day or two.”

“Because you’re on the lam.”

“That’s right,” he said with a smile in his voice. “Can’t take you with me and I can’t, in good conscience, leave you behind.”

“Forgive me if I wrestle with the concept of you having a moral dilemma,” Lily said. “Don’t suppose a man who viciously attacked a diplomatic convoy has many of those.”

“Might want to devote some of that vigor to your recovery, Miss Gentry.”

Lily held silent. One of her legs was broken and the other was badly bruised. She had a few fractured ribs and a deep gash on her forehead. All sustained, she’d been told, when she’d taken a bad fall. Maybe that’s what had caused her blindness too. The fall. She didn’t remember careening down the stair tower. She didn’t remember much of anything after the zeppelin shook with the first explosion. No doubt her flesh and bones would heal with time, but she would still be blind. She would still be plagued with intense anxiety and a panic swirling inside of her.

“Breathe.”

“What?” Chest tight, Lily opened her eyes.

Nothing to focus on. Nothing to see. Her lungs seized. She couldn’t—

A hand gripped her shoulder.

She flinched from the hard pressure.

“Sorry.” Jasper eased away his hand. “It’s just . . . I’ve seen this before, the anxiety. Don’t forget to breathe.”

The man who’d attacked. The rebel. The outlaw. “Don’t trust you.”

“Don’t blame you.”

Even though she couldn’t see Jasper, she averted her gaze. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to rally. I want you to live.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to piss off your brother.”

She frowned. “You know Tuck?”

“Know enough not to piss him off. Also . . .”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Boot heels scuffed across the puncheon floor, and the pungent scent of tobacco faded.

Jasper was leaving.

“I sent for help for you, Miss Gentry, and it cost me mightily.”

Was she supposed to care?

“Stop thinking the worst. Stop wallowing in self-pity. Grow up. Wake up. It’s a cruel world, Miss Gentry. A twisted world. Shape it or erase it, but don’t damned forsake it.”

“You know nothing of my world,” she choked out.

“And you know nothing of mine.”

The door closed and Lily felt even worse than before. She hadn’t thought that possible. How dare that rebel lecture her? How dare he diminish her wretched plight? Jasper spoke as though she were a spineless, spoiled brat. She’d saved her pennies for months, working on the sly and sketching caricatures in Central Park. She’d worked extra hours in the art shop for Mr. Rueben. She’d thwarted her legal guardians and conspired with a young British diplomat in order to gain access to an elite transcontinental airship. Lily had led a sheltered life. She’d never been on her own, yet at eighteen years old, she’d set off alone, flying from New York City to London, hoping to reunite with her older brother, a good man wrongly accused of a horrible crime.

Such bold and subversive action had not come easily to Lily, but she’d grown weary of hearing her distant cousins—her guardians since her beloved aunt’s death—speaking ill of Tuck. She also suspected they’d been manipulating her correspondence with her brother as well as pocketing funds he’d sent specifically for her.

As for Tuck . . . She appreciated his efforts to protect her from his perilous circumstances, but she was no longer willing to live her life in a suffocating cocoon. She’d imagined herself joining his renegade crew on the Maverick, learning some task to make her useful to the men who’d rescued Tuck from the gallows and whisked him across the ocean to safety. She’d thought about sketching and painting the adventures of the Sky Cowboy and his loyal crew. She’d looked forward to seeing Tuck’s horse, Peg, in action. She’d never seen a flying horse. She’d never seen foreign lands.

Now those wonders would forever remain a mystery to Lily. She would never be a viable member of the Maverick’s crew. Instead of being useful, she’d be a hindrance.

Lily swallowed hard, managing the pain in her legs, chest, and head, but not the one in her heart. The thought crossed her mind that she would be more useful to everyone dead. But she didn’t want to be dead. She was glad she wasn’t dead. Truly.

She stared into the darkness, gripped her sheet.

It’s not that she wanted to die. She just didn’t know how to live in the dark.

Chapter Three

Doc clung to the two-person dirigible, dubbed the Bullet, fearing for his life as they shot through the sky.

P.J. Darcy was loco. That, or a genius.

She listed port then starboard time and again, rattling his brains, circumventing Air Law Enforcement and a wicked winter storm.

At least those were the threats she’d cited upon takeoff. Hell if he knew for sure.

She had blindfolded him the moment he’d strapped himself into the front seat of the open-air dig.

His inability to focus on any one thing compromised his equilibrium. And he was a seasoned flyer used to daredevil stunts and breakneck speeds. The Maverick was the fastest airship in Europe. Tucker Gentry was a fiercely skilled and daring aviator. StarMan, the Maverick’s navigator and copilot, was nearly as fearless when it came to outmaneuvering sky pirates or ALE. But, dash it all, the Maverick was a massive dirigible whereas the Bullet was smaller than a dinghy.

Without warning, she nosed the winged vessel up.

Doc’s stomach lurched as the petrol-fueled dig arced and looped then shot through an icy mist. He thought they leveled off, but he couldn’t be certain. His head was spinning.

By the time the gutsy female docked the Bullet, Doc was woozy and disoriented. He couldn’t decide if the knuckle-white flight from London to somewhere north had been the shortest or longest trip of all his born days. Flying blind was an adventure Doc hoped not to repeat anytime soon.

Focusing inward, he settled his queasy stomach and calmed his throbbing brain. “Were you really dodging ALE, Miss Darcy?” he asked in a tight voice. “Or was that your sick way of disorienting me so I wouldn’t know the location of your hideout?”

“Yes.” She chuckled then rapped him on the shoulder. “You can lose the blindfold. We’re here.”

“Wherever here is.” Doc unknotted the coarse fabric and readjusted his shaded goggles.

They’d docked to a ramshackle clipper, one of three airships in a one-horse skytown. A dense cloud bank shielded the ground below. They could be anywhere.

He swiped off the borrowed aviator cap and retrieved his derby from beneath the compact seat. Smoothing the dented crown then tugging it on, he scowled at his annoying escort.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she said. “I don’t trust anyone. We’re in deep shite this time.”

“As opposed to the other times Jasper broke the law?” Doc disembarked on shaky legs, his boots hitting a planked gangway that led to the floating clipper.

His brother’s rebellious ways had branded him an outlaw years before. The fact that he was now the leader of an aggressive faction of the Freak Fighters only escalated his “wanted” status. No wonder he’d taken refuge in a skytown. These floating pleasure meccas operated above the law and appealed to anyone wanting to indulge in illegal or dubious pastimes—outlawed rock music, hallucinogenic drugs, gambling, drinking, extreme fantasies, and free love. Nowhere was the influence of the Peace Rebels, who’d time traveled from 1969 back to 1857, more evident than in a skytown. Transient and tolerant, skytowns welcomed one and all, even Mods and Freaks.

Glancing at the main mast, Doc noted the iconic PR flag with its circle and two-legged stick. If he couldn’t smooth things over with Tuck, maybe he’d apply for a position on one of these rigs. It would beat the Sam Hill out of trying to practice medicine among conventional society where Freaks’ rights—including what professions they could pursue—were restricted.

“This is different,” P.J. said, as she finished mooring the Bullet.

For the first time since Doc had met the direct aviatrix, she didn’t look cocky. Nope. She looked a little worried, which was disconcerting. “That botched mission you mentioned. Did it involve Prime Minister Madstone?”

“You’ll have to ask your brother.”

“Where is Jasper?”

“Around.”

Anticipation and dread assaulted Doc in double-barreled shot. Don’t lecture, he told himself, preparing to see his brother. Reason, but don’t lecture. Jasper had never been one to take advice, especially from his big brother.

Rolling the tension from his shoulders, Doc nabbed his medical bag. He was anxious to get on with his life. He eyed P.J. as she stepped away from her dig. “Where’s Miss Gentry?”

“Follow me.” His graceless escort stalked over the swinging gangway then across the ship’s deck, red braids whipping in the frigid winds. “The faster you fix that girl, the better. For her. For us. Every day we linger . . .”

P.J. trailed off, acknowledging a man loaded for bear to their left then another just ahead. Part of the elite Fighter squad, no doubt. They nodded at the leather-clad aviatrix then scowled at Doc. If they meant to intimidate him they’d have to do better than that. He’d been working alongside Tuck and his formidable crew long enough to hold his own among lethal gunslingers.

“Have you met her before?” P.J. asked as she descended to a lower deck.

“Lily? No, but Tuck talks about her sometimes. I know she’s young, I know she’s shy, and I know he did his best to ensure she was raised in tender surroundings.”

“Yes, well, perhaps Lily Gentry would have benefitted from less mollycoddling.”

“You don’t like her.”

“I don’t have time for her.” P.J. paused outside a door. “We’re sitting ducks in this skytown, Doc. We being your brother and me and a crew of three others. Whether you believe in our cause or not—”

“I believe in the cause, Miss Darcy. What I can’t support is senseless violence.”

A huge grin split her freckled face. “We should be in accord then. Be assured all of our actions are considered most intensively.”

She opened the splintered door of a cabin, freeing a wave of trapped heat that fogged their goggles.

P.J. pushed her protective eye gear to her forehead.

Doc cleared his shaded lenses with a swipe of his sleeve.

He spied a crude coal-burning steam generator—the source of the stifling heat—then beyond that, primitive furnishings including a bed piled high with blankets. The body beneath the blankets shifted and a face, eyes squeezed closed, lifted from the pillow.

Doc got his first gander at Lily Gentry.

His brain froze as though zapped by a stun gun.

High cheekbones, pert nose, thick lashes, full lips. Her long, straight hair reminded him of corn silk. A lighter shade of gold and feather fine. How could someone so lovely look so tragic?

His heart jerked. An angel on earth.

“Leave us,” he said to P.J.

“But—”

He gently nudged the aviatrix aside, moved into the oppressive room, and shut the door with a groaning thud.

“Who is it?” came a panicked voice.

Forcing his senses sober, Doc focused on the injured woman. He was a professional, for God’s sake. “Name’s Doc Blue, Miss Gentry. I’m a friend of your brother’s.”

Or at least I used to be.

“Tuck?” She bolted upright then fell back against her pillows with a pained groaned.

“I’m alone,” Doc said, moving bedside. “Tuck’s unaware of your circumstance.”

“Thank God.” Eyes still squeezed shut, chest heaving, she palmed her bandaged forehead. “I . . . I don’t want him to see me like this.”

“He won’t.” Every fiber of Doc’s body ached to take this frightened woman into his arms. To comfort. To cherish.

Smitten at first sight.

The affliction rocked his already shaky world. Being physically and emotionally attracted to Lily Gentry was all kinds of wrong.

Battling a barrage of emotions, Doc eyed his fragile patient. Trembling hands. Pale complexion. Dark circles beneath her eyes. “Jasper sent for me because I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve when it comes to doctoring. I’ll have you up and around in no time.”

“Up and around and walking into walls?” Tears beaded at the corners of her closed lids. “Go away.”

“Can’t do that.”

“Don’t want your help.”

“Don’t rightly care.” Doc had treated some cantankerous souls in his time, but none had rattled his composure like this wisp of a girl. Did she truly expect him to abandon her in a skytown? Among outlaws? Did she honestly believe he’d allow her to suffer prolonged misery when he could hasten her recovery? “I’m beholden to your brother for years of kindness, Miss Gentry. He’d want me to tend to your good health, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

“You can’t right my world.”

“I can try.” Doc set aside his medical bag, swept off his derby, and studied Lily’s ashen face as he unbuttoned his wool duster.

She opened her eyes and his breath stalled.

Blue as a cloudless sky.

She looked in his direction. “How do I know you’re who you say you are?”

Her haunted gaze wreaked havoc on his soul. He dug deep and rose above. “Tuck owned a ranch in Wyoming,” he said while shrugging out of his coat. “Prized possession? Peg.”

“The flying horse,” she said, sounding miserable.

“That’s right.” He dipped into his bag for a stethoscope and an ophthalmoscope and, starting with her heart and eyes, commenced with a preliminary checkup. “Your parents,” he went on in hopes of distracting her. “They were taken wrongly from this world and Tuck vowed to watch over you. At the same time, as a U.S. Air Marshal, he didn’t want you exposed to his dangerous lifestyle. So he made sure you were sequestered with relatives, most recently your cousinsin New York City. You’re an artist.”

“Was an artist,” Lily snapped, turning away. “I’m blind now. Didn’t Jasper tell you? Isn’t that why you’re here?”

Her bitter pigheadedness concerned and irritated Doc at the same time. Like P.J., he had no time for resistance. Ruled by compassion, he ached to ease her pain posthaste. Prodded by guilt, the sooner he delivered Lily safe and well to Tuck, the sooner his friend’s peace of mind—the sooner Doc’s shot at redemption.

“I’m a might sketchy on the details, Miss Gentry. Why don’t you bring me up to speed? Let’s start with your injuries.”

She fretted the edges of the blankets. Her breath quickened at an uneven rate. “Patch, another physician, already tended to my wounds. As for my blindness . . .”

Doc sensed her agitation and a simmering panic. His mother had been prone to anxiety attacks so he knew the signs well. Desperate to move forward, not back, Doc set aside his ophthalmoscope and palmed Lily’s bandaged forehead, a gentle gesture infused with calm . . . and supernatural tonic. “Let’s take this slow.” When she nodded, he continued. “You know anything about me, from Jasper or your brother?”

“Tuck mentioned you in some of his letters. Said you’re a gifted healer.”

“And Jasper?”

“Just that he’d sent for someone who could help me.”

Whereas Jasper had rebelled after their parents’ deaths, Doc had retreated from the threat of further chaos. He was a healer, not a fighter. He’d studied books on anatomy and physiology, trained with an Oriental physician. Accelerated healing came naturally, but he’d been adamant about learning the hows and whys of traditional and alternative medicine. According to law, as a Freak, Doc was barred from practicing professionally, so he’d spent the last few years pretending he was a Vic. Plenty of Freaks lived a lie in order to lead a normal life. Tuck had promised to keep Doc’s secret. Seemed the marshal had been true to his word even where his sister was concerned. Which made Doc’s betrayal all the more wretched.

“I need you to trust me, Lily.” The plea almost stuck in his throat. If she knew how he’d endangered her brother’s life . . .

She surprised him by shoving aside layers of blankets. “One busted leg, one bruised. Fractured ribs, the gash on my forehead. Go on then,” she taunted halfheartedly. “Work your magic.”

He’d already infused her injured head with a good dose of HE, Healing Energy. Ignoring her petulance, Doc rolled up his sleeves and considered her mind-set. He thought about his blindfolded ride from hell. The short while he’d been in the dark had been unsettling. Lily Gentry had been blind for three days. He imagined a lifetime of darkness and felt a whisper of the panic no doubt raging through this young woman—an artist—someone whose passion was deeply influenced and inspired by images. If she couldn’t see . . .

Focus on your strengths, then address the blindness.

Summoning patience, Doc examined Lily’s petite and battered body. Even though she was dressed in a cap-sleeved chemise and baggy bloomers rolled up to her thighs, he was very much aware of her feminine curves. Curves that appealed to Doc in a wholly unprofessional way. The inappropriate appreciation ebbed as he noted Patch’s handiwork—brass splint, clean bandages. “I know you hurt, but Patch did a fine job.”

“So there’s nothing you can do,” she rasped. “Sorry Jasper wasted your time.”

“I can do plenty,” Doc said, laying hands on her injured legs.

“You can’t cure my blindness.”

“Maybe I can’t. Maybe I can.” HE flowed from his being into Lily. Doc knew without a doubt she’d be up and walking by tomorrow. His prognosis regarding her blindness was less confident, but he aimed on giving the miraculous cure his all. Although his efforts wouldn’t mean spit if she wallowed in despondency.

“You know what makes Peg able to fly?” he asked.

“Tuck built him special wings.”

“That’s just part of it, the mechanics.” Doc bolstered his spine as he infused Lily with intensified HE. Doubling his efforts for faster results drained his own energy something awful. “Peg flies due to heart and will, Miss Gentry. A passionate determination to accomplish the seemingly impossible.”

“Are you saying you want me to believe in the impossible?”

“I am.”

Chapter Four

Lily had never believed in magic or miracles, but there was something undeniably wondrous about Doc Blue.

She had been chilled for three days, since the moment she’d regained consciousness—a chill that emanated from her core. Jasper had supplied a heat generator and plenty of blankets. The few times P.J. had been in this room she’d complained about the blistering temperature. Snoop had commented too. According to them, Lily should have been soaked with sweat and flushed from the heat. Instead, she’d battled the shivers and an incessant bone-deep cold. She was certain she’d never feel warm again.

She’d been wrong.

The wonder of it all muted her frustration.

“Your hands,” she ventured softly as the enigmatic doctor massaged her throbbing left calf. “Swear to heaven, I can feel heat seeping through my skin and into my blood.” She’d experienced the same sensation when he’d palmed her forehead, and again when he’d worked his hands over her broken leg. She’d also felt a queer tingling, but perhaps that was merely due to the circumstance. Lily had never been so intensely aware of a man in all her born days. “I suppose that sounds crazy.”

“Sounds accurate. Least-wise, that’s how others have described my touch—‘abnormally warm.’ Are you feeling a prickly vibration as well?”

“It’s more like a tingling.” So she wasn’t imagining the odd and intriguing sensations. For the first time since awakening in this nightmare, someone had distracted her from her own dilemma. Relief warred with curiosity. “Did you warm your hands on the heat generator? Rub stimulating ointment on your palms?”

“Comes naturally.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I call it HE. Short for Healing Energy.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s exclusive to me. As far as I know anyway. Aw, hell.”

Lily tensed at his troubled tone. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything’s fine. Just need . . . Mind if I sit with you for a few minutes, Miss Gentry?”

Something was wrong. Lily heard it in his voice. But she sensed it had more to do with him than her. How old was he anyway? Did he fatigue easily? Was he injured in some way? A bum leg maybe?

If only she could see.

“Of course not,” she said. “I mean, please do. There’s a chair somewhere. I’ve heard people sit in it.”

“You can hear people sit?” he asked as he stepped away.

“The legs of the chair scrape over the wood floor as they reposition it. And it must be rickety, because it groans and creaks under a body’s weight.”

“Mighty observant.”

Lily mourned the loss of the physician’s comforting touch, and yet, strangely, the blessed heat continued to radiate. She no longer felt chilled, which was a small mercy that made an amazing difference.

Hindered by darkness, Lily tapped in to her other senses. Her ears buzzed with the sound of Doc Blue pulling the chair closer to her bed. Then the familiar creaking and groaning of the seat giving way. She tried imagining Doc’s posture. Slumped? Ramrod straight? Her nostrils flared with the pleasing scent of bay rum and a hint of noxious petrol—a scent she associated with P.J. —scents Lily had detected the moment he’d entered her cabin.

Oh, yes, she’d been most aware of Doc Blue upon his arrival. And she had been most rude. She’d been brusque and spiteful to Jasper and his league as well, but she hadn’t cared. She’d been absorbed in her own misery and angry with them for initiating the disastrous attack.

Doc Blue had had nothing to do with the attack on the Brittania. He’d come from afar to help. He had helped. And he was her brother’s friend. He didn’t deserve her anger.

Chagrined, Lily blushed. “You’re a friend of Tuck’s,” she said softly. “You must be a person of fine repute.”

“Not so fine, not lately. But I do hope to make amends.”

She wondered at the weariness in his voice. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Just need to rest a moment. Rough flight from London. My pilot was . . . adventurous.”

“You’re referring to P.J.”

“How did you know?”

“Aside from you, I’ve had four visitors. Jasper, Patch, Snoop, and P.J. Every time P.J.’s in this room she boasts about her flying skills in some form or fashion. Jasper referred to her as fearless. Snoop thinks she’s reckless. Patch called her a glory seeker.”

“Being she’s a Darcy,” Doc said, “I’d venture all three descriptions apply.”

Lily furrowed her brow. “You think P.J. is one of the Darcys. The infamous Darcys? The ones related to the Time Voyager?”

“I know so.”

“Land sakes.” A blood relation of Briscoe Darcy, the nineteenth-century inventor who’d traveled to the future, ultimately enabling the twentieth-century Peace Rebels to travel back in time with the intent of altering history. They’d come preaching peace and ended up igniting a transcontinental war. Lily had heard the story over and over, and like all fantastic tales, the details often varied. One thing was certain: Even though Briscoe Darcy was stuck in the future, lots of Vics held him accountable for the Peace War as well as the existence of Freaks. “Living in the shadow of someone so famous must be a powerful burden.”

“You should know,” Doc said, “being the sister of the Sky Cowboy. Dime-novel hero turned notorious outlaw?”

“Wrongly accused,” Lily said. “Tuck didn’t murder that woman.”

“I know. Anyone who knows Tuck believes he’s innocent of that crime. That includes Queen Victoria.”

“What?” Even though she couldn’t see him, Lily shifted toward Doc’s voice. She rolled onto her side easily and with minimal discomfort.

Healing Energy.

Her mind burst with a dozen questions regarding Doc Blue and his methods, but just now she focused on her brother. “I’ve been so worried what with Tuck living on the lam. Have you good news? Tell me of the queen. What do you mean?”

“Queen Victoria promised to make things right for Tuck with the American authorities.”

“She’s going to ensure he’s exonerated? Why would she do that?”

“Took a shine to him, I guess. Spoke to some of her people about his case and decided she believed him.”

“But . . . but how did they even meet?”

Doc shifted in his chair, hesitating. “Long and complicated story,” he finally said.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“According to my sources,” Doc said, “the queen also dispatched someone to ensure your safe passage to England. Although those arrangements had been delayed. How is it that you’re here now?”

Lily blinked. “I knew nothing of this arrangement.”

“Tuck informed you by Teletype and you responded.”

“I did not receive such news nor did I respond.” Lily’s heart pounded with fury. Had her so-called caring cousins interfered once more? She could not fathom their intent. Had they panicked when she’d disappeared? Were they buying time in hopes of finding her before Tuck learned she was missing? The only saving grace in their lie was that Tuck thought she was safe. “I made this journey under my own steam. All I know for true and certain is that I was desperate to reunite with my brother. To know he thrived. I’ve been so worried. I . . .” She palmed her chest. “Do you truly believe he’ll be vindicated?”

“I do.”

Lily’s mind whirled. Her brother . . . free at last. Free to return home. To America. Free to police the skies in his airship Maverick and to track and capture dangerous criminals. Free to resume the life he loved as a United States Air Marshal, t o serve and protect the masses.

All the more reason not to burden Tuck with the daunting care of a stone-blind sister.

Mood dipping, Lily struggled to understand her precise circumstance and options as Doc Blue stood and, for the second time, palmed her forehead. His touch ignited additional heat, more tingling. Swear to heaven, she’d never felt anything like it. Who, what was this man?

“Jasper implied he didn’t want to tempt my brother’s wrath. I guess that’s why he didn’t make Tuck aware of my circumstance. So why did he reach out to you, Tuck’s physician? Someone who could and most probably would alert my brother of my whereabouts and condition?”

“I’m Jasper’s brother,” Doc said.

Lily blinked. Her mind raced. “So you’re—”

“A Freak.”

“Oh.” Before Jasper, she’d never met a Freak. Then again, she’d never met a Chinaman or an Eskimo either. All sorts of folk, of various race and religion, populated the world. It didn’t make any one better than the other.

“Just ‘oh?’ ”

She’d purposely schooled her expression while sorting through her thoughts. She’d heard some mighty ugly talk regarding minorities, especially Freaks. No doubt this man was used to snap, harsh judgments. Lily was merely intrigued.

“That would explain your mysterious methods,” she said, “and the reason HE is exclusive to you. It’s not magic. It’s a supernatural phenomenon.”

“Mmm.”

“What an extraordinary gift,” Lily said in true awe. She knew Jasper possessed the strength of ten men, maybe more. P.J., who seemed smitten with the man, had made a point of relaying how Jasper had moved steel and iron to rescue Lily from the mangled Britannia.

“Jasper risked his life, fighting assailants one-handed, in order to haul you off that listing rig,” the aviatrix had said. “He deviated from our escape route in order to provide you with immediate medical attention. And since we refused to abandon our leader, that means every member of our core squad, including me, put your safety ahead of our own. You could at least do us the courtesy of trying to thrive.”

P.J.’s rant had failed to elicit sympathy or appreciation from Lily. She was not impressed in any form or fashion with Jasper and his rebel squad. She was, however, most impressed with Doc Blue.

“What do you look like?” she blurted.

“Excuse me?”

“I’d feel better if I had a visual sense of you.” Lily scrambled for an explanation beyond her shallow curiosity. “It’s disconcerting, not seeing who’s treating me.”

Doc Blue shifted his ministrations, loosening the bandages around her ribcage. “Can’t say I feel comfortable describing myself.”

“Can’t say I feel comfortable, period,” Lily whispered, then felt compelled to add, “and it has nothing to do with the nature of your birth.” Cheeks burning, she fought to temper her erratic pulse as the supernatural healer placed his hands over her bruised, bare flesh. HE seared through her skin, but it was the man who melted her senses. Though the physician’s palms spanned her ribs, his fingers rested close to the undersides of her breasts. A chaste woman, Lily had never known the intimate touch of a man. That moment her imagination ran amok pondering what other kinds of magic Doc Blue worked with his hands.

“Nothing personal,” he said as though reading her mind.

All the same her heart fluttered like a besotted twit’s. She bit her lower lip, afraid to speak, afraid of saying something stupid. Were his hands the sole channel for HE? What of his mouth? Could he kiss her and make her all better? “Oh, God.”

“Please try to bear it, Miss Gentry. The longer the contact, the deeper the treatment.”

Lily frowned, realizing he’d mistaken her fascination for fear. As a Freak, he was probably used to being rejected.

On a whim, Lily reached down and placed her hands over Doc Blue’s. Her pulse tripped and another sort of tingle coursed through her body and centered at her intimate juncture. Taken aback by the keen rush of desire, Lily tempered scandalous thoughts regarding the man hovering over her. Good sense and decorum dictated she pull away. Instead, she slid her palms up and clasped his forearms.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice tense.

“Getting a visual sense of you.” She’d never been so forward with a man. Did he think she was flirting? Was she flirting? “I’m imagining a fit physique,” she said. “Your hands are large and your forearms muscular, though not overly bulky. When you entered the room, your footfall was not as heavy as Jasper’s or Snoop’s, but not as light as P.J.’s. I wager your height and build somewhere between intimidating and inconsequential.”

He laughed a little, and her heart danced. “I’ve not met Snoop,” he said, “but Jasper trumps me in bulk and Miss Darcy, as you guessed, is a wisp of a thing. Physically, anyway. So, yes, I am somewhere in between.”

“Average height and build,” she said, itching but not daring to extend her touch to his shoulders, his face . . .

“Not overly short or tall. A mite lanky maybe, but solid. Fair skin. Blond, almost white, hair. Bad haircut. Short. Choppy.”

She smothered a smile. “How old?”

“Twenty-one.”

Only a few years older than her eighteen. Given his confidence and demeanor, she had guessed him older. “What are you wearing?”

“Trousers. Shirt.”

“Details, Doc Blue. Please.” Self-conscious now, Lily released her hold on the man and clasped her hands together to still their trembling. Why the devil was she trembling? “What color are your trousers? What style? Do you fancy cowboy attire, or a conventional suit? Somehow I don’t picture you in bell-bottoms and love beads, so ModVic is out. Humor me, doctor. How can I paint you if I don’t know what you look like?”

“Why would you want to paint me?”

His guarded tone stopped her cold. For a scant second, her imagination had sparked back to life and for the first time in days, color had blossomed in her desolate world. A solid and vivid image had formed in her mind’s eye. She’d imagined Doc Blue as clearly as if she were actually seeing him.

But then he’d questioned her motive. Reality muscled whimsy aside and Lily’s world tilted back toward the dark side. Instead of a kind and strong physician—a compassionate healer—Lily envisioned a killing machine. A menacing figure with weapons on his arms—no, weapons where his arms should be. It made no sense, yet she could see bullets spraying out of his hands—no, an iron barrel. Endless sparks of fiery red. Chaos. Destruction.

Evil.

A chill iced down Lily’s spine as a river of blood exploded in her mind’s eye. Horrified, she turned inward, toward the darkness. But the river gushed toward her.

So much red.

“Miss Gentry.”

She retreated deeper, into the bowels. Into the darkness. Heart pounding, chest tightening.

“Listen to me, angel. Focus on my voice. Breathe.”

Lily gasped for air. She grappled for the railing. Someone caught her hands.

Warm hands. Kind heart.

Compassionate healer.

“Doc Blue?” His name barely scraped past her constricted throat.

“Hold tight, Miss Gentry.”

“Name’s Lily,” she choked out.

“I know.”

She clung to his strong grip, frantic for a connection. A connection with a good man, a man worth knowing. “What is your Christian name?

“Can you keep a secret?”

Certain she was drowning in a sea of crimson, Lily pulled herself up and into her savior’s arms. “Cross my heart.”

“King.”

Trembling, she frowned against his neck. “Honest and true?”

“Honest and true.”

“Don’t make me look, King.” She squeezed her lids tight, blocking the red, blocking the horror. Her breath hitched as a menacing vision stormed her defenses.

The Killing Machine.

Run!

In her mind’s eye, she slipped on grated stairs, arms flailing, senses spinning.

“Dying!”

“You’re not dying, Lily. It’s anxiety. Listen to my voice. Focus on my words.”

Her frantic heart skipped then slowed as Doc Blue . . . Doctor King Blue . . . shielded her from harm. He held her close, engulfed her in warmth. Not just with his hands, but with his entire body.

Lily swallowed past the lump in her throat. Her clouded thoughts cleared enough to ascertain her true surroundings. She wasn’t running for her life on the Britannia. She was safe and sound in a skytown, in the arms of her brother’s friend. The pain from her injuries had diminished to a whisper of discomfort, and though she was still sightless, instead of feeling panicked and hopeless she felt oddly comforted.

Unlike before, Lily welcomed the black.

Colors equaled chaos.

Evil.

Death.

Ensconced in blessed darkness, she took refuge in her savior’s strong embrace and the sound of his voice as he soothed her with a tale about a daring young woman who’d won her brother’s heart.

Chapter Five

Doc didn’t remember falling asleep, but dash it all, he felt the full force of consciousness as someone plucked him out of bed. Lily’s bed.

Jasper.

Doc wrangled his murky thoughts as his brother swiftly and silently hauled him out of the stifling cabin and into the frigid corridor. The bracing chill jarred his senses right quick.

He remembered talking Lily down from her panic. He’d kept on talking when he’d felt her drifting off. The woman needed to sleep, and Doc had needed time to rejuvenate. He’d depleted his energies by doubling his healing efforts. Just now he felt as though he could take on the world.

Or at least one rebellious, mule-headed brother.

They faced off in the murky hallway, a stone’s throw from Lily’s cabin. Doc in his shirtsleeves and Jasper suited up for combat in the frozen tundra—fur greatcoat, fleece-lined aviator cap, fur-trimmed goggles . . . and a leather harness loaded with a Remington Blaster, several cartridges, and—Lord Almighty—was that a double-barreled grenade-launching Liberator?

Without his coat and hat, Doc’s teeth should’ve been chattering, but he was so all-fired hot under the collar, he half expected flames to shoot out of his mouth when he spoke. “Attempted kidnapping of the British Prime Minister?” he snapped in a hushed voice. “Have you lost your ever-lovin’ mind?”

“What I’ve lost,” Jasper growled back, “is my capacity to trust anyone. Even my own kind. Even my damned brother.”

Doc blinked. “What the blazes does that mean?”

“Since when did you start sleeping with your patients?”

Unfazed, Doc glanced over his shoulder at the closed door. “Since when did you start attacking innocents?”

“There are no innocents in this world. Not many anyway. Care to explain yourself?”

Doc glared at his brother. If anyone needed to account for their actions of late, it was Jasper Bluebell. Regardless, Doc stated the circumstance in defense of Lily’s reputation. “She was having a spell.”

“You could have reasoned with her. That’s what I did. That’s what we used to do when Ma—” Jasper bit off the words and glanced away.

Doc felt his brother’s grief. His fury. Hellacious and raw—even after all these years.

In the past, even a flicker of rage set Jasper off. Doc braced for an outburst, but instead of smashing his fist through the wall, instead of ripping the door off its hinges or acting out in some massively destructive way, Jasper plucked a cheroot from his pocket and casually leaned against the splintered wall.

Doc was somewhat impressed. If he wasn’t so almighty angry with Jasper he would’ve complimented his restraint. Instead he wanted to box his ears. “Lily needed more than verbal reassurance,” he said. “She needed to feel safe. Sheltered and protected. She’s scared.”

“Don’t look at me all judgmental like,” Jasper said as he fired up the stogie. “Ain’t my fault she’s in this fix. She shouldn’t have been on that zeppelin. I studied the passenger list. I had an inside contact. Soldiers, politicians, and a small entourage, and the crew of the Britannia—all men.”

“All but one.”

“Like I said—”

“She wasn’t a documented passenger.” Doc grunted then paced to work off steam. “Regardless, Lily was there and in the thick of the attack. And she wasn’t the only one hurt, Jasper. Have you read the newspapers?”

“Don’t need to read about it. I was there.”

Doc got a face full of smoke as he stalked past his brother. The foreign scent snaked up his nostrils and into his lungs. Swiveling on his boot heels, he eyed Jasper with a raised brow. “That’s not tobacco.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Or weed.” Doc got a nose full of cannabis every time he visited a skytown coffeehouse.

“It’s medicinal.”

“A doctor prescribed it? For what? What’s ailing you?” Jasper looked fit as a fiddle. In the three years since they’d last met, he’d bulked up even more. His kaleidoscope eyes were bright, his complexion sun-bronzed, his mind sharp. Easy to see why P.J. Darcy was smitten. Jasper Bluebell cut a fine figure. Then there was his dangerous streak, a quality that historically tempted good women to do wrong. Although Lily hadn’t seemed all that impressed. ’Course, she hadn’t gotten an eyeful of the charismatic Freak Fighter either. When she did . . .

Nipped by the green-eyed monster, Doc considered his normally capricious brother’s relaxed disposition. “Let me guess. Medicinal is code for recreational which is code for illegal. What kind of havoc are you wrecking on your body, Jasper? What are the side effects? Does it hinder your judgment? Slow your reactions? Spark hallucinations? Were you under the influence when you boarded the Brittania?” Incensed by the brutality of the attack, Doc palmed his throbbing head. “Twenty critically injured. Nine dead—so far. Christ!”

“Take the stick out of your ass and keep your voice down, Blue.” Jasper snuffed the medicinal butt beneath his boot. “Lily’s traumatized enough as is. She doesn’t need specifics.”

“Then maybe we should take this conversation elsewhere, because I want details, Jasper. I want to know what happened aboard the Britannia. Precisely.”

The papers had described a ruthless massacre. A blood bath. They’d blamed the Freak Fighters. It twisted Doc’s gut to think his brother had plotted and perpetuated a heinous crime. He didn’t want to believe it but he needed to hear it from Jasper. He also wanted to know what Lily had witnessed, exactly, and how she’d sustained her injuries.

“Without Patch, I’m down to a squad of four and they’re on recon and patrol just now. That leaves me to ensure Lily’s safety.”

“And me.”

Jasper quirked a taunting grin. “What are you gonna do, Blue? Strangle someone with your stethoscope?”

He didn’t need to glance down to know the medical instrument was still dangling where he’d automatically left it—around his neck. Standing strong and crossing his arms, Doc eyed his brother’s holstered arsenal. “Killing ain’t the only means of defense.”

“No, but it’s the surest one.”

Just then P.J. burst into the corridor, winded and flushed. “Red alert!”

Jasper pushed off the wall. “ALE?”

“Bounty hunter. Joey and Viper intercepted and took him on a merry chase, but our cover’s as good as blown.” P.J. sleeved sweat from her brow, eyed Doc, then focused back on Jasper. “It’s Crusher McGee.”

“Shit.”

“Snoop’s firing up the Crusader. You know Crusher. Joey and Viper need backup. If they can’t outwit or outrun that black-hearted sod . . . he’ll be gunning for us next.”

Doc didn’t know of Crusher, but he knew Jasper. “Let me guess, this particular bounty hunter has a bullet with your name on it.”

“Since the attack on the Britannia, the reward for my capture has quadrupled.”

“Wanted dead or alive,” P.J. added. “Crusher tends to opt for dead or maimed. He’s mean that way.”

“Plus he’s got a personal beef with me so he’ll be looking to crush any one or all of my associates. Literally.” Jasper loaded his Blaster while glancing toward Lily’s cabin door. “Did you fix her?”

“Lily’s a person, not a thing,” Doc snapped. “If you’re asking if she’s healed—not completely, but physically she should be right as rain by tomorrow.”

“Don’t have till tomorrow. Can she see?”

“No.”

“Hell’s fire, Blue.” Jasper holstered his weapon then whirled and slammed both hands to the wall. “Son of a bitch!”

Doc moved in front of P.J., just in case Jasper lost control.

The fool woman nudged him aside. “Time’s ticking, boss.”

Jasper nodded then dipped his head in thought.

P.J. bounced from one booted foot to the other, primed for action.

Doc near bout choked on the tension. He’d been anxious to see his brother for three long years. Now, after less than an hour in his company, he wanted the man gone, along with P.J. and his other associates. Far away and out of the clutches of a mercenary who crushed his prey.

“We’re moving out.” Jasper swiveled toward Lily’s cabin.

Doc grabbed his brother’s arm. “Leave her with me.”

“I’m taking you both.”

“We’re not part of this, Jasper.”

“Crusher won’t see it that way. ’Specially if he learns you’re my brother.” He turned to P.J. “Partner with Snoop, and escort Blue and Lily to the outpost.”

“But—”

“That’s an order, Darcy.”

“So you’re piloting the Crusader alone?” she persevered. “You know she’ll draw attention.”

“That’s the point, short stuff. Alert Snoop and man up.”

P.J. grumbled under her breath then took off.

Doc tightened his grip and took one last stab at separating Tuck’s sister from the unpredictable Freak Fighters. “I’ll keep Lily safe, Jasper.”

“Don’t doubt you’d try, Blue. But then who would protect you?” Jasper wrenched open the cabin door, and Lily fell into his arms.

“I’m ready to go,” she said. “But not with you, Jasper. I’m with Doc.”

Chapter Six

Lily had stirred from a dreamless sleep the moment Jasper hauled Doc out of her bed. She’d known it was Jasper, even though the man hadn’t uttered a word. She knew his scent. But she’d been disoriented, and the Freak Fighter had been quick. Before she knew it the brothers had left her cabin, although not her vicinity.

She’d heard them shuffling and talking just beyond her closed door. Doc’s agitated tone intrigued and worried her, and before she knew it, she’d pushed herself upright. Experiencing only minor discomfort, she’d slid quietly from the bed, astonished that she could actually stand on her own two feet. The brace on her broken leg proved a hindrance but she was afraid to remove it. What if the bones weren’t fully mended? Just how powerful was Doc’s HE?

Shocked by her accelerated recovery, Lily’s heart sank when she realized Patch had definitely misdiagnosed her blindness. If she’d had a contusion, the swelling would have diminished along with her other ailments. Eyes wide open, Lily looked all around the room . . . and saw nothing.

Surrounded by darkness and a plethora of sounds.

The hissing of the steam heat generator.

The creaking of floorboards.

Doc and Jasper arguing about drugs and the Britannia.

Then P.J. storming into the corridor, alerting the men about a killer named Crusher McGee.

The moment Lily realized Doc was in danger, she felt her way around the tiny cabin, grappling for clothing. She located Doc’s leather medical bag, his soft derby, and his wool greatcoat. Touching his things helped to soothe her rattled senses and when she couldn’t locate another piece of clothing she didn’t hesitate pulling on Doc’s coat. She knew he’d insist himself instead of allowing her to leave the cabin in nothing but her thin unmentionables. Time was ticking, as P.J. said, and Lily felt every second dragging them closer to bloodshed.

Fingers trembling, she managed two buttons before grabbing Doc’s hat and bag. A memory flashed as she hobbled across the room. Fleeing her passenger cabin aboard the Britannia in order to ascertain the source of the explosion and the reason for the sirens. She’d left everything behind—her baggage, her reticule, her sketchbook. She hadn’t known what she was stepping into.

The chaos.

Panic welling, Lily blocked the memories and wrenched open the door. Hindered by the heavy brace, she tripped on the hem of Doc’s coat, falling forward into Jasper’s arm. He reeked of herbal-smelling smoke and acrid gunpowder. He felt strong and stable. Dangerous.

Wrong.

“I’m ready to go,” she said. “But not with you, Jasper. I’m with Doc.” She’d almost blurted “King.” But she’d promised to keep his first name secret. She remembered at least that small portion of her anxiety attack. And she remembered Doc’s kindness. She remembered his touch and how he’d soothed. Healed. He was a miracle worker.

Just before she’d drifted off, she’d asked him how he came by the name King. He’d flushed and said his father had named him after a twentieth-century civil rights activist, a man he’d greatly admired. A man who’d preached tolerance and inspired hope. Ray Bluebell had believed his first-born son capable of great things. Lily didn’t doubt that prediction. She couldn’t endanger Doc’s gift or his life by allowing him to encounter this Crusher person. That Doc was willing to risk his life to protect Lily warmed her as deeply as his healing energy.

“You said she’d be up and walking by tomorrow,” Jasper said.

Doc relieved Lily of his bag and hat and then took her hand from Jasper’s arm and gently squeezed. “Heart and will works magic beyond my powers.”

“Gumption,” Jasper said. “It’s about time. Although it will be difficult fitting her into the Bullet with that brace.”

Lily nudged Doc’s arm. “Take it off.” The longer they dawdled, the greater a disastrous meeting with Crusher.

“Too soon to stress the bone,” Doc said as he started releasing straps and bolts. “I’ll have to carry you.”

She didn’t argue. The brace thudded to the floor and Doc swept her into his arms.

“I’ve got your bag and I’ll lead the way,” Jasper said. “Haul ass.”

Lily held tight as Doc whisked her down the corridor and up a set of stairs. She marveled at his strength and balance and the erratic beating of her heart.

Besotted.

Lily was fascinated with the sensual impulses tugging at her mind and body. She’d heard of love at first sight, but love at first touch? From the moment Doc had pressed his healing hands to her forehead, she’d been overwhelmed with foreign yearnings. Yearnings that overrode dark thoughts and good sense. Instead of focusing on their dire situation, Lily was consumed with the thrill of Doc’s possessive embrace and whispered reassurances.

They breeched the open air and Lily winced. Frigid winds and icy rain. Even though the deck had to be slick, Doc never faltered or fumbled. Lily buried her face against his warm neck, feeling powerfully guilty for seizing his coat. He had to be freezing.

At once she was aware of growing activity. Footfall and muffled voices. A rush of bodies. “What’s going on?”

“Looks like the town’s breaking up and setting for sail. Could be ’cause a storm’s kickin’ up. Could be . . . Jasper!” Doc hurried his steps and Lily clung tighter. “Any of this ruckus due to that bounty hunter?”

“I’m not the only name on Crusher’s list and there’s a lot of riffraff in this particular skytown. Only fair to warn ’em.”

“So now you’re a champion of outlaws everywhere?”

“Sometimes a man breaks the law because he has no choice. Doesn’t mean he deserves to have his head crushed like a grape.”

Lily cringed at the image, shoved it away.

Doc held his tongue.

She wondered what he was thinking. She wondered how two brothers could be so different—one who fought crime alongside a United States Air Marshal, the other theleader of a gang of cutthroat Freak Fighters. Only Jasper didn’t seem like a coldhearted killer. Neither did P.J., Snoop, or Patch. Even though she knew they’d instigated the attack on the Brittania, she couldn’t reconcile the people who’d saved and nurtured her with the carnage Doc had cited via the newspapers.

“You’ll both have to squeeze into the front cockpit, Blue. P.J. needs full mobility in the pilot’s seat, and Snoop will be riding rear shotgun.”

“Don’t recall seeing a third seat on this dig,” Doc shouted over the mayhem.

“It’s more like a throne on the tail. Snoop will be heavily armed and watching your backs. Give me Lily and climb in,” Jasper said. “She’ll have to sit on your lap.”

“Freezing rain and wind,” Doc said. “She’ll catch her death.”

“So will you,” Lily said close to Doc’s ear. “I have your coat.”

“I’m fine, angel. Don’t fret.”

“There’s a thermoplastic shield,” Jasper said while prying Lily away from Doc. “P.J. didn’t utilize it on your flight in?”

“No, she did not.”

Lily weathered a face full of wind and rain. She did not want to take refuge in Jasper’s arms. She didn’t want Jasper at all. Even though she sensed a decent heart, she didn’t trust him. She trusted Doc. Still and all, when gunfire sounded in the distance, she gasped and clutched Jasper’s coat sleeves.

“It’s all right, darlin’.” Jasper gave her a reassuring squeeze then lowered her into a cramped space, onto Doc’s lap. “Need to blindfold you, Blue.”

“Forget it.”

“It’s for your own good. If you know the location of the Freak Fighter outpost—”

“No blindfold, Jasper, and handover a weapon. Hurry up. Here comes P.J and your other man. And that gunfire’s getting closer.”

“Thought you opposed violence.”

“I’m against dyin’ too.”

Jasper grunted. “Reckon you can handle my Disrupter 29?”

“Reckon I can.” Doc slicked rain from Lily’s face then palmed her cheek, infusing her with heat. “Got a reason to make the effort.”

Sensitive to Doc’s protective manner and the exchange of the gun, Lily’s heart pounded with wonder and dread.

“If I don’t make it back . . .” Jasper looked away.

“Make it back,” Doc said. “We’ve got unfinished business.”

Lily’s breath caught as something snapped into place, shutting out the wind and rain. Shutting out the world. “I can’t hear anything.”

“It’s the thermoplastic shield. Baffles the sound,” Doc said while readjusting Lily’s legs in between his own. “Can’t make out her words, but I can see P.J. giving Jasper an earful.”

“About the blindfold?”

“That’d be my guess.”

“I’m sorry I got you in this fix,” Lily said, fiercely conscious of their intimate and highly inappropriate position. Arms and legs entangled. Her backside pressed against his groin.

“I’m here on account of my own actions, angel. I promise I’ll get us both out.” He shifted and squeezed her waist, pulling her even closer. “Jasper just ran off. Guess he’s heading for the Crusader. Don’t know what that dig looks like, but she must be flashy or big. P.J. said she’d attract attention.”

“What’s this dig look like?” Lily asked.

“Let’s put it this way. It’s called the Bullet.”

“Sleek and cylindrical.”

“With wings and a tail and some sort of rocket booster. P.J.’s firing up now.”

Lily heard the rumble clean through the shield. The cramped dirigible vibrated and shimmied and Lily braced for takeoff. “Are you scared, King?”

“You forget I’ve been riding with your brother for the past few years. If we weren’t chasing and apprehending outlaws, we were clashing with sky pirates and ALE. This is nothing. Although P.J’s flying ain’t for the fainthearted.”

“I’m not fainthearted.” Lily licked her lips. “Not usually.”

“I believe you, but flying blind is discombobulating. Focus on my voice,” he said close to her ear as the vessel lurched forward. “I’ll talk you through it.”

For a minute she was breathless, speechless. Her mind and body reeled with the forceful launch and the sudden unexpected speed as they shot through the air. Just as he’d promised, Doc described everything. The three ships that constituted skytown breaking apart and heading in separate directions, several other smaller digs shooting off every which way . . .

“Ah, the Crusader.”

“Flashy and big?” she asked, holding tight to Doc’s hands.

“Beauty of a zeppelin wrapped in an intricate iron grill. Topside propeller and rear rocket thrusters. Gondola’s loaded with cannons and the zepp’s fitted to carry small fighter digs like this one.”

“How . . . how can you be sure it’s the Crusader?” Lily asked as the Bullet lurched right.

“The big S welded into the intricate grill work.” Doc sighed. “Caped Crusader. Man of Steel. Superman. A twentieth-century superhero. Pa used to liken Jasper to the fictional icon. Thing is Superman used his powers for the greater good.”

“For Jasper,” Lily said as she struggled with a dizzy spell, “emancipating Freaks is the greater good.”

“You’re a good soul, Lily Gentry.”

Doc kissed the back of her head and the dizziness intensified. Only it wasn’t from the topsy-turvy ride. Cannon fire exploded in the distance and Lily burst with a fierce need to live in the moment. This moment. “I’ve never been kissed.”

“What?”

“If this ends badly, I want something good to remember when I meet my maker.”

“Don’t talk nonsense, angel. P.J.’ll get us out of here. If nothing else, her pride demands it.”

Ignoring the ache in her ribs and the pain in her leg, Lily swiveled round best she could. “Kiss me proper-like, King.”

“Lily.”

She could feel the warmth of his breath. His mouth, so close. His body tensed as she leaned in, but she didn’t pull back. She waited . . . and when the Bullet shook with the blast of return fire, she took what she wanted. A kiss. Though her mouth glanced off Doc’s, she tasted a hint of peppermint and slice of heaven. Bliss.

He groaned then, cradled her face, and pressed his lips to hers—firm and true. He kissed her proper-like. The kind of kiss she’d read about in dime novels. The kind she’d seen stolen between lovers in the park. Heat radiated through her body, her skin tingled, and her blood burned. He teased the seam of her mouth with his tongue, and Lily’s lungs near about burst through her ribs.

Inspired by their precarious circumstance and her uncertain future, she parted her lips and welcomed Doc’s tongue. The awfulness of the world faded away as the compassionate healer gifted her with sizzling passion.

The Bullet bucked then arced, and Lily’s heart followed.

Chapter Seven

P.J. Darcy was every bit the ace pilot she bragged to be.

Snoop had buffalo-sized balls.

Doc hadn’t been in the position to witness the duo’s every tactic, but he was experienced in sky warfare and they had dodged a dog fight with impressive skill and speed. He was a mite embarrassed knowing he’d kissed his way through the mayhem. Sure and certain, he was almighty vexed at the affection he felt toward the woman sleeping in his arms.

Talk about dangerous foreign ground.

Sailing through the darkening skies, Doc pondered his poor judgment of late. He should have ignored Lily’s awkward peck, but no. He’d gotten a taste of her sweetness and the temptation had driven him to reckless distraction. He’d kissed her long and deep. Proper-like, then improper-like. He’d worked his hands beneath her, his, coat, and he’d sampled her curves.

Oh, yes, he’d compromised Lily good and plenty. Even now his John Thomas was rock hard and ready. He wanted her in his bed and, even worse, in his life. He’d never been in love before, but he’d wager he was in the thick of it with Lily. The moment he’d laid eyes on her—an angel on earth—his heart had gone all soft. His brain had taken a hit as well. Because, dash it all, if he’d been thinking straight, he would’ve dodged this intimate bullet.

Now he was in a devil of a pickle. Not just because he’d compromised her reputation, but because he was pretty sure Lily had feelings for him too. This was bad. Real bad. They couldn’t be together. Not as man and woman. Not as man and wife. He couldn’t do that to Tuck. He sure as shootin’ couldn’t do that to Lily.

How the hell was he going to address the situation?

First and foremost, get a grip on your lustful urges.

Lily stirred in his arms and Doc shifted, trying to shield her from his erection.

“Are we there yet?” she asked in a husky voice that drove him one mile closer to mad.

“Almost.” He wasn’t sure how long they’d been traveling, but it had been a good while. Dusk had fallen and Doc had to squint to make out the outlines of the Freak Fighter hideout. “We’re coming up on the outpost now. Looks like a village built into the side of a mountain. Two and three story housing—almost Tudor-style—balanced on stone and wood foundations, jutting out of the cliff. Hard to describe.”

“You’re doing a fine job,” Lily said while interlacing her fingers with his. “Sounds unique.”

“It is.” He cleared his throat, knowing he should pull free of her grasp and instead tightening his hold. “There’s a waterfall gushing over the side of the cliff and running over a giant grist mill wheel. It’s pretty magnificent. Four airships are docked at intermittent bays.”

“Do you see the Crusader?”

“No.” What if Crusher had blown that zeppelin out of the sky, and Jasper with it? Doc palmed his shirt pocket and the photograph tucked inside. What if that tattered daguerreotype was all he had left of his brother?

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Lily said. “Probably took that bounty hunter on a chase far and away from here. Give him time. He’ll show. If nothing else his pride will demand it,” she teased in a light voice. “Plus, you’ve got unfinished business, remember?”

“All I want is a chance to talk some sense into him,” Doc said as the Bullet slowed and nosed toward a docking bay. “If he keeps living like this, on the wrong side of the law, he’ll end up in the hoosegow for life or six feet under.”

“If he turns himself in, he’ll be punished for sure. What do you expect him to do?” Lily asked. “Go into hiding?”

“That or adopt an alias and find an honest job. Seems like the only alternatives given the debacle with the Brittania. That bloodbath marked him for death. What the devil was he thinking? How could he order such senseless destruction? I don’t care how much he hates intolerant Vics, that ain’t no call for annihilating a boodle of men in cold . . .”

Gasping for air, Lily doubled over.

Son of a . . . “I’m sorry, angel.” He pulled her back into his arms, spoke close to her ear. “Calm down. Breathe. Did you feel that bump? We just docked. I’ll find us some warm clothes and a hot meal. I’m thirsty. You ever had ale? Or a shot of whiskey? I’m thinking we could both use some fortifying. That’s it. Breathe.” His heart hammered as he smoothed his hands up and down her arms. “Slow and easy. That’s it.”

Someone wrenched up the thermoplastic shield, allowing for brisk winds and the sounds of groaning engines. P.J. glared down at Doc.

“She’s all right,” Doc said.

Lily nodded and massaged her chest. “I’m fine. Truly.”

A mountain of a man moved in next to P.J. and Doc instantly felt the rippling of two dimensions. A kindred Freak. “Snoop?”

Ignoring Doc, the frowning man focused on Lily. “She doesna like to think aboot it.”

How did he know . . . Ah. Snoop was clairvoyant. He was also a Scot. His accent reminded Doc of Captain Dunkirk—the Scottish Shark of the Skies. Which made Doc think of Tuck and Amelia and the betrayal.

Snoop arched a wary brow.

“Lift Lily out of here,” Doc prompted. “And be mindful of her leg.”

Snoop was a big man, taller than Jasper and broader in the shoulder. He’d painted his face blue and wore his long dreaded hair in a high ponytail. Doc wondered if the intimidating Fighter could be trusted.

“Aye,” he said, holding Doc’s gaze. “I can. Jury’s still oot on you, yeah?”

Dash it all.

“What’s going on?” Lily asked.

“Nothing,” P.J. said, motioning Doc and Snoop to hush.

Doc censored his thoughts as the big blue man gently hauled Lily from the cockpit. His own legs tingled, half asleep from the cramped ride. He massaged one thigh while nabbing his derby and bag from beneath the seat. Joining the others on a narrow gangway, Doc eyed Snoop. “Trade you my medical bag for Lily.” She feels safer with me.

Snoop nodded, but before Doc could initiate the exchange, P.J. tugged him down and whispered in his ear. “Canoodling in a dog fight? In the words of your brother: If that don’t beat all.”

Doc felt his color rise. An explanation escaped him as affectionate thoughts swelled.

“Leave him be,” Snoop said to P.J. while placing Lily in Doc’s arms. Then to Doc, “We need to talk.”

“Yes, we do.” Doc realized suddenly that Snoop was not only privy to his thoughts, but to everyone’s. Including Lily’s. What went on in her mind during those anxiety attacks? By now Doc had deduced her spells weren’t wholly instigated by her lack of sight. What panicked Lily was whatever she’d witnessed on the Britannia. Something she never spoke of. Something she didn’t like to think about. Blocking memories. Images. Surrounding herself in darkness.

Was it possible her blindness was self-inflicted?

Snoop smiled down at him. “My thoughts exactly.”

Chapter Eight

Even though they hadn’t been greeted by a league of gun-toting Fighters, Doc sensed they were being watched from several vantage points. He held Lily close, trying to keep her warm as Snoop deactivated an alarm and triggered a geared mechanism. With a hiss and several metallic clicks an iron door slid open, revealing a dimly lit foyer. No furnishings. No people. Just dank walls brandishing crude oil lamps. Must and smoke curled into Doc’s nostrils as they stepped inside and the door groaned shut behind them.

Lily clung tighter. He didn’t blame her. He felt it, too. Tension. Danger.

An armed guard stepped out of the shadows.

“They’re with us,” Snoop said.

“Where’s Jasper?” the man asked in a gruff voice.

“Wrangling a bounty hunter along with Joey and Viper.”

Another Fighter appeared, decked out in leather and brass armor. “Strangers aren’t welcome. Especially now.”

“Don’t get your codpiece in a twist,” P.J. said. “This is Jasper’s brother, Blue, and his wife, Lily.”

Doc blinked down at the aviatrix who hushed him with a nudge of her boot.

“We’re here on Jasper’s orders,” Snoop said. “He’ll be here soon.”

The Fighters exchanged glances. “Keep them out of sight until he gets here,” the first one said. “For their own safety.”

The intimidating pair melted into the shadows and P.J. grunted. “I’d say they’re more bark than bite but they aren’t.” She hurried toward a crude elevator. “Going up,” she said in a pithy voice.

Once inside the rickety contraption, Lily looked in the woman’s general direction. “Why did you lie about me?”

“The outpost is teeming with rowdy men,” P.J. said as the elevator jerked upward. “Taking you off the market seemed wise.”

“But you’re a single woman.”

“She’s a Fighter,” Snoop said.

“I’ll pop into Central Communication,” P.J. said while tugging off her gloves. “See if anyone’s heard anything about Jasper or the investigation.” She passed Snoop a key. “Put them in K-4. Help yourself to my wardrobe, Gentry, such as it is. As for you,” she said to Doc, “don’t venture out. Easy to get lost in the grids, plus folks are twitchy about the traitor.”

The shaft squealed to a halt. The doors opened and P.J. dashed to the right. Snoop peeled left and Doc followed. “What’s this about a traitor?”

“Later.”

Arms locked tight around Doc’s neck, Lily spoke in a hushed tone. “I think P.J.’s in love with your brother.”

“Most women are.”

“Not this woman.”

“You might feel different once your sight returns and you get an eyeful.”

“You don’t think it’s permanent? My blindness?”

“No, angel. I don’t.”

She squeezed him tight and smiled against his neck. “I can’t wait to see you.”

Doc tensed. As long as Lily was blind, he was perfect. She wouldn’t feel that way once she got a look at his defect. Gut knotted, he followed Snoop through a tangle of torch-lit corridors. He looked for visual markers but every hall looked the same and none of the doors they passed were marked. Plus they hadn’t passed a single soul.

“Where is everyone?”

“Never you mind.” Snoop stopped sudden like at an unremarkable door and shoved the key into the lock. They moved inside and the big man set the small room alight with kerosene lanterns. “This is P.J.’s temporary quarters. Help Miss Gentry settle in, yeah? I’ll be waiting ootside.”

Doc wasn’t crazy about leaving Lily alone, but he supposed they could lock her inside, plus P.J. would be coming back. Anxious to speak with Jasper’s second-in-command, he settled Lily on the edge of what passed for a bed. The door closed and Doc looked around. He didn’t see a closet or an armoire, so he went for the small steamer trunk. “Like the furnishings of this room,” he said to Lily, “P.J.’s wardrobe is pretty sparse.”

“I’m grateful for whatever.”

“Wool trousers and a brown shirt. Socks. Boots.”

“That’s fine.”

“I don’t mean to be intrusive, but I should help you. Your leg—”

“Nothing personal, right?”

Surprised by her brittle tone, Doc eyed Lily as he approached the wooden platform with the inch high mattress. She’d already slipped out of his coat and was fumbling to tighten the laces of the thin white chemise. Head bowed, her long hair fell forward hiding her expression, but he could see the tension in her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“I felt you pull away out there. I thought you wanted me. I thought . . .”

“I do want you, Lily.” Ah, hell. That’s not what he’d meant to say. “It’s just . . . it can’t be. We can’t be.”

She looked up at him with those beautiful sightless blue eyes. “Is there someone else?”

“No.”

“Is it because we’ve only just met? Don’t you believe in spontaneous love? I never dreamed it would happen for me, but . . .”

“I believe in it now.” Dash it all! Disgusted by his lack of control, Doc dug deep for professionalism. He laid the clothes on the bed then stooped down in front of his vulnerable patient. “Before we pull on those trousers let me infuse your leg with more HE.” He wrapped his hands around her shin, trying not to derive pleasure from the feel of her bare skin. Trying and failing.

“If you . . . care for me,” she ventured, “why can’t we be together?”

“There are a number of reasons.”

“Name them.”

“God, but you’re forward. Tuck always described you as shy. What happened?”

“You.”

His heart swelled and ached something awful. “I,” Doc forced past his constricted throat, “am a Freak.”

“So?”

“A first generation Freak, Lily. I’m . . . different.”

“I’ve been called eccentric. Because of my paintings, my style. They call it avant-garde.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I may be young, but I’m not uneducated, King. Nor have I lived with my head in the sand. I know your race is persecuted. That’s what your brother is fighting for, yes? Equal rights for Freaks? We may not agree with his methods, but it’s a good cause. I’m not afraid to join in the fight in a nonviolent way. I’m not afraid to be with you.”

“You should be,” Doc snapped. Then he blew out a breath and rolled back his shoulders. “Sorry.” He thought about his parents, hounded and hassled. He thought about the house fire that had taken their lives. The officials had blamed a faulty furnace. But like Jasper, Doc suspected calculated arson. Murder. The only reason the Bluebell brothers had escaped harm was because they’d snuck out of the house in the middle of the night to go skinny-dipping with a couple of Jasper’s more daring female admirers. If Doc allowed his mind to wander, he could still hear the sickening explosion. He could smell the burning wood.

“People fear what they don’t understand, Lily. Sometimes that fear causes them to strike out. You wouldn’t be safe with me.”

“I’m willing to take the chance.”

“I’m not.” Good God, he loved this woman more by the minute. How was that possible?

“Is it because you think I’m frail? Cowardly? I know I’ve been difficult since the accident, despondent. But I promise you, I’m made of sterner stuff. Whatever trials you may suffer due to your Freak heritage, I’ll not only weather, I’ll help you to overcome and prevail.”

Her vehemence moved Doc mightily, but his gut cramped with a theory he’d yet to address. “Forgive my wariness, Lily, but I have to wonder. How can you be so brave for me, yet, just this morning, you were ready to give up on yourself?”

She blinked down at him.

“This sudden burst of courage, your spontaneous affection for me, I fear it’s twisted up with gratitude and perhaps awe of my supernatural gift.”

She sat quiet for a moment—contemplating—then blew out a ragged breath. “There is logic in your assumption. I cannot deny I am most grateful that you quickened my healing and soothed the pain. I cannot help but to admire such a wondrous gift, but . . .” She shook her head. “I’m not so shallow as to have succumbed to hero worship. When you know me better, you’ll realize that. What I feel for you is honest and true, King.”

He wanted to believe that. He truly did. But Doc was a pragmatic man. Once her sight returned, once they left the dicey outpost and she returned to a more normal life, to the protection of her brother and the solace of her art, surely Lily’s fascination with him would fade.

Somber now, Doc squeezed her leg. “I’m going to help you with these trousers.”

“I’m going to change your mind.”

“There are no skirts in that trunk, angel.”

“I mean about me. About taking a chance.”

Doc’s pulse skipped when she reached down and palmed the sides of his face. He froze as her fingers brushed over his cheeks, his nose, his jaw.

“So handsome,” she whispered.

He swallowed. “You wouldn’t say that if you could see me.”

“Why? Are you disfigured somehow? You feel beautiful to me. Strong jawline. Regal nose.”

“My eyes.”

She reached up and touched his goggles. “Do you always wear these?”

“These or tinted wraparound specs.”

“I’ve heard that Freaks have rainbow eyes,” Lily said as she gently pushed his goggles to his forehead. “Multiple colors that slowly swirl.”

“All Freaks are born with kaleidoscope eyes.”

“Do you shield your eyes so Vics won’t stare?”

“Shield them so folks won’t recoil.” Doc was stunned by his bald honesty. His botched surgery had rendered him self-conscious—a weakness he accepted but never spoke of. Yet he’d shared his personal torment with Lily as easily as he’d admitted the fact that he was a Freak, another thing he usually kept to himself.

“Why would people recoil from such beauty?” Lily asked as she traced her fingers over his eyebrows. “All those colors—dancing together like a Monet painting.”

Doc’s heart hammered as her feather-light touch extended to his closed lids. He’d never been so aroused in all his born days.

And never so miserable.

“There are no colors, Lily.”

“What do you mean?”

He grasped her hands, held them strong and true while he bared his heart. “When I was three, my parents decided they wanted to give me a shot at a normal life. Life as a Vic, or at least the appearance of one. They’d heard about a procedure, consulted with a specialist. There’d been a couple of successful cases.”

He focused on Lily’s pretty features, her lovely blue eyes. “My parents thought they were doing the right and kind thing. Unfortunately, the surgery was botched and the kaleidoscope of colors burst and blended into all colors.”

“White.”

“That’s right. I’ve got no irises, Lily. Just small black pupils in the middle of brilliant white.”

She furrowed her brow. “Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“Can you see all right?”

“Right as rain.”

“I’m thinking I could stare into those eyes forever, King.” She tilted her head and smiled a little. “Eyes are the windows to the soul. I’m thinking I’d see compassion and wisdom shining in all that white. I’m thinking you’re like one of my paintings. Unique.”

Touched beyond words, Doc dropped his forehead to Lily’s. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“I hope you never will again. It’s kind of nice being special.”

“Yes, it is.”

He didn’t wait for her to ask. He knew what she wanted. He wanted it too. A brush of the lips, a sample of heaven. Against his better judgment, Doc kissed his broken angel and soared beyond dimensions. She made him feel whole and worthy. Desirable.

Threading his fingers through her silky hair, Doc cradled her head and took the kiss deeper. Her enthusiastic response singed his brain cells. He lost control. Or maybe it was her. Or mutual. Somehow Lily ended up on his lap. Straddling him, she rocked against his erection, her arms locked tight around his neck as their tongues dueled.

Lust raged and crackled and Doc finessed her onto her back while she yanked at his shirttails. A voice in the back of his charred mind urged him to stop, but his need, her need drove him on. He nearly lost it when her soft hands slid over the bunched muscles of his bare back. He wanted her naked too.

Groaning, he broke the kiss to sample her neck, her collarbone. He tugged at her chemise, gaining access to her small, firm breasts. “So beautiful.” He flicked his tongue over a rosy bud then suckled.

Her sensual moan stimulated his system with the intensity of synthetic aphrodisiac.

A knock on the door stopped him cold.

“Be right there,” he called over his shoulder while covering Lily with a coarse blanket. He stared at her flushed face for a long moment, heart pounding, shaft throbbing. “How can someone so sweet be so dangerous?”

“I guess you bring out the devil in me,” she said in a breathless voice.

Doc kissed her forehead. “Stay here and rest.” Willing good sense, he left the room, the flames of hell lickin’ at his boots.

Chapter Nine

Lily knew she’d acted scandalously with Doc. She’d lost control and she was finding it hard to care. Even though Doc had worked miracles on her injuries, she couldn’t shake the feeling that life was short. She’d escaped death on the Britannia only to risk being crushed by a maniacal bounty hunter. Even now, being in the heart of a Freak Fighter outpost, anything could happen. What if she fell prey to a suspicious hostile? What if ALE discovered the outpost and blew the hideaway—and everyone in it—to smithereens?

What if she tripped on her own two feet, hit her head, and crossed through the Pearly Gates?

In a heartbeat, her life could be over. She wasn’t ready. Whether she recovered her vision or not she wanted to pursue the pleasures of life with vigor. Like kissing, and touching, and caressing the man who set her heart aflame. She wanted to make love. She wanted to have babies. She didn’t need sight to do all those things. As for her art, surely she could find some way to divert her passion.

Lily dressed as fast and as best she could in her confounding darkness. Everything—trousers, shirt, sack coat—fit fairly well. She wished there’d been a gown or at least a frilly bodice—something more feminine to make her look pretty in Doc’s eyes. She wondered what had happened to her own dress then bemoaned the loss of her entire wardrobe. Her sketchbook and charcoal pencils, her treasured art box containing her paints and brushes—all lost on the Britannia.

“Be grateful you’re alive,” she told herself then pinched color into her cheeks and finger-combed her hair. She was anxious for Doc’s return. To discuss their future.

His concern that her intimate feelings were rooted in gratitude and awe had rattled her, but not as much as his questioning her backbone. Regardless of her recent anxiety, Lily possessed a good dose of determination and grit. She attributed those qualities to being shuffled from one relative to another for most of her life. Being smothered or manipulated by her wards in a bid to shelter her from her brother’s perilous world. She knew Tuck’s intentions were pure and that he’d kept her at arms’ length to keep her safe. But as she’d grown older, she’d craved adventure and purpose. And she’d longed to spend time with the older brother she barely knew.

It had taken a good amount of grit for Lily to finagle passage to England via the Britannia.

Tightening and tying the laces of the sturdy boots she’d borrowed from P.J., Lily contemplated fate. She thought she’d been destined to join her brother and his exploits aboard the Maverick. Now she knew her destiny lied with one of Tuck’s crew. She could assist Doc Blue with his healing efforts. He possessed a blessed gift, and she wanted to help him share it with others, like he had with her.

Lily fairly burst with renewed drive.

When could they leave here? Jasper had ordered them to the outpost for their safety, yet she felt like a prisoner. Did Jasper aim to keep her here until she was as good as new? If he sent her to Tuck blind, did Jasper truly think the famous Air Marshal would blame him for her affliction and come gunning? Doc had said her blindness wasn’t permanent, but what if it was long lasting?

Anxious, Lily sat on the shoddy bed and braided her hair to keep from pacing. Her legs felt as good as healed, but she didn’t want to push her luck. Braiding her hair felt natural and easy and she welcomed the monotony of something normal.

The door creaked open and Lily lit up.

“Temper your excitement, Gentry. It’s just me.”

P.J.

The aviatrix clomped into the room and slammed shut the door. “Your sweetheart’s in the next room speaking with Snoop. I brought us something to drink and eat. I see you found my clothes. They fit you nicely, even though they’re not your style. I’ll fetch you some ties for your braids.”

Lily sat ramrod still, sensitive to the tension in the air. P.J. prattled on as a habit, but instead of sounding confident and cocky, she sounded distracted. “Did you learn anything about Jasper?”

“No, I did not. No word on Joey or Viper either.” She clanged a tray to a table, at least that’s what it sounded like to Lily, then stomped across the room and rifled through something—a box, a jar. “They’re probably leading Crusher on a wild goose chase. Away from here. Or maybe they shot him down—that would be spectacular—and are in the process of covering their tracks.” She sniffed. “I’m not worried.”

Liar.

Lily flinched when P.J. moved swiftly in front of her.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” the woman said while securing the ends of one braid.

“I’m not scared,” Lily said. “You startled me, is all.” She hated that everyone, including Doc, consider her a flighty mouse. Then again, up until now, she hadn’t shown much sass. P.J. Darcy, on the other hand, was a ball of fiery confidence. An impervious scrapper, all rough and tough and lacking girlish foibles. Except when it came to her squad leader.

Lily cleared her throat, curious about the cocky aviatrix and her more feminine side. “Have you loved him for long?”

“Who?”

“Jasper.”

P.J. snorted. “Don’t think I’m soft in the head just because you’re soft on Doc Blue.” She tugged on Lily’s second braid. “What do you see in him anyway? That is . . . You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know.” Feeling distressed and lonely, Lily pretended she’d known P.J. for a million years and that they spoke of intimacies as easily as the weather. “I find Doc fascinating. He’s committed to healing the sick and injured. He’s an orphan. He’s a—”

“Freak. I understand. They’re a supernatural curiosity. A forbidden fruit for Vics.”

“That’s not it.”

“If you say so.”

“I say so.”

P.J. pulled at Lily’s braid, a sign that she was done. She grasped her elbow. “Come on. Let’s eat.”

Lily followed to where she was led. She sat in a seat, inhaled the hearty scents. “Beef stew?”

“And a mug of ale. Ever had ale?”

“No.”

“Splendid.”

“Are you laughing at me?”

“No.”

“You don’t think I’ll sample alcohol?”

“On the contrary. That’s why I like you.”

Lily blinked. “You like me?”

“Now that you’re showing some gumption, yes. I’ll like you even more when you clear up the mystery.”

“What mystery?” Lily asked as she tasted the stew.

“Forget I mentioned it.”

Lily angled her head. “I’m too intrigued to forget it. What would you like to know?” Was the woman curious about her background? Her brother? As a dime-novel hero, the Sky Cowboy roped a lot of interest.

P.J. fidgeted and stalled and suddenly Lily realized the “mystery” had something to do with her current predicament. Bolstering her spine, Lily abandoned her spoon and slid her hand across the table, feeling for her mug. P.J. helped her connect with her drink and Lily persevered. “Please tell me, P.J. I want to leave here as soon as possible. If you know something that will expedite the process—”

“You’re the one with the knowledge,” she said.

Lily bristled. “You’ll have to be more direct.”

“I’m not supposed to talk about it,” P.J. snapped. “Every time one of us brings up the Brittania debacle, you have one of your spells. Jasper said we shouldn’t force it. But honestly, Lily, the sooner you describe the assassins, even one of them, the sooner we can clear Jasper’s name and the reputation of the Freak Fighters!”

Lily’s pulse raced and her breath quickened. Instead of gulping air, she gulped ale.

“I say, slow down before you get pished.”

Setting aside the mug, Lily tempered the panic whispering through her veins.

“You’re not going to have a conniption fit, are you?”

“No.” Lily breathed deep. Slow and easy, she could hear Doc say. She calmed her spirit, determined to prove she wasn’t a mouse. “I am confused though. Spell it out for me, P.J.”

“I’ll catch bloody hell for this. I just know it.” The woman grunted then sighed. “I can only tell you what I know and what we’ve surmised. The rest is locked inside your brain.”

Lily drank more ale. She wasn’t sure she liked the taste, but she liked the soothing effect. “Go on.”

“I’ll spare you tactical details. Just know that we spent weeks coordinating a plan that would allow us to abduct Prime Minister Madstone without any bloodshed. The Britannia was disabled midflight with one precisely aimed cannon blast. I remained at the helm of the Crusader. Jasper, Snoop, Viper, and Joey boarded the zeppelin as planned, but everything ran amok from there. The Prime Minister was not where he was supposed to be. Gunfire broke out on the deck above, alerting British soldiers to a hostile invasion. Those soldiers were positioned on the same floor as our squad, Deck B, and when they spotted us they attacked. Jasper and crew had no choice but to fight back, but I swear they had no part in the mayhem above.”

“Who did?” Lily asked wide-eyed.

“We don’t know. But you do. You must. The hostile attack took place on Deck A. The dining area, lounge, writing room, and several passenger cabins were on that deck. You were on that deck. Jasper caught sight of you running across a grated gangway, your gown billowing behind you. He said the ship rocked with a second explosion just as you were descending the stair tower.”

Lily licked her lips as her ears started to roar. “I slipped.”

“And plunged down the stairs amidst wreckage from the explosion. It’s a wonder you didn’t break your neck,” P.J. said, sounding more animated by the moment. “Your dress . . . it was torn and soaked in blood. Only some of it yours. The majority . . . It had to come from the massacre.”

Lily’s stomach churned as her mind exploded with red. Gushing red. Dripping red. Flowing red. “A river of blood.”

P.J. clutched her hand. “You remember!”

“No. Can’t.” Lily squeezed back tears, summoned the blackness. She heard creaking, smelled bay rum.

“What’s going on?” she heard a man ask.

King. He was back.

Lily shook out of her daze. She would not crumble!

“Go on and give me hell,” P.J. said, “but she asked and I told her. What I could anyway. I’m leaving. Need to keep watch for Jasper and a few other things that’ll keep me busy through the night. You can bunk in Viper’s room one door down,” she said to Doc, “or stretch out here on the floor. There’s an extra bed roll in the corner.”

The legs of the chair scraped across the floor. “Sorry I upset you, Lily,” P.J. continued, “but ignoring the atrocity won’t change the fact that it happened. Recollecting could save other lives. Our lives to start.” P.J stalked out of the room and shut the door.

Doc gripped her shoulder. “You all right?”

“I’m confused.”

“I know.” He pulled her up and into his arms.

Lily took comfort in his strong embrace, his empathetic yet stalwart manner.

“I’m thinking Snoop filled me in on the same tale you got from P.J. If they’re right, I don’t fancy you reliving the horror. But you need to, angel.”

“Because it will help Jasper and his crew?”

“Because it will help you.” He finessed her across the room and down onto the bed. Seated side by side, Lily’s sweetheart squeezed her hand. “Want to know what I learned? What I think?”

She nodded.

“Snoop’s a Freak. His supernatural gift is clairvoyance.”

“He can read minds?”

“Back in skytown, every time he was in your cabin he listened in on your thoughts, hoping to glean details regarding what you witnessed on the Britannia. But any time a memory welled you blocked it. Snoop also said you hadn’t been sleeping. Subconsciously I think you fought sleep because you didn’t want to dream. Then earlier today, during a panic, you said to me, “Don’t make me look.”

Lily frowned. “You think I blinded myself?”

“I think you witnessed something heinous, something you don’t want to remember. The mind has a way of repressing painful experiences, a form of self-preservation. In this circumstance the defensive mechanism is called Hysterical Blindness.”

Lily licked her lips. “Hysterical?”

Doc stroked his thumbs over her knuckles. “The reason I can’t cure your blindness with HE, Lily, is because the affliction isn’t neurological. It’s more of a psychotic disorder.”

“You think I’m crazy?”

“I think you’re traumatized.”

Lily stared down to where she felt Doc holding her hand. She wanted to see those healing hands. She wanted to help his brother escape wrongful persecution. Lord knew, her own brother had suffered the same injustice. “If I remember, if I . . . if I stop blocking the memories, will my sight return?”

“I’m not sure, but I think so.”

“No guarantees?”

“No matter what, Lily, I’m here for you.”

Her pulse skipped. “Forever and always?”

“For as long as you need me.”

It wasn’t what she wanted to hear precisely, but it was enough. “I think I drank too much ale,” she blurted. “I feel sort of woozy.”

“It’s been a long day and a trying circumstance. I recommend sleep.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“Not until the day you ask.”

Chapter Ten

Doc stared at the ceiling in the dimly lit quarters. He had been awake for hours. He knew he’d stay that way until dawn.

Jasper had yet to return and there was no word on his whereabouts and welfare. Doc had tempered his concern with the knowledge that his brother had been toughing it out on the wild side for years. Unlike Doc, who’d avoided emotional risk and left himself unprepared for the woman in his arms.

Sharing a bed with Lily through the night was another mistake in his present run of poor judgment. Not just because he’d compromised her reputation, but because he’d given her hope in a lasting relationship of an intimate nature. The devil of it was, he wanted that relationship too.

Given his Freak heritage and all the uncertainty and possible upheaval involved, he’d never allowed himself to seriously contemplate settling down with one woman. Certainly not a Vic. If he did have to fall for a woman of this dimension, why the devil did it have to be Lily Gentry?

When he’d hopped into the Bullet with P.J. Darcy, his plan had been simple. Heal Lily’s wounds and deliver her safely to her brother, his friend. Make amends for the wrong he’d done to Tuck and his lady in an almighty show of devotion.

Redemption.

Now he lay in bed with Tuck’s sister with an ache below his belt and one in his heart.

His course was no longer clear.

The only thing that had gone right in the last twenty-four hours was learning that Jasper hadn’t participated in that bloodbath. Someone within the budding Freak Fighter organization, someone with knowledge of the plans to kidnap Prime Minister Madstone had turned a simple abduction into a massacre. The exact intent was unknown, the result disturbingly clear.

The world would now believe what intolerant Vics had preached for years.

Freaks were dangerous, unpredictable, and malicious.

The media would have a field day spinning the worst scenarios, and the Freak Rebellion would be squashed before it even got off the ground.

Freaks would be feared more than ever.

And persecuted.

“God Almighty,” Doc uttered to the ceiling.

Lily stirred in his arms.

Turning into her, he absorbed her innocence. Her vulnerability and radiant beauty. He imagined her art—avant-garde—and knew without seeing even one sketch or painting that he would be impressed and fascinated with her work. She was passionate and broadminded. Sweet. Again he wondered how he could subject her to life as his one and only.

Doc watched as she crinkled her forehead and shook her head, eyes shut tight. Her movement and expression became more agitated and he realized she was dreaming. When she moaned and whimpered, he ached to wake her from the obvious nightmare. Instead, he watched over her. Watched and prayed. If she dreamed about the massacre, if her mind weathered the blow, she’d be one step closer to regaining her eye sight.

Problem was, the more Lily suffered, the greater Doc’s anguish. She cried out his name—tears flowing, hands reaching—and his heart seized. She needed him. Chest tight, Doc relented and soothed Lily with gentle words of reassurance. “I’m here, angel. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

“So much pain,” she choked out, eyes still shut. “So much blood.”

Doc rolled on top of her to ease her thrashing. “Share the burden with me, Lily. What do you see?”

“A man. No, a monster.”

“Just one?”

She nodded. “His arms aren’t right. Shiny like metal. Sparks shooting out of hands, no barrels. Bodies falling. Blood gushing.” She gasped. “Dead eyes.”

“What?”

Lily’s eyes flew open and Doc saw fear, shock, and horror brimming amongst tears. “Make it go away,” she croaked out. “The ugliness. The guilt.”

Guilt? What the—

Before Doc could inquire, Lily grasped his open collar and yanked him down. She kissed him with reckless and raw need, her hands pushing at his shirt, shoving it off his shoulders. Her actions were frantic and Doc fell prey to her desperate and infectious need for intimacy. He understood. He empathized. She needed to feel alive. To feel something good and wondrous and right. Maybe he wasn’t the perfect man for her, but Doc loved Lily with all his heart. The fiery need to quell her pain extended beyond his healing intuition. It emanated from his soul.

He flung away his shirt along with his conscience. Heart pounding, Doc unlaced Lily’s chemise, brushing feather-light kisses over her neck, her shoulders. He tried to temper the pace, but her fingers tugged at his trousers. His thoughts and emotions blurred into a frenzied whirlwind of yearning and desire. “Are you sure?” he asked in a ragged voice.

In answer, Lily wrapped her legs around his thighs and charred his remaining senses with searing kisses.

Doc knew in that instant there’d be no turning back.

Heart full, he trusted his instincts and matched Lily’s fervor as they peeled away layers of clothing.

She rocked against him and he rocked back—distracting her from horrors in her mind. Whispering endearments, he smoothed his hands over her naked curves, kissed hills and valleys of flesh.

Pleasure.

His.

Hers.

When her need became frenzied and his desire unmanageable, Doc gave in and claimed what Lily freely offered.

He couldn’t give her a lifetime, but, by damn, he could give her now.

Chapter Eleven

The sun warmed Lily’s face and cast glorious rays over the picturesque landscape of Central Park. The leaves of the vibrant green trees rustled in the cool breeze. Sophisticated pedestrians strolled the paths—men sporting earth-tone frock coats while women favored bustled ensembles of emerald, ruby, and sapphire. Smiling amidst the kaleidoscope of colors, Lily tapped her foot to a medley of songs from the Broadway show The Pirates of Penzance—the featured musical score of the concert band playing in a nearby pavilion.

The intensity of her focus, however, was on her subject. A man who’d shyly agreed to sit for a portrait. She’d warned him that her work was abstract. He’d just smiled, saying he was a powerful fan of unique.

Her pulse skipped and raced and scandalous thoughts scorched her mind. Unique indeed. She’d never seen anyone like him. Fair skin. Blond, almost white, hair. Haphazard haircut. Short. Choppy. That haircut added a dash of devil-may-care to his down-to-earth demeanor.

Strong jawline. Regal nose.

So handsome.

And those eyes.

No irises. Just small black pupils in the middle of brilliant white.

“Beautiful.”

Those mesmerizing eyes blinked back at her. “What?”

“Your eyes,” she said, with a dreamy smile. “I could look into them forever.”

He grasped her arm. “Lily.”

The feel of his hand confused her senses.

Skin-to-skin.

Heat.

That couldn’t be right. She was wearing a long-sleeved gown. How could she feel . . .

She looked down.

Naked.

A brown blanket covered most of her body but she was in the altogether underneath the coarse wool.

Reality slammed hard and stole her breath.

Stunned and elated, Lily reached over and raked her fingers through Doc’s choppy blond locks. Not blond as in golden or honey or butterscotch. More like just shy of cream or ivory or eggshell.

Blinking back tears, she smiled. “I disagree. Not a bad haircut. Devil-may-care. I like it.”

He caught her hand, kissed her wrist, her palm. “You can see.”

She gasped and sat upright, fully awake now. “I thought I was dreaming. I was dreaming. We were in the park. I was painting you and now . . . Here you are!”

Blanket clutched to her chest, Lily looked around. Looked and saw. Even though the room was dimly lit, her eyes stung from the intensity of the colors and shapes and forms. She locked on to each and every item and mentally called them by name. Table. Chair. Lamp. Trunk. Clock.

A black leather medical bag.

Doc’s bag.

“You were right,” she said, heart in throat. “The blindness was temporary.” Senses whirling, she eased on to her back to face her gentle savior. “My vision is just as it was before the accident. No impairment whatsoever.”

“I’d hoped . . .” He lowered his gaze. “I’m happy for you, Lily.”

But he didn’t look or sound happy. He sounded tense, wary.

Realization dawned and she caressed his strong jaw. “Don’t look away. Your eyes are just as you described them, King. Just as I imagined. Shining with compassion and kindness and, this moment, caution. Trust me when I say, I don’t mind unique.”

He met her gaze, held it. “How do you feel?”

“Relieved. Grateful.”

“No, I mean . . .” He palmed her hip, his hand only inches from her nether region. “Do you hurt?”

Oh.

Even though she’d been in a distressed state, she remembered their lovemaking vividly. “Only when you look at me like that,” Lily said. “Like you’re sorry.”

“Not sorry. Concerned.”

She shifted her legs. “A little achy is all.” Her cheeks burned, but she continued to smile. A genuine smile. “I suppose I should feel mortified, throwing myself at you. Begging . . . But I wouldn’t take it back, King. Not for anything.”

“I’m glad. I just wish . . . Your first time, Lily. I should’ve have taken it slower. Been more gentle.”

“I didn’t allow for that.”

“No, you didn’t.”

His lips quirked in the semblance of a smile and her heart danced a crazy jig. “Next time, I promise to be less frantic,” Lily said. “We’ll take it slow and maybe you can show me how to please you.”

“I don’t remember ever being so aroused, Lily. Or satisfied. You’re beautiful and giving. Passionate.”

She traced her finger over the sudden crease in his brow. “Then why are you frowning?”

“Not frowning. Thinking.” He pushed up on one elbow and gazed down at her with those mesmerizing eyes.

Lily couldn’t imagine anyone recoiling from that compassionate gaze. Admittedly, his colorless eyes were an oddity, but they seduced her soul. Then again, as an artist, she had long understood that beauty was subjective. In her opinion, Doc Blue was a compelling study of masculinity. His lean, muscular body equaled the chiseled grace of a Greek statue. And his hands, those healing hands, were not only strong but painted with intricate art. How wondrous.

Suddenly obsessed with anything of visual beauty and everything regarding the man who’d captured her heart, Lily reached for the fingers still resting on her hip and examined the scrolled design inked on the back his hand. “Tattoo?”

“I was influenced by the rest of the crew of the Maverick. Every man has one, some men several. Body art that represents something of personal significance. This is a Celtic design for healing.”

“It’s beautiful.” Mesmerized, Lily traced her finger over the intricate scrolls. “Must’ve hurt.”

“Nothing like what Birdman Chang endured. His colorful tattoos snake all the way up both arms. Your brother’s body art spans his back.”

Which showed how little Lily knew about Tuck. She had no idea. “Sometimes less is more,” she said, still admiring Doc’s hands.

“I just wanted to fit in. Hard to do some times.”

“Because you’re a Freak?”

“Because I’m a healer. The ship’s physician and cook. While I tend wounds and prepare meals, they perform mechanical, aviation, and combat duties. Not saying I want to be like them—every man has his strengths—but I’ll admit I was keen on being accepted as one of their own.”

Lily pondered that. “I suppose since you lost your parents and since you were estranged from your brother, Tuck and his crew, well, they’re like family.”

“That they were.”

“Were?”

A strange stillness settled over Doc.

Lily tensed, wondering at his thoughts. She didn’t pry. She waited, hoping he’d clarify that troubling statement.

Were his family.

Past tense?

Instead of appeasing her curiosity, Doc pulled his hand from hers, and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Not sure where to go from here, angel.”

“What do you mean?”

“Aside from the rough life you’d face, it’s against the law for Vics and Freaks to legally marry.”

“My brother will be the first to tell you that plenty of people get around the law.”

“That’s another thing. Tuck. Put yourself in his shoes, honey.”

She thought about it, nodded. “He’ll be surprised, concerned. We rushed into this, obviously. But once he knows how we feel—”

“It won’t be enough.”

“Why ever not?”

“Extenuating circumstances.”

“What circumstances?” Lily’s heart fairly burst through her ribs. She could feel Doc pushing her away. She wouldn’t stand for it. They were destined to be together. Why didn’t he see that? Why wouldn’t he fight?

Someone knocked on the door.

“Rise and shine!” P.J. shouted from the other side. “Jasper’s incoming. Thought you’d want to know.”

Lily stared at Doc, her pulse racing as she heard P.J. running off. “I don’t need my brother’s approval to be with you.”

“Maybe not.” The enigmatic healer rolled out of bed and nabbed his trousers. “But I do.”

Chapter Twelve

Doc’s mood was downright foul when he blew out the door and slammed into the red-braided aviatrix. “Hell’s fire, P.J. I thought you left.”

“Assumed you’d need time to pull yourselves together. Ran two doors down to tell Snoop about Jasper. Now I’m back. I say, no need to bite my head off.” She looked past Doc’s shoulder to the closed door. “How’s Lily?”

Fit to be tied. “Washing up and dressing.”

“Alone? What if she trips over something or turns the wrong spigot on the wash basin’s heat generator? Not being able to see the temperature gauge—”

“She can see.”

“What?”

“When she woke this morning, her vision had returned.” Chest tight, Doc adjusted his tinted specs. The expression on Lily’s face when she’d looked into his eyes and declared them beautiful was etched into his memory for life. He’d loved her all the more for her kindness and sincerity while cursing himself a selfish fool.

“Spectacular!” Grinning, P.J. shifted foot to foot, a bundle of annoying energy. “What about her memory? Did she get that back, too?”

“Yes. Although we didn’t discuss details.” He’d been too busy pleasuring her in a bid to ease her distress . . . and fulfill his own hunger.

Hands on hips, P.J. gawked. “How could you not ask details? You know how desperate we are for information regarding the traitor! What were you talking about? What were you . . . Oh.”

Eyes narrowed, she gave him a once over. Even though the hall was dimly lit, the flickering sconces shed ample light on his disarray. Frowning, Doc tucked his shirttails.

“If that don’t beat all!”

Snoop immerged from the shadows. “What’s going on?” Not that a verbal response was required. An intrusive moment later, he frowned at Doc. “Aye, you should have shown more restraint.”

Just then Jasper came striding down the corridor, illuminating his way with a battery-charged torch-lamp and looking no worse for wear.

“Thank God,” P.J. said under her breath.

Doc’s exact thought as he inspected Jasper best he could considering the man was still trussed in warrior gear. No injuries as far as Doc could see. No blood or bruises. Seeing his brother alive and well—uncrushed—was an almighty relief. “What took you so long?”

Jasper quirked a wry grin. “Good to see you too, brother.”

“Joey and Viper?” P.J. prodded.

Snoop groaned. “Shite.”

Whatever the dreadlocked warrior had just learned via Jasper’s thoughts hadn’t been good.

“Oh, no,” P.J. whispered.

Somber now, Jasper reached out and grasped the young woman’s shoulder. Fighter or no, obviously she was still sensitive to the demise of her fellow soldiers.

“What about Crusher?” Doc asked.

“He won’t be coming for us,” Jasper said in a cold voice. “Or anyone else.”

Snoop grunted. “Good riddance, yeah?”

“I hope you made the bloody blackheart cry,” P.J. croaked.

Jasper gave her shoulder another squeeze then dropped his hand to his holstered Liberator. “How are you faring?” he asked Doc. “How’s Lily?”

“She regained her vision and memory.”

Jasper tensed. “And?”

“He didn’t get details,” P.J. complained. “He was too busy—”

Snoop nudged her.

“There’s a traitor in our midst,” she railed on to Jasper. “The cause is at risk. Your life is at risk, and your brother’s doing the four-legged frolic with the Sky Cowboy’s sister.” She turned on Doc, eyes blazing. “For someone who was so bloody keen on making amends with your boss, I’d say you just bloody well burned that frayed bridge!”

Doc opened his mouth to shush her, but the door swung open and Lily stepped out. He couldn’t be certain, but he’d bet she’d heard P.J.’s rant which meant she knew he’d had ulterior motives regarding her recovery. In the words of Snoop: Shite.

Avoiding Doc’s gaze, Lily faced Jasper head on.

Doc braced for that infatuated expression all women got when they got an eyeful of his broad-shouldered, muscle-bound brother, but Lily seemed unfazed. Dressed in P.J.’s mannish clothes and thick-soled boots, her golden hair slicked back into a severe tail, she looked as though she were ready for battle herself. “I’ll tell you what I know, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to get through it more than once,” she said in a tight tone, “so pay close attention.”

“Not in the open,” Jasper said then moved toward the room Lily had just exited.

“Not in there,” she said, and Doc knew it was because they’d made love in that bed. No doubt the blanket still smelled of their passion. Doc knew he couldn’t look at that mattress without thinking of Lily naked and writhing beneath him. Lily was probably trying to blot the liaison from her memory. No mistaking her irritation with him.

“That’s putting it mildly,” Snoop said.

“My quarters.” The squad leader guided Lily ahead and farther down the hall.

P.J. huffed close behind. If Lily’s theory was right and the spunky Darcy had tender feelings for Jasper, she probably didn’t like the way he’d settled his hand at the small of Lily’s back.

Neither did Doc. “Never you mind,” he said before the clairvoyant Freak could remark on his jealously. Striving to shield his more intimate thoughts, Doc followed the group into Jasper’s quarters, absorbing the scene as his brother ignited more lanterns.

First thing he noticed was the lack of windows. He’d hoped, what with Jasper’s superior position, to step into quarters with a view. Doc hadn’t had a glimpse of the outdoors since they’d entered this mountain fortress. He was beginning to feel claustrophobic. Didn’t help that Jasper’s room, though bigger than P.J.’s, was twice as cramped. You couldn’t turn around without hitting a stack of books, periodicals or newspapers. Most seemed focused on geography, warfare, politics, and current affairs. Several maps were tacked to the walls, including a detailed diagram featuring the interior and exterior of a modernized zeppelin.

“The Brittania.” Lily moved toward the diagram as though hypnotized.

Doc’s mouth went dry, knowing she was thinking about that night. The monster. The blood. Dead eyes. He watched for signs of budding anxiety, prepared for a spell. But she seemed almost numb as she stood stock still staring up at the design featuring the interior spaces of the passenger airship. Concerned Doc moved toward her only to be waylaid by Jasper.

“We’re listening, Lily,” his brother said. “Four sets of ears. You can trust you won’t have to repeat yourself.”

She pointed to a section on the drawing. “I was here. Deck A. I enjoyed a light dinner—here—in the Dining Room with Will Everett. He’s the young man, the diplomatic aide who’d befriended me three weeks earlier. We met in Central Park where I sketched caricatures for extra money. I’d been saving my pennies, hoping to join my brother in England. When I mentioned this to Will, he said he knew how to expedite my journey. Said I could be his guest and that I’d be safe.”

She paused and Doc had to root himself so as not sweep her out of the room. He leaned against the wall, crossed his arms and stewed. It bothered him that she called the aide by his Christian name. Had she been smitten? It bothered him more that she’d been promised safe passage only to receive the opposite. But it bothered him most that her tone held no emotion. It was like listening to one of those black market automatons programmed for speech.

“We dined early,” she went on. “Since I was the only woman aboard, Will tried to shield me from curious eyes. I shouldn’t have been there at all. That particular flight had been reserved for Prime Minister Madstone and his council as well as a legion of Americans connected with a goodwill project. I’m not sure how Will arranged it, but I was most grateful.”

Again Doc tensed. Obviously Will had had ulterior motives. Jasper shot him a look and Doc frowned. He wasn’t sure if his brother was confirming what he’d already said, that Lily hadn’t been a listed passenger, or if he was telling him to pull the jealous stick out of his ass.

“We parted ways,” Lily said, her finger skimming the diagram. “Will retired—here—to the Reading Room. He had work. I retired—here—to my cabin. I tried to lose myself in a novel, but I was too excited. I’ve never been outside of America. And I hadn’t seen my brother in over a year. My mind was brimming with the adventures I imagined we’d have once I joined him on the Maverick. I dragged out my sketch book and charcoals. I was drawing my imagined adventures when the room shook with a loud explosion. I remember feeling stunned. We were flying through the air, over the ocean. Had we hit another airship? Then I heard sirens and I knew we were truly in trouble.”

She paused and breathed deep and Doc knew she was remembering what he’d told her about tempering an oncoming spell. Although he dreaded where she was going, he was damned proud of her fortitude.

“All I could think about was getting to Will. He’d know what was happening. He’d know what to do. I fled my cabin and ran down the hall. Just as I rounded the Promenade, Will slammed into me. “We’re under attack,” he said.

“There was gunfire, footfall. He steered me into the lounge where I saw the faces of a dozen refined men. All shocked. All flustered. Then a door slammed open and Will shoved me down behind a writing desk. “Stay small,” he said.

“He left me then. To draw away attention or to take up arms. I don’t know. I stayed small, curled into a ball under that desk. I stayed small, but I saw through a crack. A monster showering the room with red hot bullets.”

“What kind of gun?” Jasper asked carefully.

“No gun. The bullets came from his arms.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” P.J. said.

“A man fell in front of the desk,” Lily said, voice brittle now. “I saw his face. His eyes. Will’s eyes. Dead eyes. I . . . I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Suddenly there was silence. I saw the monster turning toward the other end of the room and I panicked. He looked as if he was searching for someone. I scrambled toward the nearest door, tripping over bodies, slipping on blood.”

She blew out a breath, palmed her forehead. “It’s all a blur after that. I just remember running for my life.”

“That’s when I saw you,” Jasper said.

“I hope what I told you helped,” Lily said, looking drained.

“Not really,” P.J said. “A monster with arms that fire red hot bullets? That’s the best you can do?”

Jasper shushed the obstinate woman before Doc could and Lily ripped a map from the wall. “Pencil?” she asked.

Doc saw several and handed her one right quick.

She placed the map, printed side down, on the floor, then fell to her knees and started to draw.

Doc moved in as did Jasper, P.J. and Snoop. They all watched as Lily’s memory came to life.

Amazing.

“Half man, half machine,” Snoop said.

“Heard a rumor about enhanced humans—killing machines—being manufactured and distributed on the black market,” Jasper said. “Whoever hired this monster has ties to big money.”

Doc shoved a hand through his hair, staring down in rapt appreciation of Lily’s talent. Her attention to detail was impressive. He marveled that she sketched so quickly and with complete ease. The intensity of her focus fairly hummed throughout the crowded room.

At long last she looked up at the circle of people staring down. “Does this help?”

“Aye,” Snoop said.

Jasper stooped down. “This works fine, Lily. Better than fine. Don’t know this monster, but we’ll find him. And the traitor who hired him.”

“Bloody good wanted poster,” P.J. said. “Thanks, kid.”

All that remained was for Doc to say something, only he couldn’t find the words.

Lily looked to Jasper. “I need fresh air.”

“I’ll have Snoop escort you and Blue—”

“I need to be alone.”

Jasper glanced at Doc, and Doc reached down, grasping Lily’s elbow and helping her to her feet. “Too bad, angel, because I need to be with you.”

Chapter Thirteen

Lily held her tongue and wits as Snoop escorted her and Doc one floor up and eventually to an outdoor terrace.

“Protected vantage point,” the Fighter said. “You’ll be safe. All the same, I’ll be stationed on the other side of this door.”

He left, and Lily turned her face to the sun. She welcomed the bright rays and the bracing chill of the fresh open air. She relished the sight of nature and thanked the lord for restoring her vision. Even though her soul was bruised and her heart wounded, she knew she was blessed.

Moving closer to the railing, Lily admired a glimpse of sparkling blue ocean. White frothy waves crashed against jagged gray rocks. Green vines clung and climbed up the mountainside. Since she didn’t see the Tudor house facades or the airships or docking bays as described yesterday by Doc, she assumed they were on the backside of the fortress.

“Brave of you to share what you saw that night, Lily. I know it wasn’t easy.”

She swallowed hard as the enigmatic healer moved in beside her. Even though she was angry with him, she longed to turn into his arms. To rest her cheek against his chest and to absorb the sensual heat. To know such passion only to have it snuffed in a heartbeat tested her spirit something awful. She still loved him, still wanted him, even though he kept putting up walls.

“If I were brave,” she said, throat thick, “I wouldn’t have fled that room without trying to help anyone who might have survived the blasts. I wouldn’t have deserted Will.”

“Will was dead. You said so yourself. Are you second-guessing that?”

She shook her head and gripped the railing to steel her spine. “Part of his head had been shot off. It was awful. Fragmented bone, torn flesh—”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.”

“I don’t want to. Dear God, I wish it had never happened. Poor Will! If he hadn’t tried to save me . . .”

“You can’t think about it like that, Lily.” He placed his hand over hers, infusing her with calm and strength. “This Will Everett . . . sounds like he was a fine man. He wouldn’t want you blaming yourself for his death. It wasn’t your fault. The blame lies with the killer and whoever put him up to it. As for running when you had the chance, you did the right and instinctual thing. The killer was still in the room. If you stayed and tried to help the others, God knows what he would have done to you. If you’d stayed, Will’s death might have been in vain.”

Lily focused on the crashing waves below while wrangling her thoughts and emotions. Logically, she knew Doc was right. She also knew it would take time and doing before she’d be able to put that terrible night—the feelings and images—to rest.

She licked her lips, summoning grit and a slice of P.J. Darcy’s reckless spirit. Even though Doc kept citing reasons to keep them apart, she knew in her heart they belonged together. He may not want to subject her to the intolerance of his race and all the challenges that entailed, but he loved her. Creating a life together wouldn’t be easy, but an artist didn’t paint a masterpiece in a day.

Heart pounding, she admired Doc’s beautiful healing tattoos then interlaced her fingers with his. She thought about his hunger for family. She had the same pangs. “I might need some help coming to terms with that night. I don’t fancy burdening my brother. He has a new wife and his old career back home.”

“Don’t know that Tuck plans on returning to America anytime soon.”

“You said Queen Victoria promised to clear his name.”

“That’s what I heard from StarMan. Also heard that part of the bargain included Tuck reclaiming a stolen historical invention. That involves tracking the Scottish Shark of the Skies.”

“I’ve read about him. A notorious air pirate.” Lily frowned and, prodded by intense curiosity, turned to face Doc. “Why are you getting your information from Tuck’s second-in-command and not Tuck?” She thought back on what she’d overheard P.J. say, the cryptic comment that had sent Lily’s imagination and temper afire. “What happened between you and my brother, King? Why do you need to make amends?”

He pulled away and stuffed his hands in his pockets. In the broad light of day, he looked amazingly handsome and almighty miserable. “I betrayed Tuck’s confidence and almost got him and Amelia killed.”

Lily blinked. “Why would you do that?”

“Because another Freak, someone I barely knew, promised that she could lead me to Jasper. In exchange and first, she needed to know the whereabouts of the Maverick. A benefactor of the rebellion wanted our precious cargo.”

“The historical invention?”

Doc nodded. “I was told no one would be hurt. I never considered being duped by one of my own kind. I’d been searching for Jasper for three years. He’s my only living kin and he’d driven a wedge between us with his criminal activities. All I wanted was a chance to talk sense into him before he ended up six-feet-under. In a desperate bid to reunite with my blood, I severed the trust of my other family—your brother and the crew of the Maverick.”

Lily soaked in the story, bothered by Doc’s actions but understanding his motivation. She’d lied to her cousins and schemed behind their backs in order to join her own brother. Never mind that she suspected those cousins had stolen money Tuck had sent for Lily’s benefit. Or how they had been quick to believe the worst in Tuck when he’d been accused of murder. Though Lily’s circumstances differed from Doc’s, they’d both deceived others for noble reasons. That didn’t make it right, but surely it was forgivable. “Does Tuck know why you did what you did?”

“He knows. I sensed trouble soon after I leaked the information. I contacted ALE and we interceded in the nick of time, although Tuck did take a blow. I visited him in the hospital and confessed. We’ve been estranged ever since.”

“I don’t understand Tuck holding a grudge, especially since you tried to right the wrong.”

“Forgiveness might’ve come easier if my betrayal hadn’t entailed Amelia almost getting blown to smithereens. To add insult to injury, since the kerfuffle happened in Tuscany and the invention belonged to the Italian government, I unwittingly instigated an international incident that landed Amelia Darcy in some mighty hot water.”

“Good heavens,” Lily said. “What a mess.”

“I only made it worse by dragging you in.” Doc shoved a hand through his hair, looked away. “When P.J. alerted me of your plight, I thought if I healed your injuries and delivered you safely to Tuck—”

“All would be forgiven.”

“I didn’t figure on falling in love.”

Lily blinked.

Doc worked his jaw then met her gaze. “When you first spoke of Will I confess, I was jealous. Thinking maybe you two—”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“It doesn’t matter. I was petty to begrudge the man. Maybe he fancied you, maybe he didn’t. But he cared about you enough, was man enough to honor his promise. He tried to keep you safe.

“Toward the end of your story, I realized that no matter where you go, no matter what you do or who you’re with there’s always potential for a crisis. Keeping company with a Freak increases the risk, but if you’re willing to take the chance, Lily—”

“You know I am.” Heart skipping and stalling and racing, Lily reached up and pushed Doc’s tinted blue spectacles to the top of his head. She looked into those kind eyes and smiled. “I love you, King. I could name a hundred reasons why, and I bet by the end of the week I could name a hundred more. The rift between you and Tuck, we’ll work it out. Together. Whatever the future holds, we’ll weather it. No, we’ll do better than that.” She thought back on what Jasper had said when she’d been ready to forsake this world. “We’ll shape the future. For the better. Through your gift of healing. Through my art. Somehow someway, we’ll make the world better and more tolerant of unique.”

“My rebel angel.” He smiled then and took her into his arms. “Forever and always?”

“Somehow. Someway.” Heart bursting, Lily embraced the adventure of a lifetime as Doc kissed her—improper-like—and painted her world with kaleidoscope colors.

Chapter Fourteen

Doc wasn’t sure how long he and Lily had been on the balcony. He’d held her in his arms and kissed her slow and deep, reveling in her beauty and passion. In her ability to infuse him with confidence and purpose. Surely the woman possessed her own brand of HE.

His senses hummed with something he barely recognized.

Serenity.

He would have lingered even longer, but it occurred to him that the sooner they returned to London, the sooner they squared things with Tuck, the sooner he and Lily could forge a new life . . . together.

Easing away, Doc traced a thumb over Lily’s kiss swollen lips. “As much as I’d like to continue . . .”

“You were right,” she said all dreamy eyed. “There’s something to be said for slow.”

Smiling, Doc ushered her through the door expecting to find Snoop on the other side.

Instead, Jasper was waiting, one of those herbal cheroots dangling from his lip. “You two work things out?”

“You could say that.” Doc glanced down at Lily, feeling like a changed man. A man who was tired of playing it safe. He squeezed her waist then looked back to Jasper. “As someone who’s spent a good portion of his life bucking the law, I don’t suppose you know of a preacher or some such who’d join a Vic and Freak in marriage?”

Jasper raised a brow. “Wouldn’t be legal in most places.”

“We don’t care,” Lily said. “It would be binding to us.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Doc said to his brother.

“Taking mind reading lessons from Snoop?”

“You think we’re being hasty,” Doc went on. “You’re thinking it would be smarter to get Tuck’s blessing first.”

“You’d be wrong. I’m thinking I can stop worrying about you now.” Jasper blew out a stream of smoke then crushed out the embers. “You’ve always been a gentle soul, Blue. This gal brings out the lion in you. I like that. Venture it’ll go a long way with the Cowboy, too.”

P.J. bounded into the small foyer. “We’re set, boss.”

Jasper nodded and she took off. “We’re moving out,” he said, urging Doc and Lily forward. “Until I root out the traitor, I’m not comfortable with Lily being among the Fighters. Hell, I’m not keen on you being here either, Blue. Or anywhere near me. Someone’s working against us, against the cause. Meanwhile we’re committed to moving forward. Things are going to get ugly.”

“They’re already ugly,” Doc said. “Dash it all, Jasper, why did you try to kidnap Madstone in the first place?”

“To get the world’s attention, for one.”

“You got that all right.”

“And to ensure sequestered concentrated time with the man,” Jasper went on. “Madstone’s a man of great influence. He’s also one of the staunchest Old Worlder’s in politics. If we could expose him to a multitude of Freaks, educate him first hand regarding our gifts—”

Doc stopped in his tracks. “You aimed to talk reason with Madstone? To debate the issues? To act in the capacity of a diplomatic Freak?”

Jasper angled his head. “I do have a brain, Blue.”

“Of course, you do,” Lily said. “I’m sorry you didn’t get the chance to try to influence the man. If he were to support more tolerant views of Freaks, that might go a long way in easing restrictions and laws.”

“Precisely.”

“There must be another way,” Doc said.

“Working on that,” Jasper said, while moving them through another corridor. “Meanwhile, I’ve got to identify the traitor and that damned killing machine. Clearing up what happened on the Brittania, clearing my name and the reputation of the Freak Fighters will go a long way toward gaining credibility.”

“I could speak up for you,” Lily said.

“I appreciate that, but, no. Best for you to stay out of this. Leastwise till we root out the bad seeds.” Jasper nodded and someone triggered a door. “Can’t risk taking the Crusader out. Too recognizable. I’ve arranged for other transport.”

“Just get us to a skytown near London,” Doc said. “I’ll take it from there.”

“No need to put the squad at further risk,” Lily said. “Don’t worry. We’re armed. King still has your Disrupter 29.”

“King, huh?” Jasper’s lip quirked. “Been a while since I heard that.”

They stepped into fresh air and daylight. A waterfall gushed over the grist mill wheel, just as it had when they’d arrived. The village façade looked exactly the same and the same airships were docked at the same bays. What stymied Doc was the lack of people. Swear to heaven the Freak Fighters were like smoke.

P.J. stood on a gangway in front of an unimpressive dirigible, waving at them to hurry.

“Go on,” Doc said to Lily. “I need a second with Jasper.”

“Is this where you lecture me about my illegal shenanigans?” Jasper asked when she was out of earshot.

“I confess I’ve been itching to convert you,” Doc said. “But now I’m thinking I was the one who needed to change my ways. I can’t operate like you, Jasper, but I can do something to help the cause.”

“Lily know you feel like that?”

“She’s ready to jump in with both feet.”

“Gumption.” Jasper glanced Lily’s way. “You got a good woman, Blue. Give it a month or so. Work things out with Tucker Gentry. Get your footing with Lily. I’ll be in touch.”

“I have to ask, Jasper. The outbursts. Seems like you’ve got a hold on them. Is it due to that herbal smoke?”

“Partially. But mostly it’s hard-won control. There are lapses and the fits are more intense.” He looked away, worked his jaw. “I lost control with Crusher. It wasn’t pretty, Blue.”

Doc thought about the photograph in his pocket. That moment when he’d shared a moment of genuine affection with his brother. Much like now. He should probably return the faded image to Jasper. But he cherished that moment, the memory, and the feeling. “If there’s anything I can do—”

“I’ll let you know.” Jasper slung an arm around Doc’s shoulder, just like that day long ago, and finessed Doc toward the airship.

Lily was waiting on the gangway, an ear-to-ear smile on her sweet face.

P.J. rolled her eyes. “Any day, Bluebell brothers.”

“I know of a love guru,” Jasper said to Lily and Doc as they approached the armored gondola. “He’d hitch your wagon. It’s a half day out of the way—”

“Let’s do it,” Doc said.

“Bloody hell,” P.J. complained as she disappeared into the cockpit.

Jasper winked and Snoop secured the door.

“Shove off, short stuff!” Jasper yelled.

Snoop grunted and moved to join P.J. in the cockpit. “Donnnae want to hear this,” he grumbled.

“Hear what?” Jasper asked.

He gestured to Lily. “Her wedding plans.”

“I’m with you.” The men disappeared leaving Lily and Doc alone in a small passenger area.

Doc smiled at Lily as the dig eased away from the Freak Fighter outpost. “I’m all ears.”

She pulled him down onto a cushioned bench and snuggled close. “I’m thinking instead of conventional rings we should seal our vows by getting tattoos. Something that expresses our feelings. I’ll design the art.”

“What did you have in mind?’

“The Celtic symbol for love eternal.”

Doc gazed into her bluer than blue eyes, marveling at fate.

Redemption?

Hell. He’d found salvation in an angel’s arms.

Soul dancing, Doc angled for a slow, long kiss. “A girl who knows my heart.”

Read on for a look at the next full-length novel

in Beth Ciotta’s charming and sexy steampunk romance series,

The Glorious Victorious Darcys

HIS CLOCKWORK CANARY

Available from Signet Eclipse in print and e-book in June 2013.

Great Britain, 1887

Kent—the Ashford Estate

Since the day he’d been born (three and a half minutes later than his twin brother), Simon Darcy had been waging war with time. He had either too much of it or not enough. Somehow his timing was always off. Bad timing had cost him much in his thirty-one years. Most recently, his father, Reginald Darcy, Lord of Ashford.

The proof was in his pocket.

Simon didn’t need to read the abominable article—he had it memorized—yet he couldn’t help unfolding the wretched newsprint and torturing himself once again. As if he deserved the misery. Which he did.

The London Informer

Jan’uary 5, 1887

MAD INVENTOR DIES IN QUEST FOR GLORY

The Right Honorable Lord Ashford, lifelong resident of Kent, blew himself up yesterday whilst building a rocket ship destined for the moon. Ashford, a distant cousin of the infamous Time Voyager, Briscoe Darcy, was rumored to be obsessed with making his own mark on the world. Fortunately for the realm and unfortunately for his family, Ashford’s inventions paled to that of Darcy, earning him ridicule instead of respect, wealth, or fame.

Simon’s gut cramped as he obsessed on the article that had haunted him for days. For the billionth time, he cursed the Clockwork Canary, lead pressman for the Informer, as heartless. The insensitive print blurred before Simon’s eyes as his blood burned. Instead of tossing the infernal sensationalized reporting of his father’s death, he had ripped the article from the London scandal sheet, then folded and tucked the announcement into an inner pocket of his waistcoat, next to his tattered heart.

For all his guilt and grief upon learning of his beloved, albeit eccentric, father’s demise, Simon had stuffed his emotions. His mother and younger sister would be devastated. Especially his sister, Amelia, who shared their papa’s fascination with flying and who’d lived and worked alongside the old man on Ashford—the family’s country estate. For them, Simon would be a rock. As would his ever unflappable twin brother, Jules.

Simon had made the trip from his own home in London down to Kent posthaste. He’d remained stoic throughout the constable’s investigation of the catastrophic accident, as well as the poorly attended funeral. He’d even managed a calm demeanor whilst listening to the solicitor’s reading of the will—unlike his dramatic and panic-stricken mother. Although upon this occasion, he could not blame the intensity of her outburst.

The Darcys were penniless.

Simon and Jules had their personal savings and fairly lucrative careers, but the family fortune was gone, and as such, Ashford itself was at stake.

Even after sleeping on the shocking revelation, Simon couldn’t shake the magnitude of his father’s folly. His mind and heart warred with the knowledge, with the implication, and with the outcome. Because of Simon’s ill timing and arrogance, his mother and sister were now destitute.

“Do not assume blame.”

Simon breathed deeply as his brother limped into the cramped confines of the family dining room. “Do not assume to know my mind.”

“Has grief struck you addle, brother?” Dark brow raised, Jules sat and reached for the coffeepot. Like their father, the Darcy twins had always preferred a brewed coffee over blended teas.

Simon flashed back on one of his father’s quirky inventions—an electric bean-grinding percolator—which might have proved useful except, as a staunch Old Worlder, their mother had refused to allow Ashford to utilize electricity.

Destitute and living in the Dark Ages.

Riddled with emotions, he pocketed the blasted scandal sheet and met his twin’s steady gaze. But of course Jules would know his mind. The older brother by mere minutes, he always seemed to have the jump on Simon. Even so far as guessing or knowing his thoughts. Simon was often privy to Jules’s notions as well, and sometimes they even had what their little sister referred to as “twin conversations.” Whether spurred by intuition or some bizarre version of telepathy, they often finished each other’s sentences. It drove Amelia mad.

“I could’ve been working alongside my mentor on Tower Bridge,” Simon said. “Instead I chose to pursue my own brilliant idea.”

“You doubt the merit of a public transportation system high above the congested streets of London?”

“No.” Simon’s monorail system inspired by the Book of Mods would have eased ground traffic and air pollution caused by the rising population and number of steam-belching and petrol-guzzling automocoaches. It would have provided an affordable mass transit alternative to London’s underground rail service.

It would have afforded Simon the recognition and respect he craved.

“I regret that I boasted prematurely about my project. Had I not bragged, Papa would not have invested the family fortune.” Sickened, Simon dragged his hands though his longish hair. “Bloody hell, Jules. What was the old fool thinking?”

“That he believed in you.”

“When the project failed, I Teletyped Papa immediately. Railed against the injustice of political corruption. Wallowed in self-pity. What was I thinking?”

“That he would damn the eyes of the narrow-minded and manipulative Old Worlders. That he’d side with you. Ease your misery.” Jules looked away. “He excelled at that. Building us up. Making us believe we were capable of whatever our hearts and minds desired.”

For a moment, Simon set aside his own heavy remorse and focused on his brother, who had always been darker in coloring and nature than the more fair and frivolous Simon. Though presently residing in London, where he worked as an author of science fiction novels, Jules Darcy was retired military, a decorated war hero. Details revolving around the skirmish that had mangled his legs and left him with a permanent limp were classified. The period of rehabilitation had been extensive and also shrouded in secrecy. Even Simon was clueless as to those peculiar days of Jules’s mysterious life. Although he was often privy to his brother’s moods and inclinations, he’d never been able to read Jules’s mind regarding the covert nature of his service to the Crown.

“Coffee’s bitter,” Jules said, setting aside his cup and reaching for the sugar bowl.

Everything had tasted bitter to Simon for days, but he knew what his brother meant. “Eliza made the coffee. Be warned, she cooked as well.”

Frowning, Jules glanced toward the sideboard and the steaming porcelain tureens. Though an excellent housekeeper, Eliza was famously ill equipped in the kitchen. “What happened to Concetta?”

The skilled though crotchety cook had been in their mother’s employ for months. “Mother dismissed her this morning. Said we could no longer afford her services.”

“Did she not offer the woman a month’s notice?”

“She did. Along with excellent references. But Concetta’s prideful. She ranted in her native tongue, and though I’m not fluent in Italian, I understood the intention. She’s leaving today.”

“Damnation,” Jules said.

In this instance, Simon knew the man’s thoughts. Things were indeed dire if Anne Darcy, a conservative woman obsessed with old ways and upholding appearances, had resorted to dismissing servants. Another kick to Simon’s smarting conscience.

Just then Eliza’s husband, Harry, appeared with two folded newspapers in hand. “As requested,” he said, handing the Victorian Times to Simon, then turning to Jules. “And the London Daily for you, sir.” The older man glanced at the sideboard, winced, then lowered his voice. “I could fetch you fresh bread and jam.”

If anyone knew about the poor quality of his wife’s cooking, it was Harry.

Simon quirked a smile he didn’t feel. “We’ll be fine, Harry.” The man nodded and left, and Simon looked to his brother. “We’ll have to sample something, you know. Otherwise we’ll hurt Eliza’s feelings.”

“I know.” Distracted, Jules seemed absorbed with the front page of the Daily.

Simon immediately turned to the headlines of the Times—a respectable broadsheet unlike the Informer.

The Victorian Times

January 10, 1887

ROYAL REJUVENATION—A GLOBAL RACE FOR FAME AND FORTUNE

In celebration of Queen Victoria’s upcoming Golden Jubilee, an anonymous benefactor has pledged to award a colossal monetary prize to the first man or woman who discovers and donates a lost or legendary technological invention of historical significance to Her Majesty’s British Science Museum in honor of her beloved Prince Albert. An additional £500,000 will be awarded for the rarest and most spectacular of all submissions. Address all inquiries to P. B. Waddington of the Jubilee Science Committee.

Simon absorbed the significance, the possibilities. “Blimey.”

“I assume you’re reading what I’m reading,” Jules said. “News like this must have hit the front page of every newspaper in the British Empire.”

“And beyond.” Simon fixated on the headline, specifically the words “FAME AND FORTUNE.” He wanted both. For his family. For himself.

“Pardon the interruption, sirs.” Contrite, Harry had reappeared with three small envelopes. “It would seem sorrow regarding the loss of Lord Ashford has muddled my mind. These were in my pocket. I picked them up at the post whilst in the village this morning.” He handed an envelope to each of the brothers, then placed the third near their sister’s place setting. “This one is for Miss Amelia,” he said. “That is, if she joins you this morning.”

Since their father’s death, Amelia had been grieving in private.

“We’ll see that she gets it,” Jules said. “Thank you, Harry.”

The man left and Simon struggled not to think of their young sister locked away in her bedroom—mourning, worrying. Yes, she was a grown woman, twenty years of age, but she’d led a sheltered life, and though obstinate as hell, Amelia was tenderhearted. At least half of Simon’s worries would end if she’d relent and marry a good and financially stable man. Alas, Amelia’s fiery independence was both a blessing and a curse. Frustrated, Simon focused back on what appeared to be an invitation. “No return address.”

He withdrew the missive in tandem with Jules and read aloud. “Given your family’s reputation as innovators, adventurers, and visionaries—”

“—you have been specifically targeted and are hereby enthusiastically invited to participate in a global race for fame and fortune,” Jules finished.

“Royal rejuvenation.”

“Colossal monetary prize.”

“Legendary technological invention,” they said together.

“Is your missive signed?” Simon asked.

“No. Yours?”

“No.” He glanced from the mysterious note to the Times. “Apparently the anonymous benefactor thought us worthy of a personal invitation. Do you think it is because of our association with Briscoe Darcy?”

“Yet again it’s assumed that because Papa knew the Time Voyager, he must have had knowledge regarding Briscoe’s time machine.”

“Also natural to assume Papa would have passed along that information to us,” Simon said. “Which he did not.”

“No, he did not. If he had any.”

“Unless . . .” Simon looked to the envelope next to Amelia’s empty plate.

“If Papa had pertinent information regarding Briscoe’s time machine, he would not have burdened Little Bit with such knowledge,” Jules said. “Too dangerous.”

Indeed. No invention was more historically significant than the one constructed by their distant cousin Briscoe Darcy. A time machine used to catapult Briscoe into the future of 1969, which ultimately enabled a group of twentieth-century scientists, engineers, and artists to dimension-hop back to the past of 1856.

Intending to inspire peace and to circumvent future atrocities and global destruction, those dimension-hoppers, also known as the Peace Rebels, preached cautionary tales throughout the world, most notably in America and Europe. Unfortunately, a few were corrupted and soon leaked advanced knowledge that led to the construction and black market sales of modern weapons, transportation, and communications. The globe divided into two political factions—Old Worlders and New Worlders. Those who resisted futuristic knowledge and those who embraced it. The Peace War broke out and the nineteenth century as it should have been was forever changed.

The Victorian Age met the Age of Aquarius.

For years and for political reasons Simon and Jules resisted the urge to explore anything having to do with Briscoe Darcy or time travel. Not to mention time travel had been outlawed. However, this Race for Royal Rejuvenation, coupled with their family’s unfortunate circumstance, motivated Simon to break their childhood pact. “It is true Papa never shared any secrets with me regarding Briscoe and his time machine, yet I do have an idea of how to get my hands on an original clockwork propulsion engine.”

Jules raised a lone brow. “As do I.”

“Are we in accord?”

“We are. But first, let me Teletype this P.B. Waddington, as well as a personal contact within the Science Museum. I want verification that this treasure hunt is indeed official.”

Simon’s pulse raced as his brother left the room. With every fiber of his being he knew the response would be affirmative. His brain churned and plotted. Only one of them needed to find and deliver the clockwork propulsion engine in order to avenge their father’s name and secure the family’s fortune. But, by God, Simon wanted it to be him.

London

The London Informer

•   •   •

“Willie!”

Wilhelmina Goodenough, known socially as Willie G. and professionally as the Clockwork Canary, refrained from thunking her forehead to her desk due to the booming voice of her managing editor. She did, however, roll her eyes. She could always tell by the timbre of Artemis Dawson’s bellow whether she was being summoned for a good reason or bad. This was bad. Given her foul mood of late, this could mean a bloody ugly row.

As lead journalist for the London Informer, Britain’s most popular tabloid, Willie had earned a desk in close proximity to Dawson’s office. Lucky her—or rather him—as was public perception.

For the last ten years, Willie had been masquerading as a young man. Sometimes she was amazed that she’d gotten away with the ruse for so long. Then again she was slight of frame as opposed to voluptuous. What womanly curves she did possess were easily concealed beneath binding and baggy clothing. Her typical attire consisted of loose linen shirts with flouncy sleeves, a waistcoat one size too big, and an American-cowboy-style duster as opposed to a tailored frock coat. Striped baggy trousers and sturdy boots completed the boyish ensemble. A vast selection of colorful long scarves had become her trademark, as she always wore one wrapped around her neck in a quirky style no matter the season. When outdoors, instead of a bowler or top hat, Willie pulled on a newsboy cap and tugged the brim low to shade her face. She’d chopped her hair long ago, a shaggy style that hung to her chin and often fell over her eyes. She was by no means fashionable, but she did have a style all her own.

And not a bustle, corset, or bonnet to her amended name.

Once in a great while she yearned for some kind of feminine frippery, but she was far more keen on surviving this intolerant world than feeling pretty.

“Willie!”

Blast. “Best get this over with,” she said to herself, because no coworkers were within earshot of her somewhat sequestered and privileged work space, and even if they were, she wasn’t chummy with any of the blokes. Willie had two confidants in this world: her father and her journal. One hidden away and one locked away—respectively.

Out of habit, Willie checked the time on her pocket watch, then consulted the timepiece on her multifunctional brass cuff. Her preoccupation with time had prompted the “Clockwork” portion of her professional name, and was often a source of unkind jest for fellow journalists. Their assessment of her peculiar habit meant nothing to her, whilst knowing the precise time and how much time had passed between certain events was of vital importance.

Abandoning her research on significant technological inventions, Willie pushed away from her scarred wooden desk. Her home away from home, the desktop was crowded with stacks of books, piles of documents and files, scores of pens and pencils, her typewriter, her personal cup and teapot, and a working miniature replica of Big Ben, otherwise known as Clock Tower. Dawson often wondered how she found anything, but she did in fact know the precise whereabouts of any given item. Organized chaos: just one of her many gifts.

On the short walk to her boss’s office, Willie breathed deeply, seeking solace in the familiar scents of the newsroom—ink, paper, oil, cigarette smoke, sweat, and assorted hair tonics. Scents she associated with freedom and security. This job enabled her to pursue her passion as well as provide for herself and her addle-minded father. Forsaking her gender and race had seemed a small price to pay in the beginning. But lately she teemed with resentment. Bothersome, that. She had no patience for self-pity.

To her own disgust, she strode into her boss’s office with a spectacular chip on her shoulder. “You bellowed?”

Dawson looked up from his insanely neat and orderly desk. “Where’s the story on Simon Darcy?”

Bugger.

Certain her palms would grow clammy any second, Willie stuffed her hands into the pockets of her trousers and slouched against the doorjamb. “What story?”

Dawson’s eyes bulged. “The story I asked for days ago. The story that’s late. The interview with Simon Darcy regarding the collapse of Project Monorail!”

“Ah, that.”

“Yes, that.”

“The timing seemed off.”

“Off?”

“He’s been away, attending his father’s funeral, comforting his family.”

“Yes, I know, Willie. The father who blew himself up whilst building a blasted rocket ship! Two Darcys suffer ruin due to two fantastical projects one day apart. One week before a global race is announced that promises to stir up interest in outlawed inventions, if you know what I mean—and I know that you do!

“The timing, dear boy, is perfect! Pick Simon Darcy’s brain whilst he’s vulnerable. Get the scoop on his failed project and his father’s bungled invention. Probe deeper and dig up buried family secrets. Go where no man has gone before and ferret out never-disclosed-before details regarding Briscoe Darcy and his time machine. If anyone can do it, you can!” He pounded his meaty fist to his desk to emphasize his point.

Willie felt the force of that blow to her toes. Her temples throbbed and her pulse stuttered. Aye, she could do it. But she did not want to. The subject of their discussion was too close to her well-guarded heart. Though she said nothing, Dawson clearly read her reluctance due to her obviously not-so-guarded expression.

Narrowing his bloodshot eyes, the portly man braced his thick forearms on his desk and leaned forward. “Close the door.”

Gads. This was worse than bad.

Willie did as the man asked, then slumped into a chair and settled in for a lecture. She resisted a glance at her cuff watch. As long as she didn’t make physical contact with Dawson, time was irrelevant. Meanwhile her keen mind scrambled for a way to get out of this pickle.

“The Informer is no longer the most popular tabloid in the country. We’ve been edged out by the Crier.”

“The City Crier? But that’s a Sunday-only paper. We are a daily. Not only that . . .” Willie tamped down her pride, snorted. “You’re jesting.”

“Our investors are not happy,” Dawson went on, grave as a hangman. “The publisher and executive editor are not happy. Which means . . .”

“You are not happy.”

“Get the dirt on Darcy or dig up something even more titillating.” He jabbed a finger at the door. “Now get out.”

Although Dawson could be a curmudgeon, he’d always had at least a sliver of good humor hiding beneath the guff. Willie sensed no humor now. The pressure from above must be severe indeed. Pausing on the doorstep, Willie voiced a troubling notion. “When did I stop being your favorite?”

“When you went soft on me. That original piece you typed up on Ashford’s death was fluff. And the revision wasn’t much better. Our readers want sensational, Willie, not respectful. They can get that from the quality press.” After a tense moment, Dawson sighed. “You’ve had a good run at the Informer, Willie. Some people think you’ve gotten too comfortable. Too arrogant. Most people don’t know you as well as I do, and even I don’t know you that well. But I do know that you have a special gift. I’d hate to lose it.”

Sensing freedom and security slipping away, Willie spoke past her constricted throat. “You’ll get your story.”

Table of Contents

Copyright Page

Contents

Praise

Also by Beth Ciotta

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Excerpt from HIS CLOCKWORK CANARY