The Gilded Gun: The Aetheric Artifacts Prequel

By Wendy L. Callahan

This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used to advance the fictional narrative. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author's imagination and not to be construed as real.

The Gilded Gun: The Aetheric Artifacts Prequel

Published by Persephone Press

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

Copyright 2013 by Wendy L. Callahan

Cover Art by Erin Lark - http://erinlark.storenvy.com/

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

The text of this book is set in Gentium Book Basic

First Edition

Persephone Press

“Without obsession, life is nothing.” ~ John Waters

The Gilded Gun

The Aetheric Artifacts Prequel

London, April 1889

“Demi, you cannot be serious!”

“You know I am always serious.”

“Yes, but…”  Simon Warom sighted his target by the pale moonlight, pulled the rifle’s trigger, and then cursed as it jammed.  Before he could switch to another weapon, their foe darted between the skeletal trees and tackled him to the cold ground.  Simon yelped and fumbled for something on his belt.  The Aetheral atop him reared back and raised his fist overhead.

Demetra slanted a cat-eyed glare at her enemy and her good friend flailing beneath him, muttered, “Amateur,” and threw her fan.  The razor-sharp steel edge bit through the Aetheral’s throat, leaving spurts of blood pumping through the wound and onto her comrade.  The fan returned to her hand and she calmly wiped the bloody edge off on her own crimson dress.

Simon whimpered, then bit his lip and put on a stoic face.  This was rather comical, since he had the countenance of an artist’s rendition of an angel: round-cheeked, wide blue eyes, and perfect lips, all framed by tousled blond hair.  He shoved at the dying celestial until he was out from under the hunched body.

“Did you have to do that?” he gasped, rising to his feet to stand beside Demetra.

She shrugged and said, “He would have killed you, my friend.  Ask me again if I had to do that.”

“You seem particularly vicious tonight.”  Simon hefted the gun over his shoulder and watched the dead Aetheral’s body flake away bit by bit.  It would continue to do so until nothing remained – one element returning to another.  “Is it the engagement party?”

“Not at all.  It’s you telling me I’m too young to get married.”  Demetra Ashdown finally looked at him, her golden eyes glaring into his.  “I am seventeen.  Some would claim I’m far too old to get married.”

“Some would be wrong,” Simon grumbled and fiddled with the defective rifle.  “You could wait.”

“I don’t understand the problem.”  She walked over to the half-gone body and knelt to rummage through the clothing.  When she rose to her feet and turned back to Simon, she presented a small object to him.  “Exactly what we wanted,” she told him.

The young artificer took the item and examined it.  “Yes, it’s a magnificent piece…”

“The whole reason we came out to Highgate Cemetery before dawn was for this.  It was very much worth the price of at least one life.”

“You put very little value on mortal life, though.”

Demetra finally let a smirk curl her lips.  “First of all, that was a celestial life.  He was an Aetheral like me, and a threat.  Second, I’m half-infernal.  I will live almost forever, so I am afraid a certain disregard for life is inherent in that knowledge.”

“If you keep up these shenanigans and midnight exploits, ‘almost forever’ will end before you know it,” Simon countered, looking at the glowing orb in his hand.  “Still, you are not just my best friend, but my main supplier of Aetheric artifacts.  You may be right about this being worth the price…”

“After you’ve examined the compass, I claim full rights to it,” she said, folding her arms and tapping her fan against the crook of her elbow.  “I am, after all, the one who found it.”

“Yes,” Simon agreed, looking up at her.  “Still, let us not overlook the fact that Mr. High and Mighty Celestial decided he wanted it for himself, and nearly killed us for it.”

Demetra turned with a shrug and walked the path toward the front gate of the cemetery, saying, “He should have known better than to try to take it from me.”  She raised a hand to push one of her blonde curls off her face and looked up at the sky.  “It’s nearly dawn.  We really ought to get home before either of our fathers realize we’re gone.”

“Have you ever worried about what your father thinks of your artifact-hunting activities?” Simon asked, jogging to catch up with her.  The array of weapons and implements hanging from his back and belt rattled and clunked with each movement.

“Of course not, but I do have an engagement party tonight and I need my rest.”

“And that illustrates my point exactly.  What does your beloved Francis think of this skulking about at all hours, putting your life at risk, and murdering celestials who get too handsy with you or your friends?”

Demetra stopped, turned slowly on her heel to look at him, and raised an eyebrow.  “Well,” she began.  “I don’t think it’s a problem…”

~~~~

“You look lovely my dear.  Clearly my hard work has not gone to waste.  Oh,” Rowena whined and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.  “It’s finally happening.”

Demetra fought the urge to arch her eyebrow at the woman.  It was an expression that crossed her face far too often – one of vexation.  Simon often warned her that her obvious pique was off-putting to others, but Demetra cared little for the opinions of others.

“I never thought this day would come.  You’re so… so… so very smart, you see, and most men don’t care for bookish women.  But, somehow, you found someone who is gracious enough to overlook your faults.  Now, to see you about to be well-settled with a man of title and fortune, it does my heart good.”

Demetra refrained from pointing out that her younger half-sister, Verity, was the bookish one.  Instead, she shook the frills of her dress into place, smoothed them around her bared shoulders, and said, “Stepmother –”, then decided not to waste her breath.  She sighed and resigned herself to Rowena’s sentimental fluttering.

The moment her stepmother turned away to dismiss the maid, Demetra stuck her tongue out at her own reflection.  It was true, she looked beautiful with her golden ringlets piled atop her head, and the pale blue evening gown that contrasted with the warm tones of her skin.  Rowena put far too much emphasis on looks, and not enough on intellect.  The very notion that a woman should not think or form opinions for herself turned Demetra’s stomach.

Still, she endeavored to be on her best behavior tonight.  It was, after all, her engagement party.  So she affected a neutral expression and then turned to face her simpering stepmother.  They gathered their items for the evening – fans, gloves, reticules, and other such feminine fripperies – and descended the stairs to the narrow front hall of their home.  The coachman stood waiting for them, and escorted the ladies to the simple black hansom waiting in the street.

Rowena kept up a steady chatter as they rode in the Ashdown family carriage from their Albermarle Street home to the Wintertons’ elegant townhouse.  Demetra wished her father had accompanied them, but some artificing job kept him in the basement, hard at work.  She sighed and settled back in the plush seats, intent on ignoring her stepmother’s constant prattle.  After more than a decade Demetra had ample practice at tuning her out, and she turned her mind to more interesting matters, such as looking out the window and identifying the artifacts she felt along the way.

Sensing Aetheric items was her singular talent.  When she was younger, Demetra wished she was super strong or could conjure fire, ice, or wind, as she’d heard other Aetherals could do.  However, her ability to find anything infused with Aetheric energy had served her well time and again, both when she dabbled in artificing and when she sold the items.  Oftentimes she sought the artifacts just for the excitement of the adventure, to satisfy her own curiosity, or to address rumors about the existence of specific items. It was her particular obsession in life: the thrill of the hunt.

She heaved a sigh of irritation when her stepmother trilled, “We are here!  Oh, I am so excited, for you are the guest of honor tonight.”  Demetra rolled her eyes before stepping down out of the carriage, then rolled them again for good measure.

They walked into the house, up a wide, curving staircase, and paused at the top in the grand hall.  Just beyond the open double doors, Demetra saw a throng of people in the ballroom.  When they stepped into the room, Rowena gave their names to the doorman and he announced them to the gathering.

“Oh dear,” Demetra muttered as the guests pressed forward to congratulate her on the engagement.  The crowd of peers surged toward her, almost pushing her back through the entry, and soon she thought she might suffocate under their tiresome well wishes.  At least half-a-dozen matrons bore Rowena away, and Demetra heard her stepmother remark on the general elegance of the room, from the splendid crystal chandelier to the sprays of flowers in crystal vases on every wall panel.

“Allow me.”  An arm wrapped around her waist and Demetra let out an “Ooh!” of surprise as someone lifted her off her feet.  The arm spun her around and placed her back on the hallway floor, just outside the ballroom.  “I need a moment with my bride,” the person stated, and the doorman stepped into the entryway to separate them from crowd, most of whom had already resumed their gossiping.

Demetra looked up, smiled at her fiancé, and resisted the urge to smooth his black hair from his forehead.  Instead, she focused on his verdant green eyes.  “Well, Lord Winterton, it’s about damn time.”

He stroked a finger along her bare shoulder.  “I’m sorry.  It seems the congratulations worked their way around the room from me to you and back again, and it was very difficult to get past all of that.  I finally had to sneak out the side door and come around just to get to you.  Now, don’t you look lovely in that blue?  You remind me of a very beautiful ice queen.”

“Oh, you realize I’ve never behaved coldly toward you.  Now, never mind all of that, and give me a kiss before anyone else sees us.”  She tilted her face up toward his and grumbled when he brushed his lips chastely over hers.  “Is that all?” she asked.

Francis laughed and said, “Until the wedding night, I’m afraid.”

“Very well.  Where is your mother?”

He looked uncomfortable as he said, “Well, she isn’t here…”

“How can she not be here?  We’ve been engaged for months and she has not once met me, or even sent a card around to my stepmother.”  Demetra glared at him and he sighed.

“If you’re going to scold me, do it in private.”  He took her by the arm and led her to a room off the front hall.  “Wait here.  I’ll be back.”

As Francis shut the door behind him, Demetra whirled and stamped her foot on the floor.  “Of all the…”  She paused and, looking around, realized she was in the Wintertons’ immense library.  Amidst the towering bookshelves that spanned the entire height of all four walls, there was something else – something that pulsed with Aetheric energy.  Like a small animal distracted by a bauble, Demetra stood for a few moments, head canted to the side as she regarded the items on the long table in the center of the room.  Taking a few steps toward the table, she looked down at the guns on it.

“Well, hello, you lovely celestial energy,” she cooed, her eyes taking in every inch of the weapons, from their gleaming barrels to the polished grips.  “What are you doing here?”

She reached out to touch one of the guns, expecting it to give her a bit of a zap, as many celestial artifacts did.  Though she had not performed a definitive study, it seemed the opposing Aetheric energies were incompatible.  This often resulted in a painful, tingling sensation when she touched a celestial object.

So it was to Demetra’s complete and utter surprise that when she touched the gun, an explosion reverberated around her. The force of it propelled her across the room, through a corner curio cabinet, and into the brick wall.  She dropped to the floor as the noise and light subsided, and lay there beneath the shattered glass while bricks crumbled atop her.

Screams reached her ears through the pounding and pulsing in her head.  Trying to focus her eyes, Demetra raised her head, then dropped it again.  A shadow floated just beyond her vision – human shaped, and making frantic motions with what she thought were its hands.  Her entire body protested any movement.  She lay there taking shallow breaths, which evoked sharp, stabbing pains along her entire torso.  “Cracked ribs,” she told herself, familiar with the sensation. “Most inconvenient.”

A burning sensation permeated the fog in her mind and she added lacerations to the injury tally.  Just as she caught her breath and regained her bearings, strong hands pulled her out of the mess.

With a cough, then a groan, she looked up into Francis’s eyes, grimaced, and said, “Interesting guns.  How’s the party going?”  A metallic taste teased at the edge of her tongue and she reached up to gingerly pat at the blood trailing from the corner of her lips, down along her chin.  “Ow,” she murmured.

Francis gripped her arms too tight.  “I’ve sent for a doctor.  You must be in shock.  We need to keep you still and warm.”

“You might have considered that before moving me,” Demetra answered, keenly aware of the growing sensations of agony flaring throughout her body.  “My ribs are broken yet again.”

“Yet again?”  Francis supported her to a small sofa across the room and laid her down upon it.  “How is it that a lady of any breeding is familiar with such things?”

“You… know…”  Demetra wheezed, then wrapped an arm about her abdomen and shuddered with pain.

Francis gripped her hand, his hold still far too constricting for comfort, and said, “Please don’t die.”

“Silly… boy…”  She gave her head a feeble shake from one side to the other.  “People do not die… of broken ribs…”  Even as she tried to brush off the incident, she saw the distressed look on Francis’s face would not ease.   “You won’t lose me,” she whispered.

In response, Francis clutched her hand and furrowed his brow.  He remained kneeling beside her until the doctor arrived.

~~~~

“Where did they come from?”

“My mother gave me the pair only recently, after father died.  But that’s not the point.”  Francis clenched his fists at his side and shook his head.  “I knew what you were when I met you – all of London knows your family history.  But I didn’t realize what it could mean for us.  You could have been killed.”

“But I wasn’t.  Tell me more about the guns.”  Demetra watched him, wide-eyed and curious, while he paced the parlor floor of her family’s home.  She feared he would wear a path in Rowena’s floral carpet.  “Sit down,” she said, patting the space next to her on the golden-beige loveseat.  A week of doctor’s visits after the incident, the outward signs of her injuries had healed.  Beneath her pale green day dress, she still kept her torso wrapped, but the worst of the injuries had healed and she could move without pain knifing through her.

“It’s no use, Demetra.”

“What do you mean?  I haven’t seen you all week.  We’ve had no chance to talk.  I want to know more about the guns.  They had protective energy.  Why would your father have such things?  Why would your mother give them to you?  Where did they come from?”

“Your curiosity will get you killed,” he growled, turning to look down at her.  “They already turned our engagement party into a complete and utter disaster.  Stop going on about those infernal guns!”

She glared at him.  “They were celestial, first of all, and forget the party – everyone survived. I’m just dying – well, almost died – to know what you’re doing with such artifacts.”

“That is not funny.  I know this is your life’s work, but that night – seeing what happens when you actually touch one of those artifacts – hit much too close for comfort.  My fear is you’ll die for some tidbit of Aetheric knowledge.  I can’t do this anymore.”  Francis shook his head and turned away from her.

“But you can!” Demetra cried, jumping to her feet and wincing briefly at the pain that radiated out from her injured ribs at her movement.  She caught her breath and continued.  “We can work together, as a team, the way Simon and I do.  One of the things you always said you loved about me was my audacity.  What happened to the man who once said he chose me over all those other wishy-washy socialites, because I refuse to preen and display myself like a vain swan, or sit about and gossip like some mindless hen?”

With a pang, Demetra realized if she were speaking with Simon, he would point out all the avian analogies, then laugh with her, and all would be well.

“I already told you,” Francis responded in a dull voice.  “It’s over between us.”

“Over?”  She stared at him and tried to comprehend what he was saying. “Francis, just as you chose me, I chose you.  I love you.  You’re not some painted peacock strutting about for attention.  You are an intelligent and feeling man.  I couldn’t settle for anything less.”

“Well, I’d rather settle for less.  You’re too…”  He wiped a hand over his face, then shook his head.  “I am simply not sure I want a wife who can outmatch me in a battle of wits.  I won’t have a wife who makes me feel intellectually inferior to her on a daily basis.  It’s not at all appropriate.  You will make me a laughing stock.”

“I…”  She took a deep breath.  “You don’t want to marry me?”

“No.  The engagement is off.”

Demetra watched in dismay as Lord Francis Winterton jammed his American style Boss of the Plains hat atop his head and walked out the door, and out of her life.

The Chronos Clock: Aetheric Artifacts, Book One

By Wendy L. Callahan

This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used to advance the fictional narrative. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author's imagination and not to be construed as real.

The Chronos Clock: Aetheric Artifacts, Book One

Persephone Press

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This book is also available in print at most online retailers.

Copyright 2014 by Wendy L. Callahan

Cover Art by Erin Lark - http://erinlark.storenvy.com/

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Second Edition

The text of this book is set in Gentium Book Basic

Also available in paperback, ISBN: 978-0615998077

Persephone Press

~To my husband Daniel, who puts up with my maniacal laughter whenever I write something I find terribly witty.~

The Chronos Clock

Aetheric Artifacts: Book One

Chapter One

London, March 1892

Time was irrelevant to Demetra Ashdown since she would live a longer life than most. However, she embraced order and routine as necessary to a fulfilling existence.

Consequently, Demetra thought pre-dawn hours were most convenient for the task of poking about in a dark corner just outside the Tower of London. The chilly early spring breeze seeped through the wool of her black frock coat and the flimsier fabric of her day dress. Suppressing a shiver, she glanced back the way she had come. A solitary walk around the shadowed perimeter would unnerve even the most daring soul. It would certainly send most women into a fit of swooning, but Demetra prided herself on not fitting into feminine stereotypes. She lifted her chin and continued around the imposing edifice, approaching the White Tower, the innermost keep of the eight-hundred-year-old prison.

Extending her Aetheric senses, Demetra felt the tug of an answering item at the base of the tower—an item empowered with Aetheric energy. It rarely took long for Demetra to find what she sought, and this piece was no exception. She narrowed her eyes and called to it, drawing the thing from its resting place of over four centuries. There was no resistance. Her hand was empty one moment, and the artifact appeared in it the next.

Demetra boasted a reputation as the most successful artifact hunter in all of Britain. Granted, that status remained a well-kept secret, but that did not deter her from feeling pride at her latest accomplishment.

Handling the article delicately, she turned it over in her hands, pleased it had the good manners to respond so promptly to her summons. Ultimately, obtaining this little piece of history would be worth the lack of sleep. She smiled down at it, allowing herself a satisfying moment of egotistical self-approbation.

As Demetra looked down at her prize, she reached into her coat to bring forth a fan with her other hand. She felt the other Aetheral before she saw the flicker of shadowed movement just beyond the perimeter of her vision.

The only thing displeasing her during this moment of triumph, besides the disruption to her sleep, was the presence of the other. By his energy, she identified him as a celestial, probably intent upon taking the article for himself.

“That simply will not do, angel boy,” Demetra muttered. With a flick of her wrist, she snapped the fan open in a flash of silver.

The celestial snarled at her. “Do not speak so disrespectfully to me, woman. How did you make that thing come to you? You must have used daemon magick!”

Demetra batted her eyelashes at him. “You say ‘daemon’ like it's a bad thing.”

Tucking her prize in the pouch hanging from her black leather corset, Demetra watched as the other Aetheral stalked her. He circled her, a large sword clutched in his hands. The celestial power streaming off the blade flowed around Demetra like a wave of heat, filling the vast area around the Tower with a smoldering energy that threatened to set the night ablaze.

“Oh my, we are serious, are we not? I take it you want this.” Patting her pouch, she swept her fan up in front of her face. “Too bad you won't be getting it.”

“That thing contains daemonic energy and must be destroyed. Hand it over if you want to live, you infernal jezebel,” the celestial retorted.

“Or what? Will you unleash hell?” Demetra quipped with a wink. “I suggest you bring your language up to speed with the modern standards of the nineteenth century.” Despite being only twenty years old and a lady of rather high social standing, very few insults surprised or upset her. Such language, she felt, was the mark of one who lacked inventiveness.

With a roar of rage, the man charged at her. Demetra side-stepped at the last moment, neatly evading the swing of the celestial’s blade.

She turned as he rushed past her. “Your Aetheric powers are far more effective than your skills with a sword. I suggest you forget this item and find something else to do with your morning. You are wasting your time here.”

Once more, the celestial made an inarticulate sound of anger. He charged her once again, the sword still gripped in both hands. Demetra watched as he bore down on her, her face a mask of boredom. She even raised her hand to her mouth to cover a yawn.

“Insufferable bitch,” he snarled, guiding the blade down toward her.

Demetra reacted swiftly, slashing up along his torso with her fan as she dodged his swing. The celestial stumbled back, one hand letting go of the sword to press at the gaping wound now extending from his waist to his chest.

“And angels sing thee to thy rest,” Demetra quoted before flinging the fan at her rival. It slashed across his throat, before spinning back to her waiting hand. While she caught it with a deft grip and dropped her arm to her side, the Aetheral had the good grace to crumple to the ground and give up his last breath of life. She shook her head in silent apology and bent down to wipe the blood from the leading edge of her fan onto the fallen celestial’s sleeve. Within moments, his body flaked completely away into nothingness.

Tilting her head, Demetra looked down at the now-empty space on the ground, and shook her head in disapproval. Had he not had the audacity to charge at her, she might not have felt it best to prevent him from killing her.

However, good manners did not necessarily mean one had to suffer an attempt on one’s life with grace.

~~~~~

Demetra was a creature of habit and did not tolerate any disruption to those habits. Therefore, it suited her to fulfill specific requests or assignments on behalf of others in the shadowy hours between four and six o’clock in the morning. Regardless of the previous night’s activities, she rose from her bed by eight o’clock each morning, being a pragmatic young lady who felt it best to rise early, and sat at the breakfast table at half-past eight without fail.

The Times in hand, she would sit at the table of their spacious dining room and read the newspaper from front page to back page, her infernal mind absorbing each tidbit of news. This trait—her flawless memory for stories and names, facts and figures—was part of her half-infernal heritage, passed down from her mother according to her father. In addition to this, Demetra possessed an inquisitive mind and, as such, always sought to satiate her desire for knowledge.

Thus, when her stepmother called her name, Demetra sighed and rattled her paper in agitation. She had only just made it to the table by half-past as it was. The events of her early morning had left her with little time to sleep as she predicted, but she had no desire to remain abed. She refused to miss any part of her daily routine simply because of a little pre-dawn tiff over an obscure artifact.

The shrill summons meant Demetra had to set The Times down on the dining room table and interrupt her normal morning routine to answer to Rowena’s whim. If not for such an inconvenience, it would have promised to be a glorious day.

Her half-sister, fifteen-year-old Verity, seemed oblivious to Demetra’s consternation. The younger girl was deeply engrossed in some novel or another, and barely eating her breakfast as she bent her dark head and lovely face to the pages of the book. Demetra supposed it was better than some of the activities other girls indulged in, such as chattering over fashion magazines or giggling about men. However, Verity’s parents coddled her. The result of such over-protectiveness was an extremely timid younger sister, unwilling to speak or interact with society for fear it would draw her out of the fantasy world within the novels she enjoyed so well. Thus, she was an unsuitable companion as far as Demetra was concerned, and they rarely spoke to one another.

Still, at least Verity could claim a normal, human heritage, and the legitimacy of lawfully wedded parents.

Even twenty years later, society had not forgotten how Nigel Ashdown’s fling with an Aetheral had left him heartbroken and alone with an infant daughter. Demetra did not know the details surrounding the relationship, nor did she really care. Society found the retelling of such tittle-tattle an interesting pastime, when there were no current amusements to occupy them.

Smoothing back her abundant waves of her honey blonde hair, Demetra took the stairs at a sedate pace. While many things annoyed Demetra, very few things unnerved her. With the patience of one who was not just British, but also gifted with near-immortality, she bore the state of affairs of her current existence with equanimity.

Had anyone known Demetra’s innermost thoughts of Well, at least my stepmother will die someday and do so long before me, they might have thought her a very strange creature indeed. However, she merely considered herself rational, not cruel-hearted.

Aetherals were apart from the mortal world, being nonhuman and having never been human. However, even though they were immortal and could not comprehend the experience of mortal existence, they lived among humans and often produced offspring with humanity.

Consequently, here walked Demetra, with one foot in the mortal realm and the other planted quite firmly in the Aetheric one. An Aetheral was a plain-dealing creature and people often remarked that Demetra’s rational sensibilities prevented her from making a good showing in society. Some believed this was why her former fiancé had ended their engagement three years ago. No man, they had whispered to one another, wanted a girl who acted so practical and forthright.

Yet none could fault her for her manners. Demetra was also a young lady who appreciated a good cup of tea, who knew to the letter who and what had made the news, and who never made a public showing without the proper accessories. As such, society overlooked her infernal failings, as they acknowledged the existence of Aetherals, but did not necessarily approve of it. Aetherals were more a curiosity than a societal norm and often relegated to nothing more than an object of eccentric interest. Most humans did not know anything of consequence about Aetherals, beyond the fact that such an arcane race walked among them. Even Demetra herself really did not know what her existence meant, other than the notion that her mother was something quite out of the ordinary.

While her Aetheric nature was common knowledge in upper class society, Demetra’s special abilities were not. She had come into her abilities at the onset of womanhood and taken only her father and three close friends into her confidence. Having once seen a pre-teen Demetra inadvertently call an artifact, her stepmother was also aware of her abilities, but pretended they did not exist. An Aetheral stepdaughter was a liability when it came to the marriage market, and Rowena did everything she could to downplay this quality in her stepdaughter. At least in her case, society could imagine she was a normal girl whose manner of dress and conduct were far above reproach, even if they considered her sharp intellect unfashionable.

Entering her stepmother’s elaborate boudoir, Demetra made a great show of extracting a pocket watch from the inside of her stiff bodice. The day dress into which she had changed after her early morning adventure was a rather elaborate affair, the bodice made of dark brown leather with silver gears and golden wisps of ivy worked into it in the most eye-catching embroidery. There was a generous application of silver lace to either side to offset the bronze studs edging it. Three-quarter length sleeves, a fetchingly high neck, the inner material, and skirt were all of a chocolate-brown taffeta that rustled crisply when she walked.

She had several such dresses of leather and taffeta, which she referred to as “work clothes.” The heavy fabric and layer of leather protected Demetra from the scorching heat, steam, chemicals, and more when she tinkered in her father’s workshop. It also had the added convenience of several metal loops sewn along the inside hem, both on the top and the bottom, an alteration Demetra had performed on every single one of her working bodices. She attached pouches, such as the one she wore now, to these loops. Sometimes, she used them to hold tools or implements that she wanted to have immediately on hand for work.

Demetra studied the watch and raised an eyebrow at it. The second hand moved with excruciating slowness. She reminded herself that it was not that time mattered. She had far more time than any person she knew. What mattered to her was the freedom to manage her own personal time each day.

Tucking the watch back into her dress, Demetra lifted her gaze to her stepmother. The older woman watched her impatiently, waiting for her stepdaughter’s full attention. Demetra had to admit the visible way in which the woman flinched when their eyes met gave her some satisfaction. There was nothing unusual in Demetra’s facial features, other than her golden eyes. It was simply her stepmother’s knowledge of her stepdaughter’s Aetheric heritage that seemed to disconcert her.

Where Demetra focused on practical matters, Rowena Ashdown was highly concerned with appearances. The older woman could forgive her stepdaughter’s questionable bloodline, since society had labeled the young lady as being above reproach in nearly all ways that mattered. However, beyond a tentative tolerance for one another, no love existed between the women.

Demetra often yearned for a sweet, calm mother who desired that she better her mind, and not just her already comfortable station in life. Instead, she had to live with Rowena, a woman sharp of both feature and manner, though she disguised it well in public. Her stepmother was a woman who seemed to relish every opportunity she had to foster discontent in their familial relationship.

Rowena spent most of her days sitting at her vanity, rubbing various beauty products into her skin until it gleamed with radiant health. Demetra doubted Rowena actually needed such products. Despite the fact that the woman did not look a day over thirty, bottles of antiaging tonics, lotions, and creams crowded her dressing table. Demetra could never fathom Rowena’s behavior toward her, and her most logical conjecture was that her stepmother’s bitterness was borne of jealousy of her own youth and inability to age normally beyond the years of a young adult.

To her Aetheral mind, it was just an inescapable fact that mortals lived and died, while her kind lived… and lived… and lived. It was not in Demetra’s nature to worry about things she could not control, and therefore she felt nobody else should concern themselves with such things either.

“Demetra, darling, how good of you to finally join me. Will you be a good girl and bring me some of that new lotion from Warom’s Apothecary today?” Rowena asked in a sugary sweet voice, before turning her attention back to the mirror in front of her. With sponge in hand, she dabbed a thick, white cream into her forehead as she scrutinized her reflection.

“I planned to work with my father this morning,” Demetra protested, her eyebrow cocked once more to signify her impatience. She knew this expression crossed her features more often than not, but she found it difficult not to regard mortal foibles with censure. “Why not walk to Warom’s yourself for the products you want? The fresh air will do wonders for your skin.”

“As it is now spring, it would hardly be seemly for me to step out of doors during the day.” Rowena smoothed the cream down her cheeks with long strokes of the sponge. “I certainly do not need the sun, and my parasol is so frightfully last season I couldn't possibly venture out with it.”

“If you dared go out at least once during the day, you might find a new parasol, which would allow you to take more fresh air. Exercise is fundamental to one’s good health and maintaining a youthful appearance.” Practicality was Demetra’s most dogmatic trait and she refused to change, especially for her stepmother’s delicate sensibilities.

Rowena’s back stiffened and she turned to glare at Demetra with thinly veiled fury. “I am sure Nigel can do very well without your assistance for a short time.” Her stepmother’s response lacked the syrupy quality of her initial greeting.

If words could kill, I would be a dead daemon, Demetra thought, stifling a smirk of amusement. She knew Rowena detested the closeness her husband and his firstborn daughter shared, and made no secret of that sentiment.

Nigel Ashdown was a sharp-witted scientist and devious artificer. While Demetra had inherited the physical features, rational emotions, and infernal gifts of her birth mother, she was Nigel’s daughter in matters of the mind and mood. A sense of tranquility tempered her determination to complete a job. Demetra betrayed neither frustration nor agitation beyond a facial expression. She often wondered if Rowena was trying to test her, to see if she could somehow disconcert her. However, the young Aetheral remained imperturbable.

“As you wish, Stepmother.” Demetra left her stepmother’s room, not defeated so much as resigned. She did have plans to visit Warom's, but not until after lunch. If there was one thing that vexed Demetra, it was having her schedule disrupted. However, if there was one thing that provoked even stronger ire, it was having to endure Rowena's griping if her stepmother did not get her way. With a shake of her head, Demetra stopped only to check her reflection in a gilded mirror hanging at the top of the stairs.

Mirrors.

There were far too many in the house for Demetra’s liking. Rowena wanted it that way, of course, so she could inspect her own appearance at every turn.

As Demetra plucked fastidiously at the taffeta ruffles that enclosed her neck above the leather bodice, she hazarded a glimpse at her tawny, catlike eyes. Perhaps her appearance unsettled people after all, and she was mistaken in believing they did not fear her. Still, she had never been one to worry about her heritage or other people’s reactions to it. Although quite young, she acknowledged that she had a decidedly inflexible personality. The world was a place she wanted to explore, a puzzle she wanted to solve, preferably without the interference of undesirable stepmothers. For now, her days were rather well ordered and settled. Routine allowed life to progress in a logical and tidy fashion, as far as Demetra was concerned.

There was time enough for change should she ever desire it in the future. Demetra never allowed for deviations from her usual habits, beyond her stepmother’s caprices. Acting as the woman’s errand girl was one way of keeping the peace in the Ashdown household. Other than that, she preferred to keep everything a structured constant. As far as she was concerned, digression was not acceptable.

With a sigh of frustration, Demetra pulled on her frock coat and fastened the two large buttons on the front. She smoothed the lapel over her shoulders and chest, plucked her lacy black parasol from the stand next to the door, and set off to run Rowena’s errand.

Had she seen the fine black coach that halted outside her home only moments after she walked through the front door and onto the sidewalk, she might have allowed for some alteration in her schedule. Had she seen the figure that emerged, she most certainly would have tarried long enough to give him a sound lecture. Had she heard his reasons for venturing into London, she would have possibly even bypassed all pretensions of civility and slapped him.

As it was, Demetra continued with her task, parasol over one shoulder and deadly fan dangling from her bodice as always, none the wiser to what awaited at her home. That is, aside from the age-fixated stepmother and novel-obsessed sister, both of whom made her despair of her entire gender.

Chapter Two

The walk from her Albemarle Street home to Warom’s Apothecary on Piccadilly Street was much too short. Demetra wished her destination were a little farther from home. Despite the disruption to her plans for the day, she relished every opportunity to get out of the magnificent house her stepmother had carefully cultivated into a den of fashionable luxury. She loved being out of doors and in the fresh air. It gave her cheeks a glow that enhanced her unfashionably butterscotch complexion. While most women were drinking vinegar or using creams to whiten their complexions, Demetra did little more than protect her skin from the sun with a parasol.

Warom’s Apothecary was a dark, narrow little shop inconspicuously nestled next to the Swan and Edgar department store. Part of what made the Apothecary so enticing to the wealthy denizens of the area was its faintly sinister air of mystery. One thing the fashionable ladies loved was imaginary intrigue. Nobody knew what Mr. Warom might have brewing in the back of the shop, and the women enjoyed speculating about the possibilities in quiet, yet high-pitched, tittering whispers at parties or as they walked through St. James.

Leaving the brougham-crammed street and pedestrian-packed sidewalk, Demetra entered the shop, trailing her parasol behind like an afterthought. Her gloved hands clutched reflexively at the accessory’s handle as a combination of indelicate odors suddenly assailed her senses. She generally enjoyed a visit to Warom’s Apothecary, as the shop often smelled of spices such as pumpkin and cinnamon. However, this particular scent was bitter and rancid enough to make even her nose—a nose that had experienced the breath-inhibiting sensations of steam, the tang of metal, and a variety of unpleasant chemical odors—wrinkle with distaste.

“Ah, Miss Ashdown, what a pleasure it is to see you today.” Simon Warom stepped out of the back room from which the noxious stench wafted. He was the son of, as well as apprentice to, the apothecary.

A youthful nineteen-year-old, Simon remained happily unwed. Like Demetra, he had grown up without a mother and in the care of a scientifically minded father. To her stepmother’s chagrin, Simon was also Demetra’s closest friend and confidante. Rowena opined on more than one occasion that it was inappropriate for two young people of such disparate backgrounds to form such a close attachment to one another. Her father, on the other hand, approved of the friendship and did not concern himself with social class. Nigel believed his daughter needed a match, not in social status, but of the mind.

A mischievous smirk pulled at the corner of Simon’s lips when he spoke. “You know you miss me if we do not visit with one another often.”

Despite her desire to mock him in return, Demetra felt a tiny frown line sketch itself between her otherwise perfect brows.

“What's the matter, Princess?” Simon called Demetra by his favorite pet name for her, as he leaned against the counter. His unruly, dirty blond curls fell into his blue eyes while he regarded her. Almost absentmindedly, he reached out to swirl a pestle along the insides of an empty mortar on the counter.

“Witty banter is the furthest thing from my mind, considering that rather unpleasant odor. Perhaps if you eliminate it, I might be able to speak, unless, of course, you are trying to kill your patrons. I believe the headlines will read ‘Death by Stench: Toxic Fumes Wipe out Piccadilly Passersby.’” Demetra finally betrayed her discomfort, allowing one of her hands to press delicately over her nose and mouth. Dramatics were something she frowned upon, but the disgusting odor was overwhelming.

“I am so sorry!” Simon quickly turned to close the door to the back room and made frantic waving motions through the air with his hands. “Of course I had forgotten just how awful it smelled. I have been working over this mixture for several days and am fairly immune to it now.”

As the young man made his way to the shop’s front door to open and close it several times, Demetra said, her voice still muffled through her gloved hand, “What, precisely, have you been experimenting with back there? Furthermore, how in the name of all that is sacred could you possibly become immune to that?”

“Ah, it is something I am sure your stepmother will appreciate. We're working with a rare tropical extract that is highly beneficial to the skin.” Simon left the door wide open and walked back to the counter.

“It smells like decay.” The fresh spring air drifting through the shop door dissipated the repulsive fumes somewhat, and Demetra found a few imperceptible little steps toward the door restored her ability to breathe normally.

“That is precisely what it is.” His grin distressingly smug, Simon went on to enumerate the ingredients he had spent the morning boiling down in the back room, all for the benefit of the upper-class ladies in London.

Demetra shuddered visibly despite her attempt to quell the reaction and said, “It amazes me the lengths to which some women will go for perceived youthfulness. I would never rub compost on my face.”

“You hold such a point of view because you, my dear, are a daemon.”

“Half-daemon,” she corrected him gently. “Though I really do prefer to be referred to as an ‘infernal.’ It sounds far more wicked and fearsome.”

“No one would mistake you for being wicked, though fearsome is accurate,” Simon agreed with a nod, his azure eyes filled with mischief. “As an infernal, you don't need to worry about aging or rubbing worm dung and exotic mold onto your face to look younger. However, you do understand the value of preserving the old.”

“Not old people, mind you, just old things.” Demetra grinned and finally stepped away from the door. She moved back to the counter as the fresh air in the shop balanced out the strange, sweet scent of rot. “Speaking of old things, I have something you might appreciate.”

She reached down to the brown leather pouch at her waist and unbuttoned the flap of the pouch. In the next moment, she removed a string of pearls with a golden “B” hanging from it. With gentle hands, she laid the necklace on the countertop for Simon’s inspection.

“The necklace of Anne Boleyn,” he breathed with wonder, his fingers inching across the polished wood toward it. “When I asked you to find out if the legends were true, I didn't expect you to actually find it.”

“You underestimate me, my dear old friend. Have a little faith in my abilities. If I call an Aetheric artifact, it has no choice but to come to me.” Demetra ran her fingers lightly along the opalescent white orbs. “Based upon my identification of it, the Aetheric magick in it is clearly infernal and meant to protect the wearer from energy attacks. It explains why she got away with so much disloyalty for so long before King Henry did away with her. Do you think it will be useful to you?”

Simon’s curiosity finally overrode his admiration and, with exaggerated tenderness, he took the necklace in his hands to examine it. “Yes. I think it could be disassembled and each individual pearl used in specific items to give them the same aura of protection. Perhaps I can even distill them into a powder to empower any number of things with this defense. Unless, of course, you think taking it apart will diminish the efficacy of the enchantment?” Simon slanted a glance at her from beneath his eyelids.

“I should think not,” Demetra answered, assessing the three-hundred-year-old relic. “Each part of it has its own power. In identifying it, I learned that each pearl was imbued with power separately. The maker assembled the necklace afterward. Now, I believe you owe me something in return since I proved I could find it.”

The young man studied the precious necklace, and Demetra could imagine the gears turning in his mind as he contemplated the possibilities. Simon was an aspiring artificer and, like Demetra’s father, endeavored to fuse Victorian science with Aetheric magic. “Give me some time, Princess. I know I will come up with something quite appropriate to your needs.”

“I am very pleased to hear it.”

Her glance flickered briefly to the door as it opened to admit the fashionable Lady Lowry, a pompous old woman infamous for her nervous complaints. With a tactfulness borne of many years of practice, Demetra deftly changed the subject of their conversation.

“Rowena wants a bottle of the lotion you gave me for her last time.”

“Still looking for the fountain of youth?” Simon shook his head and slid the necklace off the counter, out of sight.

He turned and opened the glass doors of a cabinet behind the counter to rummage through the bottles on the shelves. After a few moments, during which Demetra was certain the clinking phials would shatter because of the artificer’s enthusiastic searching, Simon straightened and set the lotion on the countertop.

“Why not just locate it for her with your abilities, so you never need to run an errand on her behalf again?” he teased in a voice just low enough for her to hear. Lady Lowry was preoccupied with a new display of tonics in the far corner of the shop and unlikely to hear them.

“Oh yes. I shall just change my name to Ponce de Leon and travel to America. It is bad enough that my stepmother, along with the entire ton, knows I am half-infernal,” Demetra grumbled, prodding at the wooden floor with the tip of her parasol. “Society already treats me like a strange creature. Tell someone like Rowena what I am truly capable of, and the repercussions could be horrifying. My abilities are not a plaything, nor will I use them for a silly woman’s own vain ends. There is nothing in the world that could possibly compel me to utilize my abilities to Rowena’s benefit. I would sooner wear this parasol as a hat.”

“I can arrange that if you stand very still,” Simon said, chuckling. Most of the time, his good nature was a source of delight to Demetra—a counterbalance to her solemnity and wry manner. At this moment, the mockery was unwelcome. With characteristic self-restraint, Demetra simply glared at Simon until he stopped laughing at her.

“Now, if you are finally done tittering like a school girl,” she snapped, “may I please have Rowena’s purchase? I have no desire to dally when I have other plans for the day.”

“Have you got a sweetheart waiting?” Simon snickered as he placed the requested bottle of lotion in a small, white paper bag.

“You know the prospect of such a thing is highly unlikely.”

“Perhaps if you were to relax and spend a little more time being human, it would be far more likely. Though,” he added as he leaned across the counter toward her, “I happen to like you just as you are.”

Demetra, still unsmiling, counted out the crowns and handed them to Simon to pay for her purchase.

“Perhaps being human will avail me nothing, as it always has,” she answered as she took the bag from Simon’s hand. “I suppose I should be thankful that being half-infernal will at least guarantee me your friendship, even if it is for your own personal gain.”

“Now, now, Miss Ashdown, you know I think of you as more than a talented artifact locator.”

“You make me sound like an object instead of a person.”

Simon shook his head at her. “I think of you as something infinitely more precious than a glorified dowsing rod.” He leaned toward Demetra and placed his hand over hers.

Before Simon could articulate a potentially indelicate sentiment, Lady Lowry cleared her throat. The young man straightened, moved his gaze to look just beyond Demetra’s shoulder, and acknowledged his other customer with a nod.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Warom. I know my stepmother will be most pleased with her purchase.” Demetra turned on her heel and glanced up at the feathered monstrosity the other customer wore on her head. “Lovely hat, Lady Lowry, and what a sense of balance you must possess. I must commend you for your ability to wear an entire herd of ostriches on your head without tipping over.”

Before the woman in question could bat an eyelash, Demetra swept by her and out through the shop door.

Chapter Three

Both of her tasks at the apothecary completed, Demetra stepped nimbly down the stairs to her father’s basement workshop. Assisting Nigel in his inventive endeavors and doing what she could to advance her knowledge of mechanical engineering brought her the most joy in this otherwise mediocre existence. Each technological advancement or scientific discovery reminded Demetra that this life was not static, but ever changing. The knowledge of her immeasurable lifespan did not weigh heavily on her. Science was one pursuit that would not just keep her days interesting, lest she die of boredom, but also allow her to stay one step ahead of progress at all times.

Her father always kept the door to the workshop closed, concealing all the wonders that lay behind it. When Demetra passed through the entrance, the sight of cogs and gears, coils and wires, tools and blueprints scattered all over the various tables and shelves made her pause to catch her breath. She enjoyed the delicious feeling of entering this other world of metal and fire, of fulcrums and levers, of wheels and steam.

“Father,” she said, one of few familial words she ever spoke aloud with fondness.

The subject of the word turned to smile affectionately at her. “My dear Demetra,” he replied, his warm expression lighting up his round face beneath a shock of brown hair. “You're looking lovely today, though this is no exception from any other day.” He took both of her hands in his with such a grand gesture that Demetra immediately realized her father was concealing something unpleasant from her.

“What is it?” she inquired, her voice shaded with suspicion.

“What is what, my beautiful daughter?” Nigel tried to look innocent, but equivocation was not in his nature.

With a shake of her head, Demetra admonished, “Don't play innocent with me, Father. You have never been very good at it. Something is afoot, and it would be better to simply tell me what is going on, rather than play these coy little games in an attempt to diminish any shock on my part.”

Darting his glance toward a partially hidden doorway in the opposite corner of the room, then back to her, Nigel asked tentatively, “Are you in a particularly affable mood today?”

Finger tapping against her chin, Demetra considered her father’s question. “I suppose so, even though I barely had a chance to read through The Times before Rowena sent me to Warom’s. I planned to visit Simon this afternoon, and not just to serve Rowena’s womanly whims. Despite my stepmother’s disruption to my intended schedule, I cannot claim any adverse feelings on my part.” Demetra studied her father’s expression knowingly. “What do you need to tell me?”

“We have a visitor, my dearest.” Nigel made a visible effort to remain composed, but his tense shoulders betrayed his nervousness. “In spite of my every attempt to recommend against this course of action, he insists upon seeing you.”

Nigel's posture was enough to tell Demetra she would find the visitor not just unexpected, but unwelcome as well.

“Are you telling me that her ladyship is even less inclined to like me than previously? Perhaps time does not heal all wounds after all.”

Her gaze full of ferocity, Demetra turned to glower at the man who had just spoken from the far corner of the workshop.

He stepped forward out of the shadows, his clean-shaven face an even less welcome sight than the sardonic curve tugging the corner of his mouth upward. Francis Winterton had always been devastatingly handsome in the eyes of the ton. He had large, dark eyes, enhanced by the shadow cast across his brow by the wide, round brim of his American western-style “Boss of the Plains” hat. He kept his black hair trimmed short. His long black duster—another affectation adopted from the Americans—was another story, as it set him apart from the fashionable London crowd.

“It hardly seems fitting that you should have become even more pettish in the past three years since I last saw you,” he continued, his eyes sweeping over her with inexcusable familiarity.

“It hardly seems fitting that you should think you are welcome in this house, after you ended our year-long engagement so abruptly, Lord Winterton,” Demetra informed the newcomer, her tawny eyes narrowed as she clutched reflexively at her skirts.

“Such chances must be taken in the pursuit of a noble endeavor. I think once I explain the situation, you will agree with me, Miss Ashdown. Might we take this conversation elsewhere?” he requested, his arrogant manner softening. “It is a matter of some urgency.”

“Perhaps a walk around St. James,” Demetra heard her father say hastily.

“Fresh air may do you some good,” Lord Winterton agreed as he took Demetra’s yielding hand in his. “You're looking rather flushed, Miss Ashdown.”

Before she could say a word of protest, he had ushered her up the stairs and to the front hall.

Recovering from her bewilderment at Lord Winterton having the audacity to tow her along like a willful child, she finally responded, “What will do me some good is saying farewell to you.”

“I think you will change your mind when you hear the two words I have for you, my dear lady: artifact hunt.”

Demetra stiffened and regarded him intently. Manipulation would avail Lord Winterton nothing, but offering her something remarkable might temper her indignation at his reappearance in her life. She decided to give him a chance and nodded once to indicate that he should elaborate on his claim.

“Now I have your attention.”

“Indeed, Lord Winterton, you do, though you are mistaken in thinking I am your dear lady. Kindly get to the point.”

He let out a snort of derision and then smiled winsomely at her. “Whatever happened to the days when you referred to me as ‘my darling Francis’?”

“Those days are long past.” Parasol in hand, Demetra opened the door and gracefully descended the front steps to the sidewalk. “While they can never be regained, perhaps we can associate as business partners.”

“My own Demetra,” he breathed as he stepped closer to her and linked his arm with hers.

Tilting her face to look up into his, she was astonished to find him regarding her closely. His dark eyes swept lingeringly over her features in an intimate manner, reminiscent of the days she had, indeed, called him her darling. They had observed every social imperative to the letter during their engagement, yet they had still found ways to demonstrate their indecorous passion for one another. Looks and gestures conveyed the depth of their love at a point in their lives Demetra had come to think of as “Once upon a time, very long ago... and never to be repeated.”

Clearly, Francis remembered the strength of those emotions and the ardor of those sentiments as well as she did.

“However can I make it up to you?” He posed the question with the utmost earnestness.

For a brief moment, heat suffused her features. Betrayed by her human emotions and memories, she struggled to recover her composure.

“You can get straight to the point, sir, as I previously requested,” Demetra instructed.

With a tilt of his head, he regarded her in perplexity. “It's a wonder that a woman with such a profusion of charm is not yet married.”

“It's a wonder that a man can change his tone so quickly when he does not get what he wants,” she rejoined. “As I recall, your reason for breaking our engagement had nothing to do with my profusion of charm, but of intellect.”

Demetra kept her gaze focused straight ahead as they turned onto Picadilly and strolled toward St. James.

“I believe your precise words were, ‘I'm simply not sure I want a wife who can outmatch me in a battle of wits.’”

“There were many things I did not understand or appreciate about you back then. I made some rather foolish mistakes in my youth.”

“My, how you have grown,” Demetra drawled, rolling her eyes. “At least one of those follies has been somewhat remedied with the passage of time.”

“I'm not as intimidated by your mocking humor as I once was.” He tightened his arm around hers as they walked. “Nor will I make the same mistake of letting you go this time. It is my intention to renew our betrothal. When I depart London, it will be with you as my wife.”

“When you depart London, it will be in the same manner as when you arrived: without me as your anything.”

“If you can admit you no longer have any feelings for me, then your prediction will be the correct one. Do you still have feelings for me?”

Demetra felt uncomfortable as he scrutinized her, awaiting her answer. It had taken immense strength of will to pretend to stop loving him after he left her three years earlier. The human emotions she often tried so hard to repress quietly sobbed at Francis that he had broken her heart. Her Aetheric pragmatism told her that she could not allow him to do it again.

“I've no desire to set myself up for further disillusionment with regard to the entire marriage scheme,” she snapped in response as they crossed to Jermyn Street and made their way to St. James’s Square. “Once again, I recommend you get to the point of the reason for your visit, or we shall part company here.”

Francis broke the brief silence with a low sigh before he replied in an undertone, “It's my valet, Beckstrom. He disappeared two nights ago.”

“Disappeared? Have you any indication as to where he has gone?” Demetra felt her heart thump hard against her breast as Francis’s words registered in her consciousness. A loyal manservant would never disappear. Such a thoughtless maneuver would result in the loss of a good reference, and thus mean the end of his career.

“Someone kidnapped him, and they have demanded a ransom.”

With a sharp intake of breath, Demetra guided her companion’s steps toward the square and considered his words. A nobleman’s valet worked as more than just a domestic staff member hired to lay out his clothes and care for his personal items. He managed finances, travel arrangements, social engagements, and much more, functioning as much as a secretary as he did a personal servant. A valet was imperative to the efficient functioning of a home.

“Kidnapped by whom?” she asked in a muted voice, so low only Francis heard the words spoken.

“I do not know, but I can assure you that I am very eager to find out.”

Demetra pondered Francis’s dreadful state of affairs as they strolled together. “It is extremely rude to abduct one’s valet,” she concluded aloud. “Such an act could propel an entire household headlong into chaos, not to mention the crimes of fashion that might be committed in such an instance.”

“Indeed, and if it were only a question of manners or dress, I might not be quite so put out by the event.” Francis smiled wryly down at her. “Your droll personality has not changed, my love.”

“This felonious act cannot have been orchestrated by anyone of breeding,” Demetra responded with a sniff of disdain. “Is there any evidence whatsoever of who is responsible for this unlawful indiscretion?”

“No, they haven't informed me of their identity. In spite of that, whoever is guilty of this crime has at least been kind enough to inform me of what it is they want from me in their ransom note.”

The very Aetheric nature that drove Demetra to acquire knowledge further asserted itself in the form of overwhelming curiosity.

“Why not bring this matter to the authorities? Surely the police are better suited to this task than either one of us.”

“That was my first instinct; however, the item they want seems to be more in your area of expertise.”

“What could anybody possibly desire in exchange for a man’s life, particularly the life of a valet?”

“You have heard of some strange and wondrous things, and you have been so fortunate as to touch many of those things. If you cannot tell me anything about this device, I think it quite probable you have the kind of associates who can.”

“Name the item or go home, and leave me in peace,” Demetra demanded, her patience worn thin after the events of her hectic morning.

Francis took a deep breath and said, “In exchange for the life of my valet, the kidnappers have demanded something known as the Chronos Clock.”

Chapter Four

The following day, a short carriage ride brought the unlikely pair to the strange and wondrous Isis-Urania Temple, where Demetra found herself in the familiar position of sharing teatime with the final person aware of the extent of her Aetheric abilities.

“My darling, daemonic pet,” Samuel Mathers said as he set the teapot down on the tray. “Do you really want to entangle yourself in your former fiancé’s troubles? Surely you need not vex yourself with this blackguard’s predicament.” Indicating Francis with a desultory wave of his hand, the magician looked at Demetra inquiringly.

Demetra found it impossible to stifle an ill-mannered snigger when Francis cocked an eyebrow in Samuel’s direction. The founder of the Temple had no trouble speaking his mind, which was one of the reasons why Demetra enjoyed his company. Samuel had made no secret of his interest in her abilities and his desire that she use them to benefit the Temple. On occasion, she had assisted him in finding certain mystical objects, both for spiritual and scientific purposes. In return, Samuel had provided her with an extensive education about Aetheric theory.

“Is such insolence really necessary?” Francis asked as he sipped his Earl Grey. “Do remember that we are talking about a man’s life and this is no light matter.”

“I do remember that, and I also recall I am talking to the man who broke Miss Ashdown’s heart.” Samuel pierced him with his gaze, though his dark mustache twitched with amusement. “Have you considered the damage inflicted upon Miss Ashdown when you ended the engagement? This young lady’s heart has yet to heal from the wound you dealt her.”

“Oh? Have you a heart?” Francis turned his unfathomable dark gaze on Demetra, along with the inappropriate question.

Pouting with disapproval, she retorted, “If you thought I did, would you have caused it harm?”

Demetra realized Francis was leaning quite close to her in the peculiar building she had come to regard as her sanctuary. Since the end of their understanding, no other person had been permitted in that area, except Simon. As her breath caught in her throat, she imagined being seventeen once more, before the power of her Aetheral half had darkened their mutual affection.

With a delicate clearing of his throat, Samuel muttered, “Tempus fugit, my kittens.”

Both Demetra and Francis turned to regard him with a simultaneous, “Pardon me?”

“Remarkable,” Samuel declared at their synchronized response. “Tempus fugit is Latin for ‘time flees,’ my daemonic darling. In Greek philosophy, Chronos is the personification of time. If I were to seek such a clock, I would search for figures of the deity himself, or a sculptural reference to time somewhere. The problem is that time is a concept that transcends cultures, so what you seek is not necessarily on British soil.”

“But you have never heard of the clock itself.” Demetra could not keep the disappointment from her voice, and she pursed her lips in irritation. Any information that might lead to the device’s whereabouts would result in an ongoing association with Francis, a prospect that interested her more than she cared to admit.

“I am afraid not. Languages are my area of expertise, not obscure relics. Still, there is a reason your old friend came to you. Who else has the power to witch Aetheral artifacts right out of the ground?”

“Be that as it may, I do not care to seek it blindly. I need some sort of clue or direction, lest I walk from one end of the world to the other in an attempt to locate this item.” Demetra huffed and set her teacup down on the saucer. “Goodness knows what I might unearth in the time it would take.”

“Well, there are several figures of Chronos throughout the world, as well as nearly infinite references to time, if you will pardon the pun.” Samuel rubbed at his chin and considered the dilemma. “Let me see what I can learn at the British Museum that might prove useful to you. There may be a reference to it in some obscure manuscript.”

“That would be most kind of you,” Francis responded graciously. “I knew even if Miss Ashdown had never heard of the clock itself, she would have acquaintances with knowledge of it, or at least the resources to learn more.”

Demetra tilted her head, regarding Francis inquiringly.

“Why the quizzical expression?” he asked with a start of surprise, his dark eyes widening.

“I should simply like very much to know if these valet-nappers left you any other clues about this clock they want.” She eyed him speculatively and reached for a piece of the lemon cake. “Precisely what did they communicate to you with regard to their request?”

“I hardly know…”

“You hardly know? How did they contact you with their demands, then? Are you telling me these kidnappers came to you in a dream, or that perhaps they reached out to you telepathically? As I recall, you mentioned a ransom note twice. Give us some details, if you please.”

Francis twitched. “Yes, I do recall informing you about the letter.”

Without a word, Demetra extended her open hand toward him expectantly.

“You can't be serious. Such a thing is not fitting for a lady’s eyes.”

“I am perfectly capable of reading a ransom note without falling into a swoon.” She opened and closed her hand in an imperious gesture of anticipation. “If there is one human who can try my patience until the breaking point, it's you.”

Francis looked to Samuel for assistance, but the eccentric man merely shook his head. “I am but a magician and theologian. Even I have learned that Miss Ashdown will follow her own mind and no one else’s.”

With an exasperated shake of his head, accompanied by a sigh, Francis reached beneath the lapel of his duster to extract the requested letter from the pocket of his shirt. Demetra snatched it from him before he could protest further and unfolded the paper to scan it with her keen gaze. As she held the document, her fingers tightened against it, causing it to crinkle in protest. She saw little reason to abuse something as innocent as paper, yet it took every ounce of self-control she possessed to retain her decorum.

“The note says, ‘Lord Winterton, if you ever desire to see Mr. Beckstrom again, you will procure for us the Chronos Clock. Use your resources wisely and do not dally, lest your valet meet an untimely end and your secrets be made known to the world.’” Slowly, deliberately, Demetra raised her eyes to his face. “Francis, could you tell me to which resources and secrets these people refer?”

“So we are on a first-name basis once more?” He grinned at her.

“They know about me, don't they?” Demetra continued, undaunted by his attempts at inanity. “It seems only obvious that I am the resource to which they refer. Since what I am is not a secret, I should imagine that whatever they are holding over your head is a very frightening thing, indeed.” She leveled an accusatory gaze at him as she pinched the letter by a corner between her thumb and forefinger.

“I certainly never told anybody about you, nor do I have any secrets that any person may not know.”

“Very well, we can forget these secrets of yours for now, but not this reference to ‘resources.’ You may feign innocence all you like, Francis, but you should know I'm not an idiot. While everybody knows I am an Aetheral, you, Mr. Mathers, and Simon Warom know what I can do. Even my own stepmother and sister do not know the full extent of my abilities, just that I attract Aetheric items.” Demetra slid her furious gaze to Samuel.

The Golden Dawn leader looked startled when she focused her narrowed eyes on him. Her expression eloquently conveyed the depths of her rage, especially as her hand clutched at the paper with little regard for its delicate state.

Samuel put his hands up in an almost protective gesture. “I've never said a word about your abilities, not even to Westcott or Woodman, my hellish sweet. They think anything you’ve been kind enough to acquire for me simply came through private collector channels.”

Demetra closed her eyes as if in anticipation of a headache and let the paper fall from her fingers to the table. “Simon seems unlikely to talk. The novelty of a shared secret has always delighted him, and he is far too intelligent to betray such confidences.” As her eyes opened, she returned her glare to Francis. “That leaves you, my former betrothed, who could not stand the fact that I am a special entity in my own right.”

Demetra reached for her parasol and rose indignantly from her chair.

“I may not be entirely of this world, but I do not care to be used by others. Mr. Mathers, thank you for your time. Please keep me informed of your progress. Now, if you will excuse me, I will see myself out.”

“Of course I will, dear girl. You will hear from me promptly if I learn anything in the course of my research.” Samuel returned Demetra’s stiff nod and watched her stalk out of the parlor.

By the time Demetra reached the front door to the Temple, she thought perhaps Francis would be clever enough not to pursue her. However, he hurried to catch up to her as she stepped out onto the street.

“Lord Winterton…” Armed for battle, she opened her mouth to berate him, words of reprimand kindled in an instant.

“You are as fickle as the weather,” he growled at her as he clamped his hat down onto his head. “One minute you are calling me by my given name. The next, I am simply ‘Lord Winterton’ to you. Make up your mind!”

“It seems you had made up your mind that who and what I am were disposable when you decided you no longer wished to remain affianced to me,” Demetra declared as she swept regally into the waiting carriage, which she had taken from her house for the journey to the outskirts of London. “That being the case, I don't believe I will offer you a ride back to Piccadilly.”

“Is that so?” Before the footman could shut the door, Francis leaped nimbly up into the carriage. “Let's not quibble over a few omissions of fact, my dear.”

“It is clear to me that you have done considerably more than omit a few simple facts,” Demetra retorted, thumping the tip of her parasol against the floor of the carriage for emphasis. “Through some indiscretion or another, you have betrayed me to the lawbreakers who now hold the power of life and death over our heads.”

As the conveyance jolted forward, Francis folded his arms and met Demetra’s accusatory glower. “I have done nothing of the sort, and I will thank you to trust my word on that. You are the only woman I have ever loved. This inability of yours to believe in me must come to an end if we are to be married.”

“What a preposterous assumption! Since when was our engagement to one another renewed? As I recall, you breached that promise and have done nothing to mend it.” She looked at her parasol and contemplated its potential efficacy as a weapon. “The discomfiture you caused and the damage to my reputation are both irreparable. You didn't behave honorably then. Why should I trust you now?”

Francis narrowed his eyes, left with nothing to do but fume in the corner after the all-too-accurate admonishment. When the carriage clattered to a standstill in front of the Ashdowns’ Albemarle Street home and the footman opened the door, Demetra flounced through with a toss of her head. Descending to the street, Francis watched as his companion walked up the steps of her home with unseemly haste.

“Oh!” She turned to deliver her parting shot. “I will send word if Mr. Mathers is able to find any of the information you seek.”

Cocking his head to one side, Francis spread his hands before him and grinned sardonically. “Is that it? Surely you can do better than that, my ice princess.”

Unflappable as ever, Demetra gave him a small smile and responded, “If you are going to entice me to expend any further time and effort on your behalf, you will need to make a great many concessions to me.”

“Shall I proclaim my undying love for you here and now, before every person on this street?”

“No.” Demetra considered him and finally said, “You will state for one and all to see that you made an error in judgment the day you ended our engagement. You will restore my honor and reputation at the cost of your own, dear boy. Go against your masculine sensibilities and admit your mistake in a public forum. Only then will I believe you. Until such time, I will be your partner in this affair, but none other.”

Francis rubbed at his jaw as he stared at her. “You would demand I humble myself before all of society?”

“You left town after the indignity I suffered, a disgrace directly attributable to your severing our engagement. I had no such recourse from my humiliation but time. While you took your ease in the country, it was incumbent upon me to rely on a new scandal to occupy the minds of the ton.” Lifting her chin proudly, she said, “I have endured and I always will, but if you are truly penitent then you will act upon it. For now, we will be colleagues, but not husband and wife.”

With that parting sentiment, Demetra walked into the house and shut the door behind her.

~~~~~

Much to her annoyance, Demetra could not do anything but seethe with impotent rage for the remainder of the day. She was certain the knowledge of who and what she was had been compromised by somebody she had once trusted and loved. She had sworn never to feel such pain again after Francis broke their engagement and her heart. In particular, she had resolved not to allow him to be the cause of any distress in her life. Not generally given to tears or hysterics, she simply paced her room in an effort to channel her agitated emotions into something more useful.

Startled out of her activity by a knock at the door, Demetra marched over to yank it open. Verity stood in the entrance gaping at her indelicately, her chestnut-brown eyes wide.

“Yes, what is the matter?” Demetra asked, aware her voice sounded harsher than she had intended.

“Were you taking a turn about the room?” her younger sister asked in a timid voice.

“I was.” Demetra stiffened and lifted her chin a fraction. “Why do you ask?”

“I could hear stomping while I was sitting in the library. Is something wrong?”

“You have an uncanny knack for intuiting human emotion,” Demetra retorted sarcastically.

Despite her quiet bookishness, Verity was a compassionate girl, a quality Demetra admired in her sibling. Most of their peers were afraid to approach Demetra for fear of saying the wrong thing about her broken engagement and reputation, or her Aetheric nature. Verity, however, refused to capitulate to such fears. The young girl’s love for her older half-sister outweighed any other feeling she might have with regard to Demetra.

“Something has upset you and I-I hoped to find out if I could be of assistance to you,” Verity stammered.

Touched by her sister's thoughtfulness, Demetra nodded and opened the door wider. “Won't you come in?”

With a small smile, Verity stepped into the room, the layers of her light green dress obliging the movement by fluttering about her softly.

The fifteen-year-old exemplified everything a young woman ought to be in Victorian society, with the exception of her overzealous reading habits. Raven-black hair framed her round face, and her soft blue eyes gave her a look of innocence. Demetra found it difficult not to like Verity at least to some extent, as the girl was not in the least preoccupied with her looks, but instead interested in matters of the mind. Still, Demetra wished her younger sister were not quite so faint-hearted about interacting with other people. Society dictated that a young lady be graceful and speak only to those people to whom she had been introduced, but Verity refused to speak at all in many instances, even when it was appropriate for her to do so.

Rowena believed a woman should not act too smart and behaved in quite an overbearing manner with regard to her youngest daughter’s marital prospects. This behavior had bred such shyness in Verity; the poor girl had no desire to think about marriage. Her mother’s expectations often left her overwrought and beleaguered, unable to cope with the maternal pressure. There seemed no cure for it, save the improbable prospect of Rowena reconsidering the manner in which she encouraged Verity to interact with others. Until that day, Demetra could do very little to intervene on her sister’s behalf. Thus, she contented herself to encouraging her younger sister’s rare moments of outspokenness.

A softer tone to her voice, Demetra said, “Since it seems likely some busybody who saw me out and about at St. James today will spread gossip, then I may as well tell you Lord Winterton has returned to town.”

“Oh no, you cannot be serious!” Verity went so far as to open her mouth in an “O” of surprise and alarm to punctuate her statement. “He hasn't been seen here these past three years.”

“I am well aware of that and not at all pleased with my predicament.” Demetra gently shut her bedroom door and turned to face her sister. “If I am fortunate, he will leave without vexing me any further.”

“You actually took a turn together in public? What did you discuss? Has he perhaps come for the season?” Verity’s shrewd expression betrayed deep contemplation on her part. “If so, you will most assuredly see him many times over the new few months.”

For a moment, Demetra felt as if all the breath had left her. When she began to breathe normally once more, she drew herself up to her full height. “That is the most appalling thing you have ever said to me.”

“I am so sorry, but you need to consider all of the possibilities.” Verity tapped one of her elegantly shod feet against the floor. “Perhaps you two did not talk about the season, and I will not be so audacious as to ask again about what you did discuss, since his return is clearly a point of contention. However, as much as you hope he will leave without seeing you again, you must keep in mind that such hopes and this reality are two very different things.”

“That is quite true,” Demetra agreed, “and I think it very insightful of you. When did you grow so perceptive?”

Verity beamed at her and responded brightly, “It’s the wisdom I gathered from reading Sherlock Holmes stories in The Strand Magazine!”

With a groan, Demetra pressed her hand to her face and shook her head.

“Regardless of your literary education,” she finally said, recovering her composure, “I have a feeling you are correct. Season or no, I doubt I have seen the last of Francis Winterton.”

Chapter Five

The next morning, Demetra returned to the last place she had visited before the unwelcome disruption in her life. Even though Warom’s Apothecary was not yet open for business, she stepped through the front door with the regal air of one who was entitled to be wherever she chose. Both Mr. Warom and Simon were behind the front counter, tidying the shop in preparation to open it for the day.

“Good morning, Miss Ashdown,” the elder Warom greeted her warmly. “What a pleasant surprise to see you so early, though I had not expected to see your lovely face at all today. Simon told me you were here just the day before yesterday to replenish your stepmother’s latest favorite of our fine array of serums.”

“Indeed, Simon spoke true.” Demetra gave the man a warm smile. She considered him one of a very small group of people dear to her heart.

Mr. Warom was a widower, and a fatherly sort of man, as well as kind and honest. Despite the promises on the labels of the many tonics, serums, and lotions he sold to eager ladies, Mr. Warom always cautioned them that most such claims were exaggerated and to expect nothing more than a healthier appearance for a short time. It was this honesty that had earned Demetra's respect for him.

Flicking at the ruffle that adorned the shoulder of her cobalt-blue day dress, Demetra said sweetly, “It has been such a long time since Simon and I had an opportunity to spend a day together. I wonder if you might allow him to take a turn with me about Green Square.”

“Why certainly he may join you, Miss Ashdown. Enjoy your walk together and take all the time you like.” Mr. Warom bobbed his head before resuming his tasks.

Simon watched the exchange, his eyes wandering back and forth between Demetra and his father. With a shrug, he gathered his coat from just inside the backroom and joined his friend at the door.

The moment they were on the sidewalk, she grabbed him by the sleeve and hissed, “Have you revealed my abilities to dowse for and identify relics to anyone?”

“Miss Ashdown, you cannot be serious. Please calm down.” Simon plucked her hand from his arm and smoothed the dark brown fabric of his coat. “Of course I have not told anyone about you. It grieves me to consider the harm that might come to you if anybody with unscrupulous intentions is aware of your abilities. If the wrong people knew what you could do, they might use you most appallingly. We spoke about this only two days ago. Why would you ask me such a thing now?”

“I am now very well aware of the potential danger to me, and relieved to know you are concerned about such a possibility too.” Demetra opened her parasol as they crossed into the Green Square. “Would that I had never entrusted Lord Winterton with my heart or my secrets, I should not find myself in this predicament today.”

“What has happened?” Simon reached out to set her hand upon his arm and then pressed his warm hand over hers, as his expression changed to one of concern.

“This is a most indecorous pose, Mr. Warom.” Demetra removed her hand from beneath his and shook her head at him reprovingly.

“Be that as it may, we have been friends for a long time, and I don't consider it inappropriate to show at least some affection. Your question has me both quite confused and extremely concerned. Besides, you seem rather distressed, so please allow me the privilege of offering at least some comfort.” He replaced her hand on his arm and patted the back of it. “Now, will you please explain the reason for your question?”

“May I say that I appreciate such affectionate sentiments, especially since I know you truly mean them?” Demetra took a long, deep breath, her head bowed. “Lord Winterton came to see me two days ago. He is in a rather difficult situation, and he asked for my assistance with the matter.”

“Based upon your initial question, my guess is his request is related to your artifact-finding abilities.”

“Indeed it is. Some rather unscrupulous villain has taken his valet hostage, and will only return him home safely if Lord Winterton can provide something known as the Chronos Clock. It sounds vaguely familiar to me, but that is the extent of it. Have you heard of such an item?” Demetra angled an inquiring gaze up at her friend.

Simon whistled long and low. “The Chronos Clock is a rather tall order.”

“You know of it?” Demetra turned to look at him in stunned disbelief. “Even my friend, Mr. Mathers, had not heard of it, and he is interested in all things that are out of the ordinary.”

“Ah, but Mr. Mathers is a spiritual man, not a scientific one. There isn't an artificer worth his name who has not heard of this particular clock. I am sure even your father has heard its name. Of course, hearing of something and knowing what it does are two vastly different things. Furthermore, I'm not necessarily sure this is something you want to toy with if it can be helped.”

“Why is that?” Demetra asked sharply. “You must tell me everything you know about this clock.”

“It is quite simple, really.” Simon assumed the manner of a teacher giving a lecture. “The Chronos Clock is said to control time. It is not a widespread temporal effect, but supposedly confined to a certain area of radius. This makes it an excellent tool for altering one’s personal life and surroundings, but it could still be used to cause a great deal of mischief in the world at large. For example, one might use it to stop time to rob a bank, or perhaps go back in time to prevent a specific event. All of this is speculation based on rumor, undocumented and unconfirmed. Still, these are rumors that are better left unproven. Any shift in the nature of time, no matter how small, could prove utterly devastating to the entire world.”

Demetra pressed her lips together, nodding and considering his words. “I understand precisely what you have said. The possibilities for anything ranging from personal gain to global destruction are endless. Believe it or not, last night as I lay in bed, I tried to think of every possible reason why somebody might want such a device.”

“Tried?” Simon tilted his head at her.

“I fell asleep.” Idly slipping her hand from beneath his and stroking the tips of her fingers along the cold lines of the silver fan dangling from her bodice, Demetra asked, “Do you know how the device operates?”

“No one is quite sure how it functions, nor do we know when it was created or by whom. However, the theory I recall is that the clock controls time from one person’s perspective. That may not seem like much—as if somehow limiting that control to a single person would also limit the potential for danger—but we are talking about the power to warp an infinite substance. Any ability to bend or alter it, even if confined to a single person’s perspective, has the potential to cause destruction on a much wider scale. Consider how one might use such a thing to their advantage. Nobody knows for certain the area the clock’s temporal signature encompasses, but imagine you are standing in the center of Green Square and able to control everything in this immediate locale. Time is a harsh mistress. Why else do you think so many women try to turn it back?”

“Must you give me yet another worry?” Demetra scowled at him at the reminder of her age-obsessed stepmother. “For now, my greatest concern is how to approach the problem of Lord Winterton. I might be inclined to assist him, had it not been for his apparent indiscretion with regard to me.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Demetra cleared her throat before speaking, to ensure Simon could not mistake a word she said. “The ransom note referred to the ‘resources’ he had available to assist him in locating the clock. I am certain whoever wrote such a loathsome letter meant me. At least, that is the inference I've drawn from it.”

Irritation flitted across Simon’s face as he responded. “So besides Lord Winterton possibly placing you in danger, a man may lose his life should you fail to assist in locating the clock. However, I still do not understand why someone would kidnap his valet. If you were the one the kidnappers wanted to get to, why bother with Lord Winterton or a mere servant at all?”

“That is precisely what I have been wondering since yesterday. Now I believe you can understand my exasperation over the matter. It is all quite strange. My best guess is it is a convenient way to involve me. It is far easier to take a man from the country and send a ransom note than it is to threaten a well-known member of society during the social season.”

Demetra bit at her lip, thinking of the visit to the Isis-Urania temple.

“I must tell you the note also said something about secrets. I am less certain if that particular statement was in reference to me or to Lord Winterton. He was not exactly forthcoming with any of this at the start.”

“Secrets, you say? Well, my dear lady,” Simon countered with a small bow toward her and another pat to the back of her hand, “I feel most strongly that you are entitled to a great deal more emotion than exasperation in this instance. This is a very odd circumstance and no matter how you try to piece it together, none of the pieces quite fit.”

“To think that a lowly valet-napper would disrupt my life in such a way,” Demetra said with a shake of her head. “It certainly shows such impertinence and presumption on their part, and I have a good mind to thrash them with my parasol.”

“Under the circumstances, that might not be such a bad idea,” Simon said, laughing, “though if the wrong person were to get their hands on the Chronos Clock, it won't be quite so humorous.”

“If Lord Winterton were to attempt to appear in public without Beckstrom to clothe him, such a situation could be equally devastating.” Demetra’s little smirk was met by Simon’s equally playful grin.

“Yet somehow he managed it yesterday,” the young man pointed out. “I feel the security of the world is of far greater importance than the life of one man who is devoted to ensuring the fashionable appearance of another.”

“True.” Demetra pondered his words as they walked. “While I do not want Beckstrom to die, many others may lose their lives if we give in to the kidnapper’s demands. We have no idea what their intentions may be with regard to the clock and its power.”

Simon glanced at her sideways. “I suppose you think me harsh to condemn a man to death for the sake of the world.”

“I don't think that at all. However, I don't believe Lord Winterton will give up so easily, no matter how I persuade him. A valet is not just a servant, but often a friend and confidante as well. Most people cannot stand idly by and allow a friend to die. Attachment is one of the key failings of the human race.”

Raising an eyebrow, Simon asked, “Do you include yourself in that circle?”

“Which circle would that be? Do you mean to ask if I consider myself a human or a living creature with failings?”

“You know very well you have no failings.” Simon chuckled, eliciting a rare smile from Demetra in response. “No, I am referring to the fact that you know what it is like to become attached to another person and to suffer an error in judgment as a result.”

Demetra’s smile faded, and she took an unintentionally vicious swipe at the grass with her open parasol, before recovering some measure of decorum. “I believe you know the answer to that question, not that I care to accept myself as capable of making such an error in judgment.”

“Perhaps you are more human than you are willing to allow.”

“I know I am quite human, especially since my judgment is even more uncertain when I am in Lord Winterton’s presence.” She sighed and picked at the lace edging her parasol. “When we first met, I knew he was different than the other young men. He did not go out of his way to impress me with his wealth or title.”

“Then what impressed you about him?” Simon asked.

“He made me laugh.” Demetra smiled at the memory. “When we first met, he didn't act intimidated by me like the other young men did. Sadly, that changed over time. But I loved how his mind was always at work, much like mine. Of course, where I want everything planned out and organized, he is impulsive, even hot-tempered at times. I loved that, while I approached everything logically, he shared his emotions freely.”

“So it was a case of opposites attracting,” Simon concluded with an affirmative nod of his head.

“It was partially that, but we were also two of a kind in so many ways. We are both looking for something or someone special. An ordinary life is not for either of us. It is an adventure we could have both shared.”

Demetra’s lashes swept down over her eyes. When she looked at Simon again, her cool demeanor had reasserted itself.

“However, he hurt me so completely, I'm not sure I want to open myself up to him a second time. I know I am doing all I can to push him away from me right now. What I need is to stay focused on figuring out whether or not I will help him with this matter. Once I answer that question, I can determine my next course of action.”

With a shrug, Simon said, “Let me warn you, if you choose to help him, you are playing with temporal fire.”

“There is a first time for everything,” Demetra said with a surprisingly girlish toss of her hair. “But the question I have for you is this: if I choose to assist Lord Winterton in his search, will you help us?”

“My question is why would you want to assist him if all you want is to force him to maintain his distance?”

Demetra scowled at Simon. “Why do you always have to ask the hard questions?”

“That is what friends are for.” He winked at her.

“I suppose I would choose to help him because it is the right thing to do, logically-speaking.”

“Not because you actually still love him?” Simon pressed.

“I think love is irrelevant,” Demetra answered. “A life without love is far more sensible than letting someone into your heart, when all they will do is hurt you.”

The expression on Simon’s face told her he was not at all pleased with the thought.

“You are a good friend to worry on my behalf,” she added, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

“Demetra.” Simon spoke her name quietly. “I would never break your heart the way he did, if you would only give me the chance to be more than a friend to you.”

“Pardon me?” Demetra’s stunned gaze focused on his face as she realized the impact of his sentiment.

With a dejected sigh, Simon said in a stronger voice, “You know I would enjoy nothing better than to accompany you on any quest that involves seeking a legendary device like the Chronos Clock. Furthermore, I would be very pleased to provide you with whatever you need by way of information and gear. In fact, I've been working on the necklace, and you will be pleased to know that I have a few things for you to try.”

“I'm delighted to hear it.” Demetra moved to link her arm through Simon’s as they completed their stroll around the Green and turned back along Piccadilly. It was a relief to return to the previous topic, even as she felt their friendship had just shifted into new territory.

“The protective qualities of the Boleyn necklace should come in quite handy for this little venture.” Simon almost sounded normal once more.

“When will you have the opportunity to show me these new items you have made?”

Considering her question, Simon replied, “My father is going to spend his evening with some old friends of his. Perhaps you could come back to the shop after tea and allow me to share my newest inventions then.”

“You know there is nothing I enjoy better than playing with new devices.” Demetra winked up at her companion. “That is, with the exception of putting them to a real test against anybody who tries to prevent me from getting what I want.”

Simon bent his head close to hers and whispered, “Which is why I am most grateful I am your ally, and not your enemy.”

Chapter Six

Finding Lord Winterton waiting for her in the parlor of her home on Albemarle Street did not astonish Demetra in the least, though it did irritate her considerably. As she pulled off her gloves and tossed them on the small table by the door, she chided him, “It would have been nice to receive some sort of advance notice of your visit. What has become of your manners?”

“What do manners matter when a man’s life hangs in the balance?” Francis had left his duster and hat with the butler, and faced her in a very simple white shirt, burgundy-red cravat, and black pants.

“What do manners matter when the one man who ensures that you are properly attired before you leave the house is gone? What an atrocious ensemble.” Demetra found it difficult to resist the urge to rearrange his necktie and to suggest the addition of a waistcoat. “If this undesirable state of affairs is allowed to continue, it seems you will go out of fashion very quickly. Under the circumstances, I feel I have no choice but to assist you in recovering Beckstrom from his abductors. You are in a sorry condition, indeed, when you cannot even tie your own cravat.”

Wrinkling his brow in exasperation, Francis answered, “I am so pleased you are taking this seriously.”

“One’s appearance is serious business, and it would be highly improper for me not to treat this problem with the dignity it deserves.” Demetra contemplated his garments for another moment and then added, “Rather like a funeral.”

“Always so concerned with what is proper and correct. Might I remind you that it will be Beckstrom’s funeral if you continue to make a mockery of this incident?”

“Always least concerned with what others think.” With an arched eyebrow to punctuate her statement, Demetra turned to glance at the pendulum clock hanging on the wall. “Might I remind you that it is nearly time for lunch and you are here without an invitation? You may as well be my guest and join us in the dining room,” she added with a weary sigh.

“I enjoyed catching up with Mr. Ashdown the other day. I would be very pleased to see him again.” Francis fell into step next to her as they walked along the hallway.

“Unfortunately, my father is not likely to join us at the table. He is rather hard at work these days, as he is much inspired by the changing of the seasons. I am afraid you'll have to suffer through Rowena’s shallow little chatter and Verity’s silence.”

Francis laughed. “I take it your sister is the lesser of two evils in this instance.”

“She is a bit spoiled, but at least Verity generally keeps any silliness in check. I must admit I quite like her. Rowena is another story.” She scowled at the thought of her stepmother.

“She always was.”

“I think it rather in poor taste of you to laugh at my woes.”

“I think it rather in poor taste of you to make light of mine,” he retorted.

Demetra rolled her eyes as they entered the dining room. “It certainly amuses me to think that as someone who has cared so little about time, I must now find an object capable of controlling it.”

Francis stopped short and stared at her. “Is that what the clock does?”

“You're not a fool. What did you think such a thing would do? Chime on the hour and play a merry little tune?” Demetra returned tartly, placing her hands on her hips in a very unladylike fashion. “Do you think you have been asked to produce a mere timepiece? Name one clock for which you would willingly commit cold-blooded murder.”

“Point made.” Francis groaned, pressing his hand to his face in chagrin. “I should have known better. Is this when I admit to you that I have been a shortsighted ass?”

“I would never hold a natural flaw of your birth against you.”

“That is most gracious of you and I know you can relate, what with your own inconsistent disposition,” he whispered in her ear as he stepped up behind her.

“Pardon me?” Her body rigid, Demetra turned the full force of her witheringly catlike gaze upon him.

“At least my condition is treatable.”

It was now her turn to gape as Francis smirked triumphantly and held a chair for her.

“Are you going to land or do you eat standing up?”

With as much dignity as she could muster, Demetra sat down on the cushioned seat of the dining room chair. The quick, jerky movements with which she smoothed her skirts were the only outward sign of her discomfiture. She maintained her unyielding posture even when Rowena and Verity strolled into the dining room together.

“Why Lord Winterton,” Rowena simpered, approaching their guest and extending her hand to him. “How wonderful it is to see you after all this time. It has been far too long since you graced us with your presence, though I cannot say I blame you for staying away from London. There is certainly nothing here to tempt you, is there?”

“Not that I can think of off the top of my head, but I might be able to come up with something after some serious consideration of the question.” Francis escorted Rowena to her chair and held it for her. The older woman sank gracefully down into the chair and smiled flirtatiously up at him.

Demetra realized her own feelings had surpassed indignation and hastened straight into rage. With a concerted effort, she kept herself from flinging Rowena’s best silver tea service at her former betrothed’s head. Instead, she gazed down at the hands she had clenched in her lap, and tried not to tremble when Francis sat down next to her.

“I should advise you that it's not exactly safe to take a seat in such close proximity to me at this very moment,” Demetra hissed out between her teeth. “For your well-being, I highly recommend you find another chair at this table.”

“If there is one thing I always loved about you, it was my ability to discompose you,” Francis responded softly, decisively claiming the seat as his own. “It seems no one else is capable of it.”

“Trust me, Lord Winterton, when I say the ability to discompose me hardly makes you special.”

“Is that so?” He tilted his head to one side as he gazed at her, oblivious to the hustle and bustle around them as the servants set lunch on the table. “Then tell me why you have chosen to help me.”

With a glance up at Rowena, whose stridently imperious instructions to the servants drowned out any background noise, Demetra whispered, “It has nothing to do with you and everything to do with preventing something with enormous power from falling into the wrong hands.”

“Are you telling me if any other person came to you with this dilemma, you would assist them as well?”

Nothing gave Demetra more pleasure in that moment than the ability to look Francis in the eye and answer, “Yes, I most certainly would.”

“Do you say that to drive the knife deeper into my heart or because you are such a truly noble person that the state of the world matters to you?”

“Oddly enough, both.” Demetra slipped the blue cloth napkin at her place setting off the table and smoothed the fabric over her lap. “I may be blessed or cursed with a longer lifespan than a human, but my unfortunate heritage does not do me any good if somebody is so ill-mannered as to do something that puts this world in danger. In short, I need the world and time intact if I am to make the most of my own life. It's as simple and logical as that.”

Before Francis could respond, Rowena’s piercing tones cut across the table. “Do enlighten me, Lord Winterton. How long do you intend to remain in town? The season has only just begun, and it would be a pity if you did not participate.”

“I have every intention of staying until the summer.” Francis turned to favor Rowena with an amiable expression. “It has been far too long since I participated in a London season, a circumstance I truly regret.”

“Will we have the privilege of seeing your mother? Lady Winterton has also not been in town for such a long time. She has not been seen since your father passed on a few years ago.” Rowena delicately sipped at the soup on her spoon and looked up at Francis inquiringly.

“Unfortunately, my mother hates town. She finds it too crowded for her sensibilities and is far more comfortable in the country.”

Dabbing at her lips with the corner of her napkin, Rowena said, “That must be why we never met her when you and Demetra were betrothed. How unfortunate. I do hope Lady Winterton is in good health. Please convey my sentiments to her.”

“I will do just that, thank you.” Francis glanced sideways at Demetra. “Mother regrets not meeting you when we were engaged,” he whispered, “but you must understand she had nothing against you.”

The silence between them lingered until Demetra pushed away from the table. “Pardon me, Stepmother, but I do not have much of an appetite today.” With a brief nod, she left the dining room.

“Demetra, I did not mean to upset you. I am very sorry.” Francis caught up to her at the staircase.

Looking down at him from the fifth step, she retorted, “Are you sorry for reminding me that your mother disapproved of our match and would never come out and say so, or sorry I had no interest in the soup?”

“Please do not be angry at me. I had no idea just how hurt you were. You walk around acting as though you do not have an emotional bone in your body, yet you certainly seem to get quite moody when you see me. Why is that? What are you afraid of?”

“I'm afraid you will break my heart again,” Demetra answered in a small, hollow voice. “Can you not understand that? If you must know, yes, I am still angry with you for my humiliation. It happened a long time ago, but it hurt, Francis. You are right. I do not acknowledge my emotions if I can help it, but I do have feelings no matter how often I try to shove them aside. If you are truly sorry, then let’s not continue to refer to that unfortunate event. I would rather we move forward and deal with the matter at hand.”

“Will you please allow me to set things right with you?” Francis asked, as he extended his hand toward her. “You have more sentiment than I ever gave you credit for.”

“Then why did you love me?”

“Excuse me?”

Demetra squared her shoulders and looked down at Francis from the steps. “From what I understand, men prefer a woman who shows her emotions, particularly adoration and affection where the man is concerned. So tell me why you loved me in the first place, and why I should accept that you are truly contrite.”

“You know I act without thinking and I am an impulsive ass. I can admit that.” Francis put his hands up as if in surrender. “I just go absolutely senseless where you are concerned, because I love you so much. I need somebody like you—somebody rational, who focuses more on how to get from one point to the next, than on just charging in and doing something without thinking. I need someone who is not afraid to examine all the possibilities. You are not like all those silly heiresses my mother throws at me. You have a mind and you use it, but love doesn't come from just appreciating the person you are. It's a feeling in my heart and I know you have one of those too. You just admitted as much.”

Francis walked up the few steps separating them, his dark gaze challenging Demetra to meet it.

“And it is killing me to know whether or not you could ever love me again,” he whispered.

For a long moment, Demetra held his gaze. “Meet me at Warom’s Apothecary at three o’clock,” she finally answered, her voice betraying only the slightest discomposure. “Then we will work out a plan to begin our search.”

“Why at the apothecary?” A line formed between Francis’s brows. “Are you still friends with Simon Warom?”

“I am and he has really come into his own as an inventor. He has some items that may be of use to us in our hunt for the clock. I would highly recommend taking him into your confidence in this matter. There is no one more trustworthy or knowledgeable about Aetheric artifacts, at least, not in my circle of acquaintances.”

Francis nodded and said, “Then I will see you at Warom’s at three o’clock.”

With a small smile of satisfaction, Demetra declared, “And let the hunt begin.”

Chapter Seven

Warom’s Apothecary was closed for the rest of the day.

Demetra rapped her knuckles lightly against the glass on the top half of the locked door, and waited patiently for Simon to open it.

“You should expect Lord Winterton to show up as well,” she announced, walking into the dimly lit shop when he admitted her.

“Why must he be here?” Simon’s tone bordered on whiny.

“Because it's his valet who is in danger, his little mystery to solve, and therefore his responsibility to at least do some of the work of fixing this mess,” Demetra answered, running a gloved finger along the countertop. “Even if you and I will do most of the true labor, that is.”

A gentle knock sounded at the door and Simon opened it. “Speak of the devil,” he said.

Francis removed his hat as his glance flicked over to Demetra. “Shall we? I was just thinking how lovely she always looks.”

She turned away from him, determined to ignore his flattery. The last thing she wanted to do was encourage his affections. Pretending she had not heard him, she tapped her finger against her chin and tried to appear very interested in a diagram of the human nervous system hanging on the wall.

“Tell me something, Demi,” Simon said, locking the shop door. “If I'm the brains and you are the relic hunter, what is his role?” He indicated Francis with a wave of his hand.

“He is our client,” Demetra chirped in response. She turned from her contemplation of the picture, and a smug smile graced her features. “He will owe us payment once the task is completed to his satisfaction. It is a very straightforward business transaction.”

“Wait just a moment.” Francis put his hands up in protest. “I am much more than your client.”

“Oh, really? Are you inferring you could do this without our assistance?” Demetra’s tawny eyes held a challenge within them. When she had first met Francis, he had been a rather impetuous sort, given to showing off and rushing headlong into things without thinking. It was one of the reasons she was first attracted to him.

“Not at all, but at the very least, I am the firepower of the operation. I'm hardly a useless patron.” He folded his arms to glare at her, indignation creasing his features.

“As I recall, you have not touched a gun since your father’s pistols caused some rather unexpected harm to me.”

Simon pushed himself away from the wall and walked over to Demetra. “What did he do to you with a gun?”

“Nothing as nefarious as pointing the thing at me,” Demetra answered, her gaze still fixed on Francis’s face as she recalled the incident in her mind. “Let us just say I should have known better and kept my hands to myself, instead of daring to give in to my curiosity. Now, shall we go upstairs and see what you have for us?”

“With pleasure,” Simon answered, extending his arm to indicate Demetra should precede them. As the young lady walked through the backroom and up the stairs, Simon hissed at Francis, “If you have only come back here to cause her harm…”

“I have not and I will not.” Francis glared down at the shorter, younger man. “Both you and Demetra must learn to trust me.”

“Since you have apparently caused her not just emotional harm, but physical harm as well, it hardly seems likely. You have much to prove before either of us places any trust in you.”

“Then I'll prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

“Excuse me, but could you gentlemen move with a bit more haste?” Demetra called down from the second floor. “We do have an empire to protect. After all, if someone is rude enough to kidnap one’s valet, who knows what they might do next.”

With one last glare down the staircase, Demetra waited for Francis and Simon to join her. She tried not to laugh as Francis shook his head and followed the artificer.

The second floor of the apothecary was a rather standard home. The short hallway in front of them had doors along it on either side. There was a kitchen to the right and a small parlor opposite it on the left. Simon led them to a door at the very end of the hall. When he opened it, a strange scent greeted Demetra.

Before she could remark on it, Francis asked, “Do I smell incense?”

“I just discovered the other day that the scent of it is useful for covering up odors from my work,” Simon explained, shutting the door behind them.

“Well, it certainly is an improvement over what I smelled last time I was here,” Demetra said with a nod of approval. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the pleasant odor of the herbal incense.

The artificer's personal room was quite small, with only a bed, a wardrobe for his clothes, and a small desk beneath the one window. There was a door on the wall to their right, just around the bed. Incense smoked in a burner atop the desk, filling the room with the scent of sage.

“Have you been up here before?” Francis turned to Demetra.

“Of course I have,” she answered with a shrug of her shoulders. “While it may not be proper to visit a man’s bedroom, it cannot be helped if I want to see Simon’s workshop. He has created many interesting things for me over the past few years.”

“What sorts of things does he create?”

Demetra slipped the cord of her silver fan off the loop at her bodice and handed the accessory to Francis. “He made me this handy device.”

He opened it and looked it over in disbelief. “A fan?” He snorted. “This is just a pretty little trifle.”

“Just trust me when I say it has saved my life on more than one occasion.” Demetra snatched the item out of his hand, suddenly annoyed at him. Had he remained a part of her life, she might have had to worry less about protecting herself. “Simon, I would be most obliged to see what you have for us.”

Withdrawing an ornate brass key from his pocket, Simon approached the door on the other side of the room. He unlocked it and the door opened wide to reveal his work area. Demetra and Francis followed. The nobleman ran his assessing gaze over the workshop.

Metal shelves lined three walls, the shelves organized so similar items were grouped together. The bottom shelves were crammed full of books on various topics, ranging from math to philosophy, engineering to astronomy, and more. A large table dominated the center of the room. Tools and projects in progress covered the workspace. One strange machine churned away in a corner behind the table. Pistons pumped into a metal casing and steam puffed forcefully from a tube extending from one end. Tools hung on rows of hooks along the wall behind the table. A large skylight let sunshine into the room, and there were plenty of gaslights to illuminate it at night. Despite the metal everywhere, the brick walls glowed warmly in the sunlight.

“This is almost as impressive as Mr. Ashdown’s basement,” Francis finally said in a quiet, admiring voice.

“Thank you. Though, unlike Mr. Ashdown, I have done all of this on my own, without any patron or clientele.” Simon approached the large table in the center of the room. “This is borne of my interest in all things having to do with science, math, mechanics, and engineering. Demetra has invested a not inconsiderable amount of her own time and energy into my work, for which I am always grateful.”

Coat hooks on the wall next to the door held an assortment of items, and Simon reached out to take a pair of goggles and place them on top of his head.

“We'll need anything that might give us an edge in our present circumstances,” Demetra said, setting her parasol down on a chair by the door and leaning over the table to see what Simon had there. She would do anything to distract herself from her annoyance with Francis. “My guess is some sort of protection will be essential.”

“Then I am very pleased to inform you that the Boleyn necklace has proven quite useful in my experiments.”

“Boleyn?” Francis stammered. “Do you mean Mary and Anne Boleyn?”

“I mean Queen Anne herself, yes.” Simon pulled his goggles down over his face and adjusted the magnifying lenses atop his right eye. “I found that when a pearl is ground down to a fine powder, it does not lose its power. If the powder is scattered too thinly, the protective energy might not be quite so strong. However, if you use at least one pearl in a single item, it is very effective.”

Demetra clapped her hands together with delight. “I cannot wait to see what you made from it.”

“Are you telling me you found the fabled necklace of Anne Boleyn and then… dismantled and crushed it?” Francis gasped in horror, his eyes wide.

“Oh yes, I most certainly dismantled it, but I only crushed a few of the pearls.”

Gaping at the artificer, Francis cried, “Have you no shame?”

“We are talking about a woman who died over three hundred fifty years ago.” Demetra shook her head at him, a mocking smile on her lips. “She can continue to serve her country even after death, thanks to this necklace. Someone close to the Queen infused the necklace with Aetheric protective energy, and it certainly does not do poor Anne any good in her grave.”

“You are both unbelievable!”

“We, sir, are innovators!” Simon exclaimed in reply. He raised Demetra’s arm off the table and said, “If you would just be so kind as to keep it there.” She waited patiently as he buckled something around her wrist, while she tilted her head in eagerness. “Voila. What do you think?” he asked.

Bringing her arm up a bit, Demetra looked at the cuff strapped around the lower portion of it. It was made of elegant, dark brown leather with a weathered old compass fastened to it with brass rivets.

“Very nice, especially as I possess an appalling sense of direction, though it is rather bulky for just a compass.” She tested the weight of the cuff. “It also lacks the Aetheric magick of the necklace.”

“That is because this is just a simple invention. It is nothing more than a compass and an incendiary device.”

“An incendiary device?” Francis repeated incredulously. “You mean that thing is explosive?”

“Really, if you cannot compose yourself, we will have to ask to you leave.” Demetra gave him a baleful glare before turning back to Simon. “How does it work?”

“It is quite simple. If you press this rivet here,” Simon said, indicating the small circle of brass, “it will set the gears beneath this layer of leather in motion. In turn, they will force the liquid igniter through the wire running along the cuff. When the chemical compound meets the gunpowder in the small reservoir at the base of the cuff, it provides the spark necessary for it to explode. Of course, I would suggest throwing it at your target as soon as you press the rivet.” Simon winked at her and checked the buckles to ensure they were tight enough around her wrist.

“Quite ingenious,” Demetra said, her lips curling upward in a satisfied smile. It was nice to add something new to her personal armaments. While it was not the most fashionable accessory, she appreciated the dangerous functionality.

“Am I the only person in this room who sees a problem here?”

Simultaneously, both Simon and Demetra turned to look at Francis.

“I mean, think about it,” he said. “She is wearing some volatile substance on her wrist. What if she had an accident or it malfunctioned? What if she unwittingly pushes the button?”

“What if you relax and let me do my job?” Simon held Demetra’s wrist toward Francis for closer inspection. “The rivet must be pushed with enough force to push on the plunger that will pierce the small vial containing the chemicals. She must lock it into place to ignite it. A subtle tap is not enough to set it off, so do not worry yourself about an accident.”

“Is this really necessary, though? Do you believe you'll need things like this?” Francis waved his arm around the room.

“My dear boy,” Demetra purred. “These people are threatening murder. If they are capable of killing Beckstrom, they are capable of killing us. I, for one, would rather tip the odds of survival in our favor. Now, Simon. What else do you have?”

“Well, you were looking for something protective, and here it is.”

Simon handed her a larger item, this one made of the same dark leather. Demetra took it in her hands and said approvingly, “Ah, this certainly has Aetheric energy flowing through it.” The simple pouch had two hooks at the back of it, meant to hang from the rings sewn inside the bottoms of all her leather work bodices.

“I lined the inside of the pouch with two of the crushed pearls and sewed a thick liner over it. You can attach it to your bodice and it will offer some Aetheric protection, rather than those plain pouches you normally use.”

“What a wonderful idea, Simon. Thank you so much.” Demetra connected the hooks on the pouch to her bodice and smiled with satisfaction. “Do you have anything Francis could use?”

Simon eyed the nobleman for a long moment. “I suppose if he really means to carry some sort of weapon, he could use this.” He reached down to a shelf below the table and pulled out another leather contrivance.

After a few seconds of hesitation, Francis took the holster in his hands. The black leather had steel rivets along the edges and a black leather belt attached to it.

“It is not quite the thing for me,” he muttered after a moment, dropping it on the table.

“Just try it,” Simon insisted, looking hurt.

“It does not feel right to me. Besides, Demetra is correct. I rarely carry my father’s guns anymore.”

Demetra put her hand on Francis’s and said, “It is understandable. The holster has been imbued with the infernal protective magick of the Boleyn necklace, but some people cannot stand being near something comprised of specific Aetheric energy, even if they are not Aetherals themselves.”

“I am sure that is not the problem. After all, nothing pleases me more than being with you.” Francis leaned toward Demetra, who quickly distanced herself with a few graceful backward steps. Her heartbeat fluttered erratically at his words.

“Keep in mind I'm half human and my Aetheric nature is only the other half of what I am. My tolerance for anything that exudes celestial energy seems about as low as your tolerance for infernal energy. You will do just fine without protection of any sort, since you are the person the kidnappers are dealing with in this instance. Simon and I will be there to defend you in whatever dealings you have with these criminals. Now,” Demetra said, approaching the bookshelves, eager to place more distance between herself and Francis. Discouraging his affections would be difficult if she could not keep her own reactions to him under control. “What we need is a map of London and an idea of where the Chronos Clock might be hidden.”

“You heard Mr. Mathers,” Francis protested. “Time is a concept that transcends cultures. You will not necessarily find the clock here in town.”

“True,” Demetra said, plucking a scroll from one of the shelves. She brought it back to the table and unrolled it across the flat surface. “But we can at least get started in our search. I suggest we consider the most obvious places first and work our way from there. We need to compile a list of places where there are famous clocks in town, quotes about time engraved on statues or public buildings, and maybe even references to Chronos.”

“Here is a suggestion. We should just leave it wherever it is.” Simon folded his arms and shrugged when Francis glared at him. “Why are you looking at me like that? It is a perfectly logical idea.”

“I agree, it is,” Demetra answered, her glance flitting from Francis to Simon. “However, here is my thinking. We need to entice the kidnappers out of hiding if we are going to save Beckstrom. Naturally, I have absolutely no intention of actually giving them the clock.”

Simon produced a pad of paper and ink pen from the shelf beneath his table. “Sound reasoning, as always.”

Francis groaned, his eyes scanning the map. “Do you realize how many public clocks are in town? This could take all night.”

“Then let us hope our minds work fast, as I plan on getting a good night’s rest before we begin our search tomorrow.” Demetra pointed to the map and said, “The Clock Tower, naturally.”

“Demetra…”

“Come, come, Lord Winterton, and remember what Mr. Mathers said. Time flees.”

Chapter Eight

Clad in a wine-red taffeta day gown, with a leather outer bodice of the same shade and delicate silver rivets hammered into it in a swirling pattern, Demetra set out to meet her companions at the Clock Tower. Her silver fan dangled from its chain at her waist and she wore Simon’s compass cuff on her wrist. She had nothing to put in the small pouch now, but she had still hooked it to the rings on the inside of her bodice’s bottom hem, opposite the larger one she always wore.

Although Westminster Palace was not far from Albemarle and Piccadilly, Demetra made use of the family carriage for the brief journey and tried to convince herself that the pleasant anticipation she felt was for the adventure—not for seeing Francis. Both Simon and Francis were waiting patiently for her in front of Parliament when she arrived.

“Well, this must be a familiar sight to you,” Demetra said to Francis as he handed her down from the carriage. “As I recall, you have a seat in the House of Lords.”

“You should also recall that, while my father enjoyed a political life, I have no interest in it.”

“Think of what you could do for the empire,” Demetra said airily, walking past him.

“No, thank you. I would rather think of what I could do for you. Politics is just too dangerous to enter into.”

“Then again,” Simon said in an undertone, “so is Demetra.”

“I beg your pardon?” Francis cried in dismay.

“Gentlemen,” Demetra interrupted, turning to glare at them over her shoulder. Though she wanted to laugh at Simon’s quip, she kept her expression neutral. “We have a tower to climb.” She raised the tip of her parasol in a sweeping gesture to point up at the Clock Tower. “Shall we get on with it and stop discussing our day jobs, or lack thereof? After all, you have the luxury of just sitting in your cozy townhome and raking in the money from your rail companies and streetcars in the United States, Francis. I'm sure you have time to climb all of these steps with me.”

“Three hundred thirty-four steps,” Simon confirmed as he looked up at the tower.

“Despite your lack of interest in taking your place in Parliament, I take it you did manage to obtain permission for us to see inside the tower?” Demetra looked at Francis expectantly.

“Yes, I did. If you follow me this way, we will begin our search.” Francis led them into the Parliament side of the Palace, quickly bypassing the glorious sights offered by the gothic architecture.

“Must we move so quickly?” Demetra asked a bit testily. “I've never been in here before.”

“The last thing I want is people constantly questioning me about when I will take my place in the House of Lords,” Francis hissed in return. “It is a bit of an inconvenience when one has no interest in following in their father’s footsteps, yet everybody else expects it. I never minded taking up his American business ventures, but I'm not inclined to sit around with a wig on my head, discussing matters with no end.”

“Meeting others’ expectations of you can be a difficult thing,” Demetra agreed with a nod of her head. “I think this is one instance in which men and women find themselves equally put upon.”

“That's very true.” Francis glanced at her for a brief moment, before returning his gaze to the door they were approaching. “I think that is something we can both agree on.”

Marching along at a fast pace and taking only the slightest notice of those members of Parliament who tried to greet him, Francis led them to the entrance of the clock tower.

“Allow me,” Demetra said as they walked through the door. Stepping aside so the men could join her, she closed her eyes and extended her power outward in search of anything Aetheric. “There is nothing at this level or any of the ones near the ground, but I'm not quite sure how far my power reaches.”

“Are you telling me we need to climb all those steps?” Francis pointed up at the spiraling staircase.

“No. I can go by myself.” Taking her skirts in her hands, Demetra began her ascent. She knew those few words were a challenge in themselves. Once, years ago, she and Francis had worked together. Their short-lived partnership had thrived on both cooperation and competition. She knew Francis would not let her outdo him in any way.

As expected, Francis hurried up the stairs after Demetra, muttering, “Must you be so bloody independent?”

“For someone who knows me so well, that seems like a ridiculous question,” she answered. “If my disposition is a problem for you, you are welcome to wait outside.”

Francis snorted and said, “I can handle anything you throw my way.”

“That is quite a change of tune from what you said to me when you ended our engagement. I still cannot figure out what I did to make you feel so threatened by my intellectual ability. I thought we enjoyed doing these sorts of things together.”

“You need to realize, Demetra, that seeing you hurt was the last thing I ever wanted.”

She stopped and turned to glare down at him as he stood a few steps below her. “Really? Then why did you hurt me, Francis?”

“Do you really want to have this out in front of your friend, because I am more than willing to do it.”

Demetra canted her head to the side to look at Simon, who was peering at them from just around the curve of the stairs. The artificer shook his head, pressed his forefinger to his lips, and turned to descend.

“It hardly matters to me if Simon hears us or not, but he has the good taste to grant us our privacy, so say what you need to say.”

Francis glanced back over his shoulder, then turned and took a few steps toward her. “I used your personality and intelligence as excuses. To be completely honest, I left out of fear.”

“Fear?”

“Yes. We were developing not just a romantic partnership, but a working one. The times I went with you on your artifacts hunts were absolutely exhilarating, but I had no idea how dangerous things could be until the day you touched those pistols.”

Sucking in her breath, Demetra could no longer control her reaction to him. Eyes wide with surprise, she said, “You broke off the engagement because I hurt myself? It was my own foolishness, Francis. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I shouldn’t have left the guns where you could see them.”

“You had no idea they were imbued with celestial power. Furthermore, you had no idea what touching them might do to me. You’re human, and the entire system of Aetheric power is fuzzy enough to those of us who actually are Aetheral.”

Francis shook his head. “You almost died, Demetra. All it took was one little touch on your part. Everyone in the house felt the explosion. We had to rebuild the entire room. You’re lucky we didn’t have to rebuild you!”

“You’re getting excited over nothing.”

“Nothing?” He took another step up the stairs toward her. “After you went home that night, I started thinking about what you do and just how dangerous it is. I realized if I stayed, someday I might see you beyond seriously injured. I might lose you.”

“So you decided it hurt you less to make a great show of breaking our engagement because I was an unconventional woman possessed of too much intellect and free thought, rather than just tell me the truth?” She glared at him as his last step brought his gaze level with hers.

“Yes.”

“That is the most selfish thing I have ever heard in my life, Francis. You guarded your own heart without any consideration for mine. Is it any wonder I now find myself in the position where I must do the same?” She gathered up her skirts, turned, and continued to climb the stairs without waiting for his response.

By the time they both reached the top, they were panting with their exertions. They slid down to the floor to rest with their backs against the wall. Neither one of them spoke, which Demetra considered a smart decision on Francis’s part. She could not think of anything he could say to appease her right now.

When she finally caught her breath, Demetra pushed herself to her feet and sent her awareness out once more. As with the first attempt, she failed to pick up anything out of the ordinary. “There is certainly nothing at the top or the bottom of the tower,” she said. “I believe this has proven a dead end.”

“Where should we go next?”

“I believe Westminster Abbey should be our next destination, since we are in the immediate vicinity.”

“Why would we go there?” Francis followed Demetra, and they began the long and winding descent.

“Consider the people who are buried there,” she answered primly. “Where else will you find kings, queens, priests, scientists, and more? The passage of time ultimately ends in death, an inevitable event many people are afraid to face. Very few places in London will have as much time-related symbolism as Westminster Abbey.” Demetra felt relieved that the walk down the steps of the tower was much less taxing than the walk up the steps.

There were no more words spoken as they descended to the ground level of the tower. They found Simon waiting for them at the bottom. Demetra shook her head in response to his inquiring gaze.

“We’ll try Westminster Abbey next,” she told him.

“Very well,” Simon said. “Lead the way.”

They walked through Westminster Palace. Demetra studied Francis’s reaction to the building. Technically, he had a seat in the House of Lords. However, he despised the idea of participating in politics. She saw the tension in his shoulders every time he acknowledged one of the nobles they passed.

“It’s rather forbidding, isn’t it?” Simon remarked, drawing her thoughts from her former fiancé’s aversion to government affairs.

Looking around the interior of the Palace, Demetra nodded. “I think the dark interior, high ceilings, and high narrow windows are meant to make one feel that way,” she agreed as they followed Francis. “Of course, they built Westminster Hall and then the rest of the Palace during times when invasion was a very real threat. A person who saw this place should have felt it would be difficult to conquer.”

They stepped outside through Westminster Hall, crossed St. Margaret’s Street, and crossed the threshold of Westminster Abbey.

“The first place we should check is the nave,” Simon suggested as they entered the imposing edifice. “It is central to the Abbey and we can work our way out from there.”

“A wise suggestion,” Demetra agreed, letting her infernal power extend out from her. She braced herself for the barrage of Aetheric energy, just before she felt it hit her. Pausing to compose herself and let her own ability identify the items in the building, she scanned the Abbey with narrowed eyes.

“Demetra?” Francis stepped up to her, his voice full of concern.

“This place has always been an Aetheric accident waiting to happen,” Demetra finally said, “since there are a good many celestial relics interred here. I have done my share of searching the grounds here for other items, but I do not feel anything with time-related powers.”

“How can you tell?” Francis asked.

“I am not sure of the mechanics of how my powers work,” Demetra answered, tapping her fingertips against her chin. “All I know is I can identify the Aetheric properties of an item. I wish I knew more about how my ability functions.”

“How many relics would you say are here?” Simon asked, looking around the nave, wide-eyed with interest. “And why are there so many in this one place?”

“I have always felt a protective energy here, and I believe these relics were interred here intentionally. They protect, not just the Abbey, but also the city itself. If there were a great influx of infernal energy, these relics are enchanted to respond in some way, perhaps by alerting other Aetherals in the city.”

“The devices are self-aware?” Simon took a few steps toward the altar, awed at the thought.

“They are only energetically attuned, from what I can sense and identify.” Demetra opened her eyes to scan the nave one last time, her eyes sweeping around the walls, then from the stone floor to the vaulted ceiling. “I can only speculate that it is a safety measure against any potential attack against the city by infernal entities. While we may live freely alongside humanity now, the societies of the Dark Ages were quite different.”

“You mean the times when Aetherals were literally considered angels and daemons, or burned as witches for using their powers?” Simon asked.

Demetra nodded. “Just so, though I wonder how many of those stories are fact and how many are fiction. There is not exactly a written guide to Aetherals—just stories and theories, both scientific and spiritual. I would have a better understanding of myself, beyond the simple fact that my mother was some indiscriminate infernal, if someone would at least take the time to perform a definitive study of my kind.” With a sigh of frustration, she said, “Everything here should be left as we found it and we had best move along.”

Francis nodded and linked his arm through hers to escort her from the building. “You are shaking,” he murmured in her ear.

“The power of all the relics in Westminster Abbey has always been rather overwhelming to me. Even though I know to expect it and prepare for it, it is still a very strong web of celestial energy for an infernal to walk into. Fresh air will improve my condition vastly, I assure you.” Demetra patted his hand as they walked out onto the grounds.

Francis took one look back at the grand façade and said, “What about the clock up there?”

“I do not feel a wisp of energy from it.” Demetra glanced at Simon, who stood beside her, checking their list.

“St. Paul’s Cathedral,” he read. “There is the southwest clock tower, and of course, the building has quite a history, as well as some notable burials. Possibilities abound.”

They climbed into the Ashdown carriage and seated themselves. “I believe we should remain very vigilant as we drive through Ludgate,” Demetra announced, adjusting her gloves firmly over her hands. “Remember the quote, ‘The clock at Ludgate, sir, it ne'er goes true.’ That could refer to anything in the area.”

Both young men nodded.“As always, your excellent memory for the literary impresses me.” Francis smiled fondly at her, caressing her arm in a familiar gesture.

“There is something else I have not forgotten.” Demetra leaned close to him.

“What is that?” Francis asked, his tone softening intimately.

“The very public apology you owe me.”

Simon muffled a snicker of amusement behind his hand and turned to look out the window.

“You won't be content until you have that, will you?” Francis grumbled, crossing his arms at his chest.

Humor suffused Demetra’s features. For a moment, she itched to play with him, like a cat with a mouse. She let the urge pass, however, and simply said, “Of course not. When you restore my good name, perhaps we can resume a more personal connection.”

Francis sulked in the corner as the horses clip-clopped along the street. Demetra let her awareness extend out from her in search of Aetheric energy. As they rode up the hill, she shrugged and said, “Other than an Aetheral here and there, there are no items between Westminster and St. Paul’s.”

“Well then, here we are, my lovelies.” Simon pointed at the window.

Demetra turned to see the dome of St. Paul’s as they crested Ludgate Hill.

“This will probably be another dead end.” Francis bit at his thumbnail. “We can't keep at this all day long. We need more to go on.”

“Very true, but since the kidnappers clearly knew nothing other than the name of the item, we have few options.” Demetra clutched at the seat for balance as the carriage jerked to a halt in front of St. Paul’s. “At least we have begun our hunt, even if it yields nothing today.”

“Maybe we should just tell the kidnappers we have it.”

“What would be the point in lying to them?”

Francis smiled a bit and said, “Lure them into the open and then make them sorry for what they have done.”

“And how do you intend to do that?” Demetra asked, tilting her head to one side. “Apologize to them for the inconvenience and then walk away with Beckstrom? Please revisit the idea of making them sorry after you decide you can handle the idea of carrying your father’s pistols again. As for lying to the kidnappers, are you certain they are completely human?”

“Why do you ask that?”

“Because,” Demetra sighed with exasperation, “if the people involved in this kidnapping scheme are Aetheral, they are going to know we don't have the clock. Other Aetherals may not be able to call artifacts or identify them, but they can sense their energy at least to some extent. You will hardly be fooling anyone, even if you try to use another item as a decoy. Ask yourself if you want to take such a chance.”

The footman opened the door and the passengers exited the carriage to look up at the cathedral.

“Do you get anything off the clock?” Simon asked Demetra, his blue eyes focused on the southwestern tower.

“It is nothing special, though we may find something inside. It is worth a look since we are here.” Demetra strode authoritatively through the door on the western side of the building. Although the cathedral lacked the immensity of Westminster Abbey, it was still a grand piece of architecture. Her gaze traveled along the domed ceiling, then dropped to the archways in the upper galleries on either side of the church.

“Such a beautiful place,” she said softly to her escorts as they stood on either side of her, “but it does not hide anything we seek.”

“What now?” Francis sighed as they turned to depart.

As the clock above them rang the hour, Demetra shrugged. “Now we come to the most important part of our day,” she responded with a feline smile and walked back to the carriage to indicate the basket sitting on the boot of it. “It is time for some lunch. Shall we go to St. James’s Park and see what else we can think of?”

In a short amount of time, they were outside the Houses of Parliament, lounging on a blanket under the trees in the park. Francis gazed absently out at the lake and the small islands, while Simon served the food from the basket. On the other side of the park, two mothers also picnicked, while their young children giggled with delight as they threw scraps of bread to the ducks. Demetra watched the scene for a moment, then tossed her hair. She would never be a mother, she told herself. Children inspired too many emotions to be considered a logical option for one’s life. She was better off without loving anything—less likely to hurt or be hurt.

“This is ridiculous,” the nobleman grumbled as he tossed a piece of bread into the water for the ducks to devour. “What happens after we exhaust our options all over London? Do we go to the countryside next? Sail to the continent and search it from north to south, and west to east?”

“If the kidnappers had any manners whatsoever, they might give you at least some clue as to where to look,” Demetra responded, offering him a slice of cheese. “However, I think it is safe to assume since they have chosen to operate outside the law, they have no manners. Therefore, we are on our own. Besides, if we find the clock, we have no intention of giving it to the kidnappers.”

“Excuse me?” Francis sputtered.

“We have been through this,” she responded calmly. “We are talking about rather unsavory sorts of people. Why would we hand the clock over to them?”

Francis stared at her in disbelief. “Perhaps to save a man’s life, that's why!”

“Calm yourself, Lord Winterton. Let me assure you, I do not intend to let Beckstrom die. Must I state it again and again?” Complacent as always, Demetra leaned back and took a bite out of a fresh, green apple. “Of course, that does not mean everything will go according to plan…”

As she spoke, Demetra felt a rush of celestial energy. Before she could warn the others, a ball of fire rumbled toward them, scything through the trees. She saw Simon dart behind the nearest tree, out of the way of the fireball. Even as she gathered herself to dive out of the way, Francis leaped toward her and pressed her to the ground. The earth itself shook as the fireball rushed past them in a blaze of heat and Aetheric power.

When Francis eased himself up and slightly off her, Demetra pushed herself up on her elbows to watch as the airborne conflagration tumbled into the pond. The power quickly subsided as the impact of the cool March water extinguished the fireball.

They lay there for several tense moments. Whatever celestial energy Demetra felt was gone. She could hear the two mothers carrying on with cries of “Oh my goodness!”

“Are you hurt?” Francis asked. He held himself above her, staring at the singed ground in front of them.

Exhaling with relief at their escape, Demetra answered, “Thanks to you, it seems I will go home with nothing more than a grass stain or two. Though I must say, this little incident certainly chased off any chill I might have caught while we were out today.”

Francis pushed himself off Demetra and helped her to her feet. “This is not the time for your offhand little puns. Someone just tried to kill us, or at least frighten us. I’m going to see if I can find the perpetrator.”

“Whoever did this is already gone. It was a celestial, and I no longer sense their presence. Find out if those ladies or the children saw anything, while I look around here.”

Francis glared at her a moment longer, then called out, “Simon?”

The artificer peeked out from behind the nearby tree and breathed a long sigh of relief. “Why the flammable fuss?” he asked, turning his wide eyes on them. Though he sounded nonchalant, Demetra could see sweat beading his forehead.

“Perhaps somebody does not want us to find the clock,” Demetra answered, finally extricating her hands from Francis’s and brushing the grassy debris from her dress. “Either that or some Aetheral out there really does not care for picnics.”

~~~~~

“A letter has arrived for you, Miss Demetra.”

The threesome had barely alighted from the carriage when the maid approached them.

“Could it not wait until my feet touched solid ground?” Demetra asked, her eyebrow arching slightly.

“The messenger told me it was of the utmost urgency.” The maid handed the sealed letter to her and then returned to the house.

Turning it over in her hands, Demetra let out a quiet “ah” of acknowledgment. She slipped her gloved finger along the opening to break the seal and unfolded the paper to scan the contents. Here, at least, was something that might prove useful after a day of fruitless searching and their fiery close call. Demetra wondered how her friends would react to the invitation.

“Mr. Mathers has some information to impart upon us,” Demetra read quietly to them. “He would like to see us tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”

“So we spent today jaunting all over England for nothing,” Francis grumbled, shifting a glare at Simon.

“Would you have rather wasted a day sitting around and hoping for news? Besides, Mr. Mathers only says he has information. Such a statement is not necessarily indicative of a specific answer.” Demetra looked up at both men. “If you can meet me here in the morning, we will see what kind of information he has and if it will bring us any closer to our objective. I don’t think you should come with us this time, Simon. In fact, I think you’d best keep to the shop.”

“What? Why?”

Demetra winced at the indignation in Simon’s voice. “I don’t want any harm to befall you.”

“Well, I certainly feel the same,” Simon agreed. “After today’s experience, I think if this is what you face on your own on a regular basis, you are the one who needs to stay home.”

“What do you mean?” Francis asked.

“Oh, you didn’t realize your former fiancée has been gallivanting about London on her own, digging up artifacts and taking out nasty Aetherals these past three years?”

“Simon!” Demetra stomped her foot and glared at him. “I thought you were on my side!”

“I am, but that doesn’t mean I want to see you incinerated,” he answered. “I’m not saying Lord Winterton deserves an opportunity to reconcile with you, but if he’s the kind of person who can keep you in check, then I’m not afraid to use that against you.”

“So instead of one insufferable man, I am dealing with two?” Demetra’s fingers clenched around her parasol, and she contemplated walloping Simon with it as hard as she could.

“You’ve been taking chances like this since I left?” Francis asked.

“Every hunt has its risks.” Demetra tried not to pout, but she felt betrayed by Simon. “The only thing that changed after you left, was I started facing those risks alone.”

“You can’t keep doing that. It’s too dangerous,” Francis said. “It’s also unfair to leave Warom out because you don’t want to put him in any danger. He can take care of himself.”

“This is a conspiracy!”

“Not at all. Warom and I both care about your safety. At least we can agree upon something.” Francis moved closer to Demetra, so only a few inches separated them. “We will be here to see you at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. I will never allow you to gad about on your own again.”

Chapter Nine

The next morning, the Ashdown carriage rolled away from Albemarle Street once more with Demetra, Francis, and Simon. As they drove toward the outskirts of London, Francis eyed Simon warily. The younger man sat comfortably next to Demetra as he watched the passing scenery.

“Why does he get to sit next to you?” Francis finally asked Demetra, his brow knit with annoyance.

“Why should he not?” She did not want to satisfy his curiosity as of yet and simply drummed her fingers on the handle of her parasol. “I'm the one who told her what the Chronos Clock can do in the first place,” Simon answered.

Demetra could see that their brief pact from the previous night only extended as far as their thoughts for her safety. “He is my dearest friend,” she told Francis. “You chose to leave me because you were concerned about losing me. Isn’t that what you said yesterday? The truth was you could not handle the possibility of seeing me injured to the point of death, so rather than work with me, you ran away from me. At least Simon has never run away because he might lose me.”

“Well.” Francis sat back against the cushion, folded his arms and returned her glare fearlessly. “Tell me how you really feel, my dear girl. And here I thought we had gotten beyond this silly need of yours to push me away from you.”

“How about you tell me who might know about my abilities thanks to some indiscretion on your part, or what these nefarious secrets of yours are?”

“Are you still stuck on that ridiculous presumption? How many times do I have to say I didn’t tell anybody about you? Nor have I hidden anything from you. My life is an open book.”

In that brief moment, when she saw the look of indignation on Francis’s face, Demetra wanted to believe him. With a sigh, she pressed her lips together and turned to look out the window of the carriage. “I suppose it hardly matters. Mr. Mathers will tell us what he knows, and we can move on from there.”

The carriage came to a halt and Demetra stepped down from it, walking toward the Temple so quickly, Francis remained seated and open-mouthed.

Demetra hardly cared if they joined her or not, but Simon and Francis both entered the building just in time to get escorted with her into the parlor where Samuel Mathers waited for them.

“My dear little imp,” the eccentric magician said as he kissed the back of Demetra’s gloved hand. “I am afraid what I've learned is not good.”

“It can hardly trump the information Mr. Warom so kindly imparted upon me with regard to the clock.” She sounded nonchalant as she stripped off her gloves and settled into one of the upholstered chairs. “Nor could it possibly be as disconcerting as having a fireball lobbed at one during an innocent picnic in the park.”

“Oh dear, you do not say! My dear, that must have been terrifying in the extreme. Thank goodness you were not harmed.”

Demetra shrugged and smoothed the skirt of her black and white striped day dress. “One must accept that such things will happen. I believe my friends found it quite disconcerting. Mr. Mathers, I am sure you remember Simon Warom.”

“Yes, I certainly do, and it is a pleasure to see you, little artificer.” Samuel shook Simon’s hand with vigorous enthusiasm, despite his apparent dismay at the news Demetra had just shared. “I am compelled to repeat the offer I made when Miss Ashdown introduced us last season. Have you ever considered joining the Isis-Urania Temple? Spiritual journeying and scientific discovery can go hand in hand, despite what some people believe.”

“Thank you for your kind offer, but no.” Simon shook his head. “While I agree with your sentiments, I enjoy working independently.”

“So be it, so be it.” Samuel nodded good-naturedly and turned to Francis. The magician wagged a finger at him in reprimand. “You have gotten mixed up in something most dangerous, Lord Winterton.”

“So I have been informed.” Francis sat opposite Demetra. “Not that I have any doubts after yesterday’s close encounter. Despite all my best intentions, it seems I will bear the blame for any unfortunate possibilities that may arise from this state of affairs.”

“Well then, that is quite enough of that,” Demetra stated sharply, reaching for the teapot and pouring the tea. Handing out saucers and teacups to the men, she finally sat back with her own in hand. Pleased she had restored some civility to the meeting, she said, “I've scolded Francis several times, but lectures certainly will not help to solve our problem. Please tell me what you learned at the library, Mr. Mathers.”

“Nobody knows how or when the Chronos Clock was created,” he responded. “In fact, its precise powers and abilities are largely unknown and undocumented. Whether or not it truly exists is also in question, since there are no firsthand accounts of it.”

“How odd,” Demetra murmured, raising the teacup to her lips, pondering Samuel’s words. “Considering the power Simon says it has, one would think there would be more documentation regarding it. At the very least, some warning against it must exist in the records out there. Or perhaps such a thing does not exist at all and these kidnappers have been misled into believing in it.”

“It is very odd, indeed,” Samuel agreed, “and I did not even find as much as a word of caution about the clock. You may as well ask someone to prove the existence of the gods or planets beyond our solar system.”

As she sipped the tea, Demetra furrowed her brow in thought. The entire situation was thornier than she had expected, and she began to wonder if—for once—she had bitten off more than she could chew. “If I can locate it,” she said slowly, setting the teacup back down on the saucer, “I should be able to identify the type of power that makes it tick.”

“Please tell me you just did not say that,” Simon said, groaning. He hunched over a small bookcase in a shadowed corner and examined the contents of the shelves.

She ignored the artificer’s remark and asked, “Did you stumble upon any clues that indicated where we might locate the clock?”

“I read one sentence in particular about ‘Time upon time, in the luminiferous aether’ in a rather obscure article about the Chronos Clock by Edward Dent. Of course, he wrote about how unlikely it is that such a thing exists, and was only sharing speculation, rumors, and theories in his essay.”

Simon straightened and approached the trio. “Do you mean Edward John Dent?”

“Yes, my young scientist. Do you know of him?”

“He's one of the men who designed the clock tower at Westminster.” Simon rubbed his smooth chin as he pondered the revelation. “Time upon time may refer to the clock tower, but the very idea seems rather obvious and misleading. The clock tower is right here in London for all to see every day and we were just there the other day. Demetra did not detect even a trace of Aetheric energy in the tower.”

“What is ‘luminiferous aether’?” Demetra asked, turning to watch Simon pace the room behind her. “I know what aether is, but I've never heard it referred to beyond that.”

“It is light-bearing aether.” Simon held his hands in front of him, one above the other, as if trying to illustrate the concept. “That is, it is the material that fills the region of the universe above the terrestrial sphere.”

“In English, if you please,” Francis grumbled in a surly voice. “You are speaking of a riddle in riddles.”

“I am speaking scientifically. To put it very simply, aether is air. Luminiferous refers to light and how the air propagates it. Men have tried for eons to understand the aether, as well as how it reacts and works with light, sound, and more. I find it odd that Dent would mention such a thing, though, as he was strictly a watchmaker in vocation.”

“Did he ever collaborate with anybody who might have had an interest in experiments with the aether?” Demetra asked as her frown deepened. “If I recall correctly, he did not design the clock tower alone.”

“No, you are right about that!” Simon snapped his fingers and strode back to the center of the room where he could face the others. “Two other men designed the clock tower with him. One was Edmund Beckett.”

“Ah yes, I know Baron Grimthorpe.” Francis nodded and added, “Not exactly the friendliest man I have ever met. I doubt he would be of any help to us.”

“You're correct. Not only that, but he could not help us because Beckett is merely a horologist. I have a feeling this little riddle has nothing to do with time itself, but with where the clock is located.” Simon put his hand before him and held up his fingers as he counted off his next words. “The third man who worked on the clock tower worked as a scientist, a mathematician, and astronomer. Besides his connection to the tower as a past Astronomer Royal, he also had an interest in time. He established the location of the prime meridian.”

“You mean George Biddell Airy!” Samuel cried out, clapping his hands with glee. “Of course, you know he was selected to serve as Astronomer Royal only a few years before Victoria herself was crowned.”

“He may have the answers we need.” Francis pushed himself up from his chair. “We must find him immediately.”

“This is what comes of avoiding London for the past three years.” Demetra’s wry response drew a puzzled gaze from Francis.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Visiting Mr. Airy would be an excellent notion had he not died two months ago, on January the second.” Demetra reached for a scone and took a bite. “He suffered a bit of a fall and the surgery, alas, did not save his life.”

“How do you know this?”

Demetra nonchalantly sipped at her tea to wash down the scone before responding. “I read The Times. One must stay well informed, you know. They printed his obituary on January the fifth.”

“You have an uncanny recollection for dates and events.” Francis simply stared at her in wonder.

With a sly little smirk, Demetra said, “Shall I tell you what I thought of at 4:57 this morning or save such intimate revelations for another time?”

“Shall we get back to the point?” Simon snapped his fingers again, this time as if he were admonishing two feral dogs. “We must remember the implications of what could happen if somebody obtains the Chronos Clock.”

“The world could suffer various time lapses,” Samuel posited.

“The price of tea in China could go through the roof,” Demetra suggested.

“Miss Ashdown could make yet another terrible pun,” Francis considered.

With a groan of exasperation, Simon shook his head. “Where is the prime meridian?”

“Are you asking for information or is this a rhetorical question? I'm fairly sure you are as aware as the rest of us that it is in Greenwich.” Demetra watched Simon closely as he nodded vigorously.

“There we will find the Airy Transit Circle, which is known for accurately keeping time by its analysis of the stars and planets.”

“So this Transit Circle is somehow out or up in the aether?” Demetra asked, tilting her head to one side and regarding Simon with curiosity. Her education in astronomy was clearly lacking, and she resolved to remedy that later.

“Not exactly, no, but I'm not sure we can take this little riddle literally. My guess is the sentence itself is merely a clue. At the very least, it might be a logical next step.”

Demetra rose to her feet in a swish of skirts. “And, with any luck, the Warom or Ashdown name should be sufficient to get us in there to take a look. The observatory is not quite ten miles from here.” She peered at Francis. “Are you up for a bit of a journey tomorrow?”

“Do you truly believe you can simply walk into the Royal Observatory and ask to poke around the machinery?” Francis asked incredulously.

Shoulders squared, Demetra gazed at him serenely. “I am so confident in the probable success of such a mission that I will wager on the outcome.”

“Oh, will you now? What will you wager?”

“If we are successful in locating the clock in this transit circle, I may scold you as often as I like for the rest of your natural-born life.” She watched the expression on his face change, her lips quirking into a smile. If there was one thing she knew Francis would respond to, it was a provocative wager.

Blinking in disbelief, Francis said, “And if we are not successful in finding the clock, let alone getting into the Observatory?”

Demetra’s smile only grew more self-assured as she answered, “Then you may scold me forever.”

“Well now,” Samuel said, his eyes darting from Demetra to Francis, and back once more, “what a delightful wager.”

Chapter Ten

There were no objections to Demetra taking the coach for a day’s ride and picnic outside of London, although Rowena tapped her foot with displeasure as her stepdaughter left the house on the arms of both Lord Winterton and Simon Warom once more.

The early spring morning dawned sunny and warm, and Demetra was pleased she had been able to get away from her stepmother day after day during the week. She smoothed her olive green skirts beneath her as she sank gracefully against the cushions of the carriage, and favored the men with a beatific smile as they joined her.

“I read an excellent letter in The Times this morning,” Demetra said, tugging at the row of golden rivets that secured her dark brown leather bodice. “It was a particularly interesting letter written by Lord Francis Winterton.”

“Was it now?” Simon smothered his laughter as he sat back against the plush seat of the carriage.

“Apologizing to a Miss Demetra Ashdown for the embarrassment caused her three years ago and stating what an exemplary wife I would make for any man.” Her lips curved upward in a self-satisfied smirk as she recalled the contents of the letter.

“I've never liked it when you smile like that.” Francis shot a glare in her direction. “It is bad enough that I had to publicly humble myself before you. Usually your smiles mean something unpleasant for me.”

“It will be unpleasant for you,” Demetra said with a toss of her head, “when I add insult to injury and win our little wager.”

Simon cleared his throat and said, “As amusing as I find this little scene, it seems to me we have more serious matters to consider at the moment. There is, after all, the possibility of the wrong person getting their hands on a small, but potentially devastating artifact. The implications could be severe.”

“Must you rain on my parade?” Her lips transforming into a pout, Demetra turned to flutter her eyelashes at Simon. She was just warming up for a day of banter with Francis.

“It is quite obvious you are in rare form today, Princess, and somebody has to play the adult.”

The London scenery passed quickly as the pair of horses trotted through town, pulling the carriage at a rapid pace.

“Time upon time,” Simon muttered as they rode, rubbing at his chin in contemplation, “in the luminiferous aether. If time is fluid, perhaps it moves in waves…”

“If time waves are anything like ocean waves, perhaps we can throw you in,” Francis suggested with a smirk.

“That is an interesting thought.” Demetra moved her gaze from Francis to Simon. “Time as waves… What made you think of it in such a manner?”

“Well, I’m not sure if Airy spoke literally or metaphorically of the aether in his little riddle, but the idea of putting both time and aether together intrigues me. After all, if scientists study how light waves and sound waves move through the aether, why not study the effect that time moves through the aether as well?”

He continued to rub at his chin contemplatively and to mumble under his breath.

“Or maybe light does not really travel. Maybe time travels in waves and copies everything it encounters, thus meaning time travels away from us. Since we get older, such a theory makes the most sense.” He reached into his waistcoat pocket for a small journal and an ink pen, and began illustrating his ideas on a blank page.

“Shall I throw him out the window now into his own personal time ocean, since he is clearly lost in one anyway?” Francis grinned at Demetra, who shook her head in response.

“Thanks to Simon, I have learned far more about this nasty little device than you could tell me. If anybody is going to get thrown out of a moving vehicle, it will be you.”

Francis merely rolled his eyes and went back to watching the scenery pass outside the window. Demetra did the same, her own thoughts turning inward to the words she had read in The Times that morning.

Most men were pained to admit any wrongdoing and she was truly astounded that Francis had taken her demand seriously. A man willing to take such an admonition to heart might not be nearly the scoundrel she had deemed him a few years ago. They could be friends, she decided, and move on in a much more civilized fashion now that he had apologized. Any deeper feelings would remain where she had placed them a few years ago—locked inside her heart, so he could not hurt her again.

“We are nearly there,” Francis finally observed as the carriage clattered into the courtyard. “Now I just hope we have not wasted our time on yet another fool’s errand.”

“I just hope you both realize I was not the one making a ridiculously clever pun in this instance.” Demetra reached out to lazily rest her hand atop the handle of her parasol. “We shall have an opportunity to find out now, and if we are fools, then so be it.”

The carriage came to a halt outside the Flamsteed House, and the coachman opened the door for the passengers. Simon sat closest to the door and exited immediately, tucking his journal back into his waistcoat and striding forward, eager as a puppy. As Demetra and Francis emerged from the transport, they saw him speaking to one of the astronomers, punctuating his statements with animated gestures.

“This is Mr. Harrison,” Simon told them excitedly as they approached. “He is going to give us a tour of the observatory.”

“How kind of you,” Demetra said, turning one of her rare, charming smiles on the astronomer, who flushed pink. “Mr. Warom is quite fascinated with how such things work, and my own father has instilled within me a healthy curiosity about science.”

“Yes, I am familiar with Mr. Ashdown’s work, and it will be my pleasure to show you the premises.” Mr. Harrison seemed accommodating without being obsequious, which pleased Demetra. Sycophantic behavior always put her off and made her less inclined to heed the information given by such a person.

They followed the astronomer, who obligingly pointed out the different features of the brick building. “The Airy Transit Circle, with which you are so fascinated, was built to move only in the plane of the meridian,” he said as he indicated the instrument. “We also have a new refracting telescope under construction, which should allow us a much more extensive view of the heavens.”

Simon quickly moved to examine the new telescope, his fascination palpable as he nodded at every word Mr. Harrison spoke.

“What do you think? Do you feel anything?” Francis whispered in Demetra’s ear as he walked by her to join the men.

She closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. Slowly she drew on her power from within, calling it to awaken her awareness of any other energy not of this world and present in the vicinity. The world around her seemed to sharpen in focus, the lines of everything in her sight clearly delineated as physical manifestations.

Then it was there.

She felt the pulsing, tingling energy of something nearby, something not entirely man-made. With no clear perception of her surroundings, Demetra simply followed the pulses, guided by the Aetheric energy. Each step strengthened the sensation drawing her forward. She wanted to pull the object to her, just as one might witch water from underground. Something kept it static, however. It would not meet or come to her, as objects often did when she located them. Something held it in place and she needed to find a way to get to the thing calling to her. In just a few more steps, the Aetheric energy pulsed overhead intensely. Demetra stopped walking to crane her neck and look up at the ceiling.

The octagon-shaped room in which she stood had light wood paneling giving way to cream-colored walls. The tall, mullioned windows stopped just short of the elaborate molding that marked the line between the walls and the vaulted ceiling.

“I feel it up there,” she murmured softly to Francis as he stepped up behind her. “It is somewhere up on the roof, but I cannot bring it to me through the walls of this place. Some sort of energy field is holding it in place.”

He took her hand and, holding his hat to his head with the other, led her past where Simon and Mr. Harrison were speaking excitedly about the new telescope. They walked through the door and back into the courtyard. Demetra took the lead, pulling Francis to the left, around the octagonal room. She regained her bearings and then pointed up at the cupola atop the building.

“It's the weather vane, though I do not understand why it refuses to come to me.”

“Are you sure it is even up there? I see nothing but a normal roof.”

“What is that?” she asked, indicating the red sphere on the weather vane.

Francis squinted into the late morning sunlight. “That is a time ball. Your apothecary friend would know far more about it than I do, but I believe it measures time for mariners along the Thames. It rises to the top of the weather vane, and then drops at the same time every day.”

“Time upon time, in the luminiferous aether,” Demetra whispered, clutching at Francis’s hand. “We found it.”

With another excited squeeze of his hand, she stepped closer to the building and extended her other hand overhead. Once again, the artifact responded, but refused to budge. She could see its outline shimmer into existence atop the time ball.

“I have to tell it to go up instead of come down to me,” Demetra finally said.

“Can you do that?”

“Not that I am aware of, but I will just have to try my best.” Gathering her power, Demetra focused on using it to push the artifact away from her, instead of pulling it toward her. As the clock rose slowly up along the weather vane, she tried not to give in to her feeling of surprise. Keeping her concentration on the clock’s energy, she lifted it up and off the weather vane and then reversed her power to pull it toward her. The artifact responded to her natural ability, and moved toward Demetra without any resistance.

As it descended toward her, the Aetheric energy of it flowed over her in a way she could only think of as “prickly.” It made her shiver with both discomfort and power, yet the item continued its invisible descent until something solid touched her hand.

The moment it did, it materialized completely into sight.

“It was invisible,” Francis breathed as he reached out to touch the wooden box in Demetra’s hand.

“No. It simply existed outside of time as we experience it. That is why it has not sustained any actual damage from being mounted on the weather vane and atop the time ball. It exudes celestial energy. I've a feeling someone did not want it to be found.” Demetra examined the weathered box and then opened it. Exhaling in awe at what she saw inside, she asked, “What do you make of this?”

“The box and clock casing look and smell like pine.” Francis ran a finger along the inside cover of the box and bent to sniff at it.

“That is very interesting symbolism,” Demetra said, brushing her fingers over the casing. “Pine trees are a symbol for longevity and immortality throughout the world.”

The Chronos Clock was no more than five inches in diameter, yet there were four faces to it, each within the other. The largest, outermost face was ivory-white with golden Roman numerals around it, from one to twelve. The face just inside of it was a deep shade of night-sky blue, with the western zodiac signs in gold set against the background. Within the next face was a slender red circle with modern Arabic numerals from one to twelve, which repeated twice, each on half the face. The interior face was mostly a pale blue, with a golden circle sitting toward the bottom of it, and a black circle in the center. There was a dial superimposed over the four faces, with the months of the year listed around it.

Demetra counted no less than five hands to indicate time of day for both the twelve and twenty-four hour faces, time of year, the month, and the alignment of the sun, earth, and moon.

“This is amazing,” she said, a smile lighting her features. “I cannot even begin to understand how it functions or how it was built, but it is absolutely beautiful.”

“It is actually a fairly standard astronomical clock.” Simon approached them and examined the device over Demetra’s shoulder. “I left our guide puzzling over an astronomical question, but we don't have much time. Where did you find the clock?”

“Someone hid it on top of the time ball, and I believe they placed it out of temporal synchronicity with us. That is why nobody could see it. You would either have to know it was there, or somehow sense its Aetheric energy signature.”

“The way you did it,” Francis affirmed with a nod.

“May I have a look at it?” Simon took the box and scrutinized the clock inside of it. “I do not understand what could possibly set it apart from any other astronomical clock.”

“It has certainly been empowered in some way,” Demetra answered, still tingling with the energy of the device. “It is probably not a good idea for us to analyze it here. We should get it into the carriage immediately.” She opened her parasol over her head and easily affected an air of nonchalance as Mr. Harrison approached their small group. Simon quickly closed the box and held it behind his back.

“Mr. Warom,” the astronomer said, “I'm afraid I am unable to answer your question at this time. We are still observing the nova, after all.”

“I certainly appreciate you checking your notes,” Simon answered.

“I hope each of you enjoyed your visit,” Mr. Harrison said with a smile.

Demetra extended her hand and turned Mr. Harrison slightly away from Simon. “Indeed, we enjoyed a most enlightening visit, and I look forward to seeing the completed telescope next year.”

“We would welcome your visit, Miss Ashdown, particularly if you could convince your father to accompany you.”

With a contrived flutter of her eyelashes, Demetra answered, “I will do my best. Father is always busy fulfilling his clients’ orders, but I am sure he can be persuaded to come and see your wonderful new telescope.”

As soon as they said their goodbyes and were all ensconced in the carriage, out of sight of prying eyes, Simon reopened the box. The three of them huddled around the clock, each assessing it with varying degrees of curiosity.

“So this is nothing more than an astronomical clock?” Francis said as he raised his gaze to Simon.

“If it was nothing more than that, it would not have been concealed from the human eye in a temporal stasis,” Demetra snapped. “Do not underestimate this device. Remember the price somebody out there is willing to extract for it.”

Francis sobered immediately and nodded. “You are right. I'm too quick to judge a book by its cover. Or,” he continued softly, “a woman by her abilities. I should have learned by now not to assume anything.”

With careful hands, Demetra took the box from Simon and set it in her lap to examine it. “What the eyes fail to see, the heart can discover.”

She simply held the box and let the power of the mechanism wash over her. Once more, prickles showered down over her like sparks. She shuddered from the sharp little bites of energy, but continued to analyze the clock for any clue of the source of its power.

“It was definitely made in this world, and by a very powerful Aetheral. Since it is celestial, it does not care for my infernal energy at all. I won't make the mistake of touching the clock itself.” The magick of the clock continued to flicker painfully across her skin.

Francis took the box and placed the contraption in his own lap. Relief washed over Demetra as the painful tingles ceased.

“How does this thing control time?” Francis held the clock in his hands. “I do not see anything out of the ordinary.”

“You sound quite skeptical, Lord Winterton, and I am pleased to see celestial items do not cause the same discomfort to you as infernal items do.”

Shrugging, Francis said, “I am skeptical, but also concerned that it may be dangerous to toy with this little device, celestial or not.”

Demetra raised an eyebrow at him and laughed. “If you are skeptical, then why are you so nervous about it? Figuring out how it controls time will take some experimentation. I did not detect a way to use it, so I can only conclude that the controls are mundane, instead of Aetheral. Whatever activates the clock probably harnesses its celestial power.”

“That is why I am here,” Simon volunteered with a grin. “My task is not only to figure out how it works, but precisely what makes it function in such a manner.”

“I doubt you will be able to come up with a completely scientific explanation of how the Chronos Clock works. Since it is imbued with celestial magick, it is also safe to say there may be some safeguards against your intentions.” Demetra watched as Simon took the clock from Francis and examined the back of it. “Though I must admit that I would dearly love an explanation as well, not just as to how it works, but why it was created.”

“If you do not mind, I will take it back to my workshop and start to study it tonight.” Simon turned the clock over and over in his hands, clearly eager to learn more about it.

“What about bringing it to the people who have Beckstrom?” Francis asked, his brow furrowing with concern.

“My dear friend, it would hardly be responsible of us to turn this device over to some unsavory kidnapper without understanding the potential repercussions.” A thoughtful expression on her face, Demetra tapped her foot on the floor of the carriage. “The idea is to utilize the clock to our advantage to retrieve your valet.”

“I'm almost afraid to ask, but in what way?”

“Why, we can use it to draw the kidnappers to us, of course. In doing so, we may be able to get them to reveal Beckstrom’s location and turn this into a rescue effort, though I hope they will oblige us by suggesting an exchange.”

Francis folded his arms as he sat back against the cushions of the carriage. “I am not entirely comfortable with your idea. You are talking about taking on a role better suited to a policeman. It hardly seems prudent. We are nothing but an amateur artificer, a half-daemon socialite, and a reclusive nobleman.”

“Not to interrupt, but do you mind if I keep this tonight?” Simon indicated the box in his lap. “We have not quite sorted that out yet.”

“It is quite clear it will be two against one,” the nobleman responded, irked, “so by all means, take the clock. Just keep it safe.”

Demetra reached over to lay her hand over Francis’s, and said reassuringly, “We will get Beckstrom back. We have something the kidnappers want. They will play by our rules now, or come out of this game with nothing.”

“That is all very well, but—” A deafening roar cut off Francis’s words and the carriage jolted from side to side. “What is going on?” he cried.

“Aetheral!” Demetra yelled, leaning over to poke her head through the window.

Rolling along behind them was a plain black carriage, driven by a tall figure bundled in a black overcoat, a scarf around the lower half of his face. A smaller man wearing a gray coat and bowler hat was seated next to the driver, and she could sense celestial power radiating from his presence. A ball of light danced in his palm like a candle flame, growing bigger and brighter.

“It seems our fiery friend is back! Simon, have you got something to stop this thing?”

Quick as a wink, Simon reached into his waistcoat pocket to withdraw an item so small, it fit in the palm of his hand. The tool looked like a typical pocketknife with a rosewood handle. However, Demetra knew it actually boasted a number of implements that could be unfolded and extended from within the handle, from a knife to a screwdriver, from a lock-picking device to a miniscule saw.

He drew back the cuff of his coat sleeve to reveal a bracer around his wrist. The leather had several pockets, each with a vial tucked inside of it. Selecting a vial, Simon removed the tiny cork, pulled out a metal implement from the rosewood handle and leaned through the window. He pressed a small button and the metal slingshot flung the vial at the fireball that now rolled heavily after them. The moment the vial met the fireball, lines of gray began to race through the inferno. The sound of crackling filled the air and, in moments, stone encased the blaze completely. It came to a halt, before shattering with a deafening sound.

“Well,” Francis said, pulling his head back into the carriage to avoid the bits of stone flying through the air. “That is not something you see every day. If we turn around, we might be able to catch them.”

“In this carriage? I think not.” Demetra looked out the window and called up to the driver to stop. As the carriage jerked to a halt, she looked for signs of the other vehicle and saw nothing but fine particles of dust settling down over the road. The clatter of the other carriage faded into the distance.

“Do you see any sign of them at all?” Simon asked as he folded the metal slingshot back into the rosewood handle, and tucked it away in his pocket.

“No, but that man’s fire power was of celestial origin, without a doubt. Somebody really does not like us.” She let her power cascade around them and searched for other signs of Aetherals in the area. “We were protected thanks to the enchantment on the items you created when you extracted parts of the necklace for use. I think the protective energy warded off the worst of the fire, though I am sure the back of the carriage is probably singed a bit.”

“Are you sure there isn’t anyone else out there?” Francis opened the door and stepped out of the carriage, surveying the area before inspecting the damage.

Demetra joined him, wincing at the wisps of smoke still trailing from the sear marks on the back of the carriage. “I believe we are otherwise safe for the moment, but this is getting to be a rather bothersome routine.”

“I believe this would be a prudent time for me to repeat my warning.” Francis glared at her. “We are clearly in over our heads. I think it is time I take this matter to the police.”

“It was just a little fireball, only slightly larger than the one at Westminster. Honestly, where is your adventurous spirit?” Demetra chastised him, a teasing edge to her voice. She walked back to the carriage door, but paused when Francis spoke.

“It is packed away with my father’s pistols.”

Turning her gaze to him, Demetra replied, “If you truly mean to reconcile with me and offer me your heart, you must first reconcile with yourself.”

“That,” Francis said, “is easier said than done.”

Chapter Eleven

In the end, Francis consented to allow Simon to take the clock to his home over the apothecary shop. He insisted on joining the young artificer, and Demetra felt obligated to accompany them, partially out of insatiable curiosity and partially out of concern about Francis’s animosity toward Simon.

Unfortunately, she needed to maintain her distance from the clock, due to the uncomfortable sensation its close proximity elicited.

“I am rather surprised it came to me at all,” Demetra remarked as Simon placed the device on the table in his little workshop. “Opposing Aetheral energies do not necessarily get on well with one another, as I have learned time and again in the past. That is why I try to confine my work to infernal relics.” She slanted a speculative look at Francis, who quickly turned away from her.

“Someday, I would like to better understand what makes you tick,” Simon quipped as he set a box of tools on the table.

“Why do I find the idea absolutely revolting?” With a shake of his head, Francis edged closer to Demetra protectively, even though he still refused to meet her gaze. “Can we just focus on the clock?”

The three of them stood side by side, Simon between the others as he ran his fingers over the Aetheral artifact. “All clocks have generally the same mechanisms, depending on when they were built,” he said, turning it over on the table. “The types of gears and wheels used in this could tell us when it was made.”

“Why would that matter?” Francis asked with a skeptical expression on his face.

“If we can figure out when it was made, we might be able to ascertain who built it based upon clock-making history.”

Francis still looked befuddled, so Demetra finally chimed in.

“Think about it really hard, Francis. Whoever made the clock infused it with the power it uses, or they asked somebody else to do it for them. Dating the device will help us understand the reason it exists in the first place. Knowing who would create such a thing and why they did it may also help us lure Beckstrom’s kidnappers into the open. We've no idea why they want it or what they even know about it. Remember that knowledge is power, and the more we know about the Chronos Clock, the better.”

She poked at Francis’s temple with her forefinger. He winced and pushed her arm aside.

“Of course,” Demetra continued with a shrug of indifference, “you seem to think guns and exploding things are more important than magick and history.”

“They are much simpler to comprehend than this,” Francis said in annoyance, with a wave of his hand over the table. “I must admit that every moment I spend dealing with this unsavory situation makes me more inclined to pick up those guns.”

“Try to remember, my dear, that magick and history are inexorably intertwined. They have always existed together. If not for Aetheric magick, this world would not have a history.”

“If not for Aetheric magick, I never would have felt compelled to let you go,” Francis answered sharply, finally raising his eyes to glare at Demetra. “If I did not have those pistols, if you had not touched them…I despise Aetheric power and all it can do. Worse than that, I despise the feeling that I might need those guns now.”

“Those are strong words for someone who loves a half-daemon,” Demetra breathed, her heart pounding so hard, she heard the sound echoing in her own ears.

“Some people can't accept the unknown or the supernatural in their lives,” Simon answered quietly as he worked. “Then again, a few of us embrace it and those who represent it.”

Turning his glare on the artificer, Francis retorted, “You're not here to give your opinion. You're here to provide us a service.”

“He is not an employee. He is my very best friend, and he is doing us a favor.” Taking a step back from the table, Demetra glowered at Francis. “You may have reconciled with me, but do not treat Simon with so little respect simply because you have not yet reconciled with yourself.”

“How can I forgive myself for what I did to you?” Francis stepped toward her, his hand extended.

“You had no idea. What happened with your father’s pistols is not your fault. I sensed their energy, and I chose to touch them. I acted like an idiot.”

“Since you two are clearly discussing something personal, I hate to interrupt, but I did it.” Simon had succeeded in lifting the back off the clock, and he exhaled in wonder at what he saw. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he murmured, “may I have your attention please?”

Demetra and Francis stepped away from one another to return to the table. All of them leaned over it, their heads practically touching as the trio studied the mechanism.

“It looks like a completely modern timepiece,” Demetra said, her voice filled with wonder. Simon reached for the goggles around his neck and placed them over his eyes. Once he adjusted the magnifying lens over his right eye, he leaned toward the clock to examine it. After several long moments of studying it, he broke into a grin of triumph. “Ahh, now I have some idea of what is happening here. It is completely modern, just as Demetra said.”

“How odd. It cannot possibly be.” She leaned back against the table and folded her arms, considering Simon’s words. “Whenever somebody uses an excessive amount of Aetheric energy of any sort locally, be it celestial, infernal, or supernatural, I feel it. I would certainly feel the kind of power that an Aetheral would have to expend to make something such as this.”

“How do you know this was made locally, though?” Simon pushed the goggles up on top of his head and picked up the back of the clock to examine it.

“That is a good question. You're right, of course. It may look modern, but its appearance does not mean it is a recent invention, let alone a local one. Besides, many Aetheral beings tend to have a greater vision of the world and ability to create things before their time. I can certainly name a few such people off the top of my head. Just look at Leonardo DaVinci.”

“DaVinci?” Francis gasped, looking at Demetra in amazement.

“Of course. He is probably one of the most famous celestials of all time.” She tapped her finger against her jaw, deep in thought. “When was the time ball installed on the Royal Observatory?”

“John Pond installed it in eighteen thirty-three,” Simon answered at once. “The clock’s components could have been made any time between then and now, though it may have been made earlier, considering your DaVinci example.”

“What I am wondering is whether or not Pond himself might have placed it there.”

“Perhaps, but he was an astronomer, not a horologist. Why would the clock interest him?”

“He served as Astronomer Royal during that time, didn't he?”

“What is your point?” Francis asked as Simon nodded, a grin of understanding on his face.

“Because, dear boy, everything we have learned thus far seems to lead back to the Astronomer Royal.” Demetra smiled and contemplated the possibilities. “Think about it unless, of course, you have any other ideas to share?”

“Well, the logic you utilized in finding the clock might be applied to determining who placed it on the Observatory,” Francis mused, finally catching on to Demetra’s train of thought. “Perhaps you could ask yourselves who might have entrusted Pond with such a task.”

“He was a part of the Inner Temple for a brief time,” Simon said with a shrug as he leaned down to look over the clock. “However, I agree with Demetra. Though we have no proof, everything seems to come back to the Astronomer Royal.”

“Is the Inner Temple anything like the Isis-Urania Temple?” Demetra turned to regard Simon inquisitively.

“No, no, no. The Inner Temple is more of a professional society for barristers.”

“What was an astronomer doing in a professional society for barristers? Now I am as thoroughly confused as Francis.” Ignoring her former betrothed’s sour expression, Demetra placed her hands flat on the table and nudged Simon.

“Well, the Knights Templar founded the Inner Temple.”

“The Knights Templar are known for being guardians of the Holy Grail, not of temporal devices,” Francis scoffed. “It would be much too obvious and too convenient to pin this on such a society, since it's already well-known for its mystical leanings.”

“Pond also attended Trinity College,” Simon mumbled, still hunched over the clock.

“So?”

“So,” Demetra answered, straightening and running her hands down the front of her dress. “A certain renowned physicist also attended Trinity. While this clock may have a celestial energy signature, I must agree a Christian military order is unlikely to have any connection to it. It seems far more likely that Pond’s tenuous collegiate connection to a student of physics, astronomy, and alchemy is a stronger possibility with regard to finding the answers we seek.”

“You are forgetting one very important thing,” Francis said, shaking his head at her. “Beckstrom. There is still his life to consider.”

“Have you received any specific instructions regarding the Chronos Clock?” Demetra asked.

“No. The kidnappers said they would be in touch with me to check on my progress.”

“Then as the villainous element in this little fuss has yet to appear—unless they are responsible for our fiery encounter—I suggest we continue our research until it does,” Demetra answered smugly.

“So what is our next step?” Simon straightened as he set the back on the clock and replaced the screws to fasten it in place once more.

“Even though I am fairly certain this is connected to the Astronomer Royal, I want to learn more about Chronos,” Demetra proclaimed decisively. “Chronos is a Greek god of time, I believe, but that still hardly explains any astronomical connection.”

“Well, humans used to tell time by the cosmos,” Simon pointed out as he secured the back of the clock and turned it over to look at the bottom of it.

“Very true, but I feel we should try to learn more, if possible. There is no such thing as a surfeit of knowledge. I'd rather know far more than necessary, than nothing at all.”

“Perhaps this will at least confirm your suspicions.” Simon turned the bottom of the clock toward Demetra, and she examined it closely.

“Those are initials,” she said, extending a hesitant finger to run it over the letters burned into the wood.

“What do they say?” Francis moved around the table to join Demetra.

“J.H.,” she answered softly.

“Who do you think those initials stand for?”

“If it is who we think it is,” Simon responded as he squared the clock in front of him on the table, “then we are looking at a rather remarkable invention. Jeremiah Horrocks was an astronomer whose work connected the earlier discoveries of men like Copernicus and Galileo, to later astronomers such as Isaac Newton. Horrocks was neither an engineer nor a horologist, though he probably learned watch making from his uncle.”

“He also died rather suddenly,” Demetra added, drumming her fingers on the table. “This device feels like a very strong celestial empowered it. Most Aetherals who do not somehow manage to live past middle age usually die young, due to rivals. It seems the more powerful an Aetheral is, the more likely another is to try to kill them. An item like this certainly would induce in one the urge to kill, as we've already discovered.”

“Horrocks attended Cambridge, like John Pond,” Simon added in a soft voice.

“Like John Flamsteed.”

“Like George Biddell Airy.”

Francis looked back and forth between the artificer and the half-daemon, and concluded, “So this brings us back to precisely what you suggested, Demetra. We need to learn more about Chronos himself and then make a visit to the current Astronomer Royal.”

“Precisely,” she responded, a speculative glimmer in her eye. “In fact, I believe there is more to the story of this clock than just a bit of Aetheric, time-controlling energy. We are going to find out just what this thing is.”

Chapter Twelve

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Francis’s gaze flicked from left to right, betraying his nervousness.

“Do not be such a ninny. You know my father loves you, despite your lack of affinity for science.” Demetra rolled her eyes as she led Francis and Simon down into her father’s basement workshop. “The one you have to really fear is Rowena, and only because my greatest nightmare is that my stepmother and her inanity will live forever.”

“Do you realize we have been working our way back in history?” Simon reflected as they entered the basement room. “We have had to work our way back through the Enlightenment and into the Scientific Revolution.”

“And next I suppose you will tell me that since Leonardo DaVinci was an Aetheral, he somehow invented this clock back in the fifteenth century.” Francis let out a short bark of disbelieving laughter. “Why not just go back to Aristotle and call it a day?”

“Well, the Renaissance inventors were certainly working from Aristotelian ideas.” Pressing her finger to her lips, Demetra considered the possibility. “Still, I believe we're looking at something that is only about two hundred years old.”

“There is no way such a complex clock was built two hundred years ago.”

“Actually, there have been astrological clocks for many centuries. Furthermore, those in the business remember the seventeenth century as a golden age of clock making,” Simon informed him. “The difference is we are looking at a clock possibly made in the seventeenth century, but with what looks like nineteenth-century technology.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Francis put his hand to his head and groaned. “How do you both manage to keep up with all of these names and details? You two seem to share a mind.”

“We all have our talents.” Demetra carefully knelt on the cold, stone floor to run her fingers along the spines of the books on the shelf at the foot of the stairs. “I know my father has an extensive collection of stories from other cultures. We just need to find his Greek mythology to see if we can learn more about Chronos.”

Light footfalls drifted to her ears, followed by an unwelcome, yet polite, inquiry. “What are you doing down here?”

Demetra gritted her teeth, before rising to her feet to face her stepmother. The older woman descended the stairs gracefully, an expression of curiosity on her handsome face.

“We were looking for one of my father’s books,” Demetra said as sweetly as possible.

“Well, if you had not been gallivanting about these last few days, you would remember that your father is out of town for the rest of the week. He took Verity out to the country to pay his parents a visit. Can you believe it? Leaving during the season?” Rowena sighed, clearly put out by her husband’s decision to travel in the midst of the season. “I suppose I shall have to oblige you to accompany me to all of this week’s parties. Languishing at home is not an option, especially with both the Marstons and the Tildens throwing soirees this week.”

“That is tragic indeed. You cannot miss either party.” Demetra struggled to appear sympathetic, even though her stepmother’s imagined tragedy did not concern her. Rowena had already planned to attend both parties and would go with or without her husband.

“Are you seeking a particular book?”

“It would hardly be of interest to you, Stepmother, I assure you. It’s all rather silly stuff.” Demetra waved her hand in the air nonchalantly. “We've just been having a discussion about Greek mythology and the science of time. It's a very boring topic, as you can see.”

“Why would you have a discussion about Greek mythology and the science of time?” Rowena repeated, looking taken aback by the statement. “I must agree. It is a very odd topic. Do you mean this?”

She approached the bookshelf at the bottom of the stairs and pulled a tome off it. Opening it to a page, Rowena read aloud, “There are three eternal principles: Chronos, Zeus, and Chthonie. It was the semen of Chronos that was placed in the recesses and produced the first generation of the gods.” She looked up at the three younger people and said, “It's a bit fragmented, and certainly a rather indelicate topic, but there you have it.”

“Let me see that.” Surprised at her stepmother’s blasé reading of the text, Demetra reached for it and skimmed the page. “This isn't even written in English!” she exclaimed.

“Of course it isn't. The Pentemychos is in Greek, naturally, as Pherecydes was a Greek philosopher.”

Demetra realized her mouth hung open as she stared at her stepmother. Quickly snapping it shut, she said tightly, “I've never heard of him.”

“Pre-Socratic thinkers are not very well-known.” Rowena sounded as though she were speaking indifferently of hats and gloves over tea, as she replaced the book on the shelf. “It's also worth noting that Chronos is considered the father of the Horae and Aether, whatever those things are. Does this information help you or would you like to ask another question?”

This time, Demetra simply gaped at her stepmother, unable to recover from her surprise. Francis quickly stepped in to take Rowena’s hand and bow elegantly over it. “You've been most helpful, Mrs. Ashdown. The ability to speak another language is a commendable trait.”

“I am sure my stepdaughter thinks I am unable to find anything beyond bonnets, bustles, and balls. However, let me assure you my father saw to it that I had the best education available to a woman. It's also worth noting my marriage to Mr. Ashdown has not been without its learning experiences. A good wife always listens to her husband and pays attention to whatever he likes to talk about, especially his work. Now if you will excuse me, my latest maid seems to have decided not to show up for work today. I really must put out an advertisement for a new one.” With a shrug as expressive as her face, Rowena turned and walked back up the stairs.

Arms folded across his chest, Francis turned to face Demetra. “What did you say about having only to fear Rowena?”

Demetra stammered, looking to Simon for assistance. The young artificer, however, looked just as perplexed as she felt.

“I believe your stepmother just unwittingly gave you one of the clues you sought,” Francis continued.

“Fine, fine,” Demetra snapped at him. “But I will tell you that despite her education, her Latin and German are simply atrocious, and she can barely speak a word of French.”

“No, I believe his point is Rowena gave you the connection between Chronos, the Horae and the Aether,” Simon finally spoke. “We know Aether is basically air. As for the Horae, they are the goddesses of the natural passage of time. This included the positioning of the stars and constellations. I think it's clear that time and the movement of the heavens are inextricably linked and always have been. Now we need to focus on the clock itself and its potential connection to the Astronomer Royal.”

“When will we use it to rescue Beckstrom?” Francis asked, his mouth pulling downward with displeasure. “He's the reason we sought it.”

“True, and I think you can hardly manage a moment longer without your valet.” Playfully, Demetra reached out to straighten the nobleman’s cravat. “However there is nothing further we can do with regard to that issue without some sort of instructions from the kidnappers. Having the clock in our possession is only half of the equation, after all. Therefore, unless you suggest the prey become the predators, we can do nothing but sit back and wait for them to contact you. In the interim, I recommend we put the time to good use and learn as much as we can about this fascinating device.”

“I think we should definitely indulge in further study of the clock tonight.” Simon grinned with excitement as he fiddled with the goggles around his neck.

“Well, tonight it seems I am obligated to attend the ball at the Marstons.” Demetra tapped her hand against her hip. Attending the occasional party did not vex her, but she resented the inconvenience of going to a party when there were more pressing matters to deal with in her life. “Perhaps Francis can escort me while you work on the clock.”

Simon looked thrilled at the prospect of returning home to resume his study of the Aetheric artifact. “As much as I would enjoy your company, I am sure I'll have enough to keep me occupied with this new device.”

“You will hide it in a safe place, I take it?”

“Princess, do you really need to ask me that?” Simon’s frown did nothing to diminish his outward enthusiasm. “Neither your precious clock nor my own life are in any danger.”

“Of course, I trust your discretion. You are the smartest of men. However, I can't help but worry about your welfare just a little bit.” Demetra patted his arm and turned to Francis. “And you? Are you amenable to this little plan?”

“Well, as much as I wish you would worry about my welfare instead of Simon’s, I suppose I do get the better end of the arrangement. How could I resist such an opportunity?”

“Do keep in mind it will be you, me, and the entire ton at the Marstons’ ball,” she reminded him gently. “A ton, mind you, that has quite possibly read your humble little apology to me as it was printed in The Times.”

Francis leaned toward her and whispered so Simon could not hear, “True and I can endure any humiliation. My consolation comes with knowing your little inventor won't be there with us tonight.”

“Are you admitting to me that you're jealous of him?” Demetra could not suppress the catlike look of satisfaction suffusing her features.

“Absolutely and completely jealous,” Francis answered in a normal tone of voice. “But I do not see a need to kill him just yet,” he added, flicking his gaze over to the artificer.

Demetra had to laugh at the obvious riposte, while the younger man glared at Francis, open-mouthed.

“Is her preference for brains over brawn a problem for you?” Simon asked the nobleman. “Perhaps you feel inadequate over your intellectual deficiencies, but there is really no need to take your frustrations out on me.”

“I attended Oxford University. Any intellectual deficiencies on my part are a product of your imagination.” Finger poking hard at Simon’s chest, Francis growled. “Perhaps we need to take this up at dawn.”

“Shall we resolve this with pistols in the graveyard?” Simon responded mockingly.

“You do not know who you are dealing with, you young, arrogant—”

Demetra placed her arm through Francis’s to pull him back away from Simon and gave both men a frown. Condemnation tinged her voice when she growled, “Let us hope nobody ends up in the line of fire tonight.”

Chapter Thirteen

Pleased that the tones of her purple-and-silver striped evening gown brought out the color of her eyes, Demetra swept her lethal silver fan up into her hand off the seat of the carriage as it halted in front of the Marstons’ home in Grosvenor Square. Once she and her stepmother stepped down from the carriage, Rowena linked arms with her and smiled radiantly.

“Do you not find this lovely, Demetra? How often is it just the two of us attending one of these gatherings? Most of the time, I have Verity with me and she is a most agreeable companion. However, I don't recall ever attending a function with only you at my side. Perhaps we shall build a connection as mother and daughter yet.”

Demetra nodded wordlessly and scanned the throng for Francis. The idea of establishing any connection with Rowena, particularly a familial one, made her feel positively ill. Open fan concealing her face, she looked for the one person she truly wanted to meet at the party. Tonight would be the first opportunity she finally had to watch Francis eat crow, as the Americans called it. His printed apology would bring their relationship back into the public eye, which she did not particularly care for, but this time, society would be on her side.

It only took a few moments for them to catch sight of one another. As Francis approached, Demetra realized that she had never expected to be pleased to see him after their parting a few years prior. Yet she had enjoyed the thrill of the past few days as they raced through and around London in search of the clock.

She knew his decision to end their engagement had direct bearing on her resolution to distance herself from her human side. After he left, she decided the emotional attachments of humanity were too difficult to bear. Human emotions were a failing she did not want to accept or acknowledge.

What Demetra realized as she watched Francis bow over Rowena’s hands and murmur about how beautiful her stepmother looked, was she may have blocked out her desire to love, but not her capacity to love. He had not ruined that, at least. Friendship with him was something Demetra was willing to open herself to; she dared not risk any more than that.

“Of course, how lovely you are tonight, Miss Ashdown,” Francis said dutifully as he took her hand and brushed a light, almost imperceptible kiss over the back of her glove. “I believe your stepmother’s influence has had a positive effect on your femininity over the years.”

Rowena tittered. “How you flatter me, Lord Winterton!” She opened her fan with a graceful flick of her wrist. “I certainly have done my best to guide Demetra into womanhood.”

“She is a credit to you, as is your lovely little Verity. I must say she will be greatly missed while she is in the country with her father.”

Struggling to bite back a sarcastic retort, Demetra simply said, “It is truly a shame my sister cannot be here tonight.” She racked her brain for something more to say, but nothing sounded gracious or polite.

Francis took the initiative by linking his arm with hers. “I'm sure we will do our best to make up for the loss, though nothing can truly soothe one’s heart in the absence of such beauty.”

Rowena tittered something once more, before sweeping ahead of them to give her name to the footman, so he could announce her arrival to the assembly.

“Have you lost your ability to speak since I saw you only a few hours ago, my Demetra?” Francis asked as he scrutinized her.

She took a fortifying breath and responded, “You should know me well enough to remember what a challenge it is for me to hold my tongue in Rowena’s presence.”

“Your inability to restrain yourself is one of your more delightful traits.”

Demetra hazarded, “Delightful?”

“Of course. I appreciated your inability to dissemble then, as I do now.” His dark eyes studied her face closely. “You're too honest to trifle with me or anybody else.”

“What makes you say that?” Demetra turned her face from his to glance over the assembly. There were many familiar faces and quite a few heads tilted in their direction as they approached the ballroom. Speculation about their first appearance at a soiree together in three years would run rampant.

“We were engaged for almost an entire year, courted for months before that, and were friends for a few years prior to that. Do not even begin to imagine I do not know you. If anybody in town—in this entire world—knows you well, it is me.”

“You may know me,” Demetra whispered as they walked to the door, “and you may have apologized to me, but you could never love me the way I am. Appreciate my character or not; what I am will always bring you pain.”

“As I recall, you were the one who was hurt, and not just by my departure. If I could have prevented what happened…”

“But you could not,” Demetra interjected. “Curiosity is what killed the cat. Had I possessed the good sense to leave well enough alone, it would not have happened. As I said the other night, certain energies are not compatible. I did not know it at the time. My ignorance is more to blame than yours. Now that I know more about such things, I’ve learned to avoid the things that might cause me harm.”

“Including love?” Francis asked.

“Especially love.”

“Perhaps love is stronger than the differences between infernal and celestial energies.”

Demetra looked up at him and shook her head. “Perhaps I don't want to love you.”

Francis’s arm tightened around hers and he tilted his head to speak to her more intimately, before he realized they were standing just inside the door to the ballroom. With a grimace, he turned and gave their names to the footman. As the servant announced them, Francis pulled Demetra along with him into the ballroom.

She realized once more that all eyes were upon them. It had been nearly three years since the names of Lord Francis Winterton and Miss Demetra Ashdown were spoken in one sentence. At the time of their separation, it had been a painful scandal for her to face. Francis had simply retreated to his home in the country, while Demetra had endured the humiliation of her rejection in the public eye.

Squaring her shoulders, she tried to bury thoughts of the past in the deepest recesses of her mind. This was not that devastating autumn night in eighteen eighty-nine, nor did she feel concerned about how her current business with Francis would end. His apology had appeared in the paper, his contrition displayed for the entire ton to see. Demetra realized he had done everything she asked of him, yet she had not spoken a word of forgiveness. They could never move forward as friends if she did not let go of the past.

As she opened her mouth to speak, Francis cut her off.

“This could be a most interesting evening,” he remarked with a grimace. “Especially when I tell you that—”

“Lord Winterton!” cried Mrs. Marston with evident delight as she hurried to approach them with her daughter in tow. “It is so good of you to come to our little party! Of course you know my Fidelia!”

Demetra winced, as it seemed Mrs. Marston always spoke in exclamations. It was unnecessary to communicate so loudly, as far as Demetra was concerned, and she wondered how society could respect somebody who lacked any self-control.

“Would you possibly favor my Fidelia with a dance?” Mrs. Marston still managed to shout, even when posing a question. “It has been far too long since we last saw you!”

“I would be honored to oblige the young lady.” Francis took the hand of the girl in question and led her to the dance floor.

This allowed Demetra to seek refuge from both her stepmother and her active thoughts. However, it did not shield her from the swirl of gossip filling the ballroom. Even as she inched along the wall and let herself simply appreciate the sights, sounds and smells of the ball, Demetra could hear the guests speculating over her entrance with Francis.

“Lord Winterton has not been seen in the company of Miss Ashdown in nearly three years,” Lady Foxwell muttered to another old matron. “I wonder if they've been reconciled.”

“The letter in The Times leaves no doubt. Lord Winterton has clearly seen the error of his ways. We certainly were not privy to the reason for him ending their engagement, except the allusion he thought Miss Ashdown did not behave quite as femininely as a woman should be,” the other matron answered. “She has certainly improved in appearance and manner over the years and has learned how to keep her shockingly forthright thoughts to herself. Lord Winterton clearly realizes he made a bad decision in the matter. I believe they should be reconciled, as they would make an excellent match. I just wish I understood precisely what happened between them.”

“It would make for a most delicious story if we could but get any information,” Lady Foxwell agreed, a giggle in her voice.

She felt oddly gratified to hear this conversation, and Demetra’s progress slowed as she pondered their words. Only she knew the precise reason why Francis had broken their betrothal. His motive was deeper than concern about having her and his father’s pistols in the same house after the incident. It was because of the nature of her lineage and the power she wielded. A man of combat could not reconcile himself to magick, anymore than he could accept her unnatural affinity for all things scientific.

They had both been younger then, and Francis had been arrogant in his late adolescence. Of course, it was quite possible he had grown at least somewhat in their few years of separation, and Demetra found the thought a rather pleasant one. If he had the confidence to accept her as she was, perhaps her hope that they could be friends was not misplaced. One obstacle still stood firmly in the way of a more intimate relationship and that was something they both had to accept.

She leaned her head against the wall and watched Francis and Fidelia finish the dance. They made a stunning couple, with Fidelia’s coloring just as dark as Francis’s, and Demetra knew that every mother here would be throwing her daughter at the eligible young nobleman. The marriage market was something he had always detested: this race to marry off girls to the most wealthy or highest titled, unattached man. With a sigh and a half-smile, Demetra bowed her head and began picking at the silver lace of her fan. It amused her to reminisce about the past and consider how they had both changed since then.

“What are you smiling about?” Francis stood at her elbow, much to her surprise. Monopolizing the attention of a handsome young nobleman was every matron’s area of expertise. Soon they would inundate him with more requests to dance with their daughters.

“I remember how much you hated it when mothers would shove their daughters at you.” Demetra turned to face him and share the full effect of her charming smile. “I hope that little experience was not terribly painful for you.”

“Painful? Not painful, no, but I did not come here to dance with Fidelia Marston tonight.” Francis reached down to run his finger along the edge of her fan and Demetra inhaled sharply at the gesture. “Would you dance with me, Miss Ashdown?”

Recovering her composure, Demetra responded, “I would be delighted.” She placed her hand in Francis’s and added with a girlish laugh, “Providing you have improved since the last time we danced together.”

“Is that a challenge?” Francis quirked his eyebrow at her, and said, “I do believe the last time you issued me such a test, I won.”

“Did you?” Demetra tried to remember what that might be as he pulled her into his arms, and out onto the dance floor. With the various outings and her focus solely on the relic hunt, any casual conversation had slipped through her memory.

“You informed me that I could scold you forever if we did not specifically locate the Chronos Clock in the Airy Transit Circle.”

Recollection of those very words made her pause briefly in the midst of a dance step. “Ah, so I did,” she agreed, nodding in response. “I suppose that means we must maintain a very long-lasting friendship.”

“It's very difficult to guarantee such a thing when we reside in two very different places.” Francis regarded her with an enigmatic air as he turned her with practiced ease. “There is only one way to ensure we remain together forever so I may administer the scolding you so richly deserve on a daily basis. We should marry one another.”

Demetra’s feet simply ceased to move in rhythm with the music, and she stood there mutely. She gaped at him, her mind furiously reviewing the events of the past several days. Nowhere in her recollection did she find anything that might have inferred the possibility of any reconciliation beyond friendship. Despite his repeated declarations of love, she thought she had made her position clear. Blinking at him, still open-mouthed, she merely shook her head at him.

“That is precisely the reaction I hoped to elicit from you,” Francis said calmly with a nod of his head. “Your horrified silence is quite heartening.”

“You want to marry me,” Demetra stammered. “I realize you said as much when you first reappeared, but I don't think I've done anything to indicate that is even a remote possibility. What makes you think I would risk the heartbreak?”

“I have humbled myself before you and all of society in my apology. From the moment I left London three years ago, I knew what a fool I was.”

“You're still a fool,” she whispered in response, trying to calm her beating heart. “We cannot do this and you know that. We can be friends, but nothing more than that.”

“I am only a fool because it took me this long to admit I've been wrong about you.” He leaned his head closer to hers and whispered, “Besides, I need a good reason to take you with me unchaperoned to some rather unsavory places, since the kidnappers contacted me before I left my townhome to come here tonight.”

“So they gave you roughly a week to try to come up with it.” Demetra looked up into his eyes, her own mind focused on the business of the Chronos Clock once more.

This ridiculous marriage proposal could wait until they resolved the far more pressing matter of saving Beckstrom’s life.

“I still want to know who you told about me; how somebody could possibly know I am your ‘resource’ and that you could rely upon me to find the clock for you.”

Francis shook his head. “I honestly do not know, and it is neither fair nor logical of you to constantly assume you were the resource to which they referred. Never have I breathed a word of what you are or what you can do. Can't you believe I am telling you the truth?”

“I could, but it still seems highly unlikely. Until I can verify what you've been telling me, I am going to have to remain skeptical. It's probably better for my health in this instance,” she added wryly, as a tingle of infernal power rippled through her. There was another Aetheral here and she felt the grasping, searching energy crawling about the room.

“What concerns do you have for your health?” Francis asked, looking at her in confusion.

Tilting her head toward the doorway, Demetra answered, “Because somebody is about to send a nasty little bit of infernal energy our way.” She pulled Francis behind her and raised the fan to cover her face up to her eyes. Scanning the crowd of people by the doorway, she could not determine which guest was the source of the malevolent energy. However, one thing was quite clear: the dark power pulsating around them was dangerous. A heartbeat later, it arced through the air toward them, the other guests completely unaware of what was about to happen.

With a soft growl of annoyance, Demetra raised her fan to meet the incoming blast. She could not see it, but she felt the energy rushing at them in a torrent. It jarred her off her feet, causing her to stumble back against Francis. However, she managed to absorb most of the shock as the blast met her fan. The moment it struck the accessory, the power dissipated, evaporating around them into a fine mist of energy too weak to do any damage to them.

Breathing deeply, Demetra extended her awareness throughout the room once more. Whoever had attacked them had departed immediately or remained well hidden, their power cloaked from Aetheric detection. Turning on her heel to look up at her escort, Demetra informed him, “I think I would benefit greatly from a glass of punch.”

“What did you just do?” he asked in amazement. “I felt something in the air, something I thought would burn right through me, and then the feeling simply disappeared.”

“Simon made this little device for me, the one you scoffed at not so long ago.” Demetra offered the fan for his inspection. “Be careful, as it is quite sharp. The lace is actually pure silver, with a silver razor beneath it. As I told you before, this has saved my life on more than one occasion. The right amount of pure silver can deflect anything Aetheric. When that is not quite enough to do the job, then I can always remove any obstacle with physical force.”

Demetra cast her glance around the room, still trying to determine which guest had mustered the audacity to attack them.

“Whoever it was, I no longer feel their energy. Let us hope someone simply experienced a momentary lapse in manners, and intends nothing more lethal than that.”

“Let us hope nobody has thought to take advantage of our distraction to harm Simon.” Francis led her to the refreshment table to procure the requested glass of punch. “He has been seen in our company rather frequently over the past week and someone might put the pieces together.”

Accepting the glass, Demetra sipped at the refreshment while she looked up at him, worry etched on her face. “We had best go look in on him.”

“Do you think Rowena will mind if you leave with me?”

“I think it quite possible she is already tickled pink by what the ladies have been saying about us. The speculation about our appearance together will probably last for months until they find something else to gossip about.” Demetra set the glass on the table and moved toward the door as quickly as she could, while still maintaining a calm demeanor. She did not bother to look to see if Francis followed her.

Once Demetra reached the door, she let him take the lead while she pretended to examine her dress in the foyer mirror. Tenuous strands of infernal energy reached toward her from the ballroom, but she sensed their assailant did not have enough power to form another attack. With a final glance at the people in the Marston home, she turned to take the last few steps through the front door and up into the carriage.

Francis followed her into the brougham and sat across from her. “I've told them to take us to Warom Apothecary. We can check on Simon before you go home.”

“No. I don't think it is such a good idea.”

“You seemed only too eager to check on him a few moments ago. Why should we not pay him a visit?”

Demetra stripped her gloves from her much too-warm hands. “If the person who attacked us does not suspect Simon’s involvement, then we should not lead them to him. Instead, we should each go home as if the attack disturbed us and drove us from the ball. It's clear they were after either you or me, and we should act on the natural human instinct to run to a safe haven. If Simon does get into any trouble, he can handle it, but I don't think we should assume our attacker is aware that he has the clock. We need to throw them off the scent, not lead them to the bone.”

“What do you mean?” Francis seemed to have fallen into a repetitive habit of looking at her quizzically. Oddly enough, Demetra found it completely endearing, and allowed him a brief smile before she responded.

“What I mean is we are being followed.”

Chapter Fourteen

At Demetra’s startling proclamation, Francis leaned against the side of the brougham to look out the window. “There is somebody behind us,” he affirmed from the shadowed corner.

“Whoever it is, I believe they are the same person who attacked us. I can feel their power from here. Their energy is not recovered enough to attack again, but they may have something else in mind. I suggest we find a way to deter them.”

“If I had my pistols, I could damage one of their carriage wheels.”

“But you don't have them so we need to come up with a creative solution while you consider the benefits of carrying them once more.” Demetra waved her hands in the air to cool them and then reached for her silver fan. “I hate to do this, but they leave me no choice. It is really the height of bad manners to pursue innocent party-goers as though they were the criminals and not the other way around.”

“What are you going to do?” Francis watched her with wide-eyes.

Demetra did not look up from her fan, but simply pressed a rivet on the silver chain that wrapped around the base of it, just atop the small globe she normally held in her hand. To Francis’s surprise, he heard a soft click, and then a lid on the globe at the bottom lifted open to reveal an assortment of tiny pills in the secret chamber.

“These will not kill anybody, but they will incapacitate them,” Demetra responded, reaching in to select a red pill. “These are only useful at close range, unless one of us has very accurate aim.”

“Do you want me to ask the driver to slow down?”

“It depends.” Demetra cocked her eyebrow at him. “How far and accurately can you throw something so small at this speed?”

Arching his eyebrow skeptically, Francis answered, “I would have far better success with my guns.”

“Then, yes, as you do not carry your firearms…”

“No need to beat a dead horse,” he interjected.fr

“…I would suggest you ask the driver to slow down.”

Francis raised his fist and banged a short series of thumps against the top of the carriage. “I've asked my driver to slow down and alter course to your home,” he said. Their velocity decreased and he glanced out the window once more. “They are getting a bit closer.”

“Not very subtle, are they? So much the better for us, I suppose.” Demetra leaned out the window and realized the other carriage was much closer to their coach than she expected. “Good evening!” she called out to the coachman driving the black carriage.

There were no markings to distinguish the pursuing brougham from a hired coach. When the driver did not respond, Demetra shrugged and threw the red pill with a lazy flick of her wrist. It ruptured without a sound against the box next to the coachman, who did not appear to notice anything odd. Demetra waved insolently and withdrew from the window to grin at Francis.

“Is that it?” he asked doubtfully as he watched her close the small, secret compartment at the bottom of her fan.

“Did you expect something more?” Demetra smoothed her windblown hair back into place. As she attended to her appearance, they both heard the sound of violent sneezing just outside their carriage window.

“What was that?” Francis peered through the window once more.

“I believe we just heard the forceful ejection of the debris contained within the nasal passages,” Demetra answered casually, leaning back against the seat with a self-satisfied smile. The sneezes continued without ceasing, until the sound faded into the distance.

“I take it the pill you threw at him contained sneezing powder?” Francis finally asked Demetra, his voice flat with disbelief.

“It is very effective, would you not agree?” She accompanied her offhand remark with a playful flutter of eyelashes.

Shaking his head, Francis sighed with a smile. “You are full of surprises.”

“Actually, you can thank Simon for those little surprises as well. He is the one who believed it a good idea for me to have some sort of subtle weapon at my disposal. After all, I should not have to behead every person who gets in my way.”

His adoring smile quickly reversed, a frown tugging the corners of his mouth downward. “I don't recall you needing such things when we were engaged.”

Demetra resumed her frosty demeanor as she said, “Perhaps you never bothered to inquire when we were together. Perhaps you assumed that just because I've a single little ability based upon the accident of my birth, it somehow rendered me more than capable of fighting for myself. Let me assure you this is not the case, Lord Winterton. In fact, I believe your return has proven my ability is likely to make me a target for anybody who would misuse it to his or her own ends. Perhaps I needed somebody to protect and care for me more than you realized. Since I lost such a person, I had to learn how to do it for myself. But let me further inform you that a little secret toxin here or there, or an edged weapon disguised as an accessory is unlikely to save me, should the wrong people decide I might be of use to them.” Demetra turned her glance back toward the window with a disdainful toss of her hair.

“I never realized…”

“No, you did not, and now it's too late.”

Francis took a deep breath as he clenched his fists in frustration. “It's not too late as long as we are both alive, and you will marry me, Demetra.”

“Why on earth would I do that? Have I made any overtures at you beyond gestures of friendship? No, I have not, so please do not mistake my good humor or a smile here or there to mean we are completely reconciled.”

“Maybe I failed to protect you once, but I won't let it happen again. I will be the one to protect you and care for you until the day I die.”

Demetra turned to him, a hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. “Let us hope that day does not come soon.”

Chapter Fifteen

The following morning found Demetra walking to Warom’s Apothecary as nonchalantly as if nothing untoward had happened at the ball. Despite her relaxed posture while she strolled along the sidewalk, her lips pursed with determination. She had a list of what her stepmother wanted today, but Demetra had far more than antiaging lotions to concern her. It hardly seemed proper to fetch cosmetics after last night’s events.

However, Rowena remained blissfully unaware of the threat posed to her stepdaughter, focused instead on making remarks to Demetra about her renewed relationship with Francis. As always, the older woman believed nothing was more imperative in life than her own beauty and marrying the girls off to wealthy gentlemen. Demetra counted such shallow ignorance a blessing, since her stepmother never asked questions about her personal life.

It was a relief to find the apothecary intact and both Waroms hard at work behind the counter, as a few society ladies milled around the various displays. Despite Francis’s insistence that he meet her on Piccadilly, Demetra thought it best he remain home. As he pointed out the previous night, the three of them had been in each other’s company often enough over the past week. She did not want to rouse any further suspicion regarding Simon’s involvement in their search for the Chronos Clock. It pleased her that Francis had acquiesced to this suggestion. They were finally in agreement about something. Strategy and secrecy were both vital when it came to such dangerous dealings.

“Good morning, Miss Ashdown,” the elder Mr. Warom greeted her with a smile and a wave of his polishing cloth. “It is always a pleasure to see you.”

“Good morning, Mr. Warom.” Demetra turned on her own charming smile. “My stepmother has quite the list for you today. I think she must be running rather low on supplies.”

“It has been at least two months since Mrs. Ashdown really stocked up,” Simon responded mischievously as he knelt behind the counter and selected a few bottles to place atop it. “I think I can guess some of the items she wants.”

Demetra bit back a giggle at his words and ducked her head to hide her smile.

“Since you have this well in hand, I will see to Lady Foxwell’s own treatments. Have a good day, Miss Ashdown.” Mr. Warom nodded to them and retreated to the backroom.

Mind on the task she needed to complete, Demetra recited the list Rowena had given her, and Simon dutifully selected each item from the appropriate cabinet.

“I take it your night was uneventful?” she finally asked offhandedly as he wrapped the assorted bottles and jars in paper.

With exaggerated care and attentiveness, Simon set each wrapped parcel inside a large brown paper bag. His gaze focused just beyond her, on the ladies doing their morning shopping. “It was very quiet here last night. So quiet, in fact, it felt as though time stood still.” He accompanied the statement with a dip of his head, before turning to the till to total the purchases.

In that brief moment, Demetra held her breath for fear of how she might react to his words. The intent behind them was as clear as the subtext of her gentle inquiry.

“It sounds like a very relaxing evening,” she finally said softly. “Dare I hope that you are alluding to something a bit more literal?”

“Would you be so kind as to meet me at the Green at three? As much as it would be a pleasure to spend time alone with you, it would also be wise of you to include Lord Winterton.”

Demetra nodded and reached into her valise for the money to pay for her stepmother’s products. “That sounds like a splendid idea. I am sure we have much to discuss. Last night’s ball was not without its fair share of excitement.”

“Excitement appropriate to a young lady of the ton, I take it.”

With a snort of disdain, Demetra answered, “The ladies of the ton and I have very different ideas of what constitutes excitement. I will see you at three o’clock for our walk, and do my very best to ensure Lord Winterton is there. Goodness knows we could all use the amusement.”

Nodding at him in farewell, she picked up the bag and swept through the door into the fresh March air. Brisk spring gusts brought a pink flush to her cheeks as she walked back toward Albemarle. The olive-green gown and rosewood-colored leather bodice kept her warm enough to endure the elements, and she lingered along the sidewalk to admire window boxes overflowing with new daffodils and violets.

A light touch brushed along her arm and Demetra shook herself out of her reverie. She heard a hushed voice at her left ear. “Keep walking and do not raise a fuss. Listen to what we have to say.”

The radiant heat of celestial energy pulsed around her like sun-warmed rivulets of water. Aetheral power ebbed and flowed softly, neither threatening to attack nor allowing her complete freedom. The sensation was not unpleasant, even for her infernal blood…yet. Stronger power, however, surged just beneath the calm surface.

“What a lovely morning,” she answered in an undertone. “Would you not agree?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Demetra glimpsed her unexpected companion. His black overcoat and top hat were typical of any gentleman on the street. Without even flicking her glance in the opposite direction, she sensed a second man at her other shoulder. This one appeared even more nondescript, as he exuded an air of disinterest.

Calm as ever, Demetra did not change her pace as she strolled along Piccadilly, the bag of skin remedies dangling from her fingers. She recognized Lady Haxton approaching, and favored the older woman with a nod and a glib, “What a lovely spring morning” as the wind gusted especially hard. The woman in question scowled at her cheerfulness and walked on by, her head lowered against the breeze.

“Where is the Chronos Clock?” whispered the man at her left shoulder.

“Pardon me, but I don't know what you mean.” Demetra shifted the bag from one hand to the other and slid her free hand between the folds of her skirt to flex her cramped fingers.

“If the clock is not returned to us, we regret to inform you that harm will befall you and your friends. Whether you realize it or not, you are entering into an age-old conflict between Aetherals. We advise you to stay out of it, Miss Ashdown.”

“It's rather rude of you to threaten me without at least a proper introduction,” Demetra scoffed in response as she turned onto Albemarle. “Perhaps you can tell me precisely who you are and what your interest in the clock is.”

“It belongs to us.”

Arching an eyebrow, Demetra sighed and said, “That hardly tells me anything. Who is ‘us’? You could be the people holding Lord Winterton's valet hostage. You could be figments of my overwrought imagination, for all I know.”

“This is a most serious matter,” the voice hissed in her ear. “Your tone is highly inappropriate, and we would suggest you not mock that which you do not understand.”

“Oh dear, I must agree with you there. I really prefer to mock things I understand too well. In this instance, I am very well aware of the gravity of the situation, as there is at least one life at stake,” she said with a tilt of her head. “Whoever you are, permit us the time we need to rescue a man, and I will see to it the clock is returned without anyone the wiser.”

“One man is nothing compared to millions. By your actions, you jeopardize the entire human race. You will return the clock in three days or face the consequences.”

“No harm will come to the human race or your precious device,” Demetra answered with a roll of her eyes. A chill crept along her spine. Between the infernal attack at the Marstons’ ball and the recurrent attacks by celestials, she realized the danger was coming at her from too many unknown enemies. The last thing she wanted was to let on that she knew far less about her enemies than they knew about her. Still maintaining a calm façade, she said, “We have no intention of using it, let alone informing anyone else of its existence. It is well-hidden, and we will do everything in our power to keep it out of the wrong hands.”

“Any hands but ours are the wrong hands,” replied the man at her left shoulder. The one on the other side maintained an indifferent silence.

“Since it does not rightfully belong to us, I agree with you. However, it is vital we keep it just a little longer. Perhaps one man’s death will not affect your conscience, but I assure you it will cause me a deplorable amount of distress for a number of reasons, not the least of which being improperly tied cravats.”

“This is a serious matter, and I suggest you treat it as such. Three days, Miss Ashdown,” the voice repeated as they approached the front steps to her home, “or the consequences will be severe.”

With an elegant shrug that belied her inner anxiety, Demetra declared over her shoulder, “So will the transgressions of style and violations of good taste.”

Chapter Sixteen

“This is a lovely tea, Mrs. Ashdown.” Francis set the cup on the saucer with a small clink and beamed at his hostess. Though his appearance was considerably rumpled, his manners were not.

“You are much too kind.” Rowena smiled in a cunning manner over the rim of her own teacup and blinked more times than was strictly necessary. “I feel it is vital for us to renew our acquaintance, Lord Winterton. I know my husband has always been fond of you, and it will give him great joy to know you have chosen to remain in town throughout the season.”

Demetra tried hard to suppress an eye-roll of exasperation while she fidgeted in her chair. It seemed like her stepmother was intent on causing her as much embarrassment as humanly possible with her behavior.

“I never imagined you would come back into Demetra’s life, but here you are,” Rowena tittered. “Perhaps this union will prove longer-lasting now that you have both matured. You make an exquisite couple.”

Unable to take any more of the woman’s insinuations, Demetra said, “Nothing even remotely resembling a renewed engagement is settled, Stepmother, no matter what your friends might have said since the Marstons’ ball.”

“It's only a matter of time.” Rowena waved airily in her direction. “Lord Winterton cannot possibly do anything until your father returns, but I am quite confident your relationship will move forward in the near future.”

Biting back a groan, Demetra rose to her feet and looked pointedly at Francis. “It's such a lovely day. I should like to take a turn about the Green. Would you be so kind as to walk with me, Lord Winterton?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Francis responded with a brief nod as he set his cup down.

“I am pleased to see you are eager to have him to yourself. It's understandable and most encouraging.” Rowena reached for the sugar bowl. “Take all the time you like and have a lovely stroll.”

“My stepmother is an insufferable woman,” Demetra hissed as soon as they were outdoors. “Who does she think she is?”

Mirth in his voice, Francis answered, “She's just a typical matchmaking mother who wants to see her stepdaughter marry into a title. Odds are quite excellent you will not just survive this experience, but come out of it much happier than you have been of late.”

Demetra looked at him from the corner of her eye as they walked. “Do you presume to know my own feelings better than I do?”

“I presume to believe you still love me as ardently as you once did.”

Choosing to remain silent on the subject rather than explain her position on the matter once again, Demetra merely linked her arm through Francis’s and focused her eyes straight ahead. There was nothing more for them to say as far as she was concerned. She remained unconvinced of his sincerity with regard to the revelation of her identity and abilities to the kidnappers. Even if she had forgiven his past actions, she could not allow their relationship to progress beyond friendship without trusting him now.

Armed with her fan and parasol, Demetra felt ready to learn whatever Simon had to share. It would certainly be a welcome change from the prenuptial assumptions everybody was making without her consent. It was with boundless gratitude that she offered her hand to her inventive friend when they met up at the Green. Here, at least, was a man who would not break her heart or misuse her.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” Simon said as he shook their hands. “I believe you will both be delighted with what I have to tell you.”

“Shall we enjoy a turn about the grounds? It is beautiful out here and I always enjoy the spring air,” Demetra answered, inclining her head toward him. “Lord Winterton just remarked on how glorious the sky looks. Not a cloud in it, is that not so?” She turned her questioning gaze on her companion.

“An uncommonly pretty sight for a March day in town,” Francis agreed graciously as Simon joined them for their walk. He lowered his voice to a murmur. “Please tell us what you learned last night.”

“It's a simple matter of setting the hands to the time and season you desire,” Simon answered, his voice barely above a whisper. “As to how to stop time, this can be done by depressing the very rivet holding the hands onto the clock.”

“If one can manipulate nothing more than the clock hands for this purpose, does it mean you may only affect time in the present year?” Demetra asked, before offering a nod of greeting to Lord and Lady Ambrose.

“Quite the contrary, you may go back in time as far as you like by spinning the zodiac dial a certain number of times. For example, turning it back five times and setting it to Aries will bring you back to spring five years ago.”

“So using the clock doesn’t sound like an exact science,” Francis mused as he rubbed his chin. “However, despite its volatile nature, it still gives the user great power.”

“Actually, it depends on one’s understanding of the astronomical clock,” Simon said. “You can go to a specific date and time, if you plan properly. If you set it to Aries, five years ago, during the new moon, then you will appear on that particular date. However, as you can see, precision can only be achieved if you know the astronomical events that occurred on the date you would like to visit.”

“Unless a person is highly interested in time travel and has studied history to a very exact degree, the Chronos Clock does them no good, based on what you’ve said,” Demetra pointed out. “However, if a person wants to stop time briefly enough to do something to their benefit—perhaps commit a crime—then the clock is a great asset.”

“I agree that seems the most likely reason for anybody to want the clock.” Simon nodded vigorously before he continued, “This is why it is vital we keep it out of the wrong hands. It must be hidden and the Royal Observatory is insufficient for our purpose.”

“Well, somebody wants it back there and soon.” Demetra bent her head to scratch her chin against the shoulder of her dress. “Two men decided to accost me on the street in broad daylight to make their demands known. Surely there are more courteous ways of informing a lady of one’s wishes.”

“Who were these men?” Simon and Francis asked simultaneously. Francis narrowed his eyes at the artificer and tightened his arm around Demetra’s, as they awaited her response.

“That I could not tell you, even if I wanted to. We were not introduced, you see. They just approached me without as much as a hello. Neither of them struck me as particularly memorable in attire or general appearance, though the one who spoke was articulate enough, despite his lack of good manners.”

“You waited until now to mention this?” Francis glared at her with unexpected ferocity as he considered his next words. “When you are threatened by anyone, you should tell me immediately.”

“It was hardly an earth-shattering event,” Demetra answered with a dismissive shrug, though something inside her fluttered with excitement at Francis’s words. “The point is we need to determine our next move with regard to the clock, especially now that we have some understanding of how it works. We know there are at least two celestials after it. I don’t know yet if the infernal’s attack on me at the ball is connected. That incident could have been entirely unrelated, but I would rather assume we are dealing with multiple menaces.”

“I could attempt to disassemble the clock completely,” Simon suggested.

“I need it to exchange for my valet. It is not for your frivolous experimentation and projects,” Francis said, before turning to Demetra. “And do keep in mind we will return to the discussion about informing me when you are threatened in any way. I will not tolerate keeping of secrets, particularly when they may endanger you.”

“Well, we will ignore the pot calling the kettle black,” Demetra said with a deep, fortifying breath, trying not to give in to her annoyance at Francis’s demands. “Then that leaves us with our next quandary: precisely how to rescue Beckstrom. Last night, you said the kidnappers had been in contact with you. What did they say?”

“Ah yes, well,” Francis cleared his throat, “we never did get around to having our conversation last night, what with the interruption.”

“What exactly happened last night?” Simon looked at them both with curiosity evident in his wide eyes. “I think you have both dropped enough hints, so just come out with it.”

“We were dodging infernal bullets,” Demetra answered with a quirk of her lips. “I thought it was most interesting and a rather refreshing change of pace.”

“You mean to say you were attacked?” Simon looked over at Francis. “What did you say about not keeping secrets, Lord Winterton?”

Francis scowled at Simon. “I do not owe you any explanations, but yes, we were.”

“As much as I would love to point out the irony on top of irony and coupled with even more irony in this situation,” Demetra interjected with a wave of her fan, “we should really get to the point. I believe Lord Winterton is going to enlighten us as to the message sent by the kidnappers regarding Beckstrom’s lamentable situation.”

Francis cleared his throat before giving his answer. “They want to speak with me tonight at nine o’clock. They did not speak of the clock directly, but I imagine they want to inquire as to whether or not I have obtained it. I’m to meet them at The White Hart on Drury Lane.”

Wrinkling her nose a bit, Demetra said, “Are you telling me Beckstrom’s kidnapper is the Muffin Man?” As Francis gaped at her in astonishment, she continued, “Or perhaps they are just trying to throw us off the trail with baked goods, not that I would object to a bit of lemon cake in the least.”

“Could we possibly stop off for some apple crumble as well?” Simon asked, his eyes lighting at the mention of food. “I am excessively fond of apple crumble.”

“Oh no.” Demetra sighed, sweeping her fan open and wafting it just below her chin. “I really do not care for anything with fruit in it, except a lemon cake. I think lemon cake is simply the most exquisite.”

“We are not going to see any muffin man, nor will we be consuming any baked goods!” Francis cried as his face flushed with anger. “You are making sport of a very serious matter! I am going to get my valet back, and you can both either help me or stand here all day talking about dessert. Good day!” Francis pressed his Boss of the Plains hat to his head and turned on his heel to depart.

“Oh dear, we have let our stomachs run away with us.” Demetra reached out to gently take Francis’s arm and bestow one of her rare, warm smiles upon him. “Do not storm off on us now. We are in this together, and you certainly did not come to me just to use my abilities. Some part of you appreciates what I have to offer beyond a bit of inborn power. I know how you feel about me, flaws and all.”

“I’m glad to hear you realize how I feel about you, as well as your willingness to stand by me in this matter.” Francis exhaled with relief and patted her hand. “They want a report on my progress, and I could certainly use your support. This is a crucial meeting, and it could determine Beckstrom’s fate. Therefore, we need to determine what to say and do. One wrong word or misperceived gesture could mean an end to Beckstrom’s life, as well as ours.”

He looked her over critically in the warm light of the afternoon.

“However, while you can give me advice on how to handle this matter, you cannot accompany me.” As Demetra’s mouth fell open, Francis continued, “A lady of your stature certainly would never visit a place such as The White Hart with only friends to escort her. It would not be appropriate.”

Demetra snapped her fan shut and pointed it at him. “You cannot tell me what is appropriate and what is not. I am well aware of society’s rules and, furthermore, abide by them without fail. This is an instance where rules must be broken. I must be there and I will be there, as I would certainly like to know who these kidnappers are. Furthermore, I am curious to know how they come by Aetheric power of any sort. At least one of them is an infernal. Mark my words; you need me there for more reasons than you think.”

Simon nodded. “She is right, Lord Winterton. Insight on Aetherals is invaluable if those are the types of people you are dealing with, and while Demetra understands to some extent what such beings are capable of, we still do not really know what we are dealing with here. All of us should attend somehow, as each of us has something to contribute. Even if you do not need her knowledge or my scientific background, it is still far better for us to prepare for any eventuality.”

“As always, you offer an excellent argument.” Francis exhaled audibly as he looked back and forth between his two companions. “As much as I still believe we should go to the police with this, I do realize that could do more harm than good. The three of us work quite well together, and I cannot imagine doing any of this without your assistance.”

Purring with triumph, Demetra pressed closer to Francis. “I’m so glad to hear you acknowledge it. Perhaps there is hope for you after all.”

“There may very well be hope for the both of us.” Francis moved Demetra’s hand from his arm to hold it between his palms. “Simon is free to come with me, of course. He is a grown man, and I don’t doubt his ability to look after himself. However, you are the woman I love and I would not be much of a gentleman if I allowed you to risk your life on my behalf.”

Both Simon and Demetra looked at one another quizzically, their brows knit in confusion.

“The passage of time is clearly to your detriment,” Demetra finally said to Francis. “Do you not remember I am just as capable of taking care of myself, as either of you are?”

“While you are physically capable of it, it would still be disgraceful of me to endorse your nighttime gallivanting to a pub with two gentlemen who are not family relations. Therefore, I will only let you accompany us if you agree to marry me.”

Chapter Seventeen

“This is what we get? Shoved in a corner like useless sidekicks?” Simon grumbled as he flicked his finger against the side of the tankard of ale on the table. “Could you not have negotiated for something a little better, Lady Winterton?” The emphasis he placed on the name made Demetra grimace at him.

“Oh hush. I’m not Lady Winterton. You know I only agreed to the engagement to placate him.” Tilting her head in Francis’s direction, she added, “Anyhow, sitting here gives us a perfectly good view of Francis and anybody who walks through the front door, so stop complaining.”

Ensconced in one of the deeper, darker corners of the tavern opposite the front door, and swathed in one of Simon’s cast-off outfits, Demetra did not look at all like herself. A flat cap pulled low on her brow cast a shadow over her face, while the plain brown trousers and coat disguised her feminine curves. Arms crossed over her chest, she looked like a broody young man, but her erratic heartbeat made her feel like a frustrated young woman.

Danger rarely distressed her, but the presence of such human emotions did. She did not appreciate Francis blackmailing her into something as unreasonable as an engagement. With a nonchalant shrug, Demetra said, “I still cannot believe I had to play into his silly little betrothal charade, simply to accompany him on this little adventure.”

“I agree that your logic completely escapes me. Why have you agreed to betroth yourself a second time to that man after he broke your heart the first time?”

As always, Simon had an uncomfortably astute insight when it came to Demetra’s emotions. Like it or not, she admitted to herself this was one of the reasons they were friends. Fooling herself into pretending she could be something more than human became impossible when she spent time with Simon.

“I did it because this escapade,” she said with a sigh, “is bigger than any marriage ever will be.” Demetra kept her narrowed gaze on her fiancé.

“You also did it because you are in love with him.”

“You are out of your mind,” Demetra snarled.

“If what you say is true, and you no longer love Francis, then prove it and marry me instead.”

“What?” she gasped and turned to stare at Simon, her eyes wide.

“Demetra,” he whispered, leaning across the table toward her, “I have always liked you just the way you are. You know that. We make each other laugh and our interests are so similar. What I have realized is now we are both of an age where we can decide for ourselves. What I have decided is I feel very strange inside every time you go off alone with Lord Winterton.”

“Do you mean you are jealous of the time I spent with him?” Demetra answered in a low voice.

“That must be it, because I cannot wait to see you again every time and make sure you have not run off and married him.”

A chortle escaped her. “Why on earth would I do that?”

“I’m not entirely sure you would not. I don’t necessarily have a sense for these things, but I wonder: do you even know how you feel about him?”

Demetra slid a glance to Francis and then back to Simon. “I believe whatever I feel for him is my business and mine alone.”

“What I feel for you is fear I might lose my best friend, whether to him or another man.” His beseeching azure eyes held her gaze. “Please, Demi, just say yes.”

“Simon, I love you and you are my best friend, but I have to say no.”

With a small sigh of disappointment, he nodded and sat back in his chair. “It certainly did not hurt to ask. But tell me why you are helping Lord Winterton when you do not love him.”

“Even if I feel I have reconciled myself to what happened in the past and have let go of it, I still care about him as a friend.” She rubbed her forefinger firmly along the wood grain of the table.

“And naturally, this is something you would do for any friend.” Simon took a long drink of his ale. “Who but a friend would agree to make the mistake of a second betrothal to the man who broke her heart?”

Sliding her gaze to him, Demetra said, “This is only for tonight.”

“So you are telling me you are going to turn around and do what he did to you three years ago? I believe that is called hypocrisy.”

“No, no, it is not the same thing,” Demetra answered hastily.

“Actually, it is. He decided to end your engagement because of your disparate heritages, personalities, and a rather mysterious incident involving a gun. Now you have not only entered into a sham betrothal, but you have done so with full knowledge of the fact you are going to end it in the same manner as he did—unreasonably and without feeling the least contrite about it.”

“It is a complicated matter.”

“No,” Simon answered bitterly. “It is quite simple. Either you love him or you do not. Pretense is not going to help you build a friendship with him. It will be the death of it.”

“You are just angry at me.”

“I am hurt, yes, but I am also trying to remind you to treat everyone around you fairly. You think too much about things and not enough about people, except yourself.”

Letting out a long, deep sigh, Demetra returned her watchful stare to the man presently known as her fiancé.

Francis sat at a table by the front door in the full light of the glowing lamps. He looked surprisingly relaxed as he drank his wine and drummed his fingers on the table in time to the music of the pianist. Demetra and Simon were to do nothing more than remain unobtrusively in the corner, while he dealt with the kidnappers.

The nobleman turned slightly toward the door and let his arm rest on the back of his chair, his shoulder rolling back just enough to part his coat. As the fabric swept back past his hip, something glinted from beneath it. The coat fell back into place when Francis turned fully back to the table, but not before Demetra realized what he carried with him this very moment.

“Oh my goodness,” she gasped, staring at him in astonishment. “I don’t believe it.”

“Are you all right?” Simon asked, anxiety washing over his features. He leaned across the table to listen to Demetra’s breathless whisper.

“He has his father’s pistols.”

Eyebrows raised, Simon paused for a moment before saying, “Well, I imagine he thought it best to bring some sort of protection.”

Demetra reached out to grasp Simon’s arm and shook her head. “No, you have no idea what this means. When he learned what the guns can do, he swore never to touch it again.”

“Why is that?”

Closing her eyes, Demetra took a long, deep breath. “I should have been able to feel its power from here, though it must have been bound somehow. Even still, I can sense it at least a little bit. The pistols are infused with a strong, celestial energy. I touched one of them once and the reaction of the celestial energy with my own was rather spectacular. At the time, I was attending a party at the Wintertons’ home. The resulting explosion took out their entire library. When Francis saw me lying among all that debris, scorched and bloodied, he refused to use the guns ever again. He locked them away and would never speak of them.”

“So Francis feared the harm his guns could cause you.”

Demetra nodded. “That is when…” Pausing for another breath, she looked at Simon once more. “That is when he broke off our engagement. At the time, he used the excuse that I was too progressive a woman, but it was only this week that he told me his true concern was the possibility that I might get seriously injured again, perhaps even die.”

She leaned forward in her chair to scrutinize her fiancé closely.

“He must realize there is a distinct possibility his meeting tonight may be with an infernal, possibly the one who attacked us at the Marstons’ ball. Potential danger is the only reason he would risk bringing those pistols anywhere near me.”

“This could be much bigger than any of us initially thought,” Simon whispered, turning his face toward the wall so Demetra had to lean back once more to hear his words. “You need to relax, Princess, and not look so nervous. Nevertheless, do keep in mind you have witched up an old celestial device. Since then, you have been attacked by an infernal being, had fireballs lobbed at you by celestials, and been accosted by men demanding the clock’s return. This might just be something beyond our abilities to deal with.”

“Are you suggesting we are in over our heads?” Demetra asked. “Because I have been wondering the same thing. What do you suggest we do? Do you think we should return the clock and leave Beckstrom to his fate? Do you think we should go to the police, even if it breaks down the entire process of negotiation?”

Pain and regret tinged Simon’s voice as he responded quietly, “Yes. I do not like to hang a man out to dry any more than you do, but this is dangerous—not just for all of us, but for the entire world.”

As Demetra turned to reply, the door of the tavern opened. At that moment, the influx of infernal energy pulsed through the room so thickly, Demetra had to suck in her next breath to keep from suffocating under the heavy warp and weave of power. She felt thankful her own ability was so insignificant that other Aetherals never took note of it.

The infernal that had just entered the tavern certainly looked alert to any possible threat, and he cast a wide web of probing energy over the room. His freakishly tall height and immensely broad shoulders reminded Demetra of descriptions of Mary Shelley’s monster. Even the warm golden glow of the gas lamps could not offset the ashen pallor of his skin or soften the effect of the dark, spiky thatch of hair atop his head.

As he made his assessment of the crowd, he ignored Simon and Demetra completely, his eyes passing over them. A sneer curled his lip as he paused to look at Francis. The infernal’s massive hand clenched into a fist and the energy around him pulsed hotter than the center of a candle flame.

“My guess is he senses your fiancé’s lovely little guns,” Simon whispered behind his hand. “The question I would like to ask is does he know precisely what they are?”

“Each of us is different, but we are all capable of sensing Aetheric energy. Celestial energy is coming off the pistols in very small waves, like it’s being contained somehow, but there is no way any Aetheral will miss that if they get close enough. All we can do is bide our time and see what happens next.”

Demetra bit her lip as the hulking, black-clad daemon sat across from Francis, the chair creaking beneath his weight.

The cape he wore only served to make him appear more daunting. Without hesitation, Demetra found herself calculating the circumference of the monster’s neck and the amount of force necessary to remove his head from it. Shoving her hand in her coat pocket, Demetra curled her fingers around her fan.

“Let us hope it does not come to that,” Simon murmured against the rim of the tankard before taking a swallow.

“Agreed. If he is smart, there need not be any bloodshed tonight or ever.”

Francis looked unperturbed by the sheer size of his newly arrived companion. He leaned back in his chair and raised his glass to the man. “Have one on me, my large friend,” he spoke in a clear, confident voice.

“Of course I will.” The daemon’s voice rumbled quietly in response, in a manner that made a shiver run up along Demetra’s spine. “Have you the item we seek?”

“I might.” Francis remained unperturbed, as the barmaid approached in response to his hand signal. “Please bring some of your fine wine for my companion.” The woman nodded and cast a fearful glance over the man, then backed toward the bar to fill Francis’s order.

“If you know what is good for you and your valet, you brought it with you tonight.”

“It is quite possible I did. It is also quite possible I did not.”

Demetra winced at Francis’s game of evasion. It would only serve to insult and anger the infernal. Aetherals had a reputation for straightforwardness and abhorrence for dissembling.

“Either you have it,” the enormous daemon muttered in his guttural voice, “or you do not. There is something of celestial origin on your person, and I will know what it is, you little dandy. Is it the clock?”

“You certainly get right to the point,” Francis said with an absurd grin as the barmaid set a tankard of wine on the table.

“Oh dear,” Demetra groaned, her voice high-pitched with anxiety. Pressing her fingers to her forehead, she muttered, “He is going to get himself killed.”

“Well, at least his death would get you out of your obligation to marry him, and you would not have to do the dirty work of it yourself.” Simon shrugged and continued to turn a disinterested eye toward the wall.

“Your sense of humor is hardly appropriate at this time, even if it is borne of something you have misidentified as jealousy.”

“Make no mistake about it; I am quite jealous and well aware of that.”

“Fine. Then what you perceive as romantic love for me. Either way, I might just have to feed you to that monstrosity over there if you cannot show some good manners.”

“Not before I’ve had my muffins.”

With a “tsk” of disdain, Demetra turned back to watch Francis and the kidnapper. She gripped the back of her chair as a deep fretfulness overtook her. Simon spoke true, of course. A dead Francis meant Demetra would not have to marry him. This dangerous situation and everything pertaining to it would simply cease to exist in her life.

“You don’t want him to come to any harm.”

“Of course I don’t. Imagine the mess we would have to clean up.” Her lashes swept down over her eyes.

“Think about it, Demetra. What matters most to you—Lord Winterton or the opportunity to eat muffins without censure? Clearly it is a thorny dilemma.”

She took a long look at Francis and tried to imagine life without him. It would not be so difficult. Three years had passed without his presence in her life.

Of course, they had been three very dull years.

Lifting her chin proudly, Demetra turned back to Simon and answered, “I’ve considered all the possibilities, including the baked goods, and I believe we must err on the side of caution. Francis knows not to play games with an Aetheral. I’m afraid we might have to save him from his own folly.”

“Very nice show of bravado, my dear, and I applaud you for tempering the romantic feelings you clearly do not want to admit to, with a bit of humor. As for that beast of an Aetheral, what do you suggest?” Simon dusted off his coat and looked at Demetra expectantly.

“Ah, I have not gotten quite as far as formulating a plan. I only know we should lend some assistance.”

“Well, vague ideas are always useful.” With a sigh of frustration, Simon slowly inspected the common room of the tavern. “You keep an eye on our friend over there. If we need to depart quickly, I will see to it nobody gets in our way.”

He pushed back from the table and rose to stroll around it, his steps taking him toward the bar. With an almost conspiratorial air, he leaned over the counter to speak with the barmaid. The serving girl nodded in silent assent and busied herself filling a glass, which she then pushed toward him.

Demetra rolled her eyes back toward Francis, who made frivolous small talk with the infernal being. She felt certain the daemon would reach across the table at any moment, merely to strangle the words from the apparently foppish man.

With a grimace of determination, Demetra rose to her feet and slowly approached the table where her betrothed sat. It was one of those rare occasions where her gifts of logic and reason would get put to good, if slightly impetuous, use.

“Pardon me,” Demetra said as she stood behind Francis’s shoulder. “I do not mean to act so unforgivably rude, but would you mind simply telling us what you have done with Lord Winterton’s valet? We would be much obliged if you returned the man to him without any further inconvenience.”

“Are you quite serious?” the infernal growled in his guttural voice, his gaze of disbelief shifting from Francis to Demetra, then back again.

“Perhaps Lord Winterton does not have the temerity to ask you this question. However, he does not understand the nature of an Aetheric being. I, on the other hand, have no problem asking you in a very straightforward manner to clarify your expectations of him so we can resolve this quandary to the satisfaction of everybody involved.”

The infernal only gaped at her a moment longer, before saying to Francis, “Have you got the item or not?”

“Do you mean on me at this very moment?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Demetra grumbled while the fiend winced as if in pain. “No, he has not got it on him, but he can easily procure it for you if you can guarantee his valet’s safe return. It is a very simple matter of you giving us Beckstrom, in exchange for Lord Winterton giving you the clock.”

“You did not bring it with you?” the daemon asked, his large, flat nose wrinkling with disdain. “I smell an Aetheric device.”

“Oh, do you mean these old things?” Francis moved his coat back just enough to reveal one of his pistols. The lamp hanging above the table cast a warm glow over the steel at his hip and deepened the dark, richly sepia tones of the walnut handle. “These are just something I like to carry around for decoration.” He leaned across the table to whisper conspiratorially, “The ladies like them.”

With a snarl of annoyance, the infernal hissed, “You will bring the device to Hyde Park Corner tomorrow at midnight or your valet will come back to you in pieces.”

Arching her eyebrow with disdain, Demetra sniffed. “Well, that’s not very civil of you.”

Chapter Eighteen

Demetra felt grateful for the glow of the gaslights on the street. Though by no means bright, the presence of the golden glow of the light reassured her. They stood on Piccadilly Street across from Apsley House, watching the broughams as they passed up and down the way.

“It’s a good thing nobody noticed us leaving the Fenwicks’ ball,” Demetra declared as she scanned the traffic populating the street at night. The long, spherical shadow cast by one of the trees at Hyde Park Corner surrounded her. None of the cheering lamplight touched them here, though it was merely a few steps from where they stood. A shiver of giddy anticipation flowed along her back and up her neck.

“Do you think Simon is here as well?” Francis asked, squinting into the darkness.

“He has no problem going where he chooses. His father always gave him a shocking degree of freedom, just like mine.” Demetra pressed the hand holding the fan close to her bosom and patted the pouches at her hip with her other hand.

Regardless of what happened out here tonight, she had come prepared to deal with things if negotiations took a bad turn. It was not something she wanted to ponder. She would rather see everyone depart the corner with precisely what they wanted: Francis with Beckstrom, Simon with the clock, and Demetra with her dignity intact.

Nevertheless, her options were wide open, should the exchange go wrong.

“Look over there,” Francis whispered, reaching back to grasp her arm as he pointed toward the street. A hulking figure ambled across the wide-open area of Hyde Park Corner and made its unhurried way to the Wellington Arch.

“That is definitely him,” Demetra confirmed, feeling an impression of the infernal’s familiar, weighty power. “Shall we join him in a moment?” Glancing down at the watch on her leather bodice, she waited until the minute hand had made its journey around the clock face, then nodded at Francis.

Francis reached out to hold her arm and escort her out from beneath the trees. Expressions anything but casual, their gazes darting about to scan the area, they still managed to walk toward the Arch at a deceptively leisurely pace. The Arch’s pale gray tones warmed to a golden glow by the night lighting placed around and on it. The wrought iron gates in the middle of it looked almost green, awash in the backlight of the lamps.

“Simon is here,” Demetra confirmed the moment a prickly sensation washed over her. She felt the tingling energy of the Chronos Clock approaching.

With a grim nod of determination, Francis stepped away from her and crossed the short distance to face his foe beneath the Arch. They conversed in low voices, far too quiet for Demetra to hear while she hung back, fingers twitching impatiently against the fan. The sound of the sole of a shoe brushing over a blade of grass alerted her to Simon’s approach.

“Should I go over there?” the artificer inquired.

Demetra nodded and tapped her fan against her hip. “We both ought to accompany him if we agree we are in this together.”

“Could just you and I be in it together?”

“Simon,” she sighed in exasperation, “I am sorry about my decision, but—”

“I will be fine,” he answered with an impish grin. “I’m just checking to see if you changed your mind. Friends forever, it is. Let’s go give your fiancé the backup he deserves.”

“He is not my fiancé,” she grumbled in response as they took their first tentative steps forward.

Francis’s voice drifted back to them. “Show me my valet and I will show you the clock.”

The massive Aetheral just laughed—a low, grating sound that made Demetra’s hair stand on end. Instinctively, her fingers moved around the fan to hold it at the ready.

“Your man is right here.” The daemon accompanied his statement with a sweeping arm gesture. Still as stone, Francis did not remove his gaze from the kidnapper, but both Demetra and Simon turned to look in the direction he indicated.

The shadows of two figures emerged from just behind the wrought iron gates and a cultured voice choked out, “Master Winterton?”

Demetra’s heart thumped so hard she could hear it in her ears. Poor trusty Beckstrom.

The valet had always been kind to her—not just polite, but truly open and thoughtful during Demetra’s engagement to Francis. The quaver in his voice kindled such fury in her that she was hard-pressed to remember her manners. Though she had tried for these past few years to deny her human heart, she knew now her love and loyalty toward those she cared about would never change.

“Give us the clock and you will have your beloved valet back, and mostly unharmed,” the daemon said, his voice low and menacing.

“Simon,” Francis said sharply, still not bothering to look in their direction. “Give the man his clock.”

Demetra quickened her pace to match Simon’s, approaching the daemon to stand before him. She could not bear to allow the artificer to go alone, even if Francis looked prepared to use his formidable pistols against the infernal offender. To her surprise, the daemon looked her over much more closely than he had during their meeting the previous night at the pub. He grunted to himself, and she hoped it signified that he simply dismissed her as nothing more than a lady who did not know when to shut her mouth. Narrowing her eyes in challenge, she whisked her fan open and up to her face to regard him over the fluttering silver lace.

In a few more steps, Simon stood face-to-face with the hulking Aetheral. He extended the wooden box he held in both hands to the man. Without a word, the infernal took the box, his monstrous hands dwarfing it as he lifted the lid. His brow arched and he nodded with what Demetra took as satisfaction.

“Bring Lord Winterton’s man to him,” the infernal instructed his accomplice. “A deal is a deal.”

The dark-clad figure shoved Beckstrom around the Arch and toward the small group. Francis backed slowly away from the daemon as his valet stumbled toward him. The other kidnapper was so small and lithe; it was hard to pick him out in the darkness. His face and body were swathed in a black cloak that concealed any identifying features once he stepped into the glow of the gaslights. Pressing his hand into Beckstrom’s back, he propelled the man toward the trio.

While she did not sense even a flicker of Aetheral power coming off the other person, Demetra did not relax her guard. The other kidnapper was either human or quite adept at shielding. Since the second possibility seemed the most likely one, Demetra fastened her gaze on the smaller person.

“Are you all right?” Francis asked, reaching out to take Beckstrom by the arm.

Beckstrom nodded, his unruly brown hair falling across his forehead. Dishevelment of any sort was simply unknown to a valet. They endeavored to remain as well groomed as their employers, and Demetra knew Beckstrom’s pride had probably suffered the most damage at this point.

“Yes, sir,” the young man said with a sigh. “Though I wish I did not have to appear to you so out of sorts.”

“Nobody is more entitled,” Francis responded soothingly. He stepped around Beckstrom to place himself between the valet and the kidnappers. Without a word, Simon gently took the valet and guided him a few steps back, behind Demetra and closer to the busy street.

“You have got what you wanted. Now go and do not trouble me again,” Francis commanded imperiously as he stared down the kidnappers, his hand resting over the pistol at his hip.

“Not just yet, my friend,” the daemon answered, his voice replete with menace. “We cannot leave any loose ends and the three of you are just that.”

“So very true,” Demetra interjected before anybody else could speak. She strode forward to stand at Francis’s side, repressing a shiver. They stood on very thin ice now that the daemon had made his intentions clear. Determined not to show her fear, she said, “It would show very ill-breeding indeed to not leave a place better than you found it. We cannot have such detritus as you walking these grounds, can we?”

“Watch your tongue, lady,” the daemon responded in a harsh voice, “else you will share your friends’ unfortunate fate.”

“The problem is my friends and I stick together, no matter what. It is only common courtesy.” Demetra felt the heavy web of infernal power building, trying to enclose them. With a subtle movement, she reached in to the pouch at her side. She knew this was the time to act. Otherwise, her companions would be dead, all the risks they had taken for naught.

The daemon sneered at her. “You are more valuable alive than dead. Your friends, on the other hand, are nothing to us.”

“I beg to differ, oh modern Prometheus, but if my friends die, I die with them.” Fingers closed around the object she sought, Demetra slowly withdrew her hand. “That is, after all, what a true friend does. Is that not so?”

“Perhaps you will change your mind when you see them suffocating on the very air they breathe.” Flicking his glance at the others, the monstrosity let his power stream toward them.

Demetra felt the energy pour off him in waves, heavy and drawing her friends in like a violent ocean current. Already, Francis had fallen to one knee, struggling to breathe. Both Simon and Beckstrom gasped for air, unable to escape the reach of the daemon’s power. Demetra watched in horror for a moment, before turning back toward the daemon.

“The only problem,” she said quickly, “is you should not do anything strenuous if you have just eaten. Would you care for a muffin?”

She extended her closed hand toward him.

As the daemon’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, Demetra unfurled her fingers to reveal the small cake on her palm. For a moment, the daemon’s power ebbed, releasing the others. With a grin, she tossed the muffin delicately into the air and then spun with all the precision of a ballerina, scything her fan through the dessert. It exploded into a cloud of crumbs, which became denser with each passing moment until a veritable cascade of floury fragments made it impossible to see, let alone breathe.

In those few precious seconds available to her, Demetra grabbed Francis by the wrist and helped him to his feet to pull him out of the haze of cakey fragments. Simon followed with a still-recovering Beckstrom, and they plunged into the throng of homebound revelers on Piccadilly.

“How long will they remain occupied by your baked distraction?” Francis asked as he hurried along with Demetra, glancing over his shoulder. He had drawn one of his pistols and held it ready.

“If he always breathes through his mouth, as I suspect he does, he will not be able to move for quite some time,” Demetra answered. “Simon’s little spore muffins are meant to do more than create a distraction. Our Muffin Man is inhaling some rather debilitating chemicals at this very moment, as is his little accomplice. They are going to need more than a glass of water to cure them of the discomfort.”

Francis laughed and turned to Simon, who was supporting Beckstrom against his shoulder. “I suppose it is time I admit your idea about the baked goods is pure genius. Never again will I doubt the need for muffins is a vital one.”

“It did not take any effort at all to make them.” The artificer tried to sound modest. “Cooking is an art and a science. All you need are the right ingredients to either make or break a recipe.”

“Or break a person with a recipe, in this case,” Demetra answered with a chuckle.

“Well, if only I could infuse some sort of power into your fan, then I might be able to give you even more options to defend yourself.” Simon leveled an assessing gaze at the accessory.

“Then it would not be nearly as useful a weapon.” Demetra shushed him with a withering glare. “Any Aetheral would be able to sense it then and it would hardly do me any good in such a situation. This is precisely what a lady needs. It is small, useful, unobtrusive, and it slices baked goods into deadly bits.”

“The question is whether or not your little decoy device will throw them off our trail.” Francis looked over at Simon. “Will a few shavings taken off the actual Chronos Clock and thrown into a replica be enough to deter them from their search?”

“I cannot say for certain. It depends on a number of factors.”

“Are these factors you considered in this little plan?”

“Damn it, Francis, I am an artificer, not a statistician,” Simon growled.

“We have done our best.” Demetra put her hand over Francis’s arm to draw his attention to her. “What matters most is we rescued Beckstrom without compromising the clock itself. They no longer have any power over you. On the one hand, our little deception could make them very dangerous people. On the other hand, you need not feel badly if you find yourself in a position where your best defense is to kill them.”

Considering her words, Francis finally nodded and said, “You are right about that. Before, I would not have even thought about reacting violently toward the kidnappers, for fear of what they might do to Beckstrom. Now, however, if they attempt to come back, I will do whatever it takes to defend us.” He looked at his valet and said, “And you, Beckstrom, are you all right?”

“Better now, sir,” the older man answered, and straightened to walk on his own.

“Let us hope they are thrown off the trail long enough to decide it is in their best interests to give up,” Demetra muttered as they continued their hasty progress along Piccadilly, “lest we lose the opportunity to hide the clock permanently before they realize they have been had.”

“And if they do not decide to just let this go?” Francis asked.

“Now that Beckstrom is no longer in their clutches, I think we can go to the police without fear of what might happen to him,” Demetra answered. “However, I suggest if you see our large friend, you shoot to kill.”

Chapter Nineteen

“Now that the police have the Muffin Man’s description and a complete report of the matter, I hope that will be that.” Francis turned the Chronos Clock over in his hands as he scrutinized it. “Well, a nearly complete report. I suppose you were right when you said we couldn’t tell them about the clock.”

“It is much safer for all involved if they treat this as a simple matter of kidnapping and blackmail,” Demetra agreed.

Francis shook his head. “It is just amazing we have had to endure all of this fuss over a device that looks like nothing more than a mechanical calendar.”

“Some people cannot accept their lot in life and will go through any means to change it,” Demetra answered with a warm smile, as she poured some morning tea. “At least you have Beckstrom back. Your cravat is far more attractive as a result of his attentions. Though I hope you are not so naïve as to assume this case is closed.”

They were sitting in the Waroms’ parlor, above the apothecary. While not a spacious room, it was cozy and comfortable enough to accommodate the three of them. Demetra was serving tea from a lovely blue-and-white transfer ware service that had been in the Warom family for a few generations. It tingled faintly with infernal magick and she suspected that was one of the reasons the Waroms were such fortunate people. She believed there was either Aetheral blood in their lineage or some sort of blessing bestowed upon the family.

“Of course not. I now have armed guards at both my city and country homes. It just seems like so much bother over something so insignificant.”

Handing a saucer and cup to Francis, Demetra said, “For someone who carries a pair of celestial pistols, you ought to think more highly of such things.”

“You know I will never do that, not when such things can bring incalculable harm to others.”

“People bring incalculable harm to themselves,” Simon interjected quietly, his gaze watching the traffic outside the window. “Would you have us powerless to deal with the Aetherals as well?”

“Let’s not get into a philosophical discussion about this right now.” Demetra looked at both men with a stern expression on her face. “We have this device I’m sure many people want, not just the Muffin Man and his teeny little accomplice. I suggest we figure out a way to dispose of the clock. It might be a good idea, indeed, to return it as requested.”

“I had hoped to learn more about it.” Both disappointment and reproach clouded Simon’s expression. “This is such a rare device; it would behoove us to better understand how it was made and how it can be used to the benefit of mankind.”

“Or we could find a way to keep it away from those who would exploit it to the detriment of the world.” Demetra cocked an eyebrow at them while she sipped her tea. “Make no mistake about it, my friends. We are in possession of an extremely dangerous weapon, capable of changing life as we know it. As much as I wish to have faith in humanity, we must be realistic about the implications of this device.”

Simon sighed, his discontent quite evident. “You are determined to get rid of this thing.”

“I am. Besides, you were the one who suggested we simply leave it and not bother searching for it in the first place. You probably made the most intelligent suggestion of any of us over the past week. Time is not something we should tamper with or take lightly. Every possible precaution must be taken to ensure we are not unwittingly responsible for a global catastrophe.”

Francis snorted with disbelief. “You can’t be serious. Simon said himself the clock is only capable of affecting a very small area based upon the person who uses it.”

“That may be true, but consider a person using it to perhaps hijack an airship. What might they do with such a thing in their possession? Any sort of mischief could be perpetrated, as much as any good. The odds of a decent, moral person using the clock are considerably low. Even if it is given to a person who will only use it in the utmost virtuous fashion, there will be no end to the number of others who will try to take it from him.”

“Why must you always be right?” Francis scoffed as he reached for a bit of cake.

“I must always be right because I am an Aetheral. We are pragmatic, if nothing else.” With long, measured strokes, Demetra smoothed her skirts over her knees. “We are going to see the Astronomer Royal today.”

“What, precisely, is the point of that?” Francis asked.

“I believe the gentlemen of the Royal Astronomical Society will be able to assist us with our dilemma. A few days ago, I sent a correspondence to the Astronomer Royal, and Mr. Christie responded almost immediately. He asked us to meet him here at Burlington House at ten o’clock this morning.”

Simon set his saucer and teacup down on the service. “Then we had best be on our way.” He straightened his coat and left the room. Rising gracefully to follow him, Demetra cast another critical glance at Francis’s cravat, before nodding with approval.

Her fiancé followed her down the stairs, asking, “What did you tell him?”

Demetra did not slow her step, ambitious to keep the appointment. “I merely informed him that we had questions regarding a rather legendary timepiece and the luminiferous aether.” She set her top hat on her head just as Mr. Warom met them at the front door.

“Simon, would you please mind the shop today? I am running low on several tinctures and need time to replenish the stores. If you would handle the clients, I can spend the day mixing.”

Shoulders drooping with disappointment, Simon nodded. “Of course, Father.” He turned to Demetra and said, “I am so sorry…”

“I understand completely. You’ve had many opportunities to spend time with us and this certainly will not be the last one. Please go assist your father, and I will let you know the outcome of the meeting.” Demetra watched as the dejected young apprentice went to the back room to prepare for the day, and then tilted her head toward the door, regarding Francis. “Shall we?”

As they strode along Piccadilly, Demetra sighed.

Francis pulled her arm through his and asked, “Is something the matter?”

“I only wish Simon could be here. This information would interest him greatly, and he would certainly remember it for many years to come. However, I suppose we have bigger things to worry about today. They gave me three days to return the clock and this is the third day. We can’t waste any more time now with Beckstrom safe.”

“We will sort it all out, my dear. As for Simon, we will just have to do our best to attend to everything Sir Christie has to say, and relay it to him as soon as possible thereafter.”

Demetra nodded her agreement as they proceeded into the courtyard of the mansion, toward the West Wing of the vast building in which the Royal Astronomical Society was housed. A handsome, middle-aged man with dark hair parted to one side and a bristly mustache that obscured his entire upper lip extended his hand toward them as they approached the offices of the Society. Demetra sensed the slightest tingle of celestial energy encircling the man.

“You must be Lord Winterton,” he said to Francis in a congenial voice, his syllables enunciated with care, as befitted an educated man.

“Yes, I am, and may I please present Miss Demetra Ashdown, my fiancée? I believe she is the one who contacted you regarding this matter.”

Demetra inclined her head slightly toward the man as he shook her hand.

“It is a pleasure, indeed. I am William Christie, and while you may not know me, I certainly know of you.”

Gazes meeting, both Demetra and Francis hesitated for the briefest of moments. Demetra wished there was a way to tell Francis precisely what she was wondering: was this man connected to the celestial attacks against them?

“It is good of you to come to me with your problem,” Mr. Christie continued. “In fact, if you have brought the device today, then your concerns have come to an end.”

“I could think of no man better qualified to assist us,” Demetra answered, her voice warm despite her wariness. “If we can have a bit of privacy, we may discuss this interesting matter.”

“Of course we can. This has been going on far too long, and I appreciate you taking this so seriously. If you would follow me this way, we will find a room suited to such conversation.”

They mimicked his footsteps along the hall and into one of the rooms in the west wing. They entered a spacious parlor, filled with wood furniture and generous gas lighting. Mr. Christie indicated they should take a seat as he shut the door behind them.

“I understand you have located a particularly valuable item,” he said, as he turned to study them with his dark, inscrutable gaze.

“Have you heard of the Chronos Clock, Mr. Christie?” Demetra asked, folding her hands primly in her lap.

The astronomer looked decidedly self-righteous as he settled into one of the wingback chairs near the unlit fireplace. “Surely a young lady such as yourself knows nothing of such things, and you should understand it is in your best interest to return it as requested.”

“So you are the one who sent the message that it should be returned to the Royal Observatory,” she responded archly. It was clear Mr. Christie was a plain-speaking man and her demeanor cooled immediately. “Let me assure you I know far more about it than you realize. It is an Aetheric device, is it not? It was not designed by any mere man, but by something or someone not of this world.” Demetra eyed him without blinking.

Mr. Christie cleared his throat several times until Demetra sweetly asked, “Are you all right? Do you need a cup of tea?”

“What matters to me is the return of the clock,” he answered firmly.

“Well, generally when one clears their throat, it is due to a bit of dryness…”

“You are not here to take tea with me, Miss Ashdown. You are here to tell me the whereabouts of the Chronos Clock.” Glaring at her, Mr. Christie continued, “I assure you this is not a social visit, but a very serious and grave matter. If you have not come to return the clock, tell me where it is.”

“Ah, that.” Reproach was not something Demetra responded well to and she took her time to answer, assuming an expression of grave thoughtfulness before she finally said, “We have the clock itself.”

“However did you obtain it?” he asked.

“How we obtained it is immaterial. The question is what do you know about it, why, and from whence does it originate?” Demetra retorted.

“The only thing you need to know is the clock must and shall be returned, if you do not want any more harm to come to you.”

“Are you threatening my fiancée?” Francis asked, rising to his feet and pinning the astronomer with his dark glare.

“I am merely warning her, and this will be the last time.” Mr. Christie slid his gaze back to Demetra. “Do not underestimate us, Miss Ashdown. You are meddling in affairs beyond your comprehension. It is blasphemous enough to know an infernal such as yourself is in possession of our device, but the fact that you have the audacity to question me about it is beyond shocking.”

“So you are saying the clock belongs to the Royal Astronomical Society?” Imperturbable as ever, Demetra simply kept her steady gaze on Mr. Christie.

“It is my sacred charge, and I have pledged a solemn vow to protect it with my life.”

Comprehending the situation more fully, she asked, “How long have you known we were seeking the Chronos Clock?”

“The moment Mr. Mathers started poking around the British Museum, looking for information about it. One of my agents informed me of the situation, and we have been watching you ever since. We tried a few times to frighten you from your pursuit of it.”

“Those fiery attacks were your agents,” Demetra guessed.

“We take matters like this very seriously,” Mr. Christie said. “I must say I was surprised by your tenacity.”

Demetra hid a smile. It would never do to let one’s adversary know when one’s feathers were ruffled…and when they were not. “Was your predecessor also an Aetheral?”

“The Astronomer Royal is always a celestial. The clock was placed in the keeping of the first Astronomer Royal, John Flamsteed, and it remains our duty to guard it.”

“How very interesting,” Demetra purred. “Do you know who made the clock and why they would create such a thing?”

“All we were ever taught was the clock had been brought from the continent and given to the men most qualified to guard it.” Mr. Christie shook his head at her. “Young lady, you profane the device and leave it open to far more mischief. Bring it to me by the end of the day and we may conclude this matter peacefully. It must be brought to me as quickly as possible for safekeeping.”

“It was hardly safe in the ‘luminiferous aether,’” Demetra pointed out, rising smoothly to her feet in a swish of crisp taffeta. “Now, we will take your request under advisement, since we do not necessarily trust anybody else with the clock. Besides that, we may be placing you in danger if we hand it over to you. While we realize you have a sacred charge to watch over it, there are now more people involved in this matter than just the long, distinguished line of Astronomers Royal.”

Mr. Christie also stood, his furious gaze locked on Demetra. “You do understand that in choosing to keep something which does not belong to you, you are not just putting yourself at risk, but the entire human race as well. There is more than just one person involved in this. I have many people, both mortal and celestial, in my employ. We are a network of guardians—not one man. You have no hope if you choose to challenge us.”

“What I seek is a compromise.” Demetra pouted stubbornly. “Tell me what I want to know about the clock and allow me to help you determine a safe hiding place for it. You know how insatiably curious Aetherals are about the world around them, and I do not think this is an unreasonable request. Since I have gotten involved, it is now my responsibility to see this matter to a safe and logical conclusion.”

Narrowing his eyes, the astronomer hissed, “For centuries, people have sought to control time itself. It is fluid and moving, changing and unchanging at the same time, beyond human understanding. Time represents the hopes of many and the fears of others. The Chronos Clock is a gift to humanity and, like Pandora’s Box, it is a trust that is easily abused. Until we are told otherwise, it is to remain out of human hands.”

“But it’s not necessarily in human hands.” Humor crept into Demetra’s voice. “I have held it myself, which would mean it has been in infernal hands.”

“That is all the more reason for you to return it, young lady! If there is one reason for any celestial to want to control time, it is to gain an advantage over the infernals who poison our world with their existence. Those first two fireballs were merely warnings meant to frighten you. The next one will not be so easy for you to evade.”

“Well.” Demetra lifted her chin and tapped her parasol on the floor. “Perhaps I should see just what an infernal in a high position is willing to offer me for the Chronos Clock, since such a person would be far less likely to insult me for a mere accident of birth.”

With a haughty toss of her head, Demetra turned on her heel and departed.

“I am sorry, sir,” Francis apologized coolly as he backed toward the door under the astronomer’s furious black glare, “but you have offended my fiancée and thus offended me as well. We may return to discuss this matter with you at some point in the near future, but do not hold your high-and-mighty celestial breath.”

“If you mean that, Lord Winterton, then I must once again reiterate my warning to your fiancée to return the clock before midnight. Otherwise your wedding will not proceed as planned.”

“And why do you say that?” Francis asked as he set his hat atop his head.

“Because, sir, you will not have a bride.”

Francis simply placed both his hands in his pockets, moving his coat aside to reveal his celestial pistols. “I will ensure you do not have a heartbeat before I allow that to happen, Mr. Christie.”

Chapter Twenty

“You have certainly gone and done it, upsetting the Astronomer Royal.” Francis grumbled at Demetra as they strode along Piccadilly. “He will have you killed. Do you understand that? If he even attempts such a thing, I will not be held responsible for my actions against him.”

“Or, worse than that, he could report the incident to the Queen.” A small smirk curved Demetra’s lips. “Heaven forbid I should be scolded by royalty, let alone scalded by a fireball.”

“This is serious! Wait…” Francis took her arm and stopped her on the sidewalk. “Since Mr. Christie admitted to sending those fireballs after us, do you think we could take this to the Queen?”

“I doubt it. As he said,” Demetra answered, busying herself with her gloves, “he is part of a network of people sworn to protect the clock. Odds are the Queen would take his side. Now, I would not have minded returning the device to him had he not insulted my heritage. All I wanted to do was give him a little something to think about and let him know having an ally outside his set of contacts may benefit him in some way. However, I am highly affronted by his words. Infernals are poison? He and his celestial associates are just as guilty of using violent means to achieve their ends as any infernal.”

Disbelievingly, Francis watched her. “You are set on this course of action. Your feelings on the matter are quite obvious.”

Demetra scoffed. “Queen Victoria will not trouble herself about a lowly clock or a few of her subjects doing their best to see to it nothing untoward happens to her own personal empire.” With a flick of her wrist, she set the open parasol over her shoulder to keep the sun off her fair hair.

“We cannot take it for granted the Astronomer Royal will do a good enough job of concealing the Chronos Clock, which is why I offered to help him. I can see now I was far too generous in my efforts to involve him.” Demetra shrugged and resumed her steady pace down Piccadilly.

“He is already involved!” Francis pointed out, waving his arms a bit too excitedly as he caught up with her. “You heard him. They have taken an oath to protect the clock. It is their sworn duty and your opportunity to be free of it. If you do not return it, odds are the next fireball that comes along will not be so easy for us to dodge, just as he said!”

Demetra stopped and turned on her heel with exaggerated slowness. “What makes you think I want to be free of it?” she asked scathingly. “I would sooner destroy it than place it in any other person’s hands, particularly one with such intolerant views. I realize humankind should not control time. Humanity should not endure forever. There is a reason time exists. There is a reason mortal existence comes with an end date. No one should have the power to tamper with that.”

“You can say such things because you will live almost forever,” Francis retorted, disdain edging his voice. “It is very easy to treat time in such a cavalier manner when you have more of it than the rest of us.”

“Yes, I will outlive every single person I have had the misfortune to meet since my birth, including you, Lord Winterton. Such a fact does not necessarily mean I am pleased with my lot in life, but who am I to fight the natural order of things? Likewise, no Aetheral should have the power to destroy another simply because of the ability to control time. The idea that my long existence could be curtailed by some celestial psychopath is almost more frightening than the thought of you in a bad cravat.”

“You are someone who may not outlive me if you choose this destructive course,” Francis answered, reaching out to grab her shoulders. “If you touch the clock, it will destroy you. If you try to destroy it, you may very well unleash a greater power in doing so. If you refuse to return it to its rightful guardians, your stubbornness will get you killed. Please do not tamper with something none of us truly understands. Give the clock back to them.”

“Please take your hands off of me, Lord Winterton. Our engagement has not even been announced and here you are behaving in such an unseemly manner, on a busy street no less.” Demetra tried to back away from him, but he did not let go of her. “Do not force me to call for assistance, merely because you wish to beat your preferred version of sense into me.”

“I would much rather kiss it into you,” Francis answered, his dark eyes searching her face. “I’m tired of you running hot and cold when it comes to my opinion, my emotions, and me in general. If I tell you I want you to do something or not to do something, it’s not because I expect you to blithely defy me and wave your parasol in the air. It’s because I mean it.”

“You would presume to suggest you could order me around?” Demetra raised a gloved hand over her lips to stifle the giggle threatening to bubble forth. “Oh dear. It is utterly preposterous, my dear Francis, to think you could ever tell me what to do. In fact, the whole thing makes me want to laugh myself silly.” She gave him a few timorous flutters of her eyelashes, before turning and continuing her progress along the street.

“What is that all about?” he asked incredulously.

“You want a normal mortal girl,” Demetra said, weaving around an elderly couple who ambled slowly along the walkway. “But you must realize I will never, ever be that girl. I will always be the rational, unsympathetic Aetheral. I will cause you no end of vexation and bother as a result of my character and my sensibilities. Why waste your time?”

“Because,” Francis answered, “I love you, but I have to wonder if you even love me.”

“Excuse me?” Open-mouthed, Demetra turned to glare at him. “Why would you ask that question when you know the answer? I only gave in to your preposterous proposal just so you would include me on your nighttime jaunt to the White Hart. This supposed engagement of ours is no longer of any use to me. Consider it ended, so we may go back to our normal lives.”

“Damn it, I do not want to go back to our normal lives!”

Heedless of Demetra’s harsh words, Francis continued.

“It is perfectly obvious why any man should fall in love with you. You are beautiful, intelligent, and wealthy. You have a great deal more common sense than most people do and you do not let silly things go to your head. Besides being rational and well read, you are witty and brave. You have never needed a man, as you keep subtly reminding me, so why are you even wasting a moment of your precious time on me? I would truly like to know, because I came back partially because I missed you and wanted to see you once more. I’ve practically begged you to marry me and finally had to demand your cooperation in the matter. Worse than that, I’ve made a fool of myself out of my love for you. So please tell me why you are here with me.”

For once, Demetra kept her features free of mockery as she addressed him. “I am here with you because we were saving a man’s life. Now the case is closed, and you are free to return to the country and leave me to deal with whatever becomes of the clock.”

“No, I’m not going to do that.” He stepped close to her once more. “I want to know whether or not you have forgiven me for what I did to you.”

“I have,” she answered softly.

“Then tell me when you are going to start acting like it.”

With a tilt of her head, Demetra turned to brush past Francis.

As she did, Demetra heard a distant ticking sound. In another instant, her ears were full of a deafening roaring. Heat scorched up along her side as the force of it propelled her back from the street and against one of the houses. Parasol ripped from her hands, all Demetra could do was throw her arms up over her face to protect it. She shrank against the stone to make herself as small a target as possible as yet another explosion rang in her ears. The blast flattened her to the ground, knocking the wind from her.

Hands curled around her shoulders and pulled her to her feet. Through the smoke, she could smell Francis next to her. With her arm pressed over her forehead and her eyes narrowed against the burning heat, Demetra could not see clearly. The pounding in her ears would not subside. She could only hear vague echoes of people screaming.

As they ran blindly ahead, pushing through the fire and heat, another blast picked them up and flung them through the air. After what felt like several moments of freefalling, Demetra hit the ground and rolled to a stop against something solid. Somebody collapsed on top of her and curled around her.

Surrounded by the twisted wreckage of pavement and buildings, by roaring heat and choking smoke—all a result of the earth-shattering explosions—she realized there was no fighting it. Despite that, no one was more surprised than Demetra when she fell into a dead faint.

Chapter Twenty-One

“I am perfectly well. Stop fluttering.” Demetra snapped her fan open and glared out the carriage window.

“But to think, my dear child, a gas line exploding right there on the street and you suffering harm from it!” Rowena’s voice had risen to an almost shrill level, and she wrung her hands.

Closing her eyes, Demetra tried not to envision her stepmother shredding her gloves to pieces with her frenetic activity.

“As you can see, I am fully recovered from yesterday’s accident.” Demetra knew very well the explosions were no accident, though she did not need to reveal as much to her anxious stepmother. “Francis ensured that no further harm came to me after the first few explosions.”

Hand pressed to her forehead, Rowena swooned back against the seat of the carriage. “You mean to tell me there was more than one explosion? Heavens!”

For the briefest moment, her eyes rolled up in the back of her head and Demetra prepared to reach for the smelling salts in her stepmother’s bag. However, Rowena recovered and took Demetra’s hands in hers.

“Promise me,” the older woman said, “that you will be very careful in whatever it is you do from now on. We cannot have any sort of harm coming to you, especially after the engagement is announced.”

“What engagement?” Demetra responded in surprise.

“Why, your engagement to Lord Winterton, of course. I am sure it is only a matter of time before things are settled between the two of you, since you are both spending so much time together.”

Demetra bit back the sarcastic tone in her voice with difficulty as she replied, “That would, indeed, be tragic. Heaven forbid all the time I spend with him not end in a betrothal.” Disentangling her hands from her stepmother’s, Demetra softened her demeanor somewhat. “Let me assure you I would never forgive myself if I missed my own wedding, if such a thing is ever scheduled to occur.”

They were on their way to Sir Tilden’s gathering, at which Demetra hoped to clear up Francis’s misconceptions about their supposed engagement. A very determined Francis had insisted they attend the ball together, despite the incident of the previous day. Rowena had been hard-pressed to get him out of their house after he brought Demetra home. However, her stepmother had directed all healing efforts with surprising efficiency, and Francis would have only been in her way. Demetra also suspected Rowena had ulterior motives for keeping them apart until the following evening, since her stepmother clearly imagined their relationship had moved to a much more intimate level.

The last memory Demetra had of the previous day was opening her eyes there on Piccadilly to see Francis’s face, lined with worry and streaked with tears. He had forgotten their argument as he cradled her head in his arms, frantically saying her name repeatedly until she recovered enough to look at him.

“Francis,” she had whispered, “I do not know how you put up with my failings, but I suspect you are the only man who ever will.”

“Shh, you must not exert yourself. You need to recover.”

“No, nothing can hurt me,” had been Demetra’s reply as she reached up to touch his face and whispered, “But I suppose I must accept that I cannot always take care of myself, can I?” At that, gratitude had suffused Francis’s features as he pulled her into his arms and held her so close, she thought she was in more danger of suffocating from an abundance of affection, than from the smoke in the air.

Now, Demetra could only hope the evening proved far less eventful than the previous day.

The carriage came to a halt at the front of Sir Tilden’s home. Rowena stepped out lightly, clearly recovered from her swoon. Even before Demetra set her foot on the step, Francis reached for her hand.

“You need to give me a little space to breathe,” she grumbled as his fingers closed around hers.

“Don’t start that again, not after yesterday. You are still my fiancée, and I would be gratified if you not only remember that, but also think about what I would have done if I had lost you.”

Looking up at Francis, Demetra knew he was correct. She nodded in silent acquiescence to his demand, slipping her arm around his in a docile gesture. He seemed surprised by her compliance as he escorted her into the manor.

Rowena had already found the other mothers. She was clearly beside herself with pleasure as she twittered and cooed with them about her stepdaughter’s potential marriage to a nobleman.

“Oh yes, we expect a most advantageous match,” Rowena sighed over the lavish buffet table to the other society matrons who were crowded around her. “To see them reunited will be the highlight of the season.” The other ladies murmured and leaned close to fire off question after question.

“She is certainly in her element,” Francis declared as he watched Rowena beam at the other ladies and flutter her fan. “I’m sure your stepmother is already planning your sister’s nuptials since she believes you will soon be suitably betrothed. Shall we just go ahead and tell Mrs. Ashdown the truth, so she can begin choosing your wedding colors?”

“Please do not encourage her.” Demetra rolled her eyes. “I tried to tell you yesterday this little ploy of yours has reached its conclusion. Why can’t you accept that?”

“You were hit hard enough on the head to say some rather nice things to me for a change. Perhaps yesterday’s incident has caused you to have a change of heart.”

“No,” Demetra retorted. “I think not, and please don’t use the experience against me. I’m certain I’m not the only person in the world who thought it was time to make peace with someone, since death seemed inevitable.”

“Oh, is that all it was?” Francis looked down at her, his brow furrowed in disbelief. “Perhaps I need to club you over the head in order to get you to admit you love me, if a near death experience is what it takes.”

“Lord Winterton, you know nothing about women. Either that, or you have been very misinformed if you believe heavy-handedness is the way to win one’s heart.”

“Well, we both know you are not precisely like other women.” Francis’s expression softened into a mischievous smile. “Perhaps I have also been fortunate enough to have a mother who does not have any daughters. I am sure if I had a sister in my life, I would have a better understanding of what a woman might appreciate when it comes to romantic sentiments.”

Demetra inclined her head toward him and also smiled. “Let me assure you yesterday’s incident did not cause new, loving feelings for you to simply burst into existence. I am, as ever, your friend, which is all I wish to remain to you. But since we are speaking of your mother, how is she?”

“What an abrupt change of subject,” Francis said, laughing. “Very well, I will humor you. My mother is doing quite well, though she worries. I suppose it is only natural for a mother to worry about her only child. It is especially difficult since my father died. I am all my mother has. It would be nice if I could give her news other than, ‘The weather is lovely, enjoying the season, wish you were here.’” His eyes slid over to the table where Rowena still held court. “Could I interest you in a glass of punch?”

“You are very attentive,” Demetra said.

“I don’t plan to let you out of my sight again until you are assured of my affection for you, and until I am assured of your safety.”

“I hardly need a protector,” she said, scoffing. “Nor do I wish to encourage you to fancy yourself as one. I would prefer you acknowledge I am still more than capable of looking after myself, despite yesterday’s events.”

“I do acknowledge it, though yesterday was rather a different story. However, you need to accept me as your loyal guardian for life. You need never defend yourself unless I am incapable of doing so on your behalf.”

Considering his words, Demetra put her fan to her lips. “Since it seems you will not back down on this matter, I would like to suggest a compromise.”

“What kind of compromise?”

“We work together as friends and partners. This means we look out for each other, and respect the talents and abilities we have to offer one another.”

A thoughtful expression on his face, Francis regarded her as he mulled over her proposition. “Very well, so long as you understand I expect you to treat me with genuine respect, just as I treat you with love.”

“Understood, and I accept.” Demetra pulled her arm from around his, and offered her hand. “Shall we shake hands on it?”

“I would prefer to seal the agreement in a more binding way.” He reached into his pocket to extract a small blue box, which he angled so only she could see it. “Simon made this at my request, though I don’t think he was pleased about it. I believe you will not object to wearing it.”

Demetra held her breath as Francis opened the box to reveal a silver ring nestled on the dark blue fabric lining. Subtle waves of Aetheric energy emanated from the ring and she recognized it as identical to the power in the Boleyn necklace.

“This is actually made of steel, not silver, and mixed with crushed pearl from the necklace. I thought it prudent to add another layer of protection, since you have been getting into quite a bit of trouble lately. Simon did an excellent job of merging the pearl with the metal alloy and heating it to preserve the magickal properties, as well as to keep it light. As you can tell, I learned a little something about the tinkering process. I think it is fascinating, though I am certain I would not have the patience for it.”

“He certainly did a marvelous job,” Demetra agreed with a nod, looking down at the ring. “You must also remember the trouble I have been getting into is at your behest and on your behalf.”

“Very true, and I shall never forgive myself if I am the cause of any pain you suffer. Please wear it and truly give your consent to marry me.”

“It is a beautiful ring and I would be honored to wear it, but I’m afraid I just can’t accept it.”

“Why ever not?”

Demetra closed her eyes and let out a sigh characteristic of the long-suffering. “Friendship, Francis, is all I ask of you. I forgive you for the past. I meant it when I said that, but do not mistake forgiveness for a desire to rush into a future with you.”

He shut the box with a soft snap and nodded. “So we will be friends, and you will step in when necessary to throw cake at the villains.”

She could hear the forced lightness in his tone. A strange sensation crept into her heart at the sound of it.

“Speaking of cake,” he continued nonchalantly, “would you like some punch?” Francis looked very much as if he wanted to pull her into his arms and shake her, but propriety kept him standing stiffly in place as he looked at her.

“Very much so,” Demetra answered in a soft voice, all too aware of his disappointed hopes. He bowed and left her side to procure the refreshment.

A sigh of frustration escaped her lips as Demetra turned to survey the ballroom. It was just as crowded as the Marstons’ had been the previous week, which was only natural in the midst of the season. It was not a proper ball without a sea of people through which one could barely walk. Demetra felt a desperate need for fresh air and finding her way outdoors looked like an unlikely possibility. Still, she reasoned that one should never deny personal necessity, and so began to make her way toward the garden doors.

Demetra preferred not to endure the pushing about that often resulted in one lurching their way through the dense throng of people. She chose to move along the outskirts of the crowd. Since she wanted to get to the garden without the assembly pushing and propelling her along, she inched her way toward the nearest wall.

Her thoughts were in such a tumult, she thought her face must appear quite flushed. For better or for worse, Demetra had turned around and done to Francis precisely what he had done to her three years ago.

It felt awful.

“Need you an arm, young lady?”

“Why thank you.” Demetra turned to the speaker, only to draw back in shock. Somehow, the Muffin Man loomed over her in the midst of Sir Tilden’s ballroom.

The large infernal had been cleverly disguised in an elegantly tailored evening suit that somehow diminished his monstrous frame. The cultured inflection in his voice lacked any of the rough throatiness that normally set him apart from the rest of society. Demetra did not feel the heavy power he generally exuded. However she realized it still existed just beneath the more subtle energy of an Aetheric cloaking.

“How lovely it is to see you again,” Demetra enthused, snapping her fan open and waving it in front of her face. “Will you be staying in town for long or do we merely have the pleasure of seeing you just this one night?”

“You gave us a decoy, girl,” he hissed down at her, his eye narrowing unpleasantly over his flat nose. “Where is the real clock?”

“We did give you a real clock, with moving hands and everything. It is quite accurate in all respects, right down to the moon phases. You should be thanking us. You will never run late for a kidnapping again.” Demetra fluttered her eyelashes at him in an effort to stall him so she could assess her options.

A glance toward the buffet table confirmed the daemon’s hulking form effectively blocked her from Francis’s sight. Most of the crowd stood between her and the front door. It would be easier to get to the garden exit.

“Give us the Chronos Clock.” His putrid breath whistled by her ear, and Demetra had to fight the urge to gag.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his large hand reaching up toward her shoulder. He may have acquired the outward appearance of respectability, but she realized his behavior was in no way suited to such a gathering. Furthermore, she realized there were many innocent bystanders in harms’ way. She needed to take this confrontation to a more appropriate venue.

“You will never be invited to the Tildens’ again with such an appalling lack of manners,” Demetra reprimanded him tightly as she took short steps back toward the rear door. “Might I remind you, Sir Tilden expects the utmost civility from his guests? I suggest we adjourn to the garden before any further discussion takes place on this matter.”

The man growled at her like a large dog on a short chain as Demetra slipped out from beneath him and turned on the ball of her foot to glide through the crowd. Though she moved as gracefully as a cat and her expression betrayed none of her alarm, Demetra’s eyes shifted agitatedly from side to side, seeking Francis. With the utmost self-control, she continued her forward progress until she finally espied him in the opposite corner of the room.

She lifted her chin as their eyes met and raised her hand to gesture back over her shoulder. When he saw the other daemon, Francis’s dark eyes widened. He laboriously began to make his way through the throng of people, but the crowd hindered him and he progressed very slowly toward Demetra and the other Aetheral.

Despite the knowledge that Francis was coming to her aid, Demetra continued her own steady progress toward the French doors that led out to the garden. If the daemon meant them any harm, Demetra preferred he not use his power in a ballroom full of people. There were too many lives at stake, and she began to wonder if it had been folly to leave him alive, if they should have killed him when they had the chance.

“There will be ample time for regrets later,” Demetra muttered to herself as she reached out to grasp the handle of the glass door. It opened smoothly, and she suddenly found herself free of the stifling crush of people. She allowed herself to turn and see if the daemon followed her.

He loomed right behind her.

Raising her hand, her arm bent at the elbow, Demetra covered her face with the fan. The infernal snarled at her, his hands reaching toward her with obvious purpose. His power, she realized, remained bound and his only option was to accost her physically. Perhaps he would attempt to throttle the information out of her from the way his hands extended toward her throat. Her delicate backward steps would be no match for his longer, more determined strides. She had to defend herself.

With a flourish, Demetra put out her other hand in front of her and simply said, “Stop!”

The daemon stopped, his brow furrowing in bewilderment. Demetra cocked her head to the side and, with a smirk of disdain, threw the fan at the villain. It whirled through the air between them and sliced across his throat with uncanny precision before rebounding to her waiting hand. Catching it, Demetra took a few more steps back to place more distance between them as she watched and waited.

The Aetheral reached up with both hands to clasp at his gaping flesh, before lurching forward, one of his hands extending toward her. Demetra waited impatiently for him to crumple to the ground, but as he continued toward her, she realized her weapon had done nothing more than make him quite angry.

In the next moment, he lunged at her and locked his huge, bloodied hands around her throat. Demetra gasped in pain and tried to dislodge his grip. Her efforts were ineffectual. Even her wild, flailing swipes at him with the razor edge of her fan did not seem to faze him. Black spots swam before her eyes, growing more numerous with the constant choking squeeze of his hands around her throat.

Gunshots shattered the evening calm.

The infernal jerked with each shot until he finally fell to his knees, dragging Demetra with him. The hands at her throat finally loosened and she sat on the ground, gasping for breath. As Demetra watched, the Muffin Man pitched forward with a groan. There were five smoking holes in his back and, with them, the smell of charred flesh. The light evening breeze began to carry bits of disintegrating flesh up and out of the garden. It would only be a matter of moments before no trace of the Muffin Man remained, while the ball-goers continued their revels, blissfully oblivious to what had happened beyond the glow of the light through the closed French doors.

“What did you say about hardly needing a protector?” Francis asked from where he stood, holding a pistol in each hand. He slowly approached the infernal and nudged at him with his toe.

“He never stood a chance, particularly against celestial bullets.” With one last, dispassionate look at the quickly flaking corpse, he holstered his guns and extended his hands to Demetra.

She cleared her throat and managed to ask, “Worried, were you?”

“I am always worried about you, my love.” Francis reached out to touch her face, a tender smile on his lips. “Even if you do not love me, I can’t risk losing you again. You willingly put yourself on a very dangerous path to save my servant, and I will always be grateful. You must know I never expected such things to happen, or I would not have embroiled you in this scheme in the first place. It should also be quite clear I would never risk telling anyone about your Aetheral ability. The thought of what someone might do if they knew…” Choking on his words, Francis finally pulled her into a warm, and very indecorous, embrace.

In that moment, Demetra felt herself moved by the sincerity in his sentiment. Closing her eyes, she reached up with her free hand to rest it on his shoulder.

“Now,” Francis said, stepping back and holding her at arms’ length, “we need to get you out of here without anyone noticing. You look positively gruesome, my love. I’m just relieved it’s his blood and not yours.”

After a long, deep inhalation, she whispered, “It’s not my blood this time, but the night is young.”

“What do you suggest to stop this from happening with someone else?”

“We will take the clock to Mr. Christie and wash our hands of it,” Demetra declared.

Chapter Twenty-Two

As Demetra sat at her desk, composing a correspondence to Mr. Christie, she pondered how best to word it. She finally concluded that a straightforward approach made the most sense, even if most humans felt uncomfortable with such a manner. Her elegant script covered the small page, which she then folded and sealed.

“Elodie,” Demetra called to her maid. The young girl turned from the wardrobe in response to her summons. “Please have this delivered to Mr. William Christie.” Demetra extended the paper to the girl.

“Yes, my lady.” The maid bobbed a curtsey and left the room with the letter in hand.

With a sigh, Demetra leaned back in her chair. It seemed like she had not enjoyed a moment’s rest over the past several days. All the comings and goings, the searching and being chased, not to mention the explosion and her intimate meeting with the Muffin Man, had all left her feeling quite drained. With a little sound of contentment, she closed her eyes and slouched down farther.

“Demetra, my dear!” shrilled Rowena’s unmistakable voice. “You must come downstairs and say hello to your father. He and Verity have returned!”

Although she loved her father, Demetra allowed herself a soft groan. “If it is not one thing, it is another,” she muttered in exasperation, pushing herself up from the chair, smoothing waves of hair into place, and shaking the wrinkles out of her crushed skirts. The note she had sent Mr. Christie should allow them to finalize the matter of the Chronos Clock, but she still had to await his response before pursuing a conclusion.

When Demetra arrived downstairs, both her father and Verity were sitting in the parlor with Rowena, who was filling them in on both of the parties they had attended over the past week. The lady of the house poured the tea as she chattered on blithely. Very little pleased Rowena more than sharing gossip.

“My dear,” Rowena said, noticing Demetra in the doorway, “I was just telling them what a lovely time we had at the Marstons, but I did not want to go on until you told them the best news we had to offer on the week’s events.”

“What news is that?” Demetra asked in bewilderment, stepping forward to accept the saucer and teacup Rowena handed to her.

“Why, the news about you and Lord Winterton, my dear,” Rowena tittered, accompanying the statement with a flutter of eyelashes.

“Oh, there is really nothing to report there.” Demetra felt her cheeks flush slightly. Turning to look at her father, she shrugged nonchalantly. “Francis and I have simply renewed our friendship.”

“Darling, that is good to hear.” Nigel reached up to pat her arm. “I’m so pleased the two of you have reconciled. Perhaps now you will consider resuming more than just a friendship with Lord Winterton, as I can think of no other man who deserves you.”

“Just think of what a triumph it would be if Demetra and Lord Winterton are engaged once more. Such a marriage would mean Lord Winterton would throw our Verity in the way of other suitable men,” Rowena said, pouring a cup of tea for herself, a catlike smile on her face. By “suitable,” Demetra knew very well what her stepmother meant: wealthy.

“Please, do not count your chickens before they have hatched,” Demetra interjected as she tried not to roll her eyes. Taking a place next to her father on the loveseat, she sipped at her cup of tea.

“There will be no limit to the possibilities for an advantageous match for my little girl,” Rowena continued as if her stepdaughter had not spoken. “We must turn our thoughts to Verity’s marriage very soon, my dear.”

Now the younger daughter colored with discomfiture, her cheeks reddening as she bowed her head over her tea and cake. Verity mumbled something unintelligible and nibbled on the bit of cake.

“Is this not marvelous?” Rowena turned to her husband and dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief. “I’m confident that by the end of the season, we will see one daughter well settled with regard to matrimony, and naturally the other cannot help but benefit from it. This is the day every parent lives to see.”

“Nothing is settled, Stepmother,” Demetra muttered over the rim of her teacup. “Please stop making plans based upon assumptions.”

“My dear, when time passes one by so quickly, the legacy of our children is all we have got.” It was an uncharacteristically insightful response for Rowena. “It would be so heartbreaking not to see them amount to anything, and that is why we must push you when we see opportunities.”

Nigel said gently, “I’m sure you have nothing to worry about on that score, my dear. Demetra has done very well for herself in life and will decide in her own time whether Lord Winterton is the man for her. Verity will do just fine making her own choices too, if we only let her.”

With a soft giggle, Rowena turned her adoring gaze on her husband. “You are right as usual, my dear.”

Wincing at her stepmother’s effusiveness, Demetra wondered if Francis would have expected such adoration from her if they had actually gotten married. He had already berated her about her lack of desire to express such human emotions. The dilemma worked its way through her pragmatic mind, where her Aetheric logic turned it over and over, trying to understand why it mattered.

The sound of footsteps in the hall drifted to her ears and Demetra turned to see Elodie enter the parlor, a piece of paper in hand. The maid brought it to her without a word and withdrew from the room. Demetra set her teacup on the table, broke the seal on the letter, and eagerly read the contents.

“Pardon me, but I have some business to attend to this afternoon,” Demetra said as she looked up at her family.

“Is it Lord Winterton?” Rowena pressed her hand to her lips, though the gesture failed to hide her triumphant smile.

“You know me too well, stepmother,” Demetra sighed. “Yes, I am to meet him at St. James today, and he just sent me a little reminder. After all the excitement and activity of the week, he believes I might forget our appointment.”

“Well,” Rowena sniffed, “a lady should never keep a gentleman waiting.”

“I agree with you completely. If you will excuse me.” Demetra rose to her feet and kissed the top of her father’s head. “It’s good to have the both of you home.”

“It’s good to come home to such a happy family,” Nigel answered, reaching out to squeeze his daughter’s hand. “Please convey my felicitations to Francis and let him know I look forward to seeing him very soon.”

Demetra nodded. As she walked out of the parlor, Demetra glanced back down at the letter in her hand. “This will simplify everything considerably,” she murmured under her breath. “Mr. Christie is certainly a gentleman I don’t want to keep waiting.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Are you sure this is the best course of action?” Simon asked. He looked rather uncomfortable as he juggled the larger box in which he had placed the clock for safekeeping and to disguise it from the outside world. Although he initially looked thrilled with the prospect of a visit to the Astronomer Royal, his concern about the danger of being out in the open with the clock was palpable.

“Think about it, my little friend,” Demetra responded airily. “The Muffin Man is dead. Beckstrom is back in the Winterton household where he belongs. I see no good reason why we should retain the Chronos Clock any longer, since there is no known danger to Mr. Christie. If he can safeguard it better than us, then let him.”

Her pace quickened. She would be pleased to get rid of the Aetheric device, and leave the entire unpleasant business of it in the past. Demetra realized that, if things worked out in her favor, she would be home in plenty of time for tea and a day in seclusion in the library. As much as she loved the excitement of finding a new device, she needed to rest. These little adventures rarely inconvenienced her as much as this one had.

“By the way, Simon,” she said with a grin, “I think it is very kind of you to help Francis.”

“You know I enjoy artifact hunting as much as you do.”

“Oh, you know what I meant.” Demetra had to suppress a giggle. “I simply can’t believe you made an engagement ring for me. Not only that, but I can’t believe you made an engagement ring at Francis’s behest, for him to offer to me.”

Silence stretched between them for a long moment.

“I take it he proposed, then?” Simon asked tentatively.

“Yes, he certainly did.”

“What did you say?”

Demetra shrugged. “I turned him down and told him I wanted nothing more than friendship.”

She heard a scoffing sound emerge from Simon and turned to glare at him.

“Demetra Ashdown, if all you want is friendship with Francis Winterton, I am the Queen of England.”

With a glare of annoyance, she finally said, “Come along.” They entered the Burlington House and turned toward the west wing. If anything, she was bursting with impatience to put both the matters of Francis and the clock to rest.

“Miss Ashdown.” Mr. Christie waited for them, shifting from one foot to the next in a jittery dance that made Demetra want to slap him. Besides his celestial energy, she could sense the triumph rolling off him in waves.

“Yes, yes, we are here, and before you even bother to ask, yes, we have brought the clock.” She indicated the hefty box that Simon bore. “I hope it will reassure you to know we have eliminated at least some threat to it. And, as far as I’m concerned, your juvenile mentality of celestial versus infernal is completely unnecessary.”

“This is not a matter of one Aetheral bloodline being superior or inferior to another. This is about my vow and returning a treasure to where it belongs. Tell me what you mean when you say you eliminated ‘some threat,’” Mr. Christie demanded, his fingers twitching at his sides. Had Simon not been standing behind her, Demetra imagined the Astronomer Royal would have grabbed at the box like an overzealous child at Christmas.

“We encountered one person who sought it, but rest assured he will not trouble you. Shall we go inside? I am as eager as you are to bring this matter to an end.” Demetra tilted her head at the astronomer and waited impatiently for him to take his cue.

Mr. Christie nodded and turned to open the door to the parlor. Once Simon and Demetra settled within, he leaned forward eagerly.

“The clock,” he said in a firm voice.

“Mr. Christie, please control yourself,” Demetra answered sharply, her eyes darting about the room. “Are you sure this is a safe place?”

“It is perfectly safe for you, if that is what you are concerned about. Nobody is going to harm you for being an infernal. Just give me what rightfully belongs to me and my peers.” Mr. Christie finally sat in one of the chairs, but he still leaned toward Simon, hands extended for the box.

“Your reaction is understandable,” Simon said amiably as he set the box on the low table among the chairs. “But must you be so rude about it? Lord Winterton and Miss Ashdown have rendered you a great service by stopping someone who had more knowledge about the clock than even you.”

“This device has been at the center of a conflict between Aetherics for aeons,” the astronomer growled in response. “It is a great responsibility and one I take most seriously. For any infernal to have sullied this device, even if they were guarding it—”

“Pardon me?” Demetra rose to pace the room, tapping her finger against her lips as if deep in thought. “First you demand we bring this to you, and now you seem quite insistent upon perpetuating some sort of heinous stereotype about my kind. Why is that?”

“This is something I never expected to see in my life, let alone touch.” Mr. Christie moved closer to the box, regarding it with a sharp eye. “You must understand this is a monumental event for me and we are taught that, under no circumstances, should any being but a celestial touch this artifact.”

“It is true the device would cause me great harm were I to touch it,” Demetra agreed, “but you should know just because I am part daemon, that does not mean I lack humanity.” In that moment, her own understanding dawned on her. “Perhaps I have two different natures that do not quite fit together, but let me assure you, Mr. Christie, I care about this world and the people in it.”

Especially one person in particular, she thought. Just because I am an Aetheral does not mean I have to approach life with an all or nothing mentality. I keep forgetting that I am half-human too.

“It belongs to you by right of oath,” Demetra concluded gently. She nodded to Simon, indicating he should open the box.

The young artificer lifted the lid, saying, “I actually built a special box to contain this. It has a thin sheet of silver on the inside and one of iron without.”

“Why did you do that?” the astronomer asked as he reached in to remove the original wooden box from the iron metallic contraption.

“We feel it best to disguise the power of the clock. Since none of us has the ability to bind it, this will at least inhibit others from finding it the way Miss Ashdown did. As I am sure you know, silver and iron both block Aetheral powers.”

“What I am still most curious about is just how you found it, Miss Ashdown.”

Demetra shook her head. “It is simply my talent, Mr. Christie. Be glad the iron and silver will hinder another such as me from locating this device.”

“I see.” Mr. Christie scrutinized her. “You have a rather interesting power, then. That much is obvious to me now. Your ability could prove most useful, but also quite dangerous. I have never heard of an Aetheral with such a power.”

“Let us hope you never do again,” Demetra responded tightly. “I believe you wanted to examine the clock and not me.”

“Yes, of course.” Mr. Christie finally returned his gaze to the box. He removed the pine box from the metal container, lifted the lid and stared at the Chronos Clock, reverence clear on his face.

“It won’t cause you any harm,” Simon said encouragingly after a few silent moments.

“I can feel the power of it,” the astronomer breathed in awe. “Does it really work?”

“I hardly think it matters, but we believe it does. The question you must answer now is this: where can you place it for safekeeping?” Demetra tapped her foot and glanced at the watch chained to her bodice.

“I would have no idea where to begin. Perhaps I will send it back to the Royal Observatory. Since you have effectively disguised its energy, it should be safe there.”

Demetra glared at him, her eyebrows meeting briefly. “You mean to tell me that you practically begged us to bring you this item, and you have no idea what to do with it? There are people out there who would kill for it and all you can say is ‘I would have no idea where to begin’?” Scoffing, she turned toward the door and motioned to Simon to follow her.

“It is just the things you have mentioned so offhandedly…I had no idea such a potential for danger existed. No idea this device is so coveted.” Mr. Christie cleared his throat. “While I understand the immense responsibility, I am beginning to understand it just a little better. In this profession, our predecessor teaches us what and how, but rarely tells why. From what I can deduce, I might be killed merely for possessing it.”

“That is a distinct possibility,” Demetra retorted sharply over her shoulder. “However, you should remember we have eliminated at least one threat to it. If you are able to conceal it in all due haste, you should find yourself quite safe from harm and able to say you have been very effective in your role as the clock’s sworn guardian.”

“While I hate to ask this…” Mr. Christie sounded begrudging as he placed the pine box back in the metal container and slammed it shut. “Since you are an Aetheral as well, do you have any suggestions?”

Hiding a self-satisfied smile, Demetra turned to regard the astronomer. “Surely you don’t expect our assistance with this matter. It may very well be in violation of your oath. No one should know where the clock is kept, but you and your successor.”

“Well.” Mr. Christie glanced around the room as he considered her words. “Sir Flamsteed revealed its existence to Sir Newton. Perhaps you are not nearly as estimable as Sir Newton is, but you have claimed a certain extent of responsibility for the clock, as you stated yourself. As such, I believe I may trust you to guard it with me. Of course, I won’t stand for it remaining in your hands permanently, but our network is stretched rather thin at the moment.”

“Really? I take it you have other responsibilities and items to guard?” Demetra, secretly intrigued by the offer, tilted her head and regarded him impassively.

“I need to recall two of my agents to take charge of finding a place for this. They are well-versed in their knowledge of all the hidey-holes and such in the London area, and while they cannot know the nature of this item, they can make recommendations. There are certain rules about how the clock should be treated.”

“You may believe you can trust me, but requesting my assistance after insulting me is another thing altogether.” Demetra folded her arms across her chest. “As far as I am concerned, the clock is yours and we are done with it. Certainly a man capable of orchestrating an explosion beneath Piccadilly Street is also capable of hiding a simple Aetheral device.”

Mr. Christie gaped at her. “How did you know?”

“It seemed the most likely possibility after the threats you made when we first met, though you have just confirmed it.” Demetra glanced at Simon. “What say you, my friend?”

“I say the Astronomer Royal needs a larger network if he does not have enough manpower to hide a simple little clock,” Simon answered coolly.

“There you have it.” Demetra shrugged and turned toward the door.

“Will you please assist me in hiding the clock?” Mr. Christie asked softly.

Demetra smiled back at him over her shoulder. “Did you hear that, Simon? The Astronomer Royal is asking us to do him a favor.”

“Indeed, I did hear that,” Simon agreed.

“Why do you want us to help you, Mr. Christie?” Demetra turned and approached him at a leisurely pace. “You were so zealous about having the clock before, but now you choose not to keep it. Why?”

“It is very simple. Nobody would suspect an infernal of hiding a celestial object.” Mr. Christie rose to his feet and brought the box to them. “If anything, it is my zealous distaste for anything infernal that will allay suspicions with regard to where the clock is hidden. This is probably the most intelligent way for me to keep it safe. Had you wanted to do something nefarious with the clock, you would have by now. Therefore, I am asking you to hide it and answer to me when I inquire about it periodically. Do you understand?”

“I am not interested in being a part of your network of informants, spies, and demolitionists,” Demetra said, raking the astronomer with a withering glare.

He shook his head vigorously. “I’m not asking that. I’m merely requesting you do this service to the crown. All those loyal to Queen Victoria should care about such things. If I find a suitable location to hide the clock, then I will ask you to bring it back to me. However, our building is far too obvious, and it is clear this entire matter would not have occurred in the first place if we took better steps to conceal the clock, as well as its existence. The person least likely to have any connection with the Chronos Clock should be the one to ensure its safety.”

Considering his proposition, Demetra finally smiled at him. “Very well, Mr. Christie. I like the way you think, so it shall be done. I will see to it that the clock is in a safe place, but there is something you must do for us as well.”

~~~~~

“You want me to hide all of this here at the Temple?” Samuel looked at the extraordinary pile of books on his parlor table and the heavy metal box Simon set on the floor beside it. “You realize these are excessively valuable documents concerning the Chronos Clock and, of course, you have brought me the device itself. I’m not sure it would be prudent. We see enough posers and fakes as it is. Any one of them could take advantage of the presence of these items and this knowledge!”

“Both Mr. Christie and I believe the greatest problem with the plans of Flamsteed and Airy, and so many others, was their decision to keep the clock in places connected with their vocation.” Demetra patted the pile of books with her gloved hand. “Nobody will imagine these manuscripts are hidden here. If there comes a time when the Temple disbands or you feel you cannot keep them, contact me and I will find a new home for them.”

“What about the clock?”

“That will actually remain in my keeping. As a result, none of the Astronomers Royal will be privy to the actual items, only knowledgeable of their whereabouts. However, besides having convinced Mr. Christie to allow me to take every piece of written information about the clock, I have also persuaded him to open the oath to include two other trustworthy individuals. Suppose someone else obtained the clock before we got to it, all because only a few people knew of its existence, yet those few people were too blind to believe the clock’s secrets were compromised. While he has subordinates to protect him and act upon his wishes, he really needs a wider network of guardians, though not so wide as to allow any holes through which information might slip.”

“So you’re asking me to act as the keeper of these amazing tomes,” Samuel said, “while you offer your services as the sentinel of the clock, and the Astronomer Royal remains the key to finding either?”

“That is correct, Mr. Mathers.”

Samuel looked quite pleased as he ran his fingertips over the cover of the topmost book. “I am most honored by your confidence. You can count on me, oh Aetheric apple of my eye,” he assured her.

~~~~~

“I still feel as if this entire crisis was far too easily resolved,” Simon mused as they walked through the front door of Warom Apothecary.

“Do be kind enough to remember that Francis had to kill a man, lest that monster do the same to me,” Demetra reminded him icily. “And then there have been fireballs, a carriage chase, and a rather untimely explosion in the street. I personally do not classify anything about this matter as ‘easy to resolve,’ even in hindsight.”

“Alas, the Muffin Man.” With a dejected sigh, Simon shook his head and moved behind the counter, setting the box atop it. “And the one muffin we did encounter this entire time went to absolute waste.”

“But you created it for that very purpose, my friend.” Demetra grinned as she leaned on the counter and waited for Simon to answer.

“I’m very pleased that my spore experiment succeeded,” he agreed with a smile of his own. “We were blocks away before they recovered.”

“Hm. Yes.” She straightened and nibbled at her lower lip. “They…”

“What is it?”

After a moment of deliberation, Demetra responded with a wave of her hand. “It’s nothing at all. Well, goodness knows I do not want to drag this thing into my home with everyone about. Do you think you could bring it by around nine o’clock? My father and Rowena are taking Verity to the Featheringstones’ gathering this evening. I’m going to stay home tonight. I could use the rest, and it would result in far less questions being asked if it is brought to the house when no one else is at home.”

“That is understandable, my dear. I will see you at the appointed time.” Simon reached beneath the counter and pulled out his work apron. “If you will excuse me, I have some orders to fill.”

“Of course. Thank you for everything.” Demetra extended her hand to him, and he kissed it obligingly. “Even the engagement ring,” she added with a laugh.

“My dear Demetra, I am only sorry to see that you will not be wearing it. I could not have done such a thing for any man but Lord Winterton,” Simon said softly. “I did it because I know he loves you very much and he would be a good husband to you. You were mistaken about his feelings about your Aetheral nature. He is very aware of how vulnerable your abilities make you and does not want to see anything happen to you. You have forgiven each other, as well as yourselves, for what happened in the past. Are you absolutely sure there is not a part of your heart that can love him now?”

“Simon,” Demetra answered quietly with a sad look on her face, “why do you always ask me the difficult questions I am not yet ready to answer?”

Chapter Twenty-Four

“It seems a shame you should miss the ball,” Rowena said, pouting. “I am sure Lord Winterton will be disappointed.”

“I’ve already sent my regrets to him.” Demetra waited impatiently at the front door, itching to close it. “It has been an exhausting week, and I don’t think I could make it through the night without embarrassing myself. Please send my regards to the Featheringstones and let them know I will call when I’m feeling better.”

“We will, my dear.” Rowena blew an air kiss her way and turned to walk out the door. Her foot on the topmost step, Rowena turned and examined Demetra with a critical expression on her face. “You do look rather pale. Some rest may do you good after all the time you have spent out with Lord Winterton and Mr. Warom. Though, I do hope you will not allow too much time to pass you by before you resume your social obligations.”

“Of course not, Stepmother.”

“Time, you know, is a fickle thing.” Rowena continued almost as if Demetra had not spoken. “It’s something you will spend years trying to get back once it is gone from you. If I could but capture time and hold it in my hands, I would be the happiest woman alive.”

Demetra fidgeted at the door until Rowena finally turned and walked to the waiting carriage. The moment the conveyance drove out of sight, Demetra shut the door and walked into the library to curl up in a soft chair with a book. For the first time in two weeks, she felt a sense of security. If her stepmother’s voice would stop ringing in her ears, she realized she might have some peace as well.

“Not all women worry about time,” Demetra muttered to herself, turning her face to the book.

“Time is a harsh mistress. Why else do you think so many women try to turn it back?”

Simon’s voice replaced Rowena’s, yet echoed the sentiment. Demetra slowly lowered her book as her brow furrowed in thought.

“He should know,” she whispered. “That woman is forever sending me to the shop for creams and lotions to change something that can’t be changed.” Rising to her feet, she pictured herself standing at the door with Rowena only a few moments ago, her stepmother so petite that she barely reached Demetra’s chin.

“We have this device I am sure many people want, not just the Muffin Man and his teeny little accomplice.”

Demetra set the book on the chair and clasped her hands behind her back. She turned on her heel and paced the room, as the events of the past few weeks played through her mind.

“We killed the Muffin Man,” she murmured to herself, “but we did not see hide nor hair of his accomplice. There is no way the Muffin Man organized the operation. He may have had the brains and the knack for acting, but somebody much stronger cloaked his power, probably the same person who gave him his orders. The principal of this venture had to know what I am, as well as my capabilities. Simon would never tell, nor would Samuel. Francis swears he never revealed me. My father knows what I am and what I can do. He has put my abilities to use for his own work from time to time. Verity knows what I am, but could not care less. The only person I know, who also knows what I am and who is completely obsessed with time—the only person who would seek to exploit any possible paradox in it—is…”

“You are very clever, my dear stepdaughter, but rather late in your realization.”

Demetra turned to face the woman she had considered nothing more than an insufferably silly, shallow, selfish twit for the past fifteen years.

Her stepmother seethed with unspent power. The infernal magick simmered around Rowena in a tangle of furious energy. It whipped around her like a raging tempest waiting to be unleashed.

Taking a step back, Demetra stared at her stepmother in surprise. The power that filled the room was alarming in its intensity, and she wondered how the woman had kept it so well hidden all these years. She recognized it as the same energy that had struck out at her at the Marstons’ ball.

“I believe you have something that belongs to me,” the older woman snapped.

Demetra took another step back and grimaced. “Have you come for the muffins, Stepmother?”

“I have no time for your games or your silly remarks,” Rowena hissed. “You think you are so clever, Stepdaughter. Now tell me, where is the Chronos Clock?”

“Were you the one who followed us from the Marstons’ ball?”

“Of course that was me. I hoped you would lead me right to the clock after my little attack, but instead you incapacitated my driver.”

“Why do you want it? You can’t even use it.” Demetra folded her arms and leaned against the bookshelves, affecting an air of boredom. Her stepmother was incredibly strong and Demetra realized that without her fan, she was defenseless against another Aetheral. She yawned indelicately, trying to feign a casual demeanor as Rowena fumed at her.

“Why do you think I want it, you foolish girl?” Rowena’s voice rose a few octaves in her agitation. “We may be half-daemons, you and I, but we will not remain young forever. Already I am withering away like an old lady, and I will not allow it to happen!”

“You are an Aetheral? I find that difficult to believe. You have all the respectability of a mortal, Rowena, and neither you nor Verity ever gave any indication of being anything more or less than what you both seemed.”

Scoffing, her stepmother said, “Verity is of no consequence. She has yet to manifest any power whatsoever. I’m almost ashamed to call her my daughter. As for your inability to sense my power, I can control it like a candle flame. It can diminish and it can increase. Yet, for all the power I have, there is one thing I cannot do: I cannot sense Aetheric-made objects, the most powerful devices in the world. Just as my power is great among Aetherals, yours is unique.”

“So you thought to put my ability to use on your behalf? Bravo, Stepmother. You have more intelligence than I gave you credit for.”

“Oh, I am not through yet, Stepdaughter.” Rowena put an almost hateful emphasis on the word “daughter” and glared at Demetra. “Ever since I turned forty years of age, I have been doing everything I can to find a way to stay younger.”

“You make it sound as if you have been forty forever.” Demetra waved her hand in a desultory manner and laughed lightly, even though she was calculating the best way to escape. “Stepmother, you do not look a day over twenty-five.”

“Of course not, but I’ve put in a great deal of effort to keep my looks.” Rowena reached up to run her hands over the skin on her face. “Do you know how many young ladies I had to kill to retain my youth? Every time I bathed in their blood, I felt it infusing me with new life. Then the day came when the town tried to imprison me for my crimes. Oh yes, they wanted to wall me up in my home and leave me to die! They could not execute me outright, since I am the daughter of one of the oldest and wealthiest families in Transylvania. We were so powerful they could not truly bring me to justice.”

Demetra took another involuntary step back, her eyes widening. “Are you telling me you are actually Elizabeth Bathory? My goodness, you can’t possibly be the most infamous murderess in all of history. Honestly, I think you lack the disposition of a serial killer, Stepmother.”

“What did they know about justice?” Rowena hissed, ignoring her stepdaughter’s astonishment. As her agitation increased, her perfect, clipped British inflection had faded into something foreign. “They could not hold me, of course.”

Her voice softened to a purr of complacency tinged not just with determination, but also with the exotic accent of her place of birth.

“When they tried to imprison me, all I had to do was use my power to put another woman in my place. All it took was a simple enchantment to fool everyone into believing she was me. My replacement died there, you know, while I stayed in hiding right beneath their noses.”

“How very clever you are, despite your obvious delusions about aging,” Demetra complimented her. “Though why bother coming to England?” She felt the skein of power around Rowena fluctuate with the woman’s mood, sometimes flaring and sometimes calming. The rise and fall of her stepmother’s power depended on her mood. Demetra had to give her credit for keeping it so completely under control over the past several years.

“It became too dangerous for me to stay in one place. A half-daemon’s looks do not alter much over the years.” Rowena took a few slow steps toward her. “Oh, our human side does take its toll in time, which is why we must work as hard as any woman to stay beautiful. It aids the façade for those of us who are half-human. But with the Chronos Clock, I need not stay tied down to your father and his wealth. I need not rely on hiring maid after maid to infuse those useless Warom potions with their blood. I can be free of time itself.” She extended her hand toward Demetra. “All I need you to do is give it to me.”

Demetra raised her eyes briefly to assess the movement she noticed just beyond Rowena’s shoulder. “Why would I do that?” she asked, returning her gaze to her stepmother and keeping her voice preternaturally calm. She felt her stepmother’s energy rising to a dangerous level, poised like a snake ready to strike.

“Because I will share it with you,” Rowena whispered enticingly. “No longer will you have to hide what you are. You can come with me and be free. Your Lord Winterton will never accept you, not when the realization of what you truly are hits him. He will age far beyond your years, and you will stay young and beautiful for quite a long time. Consider that, my dear. He will want a woman to grow old with him, and he will abandon you when he realizes that. Besides, I could reveal the scandalous truth of how his family came by their fortune.”

“That’s it? That’s the big secret you threatened to reveal when you wrote the ransom note?” Demetra scoffed and shook her head. “You will have to do much better than that.”

“Keep in mind that pretentious mother of Lord Winterton’s will never accept you, despite the family’s own unsavory history.”

“I’ll take my chances with Francis and his mother,” Demetra said, lifting her chin.

“You will take your chances with death!” The skein of power around Rowena began to pulsate and flare, wisps of it snaking out toward Demetra.

“I did not say, however,” Demetra responded, her voice a bit louder than before, “that I would refuse your request.”

“Oh?” The power remained at the same level, neither growing nor diminishing, as Rowena waited.

“Simon,” Demetra called out into the hall. “Please bring the clock to Rowena. She would like very much to see it.”

The artificer stood in the doorway, the heavy iron-lined box in his arms. His wide eyes told Demetra he had been assessing the situation. Demetra shook her head slightly as she continued.

“Come now, Rowena cannot wait all night. Let us give her the opportunity to see if all of this effort has been worth her while.” Demetra gestured to Simon to open the lid of the box. After a moment’s hesitation, he did so and reached in to remove the original box from its enclosure.

“Bring it to me, boy,” Rowena wheedled, seeing his indecision. “Do you understand what it would mean to me merely to hold it?”

Simon’s gaze met Demetra’s and he nodded. “I do, Mrs. Ashdown.”

Rowena snatched the box from Simon’s hands the moment he stepped near her. “At last, at last,” she cooed, opening the aged wooden box. “It is mine, and time will never imprison me in its grasp again.”

“How will you use it if you can’t touch it?” Demetra asked. “Surely you have taken that into consideration.”

“Surely the rules do not apply to an Aetheral as powerful as me,” Rowena snapped back. “Perhaps your pathetic body cannot handle such a device, but I am stronger than you will ever be.”

“So be it.”

With a subtle step back, Demetra partially concealed herself behind the bookcase. Simon had already been wise enough to retreat into the hall, his wide blue eyes peeping around the doorframe.

Demetra felt her stepmother’s energy expanding rapidly. Mingled in the infernal web were tendrils of celestial power, all stemming from the Chronos Clock. The heat radiating from Rowena was so intense, Demetra crouched completely behind the bookcase to shield herself.

“Yes, time is now mine to control!” Rowena cried, her hands shaking with agony as they grasped the clock. “It will not escape me now!” Her voice and breath both came in shallow gasps, yet she forced herself to retain the device.

The opposing Aetheric energies twisted and collided, yet Rowena held fast to the clock, unwilling to give up her prize. Demetra did not need to smell the burning flesh to know what was happening. Power pulsated throughout the room like a storm about to break.

Demetra peered through the space between a row of books and the bottom of the next shelf, and saw what looked like white-gold lights dancing frantically off Rowena’s hands. The energy charged up along her arms, crackling like a bonfire. Her stepmother tried to thrust the clock away from her, but the attempt was too late. Embers flashed and flickered between her fingers as the device’s celestial power drew Rowena in like a collapsing star.

A pitiful wail emerged from her mouth, and then both Rowena and the clock exploded in a brilliant shower of sparks.

When the Aetheric light dissipated and the room dimmed to its natural lighting, Demetra heard Simon say meekly, “Well, I have not seen a good fireworks display in quite some time.”

“Apparently,” Demetra said with a calming breath, “infernals make excellent kindling.”

Simon moved to stand in the doorway of the library. “What are you going to tell Mr. Christie about his clock?”

“Well… I rather hope ‘I’m sorry, but it exploded’ will be sufficient.”

~~~~~

Nigel Ashdown looked at the scorch mark on the center of the library floor. “Had I known Rowena would try to kill you, I never would have married the woman.” He sighed with a mournful look at his daughter, then pulled her into an embrace. “I can’t believe I almost lost you.”

“I know, but I am perfectly fine.” Demetra nodded toward the doorway where the police were still jotting down some notes, and added, “It is Verity you need to concern yourself with now, Father. She lost her mother, after all.”

“Oh, Verity should not be terribly upset about the loss,” Nigel answered with a shrug. “She will probably write a book about it. It’s you I worry about, with your penchant for finding trouble. Maybe I need to pay more attention to you.”

“Trust me, Father, I’m fine. A bit shaken, naturally, but I lived.” Demetra smiled at him encouragingly. “As for Verity, I am certain she will have questions about her heritage. What we need now is to handle this matter as delicately as possible with regard to both our family and the public.”

“As always, you are the voice of reason.” Nigel sighed once more and shook his head. “I will make sure the police have everything they need.” He turned and went to speak with the officers.

“I suppose this means I won’t see you at the shop nearly as often.” Simon nudged at Demetra’s foot with the toe of his shoe, his wide eyes fastened on her face in a manner reminiscent of a little lost puppy.

“Now, now, you know I will be by to see you often. You need me to take you for strolls in the park and out to find gloriously dangerous devices no one in their right mind would touch.” Linking her arm through his, she added, “Do you think I am going to abandon my best friend over a few bottles of antiaging lotion?”

With an exaggerated sigh of relief, Simon patted her hand as it rested on his arm. “What about Francis? Will you tell him about this?”

“Yes, most assuredly.”

“And do you think you can finally decide how you feel about him?”

Demetra scowled. “I think I have been pretty clear about my feelings for Lord Winterton all along.”

“Perhaps you have been clear with him, but have you been honest with yourself?” Simon asked shrewdly.

Demetra glanced at the time on the small pocket watch attached to her bodice. “I should think it is time for you to go home. It is after midnight, and I think there has been enough excitement for one night.”

“I would go so far as to say, dear girl, we have seen quite enough excitement to last a lifetime.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

“It is astounding to me that one would go so far to obtain something meant to naturally be out of our reach.” Francis lifted his gaze to contemplate the clouds as they strolled along St. James two weeks later.

During the past fortnight, Demetra had her hands full with damage control. The most challenging task was inventing a plausible explanation for Rowena’s sudden death, followed by funeral plans to fake, a trip to the family country home in support of those counterfeit plans, and then the trip back to the city. When everything was—as Demetra was amused to think of it—put to rest, the police and the ton believed Rowena died as a result of tinkering with one of her husband’s inventions, and became a permanent resident of the cemetery at the Ashdown country estate.

She had also made every effort to reach out to her half-sister, but Verity had chosen to remain in seclusion since the funeral. Demetra hoped one day her sister would be ready to talk, just as she was ready to help the younger girl in any way possible.

Meanwhile, Mr. Christie had been disappointed by the loss, but told Demetra, “Perhaps it was for the best. Such a powerful thing ought not to exist. The promise of eternal youth is just one of many things that will always bring out the worst in people.”

The two had parted ways as uneasy allies.

“It has been a rather busy month.” Demetra sighed and looked up into the surprisingly blue sky. “It seems to have become April without me noticing.”

“You were so busy, you had no time for friends.”

Demetra made a strange, strangled sound at the back of her throat, caught her breath and refocused her gaze straight ahead.

“Did I say something wrong?” Francis looked down at her with concern.

“I need to apologize to you,” she whispered.

“Why do you need to apologize?”

She shook her head, her gaze meeting his. “I behaved like a complete idiot when I told you I didn’t love you. Everything I said was a lie. The truth is I didn’t want to love you. During our time together last month, I tried so hard to pretend it meant nothing more than a business venture. You were in need of my services and abilities. Then it just became more and more dangerous, and I finally realized I might lose you permanently.”

“It seems I was the one in danger of losing you,” Francis said softly, reaching out to run one hand along the side of her face.

“You need to let me finish,” she replied with a quiet laugh, taking his hand in hers and removing it from her face. “I realized you are the only man I would ever want to even attempt to suffer my attentions and mockery. Marriage has always been the least of my worries and it is something I never wanted. However, I could not help but fall in love with you when we first met. Something drew me to you then, and it still does, even after you broke my heart. I love you, Francis.”

She took a long, deep breath. When Francis opened his mouth, she raised her hand to forestall him.

“Because I don’t hang on your every word or willingly take your arm, because I’m capable of defending myself, you somehow think I don’t love you.”

“Because you don’t remark on or show what you feel for me, I have cause to doubt you,” he answered. “Because every time I have offered you my heart over the past several weeks, you told me you wanted only friendship between us. I adore you, and I am grateful you finally said something. However, I’m not sure you love me nearly as much as I love you, and that hurts.”

Fighting back tears, Demetra nodded and turned her head from him. “You know I’m not open with my affections, nor do I display them as physically as you do.”

“Perhaps you need to learn to appreciate me more.” Francis raised his face to the sunny sky and sighed. “I will return to the country tomorrow. With Beckstrom safe and the entire matter of the clock concluded, it seems best to leave you to deal with the so-called love you have for me. Perhaps the time apart will persuade you to display your appreciation and affection for me in a more open manner.”

Demetra bit her lip, considering her response. “I thought you loved my wit.”

“I do, but not when it is directed at me.”

“I don’t know what else to do. What can I say to convince you of how sincerely attached I am to you? I love you, Francis. I love you.”

He looked at her once more, his head cocked to one side. “I suppose there is one thing you could do to convince me.” Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew the small, blue box. “Pledge to marry me. Let me put this ring on your finger. Wear it for the world to see and never, ever speak to me of friendship again.”

“I will,” Demetra answered. “I do promise to marry you and to wear your ring so everybody knows I love you.”

With a laugh, he opened the box and picked up the ring from atop the velvet lining. “What matters most to me is hearing you finally admit you love me.”

Unwilling to argue for once, she extended her left hand to him and watched as he slid the steel circlet over her finger.

“Now we need not worry about time,” he said, holding her hand between both of his. “We will share our time with one another.”

“Time is becoming a far more precious thing than I ever considered.” Demetra’s voice remained quiet. “For my whole life, I have known I am different, and how those differences mean I have nothing to fear from time. Now I realize even immortal or near-immortal beings have far more to fear than do humans.”

“Why do you say that?”

Demetra lowered her gaze to the grass. “It is true I will outlive you. I will have to watch as you age and die before my eyes. It’s not fair to either of us, and I am not sure I have the strength after all to watch that happen to you. I love you so much, and I do not want to lose you.”

As Francis opened his mouth to respond, a voice called out to him. He swallowed his words and turned to face the person approaching them.

It was a woman of early middle age and regal bearing, a little taller than Demetra and slender as a willow, with dark hair bound neatly at the back of her neck. Her eyes were an extraordinary shade of violet. It was clear she made every effort to stay out of the sun, as her skin was as pale and smooth as porcelain. She tilted her parasol behind her and leaned forward to kiss Francis on the cheek.

“My dear boy, how I have missed you,” the older woman said in a rich, cultured voice.

“It is such a pleasant surprise to see you in town,” he answered enthusiastically, dropping Demetra’s hand to take one of the other woman’s hands in his. “Miss Ashdown, may I finally introduce you to my mother, Lady Angeline Winterton? Mother, may I present my fiancée, Demetra Ashdown?”

“Yes, I know who you are,” Lady Winterton said, turning to look at her. “It is certainly shocking we did not meet when you were first engaged to my boy, but I’m afraid this will be our only meeting.”

Demetra suddenly felt cold and could only respond, “What do you mean?”

In another moment, the subtle power emanating from Lady Winterton wafted around her like the lightest perfume. The realization of the inhumanely beautiful noblewoman’s nature made Demetra take a step back and stare open-mouthed at her.

“Why, my dear, you must understand Francis simply cannot marry you.”

“Mother!” Francis looked at her in astonishment. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“I realize this must come as a shock to you both,” Lady Winterton answered with a shake of her head, “but my son is a celestial. I’ve kept his heritage hidden all these years, but I must now tell you the truth. I am sorry, but no person of celestial blood will ever marry an infernal. It is simply unheard of.”

“Well,” Demetra said with a bemused expression on her face as she looked up at Francis. “So much for your mother not having anything against me.”

The Daemon Device: Book Two of The Aetheric Artifacts

By Wendy L. Callahan

This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used to advance the fictional narrative. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author's imagination and not to be construed as real.

The Daemon Device: Book Two of The Aetheric Artifacts

Published by Persephone Press

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

Copyright 2013 by Wendy L. Callahan

Cover Art by Erin Lark - http://erinlark.storenvy.com/

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

The text of this book is set in Gentium Book Basic

First Edition

Persephone Press

For my mother, who I waited 30 years to meet again.

The Daemon Device

Aetheric Artifacts: Book Two

Chapter One

London, April 1892

“Come now my sweet little daemon doll, it cannot possibly be all that bad.”

“Cannot be that bad?”  Demetra stomped around the room, fists clenched and arms taut at her sides.  “Just because my mother was an infernal, I have to be stigmatized for it by other Aetherals.  It has been happening to me much more often lately and I am tired of it.  Who do these celestials think they are?  What makes them believe that they are superior to me, simply because of how science and nature classify them on an Aetheric level?  I am outraged that the woman thinks she can tell me who I may and may not marry!”

Despite her tantrum, not a strand of Demetra’s golden ringlets was out of place.  Mouth set in a grim line and tawny eyes flashing, she continued her manic pacing, and even that furious endeavor still demonstrated her usual inhuman grace.  Dark green taffeta skirts rustled and boot heels clicked rhythmically against the wood floors when she stepped off the exotic Oriental carpet.  Had anyone of her acquaintance seen her in this state, they might have been appalled, but not necessarily surprised.  If anybody thought her behavior was truly shocking, it was Demetra herself who could not understand why she felt so controlled by her emotions, let alone subservient to such feelings.  She felt even more rueful that these sentiments manifested as the uncontrollable and inappropriately primitive urge to obliterate something.

When Demetra spun on her heel to begin the trek back across the room, Samuel Mathers poured a cup of tea and held it out to her.  “Sit down and have some of this chai,” he said in his soothingly mellifluous voice.  “Why, just look at this nice lemon cake here.  I know it is your favorite.  You will feel better after some refreshment.”  The spiritual leader of the Order of the Golden Dawn was eccentric and flamboyant in both lifestyle and language, but he was also a wise and loyal friend who knew Demetra’s moods well.  That, of course, was the reason she had come to him to give voice to her feelings.  If there were two things that could smooth her ruffled feathers, they were good advice and good cake.

With a huff of annoyance, Demetra made her way back across the room – a tad less stompishly this time – and dropped down on the dark gray sofa in an undignified motion.  “It is true that tea and cake both please me.  Lemon cake in particular makes it difficult for me to stay angry.”  At his suggestion, she accepted the cup of tea and dropped two cubes of sugar in it to enhance the underlying flavor of cinnamon.  While the sweetener dissolved, she took a bite of the cake and sighed with pleasure.  “Yes, indeed, cake helps my mood, even though it does not go far enough to solve the actual problem.  Francis and I are in love, and we have every right to marry one another, if we so choose.”

“My, my, you are behaving more and more like a human as of late.  It seems love truly does change a person.  It is quite interesting.” Samuel chuckled as he refilled his own cup from the warm silver teapot, then replaced it in the center of the matching tray.

“It is not ‘quite interesting’.  It is quite frustrating,” Demetra retorted.  “And I suppose I have not changed so much as grown.  I was always capable of human sentiment.  I just chose not to express it.  However, I believe you are correct in saying love is the catalyst for these overwhelming feelings.  Now that I have Francis back, I do not want to lose him again.  I have been through enough with him over the past few years and he has dealt with his own share of uncertainty over this betrothal.  Now come to find out that he is celestial and his mother forbids the marriage?”  She shook her head.  “I sensed when we were engaged the first time that she did not approve, though she never said so.  It was her lack of involvement in the engagement that, at least to my mind, spoke volumes about her attitude toward it.  She never bothered to meet me, never sought an introduction, and I had thought that perhaps her reservations were due to my lack of title, despite my considerable fortune.  However, with the unexpected news about Francis being a celestial, I can see now that her prejudice was not one of rank or wealth, but of birthright.  What a dreadful shock.”

She resumed sipping her tea and taking disgracefully hearty bites of the cake, and then reached for a second piece of the lemony treat.

“Of course it is,” Samuel agreed, still speaking as one speaks when attempting to pacify an angry cat, “and, in a way, it should be soothing to finally have answers.  Now you know why his mother always behaved the way she did.  It also explains why Francis has those contentious celestial pistols that caused the trouble between you both in the first place.  Now that you have this rather vital piece of information, you can figure out how to solve the problem.  The first thing you must do is calm yourself, my dear.  You have always believed that it is not worth one’s time to get frustrated over something they cannot control.  Obviously you cannot control Francis’s heritage or his mother’s reaction to you, but there may be some other solution.”

“Well, she must die, obviously.”  For a moment, Demetra’s expression brightened at the thought.  Then it fell once more and she glared at her teacup witheringly.  “She did not even leverage an ultimatum against the match.  She simply said he could never marry me, not that she would cut him off or never receive him.  Francis and I are adults, and we can make our own decisions.  His mother has no right to interfere.”

“But you cannot change the fact that he is celestial or that his mother objects, and you know that her objections can prevent this marriage.  It is very possible she has some influence over the General Registry Office, and that would prevent you from obtaining a license to marry.  Furthermore, you do not know why she objects beyond your disparate heritages.  You do not know if there’s some sort of Aetheric legality that prohibits the marriage, or if this is simply a woman’s prejudice.  Instead of getting upset, you must arm yourself with knowledge.  Know your enemy, and then know how to outfox her.”

“How unfortunate, as I do not wish to think of her as my enemy.”  Raising the teacup to her lips, Demetra considered Samuel’s words.  “That is why I came to you, of course,” she said after sipping at the tea.  “Since the Order of the Golden Dawn is a spiritual and magickal organization, I thought you would perhaps have some insight into the Aetheric world.  Nothing you have taught me about it thus far prepared me for this possibility.  Perhaps we are not aware of some natural incompatibility.  After all, I cannot stand to touch celestial objects, and Francis cannot stand to touch infernal ones.  Yet, we cannot keep our hands off one another, so our different natures hardly seem to be a problem.”

Samuel chuckled and shook his head.  “If I had such insight, I would have passed it along to you some time ago, along with what few theories have already been published and that I was able to provide to you.  I am sorry to say that all we know about your kind is that you have supernatural powers and a bloodline beyond the mortal norm.  Theologically speaking, scientists theorize a celestial has an angelic parent or grandparent, and an infernal has a daemonic forebear.  Beyond that over-simplified analysis of Aetheric entities, I am at a loss as to what it actually means to be an Aetheral, as is the rest of society.”

“Perhaps it is that over-simplification that leads people to assume that I am inherently evil and that celestials are inherently good, when that really is not the case.” Demetra sighed and took another bite of the flavorful cake.  “I have had more than one celestial try to kill me in my line of work when I didn’t so much as raise a hand to them.  They somehow think that they are more entitled to the bits of magickal history that I find so easily.  It is a rather disturbing sort of zealotry, if you ask me.  Clearly it spills over into their personal lives as well.”

“If celestials keep making attempts on your life, it might be time to approach another line of work,” Samuel pointed out with a wry grin.  “I am sure young Simon Warom is generous with the new devices he creates, and that your own skills as an artificer and inventor have benefited from your hunts.  Is it really worth it to put your life in so much danger, when you could instead partner with Mr. Warom to create and market useful new inventions?”

“You should know that I find the danger to be part of the fun.”  She grinned at him over her teacup mischievously.  “I love analyzing the situation and then turning it to my advantage.  Since there are times when Francis likes to just dash in headlong with guns blazing, it gives me the opportunity to sort out an intelligent approach to the situation.”

“Then look at this matter in the same tactical way,” Samuel suggested.  “It is a fight, a battle to be won.  You have a goal – to win Francis, as well as his mother’s approval, if possible.  How will you do that?  If what you say about your young man’s rash reactions to problems is true, then he is waging war with his mother at this very moment in his effort to win the same cause, arguing his case from an emotional standpoint.  Odds are if she is a dogmatic type, like you, his love for you will not be enough to move her.  That means it is up to you to come up with one of your analytical, logical solutions.”

“Well…”  Demetra pursed her lips as she considered his words.  “My analytical, logical solution, as you put it, would be to learn more about Aetherals.  I need to understand precisely what it means to be an Aetheral, particularly the differences between the two types.  That way, I can counter any objection she has with regard to the nature of my birth.  While society looks at us as outsiders with long lives and special powers, I do not know what I truly am any more than they do.”

“In that case, I suggest you not even bother with published works on the subject.  Those authors only give theories and guesses about the nature of the Aetheric races, and we are quite familiar with their hypotheses.  I think you should start at the source – another, probably much older, Aetheral.  Find the person closest to the information you seek and work your way out from there.”

“That is always a logical approach,” Demetra agreed before taking another sip of tea.  “I do have Aetheral kin on my father’s side, however I have conversed with them in the past and they don’t know any more than I do.  That would lead me to start with my father and see if I could somehow find out more about my mother.  After all, it is through my mother that I am half-infernal.  Perhaps finding her, if at all possible, would answer my questions.”

Samuel nodded in agreement.  “That sounds like a good place to start.  What do you know about her?”

Shrugging, Demetra answered, “Only that she was a full daemon and my father was completely enamored of her.  They met during some research trip that my father took on the continent just over twenty years ago.  As I understand it, they shared a passion for science.  I never asked him about her because it did not seem appropriate.  Besides, she was gone and I didn’t think asking after her would change that.  Furthermore, he never seemed inclined to speak of her of his own accord.”

“Surely you were curious about your mother!”  Surprise flashed across Samuel’s face.  “Even with your pragmatic sensibilities, I cannot believe you grew up not caring about your origins.”

“It is not that I did not care to know about my mother.  It simply seemed pointless to wonder about her when my life went on without much fuss.”  Demetra slanted a critical glance at the cake before finally choosing yet another slice.  “I have declared my love for Francis and made enough of a fool of myself over him.  The entire ton knows that we are engaged once more, thanks to my father ensuring that an announcement ran in The Times, along with my stepmother’s obituary.  As far as I am concerned, nothing will stand in the way of our marriage, particularly his prejudiced mother.  I will not let him go merely because his mother believes my birth somehow makes me inferior.”

“Is that actually what she said?”  Astonishment flitted over Samuel’s features.

“Not precisely, no.  Though good manners hardly seem to be one of her traits, she did not insult me directly.  She gave no reason, except to merely say that a celestial and an infernal would never marry.”

“That is an interesting statement.”  He tapped his finger against his chin.  “She said they would never marry, but not that they were forbidden to do so.  Celestials do seem to exhibit a high degree of zealotry when it comes to their bloodline, yet you seem much more – dare I say it – down to earth.  Is that the way all of your type tend to be?”

Cocking her head to one side, Demetra considered his question.  “To be quite honest with you, I have never been intimately acquainted with another infernal, other than my stepmother, and she hardly counts as a racial paragon.  I do have an infernal aunt who is rather eccentric, but I think that’s more a product of personality and upbringing, than of her heritage.  After all, look at my father.  I believe my paternal grandparents were quite unorthodox, to say the least.  However, you are dead on about celestials and their apparent fanaticism.  It is really quite tiresome and I do not know what makes them think they are better than those of us who are infernals.”

“Another question to be answered,” Samuel suggested with a smile.  “You know our aims in the Order of the Golden Dawn are more philosophical than scientific.  Oh, science does play into spiritual matters, more than most people would like to admit.  But I must say that a deeper understanding of Aetherals has never been on our agenda, even with the comparisons of them to angels and daemons.”

“Do you know anybody here in town who can answer my questions?  I am not sure quite how much my father knows, so I would like to find some additional resources.  One can never acquire too much information.”

Carefully setting his saucer and teacup on the tray, Samuel answered, “Give me time to check with some of my connections.  I am sure at least one or two of my acquaintances must have some interest in or dealings with Aetherals.  It is not as if humanity has forced your kind to hide away in the shadows, after all.  There are probably a great many more infernals out there than you realize.  We just need to find the right ones to help lead you to a better understanding of precisely what your heritage means and how it will affect your future.”

“I would be so grateful if you did that bit of research for me.”  Demetra finished her tea and replaced her cup on the tray, then brushed the cake crumbs from her lap.  “For once in my life, I feel so…”  She searched for the right words.

“Enraged?” Samuel suggested, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Yes!  I have been angry before, but this is simply ridiculous.  It’s as if I have no control over this feeling.  I am tired of people looking down upon me for my daemonic heritage.  It is time to set them straight on the nature of a daemon.”

“My dear, are we trying to plan a wedding or stage a crusade for infernal civil rights?”

The corners of Demetra’s mouth quirked.  “I would not be the first bride to fight her way to the altar.”

Chapter Two

Relief filled Demetra when she saw Francis through the crush of people at the Chilcotts’ ball the following night.  Since his mother’s proclamation the other day, she had been unsure of when she would see her fiancé.  Now he was approaching her, and looking as dashing as ever in his black tailcoat, white shirt with stand-up collar, and bow tie.  He often wore black, favoring the American frontier style, which with his short black hair and stern dark eyes served to make him look particularly pensive no matter his actual mood.  As far as Demetra was concerned, Francis’s gravity was often the foil to her quirky, if not downright inappropriate, levity.

Unfortunately, almost as soon as the feeling of relief came, it vanished when she saw that Lady Winterton was in attendance as well.  The woman hung on her son’s arm and nodded with arrogant grace to each person who greeted her.  Each slight dip of her chin confirmed to Demetra that the tall, regal matriarch of the Winterton family was a haughty woman.  Dark hair bound in an elegant knot at the back of her head, the woman’s violet eyes swept over the assembly as if she were already bored.  Her silver evening gown with its off-the-shoulder neckline and long, simple lines was the height of fashion and elegance.

Lady Angeline Winterton’s celestial power was as subtle as her condescension, wafting from her like a light perfume.  Demetra focused her abilities on the woman, and identified it as a defensive type of energy, the kind that allowed an Aetheral to raise circles of protection and bind the powers of others.  There was nothing inherently dangerous about Lady Winterton’s ability, but clearly it had been strong enough to camouflage Francis’s for many years.  What worried Demetra was the influence the older woman she might exert over her son or society.

She sensed a second celestial energy in the room.  It resonated with Lady Winterton’s, but was somehow different at the same time.  This was a fiery energy that gave her a tingle of warmth and security, instead of the usual painful burn or prickles she felt from celestial power.  In a strange way, this energy felt almost attuned to her own, as though it somehow complemented her power.

“Francis,” Demetra mouthed in surprise when she realized this new power emanated from him.  She likened the sensation to being in the presence of the warm glow of candlelight, bathed in its radiance.  With him nearby, she felt that nothing could harm her.  After years of being the jilted fiancée, of portraying the cold and callous spinster, this was a new feeling she did not want to lose.  They belonged together, and she would not let some meddling matron stand in the way of their happiness.

With a determined lift of her chin, Demetra waited for them to draw near.  She refused to give Lady Winterton the satisfaction of seeing her approach them like some favor seeker of inferior rank.

Demetra had chosen to attend the ball on her own without an escort.  Since her stepmother’s untimely, and rather explosive, demise only a few weeks ago, there had not been enough time to decline already-accepted invitations.  As it was, the entire ton was still abuzz with gossip about Mrs. Rowena Ashdown’s sudden death.  Demetra felt the weight of the societal obligation to give them the information they craved, but in such a way that it did not reflect badly on the Ashdown family name.  Damage control was a task she accepted as her responsibility, as she had been the indirect cause of Rowena’s death.

Both her father and sister remained at home in mourning, but Demetra felt only relief at her stepmother’s demise.  Even if the woman had not been a kidnapper and murderess, her presence had still been difficult for Demetra to bear.  The news Nigel Ashdown publicized about his wife’s death was that it had been from a sudden gastrointestinal virus, followed by her immediate removal to his country estate, where he had her interred in the family cemetery.  This seemed to satisfy the ton.  However, Demetra wanted to make certain that no other rumors circulated after the ones her father had so carefully constructed.

The truth was there were no remains to bury and no stone memorial to honor her name, but nobody needed to know that.  The truth was Rowena had been a half-infernal, determined to stay young forever.  The truth was Demetra had allowed her stepmother to handle a celestial item, even though she knew its power would kill the woman.

Some decisions were for the good of humanity.  Demetra tried not to smile at the thought.

A renewed surge of righteous fury tempered her moment of amusement as the Wintertons finally reached her.  Francis’s mother seemed unwilling to look her in the eye.  In fact, the woman held her nose in the air and moved her gaze around the room as if trying to avoid seeing her.

I am standing right in front of you, Demetra thought in annoyance.  You had better learn to accept that I plan be part of your life for a very, very long time if Francis and I have any say in it.

“Lady Winterton,” she finally acknowledged in a tight voice and with an even tighter nod.  Even though propriety dictated that the higher-ranking lady speak to her first, Demetra took the initiative to break the ice.  She would not permit the woman to snub her, especially at so public a gathering.

There was certainly no social reason why Lady Winterton should find fault with her.  She knew that her own appearance could cause no offense, as her black evening gown with its puffed cap sleeves and modest neckline was appropriate to her family’s current mourning status.  The Ashdown family lived at a fashionable Albermarle Street address, and while her father had a reputation as an affable, if slightly eccentric genius, Demetra’s own conduct in society was flawless.

Francis’s mother gave her an equally stiff greeting.  “Miss Ashdown, I was sorry to hear about your stepmother’s unfortunate illness,” Lady Winterton responded formally.  “It must have been quite a shock to lose her so suddenly.  Please convey my condolences to your father and sister.”

“I will do that.  Thank you for your kind words.”  Demetra shifted her catlike gaze to Francis, her golden eyes meeting his warm brown ones.  “How are you this evening, Lord Winterton?”

“Pleased to know that you are safe and well,” he answered her, his tone far more friendly than his mother’s.  His nod to her was not just an acknowledgement of her presence, but also of understanding about what had truly transpired with her stepmother only a couple of weeks ago.  “I have missed your company very much and I would be delighted if you would take a turn about the room with me.”

Pleasantly surprised by Francis’s initiative, especially in front of his mother, Demetra inclined her head gracefully.  “Nothing would give me greater pleasure, my lord.  Lady Winterton, it was so lovely to see you again.”  Extending her arm toward Francis, she flicked a glance back at his mother.  Lady Winterton seemed not only unperturbed, but also completely disinterested.  Instead of showing any reaction, she had already turned her back on them and was intently examining the nearby wall fresco.

Francis took Demetra’s arm, linking it through his, and almost towed her across the room in his haste.  Though it was difficult to wade through any crowd at a ball during the height of the London season, Francis somehow managed to do it expertly.

“We need to talk,” he whispered, an urgent tone in his low voice.

“That much is devastatingly obvious,” Demetra could not resist saying.  As they stepped out of the ballroom and into the main hall, she pointed to a door ahead of them on their right.  “That is the Chilcotts’ library.  I expect we will find the privacy we need for our discussion in there.”

She was correct.  When Francis opened the door to the small library, they found no one in it.  He shut the door behind them and while they could still hear the revels from the ballroom, Demetra felt the outside din would only serve to make their conversation that much more private.

Walking across the cozy room, she peered through the single mullioned window, which overlooked the rose gardens.  The library itself was very cozy.  Exquisite mahogany bookcases lined the walls and a fire burned low on the brick hearth, chasing the chill of the early spring evening from the room.  The lit candles in the wall sconces provided them with plenty of light.

Demetra turned and settled on the rose-colored loveseat in the center of the library.  “It is a lovely little place,” she said, her gaze roaming the shelves.  “Very comfortable, is it not, and the perfect place for two people who are engaged to have some much-needed quiet time to themselves.”  The question in her voice was clear and Francis sank down onto the sofa next to her.

“Let me assure you that my feelings and wishes have not changed, nor has our engagement.  My mother may say what she likes, but our betrothal will stand, regardless of what she has told me.”  He took her hands in his and said earnestly, “I love you and I will never love anyone else.  I have endured enough challenges when it comes to you to know that I want to be with you forever.”  The ardor in his voice sent a lovely tingle through Demetra, and she shifted closer to him.

“That is a feeling I reciprocate whole-heartedly, but I want to get to the matter at hand.  Once this issue is resolved, there will be time enough for us to adore one another.”  As usual, Demetra’s practicality won out over effusions of sentiment, though she pressed even closer to him, appreciating his nearness and warmth.  “Just what has your mother told you about… well, everything?  Come now, don’t keep me waiting.  Tell me all about this thrilling new development in our ill-fated love story.”  Though her remark was sarcastic, her eyes searched Francis’s face restlessly for answers.

Francis reached out to caress her face, tracing a line from her cheek to her jaw.  “Thank goodness you are still making jokes, even now.  That is one of the reasons I love you.”

Although she was smiling, Demetra knew there was a touch of sadness to her expression.  “Tell me,” she whispered, resting her forehead against his shoulder.  “The less willing you are to get right to the point, the more concerned I am going to be.”

He took a deep breath and nodded.  Demetra lifted her head as he spoke.

“What she said,” he began, “was as much a shock to me as it was to you.  I certainly never imagined there was any possible way I could be an Aetheral.  However, when I look back at everything now, the clues were certainly there.  The fact that my father’s pistols are imbued with celestial energy and I am unable to touch anything created with infernal magick should have told me that I was in a rather extraordinary situation, not to mention the fact that I was drawn to you, a fellow Aetheral, in the first place.  Since I do not feel inherently repulsed by your presence, I did not think anything more of it.  I always imagined that celestials and infernals were about as likely to get along with each other as cats and dogs, and that it was a natural aversion to one another.  Now, from what I understand, my mother’s statement was one of preference and not any sort of Aetheric law.  There is nothing to stop us from being married to each other, except that other Aetherals might not like it.”

“Your mother included,” Demetra pointed out and frowned.

“Indeed.  She is opposed to the match for personal reasons.  However, she also advised me of the potential consequences of our…”  He stopped and looked at her, uncertainty in his eyes.

“Our?” Demetra prodded impatiently, watching him.

“I am not quite sure how to put this delicately.”

Rolling her eyes, Demetra shook her head and said, “My love, you are talking to someone who has caused the untimely demise of more people than she has bothered to count.  No matter what it is, you can just say it.”

Francis cleared his throat and continued, his cheeks flushing slightly.  “If we consummate our union, the results may be disastrous.”

“In what way might it be disastrous?”

“Well, I did not ask for a detailed explanation.  That is not exactly the kind of thing one discusses with one’s own mother.”

Hand raised to stop him from speaking anymore, Demetra interjected, “Your mother simply informed you that if we consummate our marriage, the results ‘may’ be disastrous, yet you did not pursue this topic?  It sounds like she was stating a possibility and not a probability, or perhaps she was just making excuses.”

“I believe her concern is that we will not be able to have children together.”

Eyebrow cocked in disbelief, Demetra said, “Oh?  Is she suggesting that the laws of natural biology make exceptions for Aetherals?”

“I am not quite sure what she meant,” Francis answered with a shake of his head.  “In fact, I do not think she even knows anything beyond possibilities and rumors.”

“Or maybe she is just as dogmatic about the supposed divide between Aetherals as every other celestial out there.”

“Yes, there is that distinct possibility, considering the fact that she referred to you as ‘that daemon trollop’.”

Demetra winced at the harsh sentiment.  She was usually the one handing out the insults – not the subject of them.  “Please tell me you stood up to her on my behalf.”

“I told her that I love you just the way you are and if she was going to insult you, I would quit the household.”  His fists clenched in his lap and he finally turned the full heat of his gaze on Demetra.  “To tell you the truth, what she said made me so angry that I put a hole through my bedroom wall.”

“How did you manage to do that?”

“With my fist.”

“Oh my goodness!”  Demetra brought Francis’s hands to her mouth and kissed the knuckles on the backs of each of them.  “That is the first time I have seen you get violent over something as simple as words.”

“Mother told me that she’d kept my powers bound since birth.  Last night, she removed the Aetheric binding that inhibited them and I guess I went a little too far.  It seems I’m going to have to learn how to control my strength.”

Eyes sweeping shut, Demetra took a long, deep breath.  As when he had first entered the ballroom, Francis radiated more of a fiery glow than an offensive blaze.  The smoldering power fit his personality – hot-tempered and rash, but also warmly affectionate.  She used her ability to identify precisely what he was capable of: superhuman strength, speed, and agility, and something else she could not quite put her finger on with just a surface assessment.  Delving a little deeper, examining his Aetheric nature more closely, she found it.  No shot of his would ever go amiss, because he could see the auras of other creatures.

“Fascinating,” she said, opening her eyes to look at him.  “No wonder your mother passed your father’s pistols on to you.”

“I have told you before I feel our love is stronger than the differences between Aetherals and humans,” Francis said, taking her hand in his once more.  “Now I believe that wholeheartedly with regard to the differences between celestials and infernals too.  If you love somebody, then their heritage does not matter anymore than their social class.  Nothing else matters, except that they love you in return.”

His rough fingers caressed her palm in a tender gesture that made Demetra want to hold him and never let go.  Enough had come between them in the past few years.  She could see he was just as determined as she was to move forward with their plans.

“Did your mother tell you anything more about Aetherals?” she asked softly, leaning against his shoulder.

“I asked, but she was not inclined to share more than a few warnings and an explanation about my own heritage.  She said she wanted me to grow up as human as possible.  I am sure that she is afraid of all the conflict between Aetherals and over their devices, but she was unwilling to explain herself further.  Either that or she simply did not know more than what she told me, except what she’s seen in her own life.”

“That is probably why she gave your father the guns and then passed them on to you.”  Demetra glanced down at Francis’s hip, even though she knew he had not worn the pistols tonight.  “She wanted you to have some protection and I can see that you have been as sheltered from your heritage as I have.  At least you had your mother around to do that for you.  As much as I dislike her at the moment, I have to say that her intentions were honorable.”

“I think she is afraid of something.”  Francis’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper.  “But I do not know what that may be.  Ever since father died, she’s been even more reclusive than usual.  I think the only reason she accompanied me to this ball was because she wanted to make sure I behave around you.”

Flicking her gaze to the door of the library to ensure that they were still alone, Demetra responded in an equally muted voice.  “You say her behavior changed after your father passed away.  Does she think there was anything strange in how he died?”

“She refuses to tell me and, when I ask, she says that she would rather I not get involved.  She treats me like I am still a child.”  His clenched fist spoke more eloquently than his words.

“We are barely in our twenties,” Demetra responded gently.  “If you consider our immortal heritage, we are both more children than adults and have yet to experience much of this world.”  She turned her assessing gaze back to Francis.  “Your mother is right to an extent.  Too often, you charge right in to the matter and try to resolve it without looking at it from every angle.  Your mother does not want to see you get hurt, and I can agree with her sentiment.”

“Damn it,” Francis grumbled.  “I was counting on you to help me make sense of this entire situation.”

“Well, I said I agreed with her sentiment,” Demetra answered and grinned.  “I did not say that I would not help you learn more about what happened to your father.  After all, my own mother is a complete mystery, so maybe we can sort out both puzzles if we do some more digging.”

To her surprise, he pulled her into his arms and held her close in a rather indecorous embrace.  “I knew I could count on you.  Between my heart and your mind, we can do anything.”

“Do you mean your impulsiveness and my over-analytical tendencies?”

“I believe we made good use of both qualities to put an end to that sordid business with the Chronos Clock, don’t you?” Francis smiled down at her.  “We make an excellent team.”

“I am glad you think so.  Otherwise, I would be an awful choice of wife,” Demetra laughed against his shoulder, the dark cloud over her mood finally lifted.

At that moment, she felt Lady Winterton’s cool, delicate energy moving in their direction.  With an inarticulate grumble, she disentangled herself from Francis’s embrace.  He looked at her in surprise and asked, “What is the matter?”

“Your mother is coming this way.  Can you not feel her power?”

“I am afraid not.”  He shrugged and shook his head.

“This is something we’re going to have to remedy,” Demetra declared with a decisive nod.  “Now that you have been told about your heritage, you cannot walk around in ignorance.  You need to learn how to use your powers and identifying other Aetherals is the first step.  I can at least teach you that much.”

As she said those last few words, the library door swung open and an icy voice declared, “He will do no such thing.  My son will not become entangled with the Aetheric world, particularly under the tutelage of an infernal.”

Francis’s mother said the last word with such disdain, that Demetra sprang to her feet.  Even though her height could not match Lady Winterton’s, she still drew herself up straight and proud to glare into the woman’s eyes.

“Lady Winterton,” she answered, enunciating each syllable crisply, “your son has always been in danger in this world, regardless of his heritage.  All people, whether human or Aetheral, take a chance with their lives every morning when they get out of bed.  While I admire your desire to shelter him, you have done him a disservice and perhaps even rendered him incapable of protecting himself because of the ignorance you have fostered.  Ignorance is dangerous, not just to Francis, but to everyone else.  Knowledge is power.  I suggest you arm him with knowledge if you truly care about him.”

The older Aetheral approached her until they stood only inches apart from one another.  “And I suggest, Miss Ashdown, you keep your filthy daemonic hands off of him if you truly care about him.”

“Oh, dear lady,” Demetra purred, “I am sure my filthy daemonic hands are something Francis dreams about having on him night after night.”

She expected Lady Winterton to express shock or outrage at her words, but the woman merely retorted, “How can you remedy his ignorance when your own is so profound?  Your mother abandoned you at birth.  What do you think that says about the capricious and inconstant tendencies of infernals?”

“If there is one thing I never do, it is bury my head in the sand and pretend my problems do not exist.”  Lifting her chin, Demetra said, “As for ‘capricious and inconstant’, you would do well to remember it was Francis who ended our engagement three years ago, not me.  Now, you may either settle for a daughter-in-law who cares only for social status and wealth, or you can accept one who is truly worthy of the Winterton name and your son’s affections.”

The corners of Lady Winterton’s lips quirked upward briefly, before settling back into a hard line.  “It takes a great deal to impress me, Miss Ashdown.  Do not undertake the impossible.”

“But Lady Winterton,” Demetra responded with a playful smile, “has not your son told you that is precisely what I do best?”

Chapter Three

Nigel Ashdown generally occupied himself with matters of science, so much so that to outsiders he seemed almost oblivious to everything that went on in his home or with his family.  Over the years, Demetra’s comings and goings since adolescence had gone largely unnoticed, except the few times her father had specifically requested something of her.  While she dodged flaming swords and magickal bullets at inappropriate times of the night in the outer world of Aetheric dangers, her father isolated himself within the mortal dangers of his own basement workshop, and tinkered with cogs and wires, steam and electricity.  Father and daughter both immersed themselves in their own endeavors, living in companionably silent harmony with one another.

In a way, Demetra felt Nigel was as much to blame for her lack of outward emotion and affection, as her mother.  While pragmatism came naturally to an Aetheral, Darwin’s cousin, Sir Francis Galton, had also illustrated that the principles of nature versus nurture were applicable in this instance.  Thus, his studies supported the probability that a half-breed’s family environment was as much a determining factor in their personality, as was their heredity.

That much was obvious to Demetra as she walked down the basement stairs.  Francis was emotive and felt no qualms about showing it.  His upbringing had been vastly different from hers, with a mother who strived to shelter him from the Aetheric world and from his own abilities.  On the other hand, Demetra’s father had encouraged her to embrace her heritage and to try to make sense of the world.  He showed love and familial affection, but such displays were very reserved and dignified, and usually accompanied praise for her imperturbable logic, a scientific discovery, or a mechanical innovation.

Matters of the mind, not the heart, were Nigel’s province and had become Demetra’s as well.  She realized now that her father’s intellectual method of nurturing had molded her character, as much as her mother’s nature.

Now her natural curiosity and interest in the unknown, coupled with the need to validate her engagement with Francis to Lady Winterton, finally led her to speak to her father about this.  She realized that her father did not willfully keep secrets – she had simply never bothered to ask about her mother.

Nor was it that her father was frightening or foreboding – far from it.  Nigel was a kind and compassionate man, who hoped to better humankind through his inventions.  It was that Demetra put logic above all else.  If she did not have a reason to understand something or an interest in it, she chose not to waste her time.  She acknowledged that she did have at least some innate curiosity about her mother – that was to be expected.  However, it seemed pointless to pursue it until now.  Demetra realized knowing more about her mother would not change her childhood or bring the woman into her life.  Therefore, over the years, she had simply rationalized away any genuine interest in her heritage, which would have demanded satisfaction through detailed knowledge of the particulars.  Now she knew it might be the only way to clear the obstacles from her chosen path in the present.

Furthermore, she realized that her younger half-sister must now have the same dilemma and it was up to the elder Ashdown girl to demonstrate that it was perfectly acceptable to learn about one’s absent parent.  Verity was also half-infernal through her own mother, Rowena.  Demetra knew Verity had never been aware of her heritage and the news had come as a shock to the younger girl.  Support for her mourning sister was vital and it only made sense that Demetra take on the responsibility of giving as much of it as she possibly could.  Once Francis’s newfound powers were well in hand, she would have to help Verity with hers, whatever they might be.

Adding a talk to Verity to her mental list of tasks to complete, Demetra stood at her father’s workshop door.  Part of her was hesitant to begin an inquiry that she thought must bring her father some pain, but her interest in knowing who and what her mother was had been decidedly kindled.  As far as she was concerned, if anything regarding her mother was going to affect her life, she had a right to know.  She took a deep breath, resolved that now was the time to ask the questions.

She entered the workshop without knocking, since the area was partially her own.  Her father had always been generous in sharing workspace with her, teaching Demetra what he knew and giving her free rein to experiment on her own with that scientific knowledge.

Each corner of the large brick room had a set of shelves covered with a random array of equipment.  The three tables in the center were even more chaotic than the disorganized shelves, with blueprints, drawings, charts, and plans spread atop parts and tools.  The workshop was redolent with the sharp tang of metal, tempered by warm oil and steam.  Nigel used this very area to assemble many of the items his clients requested.  Those clients paid quite well for unique contraptions such as the one the inventor was building at this moment.

Nigel stood hunched over the machine, making a few adjustments to it.  With a fond expression on her face, Demetra watched her father carefully wielding precision tools no ordinary handyman or laborer would use in their work, let alone recognize.  He then took a step back to admire his efforts.  The bereft husband and father had been working on this project since Rowena’s death and, though his response to her bewildering demise had been fairly blasé, Demetra believed he had thrown himself into the job to prevent the natural melancholy that followed the loss of a loved one.

“How is the Emanator coming along?” Demetra asked as she approached Nigel and kissed him on the cheek.

The device looked like a small set of two black shelves, about twelve inches long and nine inches across.  There was an upright dial on the top shelf, connected to a small black box.  Wires from the black box connected to a meter on the bottom shelf.  Extending from the black box and the meter, there were even more wires attached to metal posts, and copper and zinc coils.  Off to the side sat a small black casing that would conceal all the fragile electrical bits when the contraption was complete.

“I believe it is almost done,” Nigel said with pride, putting an arm around her shoulders.  “Besides transmitting electromagnetic waves for wireless communication, it can also send out signals to disrupt such transmissions.  My client will be very pleased with it.”

“That he will,” Demetra agreed.  She reached out to twist the large dial and watched the indicator on the meter start bobbing in response.  “It is certainly sensing something, even all the way down here.”

“That is due to the wire filaments, which make it especially sensitive to radiation.  I think the antenna is what makes it truly special, as only another antenna attuned to this one’s frequency and resonance can pick up its transmissions.”

Demetra smiled knowingly and hugged her father to her side.  It was not a normal gesture for her and it felt rather odd to be openly affectionate, but it also felt rather nice.  “It is perfect for covert communications,” she agreed.  “Machines such as this are the wave of the future as humanity expands its reach around the globe.”

“Precisely right, but these types of contraptions are also still in the experimental phase, which is why the client only requested that I make two.  He wants to ensure that the investment is worth it.  I cannot say I blame him, but I think he will be very pleased with how it works.”

“It is a job well done, father, as always.”  She took one last appreciative look at the radio device, before shutting it off and turning her full attention to Nigel.  “Father, if you are done working on this, could we talk for a bit?”

He barely twitched a glance in her direction, still admiring his work.  “We seem to be talking right now, Demi.  What is it that you would like to speak with me about?”

She took a deep breath.  “I think it is time we have a talk about my mother.  There are many things I want to know about her, if you are willing to speak to me about this matter.”

After a long, quiet moment, Nigel finally turned to look at her, his gaze so hard that Demetra felt as though he could see right through her.  “Why do you want to talk about her after all these years?” he finally asked.

“As you know, I have not asked after her in the past, but it is time I know whatever there is to know about her.  Part of it is a child’s natural curiosity and part of it is a desire to better understand my heritage, as well as my place in this world.”  Demetra lifted her chin, daring him to challenge her.  “The woman gave birth to me.  Perhaps that does not dictate my identity, but I feel that I deserve to know more about who and what she is.”

“Yes, that is true and I should not have kept so quiet about her.  Had I been a better father to you, I would have told you about her years ago.  Still, to tell you what she is…  That is not nearly as easy as telling you who she is.”  Nigel reached up to run his fingers through his dark, unruly hair as he thought over her question.  “Honestly, I do not possess a very keen aptitude for judging the character of others, Demi.  If I did, I certainly would never have married Rowena.”

“But she stayed with you as your wife and partner while my mother did not, so not all infernals are apt to simply abandon their partners,” Demetra pointed out logically, remembering Lady Winterton’s accusation at the ball that infernals were ‘capricious and inconstant’.

“Yes, you are correct.  Aetherals are as unpredictable as humans are.  A celestial is probably just as likely to go off on a whim as an infernal.  Some Aetherals want a normal life with a spouse and family.  Others wander the world in search of new discoveries.  Many want to develop a better understanding of humanity, while some do what they can to destroy it.  I cannot really tell you much about the relationships between Aetherals and humans, except that, yes, they happen.  Of course, they are not always as fleeting as the one your mother and I had.”  Nigel leaned back against one of his overflowing tables.  His gave softened with recollection of the past.  Paper crinkled beneath his palms, but he appeared to pay it no heed.

“Your mother,” he began in his low, soothing voice, “was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life.  To this day, the only one who rivals her beauty is you.  You look so bloody similar to her; I sometimes think I am seeing her again.”

Brow furrowing in concern, Demetra bowed her head.  “I am very sorry if that has caused you any pain.  I do not wish to be a reminder of what you have lost.”

“Do not apologize for that.  I like being reminded of her.”  He put his hand on Demetra’s shoulder to pat her reassuringly before he continued.  “Acadia Renard was my first love and she will always be in my heart.  I cannot claim to have ever loved any other woman, not even Rowena.  The only reason I married her was, well, to give you a feminine figure in your life.  What a ridiculous notion that was.”

“Wait, please go back a moment.  My mother was French?” Demetra asked quizzically.  When her father nodded, she gasped, “You are telling me that I was brought into this world by a woman whose name translates to ‘Paradise Fox’ in English?  I should be grateful she did not try to name me something like ‘Devil Cat’!”

“She allowed me to name you at your birth.  I think she did not want to do it herself, because she intended to leave us and did not wish to form an attachment to you.  She left the day after we registered your birth.”

Demetra considered his words, her tawny eyes focused on a spot on the floor as she leaned against the wall for support.  “She left when I was barely a few days old?” she finally asked.

He nodded in confirmation, a miserable expression on his face.  “Your mother stayed through the first few nights and then was gone one morning.  I cannot tell you why she did that, because I do not know her reasons.  While I did not expect her to leave me, it was obviously not a last minute decision and one that she felt was prudent, perhaps even painfully so.  In our short time together, she seemed quite enamored of me.  There was no logical reason for her to leave.  However, while I am not the most empathic person, I also felt like there was something she was afraid of.”

Demetra lifted her head, her eyes narrowed.  “Afraid?  Do you think her fear had something to do with being involved with you?”

“It was not that, no.  Acadia was a very open and affectionate woman, and nothing about being in a relationship with a human bothered her.  Love was something she did not have any difficulty expressing or sharing.  Our time together was nothing but joyful.  But I do think one of the reasons she returned to London with me was because she was trying to hide from someone or something.”

The look in Nigel’s eyes became distant as he shared his memories.

“The way she would curl up so close to me at night told me that she loved me, but the fear was there too.  Sometimes I woke up to feel her trembling next to me.  At those times, I would just pull her into my arms and she would relax.  All would be well again, until the next day.  Then I would look at her and see something in her eyes that made me worry.  It only became worse with each passing month until you were born.  She seemed so… restless.  Yet she was never inclined to talk about her troubles, and I did not pressure her to share them.”

He rubbed his hand along his clean-shaven jaw and said quietly, “I think one of the reasons she ran away from me was because she wanted to protect us.”

“Protect us from what?”

“That is the question I have asked myself for the past twenty years.  I often wonder if she might have stayed, had I but asked her about it.  Perhaps I should not have feared driving her away from me with such inquiries, since she left anyway.  However, looking back will not change the past.”

Filing all the new information about her mother away in her mind, Demetra nodded and tried another question.  “What else can you tell me about her as a person and an Aetheral?”

“Only that her powers were quite similar to yours, in that she could sense Aetheric energy quite clearly.  However, she was more empathic than you are.  She could tell whether another person’s intentions were for good or ill.  She knew who could be trusted and who could not.  I suspect that is what happened after she had you: she sensed somebody with evil intentions in the vicinity and left to draw them away from us.”

The tender tone in his voice as he shared his thoughts and memories brought tears to Demetra’s eyes.  This is what love is, she thought.  It’s someone who cannot let go of their affectionate feelings for a person, even two decades later, let alone a mere three years.

With a laugh, she said, “All this time I imagined her as a daemon queen with an ice-cold disposition and no heart to speak of.”

“If you thought of your mother in that way, then it is entirely my fault.”  Although he was not generally demonstrative with his affections, Nigel straightened to pull his daughter into an embrace.  “I see now that I have done you a disservice by withholding these particulars, and that was never my intent.  Over the years I have witnessed your ability to discard useless information as one cleans a table top, and I perceived these details to be just that: memories of clutter on my table, not yours, so I never mentioned them.”

Demetra took a deep breath to steady her.  “Will you tell me when and how you met Acadia?”

“Ah, yes, I certainly will.  It was 1871 in Paris.  I was there with a team of scientists for a joint research effort with the French.  She was a member of the local group of Parisian scientists.”

“What were all of you researching at the time?”

“We were conducting research and experiments on electromagnetism.  In fact, it might interest you to know that both the British and French teams were predominantly comprised of Aetherals.  You know how interested in scientific advancement they tend to be.  Most of the greatest inventions in history were conceived of and built by Aetherals.”

Demetra nodded in agreement.  “It has been a particular endeavor of mine to study Aetheric inventions and devices.  It is interesting to know my mother was a scientist, just like you.  Did you ever hear from her after she left?”

“I am afraid not.  To my knowledge, she never returned to London, nor has she ever written to me.  If my theory is correct and she was running away from something – if she was afraid for us, as much as for herself – then she wouldn’t have wanted to lead anybody back to you or me.”

“Wait.”  She looked at her father sharply.  “You have told me that you felt she was afraid for herself or for one of us.  Which do you think it was?”

“I am not entirely certain, but now that you know about her, you can decide what this information means to you.”  Nigel kissed her forehead and said, “You are an intelligent, discerning young woman.  You will do whatever you need to do now with this knowledge.”

“What makes you think I will do anything with it?”

“I know you, my dear daughter.  You are not content to let a mystery like this go.  If I know you, you will find a way to get the answers you seek.  I am sure you want to know far more than what you asked me today.”

Biting at her lip, Demetra glanced around the workshop that held so many of the fabulous wonders she had grown up with over the years.  She asked one last question.  “Where do you think she went?”

Nigel shrugged.  “All I can say is Acadia went wherever she felt she had to go.”

Chapter Four

Dining at the St. James’s on Regent Street the next day was a quiet affair as Demetra conveyed the information she had learned about her mother to Francis in hushed tones over their first course.  When she finished recounting the events of the previous nights, Francis shook his head.

“How did everything about a simple betrothal between two people become so complicated?” he asked, glaring down at his soup.  His American-style duster coat was hanging from a hook on the wall, with his Boss of the Plains hat on top of it.  As usual, he favored a very simple outfit – a white and black pinstriped shirt, with a burgundy red waistcoat, black trousers, and a white cravat.  The holsters he wore on either hip held his pistols, which radiated a tingly celestial energy only other Aetherals could sense.

“I have no idea.  It seems like all we did was have the misfortune to be born into these complications.  Perhaps our parents would be much better off had we not been born at all.”  Demetra tried not to scowl as the broth sluiced off her spoon and back into the bowl.  Her appetite had always been quite healthy, but now she was feeling off.  She doubted even the finest lemon cake ever made could soothe her worries.

“Please do not say things like that.  There is a reason for everything, even a challenge like this.”

“That is all well and good to imagine, but I have never exactly been the spiritual sort,” Demetra said, resisting the desire to scoff at Francis’s optimism.  “I do not buy into the idea of serendipity.  A person must make his or her own destiny.  That is all I have ever believed.”

“And that kind of pragmatism is all well and good, as you put it, but some things are beyond our control.”  Francis dabbed at his mouth with a cloth napkin.  “So tell me how you intend to make your own destiny.”

“This is not just about me.  It is about the two of us,” she answered.  “This is something we need to do together.”

She looked up at him, a determined expression on her lovely face.

“I think we should go to Paris.”

Francis blinked at her and set the napkin back in his lap.  “Why do you think that?”

Tapping the toe of her walking boot on the floor beneath the table impatiently, Demetra said, “Because Paris is where my father met my mother, and I believe it is the best place to begin our search for answers.”

“That is a very rational suggestion.  Whom do you mean when you say ‘we’?  You know very well the two of us cannot go gallivanting about the continent without a chaperone, even if we are engaged.  We must observe all society’s conventions, so we don’t give my mother any ammunition to use against us.”

“Of course I realize that, which is why I think Simon should come with us, if his father can spare him.  We can always use his scientific expertise.”

With a frown, Francis shook his head.  “I know that he is your dearest friend, but must he always be involved in our business?  Besides, he is rather young to qualify as a chaperone.”

“Well, there is no guarantee he can come along with us.  You know it is just him and his father managing the apothecary, but it never hurts to ask.  He might have something useful to contribute.  I considered asking Verity, but I am afraid it might be more trouble than it is worth to look after a fifteen-year-old girl, especially since I still require my own guardian.”

“Now there is a surprise.  Why would you even think about asking your sister to accompany you?”

Demetra swirled her spoon through the liquid in the bowl.  “Because I consider myself responsible for her now that Rowena is gone.  Verity is a half-infernal like me, after all, and I am not sure what she thinks or feels about it.  After I spoke with my father last night, I tried to have a talk with her, but she would not let me in.  She has remained shut in her room the past week.  Father did not think she would take Rowena’s death as hard as she has, yet poor Verity seems quite firmly entrenched in her grief.  I cannot tell you how many times she has sent her lady’s maid to Jay’s to fetch mourning garb.  At some point, I must try to reach out to her and see if, like you, she now has unbound abilities in need of understanding and training.”

“I am sorry to hear your sister is unwell.  I know how it feels to lose a parent at a young age.”  Francis tilted his head to one side as he considered the situation.  “Perhaps she will allow me to speak with her, as someone who understands this type of loss.  If she is in deep mourning, it would not be appropriate to suggest a trip to the continent anyhow, but that does not mean we cannot try to be a comfort to her.  If I may, I will accompany you to your home after this and see if she will open up to me.”

“That is very kind of you and I appreciate the offer.  Perhaps that is precisely what Verity needs – somebody who understands how she feels.”  Demetra cut off her next words when she saw the waiter approaching to clear the soup course and to set the next course in front of them.

Francis nodded appreciatively at the spread of meat and vegetables, and reached for his utensils.  Demetra thanked the waiter and also picked up her fork and knife to cut into her slice of roast beef.

“Of course,” she continued quietly when they were alone once more, “I am not sure how you can broach the subject of her infernal heritage at this juncture, but if you can manage to do it delicately…”

“I believe your sister may find some comfort in the commiseration I can offer,” Francis reassured her.

“While I appreciate that sentiment, there is something I do not quite understand.  She never acted particularly attached to Rowena.  I realize we are speaking of a mother and daughter but, if anything, Verity was always trying to hide from her mother.  Rowena tried constantly to push her to do things she found uncomfortable, but the only thing my sister ever wanted to do was stay at home and read books.  I find it odd that Verity has become even more reclusive since her mother’s death.”

Brow furrowed with concern, Francis nodded and declared, “I will see if I can draw her out of her solitude.  It is not healthy for her to cut herself off from everybody around her.  I do not want you to worry about your sister, when you have enough concerns on your mind.  As for Paris, how do you propose we get there?”

“Well, that is a very simple question.  We have two choices: the usual route by land and sea, or the faster one by air.”

Francis made a face at her.  “I’m not sure I trust my life to hydrogen, petrol, and propellers.  There is not much comfort in knowing that very little is between me and the ground.”

“Afraid of heights, are you?”  Demetra’s melodic laugh filled the air around their table.

“It’s not the height part that concerns me, but the falling,” he retorted sharply, cutting into his steak with vigor as if to emphasize his point.  “Let us remain closer to terra firma, shall we?”

“But airships are faster than ferries,” Demetra pointed out, her manner calm and free of mischief once more.  “If we take the London Dirigible all the way to Paris, it is just a single trip of a few hours.  If we choose the ferry, we must then transfer to the rail at Calais and endure a few stops.  A journey like that will take the better part of the day.”

“But if there is a problem in the sky, I am incapable of flight.  At least if a ship sinks, I can swim.”

“Touché,” she responded with a grin.  “Very well, we will stay out of the aether and closer to the earth.”

“At last, you are finally listening to what I say,” Francis sighed with relief and took a long gulp of wine.

Demetra snorted in response.  “Do not let this one time go to your head.”

~~~~~

While Francis spoke with Verity in the privacy of the upstairs library in the Ashdowns’ home, Demetra found a letter from Samuel Mathers waiting for her on the long, narrow table in the front hall.  She eagerly broke the wax seal embossed with the Isis-Urania symbol, and unfolded the cream-colored paper.

“My dear Infernal Lemon Cake,” she read, “I am sorry to report that my search availed me nothing as of yet.  The Aetherals of London are a notoriously tight-lipped crowd and refuse to betray their secrets.  Do not lose hope.  You are a resourceful young woman, and I believe if you ask the right questions, you are quite capable of finding the answers.  I suggest seeking out a less reserved, much more loquacious segment of the Aetheric population in your quest – perhaps the Americans.  If you wish me to continue my efforts on your behalf, please advise.  S. L. MacGregor Mathers.”

The tapping of her heels echoed up and down the hall as she paced the floor at the bottom of the stairs, considering how best to respond.  It was almost as if Samuel had read her mind.  She certainly would address her inquiries to a more talkative society.  With a determined little nod of her head, she went upstairs to her own room and sat at the desk to compose her reply.

Her lady’s maid was carefully packing clothes and traveling costumes in a trunk for the trip to Paris.  Elodie was a young, quiet girl who did not ask questions about her mistress’s comings and goings.  This demeanor suited Demetra quite well, as she preferred to keep most aspects of her life private.  Although her artifact hunting endeavors did sometimes put her in danger’s way, as Samuel had pointed out, most searches were uneventful.  Secrecy minimized the possibility of other Aetherals catching on to her work and trying to misappropriate the artifacts for their own use.  The few instances in which she made her business known to others were only in response to very public matters, such as Francis’s ending of their initial betrothal a few years ago.  Their separation was something Demetra would have liked never to talk about again, but one of the few things she felt they must address when Francis returned to London last month.  Smoothing out the matter had been imperative, if he wanted her to treat him with courtesy.

Her fiancé’s sincere apology to her appeared in the newspaper just a few weeks ago and set the entire ton on its head with gossip.  Most of the talk was in their favor, but tongues still wagged about the renewed engagement.  It was not often that people who had a romantic falling out reunited three years later, if ever.  The entire situation remained a topic of delicious tittle-tattle among society’s upper class, as did the abandonment of Demetra by her mother twenty years ago.

Demetra paid no heed to what others said about her.  She had learned that most people were going to say what they thought, regardless of good manners or propriety.  The difference between her and them was Demetra actually said what she thought, no matter what, while members of society would only speak their minds to certain people, and then deny it later.  As her father said, “Better an honest beggar than a dishonest aristocrat.”

Ink pen in hand, she wrote a brief and to-the-point letter informing Mr. Mathers that she did not need him to put himself to any more trouble for her.  She explained that she was traveling to Paris and would be in contact as soon as possible upon her return, whenever that might be.  Once the ink set, she folded and sealed the letter, then turned to see how far along her maid was in the task of packing for the journey.

It did not take long for Elodie to fill the hat trunk with suitable outfits and everything else Demetra would need for the trip.  As soon as the maid locked the clasps into place, Demetra handed the letter to the young girl.

“Please ensure that this letter is delivered to Mr. Mathers.”

“Of course I will, my lady.”

At that moment, there was a soft knock at the bedroom door.

Crossing the room, Demetra opened the door to find Francis in the hall.  He motioned with his head for her to follow him and the couple walked downstairs into the parlor.  She drew the pocket doors closed for privacy and turned to face her fiancé expectantly.

“So, what did Verity have to say about everything?”  Breath bated, Demetra waited for whatever information Francis had to share with her.

“She informed me that she does not want to talk about it.”

Demetra blinked.  “Excuse me?  Could you please repeat that?”

“She does not want to talk about it.  Your sister was very adamant in stating that much.”

“What does ‘it’ mean?  Does she not want to talk about being an Aetheral, her mother’s death, the weather, or nothing at all?  How could you have spent so much time up there if she did not want to talk?”

“All I can tell you is that she is unwilling to share anything more than a look at her collection of books and magazines.  It is a normal reaction, really.  I had no desire to talk about my father after he died.  She is just avoiding the subject that will cause her the most pain, but she will come around from it in time.  Just knowing someone cares may help her through it.”

Biting at her lip, Demetra asked, “Did you at least attempt to ask her what she knows about her Aetheric heritage and any possible powers?”

“Of course I did, but she just muttered something about her humanity and would not say much after that.”

“That is not what I wanted to hear.”

With a shrug, Francis said, “I cannot force a confidence from her, as you very well know.  She must confide in us in her own time.”

“That may be, but I have some very serious concerns about her.  If she does have any abilities, she ought to learn how to use them.”

“I agree with you completely, my dear.  However, Verity is not open to even talking, let alone such training now.  Give it some time.  I do suggest you advise your father to check in on her at least a few times a day while we are gone.  Someone should be there for the moment she decides to speak, and she will.  She cannot hold her pain inside for long.  Family involvement is essential for helping her through this time of need.”

“Yes, you are right.  I will see if she will allow me to spend time with her tonight, and of course ask my father to be especially attentive to Verity while we are gone.”  She accompanied her long sigh with a shake of her head.  “Well, can you be ready to leave tomorrow?”

“I most certainly can.”

“Your mother is not going to be very pleased with this turn of events, particularly since you are leaving with me.  She may imagine the very worst possibilities, such as an elopement.”

“That is actually not a bad idea,” Francis mused, reaching out to take her hands in his.  “Are you open to that nuptial possibility?”

“Certainly not and how dare you ask me such a thing?”  Eyes narrowed, Demetra tilted her head and regarded him.  “We will have a proper wedding this October.  That is, if your mother does not somehow find a way to stop it.”

“My mother is the least of my concerns,” Francis retorted with a snort of amusement.  “I doubt there is anything she can do to stop the marriage, short of murdering every priest in town.  I am as determined as you are to make sure there is absolutely no impediment to our marriage.  We have waited too long to be together to allow a little thing such as disparate bloodlines to keep us apart now.  Setting out to prove her wrong will be well worth it if we find what we are looking for.”

“I would hardly refer to our ‘disparate bloodlines’ as a ‘little thing’,” Demetra said with a smile.  “However, yes, assuaging your mother’s prejudices is our first priority.  There is also the matter of what my father told me about Acadia last night.  I have to admit my curiosity about my own mother is even more piqued.  I wonder if she truly was running away from something and, if so, what it was.  My father felt that perhaps she may have even been trying to draw a threat away from the two of us.”

His hands tightened on hers.  “That is even more worrisome than my mother’s assertion that we cannot marry.  If there is any danger to you, I want to be aware of it.”

Barking out a short, humorless laugh, Demetra asked, “How do you think I feel?  You know I do not care for people to keep things from me whether it is inadvertent or intentional.  If something involves me, I want to know, particularly if it may be hazardous to my health.”

“I want to know as well, so I can better protect you.”

Withdrawing her hand from his, Demetra steepled her fingers in front of her chin and pondered their travel plans.  Finally, she said, “Now the only dilemma that remains is procuring an escort for me.  This is not some midnight escapade through London.  The ton will know that we have taken a trip to the continent together.  There is very little that escapes society’s notice, particularly when one utilizes public conveyances.  We must not provoke a scandal by traveling unchaperoned.”

“You suggested Simon Warom…”

“I recommended him as a useful companion and collaborator, but upon further consideration, I realize he is not suitable as an escort for the purposes of proper etiquette.  Our behavior and adherence to society’s standards must appear to be above all reproach, particularly in this instance.  It will be one less thing your mother can invoke as a reason against our marrying one another.”

Demetra hummed against her fingers as she considered the problem.

“A respectable, older female is required to ensure my reputation stays intact.  A married woman is preferable to an unmarried one.  My father has three younger sisters, but they also have rather young children.  Besides having a houseful of responsibilities, I doubt any of them would want to leave London at the height of the social season, especially since my eldest cousin came out only recently.  I am sure my aunts are quite involved in husband-hunting for her,” she continued musingly.  “Of course, there is always…”

Expression betraying her distaste, Demetra shook her head and waved her hands in front of her face.

“No, no, perish the thought.”

“What?”  Confusion washed across Francis’s features.  “We are in rather desperate need of a chaperone, so we must explore every possibility.”

“Well, there is my father’s eldest sibling, my Aunt Vertiline.  Oddly enough, I was thinking about her just the other day while visiting Mr. Mathers.  However, Vertiline is shockingly…”  Demetra pursed her lips in agitation.

“She is shockingly what?”  Now both confusion and fear warred on Francis’s face, and Demetra could not help but wonder what he was thinking.  She decided to put him out of his misery.

“She is shockingly progressive.  At least, that is how my other aunts put it when they speak of her.”

“In what way is she progressive?  You yourself dabble in artificing and I cannot think of any other young lady who goes out at all hours, questing for dangerous relics.  This is not exactly the Dark Ages, my love.”

“But you must understand that Aunt Verti has gone a step further than my father in believing a woman’s mind is equally capable as a man’s in matters of science.  Personally, I adore her.  It is only natural, since she does not behave at all as the eldest of the family ought.  Given her age, you would think she would be quite traditional in her views but, no, she is a…”  Demetra lowered her voice as if what she had to say might be enough to cause a scandal.  “Feminist.”

Francis burst out laughing, much to her chagrin.  He doubled over, his hands on his knees as he guffawed at her words.  “Honestly,” he chortled when he finally recovered his breath, “that is the pot calling the kettle black.  I cannot think of any woman less domestic, less willing to submit to the constraints of the accepted role of women in society, than you my love.”

“That is not the case at all, as you very well know,” Demetra sniffed, stepping away from him and lifting her chin arrogantly.  “My little adventures are secret and I strive to keep such things out of the public eye.  Perhaps I am a bit too forthright and behave with far too much intelligence for the ton’s liking, but Aunt Verti is a very different matter.  She has no such qualms about her personal philosophies and support of groups that espouse such things.  She chose not to get married.  She chose not to do it, Francis!  That is not normal for any woman.  As much as I love her, I do not understand her.  Even if I did not spend my adolescence flinging myself at every eligible bachelor like most girls do, I nevertheless expected to marry someday.”

Still chuckling, Francis straightened and said, “I am sorry, but all I can envision right now is some frightening-looking harridan in a huge, feathered hat.”  He held his hand above his head to illustrate his point, his body trembling with laughter.

Scoffing at his words, she retorted, “Think what you will of my aunt.  If what I have said does not bother you, then I will extend the invitation to Verti and I am quite certain she will take it, if only to upset your mother.  She takes great joy in acting contrary to what the ton thinks is proper, and if Lady Winterton has made her opinion on our betrothal public, Aunt Verti will be only too happy to thwart her.”

“Oh good,” Francis gasped, wiping at his eyes, although his mirth had yet to subside.  “I like her already.”

Chapter Five

Once she delivered the invitation to her Aunt that evening, Demetra hurried to Warom’s Apothecary on Piccadilly to convey the news of her journey to her closest friend.  It was only moments before the close of business, but she slipped through the door and pretended to examine a shelf of various ointments in a dark corner while the elder Mr. Warom attended to his last customer of the day.

When the customer departed, Demetra turned and smiled at the apothecary.  “Good evening, Mr. Warom.”

“My dear Miss Ashdown, what a pleasure to see you.  How is your father doing since the untimely demise of your stepmother?”  Mr. Warom stepped around the counter and strode past the shelves of bottles and jars lining the walls to take her hand in a gesture that was both welcoming and paternal.

“He is doing well, under the circumstances.”  Demetra reminded herself that everybody expected her father to be beside himself with grief.  “Of course, we have declined what invitations we could, and neither he nor my sister will be making any appearances until after the holidays.  I am doing my best to manage the household, so that my father and sister may have all the time they need to mourn.”

“You are a very good daughter, and of course limiting the family’s social obligations is a necessity.  Please tell your father that I send my condolences for his loss.”  Mr. Warom patted her hand in his gentle way and then went back to the counter to remove his white apron.

“You are very kind,” she answered, following him toward the back of the store.  When a furtive glance into the back room did not reveal any sign of Simon, she turned back to his father.

Mr. Warom was one of the few people whom Demetra truly liked and respected.  A long-time widower, he was quite a bit older than her father was.  The death of his pretty, young wife in the early years of their marriage had devastated him.  His son, Simon, had bonded with Demetra in part due to their shared backgrounds – neither of them had a mother and each of them was reared by fathers who were occupied with scientific endeavors.  Nigel Ashdown had taken Simon under his wing, and Mr. Warom had done the same with Demetra.  Together, Simon and Demetra had received an education in science, engineering, math, astronomy, and more from their fathers.

Simon’s father had always been like a gracious, dear, old uncle who loved Demetra as family.  She gave him the feminine company he often said he missed, and he claimed that her effusive energy kept him young.  Even though he sold serums, creams, and other such frivolities meant to pamper the vanity of inane society ladies, Demetra appreciated that Mr. Warom was an honest tradesman.  He told his customers quite truthfully that the formulas would not “fix” any of their problems, that they might give the temporary appearance of younger looking skin or less wrinkles, but they were better off allowing nature to age them gracefully.  The tinctures and tonics he mixed in his back room, however, were truly effective remedies for all manner of legitimate health complaints.

“Is Simon available for a bit of a chat?” Demetra asked while Mr. Warom folded and stored his apron on a shelf in the back room.  A variety of odors mingled there, from the pleasant to the revolting, since it was the room in which the Waroms prepared products from their curative formulary.

“Oh yes, he is upstairs and hard at work on some project or another.  Sometimes he does not even stop for rest.  He is almost as bad as your father when he gets caught up in something.”

“Oh dear,” Demetra murmured, pressing her fingertips against her lips to conceal her amusement.  “That sounds like a rather serious affliction.”

Mr. Warom smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling.  “I think it would be marvelous if you would go and see if you can get the child to take a break.”

“I will do my best.”  Demetra returned the fond smile and stepped around the counter into the back room.  She knew her way around the two-story building as well as she knew her way around her own home.  Running her finger along the warm brick as she walked up the steps, she turned down the corridor and strode to the door at the end.  Beyond it, she could smell just a hint of smoke.  Without bothering to knock, she entered Simon’s room, rounded his bed, opened the next door, and crossed the threshold into his workshop.

Unlike Nigel’s haphazard, jumbled workshop, Simon kept everything in here arranged neatly by item and project.  Metal shelves lined three walls, with various pieces and parts organized into precise groupings.  The wall opposite the door had a small window and rows of hooks from which tools and other implements hung.  A telescope on a small round table pointed up through the rather large, circular skylight.  Gas lamps bathed the room in a yellow glow as the sun set.

The young man who claimed the room as his own sat hunched over his worktable, watching a strange contraption with dual pumps that worked up and down at a furious pace, while silver liquid dribbled into a glass beaker just behind them.  Black steam belched out of a glass tube and Demetra heard a muted, but distinct, crunching noise as she approached.

“What are you doing?” she asked, wincing and waving her hand before her face to ward off the dark vapor that drifted in her direction.  “Every time I come to see you, it seems you are working on something designed to offend the senses.  Are you trying to die of smoke inhalation?  Have you created a suicide machine to serve those who really should never have been born?”

“Demetra!  You have come just in time to see the finishing touches I put on the Extractor today!”  Simon rose from the stool and rounded the table to pull her into a brotherly embrace, and then stepped aside to indicate the chugging machine.  “Is it not a glorious sight?” He sighed longingly.

“If I could describe it with one word, I think I would choose ‘smelly’ over ‘glorious’.  Why do I find you involved in such odiferous endeavors at least once a week?” She pouted and grumbled, “It makes it nearly unbearable to set foot in here.”

“But you know I’m worth every little indignity you suffer to see me and, trust me, this is well worth it too.”  The artificer bent over once more, a critical eye on the level of liquid in the beaker.  “What you are watching is pure Aetheric essence being distilled into liquid form.”

“Is that so?”  Forgetting the fact that the whole room reeked of smoldering something, Demetra also crouched to examine the device at eye level.  Fascinated, she watched as each crunch yielded another trickle of the silvery liquid.  She realized it also had a slightly pearlescent shimmer to it.  “So this is liquid Aetheric energy,” she breathed in wonder.

Next to her, Simon ran a hand through his short blond waves and nodded, his entire body quivering with nervous excitement.  “It is the most magnificent thing I have ever created,” he replied as the flow of liquid slowed to a dribble and then finally ceased.

“What do you plan to do with the essence?  Do you even know if it will behave as solid Aetheric devices or live Aetherals do?”

“I am not quite sure yet about either question.  I certainly do not think anybody would care to drink it, though, since it is probably quite powerful stuff.  If my theory is correct, this is as close to pure energy in a physical manifestation as one can get.  However, as you know, this is only the first step of the experimental process.  Now that the Extractor is complete, or at least working the way I theorized it should, we need to see if what it produces is actually effective.”  He reached out and, with both hands, detached the beaker from the machine.  “Right now my intention is to use this to infuse small objects with its power to see if it works.  This first vial comes from one of the pearls from the Boleyn necklace you found for me.  Instead of just crushing it as I normally would, I extracted its essence into a more pure form.”

“Let me see it.”  Demetra extended her hand for the beaker and, when Simon gave it to her, analyzed the contents from all angles.  She detected the infernal protective power of the necklace in the liquid, though it was a very faint energy, and nodded her approval.  “Very interesting, indeed, and liquid form gives more options than solid, since it could be used in a number of ways.  If it provides the same amount of protection as a pearl in solid form, then you will have much greater versatility in your artificing.”

“That is precisely what I was thinking!” he exclaimed, his blue eyes wide and shining with excitement.  He bounced on the tips of his toes as he spoke, cradling the beaker in both hands.  “If this works, then I will no longer be limited to solid items previously infused with Aetheric energy, or crushing an item to spread or reallocate its power.  With some adjustments, I may even be able to extract energy from a living, breathing Aetheral source.”

“Well, now, that sounds a tad dodgy, if not downright disturbing,” Demetra answered, frowning with distaste.

“Oh, I am a long way from achieving that.  Don’t worry, Princess.  But think about it – with a liquid, I can soak permeable items in it, such as clothing, or perhaps I could even brew potions with it.  You are right when you say this could take my artificing to a whole new level!”  Simon was almost hopping from one foot to the other now.

It was difficult not to appreciate his energy or share his enthusiasm, especially since Demetra was equally interested in the possibilities the distilled Aetheral essence presented.

“Though I think the basic concept is wonderful, I’m still not sure I like the idea of you extracting energy from a living person.  The idea strikes me as rather painful.”  She shuddered and shook her head.  “However, I know this project is only in the early stages and that you have many long days of experimentation ahead of you.  Perhaps you will have something new and interesting waiting for me when I return from Paris.”

“Paris?  Why are you going to Paris?  When are you leaving?  How long will you be gone?  Are you going alone or with Francis?”  As excited as Simon was about his new advancement, he could not stop the barrage of questions aimed at Demetra.  He took a long, deep breath to steady himself, and replaced the beaker back in its place on the machine.  “Clearly I have missed quite a bit in the past few days.  You will simply need to explain your reasons for this sudden jaunt to the continent.”

“Well, you have been doing rather important work all this time, and I had impromptu funeral plans to fake.  One cannot simply say to the ton, ‘Oh, yes, my stepmother was actually a half-infernal who conceived an elaborate kidnapping and hostage scheme to keep from aging, and then met a rather messy end as a result of her ridiculous ambitions.’”  Demetra found another metal stool in the corner near the tools hanging on hooks along the wall.  She pulled it close to the table and perched on it delicately, careful to remain away from the grease-stained edge of the worktable.

With a chuckle, Simon said, “True.  Last time I saw you, Rowena was going ‘boom’, and things were a bit of blur after that.  I do agree such a story might cause a scandal that, while the ton may find it delicious, would be very detrimental to your family’s reputation.”  Simon pulled his own stool closer and sat facing Demetra.  “So Princess, since your damage control in the Rowena matter has been so effective, please do tell me what is going on now that compels you to cross the Channel.”

“Well…”  She cleared her throat and flicked the fingers of her gloved hand against her knee.  “A few days ago, I finally met Francis’s mother for the first time.”

“Uh oh, I have certainly heard you use that tone of voice before.”  Simon’s brow furrowed slightly.  “I have a feeling your first meeting did not go well, did it?”

“I believe that would be a gross understatement, my friend.  She felt it incumbent upon herself to inform me of two things.  The first was her declaration that Francis and I would never marry.  The second is that Francis is an Aetheral himself; a celestial to be precise, and therefore I can only infer that she believes I am simply not good enough to marry her precious son.”

Simon winced in sympathy.  “Well, beyond her own personal sensibilities, did she give any logical reason why you and Francis cannot be married?”

“I think ‘sensibilities’ is letting her off lightly,” Demetra said with an indelicate snort of derision.  “We should just be honest and call it prejudice.  Her exact words were, ‘No person of celestial blood will ever marry an infernal.  It is simply unheard of.’”

“So she did not give a logical reason.  She simply stated an opinion on the matter, without giving you any further information.  Well, is there any rational reason why you should not marry, such as Aetheric incompatibility?”

“I have no idea!” Demetra cried, raising her arms in a helpless gesture.  “I do not know anything whatsoever about relations between Aetherals, and that is what is frustrating both me and Francis.  We certainly do not seem to repulse each other the way celestial items repulse me, or infernal items do the same to him.  I do not honestly think our lineages will hinder an intimate relationship, but we do not know for certain.”

“Well, such an incompatibility would give a whole new meaning to bedroom relations if the result was explosive,” Simon said, barely suppressing a snicker.

“That is not something I want to think about at this moment, and I would appreciate it if you could take this seriously.”  She arched an eyebrow at him in disdain until his quiet laughter ceased.  “Now, if you are done thinking such inappropriate thoughts and mocking my situation, might I continue?”

Lips pressed tightly together, Simon nodded, though mirth still danced in his eyes.

“Thank you,” Demetra answered primly, and laced her fingers together in her lap.  “Now, Francis had a talk with his mother about his heritage and our intended marriage.  He asked all of the right questions, but only received vague warnings about the dangers consummating our union and the possibility of not being able to have children because of our opposing Aetheric natures.”

“Well, it is not as though any woman of breeding would dare answer in specifics when it comes to that particular topic.  It seems we are left with the simple fact that Francis is a celestial, which is quite a revelation.  Were you surprised by it?”

“No, I certainly was not surprised to learn what Francis is, so much as by his mother’s vehement opposition to our marriage.”  She reached up and twirled one errant lock of curly, golden hair around her finger, then tugged at it before letting it spring back into place.  “If anything, I feel more drawn to Francis than before.  I no longer need fear watching him wither away with age before my eyes.  It seems possible for us to share a much longer lifetime than most people dream of.”

“Does this revelation of Francis’s heritage have something to do with your rather sudden trip to Paris?”

“In part,” Demetra said with a nod.  “When I asked my father what he knew about Aetherals, I learned that Paris is where he met my mother.  Father knew very little about Aetherals, except the vague, general things most of us learn as children.  I feel it is logical to work my way back to the source of where my life began, if at all possible, so I’m going to back to where they met to see if I can learn anything useful.”

Simon nodded.  “That makes perfect sense.  With any luck, you will find someone who knew your mother, and perhaps they can answer your questions.”

“Yes.  I need to know the consequences of a marriage between a celestial and an infernal, or even if such a thing is allowed or forbidden, though I have no idea who might possibly govern such matters.”  Demetra frowned down at her foot as she tapped it against the lowest rung of the stool.  “If there was some sort of regulating entity with regard to Aetherals, I would think they would have been knocking on my door quite a long time ago.”

“What makes you think they would have been able to even find you?” Simon asked.

Demetra jerked her head up to regard the artificer.  “What do you mean by that?”

“You had no idea your own beloved Francis was celestial, despite your own ability to sense and identify Aetherals and Aetheric artifacts.  Is that correct?”

“Yes, but Francis’s mother bound his power with her own, so it could not be detected by another person.  All Aetherals can sense other Aetherals, unless their power is concealed somehow.  Even then, we can usually sense somebody if their power is merely bound, but their energy is not.  That means they may not utilize their abilities, but they still radiate the essence of an Aetheral.  It depends on the strength and intent of the person who bound them.  Sensing each other is pretty much just an innate power all of us have.  It may take some training to recognize the Aetheric energies, but all of us can do it.  I know that much.”

“What if your mother did the same to you and found a way to shield your power from detection?”

Demetra’s brow furrowed.  “But my powers are not bound and never have been.  I have had full use of them since I was a child.  Binding and shielding usually go hand in hand, though some Aetherals seem only capable of the one and not the other.”

“Well then, what if your own energy is just naturally undetectable?”

She straightened under Simon’s gaze with a murmured “hmm” as she considered his words.  “I honestly never thought of that, though most other Aetherals do not seem to identify me until they either see me using my power or infer it from something I say.  Still, my father did say he felt like my mother was afraid at times.  He thought she was hiding from someone or something.”

“Could she have hidden you from that someone or something without binding your powers?”

“It is certainly possible, but I do not believe it is likely.”  Demetra shook her head.  “I have so many questions about Aetherals.  It almost makes me wish that Rowena were still alive.  She might have been useful with regard to answering some of those questions.”

“Well, it is certainly a possibility that your mother could have put some sort of permanent shield around you,” Simon mused as he stroked his clean-shaven chin.  “But another theory is that it is very likely that your own Aetheric nature is undetectable.  As you said, people are only aware of it if you mention it.  Other Aetherals hardly seem to take notice of you.  Muffin Man surely thought nothing of you when we first met him.  If an infernal being is undetectable, that would make him or her quite dangerous to others.”

Open-mouthed, Demetra simply stared at him for a few moments.  “You know,” she finally said, “you make an excellent point.  An Aetheral whose energy is naturally imperceptible would potentially pose quite a threat.  It would certainly be the height of irony if an innate protective ability somehow offset my power to identify Aetherals, their powers, and Aetheric devices.  Something like that would make me rather…”

“Powerful,” Simon finished for her, and his eyes raked her from head to toe in a manner more assessing than insolent.  “If no one can sense you, but you can sense everything, you would make the perfect spy or thief.  Here is another question: have you ever encountered an Aetheral you could not sense or identify?”

“With the exception of Francis’s and Rowena’s shielded energies, I do not think so.  Of course, I could not tell you if I have met any shielded Aetherals, but I can tell you everyone else I have known to be celestial or infernal has also been easily identifiable with regard to their power.  I have also been able to sense if their power is bound, because binding exudes its own peculiar energy, while shielding does not.”

“Have any of the Aetherals you have met over the years had an ability similar to yours?”

Demetra considered the question and then finally shook her head.  “No.  I definitely have not met another Aetheral who can do what I do.”

Simon’s gaze flickered toward the window, where dusk was throwing long shadows across Piccadilly Street.  “Of course, that is not to say you will not encounter such a person, but at least consider the possibility that what you can do is more rare than, say, a fireball-hurling celestial.  In fact, it seems to me celestials almost always have some sort of rather lively energy.”

“In my experience, most do, yes, but I have no idea if that is the norm.”  Demetra sighed with frustration, her shoulders rising and falling dramatically with her breath.  “I feel like an inanimate object might, if it had the capacity to feel.  Your telescope there – you use it to seek out and observe planets and stars, yet it is just a thing for you to use.  It has no understanding of what it is or what it is seeing.  Like that instrument, all I can do is observe and gather data, but I cannot interpret the data, because I have no basis for comparison.  You see how little I know about precisely what I am?”

“I do and I cannot imagine being in such complete ignorance of one’s very own nature.  Like you, I would be determined to understand it.  I hope your trip to Paris will answer all of your questions.  Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Short of your father sparing you for a journey of indeterminate length, I am not sure.  We could really use your skills.”

Sliding a glance over to his worktable, Simon said, “I know taking a trip to the continent right now would not work out for my father.  He could manage the shop on his own for a few days, but it would be unfair of me to leave for a longer period.  I’m going to have to stay in London.  However, I might be able to give you and Francis a few things to help you on your way.”  He rose from the stool and looked over the items on the table.  “I have rarely worked with celestial artifacts, since you have no tolerance for their energy, but I think I do have something that might be useful to Francis.”

Opening a small drawer in the side of the large table, Simon withdrew a gold, circular object, and held it before Demetra’s face.

“I see a pocket watch,” she said after a moment, “and I sense celestial energy, but it is not protective like the energy you normally use to infuse new items.  It radiates fire magick.”

“I was curious to see if I could imbue a device with something more than an energetic trait or quality.  This is the first time I tried working with an offensive power.  The protective magick of the Boleyn necklace is a passive power and works no matter how one wears it.  Whether I leave the pearls intact, or crush them into powder and merge them with something new, the power is the same.  The power of the pearls protects the wearer because they bear a talisman infused with that intent.  This, however…”  Simon turned the watch over in his hands to show Demetra the scrollwork along the golden exterior.  “This is my first attempt to imbue something with an active Aetheric energy and I am pleased to report that it was a success.”

“The energy feels familiar to me.”  Demetra quickly searched her almost flawless memory and found the answer.  “In January this year when you and I went ice skating in St. James’s Park, I felt that energy.  Now I remember pulling the bracelet right out of the ground as soon as I sensed it.”

“Yes.  As you can see, the golden bracelet forms the frame for this watch, so I technically did not destroy the original piece, but instead built upon it.”  Simon pressed the pin to open the case.  Beneath it was a typical white clock face with black Roman numerals.  “The difficult part was sorting out how to channel the energy of the bracelet into a trigger mechanism.”

“This is simply fascinating.”  Demetra leaned forward to examine the piece, though she did not touch it.  In her experience, celestial objects often administered anything from a rather painful shock to an explosion at her touch.  “How does it work?”

“You simply press the pin once to open the clock and then press the pin all the way down until it snaps into place to activate the fire itself.  Of course, I would not demonstrate it in here for obvious reasons, but you can trust me on the efficacy of the watch.  It emits quite the little fireball from the clock face.  It should not cause any harm to Francis if he is willing to carry it.  He just needs to remember to aim it away from himself.”

“That is a very nice offensive tool when one desires the element of surprise,” Demetra agreed with a grin.  “No one would ever suspect it capable of such a thing.  I wish I could use it myself, but Francis will certainly be interested in what it can do.”  She took the watch in her gloved hands, wincing at the small jolt of energy it sent through her, and carefully deposited it into the plain brown pouch hanging from the bottom of her leather bodice.

“Considering the trouble that usually manages to find you, I expect it will come in very handy while you are in Paris.”  Simon cocked his head as he looked down at her.  “Let me add a word of warning, if I may.  You are one of the most intelligent people I know, but remember others do not like it when strangers pry into their business.  Odds are quite high that you will have trouble coming at you from more than one angle, especially once word gets around about who and what you are, and your intentions.”

“You know I’m the last person you need to warn, but I appreciate the concern.”  With a wink, Demetra rose to her feet.

“I do know that, but…”  Simon reached out to take both her hands in his and she turned to him in surprise.  “This might be more trouble than it is worth if you cross the wrong people, Princess.”

“Simon,” she answered softly.  “Love is always worth the trouble.”

“I realize that, which is why I am warning you.  When you set your mind to something, nothing in this world or any other deters you.  I realize you do not take unnecessary chances, but I am worried about the dangers that find you.  Please come back to me in one piece.  Remember there is more than one man who loves you.”

Looking into his wide, earnest eyes, Demetra sighed a little and kissed him lightly on the back of his hand.  “Your affection has been the one constant in my life, but I have made my choice.”

“When I see that the choice you made will not get you hurt or killed, I will be better able to accept it,” Simon answered, his azure eyes intent on her face.  “I know he loves you very truly.  I can see that.  But please promise me that if this little adventure puts you in over your head, you will reconsider your betrothal to Francis.  With me, there would be none of these dangers.”

Demetra reached up to press her hand against Simon’s cheek.  “I have been placed in a rather precarious position in life, simply as a result of being born.  There will always be threats for me to face.  What I need most are loyal friends who understand and embrace these risks as much as I do.”

“Well, you can certainly count me as one of those.  My life would be quite dull if not for your friendship.”  Simon smiled down at her.  “If you are sure you prefer his brawn over my brains, I will not ask you again.”

“Simon, my dear, I would not take your love for me seriously if you stopped asking me such absurd questions,” she said with a laugh.

Chapter Six

“So, my love, where is this formidable Aunt Vertiline Ashdown?”  Francis examined the gold pocket watch, his expression one of admiration.  Demetra could tell he was pleased with Simon’s contribution to their excursion.  Despite that, impatience was evident on his face, even though it was shadowed by the brim of his hat.  He tucked the watch carefully into his duster pocket and grumbled, “The ferry departs in less than twenty minutes.  Do you know if she even left London this morning?”

Around them, the dock in Dover at which the Empress Liner waited was bustling with activity.  Passengers scurried aboard with their bags, some demanding help with rather large trunks.  Sailors scrambled to accommodate their needs, while seeing to the ferry’s final preparations for its daily Channel crossing.

“Let me assure you that she will be here.  If there is one good thing I can say about Aunt Verti, it is that she is always prompt, particularly when the goal of an activity is the seditious undermining of polite society.”  Despite her declaration of her aunt’s punctuality, Demetra tapped her foot and scanned the area with irritation.  She was dressed for the journey in a sturdy, indigo-blue taffeta dress, with a dark brown leather bodice.  Atop her traveling outfit, she wore a simple knee-length day jacket of black velvet with a high collar, flared sleeves, and black buttons.

“But I am just as concerned as you,” she conceded with a sigh.  “To her, ‘prompt’ means right on time, not early.”

“Try not to get your pretty knickers in a twist, niece.  Here I am,” called a delicate, musical-sounding voice.  “You know I champion the cause of star-crossed love.”

“Why am I not surprised that you took your dear sweet time, despite such a notion?”  Demetra sounded completely exasperated, but she simply shrugged and turned to her fiancé.  “Francis, may I present my dear Aunt Vertiline Ashdown?”

“Ahh,” Francis looked around, hand extended, ready to greet Aunt Vertiline.  In a moment, a puzzled expression came across his face.  “Where is your dear Aunt Verti?”

“Ahem.  Look down, my boy,” tinkled the little voice.

Francis bowed his head and jumped, while Demetra tried hard not to laugh.  “Bloody hell, you’re a dwarf!” he cried, quite forgetting his manners.

Standing before them was a little girl whose head barely reached Francis’s chest.  She looked somewhere on the precipice of adolescence, her figure still boyishly slim with just a hint of curves beneath her black sailor-style dress and pleated skirt.  Long black ringlets framed her face beneath her straw hat, a black ribbon tied around the crown of it, and she peeped up at them with wide, doe-like brown eyes.

“Dwarves would be insulted by that, since most people have the good sense to not associate with me.  No, I just happen to be your typical infernal who stopped growing at the age of twelve.”  Placing her fists on her slim hips, she looked up at him and asked, “What is your excuse?  Did your mother drop you over the edge of the beanstalk?”

“Actually, my mother is a celestial…”

“Which explains why the art of sarcasm is lost on you, young man,” the little girl parried with a wave of her hand.  She turned to Demetra and said, “Please tell me this simpleton is not Lord Winterton.”

“Very well.  This simpleton is not Lord Winterton.”

“Good.  Then who the bloody hell is it?”

Struggling to keep her expression neutral, Demetra answered without batting an eyelash, “Lord Winterton.”

“Is he now?”  Little Aunt Vertiline reached into a hidden pocket in her skirt and pulled out a silver flask.  “Well, since you’re about to become family, would you care for a nip, nephew?”

“Are you completely out of your mind?” Francis sputtered as the girl took a drink.

“Last I checked, popular consensus was yes, I am.”

“Francis does not drink gin,” Demetra sniffed.  “And you really ought to give it up too, you know.  There are far healthier habits you could indulge in, if you were so inclined.”

“My dear niece, I must disagree.  I should drink, lest I take everything in this life too seriously.  If not for that, I fear I would go insane.  Francis ought to drink as well.  It will do wonders to improve his character.”

“I thought you were only Aetheral on your mother’s side?”  Francis looked at Demetra in confusion.

“I am.  Aunt Verti is my father’s half-sister.  He and his sisters all have the same father, but Aunt Verti’s mother was…”

“A right trollop,” Verti interjected in her sweet voice, capping the flask and tucking it away in her skirt pocket.

Shooting an accusatory glare at Demetra, Francis simply picked up Aunt Vertiline’s small travel trunk and carried it to the ferry.

Verti turned to Demetra and said, “I like him.  Even if he has no patience or sense of humor, at least he has the nerve to defy his mother and marry you.  I cannot think of any girl more deserving of that kind of devotion.”

“Considering how high you set your standards, that is very kind of you,” Demetra answered with a shallow sigh of relief.

“Now you know full well I am not kind,” her aunt admonished, “but I know a good man when I see one.  Maybe one of these days, you’ll find one of those as well.”

Folding her arms, Demetra retorted, “And I know a twelve-year-old who belongs in the loony bin, despite the vigorous application of medicinal libations.”

“Really?  You should introduce us sometime.”

Demetra could only stand there, open-mouthed, as Verti swept past her and onto the ferry.  With a groan of exasperation, she followed her aunt up the gangplank onto the Empress Liner.  The upper decks towered above her, the white metal of the boat sloping up and in to a narrow third deck.  Just above that was the wheelhouse, where the pilot and other men in uniform had congregated.  Some passengers lined the rails, waving goodbye to friends and loved ones back on the dock.

A hand grasped at Demetra’s arm before she could take in the wooden deck chairs and identify the delicious smell wafting down from above her.

“What made you think that bringing her with us was a good idea?”  Francis hissed in Demetra’s ear as he ushered her toward the rear of the ferry, overlooking the paddle that would propel the steamer through the Channel.  “I thought you said that we needed an adult escort.  She is an out-of-control child!”

“She is fifty-years-old,” Demetra responded softly.  “Do not let her looks fool you.  You won’t find anyone more formidable than her when it comes to wit or offensive abilities.”

“Even you?” he challenged.

She stiffened her back.  “Keep in mind that my abilities are neither offensive nor defensive.  They are a type of divination.  As for wit, I can take Aunt Verti any day of the week.”

“Good.  Then instead of verbally sparring with me, you can fence with her.  Maybe your little remarks will be entertaining for a change, since I will no longer be your only victim.  For once, let someone else be on the receiving end of your taunts.”

“Francis,” Demetra implored him.  “Please trust me when I say she will be very useful to us on our journey.”

He sucked in a deep breath and then let it out in a rush.  “Very well.  If she is considered an acceptable escort for our purposes, then who am I to object to her presence, despite her odd mannerisms?  At least she seems open-minded enough for whatever we might encounter.”

Pursing her lips, Demetra answered tightly, “You have no idea.”  After a moment, she relaxed and gave Francis a bright smile.  “Now, it has been quite a few years since I’ve taken the Channel crossing to Calais.  Shall we locate the source of that promising scent?  It smells like fish and chips to me.”

~~~~~

The hour-and-a-half ferry trip was not what she dreaded.  Seasickness was not an affliction that concerned her, even with the blue-black water of the Channel churning beneath the boat.  While those of weaker constitution languished in the wooden deck chairs, she enjoyed a light lunch of scampi and chips, with a light zinfandel wine.  What made Demetra a little sick to her stomach was the realization that how Francis and Vertiline behaved during the crossing would probably set the tone for their entire journey.

If Aunt Verti was not surprising Francis at every moment of the journey with her words and actions, she was making a spectacle of herself among the passengers at the restaurant.  Demetra considered throwing her diminutive aunt overboard and letting nature take its course.  She finally left the comfortable lounge in favor of standing at the rail of the ferry.  With a small shiver, she gathered the edges of her coat together to ward off the breeze.  Although it was early April, it never felt quite like spring until May.   The Channel crossing only exacerbated the lingering winter chill.

“I take it you prefer the inclement ocean climate to your aunt’s inappropriate behavior?”

Demetra turned and smiled in response to Francis’s question.  He joined her at the rail and inhaled deeply.

“It has been quite some time since I visited the continent,” he remarked.

“I have been only once and that was to see Paris when I was fifteen, though Rowena insisted on taking a tour every summer with Verity and father.  It was always wonderfully quiet in the house during those months.”

“If I know you, you had enough to keep you occupied.”

With a soft laugh and nod of agreement, she leaned against his shoulder and watched the rough Atlantic waters.  “As much as I love my work, it would be nice for our marriage to simply go forward without any problems.”

“If I know you, that is asking far too much of the world.”  He grinned down at her affectionately.  “But we will work out this problem together.  After all, I am no longer just the human you love, but a fellow Aetheral.  You’ll help me sort out whatever that means.  All of our endeavors will benefit from a more equal partnership, not just between your mind and my muscle, but also because of our Aetheric abilities.”

“Was there ever a time when you felt inferior to me before you learned about your heritage?”

“Do you mean because of our different races?”  He shook his head, and then had to clamp his hand over his hat to keep it from blowing away with a particularly violent gust of wind.  “That never concerned me as much as not being certain about whether or not I could protect you from harm.  Abilities such as yours are bound to place you in continued danger throughout your life and my only fear was that if I could not defend you, then I did not deserve you.  Now I feel as if we are on equal footing, and that is a far better notion.”

“Francis…”  She pressed closer to him and, as a warm, secure feeling washed over her, said, “Nobody has ever deserved me more than you do.”

A familiar, girlish voice responded behind them, “You must have some really bad karma to work off, Lord Winterton.”

Demetra was never more pleased to be ensconced in a private rail car than she was when they finally arrived at Calais with its overflowing drains, twisty brick streets, and narrow houses pressed together like books on an overcrowded shelf.

~~~~~

As soon as the three of them settled into their compartment, their luggage carefully stowed away beneath their seats by a chivalrous Francis, Demetra breathed a sigh of relief.  The train offered more of an opportunity to put space between them and Verti, if her aunt’s behavior should continue to prove unbearable.  The older woman certainly seemed bent on making mischief at every turn.  Demetra tried to reassure herself that it was just her aunt’s way of testing Francis.  At the very least, time spent with her rather unconventional family would not only prove his loyalty, but his fortitude.

“So, now that we have several hours of rail between here and there, I would like to know what plan you have, if any.  Do you know where we need to go to get started in our search,” Francis asked, picking at a bit of burgundy fluff off the upholstery of the compartment’s seat.  “Do you have any leads whatsoever?”

A sly grin crept across Demetra’s face.  “Well, I have my father’s journals, which he was kind enough to loan to us for an indefinite period of time.”

Francis’s eyebrows went up in surprise.  “Does he realize this?”

Continuing to grin at him, she answered, “No.”

“Ah,” Francis said with a knowing nod.  “So you stole them.”

“That’s my girl!” Aunt Verti crowed with childlike enthusiasm, raising her flask to Demetra in salute.

Francis shot the older woman a sharp glare.  “Please do not encourage my fiancée in criminal acts.  If you like women to behave in such an underhanded manner, I am rather frightened to imagine what your taste in men must be.”

“Touchy, Francis.”

“That’s ‘touché’, Aunt Verti.”

“Not where you are concerned, dear boy.”

With a sigh of exasperation, Francis turned back to Demetra.  “This was your idea,” he grumbled.  “Now I understand how and why you grew up this way, with such an influence in your life.”

“You said you liked her open-mindedness.”  Demetra shrugged helplessly.  “If you keep complaining, you will only prolong your own misery which, I assure you, will be acute.”

“My little Demi is right, as usual,” Verti said with a nod.  “Embrace the misery wholeheartedly and you will be a much happier person.”

“That makes no sense.”  Francis let his head fall against his hand, and then returned his gaze to the aunt.  “Wait a minute.  You were born an infernal too, so could you answer some of our questions?”

“Sorry, but I cannot assist you there,” the little girl answered, swinging her legs against the train seat.  “My mum left when I was just a baby, just like Demetra’s.  I am in this for personal reasons, as well as noble ones.”

“I did not realize that hazing your beloved niece’s fiancée was considered a noble endeavor,” Francis snorted.

“You would be surprised.  Besides that, I have as many questions about Aetherals as the both of you do.  It would be nice to know why I am stuck looking like this, while most other Aetherals age until at least twenty-one and stop there.  Furthermore, I am also quite curious about the origin of my power.”

“I would think that the power of sarcasm is a learned talent.”

Verti stuck her tongue out at Francis, who simply waved off the juvenile gesture.  “No, it comes naturally to me” she said.  “But if you care to lose even more touch with reality than you already have, I can certainly render you that service.”

Before Francis could shoot back a retort, Demetra placed her hand on his arm and explained, “She can cause vertigo, whether it is just a single symptom or an entire host of them.”

“Ah, so ‘Aunt Verti’ is more than a clever name.”

“I am also immune to the symptoms of vertigo or drunkenness, which is why I can drink as much gin as I like.”  Verti continued to swing her legs, looking every bit the innocent little girl.

Francis rolled his eyes toward the gently curved ceiling and shook his head.  “So you are a vertigo-inducing, gin-swilling infernal who looks like a twelve-year-old girl.  Now I have seen everything,” he declared.

“Well, that is not completely accurate,” the aunt answered.  “You have yet to see my…”

“That will do, Aunt Verti!” Demetra cried in shock.  “If the next seven hours are going to be like this, I might throw you off the caboose!  Keep in mind you are fortunate to have survived the ferry ride without me pitching you overboard.”

“How about we focus on the matter at hand, like what we are going to do once we arrive in Paris,” Francis suggested.  “I believe that was my original question.”

Demetra pursed her lips in thought and said, “You mean before the conversation got derailed?”

“Ah ha!” Verti cried.  “For the record, I would like to point out that was her, and not me.”

“Alright, I think this has gone on quite long enough.”  Demetra put her hands up to stop anybody else from speaking.  “Let us focus on the matter at hand, as Francis requested.  As for our arrival in Paris, I suggest that getting some sleep will be our first priority.  Then, tomorrow morning, I would like to see if we can find any of the people listed in my father’s journal.”  She reached below the seat to open her purse – a boxy, silver case with her initials engraved on one side, and a delicate shoulder chain.  After removing the slim, leather-bound book and replacing her purse, she handed the book to Francis.

“I marked the page where father listed the scientists who were on the Parisian team, which includes my mother.  Perhaps we can find the latest city directory and see if any of them have listings in it.  They may not have necessarily resided in Paris and could have only been there for the joint research venture, but it is the first place we should check.”

“Why would you want to track any of them down?” Francis asked.

“There are quite a few logical reasons for this course of action.”  Demetra sounded like a teacher giving a lecture as she spoke.  “First, if they were acquainted with my mother, one of them may have kept in touch with her through the past twenty years.  Second, father mentioned that quite a few of the Parisian scientists were Aetherals as well, so they might be able to answer at least some of our questions at relations between infernals and celestials.”

“But if we are talking about people your parents knew twenty years ago, some of them may very well be deceased.”

“Some, yes, but not necessarily all of them.  My father was born in 1844, thus making him only twenty-seven years of age when he joined this project.  Odds are quite good his fellow scientists probably ranged in age from roughly thirty and older at the time.  Even twenty years later, barring unfortunate incidents, that means most of them are likely still living.  I hope none of them is so old as to have died since 1871.  You also know scientists often have a wide array of overlapping interests and specialties.  Even if none of them know where my mother is, they may still have information to share based upon their contact with her or their studies.”

“Those are all very logical conclusions,” Francis agreed with a nod of his head.  “And what are we going to do about vulgar Verti during the course of our research?  Do we need to babysit her the entire time?”

The aunt scoffed and turned from her contemplation of the lush country scenery passing outside their window.  “You should not speak of me as though I am not even here.  It is quite rude, and you need not worry about me anyway.  While you are chasing crusty old scientists, I shall be at the Moulin Rouge, getting my own answers,” she responded, lifting her chin and looking down her nose at them, an impressive feat for such a diminutive woman.

“Wait, I thought you wanted to be a part of our search.  Surely you have your own questions…”

“Too many cooks spoil the broth and too many Aetherals stir the pot.”

Francis cocked his head, a quizzical expression on his face.

“Aunt Verti is right,” Demetra said with a sidelong glance at Francis.  “Aetherals do not exactly travel in packs.  In fact, they are usually quite solitary creatures.  Your mother and Rowena seem to be exceptions to the rule in their choices of lifestyle.  It would look quite odd if the three of us were seen together, asking questions all over Paris.  It is much better if Aunt Verti goes and uncovers what she can by herself.  The three of us can cover much more ground that way, without arousing too much suspicion.”

“Yes, but dressed like that?”  Francis pointed at Vertiline, despite knowing it was bad manners.  “In a city like Paris, you could get into some rather bad situations.  Many people in this world prey upon children.  As a gentleman, I am not sure I can allow you to run about without at least some sort of protection.”

Verti pouted and reached up to twirl a lock of midnight black hair around her finger, blinking at Francis innocently.  “It is amazing what people will reveal to a little girl.  They never seem to realize that their prey is actually the predator.”

“That is terribly disturbing.”

“She can handle herself,” Demetra reassured her incredulous fiancé, patting his arm.  “Trust me on this.  Verti is the last person you want to attempt to attack in a dark alley.  What I would like the both of you to do now is just a little experiment to satisfy some curiosity on my part.  I would like to know if either of you can actually sense that I am an Aetheral.”

Francis narrowed his eyes and stared at her for a few moments, before shaking his head.  “Honestly, I would not know the difference between knowing you are Aetheral and sensing it.  I only just found out about my own heritage.  But that one over there?”  He pointed at Verti once more, still heedless of the discourtesy of the gesture.  “She practically reeks of infernal energy.”

“Francis, my boy, whether or not you can sense a fellow Aetheral is like whether or not you can tell if a bottle of wine is any good.  You either know it or you do not.”  Verti wagged a finger at him.  “It is an innate ability all of us have.  The ability to sense one another is probably a natural survival mechanism, and you must learn how to use it.  As for you, my dear girl…”  Her gaze raked Demetra from head to toe.  “If I did not know any better, I would say that you could easily pass for human.  You do not have even a wisp of energy that I can sense.  In fact, when you were born, I would have thought your father was completely mistaken about your heritage, had I not met Acadia herself.”

“So unless somebody sees me using my powers or is specifically told what I am, they would never know the truth,” Demetra purred, a smirk curving the corners of her lips.  “That is very interesting.  I wish you had said something to me about this before, Aunt Verti.”

“I must apologize, my doll.  It is not exactly something I really considered.  I hardly knew your mother as it was.  She was a delightful sort, mind you, and I enjoyed her company.  However, our conversations rarely turned toward our heritages.  She was loath to discuss such things.  Since I am just as ignorant as the both of you in this matter, at the time I simply concluded that perhaps you favored your father and were more human than not, until you got older and actually came into your abilities, of course.  Your mother, however, practically hummed with energy, so the fact that you do not is quite puzzling.”

“Well, we will have to find a way to verify this to be certain,” Demetra acknowledged with a warm smile for Verti.  “We shall not rest on our laurels or assume anything, whether with regard to me or my mother.”

Francis nodded and said, “Agreed, though I must say it makes me feel better to know that other Aetherals may not be able to sense you.  It is one less thing to worry about if they think I am more of a threat than you are, my love.”

“You certainly are far more of a threat to anybody than I ever could be.”  Demetra brushed a chaste, but affectionate kiss against her fiancé’s cheek.

“And I am sure that if you would like something to worry about, I can assist you with that,” Verti interjected with a giggle.

With a withering glare at her, Francis rejoined, “Thank you very much, but you already have.”

Chapter Seven

The Grand Hotel du Louvre at Place du Palais-Royal was a lovely five-story hotel within walking distance of Notre Dame, The Louvre, and the other usual attractions that drew tourists to the City of Light year round.  Had this been a sightseeing tour for the trio, they would have made the most of it.  However, since previous visits to the city had included outings to these notable attractions, Demetra and her companions agreed that they could get immediately to the business at hand after a good night’s rest.

After sleeping in a very comfortable bed in her sumptuous hotel room, Demetra was pleased to wake up to sunshine and clear skies.  She dressed in a green taffeta day gown with dusky-pink and white flowers embroidered on it.  Fastening a darker pink leather bodice with silver rivets around her torso, she scooped up her father’s diary and left the room.  Using the steam-powered lift to descend to the first floor, she strode across the lobby and spoke in quiet tones with the concierge at the front desk.

Both Francis and Verti looked up when she entered the lavish, gilded dining room with two books beneath her arm.  They glanced at one another, then the tomes, which Demetra set on the table with a thump.  Francis rose to pull a chair out from the table for her while he looked at the thick books, his eyes wide.

“Look, my niece brought the entertainment,” Verti giggled as she added liberal quantities of champagne to her orange juice.  “How thoughtful of you, doll.  What are those monstrosities of paper and ink?”

“This is a directory of the entire population of Paris in 1891,” Demetra answered.  She seemed oblivious to the sparkling crystal chandeliers overhead, the elaborate ceiling and wall frescoes edged with scrolled borders, and the tawny gold walls that reflected the light.  Settling herself in the seat that Francis offered, she smiled up at him, then immediately turned her attention to the books.

“Thank you, my dear.  Now, I need to cross-reference the names in my father’s journal with the 1891 Paris directory, which is the most current one.  If I am fortunate, then I will find some of the people he and my mother worked with all those years ago.”

“I am most pleased to note there is not an Aetheral in this hotel, except for the three of us,” Verti said, sipping at her drink.  “That makes it a bit easier to move and speak freely here, though I would recommend we keep our intentions quiet nonetheless, just to be on the safe side.”

“I am not an amateur, Aunt Vertiline.”  Demetra glared at the girl, then flipped open the directory and the diary side by side.  She ran her finger down the lists of names, while she absent-mindedly nibbled at a triangle of toast.

“Have you had any luck?” Francis asked after watching Demetra flip page after page without displaying any reaction.

She held up her hand and searched for one last name, before closing the books and nodding.  “I found at least three of the ten scientists still listed as residing here in Paris.  My mother is not one of them, of course, but I still checked for her name.  The scientists I found are Andre Jollet, Noel Lareau, and Drake Chanson-Epee.

“That last one is a bit of an odd name,” Verti remarked.

“That’s true,” Demetra agreed.  “It translates into ‘Song Sword’.  I wonder if he may be an Aetheral.”

“Aetherals do tend to have rather strange names.  Well, except for those whose mothers want to protect their widdy, biddy babies from the big, bad world, of course, such as Francis here.”

“What are you implying?” Francis snarled at her, his utensils clanging against his plate.

“I did not think I was implying anything.  I believe I spoke quite bluntly.”  Verti smiled sweetly at him as she swung her legs, brushing the soles of her shoes against the floor.  “Trust me when I say you will always know what I think of you and where you stand with me.”

“Is that a promise or a threat?”

Verti tilted her head to one side, said, “A threat,” and nodded with satisfaction.

Rolling her eyes at Francis, Demetra interjected, “We should call on these scientists as soon as possible and see if they will speak to us.  They can probably tell us about their peers on the 1871 team and how we might be able to find them as well.”

“Do you intend to interview all ten scientists?” Francis asked.  “They may very well be scattered throughout France, if not the world.”

“If necessary, yes, I will do just that.  We can leave no stone unturned.”  She reached for the coffeepot in the center of the table and filled a cup for herself.  “Though I hope luck will be with us and we will be spared the inconvenience of traveling much farther.  However, I am not returning to London until we can tell your mother that our marriage will go forward, whether she likes it or not.”

“We can tell her we plan to get married regardless of her feelings,” Francis said with a shrug.

“We can, but I want irrefutable proof that she has no reason to try to prevent our marriage,” Demetra answered, her mouth set in a grim line.

“Must you always be right?”

Vertiline set her glass down with a snort and shook her head.  “My dear boy, do you not know your fiancée by now?”

~~~~~

Their first visit was to Andre Jollet, who lived in a quaint, boxy, white stuccoed townhome on one of the narrow, winding little backstreets of Paris.  Demetra knocked on the door and waited impatiently, while Francis glanced up and down the street.

“Do you think Verti was serious about visiting the Moulin Rouge?” he asked.  “It is not exactly a place where a young woman from polite society would find appropriate companionship.”

“First of all, nothing about Aunt Verti is polite, though I know she means well.  Secondly, I think Verti just likes to shock people but, yes, she was probably serious.”  Demetra glanced up at the brilliant blue sky, then back at the house.  “I expect she would like to visit with her good friend, Lautrec.”

“Do you mean Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec-Monfa?”

Demetra nodded and knocked on the door again.  “Of course that is precisely who I mean.  Imagine going through life as an adult, but grown only to the height of a child.  Verti admires his work and the entire bohemian movement in general.  She could certainly move in the best circles in London society, despite her appearance, but the effort it takes to overcome people’s prejudices is sometimes more than we want to make.  She chose, instead, the path of least resistance.  Sometimes it is easier to embrace your differences, than fight for acceptance.”

“I can certainly understand that, yes.  In fact, I have a feeling that learning to accept such differences will be vital to my continued well-being.”  Francis winked at her, and then stepped up to bang forcefully on the door, only to have it open beneath his fist.  “Well, I guess we can invite ourselves inside.”

“I hope this is not a bad sign…”  Demetra stepped over the threshold, stopped, and sniffed at the air.  “Well, it is no wonder he did not hear us,” she said and sighed.  “We just need to follow the smoke.  He is probably just as bad as my father and Simon when it comes to his work.”  Shutting and latching the front door behind her, she located a narrow staircase that led from the front hall, down into the basement.

“What do you think that is?  It certainly smells like something is burning,” Francis grumbled, following her.

After sniffing at the air, she responded, “It smells like he is using heat to fuse metal.  I have assisted my father in that endeavor many times.  Monsieur Jollet is probably putting something together down in his workshop.”  As they descended the stairs, they heard a whirring sound that confirmed Demetra’s suspicions.

“Hard at work,” she chuckled when they approached the closed door that stood between them and the noises beyond.  Francis knocked loudly against the dark wood, the rapping sound reverberating through the basement.

A muffled “Mon Dieu!” came from behind the door as the whirring sound ceased, followed by the sound of heavy items being set down.  There were a few more clanging and banging noises, then a shuffling of feet toward the door.

At last it opened and they stood face to face with a rather frazzled-looking man, who wore round spectacles over his pale blue eyes.  His white hair stood out from his head as though he had received an electric shock.  He wore a dark apron over an oil-stained blue shirt and black trousers.

“Are you Monsieur Andre Jollet?” Demetra queried with a smile.

“Yes, I am.  May I help you?” he asked in strongly accented English.  His fuzzy eyebrows drew together as he regarded her.

“I certainly do hope you can help us.  This is Lord Francis Winterton and my name is Demetra Ashdown.”

“Oh my, so I am not seeing a ghost.”  The scientist reached up to remove his spectacles, rubbed them against his apron, and then replaced them on the bridge of his nose.  “I cannot believe I am seeing Nigel and Acadia’s daughter in my own home!  What a wonderful day this is!”  He clapped his gnarled hands and rubbed his palms together so briskly, it sounded like sandpaper.

Demetra felt her heart skip a beat at the mention of her parents’ names.  “How did you know Acadia is my mother?”

“Oh, but my dear, you look just like her!”  Andre stared at her over his hands, his watery blue eyes suddenly brimming with tears.  “It has been so long since I last saw…  But, oh my, oh my, where are my manners?  Would you both like a cup of tea or coffee, perhaps?  You have certainly come a very long way to find me.”

“Yes, please, we would appreciate that.”  Demetra followed Andre up the stairs, the frazzled scientist skipping up ahead of them with unexpected energy.

“Oh, what a wonderful surprise,” the man chirped.  “Here is the daughter of Nigel Ashdown and Acadia Renard!  I never thought I would see the day, especially after Mademoiselle Renard left all those years ago.  Of course, Nigel has never kept in touch with me.  Well, none of us really bothers to correspond.  Not good at it, I suppose, as well as never having the time.  But come sit down and I will bring something for you both.”

He indicated an archway to their left and Demetra peered through it to see a sparsely decorated parlor with light blue walls offset by a darker blue carpet, snow-white loveseat, and chair.  It looked like a comfortable space and she settled on the loveseat.

Francis sat next to her and said, “He seems quite pleased to see you, though I do not believe he is an Aetheral.”

“I agree.  He is obviously very excited to have me visit and, yes, you are correct.  There is not a bit of Aetheric energy to him.  It is also very unfortunate that he does not seem to know anything about my mother’s whereabouts now, but their past acquaintance may still give us some clues.”

The elderly scientist bustled into the parlor holding a silver tea tray, which he set before them on a low coffee table.  “How do you take it, my lovelies?  I brought plenty of milk and sugar.  Please do help yourselves and try this cake.  I just got it yesterday from the patisserie.”

Demetra reached for a piece of the lemon cake and smiled appreciatively as she tasted it.  “This is absolutely delightful.  It just happens to be my favorite type of cake.”

“Well, then how serendipitous that I chose it, though it is not nearly as delightful as the surprise you have given me.”  Andre sat in the chair and regarded them, a cheerful smile spreading across his wizened face.  “So, what is it that brings you to my home?”

“Well, I understand you worked with both my father and mother when they were here in 1871.”

“Yes, our Parisian team – of which your mother was part – was working with our British peers, including your father, on experiments in electromagnetism.  It was such a thrilling time.  We learned so much back then and look at us today: radio transmitters, electricity, and wireless communications!  The world is changing, my lovelies, thanks to people like your parents and me.  It is most, most exciting.”

“I agree with you completely, Monsieur Jollet.  Science is something I admire greatly, thanks to my upbringing with my father.  In fact, I am particularly curious to know if you ever studied Aetherals.”

“Oh, my dear, I have done some vague studies on the aether, as well as how light and sound are transmitted through it, but the beings themselves?”  Andre shook his head and took a sip of tea.  “They remain a beautiful enigma and I doubt any of us will ever understand them.”

“My father told me that there were many Aetherals on the Parisian research team, besides my mother.  Could you tell me if you remember which scientists those were?” Demetra asked, leaning forward with interest.

“Aetherals are often drawn to science and progress, so of course there were quite a few on the team.  We had a young man, Drake Chanson-Epee, who was simply enamored of the work we did.  He was most definitely an Aetheral with a scientific mind beyond compare.  He had such interesting philosophies as well, and was so in tune with everything we researched and accomplished.  Out of everybody I worked with at the time, he is the only one who remained in Paris, besides Monsieur Lareau.  However, Lareau is simply human, like me.”

Demetra was unable to quash a thrill of excitement at the mention of the name of a local Aetheral.  “Yes, I saw in the 1891 directory that Monsieur Chanson-Epee still resides here.”

“In fact, he does not live far from this street.  He is rather withdrawn now from the scientific community, but is quite active in a number of spiritual movements.  You may enjoy talking to him, particularly given your mother’s heritage.”

“What did you know about my mother?” Demetra asked.  “Is there anything you remember about her that might be useful to me?  You see, she left when I was only an infant and I am hoping to find her.”

“Oh my goodness, how very sad, though I suppose it is not entirely unexpected.  At the time, she was trying very hard to come up with a machine of her own – something based upon electromagnetism and the aether.  She referred to it as a Disruptor, but I have no idea what the purpose of the machine was.  It was quite literally her obsession at the time.”

Sliding a glance to Francis, Demetra asked, “Do you know if she completed it?”

“Not before she went to London with your father, no.  In fact, I have no idea where she might have gone after you were born.  One can only assume her studies took her elsewhere, perhaps to a place where she could take advantage of the latest discoveries.  She was quite determined to complete her project and if she felt she could not do it in London, then Acadia would have gone to a place where she could continue that work.  I would surmise she went wherever she felt the technology that was needed for her Disruptor would be found.”

“With the pace at which our entire world is developing, that is a rather broad area.” Francis finally spoke and reached out to squeeze Demetra’s hand.

“It is and I am sorry that I cannot be of help to you, but I am so grateful to have met you.  I hope your father well?”

Despite her disappointment, Demetra smiled a bit and nodded.  “He is quite well, thank you for asking.  I will let him know that you are well too.”

“Please do and tell him I think of those days often.  They are some of the fondest memories I have.  If he can find the time to visit an old man, I would welcome him with an open arms.”

“I will do that.  He is recently widowed and mourning may prevent him from traveling for a short time, but I will extend your invitation to him.”

Andre sat back in the chair, a sympathetic smile on his weathered features.  “Please do and tell him that I am sorry for his loss.  I could go on and on all day, but I suppose you are eager to acquaint yourselves with Monsieur Chanson-Epee, considering the Aetheral connection.”

“I must admit that I am.”  Demetra rose gracefully to her feet and extended her hand to the scientist.  “Merci beaucoup.  I hope we meet again, monsieur.”

He kissed the back of her hand and returned, “Enchante, mademoiselle, and best of luck to you in your search.”

“Thank you for your time,” Francis said, shaking the scientist’s hand.  “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

As they departed the little townhouse, Demetra sighed and shook the wrinkles from her skirts.  Her head tilted downward and she regarded the cobblestone pavers as they walked.

“Are you disappointed?”  Francis asked finally asked after a few quiet moments, pulling her arm through his.

“On the contrary, my love, I am not at all disappointed.  He pointed us to the next best thing I could ask for – another Aetheral.”  She raised her head, smiled at him brightly, and continued, “At least we have not hit a dead end.”

“This Monsieur Chanson-Epee could be a young Aetheral, like Verti, and know nothing,” Francis cautioned her.

“Or he could know at least a little more than your mother, and that would be something.”  Demetra lifted her chin as they walked along the street.  “I refuse to contemplate failure when we have only just begun today.  Monsieur Jollet was correct.  Monsieur Chanson-Epee does not live far from here.  We should call upon him immediately and see what we can learn.”

Francis moved his arm to embrace her shoulders as they walked.  “I just do not want you to be disappointed if there is nothing to learn.  We have undertaken a very long journey in search of answers.”

Jaw set stubbornly, Demetra answered, “Let me reiterate, my love: I refuse to allow this journey to end that way.”

Chapter Eight

The townhouse was barely visible from the winding alleyway, its wooden door a dark portal into the overgrown vines that covered the façade.  The smallest amount of ivory white stucco peeked out from behind the layer of green ivy.  Unlike so many other homes in Paris, it did not have others pressed up adjacent to it.  Instead, it stood alone on a corner.  Passerby didn’t even spare it a glance.

Lips pursed, Demetra looked up at the home.

“Not trying too hard to hide, is he?” Francis snorted as he surveyed the building and the rest of the street.

“No, I do not think it seems like he is trying to hide,” Demetra breathed.  “This place just pulses with life energy and it resonates with the land around him, so it cloaks the home, almost like it’s just another piece of scenery…”  She stepped toward the house, drawn to the power that ebbed and flowed in harmony with the aether and the earth.  “It’s just beautiful.  Can you feel it?”

“I feel the infernal energy, but that’s the extent of it.”  Francis shrugged as she approached the door.  “It’s amazing to me that I can even notice it.  One day, I was simply a normal human.  Now everything about the world around me is beginning to feel very different.  I think I even notice a difference between the feelings infernal and celestial energy evoke in me.”

“You’ll get used to in time.  Keep noticing it and feeling it.  With practice, you’ll become stronger and more discerning.  However, this – this is like nothing I have ever felt before in my life.  It’s like the power of creation – the ability to bring something into existence and help it grow.”  She closed her eyes and raised her face to the air like a predator testing the wind.  “Never have I felt such strong Aetheric energy and, furthermore, it is quite old.”

“You can actually sense that?”  Francis looked at her in surprise.

Demetra nodded in response, a smug, catlike smile on her face.  “It is very different than the energy you and Aunt Verti radiate, rather like the smell of a musty old book.  I believe we will find our answers here.”

“Then our journey will be over.” Her fiancé sighed with relief and smiled down at her.  “We can go home and move forward with our lives together.  No more waiting or uncertainty about our future.”

Demetra simply lifted her eyebrow as she considered his words, before finally saying, “Impatient to get married, are you?”

“After waiting three long years to make amends to you, of course I am.”  His hands twitched at his sides as though he wanted to reach up and hold her, but he remained standing where he was.

She smiled at her fiancé once more, walked to the door, and knocked three times.  Barely a second went by before it opened on creaky hinges.  Two strangely vibrant green eyes peered out into the daylight, blinking as if they were not accustomed to the sun.

Another short moment passed without a sound, and then, before Demetra could speak, a soft voice queried from around the door, “Acadia?”

“My name is Demetra Ashdown,” she answered gently. “I am looking for Monsieur Chanson-Epee.”

“You are Nigel Ashdown’s daughter?”  The door opened slightly wider and now she could see the face behind it.  It was a round, amiable face, framed with short strawberry blond curls.  The most shocking thing about his face was the eyes.  They reminded Demetra of a lizard’s with their intense emerald shade and slit pupils in the centers.  Here was an Aetheral who actually looked inhuman.

He assessed her, his features pulling into an expression of confusion.  “You look just like Acadia, yet you are not an Aetheral.  What is going on here?”

“I assure you, I am Acadia and Nigel’s daughter.  May we pleased come in?” Demetra asked.  “We have so many questions and I think you could be of great help to us.”

“I am not quite sure about that.”  The man started to close the door.

“Please!  Acadia left me when I was only an infant and I am trying to locate her.  I will explain our reason for coming here if you will only let us in.  Please understand that I know nothing about my heritage and we need to find answers.  Our very happiness depends upon it.”

After another tense moment of silence, he grudgingly nodded and opened the door wide enough for them to enter.

“Thank you,” Demetra answered gratefully as she stepped into the darkened foyer.

“I can smell easily enough that you are a celestial,” the man growled as Francis walked by him and into the house.  “But you…”  He shut and locked the door, then turned to regard Demetra.  “You may look like Acadia and you may truly be her daughter, but nothing about you indicates infernal energy.”

With a nod to Francis, Demetra said, “That is one of the things I was hoping to discuss with you.  Do you think we could sit and talk, Monsieur?”

“If you are truly who you say, then you may call me Drake.  Far be it for me to stand on formality when my dear friend’s daughter comes asking for my help.”

“Thank you, Drake.  This is Lord Francis Winterton, my fiancé.”

The sturdy redhead reached out to shake Francis’s hand, and finally relaxed enough to chuckle, saying, “A celestial marrying an infernal?  Well, it certainly would not be the first time.”

Francis’s eyes widened and he glanced at Demetra who simply shrugged in response.

“I have a feeling this will be a very interesting visit.  Come along into the drawing room and you can tell me your story.  Then I will decide if I would like to tell you mine.”  Drake indicated that they should follow him deeper into the house.

“My mother told me that a celestial and an infernal cannot be married to one another,” Francis said hesitantly.

A scoffing noise rasped from Drake’s throat.  “She must be a newborn,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “Please, sit down.”  He had led them into a dark parlor with plush, burgundy carpet and rich wood paneling.

“What do you mean by ‘newborn’?” Demetra asked, sitting on the chaise and settling her skirts around her.

“There are Aetherals born in quite an array of eras, of course, and those born after the changing of the ancient millennium and into the Common Era are considered newborn.  Times were quite different before Common Era, as I am sure you realize.”  Drake sat in a red velvet-cushioned chair and regarded the couple.  “You came here to learn more than that, though, so you may as well share your tale.”

“You do not sound French,” Francis interjected.

“When you are grow to be as old as I am and live in as many places as I have, you can sound however you choose.”  The Aetheral regarded him with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.  “I have been around this world more times than you have celebrated birthdays.”  He slid his gaze to Demetra and said, “Birthdays between the both of you, that is.”

Demetra felt her lips quirk into a smile.  She liked this man and his forthright personality, though something seemed odd about him. Rather than try to put her finger on it, she said, “Well, to be perfectly blunt, the very thing that drove us to come all the way here was Lord Winterton’s mother’s statement that he and I could not be married to one another.  I realize the possibility of finding my mother is quite remote, since she left me so long ago, but I thought you might have some insight about her and relationships between Aetherals.”

“Well, with regard to Lord Winterton’s mother, she may prefer you not marry one another, but there is no law against it.  They might shake their first at you and tell you that you are going against the natural order of things, but that is the extent of it.”  Drake shrugged.  “Too many people see us as night and day beings, as well as something unnatural in the first place.  What they do not realize is we are closer to creation than humanity will ever be.  With regard to whether one is celestial or infernal, it is less a matter of two opposites, and more a matter of two halves of a whole.  One needs the other to be complete.  That is why the two of you are so drawn to each other.”

“But then why would full-blood Aetherals like his mother have us believe otherwise?” Demetra asked, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hand.

“Because,” he answered as he settled back into his chair, “the younger Aetherals – those born in the past millennium – came at a time when the church had a strong hold over the minds and emotions of humanity.  Our kind is not immune to that influence.  Lady Winterton was probably born in the Dark Ages.  It certainly sounds like she has the mentality to prove it.  She is a product of that age and thus the idea that celestial must somehow equate to good, and infernal to evil, is firmly entrenched in her mind.  It is a strong racial preference with absolutely no basis in truth.”

“How would you know when my mother was born?” Francis asked, sitting straight up in surprise.

One corner of Drake’s mouth quirked up and his strange eyes twinkled with humor.  “It is an educated guess based upon what you’ve said about her.  She would not be quite so adamant about your marriage otherwise.  An Aetheral born before the new millennium and after the Renaissance tends to have a freer mind, though the newborns still hold to the very incorrect notions about good and evil, angels and daemons.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” Demetra agreed.  “Since you know so much about the different ages of Aetheral existence, might I ask when you were born, Monsieur?”

Drake smiled benignly and said, “In a time that you cannot even imagine, let alone envision.  What I have seen throughout my lifetime is beyond any newborn’s capacity to understand.  I am called one of the Firstborns.”

“Firstborns?”

“We are the race of Aetherals that was borne directly of the Gods.”

“Wait a moment…”  Demetra straightened and held up her hands.  “Are you telling me that we are gods?”

“Not quite.  This is another misconception that many humans and Aetherals have – that we are the children of angels and daemons.  Quite the contrary – we are elemental creatures born from the Gods and demi-gods.  Angels and their ilk are more along the lines of our half-siblings, but we are nothing alike.  Such beings as angels do not deign to touch this earth.”

“So you are saying that a celestial is not an angel and that an infernal is not a daemon, but rather that those creatures are kin to us?”  She tilted her head as she considered his words.  “You mean, all this time, people referring to me as a half-daemon have been incorrect in applying that label to me?”

“Actually, they are correct in the label, but not in how they perceive it.  They are thinking of malevolent spirits in the Christian sense.  A demon is an evil spirit out to cause harm.  A daemon is a supernatural being between a god and a mortal.  Technically, all Aetherals, including celestials, are daemons because we are all semi-divine.  So an Aetheral’s classification – whether it is infernal or celestial – depends on their godly heritage.”

“I’ve just learned more in the past few minutes about our kind than I have in twenty years of research,” Demetra said.  “How is it that none of this is written in books or papers?”

“Think about it, Miss Ashdown.  Would you really want such secrets, no matter how simple they seem, put on display for the rest of the world to see?”

“Hold on,” Francis interjected.  “When you say our classification depends upon our godly heritage, do you mean that one descended from, let us say Hades, is infernal, and one descended from a god such as Zeus is celestial?”

“Once again, your oversimplification is the result of a misperception of what it means to be an Aetheral.”  Drake’s gaze shifted from Demetra to Francis, and his expression was one of tolerant amusement.  “Forget the names of the gods and think very simply – of the firstborn elementals.  The words ‘celestial’ or ‘infernal’ are more a classification of power, and pertain less to heritage.  For example, celestials generally inherit powers relating to the natural elements, protection, and the physical body.  Our folk consider these positive, natural energies.  Infernals are a bit trickier.  Our powers tend to go beyond the boundaries of nature, and into the realm of the supernatural.  While we have no connection to any sort of hell, the designation of ‘infernal’ came about simply because of the overwhelming energy of our power.”

“So it is yet another erroneous way of describing us,” Demetra responded with a nod.  “I think I understand, but…”  Her brow furrowed.  “While you’ve done very well in clarifying things, I’m still rather confused by your explanation.  Your power – the energy that surrounds you – is a very strong, creative energy.  Did you not just say that such life-affirming energies are the province of celestials?”

“Yes, but my power is the power of transformation, which is an infernal trait,” their host explained.  “Any power that changes something, traps something, or pushes against the celestial powers is considered infernal.  While celestials may certainly use their powers for malicious means, we generally look upon such traits as I already explained as benevolent.  The greater offensive power of an infernal is considered far more dangerous, and thus mislabeled as being connected to the religious beliefs in hell and demons.”

“Well that explains the Muffin Man,” Demetra mused, turning to Francis.  “His energy was a very heavy, smothering sort that made me want to stop breathing all together.”

“That might have been his lack of bathing, my love.”

Demetra smirked at Francis, but continued, “And my stepmother’s power was very much entangling and ensnaring, in a most uncomfortable way.”

“You have clearly met your share of infernals,” Drake acknowledged.  “The simple truth is that we are born of the earliest of the gods, yet neither godly nor demi-godly ourselves.  Nor are we human.”

“Thank you so much for your explanation of Aetherals.  Though I think it will take time for us to think of all that you said and make sense of it, you have enhanced our understanding of ourselves more than we ever expected,” Demetra said, her posture relaxing as she smiled.  “If we leave with nothing but that, then we have still succeeded.”

“Ah, but you did say you were looking for your mother, so I have a feeling there are many more questions you would like to ask me.  They are questions I will gladly answer, if you answer mine first.”

Demetra nodded her silent assent.

Tilting his head at her, Drake asked, “What, precisely, are you?  You say that you are Acadia’s daughter, yet we have already established that I cannot sense Aetheric energy coming from you.  We are not talking about a trait that skips generations, but an inherent bloodline.  Even if power is diluted over the centuries of half and quarter-bloods procreating with humans, there is still a marked Aetheric energy in their offspring’s genetic structure.  Why do you not have it?  Has someone shielded you?”

“That was a question I hoped you could answer, perhaps based upon your association with my mother.”  Demetra shrugged helplessly.  “I thought perhaps it was a trait I inherited from my mother.  Judging by your reaction to me, however, no one could mistake her for anything but an Aetheral, while I appear quite human.  All I know about my own power is that I can pull items with Aetheric energy to me.”

“What do you mean by that?”  Now Drake showed greater interest, sitting straight up in his chair, uncrossing his legs, and regarding her intently.

“Well, I suppose it might be rather like dowsing for water,” she explained.  “I can call Aetheric artifacts to me.  I can also identify precisely what they have been empowered to do, as well as identify the powers of our own kind.  From the moment I saw your home, the strength of your energy told me a great deal about you, including the fact that the power itself was quite ancient.”

“Those are amazing abilities, young lady, and I must say I have never heard of anyone with powers like yours in all the eons I have lived through in this world.  Your mother’s powers were…”  He paused as if considering his next words, and Demetra had to clench her fists in her lap to keep from revealing her impatience.  “Oddly enough, we never knew what your mother’s were.  She gave off a very, very strong infernal energy, yet she never showed us what she could do.  Unlike you, I am incapable of identifying the precise nature of one’s energy.”

“And here I give off absolutely no infernal energy whatsoever.”  Demetra turned to look at Francis for a moment, and then shifted her gaze back to Drake.  “Either that or my energy is undetectable.  I am trying to understand why I am different – if I am somehow a subset of an already small group.”

“I wish that I could tell you more about your mother.  What little I know will not answer your question.”

“I can accept that.  Will you please tell me what you remember and know about her?  Perhaps it will help us find her.”

Drake sat back in his chair once more and placed the tips of his index fingers against his lips before he answered.  “Besides the obvious fact that she was very beautiful, as is clearly demonstrated by your own loveliness, she was a genius.  Her memory was flawless.  You could ask her to do far more impressive things than recite pi in its entirety.  She believed the electromagnetic research we were doing when she met your father was crucial to her work on a machine she referred to as a ‘Disruptor’.”

Demetra nodded.  “I heard about this machine, but know nothing about what it is or why she was making it.  Would you tell us more about it?”

“Well, perhaps I have skipped too far ahead and need to tell you what I know of Acadia’s history.”  Drake moved his hands down and folded them over his stomach.  “She is a Firstborn, like me.  Some of our names, you must understand, have sometimes changed with the evolving world.  Back then, I was known as Drakon, though your mother was always Acadia throughout the centuries.”

“Did you know each other when you were originally born or while you were growing up?”

“No, but we met each other not long after we reached our adult years.  Many Aetherals have an aptitude for and an interest in scientific discovery.  That is how I met your mother – through our shared interest in the nature of energy.  Our kind are often found pursuing endeavors related to mathematics, astronomy, physics, and more.  Acadia and I were both fascinated by energy, particularly the nature of how it works, which eventually brought us to our studies of electromagnetism.  Even back in those days, we were always creating and studying, learning and growing.  It was also a time when the misperceived divide of celestial and infernal energies did not separate Aetherals.  We worked together for the betterment of humanity and our world.”

“Did the two of you maintain your friendship over the years?”

Drake smiled slightly.  “Almost the moment we met, we were inseparable, rather like twin siblings.  Oh, of course as we explored our interests, our journeys took us to different places.  Sometimes we would hear about two different countries where scientific discoveries pertinent to our work had been made, so we would split up to do research, and then meet in an agreed-upon place to discuss our findings a few months or a year later.  Then, sometime around the mid-1700’s, your mother changed her entire focus to her work with the Disruptor.  We still met and worked together as often as possible, however her dedication to the project took precedence over her friendships.”

“What was this Disruptor that she was so focused on completing?” Demetra asked.  “It seems like it is the one thing that is mentioned time and again in conversations about my mother.”

“I am not entirely sure, but it was a very important project to her.  Sometimes she would work for days without sleeping or with hardly a bite to eat.  There were times when she was like a woman possessed and none of us could get her to listen to reason.”

“I wonder why she was so fixated on it.”  She glanced at Francis, who simply shrugged.  They both returned their attentive gazes to Drake.

“She rarely discussed her past,” the Firstborn responded.  “My best guess is something happened to Acadia in her travels that made her believe this device was necessary.”

With a nod, Demetra said, “My father told me that he felt as though she was running away from something.  Do you think there might be a correlation?”

“There were times I felt her fear,” Drake agreed, inclining his head toward her.  “And, after she had you, she became even more obsessed with completing her work.”

“So you talked to her after I was born?”  Demetra stared at him in disbelief.  “Did she return to France when she left London?”

“Yes, she came back to see me.  Acadia told me that she had given Nigel a daughter, even though she tried in vain to never let that happen.  A child was not something she wanted to bring into this world, but she felt she could wait no longer.  Acadia said she thought you were safe, but she did not want to take any chances with you.  It was not something she elaborated upon, nor did she stay for long.  She was gone the very next day, but to where I do not know.”

“It certainly sounds like she was terribly spooked,” Francis observed.  “Everything we’ve heard points to her running from something, just like Mr. Ashdown said.”

“Yes, I would have to concur with the both of you.  Though I do not know what she has been running from all these years, I believe she might have been trying to draw it away from you.”  Drake reached out to press Demetra’s small hand between his larger ones.  “I know you want to find her and I know that, as an Aetheral, only death can stop you from following this course.  However, remember your mother probably made the choices she did to protect you and your father.  If you go looking for her now, you may be placing yourself on a very dangerous path.”

“Well, you need not worry that I bear any ill will toward her,” Demetra interjected, “because I certainly do not.  She did whatever she had to do.  This is about trying to understand who and what I am.  If she is in at risk in any way, then perhaps I can help her.”

“That is commendable of you.  Just take it as a warning from a concerned friend whose experience of this world is vast.  If Acadia has a reason to run, and has been running for all these centuries, you may find yourself in grave peril.”  Drake patted her hand and then released it.  “Be safe, daughter of Acadia Renard.  Your looks and your unique power are clearly a credit to your mother.  May your mind do her proud as well.”

Aware the discussion was over and this was their host’s way of dismissing them, Demetra rose to her feet.  “Thank you for taking the time out of your busy day to speak with us and for sharing what you know about my mother.  It was most enlightening.”

“It was my pleasure.”  He saw them to the door and bowed slightly.  “Miss Ashdown, Lord Winterton, I will never forget your visit.  Perhaps if you find your mother, you could ask her to send me word.  While twenty years is not long in the life of an Aetheral, it is much too long for two friends to go without speaking to one another.”

“I will do that,” Demetra agreed.  As they left Drake’s home, she turned to Francis with a smile.  “What was that you said when we arrived at Monsieur Chanson-Epee’s today?”

“Do you mean my remark about our journey being over?” he asked, inclining his head toward her.

Demetra laughed and nodded.  “Now we know that it is just beginning.”

Chapter Nine

As they were sitting down to supper in the gilded dining room of the hotel, a small voice piped up from behind them, “I’m famished!”

“Aunt Verti,” Demetra said fondly as she turned in her chair to look at the girlish Aetheral.  “How was your day with Monsieur Lautrec?”

“It was enlightening as always.  He has such a creative and talented mind, and I enjoy the company of such free-thinking people.”  Verti slid her small frame onto a dining chair, and smoothed her red and black plaid skirts.  “What did you two do all day?  Pick out wedding patterns?”

Before Francis could rise to the bait, Demetra quickly said, “We actually managed to learn some things about Aetherals, and I am certain the information will be of great interest to you.”

“I, too, learned a few useful tidbits, I am pleased to say.”  Verti reached out to take Demetra’s glass of wine and nodded at her.  “You may go first, dear niece.  As they say, youth before beauty.”

Lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, Demetra explained what she had learned during their visits with Andre Jollet and Drake.  Verti nodded with interest, and her dark brown eyes shone with excitement.

“Well,” she said when her niece finished speaking, “to know that your mother was alive and well at least twenty years ago is wonderful, and to better understand the nature of our Aetheral heritage is absolutely fascinating.  I am fairly sure this news will not take away from either of those discoveries, even though what I learned today is rather disturbing.”

“Is it something bad?” Francis blurted out.  He turned to look at Demetra, his eyes wide.  “She’s learned something bad.  I just know it; otherwise she would not talk like that.”

“Bad is a relative term, young man.  I said ‘disturbing’.  That does not necessarily mean ‘bad’.  What you consider bad, I consider merely interesting and it is probably better to know, than not to know.”

“Will you stop beating around the bush?” Francis barely suppressed his cry of exasperation, and Demetra placed her hand on his arm.

“Yes, I will.”  Verti took another sip of wine and then a long, deep breath.  “Since there are no other Aetherals in this hotel besides us, I think it is safe to tell you that the ones at the Moulin Rouge are quite concerned about something known as the Daemon Device.”

“Did they tell you what it is?” Demetra asked.  Her brow furrowed as she tried to recollect if she had ever heard of such a thing.

“From what they understand and shared with me, it locks onto Aetheric energies of either type – celestial or infernal – and can drain a person or an artifact of those energies.  Nobody is quite sure what becomes of those energies once they have been drained.  As for the effect the Daemon Device has on a person, they believe it must kill them once all their energy has been depleted.”

“Of course it would be something bad,” Francis growled, as his hand dropped to the holster at his hip.  “Did they tell you if this thing is here in Paris?”

“It was at one time, but they think it has been taken elsewhere.”  Verti shook her head for silence, and smiled innocently up at the waiter who delivered their dinner.  As soon as he was gone, she leaned forward to cut her steak and murmured, “They believe it has been taken to America.”

“America?” Demetra gasped.  “That’s…”

“Dear, we need not concern ourselves with it.”  Francis placed his hand over hers on the table.  “We came here for answers and we got the ones that mattered most.”

“Did we?”  Demetra turned her catlike gaze on her fiancé.

“We learned that we can get married, regardless of such ridiculous labels as ‘celestial’ and ‘infernal’.  That is what matters.”

“My mother is still out there wandering the world, working obsessively on some apparatus known as a Disruptor.  Furthermore, someone else out there also has a device capable of draining our powers, and you believe that should not concern us?”

“Not our powers, but the powers of Aetherals in general is what Aunt Verti said.  We seem perfectly safe from it.”

“What about everybody else in the world?”

Demetra held Francis’s gaze until he finally looked down at his plate.

“Francis,” she whispered, “maybe I’m not the kindest or most compassionate person in the world, and maybe I have some awful prejudices against humanity, but if we are to have a future together, we need to consider what this device could mean to us.  What affects one Aetheral could affect us all.  You are no longer simply Lord Winterton, human nobleman.  You are one of us.  How would you feel if whomever has possession of this Daemon Device came looking for us?  What would you say if we had children?  Would you be so cavalier about potential danger to Aetherals then?  Furthermore, it hardly seems to be coincidental that both my mother and the Daemon Device have been here in Paris.  What if my mother knew about this device and has been creating the Disruptor to stop it?”

“Now that is an immense leap of logic, tying the two situations together,” he answered in a low voice, raising his eyes back to hers.

“That may be the case, but we cannot ignore a possible connection, however tenuous.  If both machines have been in Paris, then perhaps they are both in America now.  What if the thing that my mother was running from is the Daemon Device?”

“Demetra…”  Francis furrowed his brow and shook his head.  “I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no.”

“But we already have Aunt Vertiline with us, and I am sure she does not have any objections to prolonging our trip, do you Verti?”  She turned her beseeching gaze on the pre-adolescent girl, who grinned back at her.

“My dear children, life should be lived.”

Demetra looked at Francis once more, this time smiling.  “There you have it.”

“You want to chase a dangerous machine that may or may not be linked to your mother and her work,” Francis summarized, his voice cool.  “No, we absolutely will not do it.  I do not like the idea at all and I forbid you from taking this course of action.”

“You know if we encounter any sort of Aetheric machine, I will feel it and be able to take it from whoever has it before it can be used on any of us.”

“I cannot and will not let you take that chance.”

Demetra stiffened her spine and nodded curtly.  “So be it, Lord Winterton.  I respect your decision.  You may return to London, while Aunt Verti and I make the journey to America.”

For a long, tense moment, Francis stared at her until he finally took a deep breath.  “If we start in New York, we can stay at my home in the city.”

“Thank you,” Demetra whispered fiercely.

~~~~~

Demetra opened her trunk, set out her travel costume for the morning, and carefully repacked everything else.  The sky was still light beyond the hotel room window and the April days had been deliciously warm in Paris.  With a smile of satisfaction, she sat down at the small writing desk to journal the day’s events and information in the golden-yellow glow of the gas lamps.  Even with her flawless memory, she felt it vital to commit the knowledge to paper.  She was aware of the countless instances where oral knowledge was lost and did not want to make that mistake.

When she finally closed the journal and set it on top of the clothes in her trunk, the sun had set completely.  As she shut the lid and latched it into place, she barely heard the light rap at her door.  She straightened and smoothed her skirts before crossing the room to open the door.

Nobody stood in the brilliantly lit hall. With a soft “hmm” of confusion, she closed and locked the door, and turned back to her room.

It was then she realized the room was completely dark and full of the energy of another Aetheral presence.  Two hands grabbed at her.  One covered her mouth and the other roughly dug fingers into her shoulder.  The power around her was celestial and as insubstantial as air.  It only took a moment for her to realize the intruder’s touch was robbing her of oxygen, without even having to choke her.  It felt like a void bereft of air and light surrounded her.

Even as she reached frantically for the fan that hung from the bottom of her leather bodice, she struggled to breathe.  She felt the room swirl around her and her entire body slump forward.

When she opened her eyes, she realized she lay draped over the celestial, who lolled dazedly on the floor.  He had somehow collapsed at the same time and cushioned her fall.

Light flared to life, illuminating the scene.

“Demetra,” Francis said.  He reached down and pulled her into his arms.  Groaning in protest at the sudden movement, she leaned against her fiancé until she regained her breath and her equilibrium.  When her vision cleared, she saw Verti kicking at the celestial lying on the floor.

“I felt him the moment he entered your room,” the girl said, her small fists clenched at her sides.  “It was like the air was being sucked out of the entire hotel.  Thank goodness we got here in time to save you.”

Demetra raised her hand to her forehead and sighed.  “I must be slipping.  How did I not sense him until it was too late?  It’s not like he appeared out of thin air.”  She then stood up a bit straighter in the circle of Francis’s arms and looked over at the prone Aetheral.  “Or maybe he did.  He has a very effective power, the ability to control air and become a part of it.  Do you think he was trying to kill me?”

“Who knows?  He is out cold now, so he cannot exactly answer the question himself.”  Verti smirked and continued to kick the fallen man. Cherubic blond curls framed his round, jovial-looking face.  “Instead of asking him what his intentions were, can we just kill him?  It would serve him right for what he did to you.”

“Aunt Verti,” Demetra groaned as she pressed her fingers against her brow.  “Please let me have a moment to think.”

“Well, I suppose you are right.  It would be too much trouble trying to dispose of the body.”  Verti knelt next to the man and screamed in his ear, “Wake up, bad man!”

“Talk about unorthodox methods,” Francis grumbled as he pulled Demetra more tightly against himself.  “Are you sure waking him up is such a good idea?”

Verti shrugged as the man on the floor groaned and reached up to put his hands on either side of his head.  He said something to them in French, to which Verti responded, “Yes, you better have a headache, but that will be the least of your worries if you don’t answer our questions.”  She clenched her fists and narrowed her eyes at the man.  His only response was a low moan.

“What are you doing to him?” Francis asked.

“I am inducing vertigo, my dear boy.  Right now, he feels like he’s spinning in circles.  Should he upset me, I will make it far worse on him.”

“Your niece was correct.  You are a very useful person to have with us.”

Verti simply winked at Francis, and then returned her attention to the man on the floor.

“May I please have some water?” Demetra asked Francis.

“Of course you may.”  He stepped away from her, giving the fallen celestial a gratuitous kick in the gut, before approaching the corner table where a pitcher of water and glass sat.  After filling the glass with water, Francis returned to Demetra’s side, delivering yet another kick to her attacker along the way.

“What a good boy!” Verti crowed with a grin.

“You have not seen anything yet, Aunt Verti.”  Francis gave the glass to Demetra, who took her time drinking it.  “Find out what the hell he was doing here.”

Verti let out a string of French words that were extremely threatening, yet managed to sound lyrical at the same time.

The man groaned and responded in the same language.

“He was hired to scare us and make us want to go back home.”

“Why?” Francis asked.  He crouched beside the man while Demetra finished her water.  “Who sent him?”

“He refuses to name anybody, but apparently we have been asking too many questions.  The Aetherals who live in Paris are not too keen on that.”

“Is that all?”

Verti frowned down at the man.  “I am pretty sure he is hiding something.  I come to Paris quite often and have never seen such a thing happen.  The Aetherals here know me and I doubt any of them are involved.”  She hissed another few sentences of French out at the celestial, who cowered and shook his head.

“If you refuse to tell us who sent you, we can always try an alternative method of questioning you,” Francis suggested in a low, dangerous voice.

The man bit out a terse response.

Verti grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up so he was nose to nose with her.  “Go back and tell whoever sent you that we are going on our merry way back to London in the morning,” she growled, “and you better pray we stay there, for your sake and your master’s.”

Together, Verti and Francis dragged the celestial to his feet and toward the balcony door.

“Hold on.”  Demetra finally approached them.  The gaslight cast shadows on her face, and the man gasped at her.

“Acadia Renard, il vous amie.  Sil vous plais…”

Drawing back in surprise, Demetra turned and walked away from the man.  “Go ahead and throw him out,” she said with a wave of her hand.

“With pleasure.”  Verti and Francis shoved the struggling man outside and thrust him off the balcony.  Not a sound followed his descent and Demetra nodded with satisfaction.

“He simply disappeared into thin air,” Verti said with a sigh as she walked back into the room.  “Hearing his body smack against the pavement would have been so much more entertaining.”  Francis followed, and shut and locked the balcony doors, then drew the curtains over them.

“That is what I expected.”  Demetra shrugged and turned back to face them.  “I even expected him to know what we are, since the three of us were out and about in Paris today.  However, the last thing I expected was to hear him say my mother’s name or ‘he loves you.’”

“Who do you think he was referring to?” Francis asked from behind Verti.

“I have no idea, but maybe if we can somehow find my mother, we can answer that question.”

Chapter Ten

The Airship Paris was open to last-minute first class passengers, which cut down on their travel concerns considerably.  Since it had a layover in London, the trio agreed that their ruse of returning to the city was believable to any outside observers.  It would just take some sly redirection on their parts.

“What lengths should we go to in order to make it seem like we are staying at home?” Francis asked.

“I honestly would not bother with much of anything,” Demetra said and waved her hand at him to emphasize her point.  “The idea is for people to observe us leaving the airship, and not see us returning to reboard.  Nobody is going to follow us and we will handle them if they do.”

“You sound very confident, my love.  However, you cannot be so sure of that.”

“True, but I prefer to be optimistic.”  Demetra stood at the white metal rail looking down at the busy streets as the airship made its way over the city.  From her vantage point, she could see the brick buildings that dominated London, the clock tower with its immense white face, and the spires of Westminster Palace.  Smoke belched from the smokestacks and chimneys of factories, darkening the sky farther from the murky Thames.

“The more I think about it,” she mused aloud, “the more I am putting the pieces of my mother’s story together.  Now we know somebody out there was and still is very much in love with her.”

“Do you think that might be who she was running from over the past several years?” Francis asked, glancing over at where Aunt Verti stood on deck with a group of men surrounding her, laughing at her witty remarks.

“It is very possible.  Perhaps he harmed her or she did not return his love.  Maybe he would not take no for an answer, and she feared for her well-being.  There are so many possibilities when strong emotions are involved.”

“I agree with you.  It does add a new dimension to what we now know.”  He tapped his foot on the metal deck and said, “I was thinking…”

“That is always good to hear.”

Francis rolled his eyes.  “Well, it is quite clear you get your sense of humor from your aunt, and I am glad to see that it has returned.  Nevertheless, we need to be serious for the moment, Demi.  I think we should stay over in London after all – at least for a week or two.  We should get married and then take this trip to the states as our honeymoon.”

“We cannot rush the wedding, as you very well know.  It would not be proper, even if we have waited for over three years to make it happen.”

“True, but people would get over it, and then there would be no need to bring Aunt Verti everywhere we go.”

“As you may recall, Aunt Verti saved my life back in Paris.  She is a good ally to have along on this trip.”

He nodded and said, “I agree with you and I am beginning to like her, but I just thought…”

“Francis.”  Demetra finally turned away from the familiar city scene below to look at him tenderly.  “I want to move forward with our lives together as much as you do, but I want to understand my identity once and for all.  If I can find my mother, then maybe I can do that.  If my intuition is correct, we will find my mother in the same place as the Daemon Device.”

“What if the search for this item takes you around the entire world?  You may never locate it, especially after twenty years.”

“Well.” She lifted her chin.  “We will take this endeavor one step at a time, but I promise not to delay our marriage for the sake of this journey.  If you wish to set a date, then we will and I will abide by it, no matter what.”

“I like the twenty-sixth of October,” he suggested.  “Besides being an auspicious day and month, the leaves should be a lovely sight to see.”

Demetra smiled.  “If you will accompany me to the states, then I will see you at the altar on that day,” she answered.

“And if this will make you happy, then I will do what I can to help you.”  Francis took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it.  “I want to be with you every step of the way.”

“I am glad to hear it, because I want you there with me every step of the way.”

“Ah, so it was not airsickness I was just experiencing, but a toxic sugar overdose,” Verti interrupted, shoving her way between them. “If you two lovebirds are done, I want to let you know that while we have no Aetherals on the ship, but there is a rather suspicious-looking character there.”  She jerked her head to indicate the opposite end of the deck.

Demetra tried to appear nonchalant as she scanned the deck, her gaze not stopping on the man that Verti indicated any longer than it rested elsewhere among the passengers.

“He does have an Aetheral item on him, though,” she said, turning her face up to Francis and giving him a bright smile.  “It appears to be a transmitter of some sort that acts on infernal energy.”

“Do you think he is here to spy on us?” Francis asked, hazarding a glimpse around the airship.

“Does a dog have fleas?”  Verti put her hands on her hips and ground the heel of her shoe into the metal deck.  “He is probably here to make sure we get off the ship in London.”

“What are we going to do?”

Demetra smiled.  “We will disembark in London, as planned.  If he follows us, we will make sure to detain him.  If he does not, then we can just wait and get back on the airship.  It is as simple as that.”

“This is getting dangerous.”  Francis flicked his narrowed gaze to the man in the corner, then back to his fiancée.

“My dear, we are on the path of a machine that can drain our kind of their powers and kill us, perhaps even wipe Aetherals off the face of the earth.  Whatever gave you the idea any of this is dangerous?”

~~~~~

The Airship Paris docked at Victoria Tower, anchoring to the cast-iron framework, and passengers finally disembarked.  Verti led Demetra and Francis along the gangplank, off the ship, and down the steps to the street-level.

“Our little friend is following us,” she whispered to them both.  “Can you feel it?”

“I believe so,” Francis answered, turning his head just slightly to glance back out of the corner of his eye.  “It almost feels like a small orb of infernal energy in his pocket.”

“Very good work, my love.”  Demetra looked at him with approval.  “We need to make sure he does not get back on the airship.  How long do we have until it departs?”

Francis checked his new pocket watch, careful not to depress the pin too hard when he opened the case.  “We have one hour to get rid of him, get back up the tower, and onto the ship.”

“Well, we are right here in the House of Lords.  Is there any place you can put him?”

“Put him?”

“Yes.  You know your way around, so can you just put him somewhere?”

“No, I most certainly cannot just ‘put’ a man somewhere in Westminster Palace!” Francis whispered excitedly.  “What kind of a thing is that to suggest?”

“Well, we cannot have him venturing too far from the Tower either.   We just need to ensure that he is indisposed for a little while.”

“Let me handle him,” Verti answered.  She continued to walk ahead at a fast pace, forcing both Demetra and Francis to quicken their strides to keep up with her. When they passed through the arch and onto the street, Verti led them around the corner and away from Victoria Tower.

“Our unwelcome stray is right behind us,” Demetra confirmed.  “I can sense the energy of the transmitter he is carrying.”

“Good.  I need you to take that thing away from him now, if you please.”

Demetra turned and focused on the energy of the Aetheral transmitter.  In a moment, it appeared in her hand.  Their shadow cried out “Hey!” in astonishment and began running toward them, while she curled her fingers around the device.

“I demand you return that at once or I shall call the constable!” he snarled as he approached them.  He was a short, squat man in a dark coat, flat cap, and tattered pants.  Yet his cultured accent belied his poor appearance.

“Who sent you?” Verti retorted, stepping between the man and Demetra, who held the transmitter out of the man’s reach.  “And why are you following us?”

“Tell us who you are sending messages to with this,” Demetra added accusingly, lifting the transmitter up for him to see.

“My activities are none of your business.  Relinquish that at once or I will involve the police!” he threatened once more.

Verti scoffed and stepped closer to the man.  “I would like to see you try,” she answered with a grin.  For a brief moment, the man stared at her incredulously.  In the second that followed, he dropped to the ground, groaning in pain.

“Stay, boy, stay,” Verti commanded, wagging her finger at him.  When he did not move, but only continued to writhe in pain, she stepped on his prone body.  Her heel sunk into his hip as she walked back toward Victoria Tower.

Demetra tucked the transmitter in her pocket and followed.  When she realized she was alone, she glanced back over her shoulder at Francis.  “Are you coming?”

He gaped down at the man writhing on the sidewalk.  “Are we just going to leave him here?”

“Oh, no need to worry about him.  The effects of Verti’s power will wear off after the airship departs.  He will survive and perhaps think better of spying on us or anyone else next time.”  She cocked her head and then chuckled. “That is, if there is a next time.”

Francis caught up with her and they strode toward the tower.  “How can you be so callous?” he asked.

“What an odd question.  You gunned down a daemon only last month.”

“He was going to kill you.”

“Francis, my love, what do you think this means?”  Demetra held the transmitter up in his face, and then concealed it in her hand once more.  “You are an Aetheral now.  Take nothing for granted.  Even if that man was not under orders to harm us, he may be an accomplice to someone who does mean us harm.  If you truly want to protect me, then you must learn to treat every possible threat with at least some ruthlessness.  Such an attitude may just save your life one day.  We gave him his chance to defend himself by asking questions, which he refused to answer.  This is not a game and we do not give second chances, any more than a foe would give us second chances.  Do you understand?”

She sensed his steps slowing and turned to look at him.

“If you love something, it is worth fighting for,” she said quietly.  “Before our differences drove us apart, that was how you felt about me.  I think it is time to find that part of Lord Winterton once more.”

When they had returned to the Airship Paris, Demetra sat one of the deck chairs to analyze the transmitter, while Francis and Verti watched the gangplank.

“It looks safe enough,” Francis announced when the airship was underway once more.  He turned and leaned back against the rail, his arms folded across his chest.  “Our stray certainly did not make it back on the ship.”

“Good.”  Demetra sighed and waved the transmitter at him, without looking up from it.  “Now the problem is that I simply cannot figure this out.  Whoever made it is clearly a genius.  There is no identifier on it, nothing to denote the maker, no artificer’s mark.  Nor is there any way to know which frequency this device is using or how it connects.  The signal has been encoded in some way, the radio waves somehow masked.  There are also no live transmissions stored in it, so I cannot analyze past transmissions.  It is almost as if somebody has combined a radio with the technology of my father’s Emanator, and then taken it a step further to ensure that it has other fail safes.”

“In English, please?” Francis asked.

“There is no way she can sort it out, my boy,” Verti interjected.  “I think that is simple enough to understand.”

“Should we just destroy it so it cannot be traced to us in some way?”

Demetra shook her head.  “Even if I am unable to figure out who made it, this thing may still come in handy, particularly if whoever hired that man to follow us sends a transmission.”

“It might also lead that person right to us,” Francis pointed out.  “Maybe it is bait.  Perhaps you were meant to take it and it is tracking your movement right now or, worse, picking up every word we say.”

“I have to say I am with Francis-boy for once,” Verti agreed with a sharp nod.  “I suggest we are better safe than sorry in this instance.  If somebody wants us badly enough, then our paths will cross.  However, let it be on our terms and not theirs.  Throw that thing overboard.  Let it rust away in the depths of the Atlantic.”

“Give me some time to think about it.  I have not tried every possible trick to learn more about this item or its maker just yet.”  Demetra slid the transmitter into the pocket of her coat and said, “We should try to enjoy this trip.  I have never been across an entire ocean.”

“Demetra…”  Francis’s voice held a warning note.

“I certainly hope the food is edible.”  She rose smoothly to her feet and walked through the door that led inside the dirigible, and to the staterooms.

With a loud sigh directed at the back of Demetra’s head, Francis followed her, leaving Verti to find her own entertainment.

~~~~~

The three of them met in the dining room for dinner that night.  Stark white walls looked even more severe under the intense electric bulbs used to light the room.  The only color was the burgundy-red carpet and the red rose in a white vase in the center of the pristine white tablecloth on each table.

“This room could use a painting or two,” Verti declared.  She edged her chair up to the table and sniffed in disdain at the minimal adornment.  “Who defines this as first class?”

“Air travel is in its infancy,” Demetra temporized with a glance out the downward-slanting windows.  “We are trading luxury for speed.”

“Can we trade speed for luxury on the way home?”

“It all depends on the urgency of our return.”

“And by that you mean…”

Demetra spread her napkin over her lap and answered, “Whether or not we are being pursued or in some sort of other danger at that point.”

“Ah.  Lovely.  Well, I have made a thorough search of the airship and while there are now two other Aetherals aboard, they seem to be a perfectly respectable couple,” Verti reported.  “Hence, no fun to be had there, but no worries either.”  She withdrew her flask from the black vest she was wearing over a snow-white shirt and black pleated skirt.

“Must you do that in front of everybody?” Francis grumbled.

“I must.”

He rolled his eyes toward Demetra.  “Any luck with the transmitter, since you insisted on keeping it?”

“No, and I am not letting it out of my sight.”

“That is precisely what worries me.”

Demetra stiffened her spine and glared at him down her nose.  “Maybe you don’t like the thought of somebody possibly chasing after us, but I would much rather have everything out in the open, than all of these unanswered questions.  If somebody is after my mother, I want to know about it.  If this thing can lead me to her, then that is a chance I willingly take.  If somebody is after us for some reason, then they should come right out and make themselves known.  It is most rude to hide oneself and one’s intent in the shadows, particularly when I am ready to risk anything and everything to know the truth.”

“Hear, hear!” Verti toasted Demetra.  “Let villains show themselves so we can deal with them!”

“You are being too loud, Aunt Verti,” Francis hissed.

“There is no such thing,” she answered with a girlish toss of her hair.

“Excuse me.”  A young man in a neat, dark gray uniform with the words “Airship Paris” embroidered on his cap approached their table, his hands folded before him. “Could you folks please keep your child quiet?  People are trying to dine.”

Demetra’s smothered laughter was still audible behind her hand as Verti bristled at the man’s words.

“Child?” she asked him, her voice deceptively sweet, despite the blaze of anger in her eyes.  “What makes you think I am a mere child?”

“Well,” the man said, stuttering a few times, “y-y-you just look rather…”

“Cute?  Adorable?  Charming?  Sweet?”

“Short,” Francis interrupted.

“I was thinking young,” the man in the uniform finally stated.

“Oh, you dear, dear boy,” Verti gushed as she fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“Aunt Verti,” Francis said warningly.

“S-she is your aunt?”  The airship staff member looked up at Francis and Demetra.

“Yes,” Demetra said with a grim nod, “and despite the fact that she behaves as though she does not know any better, she is old enough to be your mother.  I suggest you find another passenger to flirt with on this journey.”

The man returned his gaze to the small Aetheral.  “I am so sorry, madam.”

Verti made a face.  “Do not call me that again, or you will hear loud, young man.”

“Y-yes madam…  Mademoiselle, of course.”  The staff member bowed sycophantically as he backed away from their table, nearly bumping into their waiter, who swerved to avoid him.  After the server set their food in front of them, refilled their wine glasses, and returned to the kitchen, the trio of travelers breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“I take it we will not be welcome on their home flight after all,” Francis observed, casting his glance down at the food in front of them.  “Whether we are in need of a hasty exit or not, it seems we are left with one less option.”

“That is what steamships are for, and the accommodations would certainly be much more attractive.”  Verti dug into the meal with vigor, unconcerned as ever about propriety or the possibility of ending up on anyone’s blacklist.

“It amazes me that we will have probably exhausted every single method of travel after this journey.”  Francis shook his head at her.  “And it embarrasses me to think that will be your fault to a large extent.”

With a snort of laughter, Demetra finally picked up her utensils and tried the food.  “This is surprisingly edible,” she reported.  “Perhaps airship travel, though in its infancy, is not all that barbaric after all.”

“Thank goodness there is some good news in all of this.”  Francis also cut in to the chicken on his plate, and then pointed his fork accusingly at Verti.  “You are going to behave yourself from now on.  We asked you to assist us – not burden us with additional worries.”

“You should really see a professional about these delusions of yours, Francis-boy,” the infernal scoffed back.

“Will you tell me about your work in America,” Demetra intervened before her fiancé could retort.  “I know very little about your ventures in the west, and I should probably learn more now that we have set a date for our nuptials.”

Verti cocked an eyebrow at Francis.  “You have a head for business?”

“Believe it or not, yes.  I inherited a few lumber mills from my father after he died, and I have offices in New York City and San Francisco.  I travel to both cities at least four times a year to make certain things are running well.”  He reached for his glass of white wine and took a long drink.

“I am very glad to hear it.  Aristocrat or not, a man should have something to occupy his time.”  Verti nodded approvingly and took a hearty bite of the meal before her.

“Especially when people like us have so much of it,” Demetra agreed with a hint of a smile.  If she could get her eccentric aunt to accept her stubborn betrothed, and vice versa, she reasoned, then she could accomplish anything.

Chapter Eleven

The bed in the stateroom was quite comfortable and Demetra woke up refreshed the next morning.  She stretched along the crisp cotton sheets and raised her eyes to the porthole to glance at the sky.  It was a trifle disorienting at first, as was getting to her feet and looking down through the glass.  Although all she saw was a vast expanse of ocean, she knew from her pocket watch that it was only a matter of hours before they docked in New York City.

Once she was dressed in a day gown with black and white stripes, layers of black tulle skirt, and a black leather bodice, she picked up the transmitter to examine it once more.  The small machine was nothing more than a handheld device, no wider than her palm, and only five or six inches in length.  It was a cold rectangle of metal, with a short, retractable antenna.  The small white light on top had remained unlit since she acquired it.  Other than two small slots on the front, there was nothing else to the machine.  She saw no discernible seams, bolts, or screws.

Demetra reached into the brown leather pouch hanging from the bottom of her bodice and extracted a small, flat tool similar to a metal nail file.  Taking a deep breath, she inserted the tool into one of the slots and began to poke around.  There was a small “click” and then the casing separated in two pieces in her hand.  She set the tool aside on the bed and gently pried the case apart to look inside.

The array of wires and copper tubing did not look as confusing as she had initially expected.  After a thorough examination of the components, she let out a string of filthy words worthy of a sailor.  She rose swiftly to her feet and stepped through her stateroom door into the sterile white interior hall of the airship.  Her fast steps brought her to the deck, where she let the metal instrument fall from her hand into the ocean below.

When she stalked into the dining room in a huff and sat down at the table, both Verti and Francis edged away from her, with an exchange of knowing glances.

“What is it?” Francis asked hesitantly.

Demetra smoothed the cloth napkin across her lap and reached for the teapot to pour herself a cup.  “It was a decoy,” she hissed.

“Do you mean the transmitter?”

Demetra nodded wordlessly as she fortified herself with several sips of the strong, black tea.  When she felt ready to speak, she explained.

“I managed to open it this morning and found it was nothing but bits of cheap wire clamped in there, along with some useless copper tubing.  There was just enough Aetheral energy so I could sense the item and call it to me, but it had no purpose other than that.  None of the components were connected to anything and it was not a functioning piece of equipment.”

“Well, at least we know it was not some sort of device for spying on us,” Verti said with a nod of her head.  “There was no danger in your decision to keep it.”

“Quite the contrary, my dear aunt, I believe it was meant to convey information indirectly.  The man from whom we took it probably never intended to return to the airship.  His only goal was to be an eyewitness to my ability.  Odds are he went straight to the nearest telegraph office as soon as he recovered from your attack.  Whomever he works for now knows what I can do.”

“Well, trouble is waiting for us somewhere,” Francis declared as he speared a slice of ham from the serving platter with his fork.  “Whether we continue onward from New York or go back home to London, it is only a matter of time before it catches up with us.”

“I am glad you finally understand precisely what sort of life I lead.  So, do you have any suggestions?” Demetra asked.

“Actually, I do,” Francis said after chewing his food.  “As far as we have come, we cannot let anything stop us now.”

Demetra grinned at the look of grim determination on her fiancé’s face.  “Why do you say that, my love?”

“Because I realized you were right when you convinced me to take this journey.  I now know that there will always be trouble as far as you and your powers are concerned,” he responded with a grin of his own.  “I never imagined my mother would walk up to me one day and inform me that I was an Aetheral.  Her declaration has changed my point of view on life more than I could have ever imagined.  I no longer need to worry about leaving you alone in the world, but now I do have to worry about the possibility that my own powers put both of us at risk.  Your powers certainly put you in constant danger.  As for the two Aetherals together, I think the danger must double.  My mother may not be the only person who does not like the idea of us making a commitment to each other.  Maybe she was not expressing prejudice, but instead concern that we might present a target if the two of us are united in matrimony.”

“That is an excellent point,” Verti said, putting her finger to her mouth and nodding at Francis’s words.  “As you get comfortable with your new knowledge of yourself and your abilities, you will become as much Aetheral in your outlook on life, as you are human.  When you realize just how strong you are, you may find that others feel threatened by you.  It’s not as cutthroat a society as it seems, but Aetherals often act as though they are above others.  Many have no qualms about taking what they want and destroying anyone who gets in their way.”

Demetra turned a loving gaze on Francis.  “Aunt Verti is right.  You are now a part of a rather strange and ruthless world.  The intricacies of an Aetheral existence are far more complex than those of humanity.  The fact that you realize it is good.  You will never be able to just rest in your mansions and country estates, and let life go on around you, as you used to do.”

“Good,” Francis answered softly.  “The last thing I want is to just let life go on around me.  I want to be a part of it, and I want you with me for every moment of my existence.”

“Well, you certainly are about to become a part of something,” Verti muttered before taking a swig of gin from her flask.

“So are you, Aunt Verti – the skyscape.”

“He does have a sense of humor after all.” The diminutive woman chortled.  “Good for you, Francis.  You will make a fine addition to this family after all!”

“And as long as you are kind enough not to torment me, I will not feel the need to have to subtract you from it.”

“Ooh and he gets another good dig in!”  Verti took one more celebratory drink.  “I can tell that our time in America is going to be fun.”

“I would prefer ‘productive’,” Demetra interjected sharply, even though she was smiling.  Despite her well-known pragmatism, she could not help but be inspired by Francis’s positive acceptance of his place in their now-shared world.

“There is always time for you two to be productive after the wedding,” Verti replied with a giggle.

~~~~~

They stood on deck, watching the New York City patchwork get closer with each passing moment.  It was not long before they were floating over the cityscape and descending toward the Manhattan-side tower of the Brooklyn Bridge.  The East River was a calm ribbon of steely blue below them, and the late-morning sun glinted off its surface.  Lower Manhattan itself looked like a collection of vertical and horizontal steel boxes set up in rows and columns on both land and water.  Horse-drawn carriages crossed the bridge on both sides, while steamships passed beneath it, their stacks emitting clouds of smoke into the air.

“Have you ever seen anything so breathtaking?” Verti sighed, hanging loosely on the rail, her arms dangling over it.  “America is the one place I have not yet visited in all my years.”

“Then I am glad that I can accommodate you,” Demetra said with a smile.  The city was, indeed, amazing to her.  London was dark and crowded, but New York had a bustling, fresh energy to it.

As if reading her mind, Francis sighed and said, “I rather miss London, dreary though it may be.  However, it is a treat to visit here every so often.  I find it to be rather a nice change of pace.”

“This is just my kind of town,” Verti said dreamily, tilting her head to the side so her cheek rested against the rail.  “There is less concern about what you say and do, who you know and who you see.  There is so much more social freedom in America.”

“Be that as it may, you still need to show at least some manners, lest we draw too much attention to ourselves.”

“Francis.”  Verti turned to him with a grimace.  “You are much too concerned about appearances.  After all that you said over breakfast today, have you not come to realize things change?  Nothing ever stays the same or is what we expect, particularly once we grow up.  Sometimes we need to tell society to go to hell, and follow our own path, especially when that path is an almost-immortal one.”

“Aunt Verti,” Demetra said warningly, rolling her eyes toward the little girl.  “We appreciate your sentiments.  Just please do not broadcast them for the entire city to hear.”

“And that is my public service message for the month,” Verti responded, turning her gaze back to the land below.

The three of them watched as they descended toward the East River and the suspension bridge spanning it.  Men stood along the docking back that protruded from the top of the bridge, waiting to secure the airship with an assortment of equipment.  Workers also lined the deck of the ship itself, ready to assist with bringing it into port.

“This is exciting,” Verti breathed as she watched the men at work.  The crew of the airship tossed ropes with heavy hooks at the ends of them over the rail, and the men on the bridge caught them.  The ground workers heaved on the ropes, straining to pull the ship safely against the dock.  “Seeing all those rippling muscles makes me so happy.”

“That is truly disturbing,” Demetra groaned with exasperation.

“I am a healthy young woman and there is nothing wrong with admiring such fine specimens of masculinity.”

Demetra put her hand over her eyes, while Francis just laughed.  “Now you understand my vexation,” he whispered to her.

“Oh, Aunt Verti has been vexing me for years, though I must credit her with at least certain aspects of my education.”

Once they docked and the passengers and their bags were safely on the ground, Francis hired a hackney cab.  “It is not a very long ride from here to my townhouse.  Once we get there, you can refresh yourselves while I order us a light lunch.”  He handed them up into the carriage and joined them after the baggage was loaded.

“That sounds like a marvelous idea,” Demetra said once Francis was sitting next to her in the cab.  She sat back and relaxed, just watching the cityscape pass as they drove along.  The scenery between the bridge and Brooklyn Heights alternated between bustling activity along busy city streets and spans of undeveloped land without a person in sight.

“It is such a funny thing to see,” she remarked.  “You have modern buildings and yet – look there – you still have farmhouses in the city too.  I expected the streets to be lined with shops and filled with carriages, but it is a more diverse place than I realized.”

“Well, before the middle of the century, it was still mostly farmland here.  With the building boom of the 1870’s, things really began to change throughout New York.”  Francis looked out the window as well.  “It is only a matter of time before all of this land is built into one uniform metropolis.  I find it quite exciting to watch the progress, really.  I think one of the reasons my father loved it so well here was because he enjoyed watching it change.  Every day there is something new to see.  Perhaps we will have the chance to visit Carnegie Hall.  It only just opened last spring.”

“I would not be adverse to a bit of entertainment,” Verti said.  “We hardly spent an entire day in Paris before we were off and running once more.  We should take the time to enjoy ourselves here.”

“But if we find any answers or clues about my mother, I want to act immediately.”  Demetra pursed her lips.  “Stalling will only allow the trail to grow cold.”

“You are right, of course,” Francis agreed.  “We came to New York for business, not pleasure.”

Verti blew her bangs off her face with a sharp exhalation of exasperation.  “Very well, my dears, I will keep my complaints to myself as long as the accommodations are suitable and I have an opportunity to see at least a little action.”

“By action, do you mean…”

Demetra put her hand firmly over Francis’s and shook her head.  “I suggest you not ask that question.”

When the hackney stopped, Francis glanced out his window and said, “Here we are, ladies.”

Once they were standing on the sidewalk, Demetra looked up at 42 Grace Court.  The brownstone was much larger than she had expected.  It looked even larger than her family’s spacious Albemarle home.

“This place is beautiful,” she breathed, her eyes drawn to the bow front window, which was made of stone and copper.  “You really live here?”

“Yes I do, though only part-time of course.  However, I retain a butler and a maid full time to keep the place tidy, and Beckstrom usually accompanies me when I visit.  I don’t normally do without my valet, you know.  This will be a new experience.”

“How frightfully challenging it must be to have to dress yourself,” Verti said.  “Still, admitting you need help is the first step.”

Francis rolled his eyes and helped the driver with the luggage.  As both men carried the trunks from the street up the stairs, another man opened the door for them.  From his crisp white shirt, black vest, and bowtie, Demetra realized she was looking at the butler.

Aunt Verti preceded her up the steps, giving the man a pert nod before breezing into the front entry to look around the building with a critical eye.  Demetra stopped and extended her hand to the butler.

“Hello, my name is Demetra Ashdown.”

“It is lovely to finally meet you, Miss Ashdown.  I am Royston, Lord Winterton’s butler.  May I congratulate you on your engagement to him?  If you should need anything, please do not hesitate to call on me.”

“Thank you very much.  I hope you will not stand on ceremony just because we are in residence, Royston.”  With a warm smile, Demetra walked into the entry.  She took her time to admire the architecture and design.

“What do you think of the house?” Francis asked as he returned to the entry.

“It is more beautiful than I imagined.  I suppose I must admit a certain bias in my belief that London has the monopoly on beauty, but let me assure you this surpasses my expectations.  Your butler does a wonderful job of keeping house.”

“Royston is one of the best employees I have ever had.  He takes excellent care of the home when I am not here.  He and his wife are very dependable.  Come up the stairs and I will show you to the parlor level, unless the kitchen interests you.  You will be mistress of this house after our wedding, so you may as well acquaint yourself with it.”

“True enough.  Thank you.”  Demetra followed him up the stoop and through the arched doors.  “What a lovely view this window affords,” she said, looking out at the street through the bow window.  Across the narrow street was another brownstone with a wrought iron fence enclosing the yard next to it.

“It does,” Francis agreed.  “That window is one of the many reasons why I love this house.  Naturally, we have electricity throughout the entire building.  It is quite modern here.  You will find a rather nice library on the third floor and guest rooms on the fourth floor.  That is, until…”  He took her hands in his and kissed each one.  “Until you return here as my wife, and then we will share the master suite on the third floor.”

“Francis,” she purred, turning to face him completely.

Before she could elaborate on any romantic sentiments, Verti burst into the parlor.  “Oh my goodness, what a view each of these windows has!  I dare say this is even lovelier than London.  Perhaps I should look into investing in some property for myself in this city.  I am quite fond of America and I think I may want to spend more time here.”

“Well, I certainly would not object to that,” Demetra said with a smile.  “It might be nice to have family nearby when Francis whisks me away on his American business trips.”

“Or,” Francis muttered tightly, dropping his fiancée’s hands, “it might be nice to have some time alone, just the two of us.”

“True, but I am the last person who will intrude on your private time,” Verti said airily.  She sauntered around the parlor, her head tilted as she examined the room.  “Goodness knows I cherish mine.”

“Oh dear gods, I hate to think who would… with a little girl…  I…”  Francis gaped at her.

“Well, so do I, dear boy,” Verti answered sternly.  “I was thinking more about time spent alone with a good book.  You know, for somebody so prim, you have a terribly dirty mind.”

As Francis stared at her, open-mouthed, Demetra scolded, “Aunt Verti, do you mind?”

“Not at all, but I think it is rather shocking that you are going to marry somebody who thinks like that.”

As the other Aetheral flounced out of the room, Demetra turned to Francis with a shake of her head.  “I do not know how many times I can apologize for her.”

“Well, since we know that she will never apologize for herself, I doubt you need to bother either.”  He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead and said, “Now, then, we should get you settled in and then see what Mrs. Royston has cooked up for us for lunch.”

By the time Demetra was comfortably ensconced in a spacious guest room with windows overlooking the street, she was also famished.  She walked down the elegant stairway to the parlor level and found her way to the dining room.  Verti was already sitting at the table, devouring the sandwich on her plate.

“My goodness, are you already storing up for winter?” Demetra asked, sliding into a chair and reaching for the plates in the center of the table.

Verti mumbled around her mouthful of food and then washed it down with some wine.  After swallowing audibly, she barked out a short, “Yes.”

“Eat as much as you like.” Francis laughed from where he sat at the head of the table.  “I am quite sure the butcher, baker, and grocer will all thank me for having the opportunity to double their usual bills.”

Forking some cold meats, bread, and salad onto her plate, Demetra asked, “Has anybody considered our plan of attack for today?  I realize we only just arrived this morning, but I would prefer not to waste any time.”

“Well, I just broke the news to the Roystons that I am… that I am… what I am.”  Francis shrugged.  “They took it well.  Then again, we see many more Aetherals in America, so they were not quite as shocked as our acquaintances in London will be if I ever decide to speak of it.”

“Why do you think there is a higher population of Aetherals here?” Demetra asked.

“America is seen as far more progressive and tolerant than Europe,” Verti explained.  She reached for a roll and buttered it.  “Most of the Aetherals find less persecution and more work in the west.  America presents better opportunities for them to succeed in business and live peacefully, just as it does the normal humans.  The new world and its territories are not quite so restrictive in their social expectations as the old world.”

“That presents a potential problem,” Demetra mused.  “It is hard enough to find what you want in London, let alone the continent, but in a place like America?  Trying to find the Daemon Device may be like trying to find a needle in a haystack, if there is that much Aetheral energy circulating.”

“Factor in the odds of finding even more devices and relics here, particularly if the influx of Aetherals has included many artificers and, yes, this trip may very well be for naught.”  Nodding in agreement, Francis reached for his wineglass.  “If it matters that much to you, we will not give up, especially when we have come this far to find answers.”

“Thank you.”  Relieved by his words, Demetra looked down at her food and tasted her lunch.

“I think a test of Francis’s abilities might be in order,” Verti suggested.  “After all, he does not know quite how strong his powers are.  Before we go gallivanting around a country that none of us are really all that familiar with – except for Francis – we really ought to know where we stand with regard to protecting ourselves.”

Francis cocked an eyebrow and said, “That is something I am more than willing to do.  How shall we start?”

Chapter Twelve

“You want me to what?” Francis gasped incredulously as they stood in the parlor.

Demetra let her arms fall to her sides.  “What happened to your willingness to explore your powers?” she asked.

“I did not expect you to ask me to hurt you in the process.”

“My dear boy.”  Verti swaggered up to him, her dark blue and grey plaid skirt swirling around her ankles, her hands on her hips as she faced him.  The crisp white button-down shirt made her hair appear even more raven-black around her pale face.  “You can either waltz around between London and America on your business trips, pretending you are completely human and that nothing will ever harm you, or you can remember that we have a young lady here with a very unique ability and at least one outsider who is well aware of what she can do.  Now tell me something.  Is this the woman you love?”

“Yes,” Francis said with a sharp nod.

“And do you think it is your sacred marital duty – nay, your romantic obligation – to protect her?”  Verti’s voice rose dramatically.

“Of course I think that!”

“Then attack the girl, because how else can we know extent of your powers until you do!”

“I would rather attack you instead, and not harm the woman I love,” Francis groaned.

Disbelief etched on her features, Verti stared at him.  “Do you really want me to knock the bloody piss out of you?  If you want to be rolling on the floor with a splitting headache and vomiting up your lungs, then just say the word.”

“Fine, I’ll attack Demi.”

“Keep in mind that your girl is perfectly capable of defending herself.”

“What do you mean she is capable of defending herself?  Remember I have had to rescue her twice in the past two months!” Francis cried.

“Actually, I believe it was Aunt Verti who rescued me in Paris.  Not you.”  Demetra shrugged and examined her fingernails.

“My niece is a tough girl.  Just see what you can do,” Verti encouraged, patting Francis on the back.

With a grumble of annoyance, Francis turned to Demetra, who was still blithely ignoring him.  “You asked for it,” he sighed.

Before Demetra could react, Francis charged at her.  She moved quickly, but not quickly enough.  He pulled her into his arms and held tight.

“Is he faster than a normal human?  Check,” Verti said.  “Is he more agile than a normal human?  Check.  What about strength?”

Francis wrapped his arms around Demetra and squeezed her even tighter.  As she gasped for breath and flailed her legs, Verti nodded.

“Stronger, faster and more agile – those are pretty generic abilities, but will still come in handy.  Is there anything else we seem to have missed?

“Sensing auras!” Demetra choked out as Francis finally set her back on her feet.

“Right, that.” Verti looked up at Francis with an assessing gaze.  “That may take some practice for you to get the hang of it, so you should start immediately.  What do you see when you look at me?”

“An infuriatingly psychotic grade-schooler with a drinking habit,” Francis answered immediately.

Verti shook her finger at him in admonishment.  “Now, now, I did not ask you to state the obvious.”

Breathing deep, Francis looked at the small girl in front of him, his brow furrowed.

“Try to just let it happen naturally,” Verti suggested.

“Here, let me try to help.”  Demetra stepped up behind him and put her hands on his shoulders.  In a soothing voice, she said, “When I sense an artifact, I am rarely looking for it.  I just let it happen, just feel the energy as it comes to me.  The same goes for looking for something visual.  Try not to look so hard.  Let it come to you,” she continued coaxingly.  “Close your eyes.”

Francis did as she suggested.

“Now, take a normal breath.  This is not a race and there is no need to run to the finish line.  You want to let your natural ability run its course, and it is best to let it flow in its own time; at its own pace.”  Demetra matched her calm breathing to his.  “Open your eyes slowly and do not focus – do not look at Verti.  Just see her without trying.”

When he lifted his lids once more, Francis’s gaze appeared unfocused and faraway.  “I see something,” he said after a moment.  “A color is swimming into view.  No, it seems more like a shield of white around her, but with another layer of color outside of it.”

“Good,” Demetra answered softly, her hands still resting on his shoulders.  She realized the more she touched him, the more she didn’t want to let him go.  This could become a very bad habit…  She cleared her throat and said, “You are doing a wonderful job.  Just continue to let it happen on its own.  What color do you see?”

“Lavender,” he said without hesitation.

“You have done very well with her.  Turn around and tell me what you see from me.”

Francis turned and looked at her as instructed.  “Red,” he answered thoughtfully, “and it looks very deep and strong.  It is the purest red I have ever seen.”

“I think it would be a good idea to try to see the Roystons’ colors as well.  The more practice you get, the more easily your ability will come to you.  You want it to be second nature.  You want to be able to use it without even thinking about it, so you can call upon it in a split second if necessary.  However, you also must be able to control it.  The last thing you need are blobs of color jumping out at you when you walk down the street.”

“But what is the point of even being able to see an aura?” he asked.  “I hardly think it matters that I can tell you if somebody is surrounded by a rainbow.”

“The aura is the human energy field,” Verti explained, walking around to face him.  “The color of it is an indicator of someone’s personality and temperament.  If you want to know what kind of a person you are dealing with in anything in life, the color of their aura can tell you.  Also, try going in here.”  She reached out to open a closet door.

“Why would I do that?” Francis asked.

“Just get in there with your fiancée and tell me what you see.”

Demetra stepped into the closet without any complaint and waited for Francis to follow.  When he hesitated in the doorway, she said, “I realize this is a rather unorthodox method, but just go with what Verti suggested.  There is a very logical reason for this, I assure you.”

“This is the strangest thing I have ever done in the name of love.”  Francis shook his head and stepped into the cupboard.  As soon as the door closed, he gasped.

“I can still see your aura,” he said.  “It is definitely a red outline over a white one and it feels like a current of energy flowing around you.”

“Excellent.”  Demetra reached out to him in the darkness and took advantage of the private moment to press a kiss to his mouth.  Before Francis could participate in helping her make it a properly improper kiss, light flooded the closet.

“Congratulations,” Verti said as the couple sprang apart.  “Even in the dark, you will still stand a good chance of hitting your target with a weapon.  Not only can you determine honest from dishonest and friend from foe with just a look, but you can also keep up with anybody in the dark.”

“That is simply amazing,” Francis breathed, apparently unperturbed by the interruption.

“I quite agree.”  Demetra sighed and patted him on the shoulder.  “Welcome to my world.”

~~~~~

After dinner at home and a good night’s rest, the trio set out for Francis’s business offices the next day.  The busy downtown Brooklyn area was full of new sights for both Demetra and Verti to admire as the brougham rolled along the street.

“This is a fairly busy part of town.  If we want to learn anything interesting in New York, we may as well start here,” Francis said.

“Is there a particular area where Aetherals tend to spend their time?” Demetra asked.  “We are more likely to get useful information from our own kind.”

“Unfortunately, I would have no idea where to begin in locating other Aetherals.  Until only a few weeks ago, I was just another human.  I am sure that the two of you can find what you are looking for, though.  You must have some ideas.”

“Demi and I will do some shopping,” Verti announced with a confident nod of her head.  “That will give us a feel for this part of the city and we will see what we learn today.  If there is a place where our kind tends to gather, I am sure we will find it.”

Demetra agreed. “It would not be the first time I went out into something blind.  Sometimes you learn more that way.”

“While you ladies do that, I need to check in at the office.  Though I doubt I will learn anything there, I will keep my eyes and ears open for you.”

“That’s a good boy,” Verti said, reaching out to pat Francis’s knee.  “You just leave the hard work to us.”

He gaped at her as the brougham pulled up to his office.  They disembarked and Verti linked her arm through Demetra’s to pull her up along the sidewalk, toward the bustling crowd.

“I will try not to be long,” Francis called after them.

“Take all the time you need,” Demetra answered, even as her aunt towed her along like a recalcitrant child.  “I am sure that we will do just fine on our own.”

As soon as they were out of earshot, Verti asked, “Do you really believe that?”

“Of course not!  Here we are, on our own in a strange city.  Trouble always manages to find me, particularly when we are at a disadvantage.”  Demetra reached down to close her hand around her fan.  The deadly accessory hung from one of the loops sewn into the bottom of her black leather bodice.  The taffeta of her indigo blue dress rustled as she walked.  Even though people rushed to and fro a mere block ahead of them, she still could not shake the feeling that something was about to go horribly wrong.

Before she could give voice to her sense of foreboding, Verti whispered, “At least we are ready for anything.”

“Except…  Oh gods, no.”  Demetra turned and ran back toward the office, unfamiliar Aetheric energy tingling at the very edges of her awareness.  “Francis!” she cried.

Before she could utter another word, a pulse of power sent her hurtling back along the sidewalk and tumbling into Aunt Vertiline.  The smaller girl grunted, but managed to keep her feet and help Demetra up as the windows of the Winterton office shattered into the street with a violent sound.  At the first crack of glass, the horse spooked and ran away with both the brougham and driver.  It did not get very far, as the coachman calmed the horse and turned it back around to face the scene of the chaos.  Other people stopped what they were doing and looked toward the sound, but kept their distance from the scene of the explosion.

“What was that?” Verti growled.

“Electromagnetic disruption of some sort,” Demetra answered, taking tentative steps toward where broken glass, smoking wood, and twisted metal littered the street.  “It came from Francis’s office.”  She took another cautious step forward, then another and another, until she lifted her skirts and was running toward the building once more.  When nothing propelled her away, she ran inside and gasped at the wreckage.

“Francis!” she cried.  “Francis!”

“Oh my gods.”  Verti stopped just inside the door and stared.

“Look at this mess.  He has got to be in here somewhere.”  Demetra picked her way around the wreckage, ducking as pieces of plaster rained down from the ceiling.  When she finally made her way to the back room, she gasped in horror.

Francis was lying on the floor groaning, a cut on his head bleeding profusely.  Kneeling next to him and cradling his head in her lap was a woman that Demetra had seen only in her own mirror.  The energy that wafted gently over her like the lightest perfume felt surprisingly familiar, even though she had not been in its presence since the first days of her infancy.

She tried to catch her breath, but could barely say the word.

“Mother?”

Chapter Thirteen

“You are not safe here, Demetra.  Why did you come here, after all I have done to protect you?  Why ever did you come here?”  Acadia Renard’s voice was liltingly accented, more French than English, and full of anguish at the moment.  “We need to go now,” she warned.

As Acadia rose to her feet to stand over Francis, Demetra could not take her eyes off the woman.

Most people considered Demetra unfashionably tall for a lady, but Acadia was regal in her bearing.  An intricately woven band of leather held her golden ringlets off her face.  Small bronze hoops dangled from her earlobes, though one ear had even more small piercings up along it.  She wore a white shirt with pale grey pinstripes, a dark brown leather vest with matching trousers, and scuffed brown leather boots.  There was a frilly white cravat at her throat and, much to Demetra’s surprise, a pair of guns in the holsters hanging against her hips.

Crouching down once more, Acadia pressed her hand to Francis’s forehead.  The flow of blood immediately stopped and he blinked up at her.

“Demi?” he asked quietly.

“Shush.  We need to get out of here and fast.”  Acadia looked around the room.  “Vertiline.  Get that driver back here.”

The girl darted out of the office without argument.

“Can you walk?” Acadia asked Francis.

“Of course I can…”  He rose to his feet, and then his gaze skipped from Acadia to Demetra and back again.  “When did there get to be two of you?”

“Since you took a plank of wood to the head, my friend.  Come along and we will make you all better.  Demetra, help me with him.”  Acadia pulled Francis’s arm across her shoulders and indicated that her daughter should take the other.

Although Demetra wanted to take her to task for her commanding tone, she didn’t argue. Lifting Francis’s arm over her shoulder, she grimaced when glass crunched beneath her shoe.  The clang of another plank falling from the ceiling compelled her to move faster.  “This place is a death trap,” she muttered.

“Do you have a safe place where we can go?  We should not be out in public.”

Rather than point out the blatant obviousness of the statement, Demetra answered, “Francis’s townhome,” as they supported him out into the daylight.

“It will have to do.  At least it will be safer than any hospital.”

“Was there anyone else in the office?”  She glanced back over her shoulder at the destroyed building.

“Most of them got out through the back door.”  Acadia shoved Francis up into the waiting brougham and Verti reached out to pull him onto the seat next to her.  “We should just focus on getting out of here.  His employees can deal with this mess.  It would be best if we were not seen here for a very long time.  I’m sure the police are already on their way, considering the crowd.”

Demetra cast a baleful glance at the group of people milling around either end of the street.  Though they still had not ventured near the scene, it was only a matter of time before someone came along to investigate.  She took one last look at the destruction and slammed the door to the brougham shut.  Once she settled in her seat, the realization that she was sitting next to her mother brought forth a shuddering gasp from Demetra.

“Yours is the only Aetheric energy I felt in the area.  Why did you do that to Francis’s office building?” she asked, looking at the mirror image seated beside her.

“It had to be done, and it is much better for all involved if somebody thinks one of you is grievously wounded, if not dead.”  Acadia looked straight ahead, her gaze trained over Verti’s head.  “How did you know it was me?”

“Mother, look at me,” Demetra said softly.  When the other woman did not budge, she said more forcefully, “Look at me.”

Acadia finally turned her golden-eyed gaze on the younger girl.

“Why?” Demetra whispered.

“I think your question is deeper than wondering why I destroyed Lord Winterton’s office.”  Acadia sighed and turned her gaze to the black-gloved hands in her lap.  “It is a long story.”

“We have time enough for you to tell me everything and I have several questions to ask you.  For example, tell me how it is that an infernal can heal.  That is normally the province of celestials.”

“You are right that we do have time, but not at this very moment.  I will answer all of your questions, but we need to get to a safe place first.  The last thing I ever wanted was for him to find you.”

“Mother.”

Acadia looked at her once more, seemingly startled by her forcefulness.  “I promise I will answer all of your questions once we see to your fiancé.  Can you be patient for just a few more minutes?”

Swallowing, Demetra nodded.  “Yes, we will make sure Francis is alright and then you owe me answers.”

A humorless laugh bubbled from Acadia.  “I owe you more than answers, my child, but my words will have to suffice for now.”

~~~~~

“Is he alright?”

Demetra shut the library door and nodded at her mother.  “He is just fine thanks to your healing, though it is also no thanks to your actions that he was harmed in the first place.”

“I was just trying to protect you.”  There was a pleading note in Acadia’s voice.  “You must understand I never wanted you to become involved in this.  It terrifies me that you are even here, instead of in London where you belong.  This is not what I wanted for you.”

“Well, it might be a tad more helpful if you can tell me what ‘this’ is and why it is such a bad thing.”

“You are right, my little girl, and I know that.”  Acadia took a long, deep breath.  “I know from my sources that you visited Drake Chanson-Epee in Paris.  He told you about the Firstborns, such as himself and me.  Because of him, you now know the gods created our kind to embody the various traits of nature – elements, tangible ideals such as strength, godly powers such as healing and more.  We are not of the gods, yet we are not of humanity either.”

“Mother, I do not need another history lesson on Aetherals.” Demetra sighed, pacing the room.  “What I need is to understand what the bloody hell you were thinking, blowing up Francis’s office and nearly killing him in the process!”

“No, you do need a history lesson, because your heritage is not as cut and dry as you think!” Acadia retorted.  “You would do well to listen to everything I have to say, daughter, since you remain nothing more than an ignorant child.”

“What?”  Demetra stopped and turned to face her, clenching and unclenching her fists.

“While your abilities are overwhelmingly infernal, there is at least some celestial in you.”

“How is that?”

Acadia put her hands on her daughter’s shoulders.  “It takes two humans to make a child, does it not?  It also takes two gods to make an Aetheral.  Most of the time, an Aetheral takes on the trait of either one parent or the other, but not both.  The dominant trait fights for supremacy and generally subsumes the recessive one.  Then again, the gods are usually drawn to those who reflect their own powers and qualities.  This was not the case with me.  I was born of both infernal and celestial energies, and I encompass both in equal parts.  No other such Aetheral exists, except my one and only offspring – you.”

“That is amazing,” Demetra replied, letting her hands fall to her sides.  “But I fail to see how you passed such traits on to me.  It seems I am nothing but infernal in my powers.”

“Actually, I believe I did pass both traits on to you, but in a very different way than expected.  Your active powers – your ability to call Aetheric artifacts to you and identify them, as well as identify other Aetherals and their powers – are infernal.  Your passive powers – your natural shielding abilities – are celestial.  This makes you very special in so many ways.  Nobody can detect you or identify you as an Aetheral.  Then again, nobody else can attract the objects we create the way that you can.  They cannot even dig them up without knowing precisely where they are.  The energy that emanates from an Aetheric artifact is passive, not active, and tends to disperse itself over a wide area so no one can pinpoint it. The fact that you can identify precisely where an Aetheric device is located and then call it to you is a huge anomaly.  This either makes you exceptionally useful or extremely dangerous to our kind.”

“That is why you left me.”  Demetra backed out of Acadia’s light embrace.  “You did not want anyone to find me.  Whatever you were running away from must have been something awful.”

“No, Demetra.  I was never running away.”

“What?”

Acadia lifted her chin.  “I was chasing somebody.”

“You were…”

“I could not just stand by, and let someone come and take you away from me.  I knew if I stayed with you, I would lead him right to you someday.  Believe me, he wanted very much to have the both of us as his own.  With me as his lover and you raised as his daughter, he thought we could rule the world.”

Taking a long, steadying breath, Acadia continued.

“Initially, yes, I ran away to keep him as far away from you as possible.  However, all that time, even before you were born, I had been chasing him for eons.  He wanted power and he would destroy anything that stood between him and his goals.  It was frightening to watch.”

“Who is this person?” Demetra asked, aware that she had been holding her breath as her mother spoke.  She realized in her quest for answers, she had stumbled upon a far more complex web of intrigue than she had ever imagined.

“It is a name I dare not speak.”

“Well, you had better dare, mother, because I am tired of my bloody blind ignorance!”  Demetra felt anger shoot through her once more.  “For too long, I have known nothing but bits and pieces about Aetherals and of your story, none of which were completely true.  Father said you were running away from something, but now you tell me that you were chasing someone.  Drake told me that you had strong infernal power, but now I learn that you have celestial power as well.  I am still just as ignorant and confused as I was last week.  You need to remedy that and tell me the whole story now!  I’m bloody tired of waiting for answers!  You said I needed to listen to everything you have to say, so tell me everything.  If you want me to be safe, you cannot share selectively.  It is time I knew the whole truth about Aetherals, you, and me.”

Acadia put her hands up as if in surrender and nodded.  “You are right, because even though I think of you as my little girl, you have grown up now.  In the end, I lost the right to think of you as mine, because I chose to leave.  Even though I thought it was for the best, it still makes me less of a mother.  Now is my chance to make up for that, so I will do as you ask and I will tell you everything, instead of telling you in pieces.”

“That sounds like the first logical notion you’ve had since I met you,” Demetra answered bitterly, as she sat on the sofa.  Primly folding her hands in her lap, she looked up at her mother and said, “Please enlighten me, if you would be so kind.”

Her mother turned to look out the window, but Demetra had no interest in the clear April sky beyond the panes of glass.  Her only interest lay in the pursuit of truth and finally getting her mother’s side of the story.  As far as she was concerned, she had centuries to enjoy beautiful spring days.  Finding her mother had been a long shot.

“His name is Ciaran Byrne.  He is a Firstborn, like both Drake and me.  He is also a genius.  Of course, most Aetherals are highly intellectual, but not all of them are interested in putting that to use in scientific endeavors.  We were fascinated by the possibilities of the world, and the three of us worked together in the very early days of our existence.  Ciaran and I became lovers when we were quite young, but…”  Acadia stopped and looked down, pressing the toe of her boot into the polished wood floor.

“But?” Demetra prompted, watching as her mother moved from one window to the next.

“But he wanted more than the power with which he had been born.  He wanted to be as great as, if not greater than, the ones who created us – the gods themselves.  He created a machine that he thought he could use to achieve this end, and goodness knows I tried to stop him.  I tried to appeal to him and his love for me, but he would not hear it.  He told me this machine would make us invincible.”

“He is the person who made the Dameon Device?” Demetra breathed.

“Yes.  Ciaran is an infernal with incredible powers, as well as undeniable charisma.  He can tap into and control the mind and the emotions.  His telepathy can pry into your deepest thoughts.  When he does that, nothing is secret from him.  He will make your fears into reality, and use your hopes and dreams against you.  With his empathy, he can assess the mood of the people around him, and then turn it to his advantage.  He can warp your very perception of reality if he so chooses.  These are very strong abilities for a single person, and easily abused.  Think about what you could do with such powers.  The possibilities are infinite, the temptation to use them for ill quite seductive.  Powers such as these seem passive, but are in actuality quite active.  Ciaran is not somebody you would want to cross.  I should know, as I have done so several times.”

“Why did he build the Daemon Device if he was already so powerful?”

Acadia lifted her chin.  “He did it for two simple reasons.  The first was to drain and harness the powers of other Aetherals to augment his own abilities.  The second was to kill those Aetherals in the process, so there would only be the few that Ciaran chose to allow to live in this world; those he deemed worthy of life.”

“Deciding who lives and who dies?  That is genocide and absolute madness!”  Demetra expression changed from one of avid interest to horror, and she dug her fingers into the taffeta of her dress.  “Why would he do that?”

“Because he is, as you say, a mad man.  Why do you think I wanted so much to protect you from him, my little girl?  He wants to have all the power he can for himself.  He wants to decide who is worthy to live in this world that he sees as his own.”

“And he believes this device of his is the means to his end.”

“Yes, and ever since he created it, I have not been running away from him.  I have been following him, chasing him across this great, wide world, trying to find a way to stop him and his terrible machine.”

Acadia finally sat next to Demetra and took her daughter’s hands between hers.

“That is why I waited so long to have a child.  I could have produced one at any time with Ciaran or your father, the only two men I have ever loved, but I chose to wait until the time was right.  When I met Nigel Ashdown, it felt like I had found the moment.  It was time for me to do something extraordinary, and that something was creating you.”

“Mother…”

“Hush, child.”  Acadia reached up to lay her cool palm against Demetra’s cheek.  “I am so sorry I left you and your father with so many questions, and nothing else.  When I met him in Paris, I knew he was the one who would be the father of my child.  I also knew if Ciaran ever found out, he would be crazy with jealousy.  I could not run the risk of him coming to find me, only to find Nigel and you as well.  He would have killed Nigel, and you – you he would have taken and raised as his own daughter.  With your power under his control, I can only imagine the things he could do to the people in this world.”

Demetra nodded and curled her fingers around her mother’s wrist.  “I understand now why you made the choices you did.  Thank you for explaining it so well.  Were I in your shoes, I think I would have done the exact same thing.”  She took a deep breath and asked, “Will you please tell me where this leaves you now?”

“Since the 1700’s, I have been working on a machine to combat the Daemon Device, to somehow counteract its effects.  Drake may have told you about it.  I call it a Disruptor and it uses electromagnetic energy.  The only problem is I have not quite figured out how to make it work against the Daemon Device.”

“Could we just destroy Ciaran’s machine itself?” Demetra asked.  “If we could find it and…”

“No, that is not possible.  Ciaran has implemented a failsafe that keeps anybody with Aetheric powers, except for him, from touching it.  He built it to activate at a touch.  If anyone, celestial or infernal, lays a hand on it, it will immediately drain his or her powers.  That is what makes it so dangerous.  Others have tried and failed to destroy it.  I need to find a way to analyze it from afar.  If any of us lays a finger on it, we are as good as dead.”

Acadia’s hand tightened over hers.

“I know I abandoned you and left you with nothing.  I realize today is only the first step in our reconciliation.  If you are willing to have me as part of your life, then maybe you can help me finish the work I began last century.  I hate to bring you anywhere near Ciaran, but I also hate to let you out of my sight now.”

“I came here looking for answers, mother, and I finally have them.  Stopping this man is the sensible thing to do now that I have found you, and certainly the only way to bring some peace of mind to us both.  I will do whatever I can to help you.”

“Good.  As much as I did not want you to find your way into this mess, I knew that you would come looking for me someday.  I am not surprised that I can count on you.  Please know it was not my intention to hurt Francis, but I needed to throw Ciaran off any trail he or his lackeys might be following if they pursued you here.  What I need now is for you to find the Daemon Device and tell me more fully about its powers.  You are the only person capable of analyzing it from afar.  Once we have that information, I might finally find a way to counter his horrible machine.”

“Well, I suppose now that we’re both putting our lives in danger, I ought to formally introduce you to my fiancé,” Demetra mused as she considered her mother’s words.  “It might be rather nice to meet him before we court death, would you not agree?”

~~~~~

Francis glared at Acadia across the dining room table.  Even though the ladies were eating their meal as if nothing untoward had happened, his suspicion was palpable.  Demetra knew they could not go on pretending nothing odd had occurred that morning, but before she could broach the subject, Francis spoke.

“Excuse me, but I have a hard time trusting anybody who thinks that blowing me up is a good idea,” he stated, breaking the tense silence.

“You are a smart young man and you understand the need for strategy.  It was just a diversionary tactic and not intended to hurt you,” Acadia demurred.  She reached for her wine glass and sniffed at it appreciatively before taking a drink.

“You can trust her, dear boy,” Verti said with a reassuring pat to Francis’s hand.  “I never learned much about Acadia when she was with Nigel and carrying Demetra, but I do know she would not do anything without a logical reason.”

Francis slid his gaze to his fiancée and said, “Seems like you have more of your mother in you than any of us knew.”

“I am not sure if you mean that as a compliment or an insult,” Demetra muttered in response, slicing viciously into her roast beef.  “The only person who appears to be out of sorts here is you.  Would you kindly refrain from taking your irritation out on the rest of us?”

“Quite frankly, I think I have a right to be irritated.  A strange woman we’ve only just met blew up my office, and now she wants you to go chasing after some megalomaniac to find an Aetheral-killing machine.  If he finds out what you can do, he may try to keep you forever and ever to use for his own ends.”  Francis narrowed his eyes at her.  “Do you really want to get involved in this matter, now that you have the answers you sought?”

Demetra pursed her lips and lifted her chin.  “My dear Francis, I believe you have forgotten who you are talking to here.”

“She means ‘yes’,” Verti added unhelpfully.

“I know what she means!” Francis shot back.  “Listen, Demi,” he continued, his temper barely reined-in, “this is more dangerous than anything you have ever done before; any quest you have ever pursued.  You are not just poking around some forgotten corner of London.  Based upon everything your mother said, this man is obviously mad as a hatter.  Do you really want to take this chance and possibly confront him, as well as his lethal apparatus?”

After a long pause, Demetra asked, “What if you were the Daemon Device’s next victim?  Or what if it was Verity or Vertiline, or even your own mother who was targeted?   Would you want me to leave such a thing in this world, knowing it puts the people we love in such danger?”

“You know the idea of that thing disturbs me, but I am not sure I want you going after it.”

“And you said you would always protect me, so here is your big chance.  In fact, you may be doing the entire world a favor.”

Francis’s shoulders drooped in surrender.  “Why must everything you say make perfect sense?”

“Rationality is the mark of a civilized person,” Demetra said.  “I take it you are done questioning my logic, and ready to see this matter through to a satisfactory conclusion?”

“If this is what we need to do, then you can count on me.”

“Good.”  Demetra looked over at her mother and nodded.  “Then it is settled.  We are going to find that horrible thing and make sure it never hurts another living being.”

Chapter Fourteen

“It will take a week for us to get from New York to San Francisco,” Acadia said as they unloaded their trunks from the brougham.  “From what I understand, that is where Ciaran has been hiding for the past few months.”

“Thank goodness for the transcontinental train.” Francis sighed and handed the luggage to the railway porter.  “At least this time we can keep our feet on the ground.”

“Well, yes, in a manner of speaking.”

“You know what I mean.”  Francis scowled at her and glanced down at the guns on her hips.  “Is it really wise to let people see you getting on the train with those?”

“What makes you think they can see them?”  Acadia cocked her head to the side, a mischievous look in her tawny eyes.

“Yes, she is definitely your mother,” Francis grumbled to Demetra.  “Just promise me you will never allow anyone to punch holes in your head,” he added before getting on the train.

With a shrug, Acadia turned to Demetra and said, “Body modification was quite popular in ancient Persia, though more so for men than women.  I enjoy having little souvenirs of the places I have seen and the eras through which I have lived.”

Demetra laughed as she regarded the other woman.  Despite her suspicions and Acadia’s initial verbal evasion, she realized her mother was rather fascinating.  “I think you also enjoy discomfiting poor Francis.  It is rather funny how I could grow up without you, and yet we could be so similar.”

“It is not funny at all.  It is just natural.”  Acadia stepped up onto the train and followed Francis, speaking back over her shoulder, “There is nothing that supersedes heritage.  Even nurture cannot always trump nature.  As they say, ‘Blood will out’, and that is the simple fact of it.  Darwin and Galton are on to something there.”

“Mother?”

“Yes dear?”

“Why did you not leave something to explain all of this to me?  A letter or journal would have been immensely beneficial, not to mention considerate.  Then I would not have grown up lacking this knowledge, and you know how our kind despise ignorance.  Why did you allow it?”

Acadia stopped and turned to look at her.  “I knew that you would find me when the time was right.  Even while I was gone, I was never far from you, and you were never far from my heart.”

“Emotional sentiment does very little to mitigate past damage,” Demetra answered under her breath as she followed Acadia along the aisle to their room on the first class passenger car.  She was surprised to find that, besides the usual seats facing each other along the wall, there were doors on either side.

“There are sleepers through here and here,” Francis said, pointing to the doors, “along with privy facilities.”

“Very nice,” Demetra said, choosing a seat.  “It may not be as spacious as the airship, but it will do.  We will certainly need ample room to get away from one another on such a long trip.”

“Well, we will not be riding the same train all the way.  As long as we are in the northeast and upper Midwest, there will be a few changeovers.  Once we pass through Chicago, however, it is a much longer ride between stops.”

“As long as we are not limited to one another’s company for the entire week, it should be tolerable,” Demetra said.  “By the way, where ever did you put Verti?  I have not seen her since we got out of the carriage.”

“If I know your aunt,” Acadia answered, adjusting her cravat, “she’s in the gentlemen’s car.”

“What would she be doing in there?”

“One guess,” Francis said, his nose wrinkling with distaste.

Acadia ignored him and said, “She’s probably smoking.  It’s the only place on the train where it’s allowed.”

Francis smacked his open palm against his forehead and groaned.  “She will get thrown off this train faster than a wild west outlaw.”

“Doubtful.  If memory serves, your Aunt Verti is charming the porters, the ticket-takers, and the engineer, not to mention the passengers.”

Rolling her eyes toward Francis, Demetra said, “My mother is right.  Perhaps you have not yet seen it, but my aunt can be quite charming when she chooses, even if her behavior is a tad…”

“Inappropriate,” Francis said with an exaggerated sigh.

“Unorthodox.”

“Well, having her along for the journey was your idea!” Francis pointed at Demetra accusingly.  “I find it difficult to believe you actually considered her a suitable escort for a young lady such as yourself.  We would have been much better off with my valet and your ladies maid as chaperones.”

“Maybe Americans would not have batted an eyelash at the two of us traveling together, but everybody in London would have seen fit to gossip about us endlessly if we had not brought a suitable escort,” Demetra growled in response.  “Unfortunately, servants do not fit the bill.  It had to be a reputable older woman.”

“Suitable and reputable are not words I would use to describe your aunt.”

“We did what we had to do.  Let Aunt Verti have her harmless fun.  She has been useful so far, and I am certain we will need her help once we reach San Francisco.”

“You will be glad to have her along once we find Ciaran.  Someone like you won’t get close enough to lay a finger on him.  Verti’s power is going to come in handy against him,” Acadia agreed, sitting down on one of the luxuriously upholstered seats and patting the empty cushion next to her.  Demetra sat between her mother and the window as the Firstborn said, “You’ve never seen America, so I think you will enjoy this journey.”

“Pardon me, but we are not seriously going after this person,” Francis interjected.  He put his fists on his hips and glared down at both women.  “I thought you planned to disable his device, not confront him directly.”

“I thought we established our intentions last night over dinner.”

“I have an office back there still in need of repair because of you.”  He flailed his arms in the direction of the door and Demetra found it difficult to ignore the comical effect.  She covered her face rather than let him catch her smiling.  “The fact that you felt the need to blow up my building to protect us tells me this man is not the type who will take kindly to our interference in his plans.”

“I will pay for the repairs since I caused the damage.”  Acadia rolled her eyes in her daughter’s direction, but Demetra only shook her head and kept her fingers clamped over her mouth.  Her mother looked back up at Francis and said, “Furthermore, we will do our best to avoid a confrontation.  However, the odds of us running into Ciaran are quite high.  We need all the power we can get on our side.  This is not a time to worry about appearances.”

“Maybe we discussed it and came to the conclusion that this man must be stopped, but I am still not entirely comfortable with this idea.  Every step we take only leads us into greater danger.”

“Francis.”  Acadia looked up at him sharply.  “How would you feel if you ever lost Demetra?”

“I would be devastated.  There are no words to describe just how terrible I would feel, especially if there is a way to prevent it.  That is the only reason I am going along with this wild scheme.”

“What if the two of you had a child?  How do you think you would feel trying to explain to your daughter that her mother was dead?  What if your own child died in somebody’s demented quest for power?  Could you live with that, knowing you had the chance to possibly prevent such an incident one, two, five years earlier?”

Francis let out the breath he had been holding.  “I see no need to flog a dead horse.”

“Yet you find it perfectly acceptable to revisit your displeasure over the extreme actions I took to protect you in New York,” Acadia said as Francis sat down across from her.  “You are about to become a part of my family.  When you marry my daughter, you also become my son-in-law.  My family has been kept apart long enough by this lunatic.  Please help me put it back together.”  Her beseeching gaze held his.

Finally, Francis nodded and said, “When I lost my father, I realized how it felt to have a family broken apart.  Even though my mother and I were there for each other, I had to pick up the pieces and take on all of my father’s responsibilities.  If I could go back in time, and keep him from dying, I would.”

“The choices we make in our lives affect so many others.  Sometimes, it takes a little time to realize it.  When you think ahead to how your life could change – how you could give your wife and any offspring a safer world in which to live – it is worth it to take these chances now.”

Watching the exchange between her mother and her fiancé, Demetra finally interjected.  “At least Francis knew what it was like to have his father.  You chose to leave us without an explanation.  If you had died, I never would have known anything and there would have been no reason for me to mourn you.”

“Oh, you are such a darling girl.”  Acadia reached out to smooth Demetra’s hair back from her face as the train began to chug haltingly along the rail.  “I realize I have not been there for you, because I was trying to make the world a safer place for you.  Maybe that is no excuse, but I hope when you consider the same question I asked Francis – would you do this now to save the life of a child you might have in the future –you will understand why I made that choice.”

“This is the heaviest conversation I have heard in a long while.”  Verti strolled into the cabin and took the seat next to Francis.  “By the by, we have got a small collection of rather interesting Aetherals on the train.”

“Define ‘rather interesting,’” Francis growled, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at Verti.

Demetra looked at her mother and said, “This is getting more dangerous by the minute.”

“None of us should be surprised.  This is New York City,” Acadia said with a shrug.  “More Aetherals live here than any other communities in the world, so I don’t think we need to worry that any of them are necessarily out to get us.  Ciaran is not the type to take on allies.  In fact, most Aetherals aren’t.”

As Demetra nodded, her diminutive aunt untied the ribbon beneath her chin and removed her hat, saying, “Most of them are American, but one is definitely French.”

“French?”  Acadia tilted her head, her brow furrowed.

“He is quite the attractive infernal, though.  I find him rather charming.”

“Demetra?” The Firstborn asked, turning back to her daughter.  “What did Drake tell you when you were in Paris?”

“All he did was tell me more about Aetherals and your Disruptor.  Do you think it’s him on the train?  We didn’t see any indications that he was leaving Paris.”

“Why don’t you tell me,” Acadia answered.

Demetra reached out with her awareness, beyond the gentle power her mother exuded, the quiet strength that surrounded Francis, and the sharp, almost tangible energy of her aunt.  Throughout the train, she felt them – Aetherals of both varieties and one in particular.

“That power has to be Drake Chanson-Epee’s,” she said breathlessly.

“What is he doing here of all places?” Francis asked.

“I think you know the answer to that,” Acadia said softly.  “Demetra, what gave you the idea to come to America in the first place?”

“It was my idea.  Some of my friends at the Moulin Rouge suggested it,” Verti interrupted.  “It was from them that I learned about the Daemon Device.  They said they believed it was here.”

“Where did your friends get their information?”

“I am not sure, nor did I ask.  You know what can happen to a person who asks too many questions.”  Verti arched an eyebrow and Acadia nodded sagely.

“I chose to act on Aunt Verti’s information when she shared it,” Demetra added, “because of what Drake said.  After he told me about your Disruptor and Verti told me about the Daemon Device, I felt the two machines must be connected somehow.  It seemed a logical conclusion that you built the one to combat the other, and that whomever you were running from must be the person with the Daemon Device.  I figured if the maker of the device was in America, it was because he had followed you here.”

“That is close enough to the truth.  Just reverse the situation, and you have it correct, as you now know.”  Acadia grimaced.

“You suspect Drake of deceit,” Demetra stated, watching her mother for a reaction.

“Yes.  In fact, I’m sure of it.  I have a feeling he wanted you here.”

“Then why would he be so obvious as to travel on the same train as us?”

Acadia sat back and crossed her legs, folded her arms, and glanced out the window as the passing scenery picked up speed.  “If you were as confident as Drake and Ciaran in your powers, you would have no problem moving people about like pawns.”

“Well then,” Demetra said, squaring her shoulders.  “If I was sent here for someone else’s purposes, we cannot change the past.  What’s done is done.”

“So we will take control of the future.”

Verti removed her flask from her coat pocket and raised it in a toast.  “To the future.”

“To the future,” Francis added with a nod at his fiancée.

“To the future,” Demetra agreed, looking at her companions, “and also to family, without whom the future would be an empty thing.”

Chapter Fifteen

The railway car-seat view of the efforts of American westward expansion was more educational than simply reading books or seeing pictures of the development.  Demetra was pleasantly surprised that she could connect her history lessons with the actual scenery.  The sharp peaks and populated valleys of the east punctuated the landscape.  She saw cities she had only heard about, urbanized from what had once been nothing but open land, and spoke with the Americans.  She admired their innovative and creative natures, their openness to change and their interest in progress.

As a scientist and an Aetheral, Demetra had always loved the idea of advancement.  Yet she also had Victorian good manners bred into her and a strong respect for tradition.  Unlikely though she was to embrace social change, she had no problem accepting progress for the good of society.

“Are you enjoying the trip,” Francis asked.  It was several hours after their journey from New York City began, and they were just departing Des Moines.  Somewhere between here and Chicago, the land had softened into rolling hills and long stretches of patchwork farmland.  Cows were a more common sight than cities as they continued their travels through the American Midwest.

“I most certainly am.  It has been a wonderful opportunity to learn about more than just my heritage and to meet my mother.  Americans are quite an interesting group of people and I would adore them, if not for their lack of propriety.”

Francis laughed and said, “They tend to be more socially free, I must agree.  Their morals are not quite as uptight as ours are, however that is not necessarily a bad thing.  Take you, for instance.  How many other good young ladies are out witching up dangerous artifacts and fighting off claim-jumpers in the middle of the night in London?”

“Is there a point to your question?” Demetra asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“My point is you might enjoy living here on a more regular basis than just accompanying me on a four-times-a-year business visit.  The American mentality is very forthright and it is something I think you would admire, even if they do flout certain traditions.”

“While that is true, I also admire the customs that make England the civilized center of the world,” she responded and lifted her chin an inch or so.

“My, my, what a snob you are,” Francis teased. “Nose in the air and everything.”

“That may be, but we have a great many things to recommend us to the rest of society.  America, wonderfully open and progressive as it is, could learn a thing or two from us.”

“Such as?”

“Well…”

Before Demetra could continue, the door to their car burst open.

“My word, that was close!”  Verti stumbled in and sunk down against one of the seats.  “He almost saw me!”

“Who almost saw you?”

“That Monsieur Chanson-Epee person your mother is so keen to avoid,” she panted.

Demetra and Francis exchanged looks.  Much to everyone’s alarm, Drake had been on each train the group of travelers rode.  It was Acadia’s idea that they try to avoid him entirely, and so each leg of the trip had been a game of cat and mouse.  Or, as Acadia liked to put it, dragon and fox.  Yet, despite their studious evasion, Drake was ever-present.

“I am not ready to confront him just yet,” Acadia had said.

“This is ridiculous,” Francis said while Verti fanned herself with her hand.  “He must know that we are here.  It is quite obvious he is following us.  We’ve already decided he has ulterior motives.”

“True,” Verti agreed, “but while he knows that we know he is here, let us try not to let him know that we know.”

“But,” Demetra said thoughtfully, “if he knows that we know he is here, what is the point of not letting him know that we know when he already knows?”

“Because, if he knows that we know that he knows that we know he is here, then we will not be able to learn more.”

“Right, however since we already know that he is here, and we know that he knows what we know, then what more is there to know about what he knows?”

“Because, dear girl,” Verti said with a deep breath, “he might just know something that we do not know, you know?”

Acadia walked into the private car and slid the door shut behind her.  “Who knows something?” she asked.

Francis’s gaze had been slipping back and forth between Verti and Demetra.  He turned to the Firstborn and shrugged helplessly. “I have no idea what either of them just said.”

“I see.”  Acadia turned to Demetra, a twinkle in her eye.

Verti pushed her flask into Francis’s hand and said, “Here.  You look like you need this.”

Now he looked at both Demetra and Verti, alarm on his face.  “This is getting much too close for comfort.”

“I take it one of you ran into Drake?” Acadia said, studying the other three Aetherals in front of her.

“Verti did,” Demetra said with a nod.  “I agree with you, Francis, but if mother feels we should not give anything away, then we should listen to her.”  She glanced over at Verti.  “Did you discover anything during your close encounter?”

Her aunt shook her head.  “Unfortunately not, though I am quite certain he is traveling alone.  He keeps rather quiet and does not even speak to the other passengers.”

“If you think he’s up to something nefarious, then why was he as nice as he was to us in Paris?  What sort of game is this?” Francis grumbled, glaring at Acadia.

“If he is working with Ciaran, I don’t want him to know how many of us are traveling together.  Verti is someone I’d like to keep as an element of surprise.  If he’s not with Ciaran, then I would rather not make him a target as well.”  Acadia tilted her head, and then added, “I suppose he might be here because he is trying to protect us in some way, but I tend to assume the worst.  Life is safer that way.”

“He made himself a target by following us here and I would err on the side of caution.  I doubt his reasons for being here are honorable.  It is too much of a coincidence and you know it.”

For the first time since they met, Acadia looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Francis’s expression hardened.  “Maybe you run away from trouble the way you did with your own daughter, but I would rather we just go out there and face him, than sit here hiding the entire trip.”

“Well, then feel free to do just that,” Acadia said in a low voice, her gaze unflinching.

“I think I will.”

Francis threw the door to their railcar open and stalked down the hall.  Demetra and Verti both exchanged wide-eyed glances.

With a grumble of “Damnation”, Demetra followed her fiancé at a distance along the cars until she saw him approach Drake.  She stopped short in the entrance to the car, which was one of the public ones with seats along the wall.  The Firstborn looked up from his newspaper and appeared surprised to see Francis.  He extended his hand for the other man to shake.  After the greeting, they nodded to one another and began to speak.  As they conversed, Demetra strained to hear what they were saying.  Whatever their conversation, it was absorbed into the low din of chatter in the railcar.

“It was only a matter of time,” whispered a familiar voice behind her.

“I know.  He is not exactly the most patient man,” Demetra said, and a sigh escaped her lips.

Her mother chuckled.  “I remember a man who was just like that once, a long time ago, before I left him on his own with the burden of fatherhood.”

Demetra turned to look at Acadia.

“You know, nothing excited Nigel more than new discoveries.  If he felt we were on the edge of a breakthrough, he would not stop until we found it.  He is very driven to succeed, just like me.  I never thought I would meet my match, until I met him.”  She lowered her voice so that Demetra could barely hear her.  “You should know I promised myself that I would come back to you both someday, once I stopped Ciaran.”

“Mother…”

“I can only imagine what you ladies are talking about back here.”  Francis approached and guided them toward the back corner of the car.

“What did he say to you?” Demetra asked.

Her fiancé shrugged and said, “He told me that he was concerned about us and did not want to lose touch with Acadia Renard’s only daughter, since he and your mother had been such good friends, so he followed us here for our protection.”

“Well, now Drake has found me, so he has no need for my Demetra.”  Acadia lifted her chin.  “I think I will finally have a little chat with him.”

Demetra’s eyes widened in surprise and she shook her head.  “Why would you talk to him now, after the past two days of dancing around him like you were avoiding the plague?”

“I do not like the fact that he said anything about you,” Acadia growled.  “That does not sit well with me.”

“I thought the two of you were friends.  Do you not trust him?”

Acadia laughed wryly and pushed past them as she responded, “To be perfectly honest, I trust Drake about as far as I can throw him.”

With a frown, Demetra reached out and grabbed her mother’s arm.  “So all of this avoiding him was not to protect him, but us?  I thought we talked about you telling me everything.  Perhaps this is a game you enjoy, however I want nothing but honesty from you.  I deserve at least that from you.  Forget your ridiculously emotional sentiments about how much you love me and my father, and tell me the truth.”

“The truth, daughter, is that I simply do not know why Drake is on this train.  Although we were once good friends, he may be more loyal to Ciaran than to me.  I cannot logically discount the possibility that he is here as a spy.  It was wrong of me to let his presence go unchallenged.  In fact, many of the choices I made over the past twenty years were wrong.  Let me try to rectify at least one of those mistakes now.”

Letting go of Acadia and lifting her chin, Demetra hissed, “Remember we are in this together.  We need to keep it that way.”

Acadia nodded, and then crossed the short distance to where Drake Chanson-Epee sat in one of the seats along the wall, beneath the windows.

“Well, what a pleasant surprise this is, Drakon,” she said through gritted teeth.

The other Firstborn lowered his newspaper and answered smoothly, “My dear Acadia, I know you well enough to know that you knew I was here.”

“While I know that you knew that I knew, do you know what else I know?”

“Please.”  Francis put his hands up as he stepped behind them.  “Could we not start that again?”

“Very well.”  Acadia glared at Drake. “What are you doing here, and do not tell me you are here to watch over us.  Folly, as you know, is my constant companion.  It does not need your assistance.”

Drake carefully folded his newspaper and set it aside on the seat.  “To see mother and daughter reunited,” he said, a smug smile on his face, “gives me such joy.  What you two beautiful ladies represent is the pinnacle of Aetheral power.  We cannot let it go to waste or fall into the wrong hands now, can we?  You are like the national treasures of the Aetheral race, and I will not stand idly by while you court danger so willingly.”

“That is a very noble sentiment,” Acadia answered, her tone sharp, her gaze boring into Drake’s fiercely.  “The question I have to ask is, what do you consider a danger to us?”

Drake did not wither beneath her challenging glare, but merely responded quietly, “They say the truth will set you free.  I think freedom is a good thing.  Would you not agree?”

“Oh yes, it is, along with liberty for all.  So why not do me a favor and save all of us a great deal of trouble.  Answer my question.  You know I find patience a rather challenging virtue to live up to.”  Acadia’s fingers twitched against the holsters on her hips.

Once again, Demetra realized how much she admired this side of her mother.  If only the woman could be constant in her nature, she might even grow to love her.  Shaking herself from thinking such sentimental drivel, she turned her attention back to Drake, who was still smirking like a cat that had just caught a mouse.

“There really is no need to cause a scene, my old friend.  We can discuss this without any violent and, if I may say, misplaced hostility on your part.  You always were one to shoot first and ask questions later, Acadia.  In fact, it is amazing you are taking the time to speak with me now, given your rather impulsive ways.  It is true that I know far more than I have let on.  You see…”

The railcar jostled beneath their feet and everybody reached for something to steady them.  Within less than a second, it righted and continued forward at the same steady speed.

“It was nothing,” Francis murmured when he looked over at Demetra’s ashen face.  He reached out to take her hand.  “It happens all the time, especially out west.  The rails can be a little rough.”

Once again, the train rocked back and forth, and then the sound of a sharp boom filled their ears.

“And what about that, Lord Winterton?” Acadia asked archly, drawing her revolver.  “Are you going to tell us that was nothing?”

“No.”  Francis grimaced and drew his own firearm.  “That was a damn explosion.”

“Was it in the train or outside?” Demetra asked, bending over to look through the window behind Drake’s head.  “It feels like the train is slowing down.  Why is it doing that?”

“There is your answer,” Drake answered calmly, pointing up along the railcar.

“Oh bloody hell!  Run!”  Acadia shoved them back the way they had come as flames surged toward them.

Francis stepped through the door and led them along the next car.  Panicked passengers were already fleeing, leaping off the train and into the soft grass along the side of the tracks as the train slowed.  The landscape was soon full of people running away from the tracks as more explosions punctuated the air.  Flames shot out from the windows of the train and it tilted dangerously, sparks flying up from where the wheels scraped over the rails.

“We need to jump!” Francis cried over his shoulder.

“We need to find Aunt Verti!” Demetra shouted back.

“I will get her.  You and your mother just need to get out of here now!”

Acadia grabbed Demetra by the hand and pulled her out onto the open platform between the railcars.  “Tuck yourself up tight and jump!” she shouted, before leaping off the platform.

Without hesitation, Demetra jumped and rolled onto the steep incline that carried her away from the tracks.  Drake followed only a moment later as the train ground to a halt.  As they watched, more explosions made their way up along the cars from the engine, incinerating the interior.

Demetra pushed herself to her feet and ran toward the car they had been in, looking frantically for Francis and her aunt.  To her great relief, she saw them both tumble through the door and to the ground, just as another explosion rocked the locomotive and its cars.  The entire train slanted toward them, leaning precariously over the edge of the hill.

“We need to get away from here,” Francis cried, grabbing Verti around the waist and hauling her further away from the tracks.

A booming sound filled their ears as they ran and Demetra felt a wave of heat surge over them.  She flattened herself to the ground and covered her head.  A cool hand pressed against her face, surprising her.  In that moment, she felt safe and protected from the blast.  She finally rolled over to look at the destruction behind them.  The train had tumbled off the tracks and fallen to lay on its roof at the bottom of the slope.  Acadia sat shoulder to shoulder with her, the protective barrier still surrounding them despite the fact that things had quieted.

“How did that happen?” Demetra asked softly as she watched flames dart and flare from the wreckage of the train.

“One guess,” her mother answered.

“Do you think Drake knew it was going to happen?”

In response, Acadia shoved herself to her feet, revolver in hand, and marched off toward where Francis, Verti, and Drake were standing.  Demetra scrambled to follow her.

“As you can see,” Drake said as they approached, “there is always danger.  You would be better off if you just…”

To everybody’s shock, Acadia drew back her fist and punched him in the gut.

“How many innocent lives is he going to take before he’s through?” she cried as Drake bent over in pain.  “He wants me, just me, so tell him that he can have me!”

“Mother!”  Demetra grabbed her by the arm to prevent her from swinging a second time.

“He has been working with Ciaran this entire time, though he will never admit to it.  Will you, Drakon?  You are just not man enough to say it, but I know you.  You are not content in this life, so you choose to make the rest of our lives miserable.  Well, you go to Ciaran and you tell him if he wants me, he can have me.  However, as far as my daughter is concerned, he will have to kill me to get to her.  You bring him that message, you bloody rotter.”

“I will certainly tell him you said that,” Drake answered breathlessly, straightening his spine.  “Just do not be surprised if he does not mind taking you up on that proposition concerning your daughter.”

Chapter Sixteen

A homicidal crisis of Aetheric proportions averted, thanks mainly to Demetra interposing herself between her mother and Drake, the foursome walked back along the tracks eastward, until they agreed it was time to take a break.

“Why are we going east?” Francis asked as he set his charred suitcase on the hill next to them.  It was the only piece of luggage they had managed to rescue from the wreck, which was probably for the best since he was financing their journey.  “We have to get to Omaha to get on the Pacific Railroad.”

“But we are stuck in Iowa, which is nothing but hills and farms.”  Acadia exhaled in exasperation.  “I do not like the idea of staying with the other passengers at this point.  We’ve caused enough trouble for them.  Then again, I also do not want to get on another train with Drakon, who is likely heading west at this very moment to rendezvous with Ciaran.”

“Is there another way for us to get to San Francisco?” Demetra asked.

“It all depends on how fast you want to go.  If we wait here, another train will come along and continue the route, once the authorities clean up the wreck of the first one.  Drakon will probably get on that train.”

“He could get to San Francisco before us if we do not just stay on our course.”

“True,” Acadia said with a nod.  “Then again, the locomotive is not our only option.  You asked if there is another way, and I can provide one if you are not afraid of trying something new, that is.”

“What is that?”  Francis asked, his brows raised.

Acadia grinned.  “Ever hear of the motor carriage?”

~~~~~

“You cannot be serious.  We backtracked all the way to Des Moines for this?”  Francis glared at the strange contraption.  “It cannot possibly go fast enough to match the train.”

The dilapidated shack in which they stood was an unassuming little building situated behind a barn full of lowing cows, yet the walls were lined with a variety of tools and devices, all surrounding an odd-looking machine with four wheels and two rows of seats.  Demetra could hear the breeze rustle through the tall grasses of the Iowa farm where they had stopped.

“My dear boy, when you’ve been around for as long as I have, you learn to prepare for contingencies.”  Acadia knelt next to the motor carriage and looked it over with a critical eye.

“Some tiny little petrol engine is not going to get us to San Francisco ahead of that train.”

“Oh, this doesn’t have a petrol engine.  Daimler and Benz are on to something, of course, but those blokes are not geniuses.  It will be a very long time before internal combustion will have the power to sustain travel for a great distance.”

Francis pointed at the machine in shock as Demetra and Verti looked on in confusion.  “That cannot possibly have a steam engine.  It is far too small.”

“I assure you that is precisely what you are looking at.  It is a closed cycle external combustion engine with electric power, retrofitted to a stagecoach.”  Acadia rose to her feet and said, “We just need to make sure the boot is stocked with water.”

“How does it produce heat?” Demetra asked, stepping closer to examine the engine as Acadia picked up several empty jugs from the floor of the shack.

“One piece of coal will get it started and give it the heat to sustain it until the electric component is charged enough to do the work of the boiler.  That is one of the reasons it is so compact.”  Acadia walked outside to the water pump that stood next to the barn, placed a jug beneath the nozzle, and began working the handle up and down until water flowed.

Demetra followed and watched her mother fill the jugs.  “So the steam powers the electricity, which then powers the boiler, which continues to generate the steam?”

“Yes, it has an alternating power supply.  So once it gets going, one source of power keeps the other running.  Now help me put these in the back.  We need to get started if we hope to make it to San Francisco in a reasonable amount of time.  Though we may not beat the locomotive, we can try to get there before Ciaran has a chance to flee from me once more.”

“How far will we take this thing?”  Francis folded his arms and watched the ladies place the water in a compartment toward the back of the strange vehicle.  “This does not exactly look comfortable for four people to try to sleep in, let alone travel together.”

“Well, it’s not made for sleeping, but it is more than adequate for our needs.  We can drive in shifts, paralleling the tracks, until we arrive in San Francisco.”

“How many miles do we have to travel to get from here to Omaha?”

“Only about one hundred twenty, give or take a few.”

“Only?” Francis cried.  “Going five, maybe ten miles per hour, that puts us in there…”

“We will be there in just over two hours if you stop complaining.”  Acadia slid into the front seat of the carriage and reached down to crank a handle just beneath the makeshift dashboard.  “So, are you in or out?  You are more than welcome to return to the station in Des Moines and board another train, Lord Winterton.  The rest of us are going to San Francisco.”

Verti jumped into the front passenger seat with a “Whee!”

Demetra and Francis both looked at each other.  She shrugged and clambered into the back seat, taking care not to catch her dress on anything.

Francis followed suit.  “We can sort out our plans from Omaha when we get there,” he conceded.  “There is always the opportunity to catch the train once more.”

“Or we can just drive,” Acadia responded, pressing the accelerator pedal to the floor.  The motor carriage burst through the open doors and onto the grass, the wind whipping their hair behind them.  Acadia used the wheel mounted on the front dashboard to navigate the machine onto a narrow dirt lane, then checked their direction on the compass.

“This is amazing!” Verti gasped as they drove along, steam puffing out behind them. “Why did we not do this from the start?”

“Do you think I keep automobiles in every state?”  Acadia laughed into the wind.  “I just keep some back-up plans out here in the Midwest, because it is far too vast and getting stranded is inconvenient, to say the least.  If something is going to go wrong, it always seems to happen in the middle of nowhere.”

“The best laid plans,” Francis agreed.  “I must say this does feel quite liberating.”  He turned to Demetra.  “I suppose all of your female relatives are not crazy after all.”

As Demetra grinned back at him, her mother responded, “Oh no, we are much crazier.”

Chapter Seventeen

“I cannot believe we drove that thing all the way here.”  Francis lay stretched out on a blue damask sofa, his feet propped on the arm and his eyes shut.

“The past four days weren’t that bad,” Demetra demurred from her perch on the edge of an elegant armchair upholstered in azure with gold threads running through it.

“Weren’t that bad?” he cried incredulously, turning to sit upright.  “Not that bad?  Vertiline should have never taken the wheel!”

“Everybody was tired,” Aunt Verti protested as she sipped at her tea.

“You could barely see over the dashboard!” Francis shouted.

“I think the point is we made it just in time for tea.”  Demetra rose to her feet and walked over to Francis to kiss the top of his head.  “You have a lovely home here.”

“Thank you,” he answered. He reached up to pat her hand as it rested on his shoulder and sighed.  “I never thought I’d see it again, especially after you tried driving.”

“Excuse me?”  Demetra arched her eyebrow in surprise and withdrew her hand.

“My dear, the point is to go in a straight line.”

“I believe not hitting people with the automobile is also considered good manners,” she retorted.

“He’ll be fine,” Francis muttered.  “Acadia took care of him.”

“Even I managed not to run into living things.” Verti sniggered and took a slice of cake from the tray on the tea table.

Acadia walked into the parlor and surveyed the scene.  “Do all of you feel sufficiently recovered from your experience?”

“Define ‘recovered’,” Demetra said, folding her arms and glaring down at Francis.

“Are you capable of taking a walk with me?”

“I think we can manage that.” Francis pushed himself to his feet.

“No, no.  I just want Demetra.”  Acadia linked her arm with her daughter’s and winked at Francis.  “We need some mother-daughter time.  I’m sure you both understand.”

“Right, I guess we do.”  Francis shrugged and said, “Well, I will see what I can get done over at the office today.  I take it you know your way around town, Ms. Renard?”

“I do know my way around quite well, and you do not need to worry about Demetra.  She will be safe with me.”

Francis rolled his eyes and muttered, “Somehow I doubt that, but I will not intrude on family matters.”

With a laugh, Acadia led Demetra to the front door.  “You are engaged, not just to a man, but a watchdog.”

Demetra plucked her parasol out of the umbrella stand by the door and replied, “One can only hope his animal instincts might serve to balance my pragmatism, though I must agree.  I may need to ask our servants to keep a supply of flea powder on hand.”

Mother and daughter strolled out of the Haight-Ashbury home and down the sidewalk.  The Victorian homes along the street were few and far between, but evidence of building in progress was scattered every few lots or so.

“It will not be long before the west coast is packed as tightly as the east coast,” Acadia said with a nod at one construction site.  “Meanwhile, everything in between New York and San Francisco will go untouched.  I have seen it happen century after century.  These Americans have what it takes to survive and thrive in their new world.”

“You admire them very much,” Demetra observed as she tilted her head to look up at the buildings.

“I certainly do.  They are strong people who want the freedom to live life on their own terms and the opportunity to succeed.  Oh, their path will not be without some problems, but they will get through them if they remain as determined as they are now.”  Acadia looked at her daughter.  “Like you, my dear.  You may be a somewhat skilled fighter and use your power as though it is second nature, which it should be, but you also have the willpower to succeed.  You cannot do anything without that trait, even if you are the strongest or smartest person in this world.”

“That trait seems to come from you, mother.  I have never known anyone more determined to see something through to the bitter end.”  Demetra searched her mother’s face.  “What will happen when you finally catch up with Ciaran?  If you can stop him, then what will become of everything you have fought for up to this point?”

Acadia sighed and her face took on a wistful expression.  “Maybe I will finally be able to rest and go back to London to be with your father.”

With a tilt of her head, Demetra said, “But my father will age and die long before I do, and you will live on forever.”

“I know that,” Acadia said, nodding, “and I am prepared to deal with it when the time comes.  Though there are other options.”

“What other options?”

Acadia patted her hand and kept her gaze fixed on some point in the distance.  “We will discuss this further when we have time.  For now, we need to focus on the matter at hand.  When he is in town, Ciaran stays at the Palace Hotel on the corner of Market and New Montgomery Streets.  If we walk in that direction, we can see whether or not he is there.”

“Should we go exploring without Francis and Verti?”  Demetra glanced back over her shoulder.  “They might get a bit upset, especially Francis…”

“They might at that.”  Acadia winked at her.  “But nothing bad is going to happen to us between here and there.  Besides, have you ever worried about what Francis thinks of you?”

Demetra grinned and said, “Very rarely.  It is a terrible failing on my part.  Though I must say I often think nothing bad will happen to me, and I am almost always wrong.”

“Yet you take the risk nonetheless, do you not?  I know I do and something bad inevitably happens, and I still do not regret it.”

Demetra looked at her mother and then laughed.  “We really are two of a kind,” she chortled breathlessly.

“We are magnets for trouble,” Acadia agreed.  “I find that is part of the excitement of living in this world.  I think you feel the same.”

“Well then,” Demetra said.  “Let us see what kind of trouble we can attract today.”  With a grin, she gave a small tug on the elbow linked with her mother’s and allowed her senses free rein to study the Aetherals of San Francisco.

The city was a rich mix of infernal and celestial energies.  She could feel them on nearly every block.  It made sense to her that the immortals and near-immortals came to this place.  It was a colorful, developing town, bright with the promise of progress and freedom.  As they turned down the bustling Market Street, she could feel even more of the vibrant Aetheric energy around them.  Their kind mingled freely with humans, walking along the streets, shopping and transacting business.  Demetra relished the hum of activity as they walked past buildings that towered over them – three, four, five stories, and more, with tall windows that arched at the tops.  Storefront awnings provided some shade to passerby, a few of whom stopped to look in large, plate glass windows at displays.  Market Street was aptly named, as shop after shop lined the sidewalk.

And then all her good feelings faded after only a few more steps along the street.

As a cable car approached and obscured her view of the opposite side of the street, something dark curled around her like a sinister embrace.  The entangling power reminded her of her former stepmother, but it was an older, stronger power.  It was the energy of death and endings.

“Mother,” she whispered in a warning tone.

“I know.”  Acadia’s arm tightened around hers.  “I feel it too, and that probably means Ciaran feels me.  We’ve known each other long enough to recognize our Aetheric signatures, intangible though they may be.”

Before either of them could say another word, the trolley passed and then they saw two men emerge from between the stone columns that represented the grand façade of the Palace Hotel on the corner opposite them.  One was Drake.  The other had unfashionably long, dark hair, a stark contrast to Drake’s strawberry-blond curls.  The dark-haired one was dressed very formally, from his black top hat to his black coat, crisp white shirt and cravat, black pants, and shiny black shoes.

Acadia lifted her chin and said, “They certainly know I am here, and now…”  She met their eyes and nodded her head.  “They know you are here as well.  Let us go have a chat, shall we?”

With a determined grimace, Demetra answered, “With pleasure, mother.  I am ready for anything.”

The ladies crossed the intersection of New Montgomery to meet the pair of Aetherals on the corner.

“Drakon,” Acadia growled, her tone so bitter, the name sounded like a curse.  “While I suspected it was entirely likely, I still hoped I would never see the day when you would betray me to him.”

“Oh please, you really should have been more forward thinking than that.  How unfortunate that your optimism was misplaced.  Knowing my dilemma, I imagine you saw it coming.”  He glanced over at Demetra.  “Though I must say your daughter does you credit in her inability to accept the bad in people.  After all, she rose to my bait and came all the way here to the States.”

“Clearly I am slipping in my pre-matrimonial bliss if I did not recognize that you are the one who made sure Vertiline heard we would find the Daemon Device here,” Demetra said coolly.

“Oh yes.  I knew you were coming to Paris and I knew it had been worth my time to wait for you all these years.  Would you not agree, Ciaran?  She is the very image of her mother, and her talent is one of a kind.”

“You have done very well, Drake, and I will do well by you in return.”  Demetra heard a faint Irish brogue in the other man’s voice.  With exaggerated motions, he tipped his hat to Acadia.

“It has been far too long since we met, dear lady, and now I see you have brought me not just one prize, but two.”

“If you like what you see here, just wait until you meet our other friends,” Acadia shot back.

“Oh, I plan to meet them, particularly the little one.  It has been too long since my device enjoyed a filling meal.”  His indigo blue gaze lingered on Demetra as he said this, before returning to Acadia.  “After that, I imagine my own appetite will be… prodigious.”

“It is one appetite you will never have me satisfy,” Acadia hissed, her hands closing around the grips of her revolvers.

“On the contrary, now that you have taken the bait, I have no intention of letting you leave here.  Once your companions have been disposed of, you will be back where you belong – at my side for an eternity.”  He pointed his walking stick at Demetra.  “This one may serve as a replacement if necessary, but I have more practical uses for her.  At this very moment, my girl, I am working on adjustments that will enable the Daemon Device to drain Aetheral objects, as well as Aetherals themselves.  However, the dilemma of how to locate such things remains and you are the solution.”

“What makes you think I would work for you?” Demetra retorted with a shake of her head.  She clutched her mother’s arm and glared at Ciaran without fear.  “Thus far I am unimpressed with you.  You are nothing but a sick, twisted man, and I won’t do a bloody thing for you.”

“You will if you know what is good for you, lass.  Your first task will be to identify what someone has done to a particular piece that Drake carries with him.  It is a very special item and we must handle it with care, for its contents are quite fragile.”

“There is nothing in this world that will compel me to assist either of you, particularly after you have been so rude and foolish as to inform me of your intentions to kill my aunt and my fiancé.”

“And what if I told you that your sister or your father or your newfound mother was next?  What would you say then?” Ciaran challenged, his eyes narrowing.  “Your human side weakens you, as it carries an inherent attachment to family.  I have no qualms about using them against you.”

“She would say exactly what I am about to say,” Acadia snarled, shaking off Demetra’s grip, stepping between them, and drawing her guns.  “Bugger off if you do not want me to rip your head off here in the street.”

“Oh, do try it, my dear.  I beg of you.”

His tone was so smug, that even Demetra itched to show him what she could do.  She reached down to unhook the fan from her bodice and opened it with a flourish, the razor-sharp plating and silver lace gleaming in the sunlight.  “Mother, it does not matter to me whether we throw out the trash now or later.”

“We would certainly be doing the world a favor,” Acadia agreed and pulled back the hammers on her revolvers.

Drake put his hands up and stepped forward to meet her.  “A peaceful resolution would be to everyone’s benefit, my dear friend.  Consider the mortals in the vicinity.  You do not want to make a scene that might result in unexpected casualties, do you?”

“What care I for humanity?” Acadia raised one of her revolvers and pressed the barrel to his throat.  “You will both keep your dirty hands off my daughter and answer for your crimes.”

Glancing from one side to the other, Demetra realized a small crowd was forming around them.  “No, Monsieur Chanson-Epee is correct,” she said calmly, relaxing her arm to her side.  “We cannot risk the lives of others, as we have no way of knowing what might happen during such a confrontation.  Negotiation is the most rational solution.”

“I thought you might see things our way.”  Ciaran reached into his coat and plucked a small card from a hidden pocket.  “Call on me at your leisure, Miss Ashdown, but do not make me wait too long.  Please respond within the week.”

Accepting his card, Demetra answered, “I will not disappoint you.  Come along, mother.  You promised to show me the city.”

“Your days are numbered.”  Acadia lowered her gun, but her venomous glare did not soften, even when her daughter took her arm and tugged at it.

As Demetra pulled her mother down the street, she heard Ciaran laughing behind them.  “Yes pet, you may think that all you like.  However, there is a new player in the game and it is out of your hands.”

“We should go back there and beat him to a bloody pulp!” Acadia cried, glaring back over her shoulder.

“Tell me what that will accomplish?” Demetra asked, towing her mother around the corner.  “You are incredibly willful.  At least I did not inherit that trait from you.  I am as eager as anyone to defend myself when necessity dictates, but we need to think about this strategically.  Calm down and show some patience.  They are leaving and this gives us an opportunity to do some research.  Can you feel their energy moving away from us?”  When Acadia nodded, she continued, “I also feel something else nearby in the hotel, and I believe it is what we are looking for.”

“The Daemon Device?” her mother breathed.

“I believe so.  It is on one of the upper floors of the hotel and I can call it here to me right now, but that leaves us with a dilemma.  How soon after being touched will it start to drain Aetheral power?”

“Immediately,” Acadia said.  “It is fast and lethal.”

“When I call it, it will come directly to me.  I can drop it as soon as it does…”

“No, you cannot take that chance.  Once it is touched, the Aetheral is bound to it.  The device is that bloody strong.  Oh, cor blimey.  What are we going to do?”

“Will gloves protect me from it?”

“Not at all.  The moment you touch it, you are a dead woman.  We need something that is going to block its power.”

“Iron,” Demetra said.  “We’ve used it before to shield an item’s power from others.  Could we construct an iron container and I can try to draw it into that?”

“That would not work, because the iron would inhibit even your powers and the machine would still try to find a way to come directly to you.  No, what you suggest is impossible and it is not a chance we can take.  What we need to do is figure out how to make the electromagnetic frequency of the Disruptor effective against the Daemon Device.”

Demetra nodded and closed her eyes.  After a few quiet moments, she said, “I think I have at least some idea of how to do that.  However, I need to see this Disruptor of yours to determine if I can make the necessary adjustments.  Even still, I think I need to take a closer look at Ciaran’s device.  Let us take a stroll through the courtyard entrance of the hotel and see if I can get at least a bit closer.”

“Very well,” Acadia agreed, finally holstering her revolvers.  “But at the first sign of their return, we need to leave.  I cannot guarantee anyone’s safety if I see their faces again anytime soon.”

“Mother.”  Demetra rested her hand on the other Aetheral’s shoulder.  “You have come too far to let them elude you now, and I have come too far to lose you.  For once, let someone else take on the burden of finding a way to destroy these men and their horrible device.”

Chapter Eighteen

“I absolutely forbid it.”

Demetra rolled her eyes and said sweetly over her cup of tea, “How many times have I heard that little refrain from you?”

With a glare, Francis leaned back against the wall, folded his arms, and retorted, “What you suggest is madness.  Delivering yourself to the enemy is the last thing I had in mind.”

“I concur, which is why I will attend the dance at the hotel tomorrow night.  There is very little he can do to me in a public place like the hotel ball room.”

“If you’ll recall, you’ve had plenty of people try to harm you in public.  That is hardly a deterrent to any villain determined to get his way.”  Francis turned to Acadia and implored, “Please try to talk some sense into her.”

The Firstborn stared at him incredulously from where she sat next to Demetra on the sofa.  “You do realize who you are asking?”

Vertiline snickered behind her hand, but refrained from any other commentary.

“I think this is an excellent course of action,” Acadia elaborated.  “While I have no illusions that Demetra will win Ciaran’s trust, I believe she can find a way to maneuver into closer proximity to the Daemon Device.  If he wants her, he will do everything he can to get her away from the crowd.  There is only one place he can really do that, and that would be his suite.  Since we cannot risk Demetra calling the item to her for closer analysis, the next best thing would be for her to bring herself closer to it.”

“What if he does not let her go?”

Demetra lifted her chin a fraction and met Francis’s worried gaze.  “You seem to have forgotten I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“You seem to have forgotten you have an unfortunate tendency to get in over your head.”

“I am well aware of the fact that you saved me from the Muffin Man, and I may very well be dead if not for you.  However, I am not attending the ball unarmed or unprepared.  In fact, I intended to ask you to station yourself just outside the hotel.  If there is any trouble, you can come to my rescue.”

Francis blinked, took a step back, and blinked once more.  “You are actually asking me for help?”

“I have a small transmitter which will allow you to monitor the conversation between Demetra and Ciaran,” Acadia said.  “Did you think I would permit my only child to go in there alone?”

“Madame, you have not known Demetra as long as I have.  Nobody tells her what to do.”

Demetra arched her brow.  “Be that as it may, I am not so foolish as to assume this endeavor does not come with an inherent risk.  As you can see, I presupposed your typical ‘I forbid you’ nonsense.”

“I am not sure if I ought to be insulted or impressed,” Francis said, though he smiled at his fiancée.  “Where will you ladies be during this?”

Acadia shook her head.  “Ciaran would recognize my power immediately.  I’ll stay here with Vertiline and wait to hear from you both.”  She sighed deeply.  “Wait and worry, but also hope you return with the answers I have sought for the past twenty years.”

~~~~~

Stepping into the grand ballroom of the Palace Hotel, Demetra took a moment to survey the crowd.  She did not let her eyes settle on any one particular person or area for too long, tilting her head and nodding to those who greeted her with a murmured, “Good evening.”

The delicate skirts of her pale yellow gown made barely a whisper of sound as she walked across the room to obtain a glass of punch from the refreshment table.  The chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceilings left the white and gold ballroom awash in a warm glow of light.

“It is very pretty for an American building, is it not?” inquired a voice behind her.

Demetra set her teacup on the table and turned to acknowledge Ciaran.  “Yes, I agree with you on that.  It is lovely, though I admire originality more than imitation.”

“Well now, I thought you were a woman of intelligence when you accepted my invitation.  Clearly my confidence in you was not misplaced.”  He extended his hand toward her.

“I am here to see if we can resolve this without any bloodshed.”  Demetra lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes, but placed her hand in his.  His other hand went around her waist as he pulled her onto the dance floor.

“Do your companions know that you are here, Miss Ashdown?”

“Of course they do not.  Lord Winterton certainly would not have it.  They think I am out sightseeing.  Therefore, I must return home as quickly as possible.  Please say what you have to say and be done with it.”  Sounding exasperated was almost second nature to Demetra, and she had no qualms about playing her part.  Impatient to see the device for herself, she affected boredom, her eyes roaming the room as they whirled among the other couples.

“But now that you are here, Miss Ashdown, I do so long to keep you close for now, if you will allow it.”

“You know I cannot do that.  Tell me what I can do to make you leave us alone.”

Ciaran laughed.  “It is you who have chosen to pursue me, like your mother; not the other way around, dear lady.  Remember that.”

“So I take it your threats against my family were empty?” Demetra tilted her head to look up at him from beneath her lashes.

“Not at all.  You are the one who chose to enter the spider’s web, and I am not inclined to allow you to untangle yourself.”  His hands tightened against her.  “You want me to leave all of you alone.  I have no interest in anyone but you and Acadia, but even your power would mitigate losing her if you are willing to cooperate.”

“You want to use me as an Aetheric tracker, like a hunting dog.”

“Trust me, I value your abilities far more than I do some four-legged pet.  Imagine what we could do together.”

Demetra yawned against her shoulder and murmured, “I lack imagination.  Suppose you tell me, and do spare me the ‘rule the world’ tripe.”

“Perhaps a demonstration of my own genius is in order, Miss Ashdown.  If you would accompany me upstairs, I will show you something and see what you think.”

“You know it is completely inappropriate for me to be alone with you.”

“But you are an Aetheral and your innate curiosity makes it difficult to decline such an offer,” Ciaran answered, his voice low and intimate, the tone cajoling.  “The whole reason you followed me here was to see it.  What kind of gentleman would I be if I denied you that opportunity?”

“Sir, gentleman is not a word I would use to describe you,” she countered.  The slight weight the bladed fan dangling from her wrist gave her reminded her she was not helpless.  “Though I must admit I am very intrigued after everything I heard…”

“And I am intrigued by what you can do, so why not drop the charade and come see what you came here to see.  I have a feeling we are both within reach of answering all our questions about one another.”

Rather than protest further, Demetra allowed Ciaran to take her by the hand and lead her from the ballroom.  She could only envision Francis’s reaction at this moment.  The nobleman was probably standing outside, fuming with irritation at the Firstborn’s attempts to persuade her to his side.  Patience, she told herself, and hoped Francis would retain a modicum of self-control as well.

She made note of every hall, turn, and door they went through until reaching Ciaran’s suite, committing her potential escape route to memory.  With a grandiose gesture, he opened the door and stepped aside.

As Demetra entered the room, the first thing she noticed was the Aetheric energy emanating from a far corner of it.  Drawn to the power, she approached the device from which it originated and took a deep breath.  “So that is how you did it,” she gasped, extending her hand toward it.

Ciaran’s fingers locked around her wrist and he forced her away from the dark machine on the table.  “The slightest touch and you are dead, and that is not why I brought you up here, Miss Ashdown.”

“Forgive me.  My inquisitive nature…”

“I know.  It could be your undoing, but you will learn to control it, in time.”

Shaking her head as though waking up from a dream, Demetra looked up at him with wide, earnest eyes.  She wondered if she was enjoying playing her part a little too much. “I must get out of here now.  Thank you for a lovely time.  I will consider your offer.”

“I am not generous enough to merely make an offer.”  The grip around her wrist tightened.  “It was an ultimatum.  Take it or leave it.”

Demetra stepped back, trying to pull her arm from his grasp.  “What if I choose to ‘leave it’, as you put it?”

“Then you become not just my protégé, but my prisoner, and I will systematically destroy each and every person you hold dear until you cooperate with me.”

“Is that so?”  Since her fan dangled from the wrist Ciaran had imprisoned, Demetra instead reached down to remove something from within the voluminous folds of her gown.  It was a brown cuff with a system of wires along the leather, connected to what appeared to be a round, glass face attached to it.  She held it before her and said blithely, “Well, my goodness, would you look at the time?”

As Ciaran turned for a better view of the item, Demetra depressed a brass rivet at the base of the cuff.  Faint whirring and ticking sounds followed, and she tossed it to the floor below the small table on which the Daemon Device sat.

“Disarm it!” Ciaran cried, shaking her.

“There is no way to do that.  Once the trigger locks into place, it is only a matter of time before the gunpowder ignites.”  Raising her eyebrow, she said, “I suggest you choose between me and your precious device.”

With a snarl of rage, Ciaran gave her one more shake, then let go of her and darted to the corner to pick up his machine.  Demetra turned in the opposite direction, picked up her skirts and ran toward the door.  The moment her foot touched the carpet in the hallway, she heard an explosion.  The force of it propelled her against the opposite wall.  Flames shot through the doorway, igniting the carpet and singeing her skirts.  Demetra pushed herself to her feet and lurched down the hall toward the exit to escape the scorching heat.

The moment she reached the lobby, she saw Francis fighting his way through a crowd of people as patrons fled outdoors.  Hotel employees streamed past her in an effort to evacuate the guests and find the origin of the smoke filtering through the building.

“Time to get out of here,” Francis said and gripped her hand.

“As always, your talent for stating the obvious impresses me.”

“Just as your talent for getting into trouble amazes me.”

They followed the throng of people out into the street and linked arms. Despite their nonchalant pose, Demetra barely quelled a shudder as she recovered from her encounter. “I suggest you cultivate an attitude of appreciation for the fact that I am not a helpless damsel in distress.”

“That may be,” Francis agreed and laid his hand over hers as they walked briskly along Market Street.  “However, even I can tell that shook you up at least a bit.”

“Well…”  She ducked her head and the edges of her lips quirked.  “It’s not every day that I risk my life blowing up random hotel rooms.”

“Is that your roundabout way of saying that was rather close for comfort?”

Francis’s arm tightened around her and she leaned into him with a sigh.  “Far too close.  I’m glad you’re here.”

“There’s something I never thought I’d hear you admit.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”  Demetra allowed herself one more moment to enjoy his warmth, before straightening and saying, “Now, I need to see this little project my mother has been so obsessed with for the past several decades, as I may be able to help her finally complete it.”

~~~~~

The Disruptor was like nothing Demetra had ever seen in her life.

“How did you build something so small, yet so complex?” she marveled as she examined the components back in the peaceful study at Francis’s home.

“It has taken me over a century of building, and longer than that to plan it.”

“So you built it on the principle that electromagnetic waves will disrupt Aetheric energy, thus preventing the Daemon Device from working?”

Acadia nodded.  “That is the long and short of it, though I know I have missed a key aspect to the building of it.  I tried using it against the Daemon Device before and it was not at all effective.  It works against other machines, such as anything manmade that utilizes electromagnetism; just not Ciaran’s damn machine.”

Demetra pulled her goggles over her face and rotated the magnifying lens into place.  The Disrupter was a small, handheld module, about seven inches long and with a gentle curve that made it fit comfortably in the palm of the hand.  She flipped open the small metal cap on top to see a dark red button.

“The idea is to push and hold that, and it sends out an electromagnetic pulse,” Acadia explained.

“I think the problem is the Daemon Device does not run on electromagnetism alone.”  Demetra turned the small trigger over in her hand.  “I sensed Ciaran’s infernal power in it.  That infusion of death energy is what drains people.  The electromagnetic aspect simply powers it.”

“But I thought if you took away the power it took to run the machine, you would also stop the machine.”

Demetra shook her head.  “I am afraid not.  This is not something I sensed by any stretch of the imagination, but simply a logical conclusion: he has a backup power source in there that you have not accounted for.  It is a celestial Aetheral source, and one that cannot be drained even with prolonged exposure to the Device.  The power that runs Ciaran’s machine is the opposite of death.  It is life and creation.”

Mouth dropping open, Acadia stared at her in horror.  “Drake.”

“That is precisely what I sensed.  Now, I could be wrong and I may have sensed power it drained from someone recently.  However, it felt identical to Drake’s energy and I am rarely wrong when I make such an identification.  We both know he is working with Ciaran, and odds are he is also powering that device just in case the electrical components become damaged.  You may have actually stopped the machine from working at some point if you have ever used this on it.”

“I have.” Acadia nodded.

“But the backup power supplied by Drake, whether it is an ongoing supply that must be recharged or something he infused into the device, means they can use it no matter what.  It is a simple matter of letting the reservoir power do its work and then replacing any damaged electrical components.”

“Bloody hell,” Acadia hissed and kicked the wall.  “I should have known.  I should have known!”

“Well, you could not have known without me, or maybe you’ve just been blinded by this one obsession over the years.”

“I have put almost a century and a half of my life into that thing.”  Acadia turned and pointed at the trigger device.  “I will be damned if I am going to let Ciaran make a fool out of me.”

“I believe he already has,” Demetra said gently, setting the Disruptor down on the table.

“No, no!  He has not!”  Acadia stalked over to the table to snatch the device up in her hand.  “Make it work.  Your father is a brilliant Artificer.  Infusing things with power has never been my talent, but he can do it and he must have taught you.  Make it work!”

“What power can possibly combat Drake’s, except Ciaran’s itself?” Demetra asked and gestured at the Disruptor.  “You are asking me to find a way to infuse power exactly like what…”  She lifted her head.  “Wait a moment.  I think I have it.  It… it is absolutely brilliant.”

“What?  What is it?”  Acadia placed her hands on the table, leaning forward eagerly.

“Mother,” Demetra whispered, “we just fight fire with fire.  If Ciaran’s device can drain Aetheral power, we just need to make the Disruptor drain the Dameon Device.”

“While simultaneously shorting out its electrical components,” her mother agreed. “Yes!  Why didn’t I think of that?”

“If we do that, all he will have is a useless box that will need to be re-infused with whatever power he used to create it in the first place.  If it is as complex as I think, that will take him a very long time.  When did he start building it?”

“Oh, I would say around the early 1600’s, but he did not complete it until about the 1740’s.  I would say at least three-quarters of the work would have been infusing it with the power it uses, and the electrical components were probably the easiest part of the building.”

“Right, because he would have had to drain his own power if that is what he used to infuse it.  Logically, there is no way an Aetheral would dare attack others with his own energy so low, even if the device worked at the time.  He just could not take the chance.”

Acadia nodded as a grin spread across her face.  “So you want me to basically replicate what the Daemon Device does.  We know how to disrupt its electromagnetic workings, but how do we go about draining its Aetheral energy?”

“That is the question.” Demetra tapped her foot and looked about the room, her forehead wrinkled in thought.  She reached up to slide the goggles atop her head and said, “Oh, how I wish Simon were here. Do you know anybody who has power similar to Ciaran’s and who would be willing to contribute a bit of energy to our work?”

“I am afraid not.  Some powers are fairly common and some are quite rare.  His are among the rare variety.”

“Alright.  Are you aware of anything else that Ciaran might have infused with his power?”

“Actually, yes!”  Acadia snapped her fingers.  “You noticed the walking stick he carries, right?”

“I really didn’t pay attention.  Rather a pretentious affectation, I think,” her daughter answered, scoffing.

“Well, regardless of your personal feelings on what constitutes an appropriate accessory, Ciaran has a particular one that he loves, but he only uses it on special occasions.  The reason is that it is very powerful, infused with his death energy.  It will not drain an Aetheral like the Daemon Device, but if he so much as pokes you with it, it paralyzes you.”

“Perfect.  I do not know why I didn’t notice it before when I was in his hotel room.”

Cocking her head to the side, Acadia said, “Its power is probably far less noticeable than that of the device.  In close proximity, the one would probably disguise the other.”

“We need to go back and get it.”

“At this time of night?  The authorities are probably investigating the explosion, and if we do encounter Ciaran or Drakon, we will certainly be in for a fight.”

Demetra nodded and smiled.  “Well, we will just go very early in the morning, after the dust settles and everybody is fast asleep.”

“I take it this is a pretty normal way to spend your night,” her mother said with a laugh.

“More often than not, yes, I am out and about digging up some rather strange things.”

“So what do we do with the walking stick once we get it?”

With a grin, Demetra said, “Fortunately, I learned from the best.  Just as you anticipated, both my father and a good friend back in London have taught me the fine art of distilling energy from an Aetheric object to create something new.  We will just need some work space and, depending on what the walking stick is made of, a way to destroy it.”

“What about Francis?”

“Why ever would I want to destroy him?”

~~~~~

“After everything you did last night, I do not like the idea of you going over there alone,” Francis hissed as they watched the Palace Hotel from across the street in the pre-dawn darkness.

“Of course you feel that way, but it is the safest thing to do.”  Demetra clutched her fan in her hand.  “If they sense three Aetherals outside, they are going to be suspicious.  They know what the three of us feel like, and probably Aunt Verti as well.  It makes more sense for me to go alone.”

“Odds are they are not even up there,” Acadia added.  “If Ciaran survived the explosion, he is hiding somewhere else.  However, that does not mean we should take any chances.”

Demetra laid her hand on Francis’s arm.  “I will be fine and you should know that after last night’s performance.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I am not going to worry about you.”

A feline smile spread across her face.  “Good.  It would be so disappointing not to be worried about by the man who loves me.”  With a flourish, she opened her fan and slowly made her way across the street toward the back of the hotel.

It was just after four in the morning and Market Street was quiet.  Even though there were no pedestrians out at this hour, Demetra simply kept her gaze straight ahead and her movements purposeful.  The last thing she wanted was to be detained anywhere near the scene of the crime she had committed mere hours ago.

Sliding around the huge building to the New Montgomery Street side, she let her awareness fan out and search for any Aetheric energy in the area.  Her companions were out of reach of her ability, and while she easily sensed others in the hotel, neither Ciaran nor Drake was in the vicinity.

“This should be easier than I thought,” she murmured with a self-satisfied smile.

The tang of smoke hardly remained in the air, though she caught a whiff of it now and again as she pressed closer to the outer façade of the hotel.

Reaching out with her power, she found the Daemon Device in the same place she had sensed it earlier.  She had not counted on the incendiary cuff to destroy it, but she was surprised it was still in the hotel.  For a brief moment, she wondered if Ciaran had perished in the explosion.  Taking a deep breath, she let her energy search more carefully this time until she found another item with Ciaran’s power infused in it.  This she identified as his walking stick – not meant to kill or drain power, but certainly able to incapacitate.  She extended her own ability and called it to her, commanding it to her hand.

She watched as its energy dispersed through the hotel and then looked down to find herself holding the walking stick.  It was a length of plain black ash and she gripped it in one hand as she turned to walk back across the street. “You are our ticket to finally destroying the Daemon Device,” she muttered.

As she approached her companions, the scenery around her began to spin.  She vaguely heard somebody say, “Oh my gods, catch her!” before everything went dark.

Chapter Nineteen

“Oh good, you’re awake.  Drink some of this, my dear girl.”

Demetra groaned and opened her eyes.  She tried to sit up and then mumbled, “I can’t move.”

“That stick was more powerful than your mother realized.  Here.”  Verti’s face swam into view, along with the flask she was holding.  “Just have some.  It will restore you.  Trust me, my girl.  This is just what you need.”

Her aunt tipped the opening of the flask to Demetra’s lips.  The liquid left a somewhat unpleasant taste in her mouth, but she was able to sit up and test her limbs in a few moments.  “What was that?” she gasped.

“Just a bit of a restorative, like I said.  It works well to bring back my victims, and I had a feeling it would counteract that stick as well.”

“Where is it?  Has my mother got it?”

“She is working with it now.  She will need your help, but she and Francis are chopping it into little, tiny pieces.”  Verti gave her an impish grin.  “They promised to let me help too.  If you are feeling well enough, we can get down there and join in the fun.”

Demetra pushed herself off the bed and followed Verti.  “What happened to me?”

“Well, you seemed to go all woozy out there in the street, and then you just dropped like a stone.  Your mother picked up the stick and the moment she got that same look on her face, Francis chucked it into the carriage.  We put you in there and got back here as quick as we could, and not a moment too soon.  Both Drake and Ciaran were walking along Market as we were driving up it.  We nipped out of there like a bat out of hell, since your mother was in no shape to fight, even though she wanted to.”

“Sounds like much too close a call.” Demetra sighed. There had been enough close calls in the last twenty-four hours.

“It is not an adventure without such near misses,” her aunt retorted with a giggle.  She led her down into the basement.  To Demetra’s surprise, the walking stick had, indeed, been “chopped into little, tiny pieces”.

“Well, you did not save any for me, did you?” she grumbled as she assessed the item.

“Sorry about that.”  Acadia looked up Demetra.  “Does this work for your intentions?”

Demetra looked at the fragmented wood on the stone floor.  “We need it powdered up finely enough for you to put some of it in the Disruptor, or at least a small enough piece of the stick to fit inside of it.”

“This one should fit.”  Acadia held up a piece of ash and placed it in a space at the bottom of the trigger device.

“It is not quite that simple.”  Demetra took the Disruptor and looked at it.  “Transferring the power from one item to another is not just about disassembling something and moving a few of the pieces around.   Artificing is art form.  You want the old item to become the new one.”  She knelt on the floor in front of them, the Disrputor open before her.

Glancing around the room, she said, “I need a mortar and pestle, though just a pestle will do.”

“I will bring you one from the kitchen,” Francis offered.

“Do not allow anybody to use it to make food ever again,” Demetra warned.  “Even after it is washed, it will probably still have some Aetheric residue.”

“What about this rock?”  Verti handed her a round stone.

“That will do the job perfectly and without wasting a perfectly good kitchen utensil.”  Demetra used both hands and crushed the ash with the stone.  “The idea is to scatter the Aetheric energy throughout the new item you are creating.  One piece of the old item might be sufficient, but think about other things like medicine.  Is a single, large dose sufficient to cure illness, or do you need smaller amounts, taken over time to build up enough efficacy to rid you of the sickness?”

“The second one, of course,” Acadia answered and knelt beside her.

“We do not want a piece of Aetheric energy in here.  We want layers of it,” Demetra explained.  “My father and friend, Simon, are far better at this than I.  However, I can tell you that if you want this to work, then we need to do it the right way – not the quick and easy way.”

“How long will this take?” Francis asked, checking his pocket watch.  “It is almost six in the morning and we have been up all night long.”

“It will take as long as it takes,” Demetra responded as she continued crushing the ash into a fine power.  “All of you should get your rest.  I can handle this.”

“I do not think it is a good idea to leave you alone with that stick.  You lost consciousness last time you touched it.”

“I will stay with her,” Acadia said.  “We will take care of each other, as family should.”

Demetra looked up into her mother’s hopeful gaze and nodded.  “That is what mothers are for,” she said.

~~~~~

After a long morning of grinding the walking stick until it was unrecognizable, and then sprinkling layer after layer of ash powder into the Disruptor, mother and daughter finally fell into their beds for the remainder of the day.

Sunlight woke Demetra earlier than she cared to open her eyes.  Blinking at the shaft of golden radiance slanting through the room, she groaned and turned over in her bed.  Last night’s work was complete and, she hoped, a success.  As much as she was enjoying her time in America and the experience of seeing a new country, she wanted very much to go home.

With a sigh, she pushed herself out of bed and got dressed for the day.  When she entered the dining room, she found both Francis and Verti at the table, yawning.  “I guess I am not the only one who has yet to fully recover from yesterday,” she observed as the maid brought her a platter of eggs and sausage.

“No and I do not think your mother slept at all,” Francis said. He scanned the newspaper in his hand, his place setting already gone.

“Why do you say that?”  Demetra cut a piece of sausage and took a bite, then sighed with satisfaction.

“Because she is not even in the house.”

“What?”  Even as she turned to stare at Francis, Demetra extended her senses to see if he was correct.  Sure enough, her mother was nowhere to be found.  “We both went to bed at the same time…”

“Well, maybe she got up early.”  He shrugged.

“Is the Disruptor still here?” Verti asked, her eyes narrowed.

“That is exactly what I was going to check.”  Demetra took a deep breath as she searched for the Aetheric energy of the ash.  “It is gone.”

“Bloody hell.”  Verti threw her napkin on the table and pushed her chair back, and Deemtra dropped her utensils.

“Wait, where are you two going?” Francis asked, looking from Verti to Demetra.

“Where do you think we are going?” his fiancée asked as she also rose to her feet.  “We are going after Acadia to make sure she does not get herself killed.”

~~~~~

“Blast!” Demetra cried as she looked up at the Palace Hotel.  “They are not even here and the Daemon Device is gone.”

“Where could they have gone?” Verti stomped her foot.

Francis stared up at the tall building as both women vented their frustration.  Finally, he said, “If I have learned anything about Acadia over the past few days, I would say she is leading them on a wild goose chase of some sort.”

“Well that is just great, but to where?” Demetra sighed, dropping her hands helplessly at her sides.

“Where did we leave her motorcarriage?”

“We left it on the outskirts of town with that carriage dealer.”

“She probably led them there because, knowing your mother, she’s got some other tricks hidden there as well.”

“Ohh,” Demetra groaned, her brow knitting.  “We do not have any time to waste.”  She turned back to Francis’s carriage and climbed in as he gave instructions to his driver.  The carriage started moving even before he shut the door.

“It will be alright,” he reassured her.  “We will find Acadia.”

“Will we find her before Ciaran uses the Daemon Device against her?”

“He is desperately in love with her.  He would not hurt her.”

Verti snorted.  “I would not be so sure of that.  There is a difference between love and obsession.”

“Aunt Verti is right.  What Ciaran feels for my mother is not love.  It might have been once, a very long time ago, but it isn’t anymore.  There is no one in this world who poses a greater threat to her than him.”

They rolled through the city and to the outskirts of San Francisco, where the developing area gave way to more and more open land.  Demetra spotted the carriage maker’s shop and called to the driver to stop.  The moment the wheels came to a halt, she pushed her way through the door and toward the large barn on the side of the road.  It had several open stalls that housed new carriages.  There was not another building in the immediate vicinity, and Demetra tried to remember how far up the road the last farmhouse had been.

“Demi?” Verti asked from behind her.

“Shh.”  She held up a hand for silence.  “They are out back.”

“If we know they are here, then odds are they know we are here too.  No need for silence at this point.”  Verti shoved her way around Demetra and marched toward the back of the carriage shop.

Francis glared at Demetra, who only shook her head.  “I know, I know.  She is going to get us killed.”  They ran after her and around the back of the building.  Before them was a wide expanse of field, with a couple old carriages that looked like works in progress sitting off to the side.  Further from the building, several more old carriages sat like hulking black corpses with their leather bodies in tatters.  Straps, springs, and chains littered the ground.

There was one other thing lying amid the debris of the coaches: Acadia.  Drake stood over her and held a sword at her throat.  She did not even glance their way as she said, “So nice of my family to join our little party.”

“Ah yes,” Ciaran said as he straightened from where he had been kneeling next to a box that Demetra realized was the Daemon Device.  “Here is the one who can help us resolve this dilemma.”

Demetra heard Francis take a hissing breath behind her and felt Verti press up against her skirts.

“So, here you are at last, Miss Ashdown.”  Ciaran took a few swaggering steps toward her.  “You really do resemble your mother almost perfectly, not just in looks, but also in personality.  What a shame my expectations of her have fallen so short over the years.  However, I believe all of that will no longer matter once we leave this place.”

“What do you want from her?” Demetra asked. She tried not to look at her mother, although she desperately wanted to know if she was injured.

“Oh, my dear child, I no longer want Acadia.  She served her purpose and not very well.   I only want you.”

“Over my dead body,” Francis growled over her shoulder.

“You may be the first to go, if you so choose.  Miss Ashdown, my friend here has a problem.”  Ciaran’s voice was calm and confident, as if he expected to get what he wanted.  “Monsieur Chanson-Epee has a very particular dilemma and we believe you can resolve it for him.  Do you see the lovely sword he holds?”

Demetra did not acknowledge the question.

“Of course you do,” Ciaran continued.  “You see, the blade has been enchanted to hold the spirit of his beloved.  A Firstborn lives trapped in his sword.  We need to figure out how to release her.  We know the Aetheric energy is celestial, but we do not know how to destroy it without destroying her as well.  Surely you can help us with this.”

“Why would I do that?” Demetra returned icily.

“It is very simple.  Give Drake his beloved and I will give you your mother.”  He tilted his head and smiled at her from beneath the brim of his top hat.  “A life for a life is a fair trade, is it not?”

Keeping her breathing calm and steady, Demetra said, “Let me see the sword.”

“Oh no, you do not need to hold it.  I know very well that you can analyze its power from there.”  Ciaran continued to smile charmingly at her, even as he hissed, “So do it and answer our questions.”

“Do not waste your time,” Acadia called out.  “Drakon does not know how to love anyone.”

Closing her eyes and clenching her fists, Demetra answered, “I have to, mother, because I do know how to love.”

“A weakness inherited from your human side, I should think.” Ciaran laughed.  “Do not worry about that.  We will fix it in good time.”

Gritting her teeth, Demetra focused her energies on the sword in Drake’s hand.  The celestial power within it swirled like a storm trapped in a crystal snow globe.  “It is meant to be a prison,” she said.  “It is a binding and there is no escape, unless you find the person who created it.”

“Ah, this is tragic.” Ciaran sighed and looked down his nose at her.  “I was expecting much more from you, Miss Ashdown.  Drake, you may kill Acadia now.”

“That does not mean I cannot figure it out given time!” Demetra cried.  “Some of these things are trickier than others.”

Ciaran raised his hand to stay Drake’s strike.  “Oh really?  Like what others, for example?”

“Like the Boleyn necklace,” she said.

“Ah yes, I had heard of that but never thought to see it for myself.  Are you telling me you found it?”

“I have and, not surprisingly, it was below the Tower of London.”

“Really?”

“Most of these things just end up interred where they are dropped, really.”  Demetra held his gaze and even gave him a little wink.  She thought she could give the game of cat and mouse another try.  “It is really just common sense that leads me to many items, though I suppose it is dumb luck that leads me to others.”

“What would your luckiest find to date be?” he asked pleasantly.

“My goodness.  That is a difficult question to answer.” She lowered her lashes and shook her head, not sure which of them was baiting the trap.  It was just a matter of knowing when to pounce. “There have been so many.  None of them can possibly interest you.”

“Oh, you would be surprised.  The endeavors of my fellow Aetherals always interest me.  I am a bit of a collector, you could say.  Anything I find with Aetheric energy is brought to my home, inspected, and categorized.  The problem is I really cannot identify any of these artifacts fully and completely.  I simply do not have the time to examine each of them inside and out to determine their usages.  This is why I need you.”

Demetra took a deep breath, far too aware of what could go wrong if she did not respond to Ciaran the way he wanted.  “You do not need me.  You just need another lackey to help you pursue your grand ambitions of being the only Aetheral in the world and taking what you can from others.  What you would do is turn me into your humble, adoring servant.”

“Would that be so bad?” Ciaran asked.  He extended his hand and wiggled his fingers at her.  “Now, play nice and no one has to die.”

“But if you get your way, everyone dies,” Demetra answered, revulsion rising within her.  She knew now that playing into his game cost her far too much self-respect.  Not only that, but he expected to win.

How she hated it when people toyed with her.

She was ready to pounce.  Clutching at her skirts, she growled, “Spare me your little dissertation on how the world is better off without certain people, because I certainly do not think you have the right to make such a determination.”

“But my dear Miss Ashdown…”

“No!  Do not ‘my dear’ me.  I have read it all before in the tackiest novels you can possibly think of, so…”  She paused once again for breath.  “Give me my mother, you lunatic, or I will show you how much better off this world will be without you!”

Ciaran arched an eyebrow at her and then began laughing heartily.  “Oh, good show, young lady.  Good show, but not good enough.  Acadia, it has been lovely my dear, but I think it is time for you to get your rest.  I wish you Godspeed.”

As Drake raised the sword over his head, Demetra flicked her fan open and slashed the sharp metal along Ciaran’s torso, from shoulder to waist.  A pistol shot fired and Drake stumbled back away from Acadia, dropped his sword, and clutched at his side.  Verti darted forward and glared at Ciaran.

The Firstborn simply returned her narrow-eyed stare and turned on his heel to walk toward the skeletal carriages in the field beyond.  “Finish her, you fool,” he hissed at Drake.

“He’s immune to my power!” Verti squawked, her small fists clenched.

“Well, he is not immune to firepower.”  Francis stepped past her and fired the next shot at Ciaran.  The other Aetheral simply continued on his course, oblivious to any bullets that might have hit him.

Scowling, Francis looked down at his pistols.  “What the bloody hell?”

“Allow me.”  Demetra stepped up behind Drake just as he regained his equilibrium, and scythed her fan through the back of his neck.  “Now, as for that one…”  She turned, ignoring the sound of Drake’s head and body tumbling to the soft ground, and gasped in horror.

Ciaran had turned around and now held the Daemon Device in one hand, and Verti by the throat with the other.

“Go ahead and shoot me again, by all means.  Your pathetic celestial bullets have no effect, as you can see, though it might be a different story with this little infernal.”  He shook Verti, who could only gape and kick at him.  “You still have a lot to learn about Firstborns, Miss Ashdown.”

“Such as?” Demetra asked coolly.

“Such as, the only way to kill us is by direct damage to the head or heart, as you saw with Monsieur Chanson-Epee.  Though some of us are susceptible to Aetheric damage, most of the time it hardly does us any harm.  What do you expect of a race created directly by the gods?”  His cool gaze lingered on Francis only briefly, before returning to Demetra.  “Give it up, come with me, and they can go home.”

“Demetra, do not,” Francis said.

“Last month you asked me if I would save a valet’s life, despite the risk to the good of the rest of the world,” she answered.  “This time, it is family, and there is no question about what I have to do.”  She closed the fan and hung it back on the loops at the bottom of her leather bodice.

Ciaran grinned and nodded.  “I knew you would see reason.  You are a typical, logical Aetheral, and I have to say I appreciate that about you; nothing like your mother and her silly little ideals of love, equality, and freedom for all.  It is very refreshing to find a half-breed like you who exemplifies all the ideals of a true Aetheral.”

“What did you just call me?” Demetra asked, stopping in her tracks.

“Come now, as much as I admire your very special qualities, let us remember you are imperfect as far as your heritage.  Still, I am willing to overlook it since you present so many other important, exemplary and useful qualities.  Given enough time, you will come to understand why my work is crucial to the Aetheric world.  Come along, Miss Ashdown.  Your future is waiting.”

“And what kind of future is that?” Demetra tilted her head to one side as she regarded him.  “What happens when you decide I am not pure enough to work for you anymore?  It is obvious you consider everything and everyone around you completely disposable.”

Ciaran sneered at her.  “You try my patience.  This is what happens when people do that.”

Demetra finally got a good look at the Daemon Device – a circular disk-shaped piece of metal that just barely fit in the palm of his hand – as he pressed it over Vertiline’s heart.

“It does not store the energy,” she hissed to herself.  “It transfers the stolen power to him.”

Without another thought, she called to the Disruptor.  At the very moment the metal of it touched her fingers, she opened the lid and pressed the button.  An electromagnetic pulse rippled out from it, entwined with a shock of infernal death energy.  Demetra gasped as it waved over all of them and brought them to their knees, yet she managed to keep her finger on the button.

“No.  No!” she heard Ciaran cry as she bowed her head to the ground and gasped for breath.  “How did you manage to do that?”

She looked up to see him shake the Daemon Device near his ear, listen to the components rattle within, and then throw it to the ground with a look of disgust.  Verti was at his feet in the grass, and Demetra hoped her motley family was not about to become part of the carriage graveyard, the silhouettes of which framed Ciaran as he stalked toward her menacingly.

“You killed my one infallible power source for that thing and now you will pay the price,” he snarled.

A cool voice responded, “Not damn likely, you bloody rotter.”

Looking up, she saw a gleam of metal pass just over her head and embed itself in the Firstborn.  Ciaran gasped in horror and looked down at Drake’s sword, which was jutting from his torso.  Acadia was still gripping it and pushing against it with all her weight, a determined expression on her face.

“This is for all those times you told me you loved me,” she hissed at him.  “All you really meant was I could be useful to you.  The moment you learned what you wanted, you left me.”

“I did love you,” he rasped and clawed at the blade.  “I wanted you, only you, Acadia.  I wanted it to be just you and me in this world; our own perfect forever.”

“Maybe you did love me once, but I could never live the way you wanted me to.”  She heaved again and Ciaran gurgled grotesquely as the flesh around the sword began to smoke.

“Mother,” Demetra gasped. She pushed herself to her feet.  “That sword is pure celestial power.  You will harm yourself.”

“I will not let go until he is good and dead,” Acadia retorted without taking her gaze off of Ciaran.  “He is nothing but a mass murderer who does not deserve to live in this world.”

“You are right about that, but you do deserve to live.  Let it go.”

Acadia snarled at her inhumanly.

“I will take it from here,” Francis said calmly, reaching out to slide his cool hands beneath Acadia’s so that he was gripping the sword.  “You have done what you set out to do,” he assured her, his voice soft.

The light faded from Ciaran’s eyes as his body began to smolder.  Ashes flecked away from any part of him that was in contact with the celestial blade.

Demetra watched as her mother nodded in satisfaction.  Certain Acadia was finally safe, she turned her attention to Vertiline.  The little Aetheral still lay on the ground, unmoving, her eyes closed and her face ashen.

Reaching into Verti’s vest, Demetra withdrew the flask and uncapped it.  She cradled her aunt’s head against her arm and lifted her to dribble a few drops of liquid into her mouth.  In another moment, Verti moaned and her eyelashes fluttered.

“Thank goodness,” Demetra breathed when her aunt’s large brown eyes opened and focused on hers.

“What did I miss?” Verti asked.

“You missed my mother impaling Ciaran with Drake’s sword.”

“Was there anything else?”

Demetra glanced to where Acadia stood over Ciaran’s fallen body, while Francis still held the sword in it.  The smell of burning flesh swirled on the wind.

“Ciaran slowly burning to nothing more than ashes,” she finally said.

Verti groaned.  “Why do I always miss the good stuff?”

Chapter Twenty

“Isn’t this much better than that motor carriage of yours?” Francis looked over at Acadia, who lay with her trouser-clad legs stretched out across the seat of the railcar, leaning back against a pillow as she sipped her tea and read the newspaper.

“I suppose,” she said, not bothering to look away from the periodical, “but what my motor carriage lacks in space and sleeper accommodations, it makes up for in ingenuity and uniqueness.”

“Is that your way of saying it has distinctive character?”

“My dear soon-to-be-son, do you think I would settle for anything less?”

Demetra laughed and sat next to Francis, handing him a cup of tea.  “It is rather funny that we are so alike in some ways, and so different in others, mother.”

“That is the way family works.  There has to be some variation in its members.  Otherwise, it would be a very dull world in which we live.”

“What do you think?”  Demetra turned to smile at Francis.

“I think if this is the family you are bringing into my life, the word ‘dull’ has no place in it.”  He kissed her hand and rested his forehead against hers.  “Have you considered wedding plans yet?”

“What, already?”

“Do not look so taken aback, my love.  I think we have learned far more than we hoped.  Now we can move forward with our lives.  I take it October the 26th is still an acceptable date?  Naturally you will want to think about who you want to invite, the dress, the flowers, and all those other feminine fripperies.”

Demetra bowed her head and said, “Well, I have not really thought about wedding details.”

“You do want to get married, do you not?”

“Yes, of course,” she answered, snapping her head up to look him in the eye.  “I simply cannot switch gears like that.  One moment we are killing Firstborns.  The next, we are selecting wedding flowers.”

They heard the sound of a throat clearing and all turned to look toward the door.

“Ahem, um, tickets, if you please,” the railway ticket-taker said, giving them an odd look.

“Of course, sir.”  Francis reached into his vest pocket and handed the pieces of paper to the man, who punched them without looking and left the compartment as quickly as he could.

“That poor man.” Demetra laughed.  “What a conversation for him to walk in on.”

“I knew he was coming,” Acadia said calmly, her eyes still on her newspaper.

“Then why did you not warn us?”

Scoffing, her mother answered, “What would have been the fun in that?”

“Are you sure you want to marry into this?” Demetra turned back to Francis.

“If you are having doubts…”  His brow furrowed.

“No, it is nothing like that!  You know I am not capricious.  I just need time to think about what I want.  We need to survive the journey home first.”

“After everything we have been through, I believe we could survive anything.”  Francis leaned in to kiss her hand once more.

“Honestly, do you have to be so bloody sentimental?” Acadia grumbled.  “I am trying to read here.”

Francis rolled his eyes and said, “I take it you are not going to bother being there for the wedding?”

“On the contrary, dear boy, I am planning a wedding of my own.”

“What?” Both Francis and Demetra looked at her in surprise as they asked, “What wedding?”

“Why to your father, of course.”

“Mother, you cannot be serious!”

“I can be,” she replied calmly.  “I can also choose not to be.”

“This is infuriating.”

“She is your mother,” Francis pointed out with a shrug.  “Better an infuriating mother who does not stand in the way of your ambitions, than a mother hobbled by her own misperceptions about the Aetheral race.  In the end, I think you get the better end of the deal, though I will enjoy reporting to my mother that her assumptions are wrong.”

“Mother,” Demetra continued, ignoring Francis, “what makes you think my father would even consider marrying you?”

“Well, why would he not?”

“You left him without an explanation.  You broke his heart.”

“He told you that?”  Acadia finally pushed herself back up to a sitting position and set her paper aside.  “What did he say?”

“He said he loves you and you will always be in his heart, but I could tell the memories give him some pain.”

Acadia whitened.  “He said he still loves me?”

Demetra nodded.

“Excuse me.”  The Firstborn rose to her feet.  “I think I will get a bit of fresh air.”

As soon as she left the compartment, Francis sighed.  “So, do you want to share your big day with your parents?”

“Certainly not,” Demetra shot back.  “It is my day and we will make sure we are the center of attention.”

~~~~~

In New York City, the four of them clambered on board the Airship London and settled in to their first class staterooms for the journey home.  When they emerged to meet for dinner, it was in their finest clothing.  Even Acadia had traded her gunslinger gear for a long, dove-grey evening gown with puffed cap sleeves, a ruffled skirt, and a string of pearls around her neck.

“Mother,” Demetra breathed.  “You actually look like a woman for once.”

“I am very sorry to hear that,” Acadia said and sighed exaggeratedly.

Verti sniggered and smoothed her chocolate-brown evening dress.  “Where is Francis?  He should not take as long as us to get ready for the evening.”

“He is probably making sure he gets a close shave.  That can be rather tricky when you have nothing but metal, steam, and air beneath your feet,” Demetra said, flicking at the low, ruffled neckline of her forest green gown.

“My fiancée is right, as usual.”  Francis joined them in the corridor and offered his arm to Demetra.  “Shall we?”

She took his arm and together the foursome walked into the dining room.  It was somewhat less lavish than that of the Airship Paris, but still a beautiful sight.  The tables were covered with delicate white cloths and silver-rimmed china.  Once they were seated, Verti reached for her wineglass.

“A toast to our first transatlantic crossing together and bringing Acadia home to the man who loves her.”

“What a surprise that will be,” Acadia murmured, reaching up to pull at the curls that had escaped the chignon at the back of her head.

Demetra slid a narrow-eyed glance at Francis, but did not give voice to her thoughts as she raised her glass.  She simply added, “To mother and father.”

“To my new in-laws, including my Aunt Verti,” Francis added.

“To family,” Acadia said.

Chapter Twenty-One

When they emerged from the airship the following morning at London’s Victoria Tower, it was with a mutual sense of relief that they were finally home.  Once they settled into the Winterton carriage, Acadia shook her head.  “London,” was all she said softly, her eyes fastened on the sight beyond the carriage window.

“How long since you were last here?” Demetra asked.

“I did not return after I left twenty years ago.  It was too painful.  All I could do was move forward, onward with my mission until it was complete.”

“Well, mission accomplished, mother.”

“Yes.”  She nodded and her eyes brimmed with tears.  “It still looks the same as when I left it, and yet I can see each and every nuance that has changed.  But this is the only place that ever felt like home to me.”

“Where were you originally born?”

“Oh, I was born in France long before it was known as such.”  Acadia gave Demetra a brief smile before returning to her contemplation of the cityscape as they rode along the busy carriageways.  “However, home is where the people you love are; that is what you carry in your heart.  Sometimes people become attached to places, but for me it was not the knowledge I would return to London that mattered.  It was knowing I would come back to you and Nigel.”

The carriage turned onto the thriving Piccadilly thoroughfare and Acadia’s breath hitched.

“Now I am not sure I can face him again, though.”

“You can and you will.”  Demetra reached out a gloved hand to hold her mother’s.  “You can do it.  If you can finally destroy Ciaran and his awful device, you can face Nigel.”

Acadia nodded and squeezed her hand.  The carriage turned down Albemarle Street, bringing them closer to the home that had once been a refuge for their small family, before her departure.  The carriage halted and Francis stepped out first.  He offered a hand to Verti, who leapt lightly down to the sidewalk, and then to Demetra.

“Demi.”

She stopped at the door and turned to look back at her mother.

“No matter what happens today, I will still be with you.  I promise not to leave you again.”

Demetra smiled and said, “I know you will stay.”  She stepped down onto the sidewalk and looked up at the façade of her home, appreciating the warm glow that came from the front windows.

She heard a sharp intake of breath as Acadia stood behind her.  “It is just as I remember it,” she said.

“It should be.  Twenty years is hardly any time at all in the life of an Aetheral.”

“On the contrary, my girl, it is a very, very long time when you are apart from the people you love the most.”

Verti walked up the steps while Francis directed his coachman in finding Demetra’s and Acadia’s luggage.  “I will bring Aunt Verti home after you are settled here,” he told them.

“Thank you, Francis.”  Demetra linked her arm through his and said, “Shall we go inside?”  As they walked through the door, she sighed with pleasure.  It was good to be surrounded by the sights, sounds, and smells of her home.

Nigel stood waiting expectantly.  He smiled and said, “I got your telegraph from New York.”

“Father,” she said, opening her arms to him.  “It has been quite the journey.”

“Demetra,” he whispered, pulling her into a fierce embrace.  “My own little Demetra, you are finally home.”

When they parted, he looked up at her mother in shock.

“Acadia?” he gasped.  “I could hardly believe it when I read the telegram…”

“You told him about me in the telegram?” Acadia turned an accusing glare on Demetra.

“I did not want to shock him,” she answered with an apologetic shrug.

Acadia nodded and looked back at Nigel.  “I do not mean to intrude in yours and Demetra’s lives…  Especially yours, but I have missed you so much, Nigel.  I had something to take care of and it is over now.  If possible, I would like to stay here.  I know I broke your heart and I hope you can forgive me for what I did.”

He shook his head at her, his mouth open in shock.   “Direct as ever, Acadia.  You have not changed a bit.  The problem is, I am not sure I can forgive you.  I do still love you, but it also hurt immeasurably when I lost you.  That is not something I want to endure again.”

“Please.”  She approached him and took his hand in hers, kissing the back of it.  “It is not something I will do to you again.  Do not make me beg for your forgiveness,” she whispered beseechingly.

“Tell me truly, did you come here just to leave me again, because I do not think…”  Nigel’s voice threatened to break and he took a deep breath.  “I do not think I could take it again, Acadia.  I have never loved anybody but you.  Oh, I finally married, but I did it to give Demetra a mother figure – not out of love.  There has never been anyone but you.”

“No, I will not leave you.  I will not,” she responded, desperation in her voice.  “Please believe me.  What I was fighting is gone now.  I have no reason to leave and all the reasons in the world to stay.”

Nigel looked down at her, tears welling in his eyes.  Without another word, he pulled her into a fierce embrace and buried his face in her riot of blonde ringlets.

“Do not ever leave me again,” Nigel said when he finally held her at arm’s length.  “I do not think I could take it if you did.”

“Is everything alright, father?” Demetra asked, concern filling her.

“No.  Everything went horribly wrong after you left.”  He put his arm around Acadia to keep her close.

Demetra looked at him and her brow furrowed.  “What happened while I was gone?”

“It is your sister.”

“Does Verity still refuse to leave her room?  I can try to talk to her.”

“No,” Nigel whispered, tears welling up in his eyes.  “She is very much gone from her room. She disappeared a few nights ago and has not yet returned.”

The Enigma Engine: Book Three of The Aetheric Artifacts

By Wendy L. Callahan

This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used to advance the fictional narrative. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author's imagination and not to be construed as real.

The Enigma Engine: Book Three of The Aetheric Artifacts

Published by Persephone Press

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

Copyright 2014 by Wendy L. Callahan

Cover Art by Erin Lark - http://erinlark.storenvy.com/

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

The text of this book is set in Gentium Book Basic

First Edition

Persephone Press

For everyone who visited Demetra, Francis, and Simon.

The Enigma Engine

Aetheric Artifacts: Book Three

Chapter One

London, May 1892

The wedding was as shockingly sudden, as it was needlessly belated.

No one had expected such a reconciliation. Even as Demetra stood at the altar, the full magnitude of what they were doing there was only just beginning to hit her. Goodness knows she hardly noticed the bowers of violets and green ivy draped along the pews, the sweet aroma of the blooms infusing the air with their scent, or the golden sunshine that had obliged the wedding party with its presence. Mind your posture, she told herself, and remember your breeding. Don’t behave like a sentimental fool in front of all these people. There will always be time for that later.

Still, she couldn’t help but blink rapidly as the priest completed the ceremony, and the groom brought the bride’s hands to his lips. It had finally happened. They were husband and wife. Her hands trembled as she shifted the bouquet of purple and white blossoms from left to right.

“What do you think?” Francis whispered in Demetra’s ear.

Tears shimmered at the corners of her eyes, despite her self-admonition, and she murmured, “I think we need to locate Verity, not eat cake, no matter what everyone else wants.” Despite her assertion that finding her half-sister was more imperative than celebrating such a long-awaited union, she took a moment to smooth her lilac satin gown and pluck at the large lace sleeves to keep them as round as possible. Sentiment was no reason to appear disheveled, after all. She could not help but think the latest Parisian wedding fashions with their teeny waists, straight skirts, and puffed sleeves made women look a bit like upside-down vases. Still, she supposed the voluminous skirts that gave women the look of a teapot during the fifty years previous was far less becoming.

“The note she left your father made it clear she would rather not be found and begged us to go on with our lives. She said she needed to find herself and better understand her heritage,” Francis reminded her.

Lips pursed in thought, Demetra reached up with her free hand to tug at one of the golden ringlets that had escaped her chignon. My goodness, I am coming apart all over, she thought, and then said, “The letter was a fake.”

“My love, you are many things, but you are not clairvoyant. How could you possibly infer that the letter was not genuine?”

Demetra lifted her chin and narrowed her golden eyes. Finally done fussing with her appearance, she focused on the discussion. “Call it a combination of feminine intuition and common sense. Verity is timid as a church mouse. Why on earth would she leave the safety of her home to ‘find herself’, when we could barely get her out the door for social functions? Furthermore, while she may not be the sharpest wit, she knows we were gallivanting around the world trying to answer the question of heritage. Why not wait for us to return home and question us then? Verity rarely, if ever, left the house voluntarily. Even Rowena had to drag her out shopping or to attend balls. The only instances in which Verity chose to leave of her own accord were the times we went to the bookshop or our house in the country. She was happiest in those places.”

“Perhaps that is where she went,” Francis suggested. “Some solitude in the country might have been exactly what she craved.”

“A nervous young girl went out on her own across the country without luggage or a chaperone, let alone the family carriage?”

He nodded and said, “I acknowledge that your logic and deductions leave little room for argument. However, give them–” he nodded his head toward the assemblage of family and friends, “–a chance before you run off once again.” His fingers laced through hers and his gaze riveted her to the spot until she returned the tight little nod.

Demetra repressed a sigh of disappointment. She knew she was right about the Verity matter, as usual… but so was Francis, who was far more attuned to familial niceties. They were simply right about different things. Even with her concern that Verity was in a precarious situation at best, there was still her duty to consider. Since no one else seemed to take the matter as seriously as she thought they should, she knew her only option was to do the right thing: turn the situation to her advantage. After all, she told herself, I’m the only one not blinded by nuptial raptures at the moment, even though this union stands to benefit me more than anyone.

Hand in hand, she and Francis walked down the aisle. At the church entrance, the light breeze played at the skirts of her dress. The light shade of purple was a color suitable for both a spring day and a joyous, if long belated, occasion such as this.

Demetra extricated her hand from Francis’s, extended it to her mother, and said, “How wonderful that father was able to arrange this ceremony on such short notice and make our family complete. I am so happy to call you Mrs. Ashdown at long last.”

Acadia smiled at her and they kissed each other on both cheeks. “Not as pleased as I am, though I know it will not be long before I call you Lady Winterton.” For once, Acadia was wearing a dress. It was a delicate, lacy dress in ecru, with coffee-colored accents. It was the gunslinging Aetheral’s one concession to femininity and propriety, and Demetra thought it suited her very well.

Inwardly chastising herself for the public display of emotion and reminding herself of the business at hand, Demetra turned to embrace her father. Nigel Ashdown looked happier than she had ever seen him. For over twenty years, he had loved Acadia, even after she abandoned him without explanation. Yet he had kept his feelings hidden until he saw her once more. The impromptu reconciliation had led to an immediate proposal of marriage, despite the troubling matter of his youngest daughter’s disappearance.

Now, on the steps of St. James’s Church, Demetra had the immense pleasure of seeing her parents united as a family. She reveled in it for that brief moment. The family was not truly complete with Verity missing, for the fifteen-year-old was as much Nigel’s daughter as Demetra.

Impatience and determination to find her younger sister thrummed through her and she opened her mouth to speak.

“Miss Ashdown.”

She turned and took a step back, her eyebrow raised as she regarded the man who had spoken. He was vaguely familiar to her with his pulsing celestial energy, sharp, hatchet-like nose, and cold, narrowed gaze. Since he wore a rather informal suit in a muddy shade of brown, and with neither waistcoat nor tie, Demetra knew he was not a wedding guest. In a flash of memory, she recognized him as a subordinate of the Astronomer Royal – one of the two men who had delivered a threat to her only a month or so ago concerning a dangerous artifact. After her dealings with Mr. Christie, she knew well enough to be wary of any message he might send her. He was a celestial with a marked disdain for infernals such as her. What business brought one of his minions to her now, almost a month after they had concluded their dealings, she could not begin to imagine.

“Yes?” She kept her response terse and her expression guarded, since she did not know what to expect.

The man reached into his coat pocket and extracted an envelope bearing a familiar wax seal. “The Astronomer Royal awaits your reply, if you would be so kind.” This time the messenger’s demeanor was not threatening, but respectful, even gracious.

Demetra accepted the envelope, broke the seal, and scanned the missive. Refolding it with crisp, deliberate motions, she met the man’s eye. “You may inform Mr. Christie that I will be there at the appointed time today.”

The man nodded and turned on his heel to walk away down Piccadilly Street.

“Here.” Demetra sensed Francis at her shoulder as she watched the man retreat. She held the letter up and he plucked it from her fingers. “Mr. Christie claims to know of Verity’s whereabouts.”

“If that’s the case, then we have nothing to fear.”

“On the contrary, I believe we have a great deal to fear if Mr. Christie feels the need to become involved in our lives when we’ve done nothing to attract his notice. He has requested a meeting thirty minutes from now.”

“What about your parents? Can’t we just tell them where Verity is?”

“They will understand if we handle this ourselves right now. Besides, I’m not sure I want to tell them anything about Mr. Christie until I’ve heard the whole story from the man himself. Father has an inspector coming today, anyway. Let father and mother work their way, and we will work ours.”

Francis chuckled and shook his dark head. “If I know you, this means…”

“…that we will be doing whatever it takes, and not necessarily operating within the boundaries of the law.”

“I know that look.” Acadia approached and placed her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “You really are my mirror image, even in thought and emotion. Something has come up and you want to pursue it without delay.”

Accustomed to keeping her adventures secret, Demetra flicked a glance to her father. He was watching her expectantly, his innocent eyes wide. If there was one gift she could give Nigel for his wedding, it was the peace of mind of knowing she would do her best to find her half-sister.

“I may have just received a lead as to Verity’s whereabouts,” she confessed, “but I have been instructed to bring no one except Francis with me to discuss the matter.”

“You know I have never questioned your actions, Demi,” her father said as he stepped forward and took his wife’s hand in his. “You are capable of taking care of yourself and I never worried about you, but your sister is another matter. It may seem as though I pay very little attention to either of you…”

“Please stop right there.” Demetra raised her hand and shook her head. “Spare me the paternal effusions. I think there has been enough emotion today to last me a lifetime. My infernal mind cannot take any more.” She laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Aetheric sensibilities are uncomplicated, father. The simple fact of the matter is I have a contact that may be able to lead us to Verity. With her natural timidity, I find it very difficult to accept that she simply left on her own out of grief over her mother’s death.”

“If you are implying she was kidnapped…”

“Think about it, father. Verity never chooses to leave the house on her own. You know how she is. If anything, she takes after you more than I do, what with her aversion to social obligations.”

Most humans found Demetra’s natural bluntness off-putting, but Nigel simply nodded once, much to her relief. “You underestimate my powers of observation, Demi. As I was about to say, while I never worried about you, I know Verity’s disappearance is beyond suspicious. She remained in her room the entire time you were in Paris, and was only just joining me for meals before she vanished, before you arrived home. It has been a week now, and the police still have no leads. I doubt the inspector they are sending today will be able to do much, if anything. If you can succeed where they have failed, then do it.”

“Well, do not discount the police just yet,” Francis interjected in what Demetra thought a rather fruitless attempt at reassurance. “They may yet find something.”

“They may, but this message points to an Aetheric conspiracy.” Demetra took the paper out of Francis’s hand and shook her head. “We cannot pretend this is any ordinary disappearance, Francis. My father is correct. Perhaps he never questioned my personal escapades, but you know Verity’s nature. I do not wish to belabor the point, but a thorough investigation of the matter is essential. My parents can work with the inspector, but if this goes as high up as this letter implies, the guilty parties may be above police reprimand.”

~~~~~

Demetra was quite familiar with the west wing of Burlington House, where the Astronomer Royal had his office. She recalled her previous visits to William Christie with perfect clarity. The middle-aged celestial who held the title was fairly handsome, if rather sanctimonious. He wore his dark hair parted to one side, and a fashionably bristly mustache above his upper lip.

“Miss Ashdown and Lord Winterton,” he greeted them, smiling and extending his hand when they entered his office. “What a pleasure to see you both once more.”

“You need not put on an amiable air for us,” Demetra answered, though she accepted Mr. Christie’s hand, as good manners dictated. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of tobacco and glanced at the pipe sitting on the government official’s desk. “Having experienced your bias against both women and infernals, I will respect you far more for behaving honestly than insincerely. It’s the only possible thing that could redeem you now, since we can add kidnapping to the list of unacceptable things you’ve done since we met.”

The astronomer stiffened for a moment, then relaxed and said, “While it is true I did not approve of your handling of the matter of the Chronos Clock – after all, you did allow it to be destroyed – and I expressed my feelings very bluntly, I now find myself in the unique position of needing your services. Please have a seat. Would you like some tea?”

“I would like to bring my sister home,” Demetra answered through gritted teeth. “Do not think to play games with me, sir. Please show greater respect for our acquaintance, and cease these delaying tactics. You know I do not respond to such affectations.”

“Perhaps your fiancé would be more amenable to…”

“No,” Francis interrupted with a shake of his head. “I would not. Miss Verity’s father is extremely concerned for her well-being and I stand by Miss Ashdown in requesting you ease his distress.”

“Pardon me for attempting to redress my many previous lapses in courtesy in my dealings with you, Miss Ashdown.”

Demetra’s could not repress a snort of derision. “Mr. Christie, I consider kidnapping the ultimate lapse in courtesy. I’ve had enough experience in such matters to form an educated opinion. Now, will you please tell me whether or not this letter is true?” She withdrew the missive from her reticule and held it up between them. “Did you abduct my sister?”

“Yes, though please let me explain.”

“You want to justify your actions?”

“I realize it was an extremely rash decision on my part, however I hoped to use Miss Verity to compel you to assist me in a matter of some urgency.” The astronomer looked forlorn, almost defeated, as he sank into his wingback chair by the fireplace.

“You are holding my sister hostage,” Demetra stated, still not ready to give him any quarter. “Whatever happened to just asking for help?”

“I did not think, given our history, you would be interested in helping me.”

“Mr. Christie, the simple fact of the matter is you did not think.”

He sighed and nodded. “I admit I made a foolish choice. Now that I have earned your scorn, instead of your earnest attention, I suppose the only thing to do is apologize and give you your sister. Besides, it was probably wrong of me to try to draw you into this matter. It is rather dangerous, even for a woman of your abilities.”

Eyebrow raised, Demetra slowly lowered herself onto the loveseat across from the astronomer. “You are trying to bait me with this little mystery of yours. Honestly, I am disappointed in you, Mr. Christie. Our kind does not shy away from facts, no matter how unpleasant. So do me the courtesy, since you seem to favor that word today, of telling me precisely what you need, and permit me to determine whether or not I can, or will, assist you.”

Francis positioned himself just behind the loveseat, one hand on Demetra’s shoulder. She looked back at him, her eyes drifting down to where his other hand lingered on the pistol at his right hip. The weapon gave off an aura of celestial energy, as did Francis and Mr. Christie. The different was Francis’s energy made her feel calm, protected, whereas Mr. Christie’s did nothing of the sort. Had Francis not been there as a grounding influence, it would have required effort on her part to keep the conversation civilized.

When she returned her attention to Mr. Christie, she realized he was taking in the nobleman’s stance as well. The astronomer gave a nod and said gruffly, “Lord Winterton, when last we met, I had no idea you were one of us.”

“I may be a celestial, but I am nothing like you, sir. At least I respect infernals as fellow Aetherals, and do not treat them as inferiors.”

Mr. Christie cleared his throat, flicking his gaze back to Demetra. “We know so little about the differences between celestials and infernals…”

“Then I suggest you do some research,” she interrupted. “A few inquiries would remedy your ignorance in this matter, and possibly cause you to rethink you prejudices.”

“Miss Ashdown,” he answered sharply. “Do not lecture me about ignorance. You either want your sister back, or you do not.”

Reclining against the loveseat, Demetra’s lips curved in a feline smile. “Not so keen to give up after all, are you? Something must have you very frightened for you to react to my advice like a cornered animal.”

“Time is of the essence. Help me or not, I will give you your sister. Only please listen to what I have to say and spare me your smug lectures, young lady.”

“Demetra.” Francis gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Please let the man say what is on his mind, or tell him you have no interest in his problems. Either way, stop toying with him and think about Verity’s well-being.”

She narrowed her golden-hazel eyes, and hoped there was no mistaking her intentions. She would have Verity safely back home, or she would make the astronomer rue his little scheme. With a small nod, she lifted her hand and said, “The floor is yours, Mr. Christie.”

Shooting her one final narrow-eyed glare, mustache twitching, the Astronomer Royal said, “I heard a rather disturbing rumor – one I believe you will find quite interesting. There is word circulating about someone or something out to kidnap Aetherals. My agents tell me it is for the purpose of experimentation on our kind. Someone out there wishes to know what it is that makes us ‘tick’, for lack of a better term. As you can imagine, I think such an endeavor is thoroughly disgusting. How we operate as we do is irrelevant. We are living creatures and should not be dissected or experimented upon as though we are animals.”

“Yet you kidnapped Verity,” Demetra pointed out, her customary rational demeanor replacing the spark of insolence with which she had come ready to do battle. “If you did that to force my involvement in this matter…”

“That was only part of my motivation, Miss Ashdown. To be perfectly honest with you, I thought her safer here. With your father immersed in his work and you gallivanting around the Continent, it was the only way to get your attention and ensure your sister did not come to any harm. While I fervently hope you will render me your assistance, there was no spite intended by my actions. I know you would make a formidable and valuable ally, if you choose to investigate this matter. However, I do not know if these individuals – whoever they are – are aware of your abilities. Even I know very little about you, but what I deduced when we first met is enough. You are capable of calling Aetheric artifacts to you. This is a unique talent, and if any unscrupulous person suspects you capable of it, you and your half-sister may very well be the next targets.”

Demetra dropped her gaze down to her hands, and tapped her fingers against her knees as she pondered his words. “When we first met, Mr. Christie, you were very displeased with my discovery of the clock. You did not seem to think my powers impressive, but threatening.”

“Yet I was also shrewd enough to realize the clock might be safest in your hands, considering your expertise in such matters, and I asked for your help.”

“My… expertise?”

Mr. Christie nodded. “Of course once we met, I had my agents investigate you. As it turns out, you undertake some rather dangerous enterprises, obtaining our artifacts on behalf of others.”

“So you have found me out.” Demetra chuckled and said, “And this makes you think I am qualified to undertake this enterprise?”

“You’ve solved some formidable mysteries on your own, young lady. I believe your connections, your intellect, and your ability make you someone capable of uncovering the truth of this matter.”

“You would trust me to assist you, in spite of your racial misgivings?”

“As I said, we know so little about our kind. All I’ve done is echo the sentiments of my parents – of the celestials who raised me.”

“Well, allow me to explain what I learned during my little jaunt to the continent last week.” Demetra sat as upright as possible, her back poker-straight and her steady gaze on Mr. Christie. “Our kind has the exact same origins. Celestials and infernals come from the gods, and those two designations are nothing more than an indicator of the nature of our individual abilities.”

“As we understand it, celestials are related to angels, and infernals are related to demons.”

Demetra shook her head and said, “An oversimplification that is not just flawed, but grossly incorrect. There is no relationship, period. I will make a deal with you, Mr. Christie. While I do not like the idea of someone experimenting on our kind any more than you do, I also do not feel any obligation to help you, unless you will help me.”

The man pursed his lips and stroked his mustache. “Do go on, Miss Ashdown,” he said after a long moment.

“Besides returning Verity to me, I ask that you research Aetherals in depth. Clearly, pursuing presumably dangerous individuals is out of your league, and you have agents to do that for you. We are merely civilians. However, as concerned Aetherals, Lord Winterton and I will aid the search. Your men will tell us everything they know, and we will determine whether to work with them or on our own. Either way, I will maintain close contact with you to ensure everyone’s efforts in this matter do not overlap. We cannot afford to waste any time. Meanwhile, after you acquaint yourself with the facts of our race, prepare a dissertation on your findings. I want a scholarly article published for all to see, which lays to rest the erroneous assumptions celestials and infernals make about one another. Do we have an agreement?”

“We do.” Mr. Christie ran his fingers over his brow and said, “I am rather surprised you did not demand a meeting with the Queen herself to report my misconduct.”

“While you have not been kind to me, you have always been quite honest in our dealings. I cannot and will not fault you for doing what you think is best.”

“And Lord Winterton.” The astronomer looked up at the nobleman. “Surely you are willing to aid our efforts? I recognize this as a time when both celestials and infernals have cause to be a concerned, and should work together against a common enemy.”

The corner of his mouth quirking up in a slight smile, Francis answered, “Like Demetra, I cannot fault your logic. If there is someone hunting and abducting Aetherals, we will identify the parties and try to stop them.”

“Goodness, but I hope we will do more than ‘try’,” Demetra said. “I should like to think you have those guns for a reason, my love.”

Chapter Two

Demetra had barely set foot in the house and closed the front door behind her, when she heard the murmur of voices coming from the library. A tingle of strange celestial energy coiled around her and she paused, glancing back at the door. Francis’s carriage had already departed down Albermarle Street, and she did not relish the thought of the very public attention that yelling his name from her front step might garner her.

But I don’t need him. I can take care of myself and Verity.

She took a step into the hall and hesitated once more.

What is this feeling? she wondered as her heart thudded against her chest. Dropping her gaze to the floor, she took a deep breath and loosened her hands, which she had previously clenched tight. I do need him.

“I do,” she whispered.

I’ll tell him when next I see him. He’ll like hearing that.

“He just better not let it go to his head,” she added under her breath.

“What was that?”

Demetra turned and smiled at Verity. “We’d better get in there and face the head of this family,” she said. “Are you ready?”

Her dark-haired half-sister gazed longingly up the staircase, a book clutched to her chest. As always, Verity looked so timid and fragile, her presence brought to mind the image of a skittish young doe. The contrast of her black day dress against her alabaster skin made her look even more delicate. As the elder sister, Demetra still could not get over this contrast, not just between them, but also between Verity and her recently deceased mother. Rowena Ashdown had been nothing if not stubborn and outspoken, her voice almost resonant when she wanted attention. Verity was prone to long periods of silence, and soft-spoken when she did use her voice.

“Yes, I am. I should like to see father.” Verity spoke barely above a whisper. She sighed, her shoulders rounding forward, and took a few steps toward the library. Looking back over her shoulder, she said, “You will accompany me?”

Demetra tilted her head to the side and said, “In a moment. I was simply trying to ascertain more information about our guest.” The coiling energy in the air hummed with the faint power of electricity, which emanated from the celestial stranger in the library, but there was nothing more to it than that. She reached down to touch the fan that hung from the bottom of her bodice. Over the years, she had learned never to be without the razor sharp accessory that doubled as a weapon. As an Aetheral with a passive power, Demetra relied upon mundane rather than supernatural means with which to defend herself.

And another Aetheral in the vicinity invariably meant trouble.

Together, the sisters walked to the library and peered around the half-open pocket doors. Acadia sat in Demetra’s favorite chair in the corner, while Nigel stood beside her, saying, “At this point we are not sure, but we cannot dismiss any possibilities.”

The man to whom he spoke had his back to the door, his head bent as he wrote in a handheld notebook. “And you have no clues other than the note you gave the constable last week?”

“That is correct, and I feel so completely and utterly foolish for letting this happen to my daughter. But one never knows with someone in mourning… I thought it best to leave her to her grief. I can see now that I failed in my duty as a parent.” Nigel hung his head, looking so forlorn, Demetra wanted to rush to him.

It was Verity who beat her to it, crying out, “Oh father!” Verity’s outburst made all three of the people in the library turn toward the door, and she hurried to Nigel, throwing herself into his arms. “I am so sorry I made you worry! That was wrong of me.”

“No, I should have been more attentive to you. It is my fault you left,” Nigel answered, kissing and stroking his youngest daughter’s hair. “After your mother died, we should have come together as a family, and I failed you.”

Demetra paid no heed to the touching scene before her as the stranger with the notebook turned his gaze in her direction. His eye – for some sort of patch that consisted of leather and lens concealed the other – rested a moment on her face, then traveled lazily down along her body.

Tensing up once again, Demetra waited until his assessment was complete and his eye was back on her face, before asking, “Do you need more time, or would you prefer a photograph?”

“Considering I have never seen someone as beautiful as you, I will gratefully accept either option.” His voice had an Irish lilt to it, and when he turned his head, Demetra realized his shaggy hair was not plain brown, but dark auburn. Beneath his burgundy trench coat, she saw a dark brown holster strapped over his shoulder and to his brown leather belt. She could not see the sidearm, so she returned her attention to the patch over his eye. The triangle of leather had nothing securing it against his head. It simply stayed in place, a gray lens rimmed in gold fitted over where his eye either was or once was. He seemed content to let her give him the same appraisal he had given her.

“Are you always this presumptuous with women, or am I a special case?” Demetra finally asked.

“Since I am here to investigate a missing person, who clearly is no longer missing, I would venture to say you are a special case, Miss Ashdown.” He held his ink pen just above his page of notes and, before she could ask how he knew her name, continued, “How did you discover Miss Verity’s whereabouts?”

Demetra crossed her arms and opened her mouth, ready to do battle when, to her surprise, Verity sister stepped in and said, “I needed some time alone, so I went to stay with a friend.”

“Would you mind telling me who this friend is, so I might ask them a few questions? You are not old enough to be out and about unchaperoned, and they should have informed your father.”

“Scolding them will not do anyone any good,” Demetra interjected. “Also, I find it very insolent of you to question us when we have not yet been introduced.”

“Well, you certainly seem to enjoy giving out scoldings.” The man transferred both pen and notebook to his left hand and extended his right hand to them. “My apologies to you both, Miss Ashdown and Miss Verity. I am Inspector Nicholas Hargate Farrell of Scotland Yard.”

Eyebrow raised, Demetra let a few second pass before she took his hand. The inspector’s lips quirked as he watched her slow progress until their fingers touched. “Demetra and Verity Ashdown, Inspector Farrell, as you’ve already deduced. It is kind of you to go out of your way to visit our family, but as you can see there is no more missing person.”

“It is not at all out of my way to meet with such an interesting family, Miss Ashdown. How often does one come across half-sisters who are both half-infernal, a deceased infernal mother for one, and a newly-found one for the other?”

“I see you have already made a rather thorough investigation of the matter,” Demetra said coolly. “Too bad it was not thorough enough an investigation for the police to locate Verity before a civilian did. However, it is resolved. Therefore, you have no reason to pursue this matter. Case closed.”

“With regard to the case of the missing daughter of Nigel Ashdown? Indeed, it is closed. However, I do wish you would at least reveal to me the names of these friends, as I think a lecture about the dangers of harboring a minor may do them some good. Though, since the two of you seem intent on protecting the identity of these friends, and seeing as how Miss Verity appears to be unharmed, I will let go of that point if you have no wish to pursue charges.” He looked at Nigel, who shook his head.

“No,” the inventor said. “She is home and safe, and that is enough for me.”

“Very well,” Inspector Farrell answered. He nodded at Nigel and Acadia, then at the sisters. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and see your family back together. I daresay I hope to see you again, Miss Ashdown. Good day.”

“I will see you out, Inspector. Thank you so much for coming today.” Nigel escorted the man from the room and into the foyer.

Sliding her gaze to her mother’s, Demetra shook her head imperceptibly and waited until they heard the door open and close.

“Before I ask what the hell you were doing,” Acadia said, rising to her feet, “I think I should meet your sister. Hello there, Verity. I am Acadia Ashdown, Demetra’s mother. I realize it must come as quite a shock to arrive home and find me here, especially after your own tragic loss…” She faltered and blinked. If there was one thing Demetra had learned about her mother upon first meeting her, it was that Acadia was not one for delicacy of speech.

“Please do not apologize, Mrs. Ashdown.” Verity smiled, surprising Demetra once more. “You are the mistress of this house now, and my own mother certainly never apologized to me when she was living.”

“Be that as it may, you have endured enough, and coming home to find your father remarried is surely untenable.”

“It is a relief, Mrs. Ashdown. While I loved my mother, she treated me as a commodity, and not as a daughter. I hope you understand, all I want is peace and quiet to pursue my own endeavors. The last thing I want is to be married off to some–”

“Please, stop.” Acadia held up her hand and took a step toward Verity. “If we are going to get along, please call me ‘Acadia’, and not ‘Mrs. Ashdown’. I would so like for us to be friends. In addition, it is not up to me to decide your marital fate, or Demetra’s for that matter. I leave that for your father to determine, and he believes you should both decide for yourselves. However, should you find fault with his logic on any issue, please include me in the discussion. Sometimes another perspective can help. I expect you only to be yourself, Verity, and not do anything to please me or anyone else. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes Mrs.–Acadia.” Verity bobbed her head. “I am truly sorry I worried everyone. I should have been more forthcoming as to my whereabouts.”

Nigel walked into the library and said, “Well, despite your apologies, I for one would still like to know where you were, and why you left in such a fashion.”

“I – I did not leave intentionally.” Verity slid a glance to her sister, who offered her a small nod of encouragement. “We just felt it best not to make the general public aware of the situation, so when I realized you had a guest, I thought it best to take all the blame for causing such a fuss.”

“So you really were kidnapped?”

“In a way, she was.” Demetra wrapped her arm around her sister’s and said, “Perhaps we should adjourn to the parlor, so we can explain what happened over the past week.”

Once they were sitting in the parlor with a tea service and had eaten a few fortifying nibbles of cake, Nigel said, “Now, I realize I have turned a blind eye to Demetra’s activities for years. This is only because I know she is a very intelligent young lady, capable of taking care of herself. However, I worry about you Verity. It may not seem I pay much attention to you, but I am very well aware you are a sensitive girl. It was so out of character for you to leave without an escort, I was not sure what to think.”

“Verity was kidnapped, in a sense,” Demetra reiterated, setting her teacup on the table. “You may lay the blame on me, if you choose. The person in question is someone I dealt with a few times prior to this incident. His justification for abducting Verity was for her own protection. While I was gone, he heard rumors about someone who is intent upon learning more about Aetherals, and in a rather unsavory manner.”

“This sounds interesting.” Acadia relaxed against Nigel on the loveseat and shook her head. “I have a feeling my life is not going to settle down, even though I have no need to run and we are finally married, my dear.”

“Well, that is entirely up to you.” Nigel patted her knee and gestured to his daughters. “It seems Demetra’s life is exciting enough for all of us. Now that Verity is home, your mother and I might want to celebrate our marriage with a honeymoon. However, if this matter is not entirely resolved, we may not want to take the chance of leaving for the moment.”

“I must say I have already offered my assistance to the authorities in trying to locate this person or people,” Demetra answered. “Whoever it is thinks to experiment on our kind to learn how our powers work. This is reprehensible, and if there is any way I can stop such a horrific endeavor, I will. Francis already agreed to assist me, and I can enlist the aid of a few other friends, and perhaps Aunt Vertiline.”

Nigel stroked his chin. “As usual, I do not doubt your judgment. That leaves, however, the question of Verity’s safety. If someone you consider an ally felt it appropriate to abduct her, what about these other people intent on experimenting on Aetherals in general?”

“I am not sure they necessarily know our family even exists. Though my acquaintance’s little stunt certainly brought my attention to the matter.” Tilting her head to the side, Demetra said, “Verity could stay with Aunt Vertiline if you two want to take a honeymoon, or you could take her with you. Goodness knows Verity is the last person who will prevent the two of you from spending time alone together.”

“That seems rather insensitive to me,” Acadia interjected, addressing her new stepdaughter. “Even if you would be perfectly happy to spend time on your own reading, Verity, I am not sure you would feel comfortable accompanying your father and me on a marriage tour.”

“Do you think since everyone is discussing what they think is best for me,” Verity said, her voice firmer than usual, “that I could sleep on it and tell you what I want tomorrow? After all, you told me everyone believes I ought to make my own decisions.”

“That I did,” Acadia agreed, looking at Nigel. “What do you think?”

“I think I have done you a great disservice as a father, Verity, in never asking for your opinions or preferences.”

The youngest daughter laughed and said, “It was rather difficult to speak up when my mother was always willing to speak on my behalf, rather than asking me what I wanted.”

Demetra smothered her own laughter behind her hand. “I think it is past time we make a change in this household as far as you are concerned, and I would welcome it.”

“Even though I have not been here long, I agree, if I may say so.” Acadia continued to gaze at her husband.

“With a household full of women, I know better than to argue,” Nigel said, raising his hands in the air. “I am accustomed to staying quiet and letting Rowena run things. She spared me from actually thinking through matters. Now it seems we are moving toward a democracy, and everyone wants to know what everyone else thinks.”

“Abject apologies for all the extra work,” his wife answered with a chuckle. “Perhaps you would be happier if I thought for you.”

“Trust me, my little fox, I have more than enough thoughts to share.”

“You always did.” Acadia rested her head on his shoulder and Nigel gave a contented sigh.

“Oh dear,” Demetra groaned. “I think the marriage tour is an excellent suggestion, if it will spare me from hearing another word of romantic nonsense.”

“You might do well to learn ‘romantic nonsense’, as you call it,” her mother retorted. “Francis is the type of man who appreciates adoration.”

With a sniff, Demetra said, “I hope he can accept esteem that is a tad less enthusiastic. Now, if you will excuse me, I think we should return to matters that are more important than my engagement. Verity’s host treated her well during her absence but, as she said, I am sure she would appreciate some time to herself.”

“Of course.” Nigel rose to his feet, as did Verity. “Please do me a favor, and do not disappear on us again.”

Verity smiled benignly and said, “I will certainly do my best not to worry you, father. After all, isn’t that Demetra’s job?”

Chapter Three

The next morning, Demetra stood on the front step and waved to her father, mother, and half-sister. Her mother blew her enthusiastic kisses from the carriage as it rolled down Albermarle and turned the corner onto Piccadilly. After deciding to take a honeymoon at the Ashdowns’ country home, Verity chose to accompany them with the assurance that they would welcome her company wholeheartedly. She could enjoy the extensive library, fresh air, and relative isolation of spring days at the sprawling estate, while Nigel and Acadia paddled on the lake in a boat and read each other sappy love poems.

Or whatever it is newlyweds do, Demetra thought with a smirk as they turned a corner and drove out of sight.

She let herself feel at least some disappointment, however. Twenty years without a mother, and now instead of spending time together, she was alone at home. Still, she could not feel terribly resigned about it, since Nigel had spent those twenty years pining for the only woman he had ever loved. There was time enough to continue to become acquainted as a family later.

Then there was the strange feeling that she might miss Francis if she left town. She couldn’t deny the little tug she’d felt at her heart all afternoon and night, or the fact that she had tossed and turned when she should have been sleeping. I must focus on something else, she told herself as she turned on her heel to walk back inside the house.

And, as it was, she truly did have other matters to consider – matters that might very well mean life or death to her kind. Determined not to waste a moment of having free run of the house, she gathered her parasol and hat from her room and returned to the front hall.

“Elodie,” she called as she checked the clock and smoothed the skirts of her gray and black striped walking dress.

The maid answered within seconds. “Yes, my lady?”

“I need to visit Warom’s Apothecary and I have already dispatched a message to Lord Winterton, requesting that he join me here for tea within the hour. There may also be another visitor on behalf of Mr. William Christie. Should they arrive prior to my return, please see to it that they are comfortable.”

Elodie nodded and opened the door for her.

Stepping back out onto the front steps of her home, Demetra opened her plain, serviceable black parasol. The regular pall of murkiness that covered London had returned, along with a fine spring mist. Neither gloom nor damp weather kept her from pursuing her objective. She was far too practical to allow a few harmless clouds to deter her.

With purposeful strides, Demetra reached Warom’s Apothecary quickly. She opened the door and stepped inside, not bothering to see what was currently on display. Since she spent so much time in the shop, the mysteries and delights of it did little to tempt her. Most of the products were practical, but there were also plenty of items meant to pamper the vanity of aging ladies. Demetra thought such frivolities a waste of time and money, not to mention hope. Age was inevitable and it seemed more practical to embrace it, rather than fight it.

Sweeping past a trio of ladies who were reading the labels on jars of “Miss Flora’s Anti-Wrinkle Cream”, she tapped her knuckles against the top of the counter. To her delight, the young man crouching behind it tried to stand up too quickly, and hit his head on the edge.

“Oh my, have we forgotten how to use our minds in the past few weeks?”

“Have we forgotten to call on old friends upon one’s return from the continent?” Simon retorted grumpily as he straightened to his feet and rubbed his head, his fingers threading through the mass of blond waves.

“First of all,” Demetra said, eyeing a fresh-looking strain on Simon’s otherwise white shirt, “I spent a week helping my parents prepare for a wedding and try to locate my sister, who went missing while I was gallivanting around the world. Second of all, I was not on the continent the entire time. I went to the United States, too.” Demetra stepped aside to allow the other women place their purchases on the counter and pay for them. She waited patiently until the small gaggle of females departed. “Now, here I am, my old friend, all yours at last.” She smiled winsomely at Simon, who took advantage of the lack of customers to embrace her.

It was entirely improper for them to be so intimate in public. However, propriety was not something with which they concerned themselves after so many years of friendship. Simon stepped back to look at Demetra and shook his head. “I so wanted to accompany you, but my father needed me to help look after the shop.” He looked down when she pointed at his shirt, brushed ineffectually at the greasy spot, then shrugged and hooked his thumb behind his suspenders.

“Which is understandable and was probably for the best anyway, as we could not estimate how long our trip would last.” Demetra set her parasol on the counter and indulged in a long, satisfying yawn.

“Your journey was that exciting?” Simon chuckled, leaning against the dark wood and watching her, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

Resisting the urge to ruffle his loosely curling hair, Demetra instead stuck her tongue out at him. “Well, after we found both answers and a dead end in Paris, we went on to New York City, and finally to San Francisco. It was an eventful little jaunt, to say the least.”

“And to think, you returned with your mother, as I saw in The Times. How ever did you locate her and what is she like?”

“Two old friends of hers in Paris told us about her work on some strange machine.” Demetra shrugged and gave a desultory little wave of her hand. “The clues we gathered suggested she might be in the States, so we started our search in New York. To make a rather long story short, she actually found us, rather than us finding her. In fact, she thought it in our best interests that she – you’re going to love this – blow up Francis’s offices there.”

“No!” Simon gasped.

Demetra nodded. “Not only that, but she did it with Francis in the building.”

Simon chortled until he was out of breath, while Demetra watched his undignified display of mirth, arms folded and foot tapping against the floorboards. When he finally regained his composure, he straightened and wiped tears from his eyes. “I have a feeling that little stunt did not endear Francis to your mother.”

“You are correct. It did not endear him to her at all. You know how cross he becomes if something out of the ordinary happens.” Even Demetra grinned at the memory. “After that, we found out soon enough that my mother is rather… unconventional in her approach to problems. I would also venture to say she is just as hotheaded as Francis. They are more alike than they realize. Yet, I can definitely see that I inherited more than just looks from my mother. It is odd to think she was not a part of my life, yet I am very much like her.”

“Well, if you consider it, it makes sense on a scientific level. There is more to what parents pass on to their children than the obvious.”

“Oh yes, we covered all of that during our journey.” Demetra traced a circle on the countertop with her index finger. “Time will reveal more, I’m sure. But tell me how things have been since I was gone.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “You know my life lacks excitement when you are not in it. Would you like a tally of the lotions and creams sold to the ladies of the ton in your absence?”

“Because such tittle-tattle would amuse my sensibilities? You know it never has.” Demetra put her elbow on the counter and rested her chin on the palm of her hand with a sigh. “So, did you hear about Verity, or do I need to tell you all about it?”

“Mr. Ashdown came here to ask if we had seen her. It was the day after she disappeared. I was not in the shop at the time, so he spoke with my father. It was quite a shock to imagine timid little Verity running away from home. Naturally, I had my suspicions, but I kept them to myself. Your father has always operated in his own happy little world, and I did not want to frighten him.”

“It seems this event, along with reuniting with my mother, finally drew him out of that sense of complacency.”

“I have a feeling that is a good thing,” Simon said, with a nod. The bell at the door tinkled, and he smiled over Demetra’s head at whoever had just entered the shop.

“Ah,” came a somewhat familiar voice. “What a coincidence that I should come in here to find the lovely Miss Ashdown.”

Her eyes widening, Demetra mouthed, “Oh my goodness” at Simon, before turning to face the newly arrived patron. “Inspector Farrell. You should know as a fellow Aetheral that I hardly put anything in life down to something as capricious as coincidence. It is a rather sentimental notion.”

The amusement on his face was more than evident, and Demetra heard Simon’s sharp intake of breath behind her. She simply leveled a steady stare at the Inspector, her eyes on his good one. He doffed his bowler hat, revealing his disheveled auburn hair. Demetra’s fingers itched once again with the urge to run them through it, to smooth it into place. “What is it with young men and messy hair?” she asked aloud, then clapped her hands over her mouth.

Simon burst out laughing and the Inspector shook his head, a grin on his face. “True to rationalism, even though you are part human, Miss Ashdown. Though I find the typical rational outlook of Aetherals is really quite a new phenomenon. Certainly, I have encountered my share of those who do not deny sentiment, let alone fate or luck.”

“Being an Aetheral: you are doing it wrong,” Simon muttered under his breath, so only Demetra could hear.

“I see.” Her shoulders tensing up toward her ears, Demetra lifted her chin and said, “Then perhaps I am the way I am because of my upbringing. Thank you very much for the lesson in Aetheric sensibilities, though I hardly need it. As I learned during my recent journey, our kind is far more diverse than I realized. Whether newborn or firstborn, whether celestial or infernal, or half-human, I appreciate the fact that our kind do not all think and behave in the same manner. While my education in the science of Aetherals was deficient, you can rest assured that changed dramatically during the past few weeks.”

“How unfortunate, then, that someone out there still insists upon trying to learn even more about us,” Inspector Farrell said with a casual shrug, turning to examine a shelf of remedies for the common cold. “Why anyone should think it necessary to dissect a living creature in the name of science is beyond my understanding.”

“Dissect Aetherals? But, Demi...” Simon faltered when she turned and shot him a narrow-eyed glare.

“Malicious rumors wreak havoc on idle minds,” Demetra responded, looking down at the toe of her shoe and sniffing delicately. “I had no idea the police, let alone Scotland Yard, were in the habit of investigating unfounded gossip. It must be a slow month.”

“Actually, it is hardly an unsubstantiated claim. Perhaps you would care to take a turn with me around St. James and I could tell you more about it – more than you probably already know.” The Inspector gave her an insolent wink to match his cheeky grin.

“I am really quite busy today, Inspector. I have an appointment I must keep.”

“Very well. Another time, then. Good day, Miss Ashdown, Mr. Warom.” Placing his hat on his head and tipping it slightly forward, he nodded to both of them and strode out of the establishment.

“You don’t like him,” Simon stated. “That, or you like him a little too much.”

Turning and kicking her toe against the counter, Demetra hissed, “I hope he goes back to the Yard and keeps his nose out of my business. This whole sordid matter of dismembering our kind is irritating enough as it is, without a meddlesome policeman dogging my every step. It’s quite inappropriate of him, but he seems to think since he was assigned to my sister’s case, he has that right.”

“All of this makes me feel quite certain I have missed a few steps, Demi. This is the first I’ve heard about dissection and dismemberment – nasty business, from the sound of it. Will you please start at the beginning?”

“The no-frills explanation is Verity was kidnapped by Mr. Christie, supposedly for her own safety, though I am sure he did it to bring my attention to the dissection matter.”

“The Astronomer Royal? As I recall, he is none too fond of you. That seems like a terribly thoughtless way of reaching out to you.”

“True, but I don’t think there was any malice in it. He obviously respects my ability to get a job done. According to him, someone is out there abducting Aetherals for the purpose of experimenting on them. If this is true, it is a most foul business and we cannot allow it to continue.” Drumming her fingers on the countertop, Demetra continued, “Maniacal men with a God-complex seem to be my lot in life these days.”

“Only you could come back from the United States and imply that you ran into as much trouble there, if not more than whatever improbable matter greeted you when you got home.”

Raising her eyebrows at Simon, she said, “Try an infernal madman intent on killing any other Aetherals he deemed unworthy by draining their powers and assimilating them into himself. Our only way to stop him was by taking a cross-country trip from New York to San Francisco, which was almost literally derailed when our train blew up, and my Aunt Vertiline took the wheel of a motor carriage.”

“How could your aunt’s driving possibly be a problem?”

“She’s only four and a half feet tall. Her height caused a bit of difficulty when she attempted to operate the motor carriage, though we survived. The only one who really found her presence objectionable was Francis, though I think he learned that Vertiline’s teasing is harmless.” Putting her finger to her pursed lips, Demetra canted her head to one side and said, “Well, I hope he realized that. She really did go out of her way to distress him, but it was all in good fun.”

“Someday you need to introduce me to this aunt of yours. Anyone who annoys Francis is a friend of mine.”

“Not to burst your bubble about that, but he and I did set a wedding date.”

“I see.” Simon lowered his eyes to the countertop, and Demetra felt a wave of regret wash over her.

“You knew it was inevitable,” she murmured.

“Yes, I knew. Neither of us can put off the future forever. That hardly means one cannot dream.”

Demetra placed her hand over his. “We are both still very young. Someday you will meet a girl who is everything you dreamed, and then it will be my turn to weigh and measure her.”

“Oh dear.” Simon looked back up at her, finally smiling once more. “With your lofty standards, you would frighten the poor girl away and leave me bereft of love.”

“But not of companionship. Besides, anyone who cannot hold up under my scrutiny does not deserve you.” Giving his hand a squeeze, she said, “You know I hope I can count on you to assist in my latest…”

“Misadventure?”

“Undertaking.”

Simon jerked his chin in the direction of the shop door. “What of your admirer in law enforcement? He seems to have at least some information about the matter. Why not take advantage of that?”

“What you suggest is a last resort,” Demetra retorted, straightening and making a face at him. “Making a fool of myself in an attempt to extract a confidence from him is not my idea of a productive use of my time.”

“So you must find other ways to make a fool of yourself.”

Arching a brow, Demetra purred, “I am so fortunate to have you as a role-model in that endeavor.”

Chapter Four

Demetra was pleased when the butler admitted Lord Winterton and a young, pallid man with the nervous look of a scholar. Admit it, she told herself, you enjoyed spending so much time together in your travels. Becoming closer as man and wife, particularly on a physical level, was certainly an intriguing idea, to say the least, but she refrained from dwelling on it. Business now, exploratory nuzzles later. She filed the amorous inquisitiveness away in her mind for later contemplation and focused on her new guest.

The man introduced himself as Hiram Tesmund, a celestial with a talent he explained as, “Biblometry: the ability to hold a book and know precisely what is written it in, from start to finish, though not inclusive of notes jotted in the margins after the fact.”

As she saw to her guests’ comfort and served the tea – “One lump, or two,” she inquired, as a good hostess must – it did not take long for Demetra to tire of Tesmund’s inclination of habitually playing with the round spectacles over his owlish eyes. Biting her tongue on that particular matter, she waited until her guests had cups in hand and Elodie closed the doors to the parlor, before addressing the reason for their visit.

“Mr. Tesmund, your employer informed both me and Lord Winterton of the issue you are currently investigating. Although we are working independent of the Astronomer Royal’s agents, I believe it behooves us to share what information we can while still diversifying our efforts.”

“That is an admirably logical deduction, Miss Ashdown. We have worked round the clock to gather intelligence, yet we are no closer to learning the identity of the people supposedly involved in this strange affair.” Hiram’s voice quavered with apprehension. “You must understand the talents of my mind are something I hold dear. To consider someone digging around in there, trying to figure out how I operate is terrifying.” A shudder racked his body.

Demetra rolled her eyes toward Francis, but he gave a slight shake of his head and said, “We share your concerns and hope our combined efforts can ensure the safety of all Aetherals. Since Mr. Christie asked us to assist, we would like to know what you have learned thus far about this matter.”

“Of course you would. Well, at first the disappearances were nothing of note. You know how it goes – a lady of the night here, a dock worker or a mud lark there. Then we heard of others: working class mostly, but a few members of the clergy, and we have our suspicions that a couple of nobles who are reportedly on holiday may have fallen victim to the abductor. This is because we realized the disappearances all had one thing in common.”

“They were all Aetherals,” Demetra interrupted. “Elementary conclusion, really.” She reached for a wedge of lemon cake and deposited it on a small plate. Picking up a dessert fork, she asked, “What makes you think the disappearances are linked, besides the fact that our kind do not tend to rove about in packs?”

“Clues at the scene of each crime indicate none of these individuals left word they intended to go anywhere, except the two noblemen. Acquaintances and concerned family all told Scotland Yard’s inspector these folks left without a trace. Rationally, they concluded it was very unlike them, particularly those working so hard to earn a living. The working poor don’t exactly receive time off, you know.”

“I cannot fault that logic, but were there any other signs connecting these cases?” Francis asked.

“Oh, there certainly were. At the scene of each abduction, there was a lingering odor and residue that our forensics expert detected. These all matched up between the areas where these people were last seen. Based upon that, we believe some sort of device or machine might have played a part in the abductions, but we cannot determine just what it is.”

“How very odd,” Demetra mused between bites of cake. “Did it leave some sort of Aetheric energy signature?”

“Not at all, unfortunately. Otherwise, we might have a better idea of who was behind this. Whomever is doing this is quite tidy in that respect. All our evidence, I am sorry to say, is quite mundane. Since we have no way of tracking Aetherals, it will not be easy to find out what became of them.”

“Still, that many Aetherals gathered in one place – if they are all prisoners and still alive – are bound to give off some noticeable energy.” Keeping her gaze on Hiram, Demetra pointed her fork at him and asked, “Has anyone tried searching London to find out if there is a concentration of Aetheric power in one place?”

“We have done our best.” The scholar hesitated, sighed, and then continued, before Demetra could interject with a snide comment. “But either their presence is masked, perhaps by keeping them in something reinforced with iron, or they are no longer in town.”

Brow furrowed, Francis asked, “Have you any other clues?”

“I am afraid we are at an impasse for the moment. This does not mean we are stopping our investigation, of course!” Hiram shook his head so vigorously, Demetra thought his glasses might fly off his nose. “Mr. Christie simply thought Miss Ashdown could assist us with her rather special abilities.”

“Which two noblemen disappeared?”

“Lord Horace Aston and Lord Edwin Cosgrove. Supposedly they were going to the country, but the only evidence to that effect was hastily-scrawled notes left in their rooms.”

“Neither man is married, nor has any remaining family,” Francis observed. “Both are quite young, and while they are not the most eligible bachelors in town, their disappearances are noteworthy.”

“Do you know them personally?”

Shaking his head, Francis said, “Not as such, no, just by reputation. However, they are strategic targets – not likely to be missed for some time, until after the summer. Going to the country is a perfectly plausible explanation for their disappearances.”

“This miscreant is certainly doing his homework,” Demetra murmured. She finished her last bite of cake, wiped her fingers on a cloth napkin, and then dabbed at the corners of her mouth. “It sounds like very clean work, except the mysterious residue, and even that appears to be untraceable. Well, this is not the first time I have searched for the proverbial needle in a haystack. Does there appear to be a pattern to the disappearances?”

“I think not.” Hiram pulled a small notebook from his coat pocket. “The relative importance of the victims does not seem to increase or decrease in any noticeable way. The abductions appear almost random as far as when each target disappeared. The dates are between the first of April and three days ago, on the sixth of May. Only the noblemen left any sort of excuse for their supposed departures, yet no luggage was packed and no preparations made, so their servants alerted us.”

“Were all the victims celestials, such as yourself and Mr. Christie?”

“No, some were also infernals.”

“How did you become involved with the case in its entirety, then?” Demetra put her finger to her lips. “It seems to me Mr. Christie’s greatest concern is with other celestials, and not a few infernal commoners.”

“Lord Aston is a celestial, and he disappeared on the tenth of April. After that, the tailor who serves the Astronomer Royal disappeared, and then we started hearing of the others. I would not be surprised if there are more victims whose identities we do not yet know.” Hiram placed his notebook back in his pocket and spread his hands wide. “When we heard of infernals disappearing too, we could not ignore the likelihood that each case is linked. Now we are left with only a few clues and trying to determine what to do next. However, every fresh, new mind helps.”

“Do you, perhaps, know the talents of any of the abductees?”

“Alas, we do not.”

Demetra glanced at the pocket watch attached to her bodice and asked, “Is there anything else you can tell me about the matter, or anything I should know that might assist me in my own endeavors to help you?”

“Not that I can think of at the moment, but should anything new come to light, I will inform you immediately.” Hiram rose to his feet. “Thank you so much for your time and the lovely tea. I must be going, as Mr. Christie will want a report of our meeting.”

“One last thing.” Demetra held up her hand to stop him. “Would you please give me a list of the victims’ names, the dates on which they disappeared, and the places they were last seen? Such basic information will give us a place to begin.”

“Oh my goodness, of course. How silly of me to overlook something so simple, yet so vital to our search.” Hiram reached back into his pocket, removed his notebook and an ink pen, and copied his list. He ripped the small page from the notebook and handed it to Demetra. “I take it you will retrace our steps to see if you come up with anything yourself?”

“That is absolutely my intention. One must always start from the very beginning and not skip any steps in an attempt to resolve such a tricky dilemma. But what of the supposed rumor explaining why the kidnappings are occurring? Where did you hear that?”

“Over by the Thames when we investigated the disappearances of the dock worker and the fish merchant, a few of their colleagues told us this. Though I do not know where they got the information and, when pressed, they said it was simply pub talk.”

Demetra glanced at the piece of paper and nodded. “Don’t underestimate ‘pub talk’, sir. You may let Mr. Christie know that we will start immediately.”

“Thank you so much, Miss Ashdown. Perhaps you will find something we overlooked.” Hiram bowed slightly to her. “I will take my leave of you now.”

Francis rose to his feet and said, “Permit me to accompany you to the door, Mr. Tesmund.”

As soon as the men left the room, Demetra perused the list thoroughly, committing the names, dates, and other facts to her flawless memory:

April 1, 1892 – Annie Mae – celestial, prostitute, Fenchurch Street

April 3, 1892 – John Bullard – infernal, dock worker, Nightingale Lane

April 10, 1892 – Lord Horace Aston – celestial, nobleman, Arlington Street

April 13, 1892 – Jedidiah Deevy – celestial, tailor, Baker Street

April 19, 1892 – Margery Gardiner – celestial, librarian, Clarges Street

April 22, 1892 – Ernest Trafford – infernal, fishmonger, Hermitage Street

April 29, 1892 – Lord Edwin Cosgrove – infernal, nobleman, Grosvenor Square

May 6, 1892 – Orpha Perry – infernal, baker, Vauxhall Street

Francis returned and leaned over the back of the sofa to look at the list. After a few moments, he said, “That is a very wide range of people and places. There is no way any of these disappearances are connected.”

“Which is precisely what the kidnapper wants us to believe,” Demetra said, pressing her finger to her lips and tilting her head as she looked over the list, even though she had already memorized it. “However,” she continued, jabbing her finger at the paper, “I am sure if we get to know these folks a bit more intimately, we will find connections between them.”

“What makes you think that? The kidnapper probably just did what any Aetheral can do – detected their existence and found them based on their energy.”

“You are concluding that the kidnapper is also an Aetheral, but why would one want to kidnap many?”

“Well, it makes the most sense. How else would the kidnapper find them? Either that,” Francis said, “or they have one working with them.”

“Then why use some sort of machine at the scene of each abduction?”

Under Demetra’s intense scrutiny, Francis rubbed his chin and considered her question. “Because he intends to throw any potential investigators off the trail by making it appear as though a mundane person committed the crime.”

“A distinct possibility,” Demetra agreed. “However, why would an Aetheral want to kidnap others for the purpose of figuring out how their powers work? What would they stand to gain from such a caper?”

Placing his hands behind his back, Francis turned and paced the length of the room.

As he walked, Demetra could not resist saying, “Do you need a clue?”

“Oh, bite your tongue, woman,” he answered and winked at her. After a few passes, he stopped and said, “You said so yourself last month that most Aetherals know very little about their own kind. As we learned in Paris, what we are is often over-simplified into two categories as distinct as angel and demon, or even good and evil. Yet that is not at all what we are. Still, someone without the knowledge to look beyond those classifications might seek a more scientific answer.”

“Or someone who knows might seek a scientific answer regardless, since our kind are often drawn to such endeavors,” Demetra added. She extended her hand to Francis and said, “Your logic does you credit, and while your theory is very rational, I feel like there is something else to this matter. The reasoning is sound, yet all the pieces are not quite adding up to the full picture.”

He took her hand and sat next to her. “Still, it is something for us to consider.”

“Indeed it is.” She tucked her head against his shoulder. “Ah, I have been wanting to do that all day.”

“Have you?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am, and we are getting off topic.” His arms wrapped around her and he drew her closer. “Pleasantly off-topic.”

She smiled and said, “Back on topic, then. I would draw the same initial conclusions as you, however, it must be more complex than that.” She sighed rather more loudly than usual and nestled closer to him. “We see here eight disappearances in a month. Why did they choose to take these people? Are they still alive? Where were they taken?”

“Too many questions and no answers yet.”

“That is precisely Mr. Christie’s dilemma, which is why he enlisted our assistance.” Straightening and tucking the piece of paper into the top of her leather bodice, Demetra sighed and said, “As much as I want to just enjoy being here together, we need to start questioning people. First I want to visit Aunt Verti and Mr. Mathers.”

“Why them?”

“You know they both have connections with some rather odd factions of society. They may know something or be able to pick up some interesting little tidbits if we let them know what is happening. I suggest we call on them at once. As for the machine residue, I will see if we can obtain a sample and ask Simon to analyze it.”

Francis chuckled and said, “As always, you seem to know the right people to contact at just the right time.” He took her hand between his and said, “Or, the wrong time.”

“Well, be that as it may, my circle of family and acquaintances is rather small, but it serves me well.” She looked down at their joined hands, and then up at him. “And what about your mother? We have not spoken about the esteemed Lady Winterton. Did you talk to her about our wedding date?”

“Actually, speaking of country comings and goings…”

“Oh dear.”

“Well, she went home – she hates the city, as you very well know – and I was not able to speak with her. Though she left me a letter, which indicated her severe displeasure at my going to Paris with you.”

“Oh dear. I hope she was not terribly scandalized.” Demetra lifted her fingers to her lips to stifle a giggle, but her catlike eyes twinkled with mirth.

“She was not at all reassured by your aunt’s presence. Apparently my mother was already aware of Vertiline’s bluestocking reputation.” Despite the parental disapproval, Francis was also smiling. “I posted a letter to her telling her of what we learned in Paris, and informing her that – like it or not – I would wed you on October 26th of this year.”

“I suppose our own engagement has not been the most pressing matter on either of our minds, what with reuniting my parents, finding Verity, and now this situation.” Demetra leaned against him once more. “The notion of spending any romantic time together is quite foreign to us, and it is something I would like to explore.”

“It is at that, and I would like that too.” His arm slipped around her waist. “Of course, we really are not supposed to indulge in unseemly displays of affection, so I suppose all of this commotion is for the best.”

Demetra closed her eyes and inhaled. “You smell of orange spice, my love.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“It is a very good thing, indeed. It suits you.” She slowly opened her eyes and looked up at him. “I do believe I love you, Lord Winterton.”

“I am very relieved to hear it.” He smiled and playfully tapped his finger against her nose. “You have drawn me into something I never imagined possible.”

“You were already a celestial. That was not my doing.”

“No, but associating with you again is what forced my mother to ultimately reveal the truth about my heritage. Remember when I told you I believed she was afraid of something? How reclusive she has been ever since my father died?”

“Of course I do. We had that conversation barely a month ago,” Demetra said.

“I wondered if perhaps how my father died was something she ever questioned, so I told her everything that happened with your mother and the Daemon Device. I think it is very possible that is what killed my father, and she was trying to protect me from the same fate.”

Narrowing her eyes, Demetra responded, “That is possible, though it would be a highly coincidental connection.”

“It certainly would, which might explain her adamant objection to our marriage.”

“Will you please let me know when she responds to your letter? I am very curious to know what she says. I realize your mother does not like me, but if there is anything I can do to alleviate her pain or her concerns…”

“She will learn to love you.” Francis pulled her against his chest for an embrace, and she did not protest the inappropriate contact.

Instead, she took another long, deep breath, and reveled in the warmth of his body. His celestial strength surrounded her, yet being close to him was not like holding a celestial artifact. It did not harm her or cause her discomfort. Instead, it felt like his presence balanced her. Where she was overly logical and analytical, he was impulsive and hotheaded. Her power was in finding and identifying Aetheric objects. His was strength and unerring aim with the celestial pistols bequeathed to him by his parents. She was the inquisitive investigator, and he was her devoted defender.

She took another moment of pleasure in the romantic notions, before lifting her head to smile at him. “I believe we have some disappearances to look into, my love.”

Chapter Five

Aunt Vertiline did not reside far from her younger brother. A walk down Albermarle brought them to a townhome done in gray shingle and deep pink trim. The garden was small, but tidy with a pair of pink hydrangeas flanking the front steps. Demetra rapped at the door with the silver knocker and then turned to Francis.

“Is Verti’s home as strange as she is?” he asked, his hands perched on his hips as he looked over the property.

“Despite her rather controversial views and odd proclivities, I think you will find her residence quite normal.” Demetra smoothed back her hair and turned back to the door as it opened. “Ah, hello, Gilbert. How do you do today?”

The ebony-skinned man, who stood a head taller than Francis, bowed to her and said in a deep voice, “Welcome back, Miss Ashdown. I am quite well and trust you can say the same?”

“I can and will. I am sure Verti told you all about our little adventures in Paris and the States.”

“Indeed, she did. What a delight it always is when she returns home bearing news, especially when she is part of it.”

Demetra laughed and reached back to take Francis’s arm. “Gilbert, this is my fiancé, Lord Francis Winterton. Francis, this is my Aunt’s companion and assistant, Gilbert Wharton.”

Both men shook hands in greeting, the assistant’s large, dark hand engulfing Francis’s. Eyebrows raised as he looked up at the large man, Francis said, “Well, I can sense that you are a celestial, like me.”

“Yes, milord, that I am,” Gilbert replied with a grin. “Verti would not have it any other way. While she may be an infernal, she doesn’t hold a person’s outward appearance or Aetheric heritage against them. Her viewpoints run to the unconventional.”

Francis gave a snort. “So I learned during our time together. Don’t you think that’s putting it politely?”

“Very much so.”

“Excuse me, but is my aunt home?” Demetra asked. “We would like to see if she has any information about a particular matter.”

“She is and will probably be grateful for the company. Ever since your return, she has been feeling a bit under the weather. Follow me to the parlor, if you please.” Gilbert stepped aside to let them in, and shut the door while the guests divested themselves of hats and gloves in the front hall. “She seems to have caught just a bit of a cold, though she is much better today. At least, her spirits aren’t as stuffy as her head.” The assistant led them straight back down the hall into a cozy parlor, decorated in shades of deep blue and ivory.

Vertiline’s petite form lay on the sofa, her upper half propped up with two pillows, a white fringed blanket over her lap and legs, and a brown leather-bound book in her hands. Looking up from her reading, a smile crossed her young face. “Demi and Francis! It is so good to see you both once again, particularly since I missed my brother’s wedding. How are Nigel and my dear new sister-in-law?”

“They are quite well and have taken a marriage trip to our country home.” Demetra bent to kiss her aunt on the cheek. “However, Gilbert tells us you caught a cold. I hope you are resting and letting him take care of matters for you.”

“Of course I am. I may have the body of an adolescent, but let me assure you I am no fool.” It was true. Vertiline’s growth appeared stunted at twelve, her raven black curls framing stunningly beautiful, youthful features. Yet her biological age was closer to fifty, and her power to cause vertigo far stronger than one might suspect. Verti looked inquiringly at her guests. “Sit down and tell me what brings you here to visit me. Gilbert, would you bring us some tea, and perhaps something a bit stronger for me?”

“You get honey in your tea,” Gilbert replied solemnly. “Nothing more than that until you are feeling better.”

He turned and left the room, and Verti shook her head. “Oh, blast that man. I love him, but why must he be impossible?”

“He’s just looking out for your best interests, as you did for him when he was just a little boy, and goodness knows you’re just as impossible.”

Verti waved her hand with another “Bah” of disgust.

Demetra smiled despite her aunt’s reaction, and sat with Francis on the sofa opposite the diminutive Aetheral. “Since you are ill, I feel like this is a terrible imposition.”

“Nonsense. When have you ever imposed upon me? You know I thrive on activity and news. Tell me what brings you to visit, besides familial affection.”

“We have a problem and thought with your connections, you might have heard something about what is happening to Aetherals in London.”

Waving her hand in the air, Verti said, “Oh, you mean those disappearances.”

“H-how did you know that?” Francis stuttered. He turned to Demetra. “How did she know that? We only just found out the other day.”

“I told you, she has connections, and you would do well to cultivate some in the Aetheral populace too.” Straightening and placing her hands in her lap, Demetra looked back at her aunt. “So, what do you know?”

“It’s a very odd business, of course, these disappearances. Aetherals do not exactly migrate in large groups at the same time, let alone small groups over a period of a month.” Verti looked up and smiled at Gilbert as he brought the tea tray into the parlor. “Gil, they have come to ask us about the disappearances. Can you believe it took them so long?”

“I cannot, Verti, particularly in Miss Ashdown’s case.” The black man winked at them and handed a cup of tea to his mistress. “Do either of you care for any?”

“Certainly.” Demetra accepted a cup and sipped at the sweet, hot liquid contained within it. “This is a lovely pomegranate tea, Aunt Verti.”

“Thank you. I am rather fond of it myself.” After taking a few drinks, the little infernal set her cup and saucer in her lap and sighed. “Well, as you can imagine, this business is beyond unsavory. It is downright frightening. As I understand it from Gil, people are being kidnapped for the purpose of some sort of experimentation.”

“Yes. That is the rumor going around the dockside pubs, at least. Yet no one seems able to pinpoint the person who started that rumor.”

“Oh, it was a dock worker named John Bullard, which is probably why he disappeared not long after the first few Aetherals were abducted.”

Demetra scrutinized her aunt. “You know that for certain?”

“Absolutely. Gil heard it from the man’s own lips, did you not?”

“I did, indeed,” the companion answered, nodding. “He was very upset about a previous dockhand disappearing, and told me he saw some sort of strange contraption that night. Said it put off a strange, burning odor, though he could not quite identify it.”

“He actually saw the machine?” Demetra placed her teacup on the tray and leaned forward, her gaze fixed on Gilbert. “Did he describe it to you?”

“He said it looked like an iron maiden without the spikes, but with several slots in it.”

“An iron maiden?” she repeated, furrowing her brow. “That is large enough to put an entire person inside. How could someone possibly transport that to a London street, let alone put someone in it, without being noticed?”

“Excellent question, Miss Ashdown. Obviously, Mr. Bullard saw it, though he may have been an exception.”

“Of course, now he’s gone, so we cannot ask him any more questions.” Demetra glanced over at Francis. “However, we can begin our search at the docks, and find out if others have seen anything.”

“They are likely to remain mum on the matter, mostly out of fear. Certainly if you saw something like that, you would want to separate yourself from the situation and go on about your business, Miss.”

“Slots in it… Convenient for performing their experiments,” Verti said. A fit of coughing followed, but she held her hand up to stop anyone from approaching her. “I am perfectly fine,” she said in a moment. “I just need more tea. Another good night’s rest, and I will be right as rain.”

“Very well,” Demetra muttered. Although she tried to sound convincing, she knew her concern for her aunt was obvious. “Well,” she continued hastily, pasting a smile on her face once more, “at least we have a bit more information, though we still have very little to go on in this case. I wonder why Mr. Christie’s agents were not able to uncover at least that little tidbit.”

“The Astronomer Royal?” Verti shook her head after a few more sips of tea. “He and his agents are notoriously heavy-handed when it comes to infernals and those of a lower class in general. They rarely become involved in such matters, unless they have a vested interest in the outcome. It’s no wonder they haven’t been made privy to the personal stories of the dock worker. Honestly, I’m rather surprised Mr. Christie reached out to you. I doubt it’s for the good of all London Aetherals. These celestial government agents are a selfish lot, and if their involvement was for a nobler cause, I would be shocked. More than likely, they wish only to protect themselves.”

“Given our experiences with Mr. Christie, I am inclined to agree with you, Verti.” Francis finally spoke. “Still, we agreed to assist him in his investigation, because someone does need to embrace – as you call it – a nobler cause. Even if we had not, there is no doubt in my mind that Demetra would have taken it upon herself to become involved once word of the disappearances reached her.”

“You know me too well, my love.” Demetra selected a cookie to nibble and then gave a low, thoughtful “Hmm” after taking a bite. “Have either of you heard any other information about the disappearances or the machine?”

“I think that is the extent of it,” Verti answered. “At least, that is all I know. Do you have anything to add, Gilbert?”

“Nothing, except to say we are keeping a low profile. Since Aetherals from all classes have disappeared, I have encouraged Verti to remain at home and let me handle all outside business.” He glanced at his mistress and said, “Even though she has been ill, you know how she insists upon doing whatever she wants. As powerful as she is, though, I do not want her taking chances.”

“You old softie,” Verti growled under her breath, her affection evident in the way she gazed at the man. “You know I can take care of myself.”

“Be that as it may, I won’t have you taking chances. There is a treacherous conspiracy afoot, Miss Verti.”

“Gilbert is right,” Demetra said, winking at him. “Please keep her safe. In fact, both of you stay safe. We cannot risk losing either of you, so I want you to promise me you will both be very careful.” Demetra finished her cookie and brushed the few crumbs from her lap. “

“Dear girl!” Verti’s voice was full of indignation and she narrowed her eyes at her niece. “I am not the one about to traipse out to the docks in pursuit of this frightful contraption, unlike some impertinent, meddlesome girls I know. You are the one who must promise me you will be careful.”

“You know I will take every precaution to ensure my safety, and Francis will accompany me every step of the way.” Rising to her feet, Demetra reached out to give her aunt’s hand a squeeze. “If you hear anything of interest, please send word immediately. Also, never travel alone, but in pairs. And advise any of your Aetheral friends to do the same for their own safety.”

“I will, and do not think I am helpless just because I am a bit ill. Come and see me again in a few days when I am feeling better. My head will be less muzzy then, and perhaps Gilbert will relent and let me do something to assist. After all, who would want to experiment on someone like me?”

Chuckling, Demetra answered, “I am almost afraid to answer that question, aunt. Come to think of it, though, a power like yours is quite interesting, and frightful in and of itself. Who would not be interested in learning more about you?” Her brows drew together, but she caught herself and smoothed her features into a benign smile.

“Your concern is noted. Get out of here, you two, and see if you can succeed where Christie’s agents have failed.”

Once they were walking along the street, Francis murmured, “What were you thinking when you talked about Verti’s power?”

“I was thinking I wish I knew what sorts of powers the kidnapped Aetherals each had. It might help us determine whether or not there is a connection.” Her stride lengthened as she walked.

“This is not the way back to your home,” Francis pointed out.

“Indeed, it is not.”

“Ah.” He canted his head to one side and said, “It is getting late, and evening is not the best time to visit the docks, particularly for a lady.”

“Please do not make me dress as a man this time. We are already out and about. Why should we waste our time?”

“I don’t want to make you dress as a man, but it’s probably safer than going to Nightingale Lane dressed like that.” Francis looked at her pointedly, and then let his eyes wander down along her day dress to her neat black shoes. “You will stand out among the common laborers, and we will probably draw enough attention by asking questions about John Bullard. Let us try to minimize any interest in us, for safety’s sake.”

“Now, that’s no fun,” Demetra answered with a pout. “However, it is a reasonable request. Very well. I appreciate and understand your concerns, but please do not make me sit in some corner like a useless sidekick. Since other Aetherals cannot detect my energy, I am much safer from harm than you think. However, your celestial energy combined with that of your pistols makes you quite noticeable.”

“I agree, it does, but just let anyone attempt to trifle with either of us,” he growled in a low voice. “Then I will be more than noticeable, as you put it.”

“Fatalities will get us nowhere.”

“No, but intimidation might garner the kind of attention we need.”

Chapter Six

They found the Gray Plover Pub nestled between the huge warehouses that towered over the docks along Nightingale Lane. It was just past dinnertime when they arrived in the district and the sunset cast long, thick shadows on the streets.

Pulling the brown flat cap low over her eyes and hunching a bit into the oversized work coat she wore, Demetra muttered, “Seems rather quiet for a dockside tavern. These places are usually so rowdy.” When Francis shot a glare at her, she shrugged and said, “We were apart for three years. I didn’t sit around waiting for you to come back.”

“And just how often did you get out to places like this?”

“Goodness, at least a few times a month. Laborers tend to have the good underground gossip, you know.” She slowed her pace and extended her senses, pushing the energy out beyond her physical body as far as it could reach. “I only sense a few Aetherals in there, and no doubt they already know you are out here. No artifacts to speak of, and no one of any significant power.”

“Well then, I suppose there is no turning back now.” Adjusting his own black, wide-brimmed Boss of the Plains hat, Francis opened the door to the pub and stepped over the threshold. Following behind, Demetra kept her head lowered, her chin tucked into the collar of her coat, and gazed out from beneath her cap.

It was not the most genteel pub she had ever visited – and she had visited a great many pubs during her years of artifact hunting – nor had she expected anything terribly impressive, considering her past experience. The entire room was built from nondescript, warped oak planks, the furnishings and bar the same type and color of wood. There was a warm glow of gas lamps flickering in drafty corners, but the pub was cozy enough despite its simplicity.

Three Aetherals sat at a single table in the corner farthest from the door, and all three were speaking in hushed tones, watching Francis from narrowed eyes. “You found your people,” Demetra murmured, turning away from Francis as she spoke. “The ones who are nervous and wary of strangers always have the most useful information. Can you identify them by their energy?”

“I sense two infernals and one celestial,” he answered. “How did I do?”

“You did quite well, my love. All of them have abilities related to the water, which probably explains why they work on the Thames, but there’s nothing you need fear from them. Shall we see if they knew our disappearing dock worker, as I believe they do?”

“Absolutely.” Francis walked toward the table and Demetra trailed behind him, content to appear as non-threatening as possible. Her fiancé’s regal bearing and purposeful stride were intimidating enough. There was no mistaking him for a common laborer, or even a middle class tradesperson. The less attention Demetra attracted, the better.

The cast-offs Simon had once given her came in handy on occasion, and this was one of them. The brown trousers and coat not only covered her curves, but also helped her blend in to a place like this. Better to appear nondescript and gather information, than to frighten potential informants off. Note to self – explain that philosophy to Francis one of these days, she thought as she watched him approach the table.

The three men looked up at him with barely a glance at Demetra, and clutched their pints of ale as if braced for a confrontation. They wore outfits resembling hers, though shabbier, in varying shades of brown and gray. By contrast, Francis resembled a dark, dangerous gunfighter in his American-style hat and long black duster. He reached into his coat and pulled out a few shillings, holding them where only the men at the table could see them.

“For your company and maybe some informative conversation,” he said quietly.

At first, Demetra feared his appearance and crisply enunciated English might daunt the men into silence. Then, the laborers glanced at one another, eyes still narrowed, and the one seated in the middle waved his hand at the two available chairs. “Another pint on you, guv, and we will do our best.”

Alright, maybe he’s got this, Demetra thought, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Francis slid into a chair, placed the shillings on the table, and then reached back to drop more coins into Demetra’s outstretched hand. She stepped away to the bar to order the drinks and returned to the table balancing all five pints in her arms. Once she set the glasses in the center, she sat next to Francis, who nodded at the men across from them.

“We are trying to find John Bullard, since he might be our only link to whoever is responsible for the recent disappearances,” Francis began in an undertone. “If you do not want to tell me what you know, I understand. However, the more I know, the better able I am to protect you and any other Aetherals you know.”

“What’s a fancy swell like you care about the likes of us?” the man in the center asked. Though he sounded hostile and his flinty, narrowed eyes did not leave Francis’s face, he also maintained a low voice. “How do we know you ain’t in on it?”

Demetra noticed the other two men were far less antagonistic. Instead of glaring at her or Francis, they darted their glances toward the door every few seconds. She kept her cap down and her face in shadow as she observed the exchange between the dock laborers and her fiancé.

Francis ignored the outspoken worker’s question and pressed on with his own queries. “Have you had a visit from a Mr. Tesmund or anyone else representing a Mr. Christie?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“He is doing his best to resolve this matter, but even his agents are running into walls. Help us break down some of those walls.”

The man took a long drink of his ale, then said, “Don’t know as I’ve got the inclination to do so, guv. You’ve got to give me a reason to help you.”

“Why don’t you tell us about Gilbert Wharton?” Demetra asked, trying to pitch her voice to sound more masculine. “He spoke with John Bullard about a previous disappearance.”

The man sitting to her left – one of the younger, shiftier-eyed ones – said, “How would you know Gil?”

“Through a friend. He says Bullard saw a strange apparatus the night one of your co-workers disappeared.”

Darting his gaze around the table, the young man squirmed in his chair. The elder two laborers shook their heads at him, but the boy spoke up once more. “I saw it too.”

Francis leaned forward and asked in a low voice, “What is your name?”

The young man shook his head so vigorously, his cap nearly fell to the floor. He grappled it and pressed it back to his thick, blond hair. “Don’t want to give it, guv. They’ll nab me next.”

Demetra nodded and said, “You must rest assured we do not expect you to endanger yourselves. All we want is to help prevent this from continuing. Both of us are putting ourselves at great risk on behalf of all our kind, and we won’t ask you to do the same. Still, anything you can tell us might mean the difference between life and death.”

“You don’t spark like a bleedin’ Aetheral,” the man in the center scoffed.

“Perhaps not, but I am as much an infernal as your companions, sir. Naturally, you have already sensed that this man,” she raised her hand to indicate Francis, “is a celestial like yourself. It is really in your best interests to cooperate, whether you trust us or not.”

The blond haired man hunched over the table, his eyes still flicking from one side to the other, and whispered, “It looked like an upright coffin to me. Don’t know how they got it here, but there it was, over by the molasses warehouse. The man shoved poor Tim in there and we ain’t seen hide nor hair of him since.”

Pulling the list from her pocket, Demetra smoothed it out on the table and extended her hand to Francis. “Tim? When did he disappear?”

Francis pulled an ink pen from inside his duster as the boy answered, “March the twenty-eighth, I think it was.”

“Does Tim have a last name?”

“Gunnan.”

“And what sort of Aetheral is he?”

“Infernal.”

She nodded and wrote “March 28, 1892 – Tim Gunnan – infernal, dock worker, Nightingale Lane, molasses warehouse” at the top of the list.

“What did the man who abducted Tim look like?” Francis asked.

“Large sort of man, though not so big as the likes of Gil Wharton. Only saw the back of his head and it was nighttime, but he was wearing a long coat. Coulda been anyone in that get-up. He didn’t speak, so don’t ask me how he sounded. He just pushed poor Tim in there and then the coffin closed.”

“You mean the kidnapper closed the contraption around Mr. Gunnan?”

“No.” The lad shook his head. “I mean, the man stepped back, and the bloody thing closed on its own. Then there was this smell – an odd kind of burny smell, like bad eggs.”

“Sounds like sulfur to me,” Demetra murmured, jotting that down on the paper. She wrote a few more notes and pushed the list along the table’s surface to Francis.

Francis looked over at her a she wrote, passed it back to her, and asked, “What would produce a sulfurous odor in a contraption like that?”

“I am not certain, but I know who to ask.” She met the young man’s eyes once more. “Did you see what this coffin was made of?”

“It just looked like wood shaped like a person, with metal hinges on it. The top where the head is – that was metal too. A right monstrosity, it was. Gave me the creeps. I could see Tim staring out it, but then he just slumped down and…” He shook his head. “The man reached out and touched it and then they disappeared.”

“Did the man you saw give off any sort of Aetheric energy?”

“Oh yeah,” the young worker whispered fiercely. “Right celestial, that one. Not nearly as sparky as some, but I could definitely place him.”

Adding that last bit of information, Demetra said, “Right. I think you have given us far more than anyone had to go on previously. Does anyone else have anything to say about the matter?”

The other two men shook their heads, and the one in the center said, “You better not be pulling our legs. A man’s got a right to some peace, to earn his living without fearing for his life. We’re just trying to make an honest living, that’s all. Some of us weren’t born into the easy life, you know.”

“Just remember to look out for each other. It sounds like whoever is kidnapping Aetherals is not trying to take on whole groups of them,” Francis answered. “If you stick together, no harm should befall you. However, if you notice anything suspicious or there’s another disappearance, get in contact with Gil Wharton. He knows how to find us, and he’ll vouch for us.”

As Demetra and Francis rose from the table, the man in the center grumbled, “And what if the kidnapper finds us first?”

Demetra glanced back at the men and said, “Then I suggest holding your noses.”

~~~~~

Francis straightened his coat as they walked and asked, “Do you think the smell might have been sewage?”

Demetra sniffed at the night air, but the only odor was the watery tang of the Thames River. She cast her gaze along one side of the street, then the other, searching for drainage ports. “The sewers are closer to the river itself, and it is not yet warm enough to really cause a stink. Nor has our rainfall been excessive, so I do not believe there has been any overflow.”

“So what else might cause such a smell, if I may draw on your scientific expertise?”

“Methane gas, formaldehyde, and oil might all cause some sulfurous odor,” Demetra answered, ticking each answer off against her fingers. “Simon might have more ideas. It is possible this coffin-like contrivance operates on some compound that produces the smell the witnesses have mentioned.” She looked up at the signs on the warehouses and pointed down the street toward the one that said “Molasses” in black, weathered letters. They approached it and walked the perimeter of the building.

“How does a single person get something so large out here and then back out of here without everyone noticing?” Francis muttered.

“If he was celestial, perhaps his ability has something to do with making things appear and reappear.”

“Like an illusionist?”

“Or perhaps he is able to bend time and space to move matter through it.” Demetra’s gaze roved up and down the building and the street, looking for telltale signs of the incident. “Between that lad’s description and what Bullard told Gil, I think it is fair to say we really are looking for an iron maiden. That makes sense, since iron inhibits our powers. Yet, considering iron’s restrictive properties, how could a celestial control such a device?”

“Another question is how many of those contraptions due they have? After all, if they keep Aetherals imprisoned within them, then that explains why no one has been able to track them.” Francis ran his hand along the side of the building as they walked. “At least how people are disappearing is starting to come together. That’s a start, but it still leaves many unanswered questions. We do not know why or where they are taken when they disappear.”

“This also may have been a one-time occurrence. We do not know if this strange machine was used in all the abductions. After all, how easy is it to come by an iron maiden, or to replicate one?” Glancing up at the sky, Demetra tried to ascertain where the moon was. “In any event, it is getting late, and we both need to eat. We should focus our search on another part of London tomorrow and see if we can tie Gunnan’s and Bullard’s disappearances to the others.”

“Indeed.”

The sound of shoes scraping along the pavement reached their ears, becoming louder and louder as someone approached. Demetra gestured with her head that they should move back out onto the main street, and they turned the corner back onto Nightingale Lane. As they started walking up the road, a voice called out, “Can I be of assistance?”

They both turned, Demetra keeping her eyes on the ground. While she no longer needed the camouflage the cap provided, she still wore it, a disguise for which she was grateful when she realized the man walking toward them was none other than Inspector Farrell.

“Inspector,” Francis said smoothly. “How fortuitous to see you once again.”

Demetra’s eyes widened and she barely restrained herself from turning to look at her fiancé. She clenched her fists at her sides, then shoved her hands in her pockets before anyone could notice something amiss with her reaction.

“Lord Winterton. What brings you down to the docks at this hour of the night, or at all for that matter?”

“Surely as one of Scotland Yard’s detectives, you must know my business interests.”

“Well, not in detail sir. Not in detail.” Inspector Farrell’s eye went to Demetra, then back to Francis. “Checking in with your laborers, then?”

“Certainly. The lads on my ship work very hard and I am fortunate to have such trustworthy employees. However, I take a very active interest in my business.”

“As did your father, as I recall. He was a true gentleman, and not at all afraid to stay in touch with the working man.”

“Yes. He was a very fine role model and I strive to live up to him.” Francis sounded so nonchalant, Demetra almost breathed a sigh of relief.

Almost.

“And who is this young lad?”

Demetra squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath. Her heartbeat quickened and so did her breathing.

“William Throckmorton,” her fiancé answered without missing a beat, as she felt herself teetering on the edge of hyperventilation. “He is an intelligent young lad and well on his way to apprenticing in this industry if he continues to show such impressive initiative.”

“Excellent, Lord Winterton. Our youngsters need to be encouraged to excel. Well, do not let me keep you, as I am sure you would like to get home to your dinner.” Inspector Farrell touched the brim of his bowler and turned on his heel.

Before Demetra could exhale, he turned back toward them.

“And do tell your lovely fiancée that I hope to have the pleasure of her company soon. I intend to call upon her tomorrow to inquire after her sister’s health.”

“I did not know you were acquainted with Miss Ashdown.”

Demetra noticed Francis’s hand tensing this time, and she swayed on her feet.

“Oh yes, the lady came into my life quite recently, what with that messy business about her sister’s disappearance. I’d like to check up on them and make sure Miss Verity is recovering from her ordeal.”

“Let me assure you that Miss Verity is doing quite well after her ordeal, as you put it. You need not go out of your way on her account,” Francis said, his fingers twitching at his side.

Oh dear, Demetra thought.

“As a representative of the law, I feel it my obligation to check on the young ladies.”

“Then it is incumbent upon me to inform you that the Ashdowns have retired to the country to celebrate their marriage.”

“Is that so?” The Inspector tilted his head to the side and regarded Francis quizzically. “But I saw Miss Ashdown only this morning at Warom’s Apothecary.”

“You mistake my meaning, sir. My fiancée remained home, while her parents and sister went to the country. As you know, we only just returned from the United States, and Demetra was not up for another journey at this time. However, you can rest assured her sister is doing quite well, and under the supervision of her father and stepmother.”

“Yet that leaves Miss Ashdown at home alone and unchaperoned. At least, she did not have a companion that I saw during her visit to the apothecary.”

“There are more than enough servants in the Ashdown household, should any situation warrant it.” Francis ran his hand down along his duster, pushing one side of it back to reveal one of the pistols at his hips. “Furthermore, I am never far from her. Rest assured she is well and safe.”

“Nevertheless, I would rather see for myself. Surely you understand. It is a matter of professional dignity.”

“Of course.” Francis nodded, letting his duster fall back into place. “When can she expect you?”

“Creature of habit that I understand she is, I will call on her at nine o’clock in the morning. That should give her ample time to start her day, and leave the rest of mine to pursue the various cases that require my attention.”

“That does not give me any time to inform her of your intentions.”

“Perhaps not, but I will not detain her for long.” The Inspector bowed slightly from the waist and turned to stride down the street, toward the docks.

Watching until he turned a corner and was out of sight, Demetra finally felt her breathing return to normal. “Bloody busy-body,” she grumbled. “Am I never to have a moment’s peace?”

“How do you know Inspector Farrell?” Francis asked.

“The Yard assigned him to Verity’s case, and how do you know him?”

“General business about town. So, you went to see Simon Warom today?” Francis turned and regarded her intently.

“Of course I did. I wanted to inform Simon of our return and let him know about the present situation. You know his inventions have come in quite handy since you decided to insinuate yourself back into my life.”

“Insinuate myself?” he cried, his eyes widening. “Is that what I did?”

“Well, yes. If you think back to that day in March, you came here desperate for my assistance in finding your valet. I certainly did not expect you to come back into my life.” Turning on her heel, Demetra started walking away from the docks, back toward town, fists still clenched within her coat pockets.

“Is that how you see it?”

“Absolutely! You came back not just expecting me to work for you, but to fall back into your arms as though nothing untoward had ever transpired between us. The thing is, I did just that – practically tumbled back into your arms and told you I could not live without you.”

“Excuse me, but it took an explosion to propel you there.”

“Regardless, do not, for one second, chastise me for spending time with an old friend, and not informing you about it.” The pitch of her voice rose in such a way, that anyone in the vicinity would certainly not mistake her for a man.

Francis snorted and matched her pace as she walked faster. “That old friend happens to love you, Demi, as you very well know. Personally, I am not sure it is entirely appropriate for you to visit him without a chaperone. He is an unmarried man, after all.”

“The apothecary is a place of business! What could possibly happen in a shop? And what do you suppose will happen if I am alone with Simon?” Demetra cried in exasperation, throwing her hands in the air. “Do you think I will suddenly realize I prefer him to you?”

“Stranger things have happened.”

Demetra turned and poked him in the chest with her index finger. “Let me remind you, Lord Winterton, that you are the one who ended our first engagement – not me.” She poked him again. “Let me remind you that the only person whose parents object to our present understanding are yours – not mine.” She poked at him a third time. “Let me remind you that I have forgiven you for the hurt and humiliation you caused me three years ago, taken you back into my life, and shared every single moment of it with you ever since. If these are the actions of a woman who would abandon you for an indiscretion with another man then, by all means, go back to your mother, and move on with your life in the safe haven of her smothering sparkiness!”

Francis grabbed her by the arm and gave her a shake. “Why are you so angry?” he yelled.

“Because you are accusing me of dishonesty!” she shouted back at him.

“I have accused you of nothing.”

“When you question the time I spend with a man who loves me, but who is not you, that is because you suspect some deceit on my part,” Demetra snarled, tilting her head up so she could stare straight into his eyes. “I do not like being treated like some delicate China doll. Before you returned, I was doing perfectly well on my own.”

“And had I not been there when the Muffin Man attacked you at the Tildens’ ball?” Francis retorted.

“I would have never encountered that great, bloody behemoth in the first place if not for you! You requested my help! Any danger I faced was directly due to you asking for my assistance.” She resumed poking him in the chest with her forefinger. “So do not act like Saint Francis, the great savior of infernal ladies. I do not need you or your rubbish attitude!”

With that, she turned away from him, wrenched her arm from his grip, and continued down the street.

“Where do you think you are going?” he called.

“Home, where I belong.  I suggest you do the same.”

“‘Smothering sparkiness’?”

“That’s what I said.”

He blew out a heavy sigh and said to her retreating back, “You cannot walk out here alone.”

Demetra reached beneath her coat and pulled out her fan. The razor-sharp steel blade glinted in the gaslight. “Watch me.”

Chapter Seven

The next morning, Demetra tried not to bang her dishes and flatware around as she had breakfast. She tried not to rustle or forcefully turn the pages of The Times. She tried not to dwell on all the things she wanted to say to Francis, many of which were insolent, if not downright insulting.

So when Elodie came into the dining room to say Inspector Farrell was at the door, Demetra did her best to place the paper down on the table gently and bade the servant allow him to enter. She took a long sip of her tea and closed her eyes, savoring the sweetness of it.

“Miss Ashdown, I did not realize you would still be at your breakfast.”

Opening her eyes, she turned her gaze on her guest and responded, “I was just finishing it, however if I can offer you anything to eat or drink…?” She waved her hand at the empty chairs around the dining room table.

“Not at all, thank you.” The inspector shook his head. He clasped his bowler hat in both hands, and his hair looked rakish as before without it.

“Inspector Farrell, have you ever considered seeing a barber about that condition of yours?” Demetra asked. “It appears to be rather chronic.”

“Ah, I am afraid there is no taming this mop of hair. It is a terrible trait of the Irish.”

“So it seems.” Rising from her seat, Demetra said, “How can I help you today?”

“Well, I ran into Lord Winterton last night and he told me your family is out of town.”

“That is correct. My parents went to our country home to celebrate their marriage. Verity was rather overwrought by her little escapade, and my father was understandably concerned, so she traveled with them.”

“I see.”

“However, she finds the country very diverting, so I am sure she is much recovered by now. And if you came to check on me, I am doing quite well. I am very content to rest here at home, since my own journey was rather exhausting.”

“That explains why I saw you at Warom’s yesterday. Was he able to prescribe something for your exhaustion?”

She nodded and said, “Oh yes, and I think I am well on the way to my own recovery. Thank you so much for stopping by to inquire after us.”

“Actually, Miss Ashdown, I was wondering if you would take a turn with me around St. James. It is a lovely morning and warmer than usual.”

Demetra turned and busied herself folding the newspaper. Though the inspector’s celestial energy tingled around her in its electric way, she still could not quite identify it. Her brow furrowed and she concentrated on trying to understand his power. Never had she met someone whose ability was out of reach of hers, and she wondered if he was untraceable to an extent. It would not be unreasonable, since her own energy was completely undetectable, but it still made her ill at ease that she had not quite grasped his.

“Of course, Inspector Farrell. I have very few plans today and I would enjoy a breath of fresh air.” She left the newspaper beside her plate and turned to smile coyly at him. “Let me just inform Elodie, so she knows where I am.”

Once she gave the servants instructions and checked her reflection in the hall mirror, Demetra smoothed her indigo blue skirts, placed a matching top hat with jaunty white feathers atop her hair, and picked up her parasol. “Lead the way, Inspector.”

They stepped out into the bright sunshine and Demetra opened her parasol.

“You were right. It is a beautiful day,” she said.

After walking in companionable silence for a few moments, the inspector said, “Miss Ashdown. I wonder if you could satisfy my curiosity on a point that has bothered me since we first met.”

“I will try.”

“You are an Aetheral, are you not?”

She gave a stiff nod and kept her eyes focused on the path ahead.

“Everyone in town knows your story – the young lady abandoned by her mother at birth. Yet I do not sense any energy from you. Why is that?”

“It is my understanding that my mixed heritage prevents most Aetherals from sensing me. I believe it must confuse their perception.”

“You are half-human and half-infernal, as I understand it.”

Though he could only see her profile, Demetra felt his gaze on her skin. It was the first time someone had questioned her so intently about her abilities. “That is not technically correct. I am half-human, and equally celestial and infernal through my mother. Perhaps the two sides cancel each other out, leaving me rather… useless.”

“How interesting,” the inspector mused, “but I suspect you are far from useless.”

“I have a feeling you have many suspicions about many things,” Demetra answered lightly. She needed to turn the conversation from her to another topic. “That is your profession, is it not? You get to indulge your questions on a daily basis, while we women are supposed to stay quiet and let the world move on around us.”

“While it may not be fashionable to think or say this, I believe a woman’s mind is as inquisitive and capable as a man’s.” The inspector placed his hand gently on the middle of her back to guide her around a slow-moving elderly couple. “It is an unpopular view, of course, and one I do not tend to share with others. However, I feel I am in no danger of you bashing me over the head with a parasol, merely because I shared my belief in gender equality.”

“Unless you are using pretty words to placate me,” Demetra answered with a chuckle, “in which case, I will at least consider bashing you on the head.”

“There, you see? Useless my foot, Miss Ashdown. You are as formidable a foe as any man or Aetheral. I hope Lord Winterton appreciates your spirit as much as I do.”

Casting her eyes back down at the ground, she shook her head.

“Are you telling me your estimable fiancé finds you too fierce for his sensibilities?”

Demetra’s jaw tensed and her lips compressed. The last thing she wanted to discuss, let alone think about this morning, was last night’s argument with Francis.

“Oh no, do not tell me there is trouble in paradise.” He placed his hand over his heart and shook his head, looking down at her mournfully. “You do not know how distressing it is to see you miserable. I cannot bear it.”

“Please spare me, Inspector Farrell. You are not at all distressed.”

“Perhaps not, but I do wish you would stop addressing me so formally. I have a first name, you know.”

“That may be, but I have manners, you know.” She was unable to suppress the smile that curved her lips. Maybe a little competition would be good for Francis, she decided.

“Ah, I see I finally got what I wanted,” the inspector said triumphantly.

“And what is that, sir?”

“You look happy now, and that is something I will carry in my heart throughout the day.”

Demetra had to laugh. “Do these lines of yours actually work on women, or do you say them to entertain yourself?”

Inspector Farrell chuckled as well and said, “I concede, it is mostly for my own entertainment. However most women tend to respond more predictably than you. It seems you are immune to my charms.”

“It seems you are under the impression you have charm, sir,” was Demetra’s playful riposte.

“You strike at the heart of the matter.”

She nodded and then acknowledged the Smythsons as they walked past the couple. “That is what perturbs people the most about me, Inspector. I am too blunt for their tastes. Some consider that a fault. I think it best to speak one’s mind without reservation. After all, is it more polite to tell a person one thing to their face, while you say another behind their back? Or is it best to be honest from the start?”

“An excellent question. Of course, the job of a policeman is to uncover truth. It makes it that much more difficult when most people prefer to avoid it.”

“Indeed it does, and I believe one can speak their mind without offending polite society.  If anything, I think polite is a synonym for repressed.”

“That may change someday.”

Demetra could not stifle a delicate snort of derision. “The English do not believe in forward progress. Even after all the reforms of this century, there is still a clear delineation between and within the classes.”

“You sound like a bluestocking, Miss Ashdown.”

She considered his words and finally said, “I suppose you could call me that. My father raised me in a very liberal manner, and gave me an education often reserved for young men. He encouraged me to assist him with his work, so I tend to think more scientifically and logically than most people.”

“Perhaps I should enlist your assistance on some rather difficult questions with which I have been struggling.”

“You may try me, but I cannot guarantee results.”

“Then tell me why you think someone would kidnap Aetherals for the purpose of experimenting on them.”

Demetra stopped and turned to face him, however the inspector’s face was upturned as he examined the few wispy clouds in the otherwise clear sky. Setting her parasol on her other shoulder, she asked, “What do you mean?”

“Come now. Do not play ignorant with me.” He looked back down at her and winked with his good eye. “No doubt you are well aware of the situation. Looking into your files, I see you have a history of getting involved in matters such as this.”

“Files? What files?” she gasped. “I’ve never been in trouble with the law.”

“That doesn’t matter. We keep tabs on all Aetherals in London, of course. Mr. Christie is extremely thorough, you see. There is a balance that must be preserved, and this is what we strive to do.”

“I see my life is a rather open book to you people. Why did you not tell me you work for the Astronomer Royal?”

“Why did you not tell me of your involvement with him?”

“Because I don’t go around telling people mine or anyone else’s personal business. Besides, you knew all along.” Demetra scoffed. “You knew before I walked into the library with Verity exactly who and what I am. Furthermore, you knew of Verity’s whereabouts, yet you went on with the pretense of questioning my parents and taking their statements. Why would you do such a thing?”

Inspector Farrell raised his chin slightly and said, “It is true that I knew all of that. The reason for my deception was to ensure that you are trustworthy. Mr. Christie had every intention of enlisting your aid. He felt you were very well suited to the task of assisting us. However, some of his agents had their doubts about permitting an infernal to assist with such a delicate, not to mention classified, matter. My role was to alleviate their fears.”

“And are you truly with Scotland Yard, or was that a lie as well?” She tried not to look or sound angry, so as not to make a public scene, but she could not prevent a huff of indignation.

“Yes, I am honestly employed by the London Metropolitan Police Department as a detective. Would you like to verify this by visiting the Yard with me, or will you take my word for it?”

“Is that why you followed me to Warom’s Apothecary yesterday?” She wanted to add, “As well as down to the docks,” but bit her tongue.

“Yes and, in the interest of honesty, you should know I encountered your Lord Winterton down on Nightingale Lane last night.”

Trying not to choke on her words, Demetra said, “Really? I wonder what he was doing down in that part of London.”

“He said he was checking into his business interests. There was also a rather pretty lad with him at the time as well, a little William Throckmorton.”

Demetra’s eyes flicked over the inspector’s face as she tried to determine just what he was thinking. When his expression gave nothing away, she finally admitted, “We were there to investigate some of the early disappearances.”

“Did you learn anything of note?”

“Just that whoever abducted the dockworkers put them in something resembling an upright coffin or an iron maiden, and it leaves a faint trace of sulfur in the air each time.”

“That is a bit more than what Christie’s agents have gathered.”

“We also learned that there was at least one more disappearance than your group realized. There was a Tim Gunnan abducted on March the twenty-eighth, according to witnesses.”

“You managed to uncover more information than us. I am very impressed.” The muscles in his jaw tensed and he asked, “Who did you speak with at the docks?”

“I cannot reveal our sources. Suffice it to say, I feel it best to verify the story with people in the other neighborhoods where disappearances occurred.”

“That is a wise idea. A great deal of cargo passes to and from the docks, and that coffin might have been something else entirely. What these supposed witnesses saw might have been nothing more than a flight of fancy after too long a day of work.”

Demetra pursed her lips and asked, “So you discount the possibility of any superstition in this matter?”

“I discount superstition in general. It is an irrational notion. Emotion and sentimentality tend to get the better of people. What do you think?”

After a moment’s pause, she answered, “I quite agree. It is emotion that got me into trouble last night, and in the years prior to that. Perhaps I need to do a better job of learning from my mistakes.”

“So, you and Francis…”

“Your remarks about my visit to Warom’s upset him, Inspector. We had a bit of a falling out last night, and I am not sure when I will see him again.”

The Inspector gave her a tight smile. “If your fiancé is the man I think he is, he will not simply walk away quietly and concede defeat.”

“He lets his emotions get in the way of his decision-making.”

“Then why did you choose him, rather than waiting for someone better suited to your own temperament and personality?” He was still smiling slightly, but not in a mocking way. “There are more than two men out there, Miss Ashdown. You have more romantic choices available to you than that. You need not choose between a headstrong bully and a lovesick boy.”

Demetra laughed at his remark and thought back to all the functions she had attended since coming out in society. “Those romantic choices have not been apparent, sir. Most men find me intimidating.”

“Perhaps you should have held out for someone older; someone less concerned with a woman’s superior intellect, and more concerned with finding a partner suitable for his own rational interests.”

“Are you suggesting that I have settled with Lord Winterton?”

“There is no suggestion about it whatsoever. I am saying very plainly that the two of you are not a good match. Let his mother arrange a marriage to some vapid society lady. He will be happier, and you would be happier with someone like…” He stopped and glanced around uncomfortably. Reaching up to remove his bowler hat, he ran his hand through that unruly auburn hair and shook his head. “Lord Winterton cannot keep up with you, Miss Ashdown. He will never understand you, even if he is an Aetheral. He has a very different perspective on what will make a marriage work.”

The entire time, Demetra stared at him, her mouth open and her eyes wide. “Inspector Farrell,” she began haltingly. “It is amazing to me that you have the audacity to speak so intimately about my engagement.”

“I am not trying to be impertinent with you. I simply want to prevent you from making an error in judgment. You are engaged to a man who wants to be head of household. He will expect you to adore him and hang on his every word. If you speak your mind at a dinner party, it may very well embarrass him in front of his friends. All you will do is argue with one another.”

“Are you a detective or a seer?” she retorted, letting her parasol fall to her side. “Believe me, sir, I am very well aware of what Francis expects of a woman, and that I fall short of those expectations. You need not rub it in.”

“I am not trying to tell you that you fall short of anything! I am trying to say it will be the worst decision of your life if you marry him. You will suffer nothing but frustration and resentment, and live the rest of your days a bitter, jaded woman.”

“Thank you for your vote of confidence in my decision.” Demetra spun on heel and walked back toward Piccadilly Street, dragging her parasol behind her. Never in her life had one person’s words infuriated her so much. Seething with anger, she barely stopped at the edge of the square, before stepping into the street.

She heard a shout from somewhere to her left, then another shout in the distance. Glancing to the side, she froze in horror. A brougham drawn by two, large chestnut horses, was barreling toward her. Before she could react, she felt the impact of a body from behind and tumbled in the middle of the busy road. The hooves of the horses danced just past her head as they cantered by, and the wheel kicked up spray of pebbles that landed on her face.

“Are you alright?” asked Inspector Farrell in a breathless voice.

“I will be when you stop crushing me into the pavement,” she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut as vehicles continued to pass on either side of them.

“My apologies.” The inspector pushed himself off Demetra, took her hands, and assisted her to her feet. “I take it saving your life does not exactly redeem me after what I said.”

“On the contrary,” she responded, dusting the pebbles and dirt from her clothes. “I am most grateful for your timely intervention. I concede I may not have been able to move quickly enough to escape bodily harm.”

“Well…” He reached out to take both her hands again and said, “We need to get out of the street.”

“Of course.” She turned with him toward the far sidewalk, and then said, “Oh, my parasol!” Looking back, she saw that the accessory she had used for years was now lying off to one side of the street, a misshapen mess of bent handle and torn black lace.

“I think it has seen better days,” the inspector said gently.

“Yes, you are right. Well, my stepmother was forever pestering me to purchase a new one. I suppose I shall, and name it Rowena.”

“You name your accessories?”

Demetra looked up at him and shook her head, a giddy laugh escaping her lips. “No, but it is an interesting notion.”

He reached up to push the tangle of golden curls back from her forehead. “I think you might have hit your head, Miss Ashdown.”

“Perhaps a concussion will knock some sense into me,” she answered, unable to stop giggling. “You know, you are quite attractive, Inspector. Since you know all about me, it is only fair you tell me something about you. Like how you ended up with that patch over your eye.”

“Let us get to the sidewalk, and then I shall tell you that story.” He turned and led her across the street as soon as it was clear. Moving her around to walk on the inside of the sidewalk, closer to the buildings, he pulled her arm through his. “I lost it in the line of duty, which I am sure is what you expected to hear. However, it was not while I was on the job as a detective, but as one of Mr. Christie’s agents.”

Demetra nodded, conscious of her messy appearance as passerby stared at them. Oh, what stories will Francis hear now? she wondered.

“Do not worry about anyone else. Just listen to me,” he urged her gently. “I met up with an infernal with a rather nasty ability – he could control parts of the anatomy.”

“That sounds like something out of a penny dreadful story.”

“It certainly felt like something out of a penny dreadful, which is why I will not go into detail about the circumstances. Needless to say, you can imagine what the experience was like for me. When I was rescued from him, the doctor gave me this.” He reached up to touch the eye patch. “It is more like an implant, and permits me use of two eyes, instead of just one.”

“How did you end up in that situation?”

The inspector sighed and cast his gaze into the distance. “He was luring young women to his home and torturing them for reasons of a rather personal nature, to feed into his own twisted proclivities. While he did not kill them or cause them lasting harm, it was something we had to stop. Of course he did not take kindly to our interference, and defended himself to the bitter end, but justice prevailed. As you can see, I am here and he is not.”

“You killed him,” Demetra murmured, watching the expressions on his face.

“Someone had to, or who knows how far he might have taken his dangerous game.”

“Sometimes that is the right thing to do.”

“How would someone as delicate as you…”

She held up her hand and shook her head. “That is a rather silly question, coming from someone who admits there are files on me and my activities.”

“Very well. Now it is my turn to concede.” They turned the corner onto Albermarle Street and stopped just outside the Ashdowns’ home. “I sincerely hope you are not hurt or upset by the incident back there,” the inspector said. “But, most of all, I hope you are not angry at me for what I said to you.”

“You should know after our talk that I value honesty, and I respect that you felt you could share your opinion with me. However, I do not like anyone telling me I have made a mistake or an error in judgment. As someone who claims he believes in gender equality, I found your lecture condescending.”

“That was not my intent.”

Demetra nodded and said, “I realize that, but that is still how it came across to me.”

“I will try to choose my words more carefully next time.”

“Does that mean you intend to bump into me often, Inspector?”

“Someone should check on your progress.”

Tilting her head to look up at him, she pursed her lips and said, “I cannot decide if I feel flattered or concerned. Is it a lack of confidence in my abilities?”

“Not at all. I rather enjoy following you, Miss Ashdown, and it seems you could use a guardian when you least expect it. Especially when you’re dressed up as a boy.”

“Are you saying my disguise didn’t work on you?”

“I’m saying you’re far too pretty to get away with it.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a familiar voice saying, “Where have you been all morning, and what happened to you?”

Looking up to see Francis standing just inside her front door, Demetra grumbled, “Oh, bloody hell.”

Chapter Eight

“You look like you were run over by a carriage,” Francis said as Demetra shut the door behind her. “How do you always manage to get into trouble when I am not there to save you?”

With careful, deliberate movements, she removed her hat and inspected it for damage. Brushing a smudge of dirt off the back of it, she set it on the table in the front hall and looked at her reflection in the mirror. It had been embarrassing to have Francis confront her the moment she got home, before she even made it through the front door, and in front of Inspector Farrell. Trying to compose herself and keep her temper in check, she wiped a bit of dirt from her cheek with her fingertips. Her curls were even more wild than she had realized, framing her face in a riot of golden locks.

“If you absolutely must know,” she said, her voice sharp, “I was nearly run down by an inattentive driver. How very astute of you to notice and express your concern at my inability to stay out of trouble. Both are noted and I will try to remember in the future to watch my step.”

“Considering the fact that trouble always seems to find you, I do not think asking you to stay home and wait for me is an unreasonable expectation. Since I cannot be by your side at every moment of the day, that is how we will do things from now on.”

“Is it?” Demetra turned to face him, her eyes narrowed.

“Definitely.”

“So you are presuming to tell me what to do before we are even married?”

“I am the man in the relationship, and as such–”

“As such, you need to keep your opinions to yourself!” Demetra shouted. “I am perfectly capable of thinking for myself. Yes, I do get in trouble every now and again. That is part of life, and if you cannot accept that, perhaps you are the one who needs to remain at home with your mother – not me!”

“How did we return to this point?” Francis grumbled, running his hand through his short, black hair. “The last thing I want is to fight with you.”

Taking a deep breath, she put her hands on the entryway table and shook her head. “When you got upset at me for going to visit Simon, that is when the real trouble began. Have I done something to make you believe you do not have a reason to trust me?”

“No,” Francis conceded, “and I am sorry about the other night. However, given the current state of things, I do have reason to fear for your life. You’re always off chasing after one madman or another, but this is entirely different – someone is chasing after us.”

Demetra’s shoulders dropped and she bowed her head. “You do not need to be overprotective. I can take care of myself.”

“I realize you can, but if we are going to be married, it is my job to look out for you.” He placed his hand over hers on the table. “Can we put this behind us and move forward?”

“We shall see.” Demetra looked up at him and brushed her hair out of her eyes with her other hand. “Please remind me why you are here today?”

“Admitting to a flaw in your memory?”

“I am not in the mood, Francis.”

“Then permit me to redress my wrongs before we go any further today.” He pulled her into his arms, but she remained tense. Everything from the night before, not to mention her hectic morning, was fresh in her mind.

“I have upset you,” he murmured against her hair.

“If you doubt my fidelity, I have good reason to be upset. Perhaps you made the wrong choice in returning to me. It may be time to accept our differences are insurmountable and find a girl who is more… pliable.”

“What has put such thoughts in your head?”

“Your behavior, for one thing.”

Francis held her at arm’s length and shook his head. “I love you, Demetra, and I do not want anyone else.”

“Fenchurch Street.”

“Excuse me?”

“To investigate the disappearance of Annie Mae,” she clarified. “Now I remember why you are here this morning. I will be just a moment to tidy myself. Then we can have a bite to eat and go see what we can learn.”

Before Francis could respond, Demetra turn and ascended the stairs as quickly as her dress would allow. Once she reached her room, she shut the door behind her, then leaned back against it and breathed a sigh of relief.

“What is wrong with me?” she whispered to the empty room.

~~~~~

“This is not exactly a place for the likes of us,” Francis muttered, his gaze moving constantly as they walked. “If anything, it’s less savory than the docks. At least I have business associates down there. Here is just…” He shook his head.

“I realize that, but this is where Annie Mae – how do I put this delicately? – plied her trade.” Looking up and down the street, Demetra saw several people in the bustling area. They were decidedly lower class, and she knew she stuck out like a sore thumb in her blue dress, even after her accident earlier. But she also knew they had to address them if they were going to make any progress. As they walked along the street that threaded its way past the dingy brick buildings, she smelled citrus on the air. “I think it’s time for something to eat,” she said, and approached the orange cart just up the road.

“Are you serious?” Francis hissed in her ear.

“Quite serious.” When she was closer to the cart, she gave a toss of her hair and smiled at the merchant. “Those smell wonderful.”

He grinned back at her. “Are you looking for an orange, then? I sell the best oranges in London, milady.”

“Actually, I am looking for both an orange and some information, and I am more than willing to pay for both items.” She pulled a few shillings from her bodice and let them glint through her fingers.

“Anything to assist a beautiful lady.” The merchant eyed the money hungrily.

“Do you know Annie Mae?”

The man sucked a breath through his teeth and shook his head vigorously. “She don’t live here no more.”

His fear was palpable. Demetra reached out to take an orange and set a shilling on the cart. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“It’s been over a month now,” the man whispered, looking down at the coin. His shoulders tensed and he hunched a bit lower in his shabby brown coat. “She ain’t come back either. Don’t think she will.”

“Why is that?” With slow movements, Demetra lay another shilling on the cart and started to peel the orange. The aroma of the fruit filled her nose with a sharp tang.

The merchant’s gaze slid back and forth, then to her once more.

“Let me assure you, you are in no danger. The person or people who took Annie Mae are after a very specific group.”

“Aetherals,” the man whispered, licking his lips. “Don’t want to get mixed up with them.”

“And that will not happen, so long as the other Aetherals here watch out for one another. Did you see what happened?” Demetra removed one section of the orange and put it in her mouth, savoring the flavor.

“I wasn’t there, but Miss Bonnie was. Put the right fear of the devil in her, whatever it was she saw.”

“Where can I find Miss Bonnie?”

The man jerked his head to the left and said, “In number five. Second floor, though I reckon she’s asleep this time of the day.”

“Thank you for your time, sir. We just want to make sure our kind stay safe, and we will try to find Annie Mae so no one else needs fear.” Demetra set a third shilling on the cart and turned to look at number five.  With a wave to Francis, she approached the building, placing another section of the orange in her mouth.

“You got some information?” Francis asked, taking the rest of the orange when she offered it to him.

Demetra nodded and swallowed, then answered, “He did not see anything, but told me of someone who did. There is a Miss Bonnie lives in number five on the second floor. I think it is a tenement of some sort.” She reached out and knocked at the door. When there was no answer after a couple of minutes, she turned the knob and opened it.

Looking inside, she saw a dark hallway that extended straight back and stairs to the right. Holding her skirts, she made her way up the staircase and to the first door she saw. Lightly rapping her knuckles on it, she waited patiently to see if there was an answer.

Francis followed, eating the last sections of the orange. “This place could do with a bit of light,” he muttered.

“Quite, but I doubt that’s much of a concern when these people are just trying to live from day to day.”

As Demetra spoke, she heard rustling behind the door. Someone opened it and a pair of brown eyes peered out at them suspiciously. “What do you want?”

“I am looking for Miss Bonnie,” Demetra said in a low voice, sensing the infernal energy emanating from the woman.

“That’s me.”

Holding up a coin, she said, “I need information about what you saw the night Annie Mae disappeared.”

The woman moved to close the door, but Demetra moved faster, placing her foot between the door and the frame. “Don’t want no bloomin’ busybodies,” the woman protested, her voice rising.

“We are trying to find her, to save the lives of others.” She reached up to press on the door. “You need to trust us. Use your abilities if you need to. They serve you well when it comes to your clients. We are no different, except for the fact that we only want a few words – nothing more.”

The woman glared at her a moment longer, then opened the door wider. “Come in, then, and sit down,” she said in her strident voice. “No sense in the entire building knowin’ my business.”

Demetra stepped through the door with Francis behind her and glanced around the room. It was sparsely furnished with a bed, chest, and sofa. Rather than chance sitting on a sofa she assumed had seen its share of dubious gentlemen callers, Demetra turned and held the coin out to Miss Bonnie. She hoped the prostitute’s ability to sense whether or not a person was telling the truth would work in her favor.

The woman took the coin and nodded grimly. “The swell is celestial – I can smell that plain as the orange he just ate – but how did you know what I am?”

“Not all powers are obvious,” Demetra answered gently. “Now suppose you tell me what you saw when Annie Mae disappeared. What time of day was it?”

“Oh, it was night and we were just stepping out for the evening.” Miss Bonnie ran her thumb over the shilling, before dropping it in her bodice. “She had the power to make men feel like she was the only thing they’d ever wanted. Made her very popular with everyone.”

“That makes sense.”

“Well, one night just over a month ago, this man approached her. Guess the power didn’t work on him, because he didn’t want to go up to her place. Wanted to go to an alleyway.”

Francis cleared his throat and asked, “Is that an odd occurrence?”

“I should say so. We aren’t those kinds of women,” Miss Bonnie answered with a derisive snort. “I knew we couldn’t trust him, so I followed them. Then I saw the coffin.”

“Coffin?”

“Well, looked more like an upright cabinet shaped all coffin-like. Even had a place for the head. Gives me nightmares, just thinking about it.”

Demetra nodded and said, “That is understandable. Was there anything else noticeable about this contraption?”

“It had slots in it, all up and down it. And the man, he just shoved Annie into it. I thought maybe she’d scream or put up a fight, but the moment she was in it, she was still. Silent.” Miss Bonnie shuddered. “I think that unnerved me more than anything. She wasn’t one to not put up a fight.”

“Then what happened?”

“The man closed the coffin on her, and it just…” She shrugged. “It disappeared and I ain’t seen Annie Mae since.”

“Same story as what happened on the docks,” Francis said, and Demetra nodded in agreement.

“She’s not the only one?”

“I am afraid not, Miss Bonnie.” Demetra handed the woman two more shillings. “Thank you. If you have any other Aetheral friends here, tell them to stick together. Do not wander out of each other’s sight. If you see this man again, avoid him at all costs. Your friend was not the first person he abducted, nor was she the last.”

“Someone is kidnapping our people?” Miss Bonnie’s voice rose shrilly once more.

“Try not to worry about it. We are doing our best to find out who is behind this outrage and stop them. If we can get rescue Annie Mae, we will. Just remember what I said.”

The woman nodded. “Stick together. Stay away from that man if he comes back.”

“One more thing – can you describe the man?”

“Oh yes. He was about as big as you, guv…” She pointed at Francis. “And he wore one of them round hats and a long coat. Not black like his, but maybe brownish or something. Didn’t have that slit up the back, neither, like yours.” She indicated Francis again. “He was a handsome one, too. Certainly handsomer than what we usually get. It was night, so I couldn’t tell you what color his eye or hair was, but his hair was somewhat dark.”

“His eye?” Demetra blinked. “You mean his eyes?”

“No, he just had the one, milady.”

Feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of her, Demetra whispered, “What about the other eye?”

“It was covered with some sort of patch. Funny thing – it didn’t have a strap or nothing. Just seemed to stay on his face without anything to hold it there, and had some sort of lens. So maybe he had an eye under it and could see. I didn’t know what to think about that. But he sounded real genteel, even though he was a paddy.”

Demetra gave her a fourth shilling and nodded, still digesting the information. “You have been most helpful, Miss Bonnie. Please spread the word if you can, but do so quietly. You and your co-workers will be better off if no one realizes you are aware of the situation.”

“Of course. We’ll keep it quiet. No one here will talk if they know what’s good for them.” Miss Bonnie nodded.

“We will leave you to your day. Thank you so much for your time.” Demetra turned and walked back to the door. As soon as they were out in the open air, she raised her face to the sunshine, and took a long, deep breath.

“Do you think she meant…”

“I do.” Demetra squared her shoulders and walked back down the street toward where they had initially entered the area.

Francis kept pace with her. “We should report this to Scotland Yard right away, and you need to stay away from him.”

Lifting her chin, Demetra retorted, “I have a feeling I need to do the exact opposite.”

Chapter Nine

As she sipped her afternoon tea, Demetra looked over the list of victims. With the various clues they had gathered in only two short days, she could see the pattern emerging. What she could not fathom was the use of the iron maiden, other than as a way to contain the victim and perhaps inhibit their power.

“Why are there slots in it, though?” she mused, looking at the notes she had jotted on the paper in addition to the list of people: Iron maiden/upright coffin, slotted, abductions at night… Inspector Farrell? Does Mr. Christie know or is he involved?

Shaking her head, she folded the paper and placed it back in the pouch hanging from the bottom of her leather bodice.

“Milady, the coach is ready to take you to the Temple,” Elodie said from the doorway of the parlor.

“Thank you.” Demetra set her teacup down on the saucer and rose to her feet. Even though Francis wanted her to stay home, they had reached a compromise. She would not walk anywhere on her own, and she would take the carriage whenever possible. She would not leave the house at night without Francis or Simon. Since the inspector knew where she lived, she was not exactly safe anyway, Demetra reasoned. If he wanted to call on her at home, the only people to protect her were a few servants.

Francis begged her to stay with Aunt Vertiline, but Demetra would not hear of it. She did not know precisely how much information the inspector had on her, or her family. The last thing she wanted to do was lead him to her extended kin. However, she had asked Elodie to deliver a message to Verti and Gilbert, further explaining the situation and begging them to take all the appropriate precautions to protect themselves.

Stepping outside, she glanced up and down the sidewalk, extending her Aetheric senses as well. For the moment, she was the only Aetheral in the vicinity. She let the coachman hand her up into the carriage and settled back in her seat while he shut the door. The Isis-Urania Temple was not a long drive from her home, and she had put off seeing Samuel Mathers long enough. The occultist kept up with some of the more eccentric aspects of society, and she hoped he could offer some insight into the disappearances.

At the Temple, she was surprised to see quite a hustle and bustle of people carrying things from the building to two waiting wagons. Disembarking from the carriage, she found Samuel in the midst of it, calmly giving instructions.

“My dear infernal jezebel!” he cried when he saw her dodging the scurrying servants.

She picked her way through a maze of luggage and responded a bit breathlessly. “Mr. Mathers. What in heaven’s name is going on here?”

Taking Demetra’s hand in his, he grinned from ear to ear and said, “How was your journey? I saw the newspaper announcement about your parents’ wedding. May I be the last to congratulate you?”

“Yes, thank you. The journey was quite interesting, but…” She looked around at the people carrying chests and suitcases around her to the wagons and fluttered her hand in the general direction of the commotion. “Could you please tell me what all of this is about?”

“Why, I am moving to Paris. Dr. Westcott is taking over as Chief of the Order here.”

“But, why?” Demetra asked.

Heaving a sigh, Samuel finally looked at her and answered, “I will neither burden nor bore you with Temple politics, you darling girl. It is simply time for me to go. Perhaps it is the will of the gods or whatever it is that guides us in these lives. Do not be sad for me, but let us have one last bit of cake and tea together.”

“No, that is alright.” Demetra tried to smile, but could not maintain the expression. “Though I cannot believe you were going to depart without saying goodbye to me.”

“I was going to send a messenger by with a letter, but I have been very busy. There was also the matter of your family’s celebration, which I did not want to disrupt.”

“That is very thoughtful of you, but I would never turn you away, even at my own wedding. You can make it up to me by telling me what you know about some recent disappearances.”

“Ahh.” Samuel’s gaze became hooded and he nodded. “I should have guessed that news would have caught up to you by now.”

“So you know what has been happening.” Demetra raised her eyebrow. “Why did you not contact me?”

“I have been very busy, and I know only a slight deal more than that – only slight. A friend of mine is among the victims.”

Demetra’s hand tightened around his. “Who is that?”

“Miss Margery Gardiner, a librarian who lives on Clarges Street. She is a celestial and has made an informal study of Aetheric devices. She does not publish her findings, but simply enjoys a bit of research in her spare time.” Samuel glanced at the ground and amended, “Enjoyed.”

“Do not speak of her in the past tense. We cannot know whether she is alive or dead. Where did she work?”

“At the Society of Antiquaries in the west wing of the Burlington House on Piccadilly, not far from where you live.”

Stiffening at the mention of Burlington House, Demetra nodded. “Yes, I know where it is. The Royal Astronomical Society is also in the west wing, and that is where Mr. Christie calls me to meet with him. He was president of that Society until just two years ago, and still makes use of their rooms.”

“Margery worked in the Society of Antiquaries’ archaeological library, of course, and researched Aetheric artifacts.”

“She must have known Mr. Christie,” Demetra muttered under her breath.

“It is quite possible, though I am not sure how that is relevant to her disappearance.”

“Nor am I, but I intend to find out.”

~~~~~

After wishing her friend good fortune in his future endeavors, and saying goodbye, Demetra asked her driver to bring her to Burlington House. Though she had not intended to confront Mr. Christie just yet, she could not ignore all the questions buzzing in her mind.

Heels clacking against the polished wooden floors of the west wing of Burlington House, she approached the first man she saw and inquired, “Is Mr. Christie in today?”

“I regret to say that he is not, madam,” he answered, his jowly cheeks trembling and his voice slightly muffled by his heavy brown beard.

“Do you know when he is expected to return?” She realized she sounded blunt, perhaps even rude, but she was in no mood to exchange pleasantries.

“I cannot give a specific time, as I believe he is visiting the Royal Observatory. May I leave your card for him?”

“Yes, please.” Since the man did not give off any Aetheric energy, she did not elaborate on her reasons for requesting the Astronomer Royal. Instead, she reached into the pouch hanging at her waist and extracted a small rectangle of card stock, which she handed to him. “Thank you very much for your time, sir.”

“My pleasure, Miss…” He squinted down at the card through his spectacles. “Miss Ashdown. Ah, Nigel Ashdown’s daughter?”

“Yes.”

“How good to meet you. I am Augustus Bellhouse, and I must say I admire your father’s work, as all the fellows in the Society do. Perhaps you could prevail upon him to visit us sometime soon. We so enjoyed his talk two years ago on radio communication.” The portly man reached into his coat pocket and offered Demetra his card. “Do ask him to call on me.”

“I certainly will.” Demetra accepted the card and glanced down the hall, then back at Mr. Bellhouse. “Since I am here, perhaps you could direct me to the Society of Antiquaries.”

“Why, it is just through there, Miss Ashdown.” He pointed toward a door on the right. “I will let Mr. Christie know you were asking for him. Good day.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bellhouse. Good day to you as well.” Demetra felt slightly mollified as she turned in the direction he had indicated and approached the door. Maybe her jaunt to Burlington House would not be a waste of her time after all.

Walking through the door, she saw that she was in an ornate entrance hall with white floors speckled with black, and black marble columns flanking the stairs. It was a very different sight from the warm tones and gleaming woodwork of the west wing. She moved quickly beyond the columns into the library, and gasped at the sight.

If the entrance hall was impressive, then the library was grand, taking up two stories, the walls lined with bookshelves, and tables in a row along the center of the room. The double height soaring columns drew her gaze up to the ornate plaster ceiling. After taking in the extraordinary sight and inwardly admitting she was impressed, she approached the circulation desk. A young man was sitting there, his blond head bent over a manuscript.

He looked up at her and gave a perfunctory, “May I help you?”

Demetra did not sense any Aetherals in the room and wondered how well the other employees had known Miss Gardiner. Were they aware of her background or her powers? Would she get anywhere with a government employee? Not if my interactions with Mr. Christie are any indication, she thought.

Despite her skepticism, she gave the librarian her sweetest smile and said, “Yes, you may. I am looking for Margery Gardiner.”

The man shuffled a few pages of the manuscript laid out on the desk before him and glanced about the room, his gaze shifting rapidly from left to right, and back again. “I am afraid she has not been to work for quite some time, madam.”

“Do you know where she lives? I must speak with her. It is a matter of some personal importance.”

“Surely one of our other librarians can assist you.” The young man scowled at her, as if she were an unwelcome pest. “We are all quite familiar with the library’s holdings.”

“Of course you are, but I am interested in a person – not a book.” She leaned a fraction closer to him and lowered her voice. “May I please speak with whomever last worked with Miss Gardiner?”

“That was me, but I assure you, I have not seen her in nearly a month.”

Striving to hide her own annoyance at his continued aloofness, Demetra simply straightened, nodded, and thanked the young man for his time. With no answers forthcoming at the library itself, she located the double doors that led to the courtyard and returned to her carriage.

The driver watched her approached, tipped his hat, and asked, “Where to next, Miss Ashdown?”

Pondering her options, she sighed and finally said, “Clarges Street, please.” It was broad daylight and Clarges Street was in Mayfair, a reputable neighborhood, only a short ride down Piccadilly, not much farther from her home than Burlington House. Once she settled back into the seat, she tried to enjoy the ride, but found it difficult. Reasonably, it did not seem likely she was in any danger, except from Francis’s temper when he found out about her little solitary escapade. She folded her arm across her chest and pursed her lips. There are several lives at stake, and I don’t want to waste a moment waiting for Francis to take time out of his schedule, just so he can focus on – what is it he worries about? – keeping me out of trouble. People are already in trouble of the worst kind.

The carriage rolled down the street and she reached down to unhook her fan from the bottom of her leather bodice. Despite Francis’s concerns, Demetra refused to give in to fear. She unfurled the razor-sharp accessory and wafted it before her face. After a few cool rushes of air, she felt the carriage halt.

Before she stepped out onto the pavement, she extended her senses. There was only the faintest tingle of celestial energy, which she felt from within one of the buildings farther along the street. With no other information, she followed the thread of power until she was standing before number twenty. Fan held at her side, she assessed the immediate area. The homes were all quite attractive, the gardens well kept. This was not like the shadowy docks or the shabby neighborhood of Fenchurch Street.

“Where would I set up shop if I were a kidnapper?” she asked herself as she committed the layout of the street to memory.

Before she could answer that question, the door opened and she turned to smile at the butler who looked sneeringly down at her. “Yes?” he asked, his tone haughty as his expression.

Demetra did not have the patience to deal with yet another supercilious employee. Her fingers curled around her closed fan and she drew herself up so her back was poker-straight. Looking him in the eye with a steady glare, she said, “Could you please tell me where I might find the Gardiners? I am specifically looking for Margery Gardiner.”

“This is their residence, however Miss Gardiner is indisposed and cannot be disturbed.”

“May I please speak with whoever is at home? Her parents, perhaps?”

“Who may I tell them is calling?”

Handing him her card, she added, “This is a rather urgent matter, the nature of which is personal. It concerns Miss Gardiner’s well-being.”

The butler’s eyebrow twitched, but his features smoothed out within seconds. “Please wait here,” was all he said. He shut the door in her face and Demetra ground her teeth in irritation. A few moments passed and she considered knocking again just as the door opened once more. “This way, please.” The butler’s voice was considerably pleasanter.

After she recovered from her surprise, Demetra stepped over the threshold. The butler closed the door and waved for her to follow him. They passed a quiet dining room and a bustling kitchen, turned a corner, and walked into a spacious parlor. “Miss Ashdown to see you, madam.”

“Thank you, Jackson. Would you please close the doors?”

The butler bobbed his head, acknowledging the request, and backed out of the room, pulling the doors shut behind him.

Looking around the parlor, Demetra’s eyes finally settled on the older woman sitting on the sofa. Her snow-white hair was pulled back in a neat chignon, her clear blue eyes focused intently on the guest. The modest beige dress she wore was somewhat out of date, but the woman’s bearing was proud and regal. It was not difficult for Demetra to assess that she must be a formidable lady, confident and set in her ways.

“Please have a seat and tell me what brings an Ashdown to our household,” the woman asked coolly, but without rancor.

Demetra sank into an armchair, and arched a brow at the lady. “You know my family?”

“I know of your father, but the one who stands out in my mind is your deceased stepmother. Rowena Ashdown was an interesting woman.”

“That is putting it kindly.”

Mrs. Gardiner inclined her head slightly and said, “Then I suppose we both agree. She was certainly not content by any stretch of the imagination – always seeking to keep up with the most fashionable people of society. Nor could she have ever reached that to which she aspired. She was, after all, foreign. Romanian or some such, I believe, though she strove to hide it. Furthermore, there is more to life than being fashionable. However, I am sure you are not here to reminisce about her.”

“Quite the opposite, madam. In fact, I hope never to think about her again in my life. If I may be blunt, I am here because I am investigating the disappearances of Aetherals throughout London.”

“Then you are here to talk about my daughter.” The woman’s eyes brightened as she spoke and she lifted her chin. “You know, Margery worked as a librarian at the Society of Antiquaries, not far from here.”

“Yes, I am aware of her occupation. I visited the library before coming here, and they were most unhelpful.”

“That is the same problem I ran into, and no one in the neighborhood seems to have witnessed anything amiss that dreadful night.” The older woman gave a little sigh and shook her head.

“So she also disappeared in the evening, Mrs. Gardiner?”

“Yes, she did. It was the night of the nineteenth of April. The library closes at five in the evening, however the librarians stay on to tidy up and finish any cataloguing. Margery also liked to do a bit of research during that quiet time. Dutiful daughter that she is, she would inform me on those particular days when she intended to stay late, which she did that morning before she departed. When she had not returned by the time dinner was served at seven that night, I became worried and asked Jackson to call on the library. There was no one there when he arrived, and when questioned the next morning, the staff disavowed any knowledge of her whereabouts. So I was left to assume the worst until I started hearing the rumors.” She sighed and shook her head. “At that time, my worst fears were realized. There is no other explanation for what happened to my Margery.”

Demetra wanted to lean forward, to take the woman’s hand, and reassure her that all would be well. But she simply lowered her voice and asked, “Is she your only child?”

“Yes, I am afraid so.”

“And what about your husband, if I may inquire?”

“He died in the Boer Wars, a very long time ago. Margery is all I have left of him, so you can imagine my heartbreak when she disappeared. We were always a close-knit family. It is not often that two Aetherals have a child together, particularly an infernal and a celestial.”

Demetra tried not to show her surprise, but she could not prevent her eyebrows from raising a fraction. “Please pardon my impertinence, but I am very interested in learning just a bit more about your family, if I may.” Mrs. Gardiner nodded and Demetra said, “I believe I may reveal to you that I am, in fact, infernal.”

“Really?” Mrs. Gardiner tilted her head to one side and her gaze swept over Demetra. “Forgive my rudeness at remarking on such a personal attribute, but that seems unlikely. I do not sense any Aetheral energy in you.”

“Let me assure you I am approximately half-infernal through my mother, though there is also some celestial heritage in me. That is part of what gives me my unique talent, apparently, and keeps other Aetherals from sensing me. However, my fiancé is celestial, and you are the first person I have ever met in this particular partnership.”

“Let me guess. His parents are opposed to the match.” Something like mirth twinkled in the woman’s eyes, despite the sadness on her face. “My parents were also not pleased with my relationship with an infernal, however my grandparents were Firstborns and convinced them that it would not do me any harm.”

“My mother is a Firstborn,” Demetra said with a smile. “Though we have yet to change my fiancé’s mother’s mind, we at least have my own family’s support.”

“I do not know if his mother is willing to see me, but I am always happy to speak to other Aetherals on behalf of our kind. There are still many misconceptions about us, such as being descended from angels and demons, when we are really more like elemental beings. And you need not worry about any danger in having children. It may take time, but once you are expecting, it will do you no harm to bear a half-celestial.”

“Thank you for that reassurance. I only hope I can offer you the comfort of bringing your daughter home to you.”

“Just knowing someone is looking for her is somewhat of a relief.” The woman extended her hand, and Demetra leaned forward to take it in hers, as she had longed to do from the start. It felt right to offer this woman such intimate comfort.

Caring about others isn’t such a bad thing after all, she told herself. I once feared love for the pain it would cause to lose it, but I’ve learned it is better to live hoping for the joy, than fearing the loss, no matter what happens.

Mrs. Gardiner closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. “Yes, I now see what you mean. You have just the faintest hint of celestial power, which shields you from others. I cannot clearly see your infernal talent, but it has something to do with connecting with Aetheric energies.”

“That is very close to the mark,” Demetra said. “I knew when I saw you that you were a woman of power.” The woman let go of her hand and Demetra continued. “So I was right when I determined your powers – you are able to further ascertain my own powers at a mere touch. Our powers are very similar.”

“Yes, I can do that,” Mrs. Gardiner said with a slight smile, “and also determine your intentions. As you can imagine, it is very useful for knowing who means good and who means ill. I knew far more about your stepmother’s intentions than the ton, to be sure.”

Demetra chuckled. “I am sure you did. And does your daughter have the same talent?”

“She does, which is why it is disconcerting to think she was deceived by someone who meant her harm.”

“Well, I will do everything in my power to bring her home to you.”

“Please, do not promise me anything.” The woman held up her hand and said, “It could be too late already, but I will simply gain comfort in knowing what has become of her.”

Demetra nodded and said, “I understand. Is there anything at all you can think of that you heard about that night or later on regarding the matter of Aetherals disappearing?”

“Other than a visit from a Mr. Tesmund, who came to verify the matter, we have heard nothing. I know Mr. Christie’s group of celestial agents are investigating, but have yet to find answers. Perhaps an infernal who lacks the skittishness and limitations of government employees can succeed where they have failed.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed, her thoughts returning once again to concerns about a possible conspiracy. Were those valid excuses – “skittishness and limitations” – or was it truly collusion of the most nefarious kind?

Mrs. Gardiner interrupted her wonderings. “Please, Miss Ashdown. If anyone might be able to understand a lonely widow’s heartbreak, it is not some taciturn civil servant or royally-appointed scholar, but another woman,” she said, a tear slipping out of the corner of her eye. “Please help us.”

Lifting her chin, Demetra said, “If there is one thing in which I have considerable experience, madam, it is heartbreak.”

Chapter Ten

“I do not think this is a good idea.” Francis glared at Demetra, who sat across the carriage from him as it jostled along the road.

“For once, I am in complete agreement with your fiancé.” Simon shook his head and said, “You are not just courting danger for once. You are galloping headlong into it.”

“I prefer to think of it as more like a steady trot,” Demetra answered over the clatter of the wheels. Movement was difficult, since she had asked Elodie to lace her a bit tighter than usual. The swell of her bosom was a bit closer to scandalous than she would normally allow, however she was prepared to put every feminine advantage to use today. Sitting very still in the yellow dress, she focused on her breathing.

“That is neither amusing nor reassuring.”

Demetra adjusted the white, lacy ruffles of her elbow-length sleeves and shrugged. “Yet you both often tell me you cannot fault my logic. Rest assured my logic is not faulty on this occasion, either. Now stop scolding me. Until we hear from Mr. Christie, I am at a loss as to how to proceed. We could go gallivanting all over London in hopes of finding these missing Aetherals, or we can go straight to the only suspect we have. We’ve played enough such games on two different continents. I prefer to eliminate the shenanigans and save lives, and we must act quickly if there is any hope of doing the latter.”

Francis folded his arms and grumbled, “Delivering you to Scotland Yard is not what I had in mind. The inspector practically makes a habit of stalking you. Now, why not apply your logic to that? Why would the man follow you everywhere? The likely possibilities are he intends to make you his next victim, he hopes to prevent you from locating his past victims, or he is letting you lead him to even more Aetherals.”

“Do you remember who you are talking to, Francis? She has obviously considered all that, and does not care.” Simon sounded almost disgusted, and Demetra raised her eyebrows.

“Frankly I’m shocked that you would be so cavalier about the matter, Simon. What if I am next? How does hiding in my own home – a home the inspector knows his way around – protect me?”

Simon wagged his index finger at her as he responded. “Granted, we have been involved in some dangerous situations before, but actually delivering you to the presumed kidnapper is another matter. You’re giving him the perfect opportunity. What happens if you walk in there, and never walk out?”

“That is why we have a way to communicate while I am in there and you’re out here, all thanks to you, Simon,” Demetra purred, giving them both a mischievous smile. “After all, I cannot have Francis trailing behind me like a guard dog. The inspector is much more likely to talk if I am alone when I question him. That means you two – especially the sparky celestial here – need to keep your distance.”

“Will you stop using the word ‘sparky’? It’s ridiculous,” Francis huffed. He turned his head to glare out the window and kept his arms folded tightly against his chest.

“I still do not feel comfortable counting on the wireless device,” Simon interjected.  Demetra rolled her eyes as he went on. “This transceiver has hardly been tested, and I don’t know how long the range on it is.”

The artificer looked down at the square box in his lap. It looked similar to a very, very small suitcase, with its brown leather casing and gold corners. The face was black and merely had two dials, both of which served to adjust the frequency of the wireless transmission. It was not as sophisticated as the Emanator that Nigel Ashdown had built, but Demetra knew it would provide what they needed – simple two-way communication, in case she ran into trouble.

“You will be nearby anyway, my wavy-haired hero.”

“Why is she so perky today?” Francis muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

“No idea,” Simon answered.

Demetra stuck her tongue out at them and continued. “It is Francis who must stay out of range with the carriage and operate the transceiver. He will be able to hear both sides of the conversation and come to my aid at a moment’s notice. You, Simon, will have to rely upon your simple little human senses. I trust your eyes aren’t failing you, and your ears can get the job done?”

“What? Eh? Come again?” Simon answered.

“Oh gods.” Francis pressed his hands to his face. “This really is madness. I still think it would have made more sense to ask Inspector Farrell to come to your home, and then to question him there with all of us present.”

“Do you really think he is going to speak freely with the two of you breathing down his neck?” Demetra admonished. “Just give me an opportunity to use my womanly charms on him.”

“What makes you think your supposed charm will have any effect?”

As the carriage stopped outside Scotland Yard, Demetra tipped her head toward the men conspiratorially and said softly, “Trust me. It works on most everyone, but librarians. Now, get out of here and let me work.”

“Wait, librarians?”

The driver opened the door and Demetra stepped down onto the sidewalk.

Behind her, Francis called out, “What librarians?”

“I think the best policy here is not to ask,” Simon said.

“Don’t start with me today, Warom,” she heard Francis. “Just do your job.”

“Who gets to stay closer to her this time?” was the young inventor’s retort.

Ignoring their bickering, Demetra waited until she heard the carriage roll away and Simon’s footsteps recede. She reached into the reticule dangling from her other wrist, and fished out one of the handheld communication devices. It was a simple rectangle of metal, with a larger circle set into the upper half, and a smaller circle below it. Holding down the switch at the bottom, she spoke into the larger circle. “Can you hear me, Simon?”

She let go of the switch and his response came a moment later. “I can, and Francis just signaled that it is transmitting fine through the transceiver. We will wait to hear from you.”

“If I do not contact you in ten minutes, come back to the Yard.”

“That’s too long.”

“Well, five minutes is too short.”

“Seven and a half,” Simon demanded.

“Let’s not quibble.”

Demetra put the transmitter back into the reticule, muting Simon’s response. She smoothed her hair away from her temples with the tips of her fingers, and walked through the doors of Four Whitehall Place. She immediately sensed half-a-dozen Aetheric energy signatures, and one in particular with which she was now quite familiar. With a small smile, she approached the front desk to address the young detective operating it.

“Pardon me,” she said in her sweetest voice. “May I please see Inspector Farrell?”

The dark-haired man smiled at her and said, “Why of course, madam. Just go down that hall and through the third door on your right.”

“Thank you so very much.” Demetra turned down the hall he had indicated and found the door, then lightly rapped her knuckles against it.

“Come in,” responded a muffled voice.

She turned the knob and opened it to see the inspector sitting behind a heavy wooden desk. When he looked up at her, his mouth dropped open a bit. Ah, a rather gratifying response, she thought.

“Miss Ashdown, what a pleasant surprise to have you visit me. Please, have a seat.” He indicated the two wooden chairs in front of his desk and closed the manila folder before him. “How can I help you today, or have you come to report to me, since Mr. Christie is out of town?”

“You are very astute,” Demetra answered, sitting in one of the chairs. “Of course, you would not be promoted to the level of inspector if you did not possess superior powers of observation. Yes, I understand Mr. Christie is attending to business elsewhere, so I thought it best to speak directly with you. Perhaps we could have lunch together.” She learned forward just a little and gave him her most playful smile.

His eyebrow went up a fraction, his forehead wrinkling for a moment, but then he smoothed his expression and nodded. “The Clarence is a lovely pub not far from here at number fifty-three. I need just a moment, if you do not mind.”

“Certainly.” Demetra sat back and slowly rose to her feet. “It is very fine outside and it will be a pleasure to wait for you to join me,” she remarked, then added in what she hoped was a beguiling voice, “but please do not make me wait too long. I have many things I wish to discuss with you.”

The inspector’s expression remained as neutral as usual, and Demetra waggled her fingers at him before she departed.

Leaving the building and returning to the front entrance, she glanced around to be sure she was alone before pulling out the communicator and saying, “We are going to number fifty-three Whitehall for lunch at the Clarence.”

Simon’s voice sounded slightly tinny and distorted as he responded, “I will post myself outside and Francis will maintain a safe distance down the street, so no one can sense him.”

“Acknowledged. After that, I will ask him to escort me to Parliament and let him know I am meeting an acquaintance there. Just find a safe place out of sight and wait for me outside the pub.”

“Wait – how come you get to eat something? What about us? I could sit in a corner and watch.”

“Stay outside,” Demetra hissed through clenched teeth. “If you ruin this for me, I will hunt you down and rip out your hair, curl by curl.”

“That’s not really frightening, you know.”

Rather than dignify Simon with a response, Demetra placed the device back in her pouch and took a few steps away from the building. She unclenched her jaw and fists, and looked up at the brilliant green leaves of one the trees lining the walk. It truly was a glorious spring day by London standards. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. As she did, the tingling aetheric energy Farrell exuded snaked toward her. Opening her eyes, she tilted her head to the side and waited for him to approach.

“Is it not refreshing to see life after a long winter?” came the inspector’s voice from behind her.

“It certainly is.” She turned and smiled at him, and then accepted his arm, placing her hands upon it. Her glance wandered up to his eye patch, she finally asked the question that had been bothering her since they first met. “Does it ever bother you?”

“What? This?” He reached up and tapped on it with his finger. “No. I am so accustomed to having it by now that I don’t really notice a difference. Besides, the implant did more than restore my vision. It gave me a very different sort of sight.” He winked down at her and she bowed her head in response as her cheeks warmed.

Oh dear, she thought. I did not expect that to happen. Fighting off the rising blush, she sought another question to distract herself. “Does that not confuse your senses?”

“Not at all. This optical device actually does not function during the day. It only works at night, allowing me to see in the dark. It has proven quite effective time and again when I am on the job.”

Demetra pursed her lips briefly and fluttered her eyelashes a couple of times. “I am certain it has been a lifesaver, Inspector. How brave you are to go on and not let one little physical deficit stop you.”

They approached the pub and the inspector held the door for her. Once she stepped inside, Demetra surveyed her surroundings. There were already a few customers having their lunches, but the din of conversation was not overwhelming. With a smile, she turned to the inspector. “Where do you recommend we sit?”

“For the rather intimate conversation I gather you would like to have, I think this will do well.” He led her to a table with two chairs just beside a narrow window.

Demetra’s eyes widened when she saw a mop of curly, blond hair rising from just below the window. Panic thrilled through her and she grasped the Inspector’s arms to turn him toward her.

“Uh, Miss Ashdown?” Farrell looked down at her hands, then back at her face.

Just beyond his shoulder, Demetra saw Simon peep over the windowsill. She shook her head at him, then tossed her hair and blinked up at the inspector. “I cannot believe I am doing this,” she whispered, her words tumbling out in a rush. “Surely this is wrong.”

“You’re just… having lunch with me,” Farrell said, his brow furrowing. “At least, as far as I know, that’s all it is. Unless there’s something I’ve missed?”

“I… I…” Demetra looked past his shoulder once more and breathed a sigh of relief when all she saw was the shrubbery outside the window. “I have been so foolish. Of course it is only lunch, and in a public place. I have done nothing wrong.” She finally removed her hands from the inspector’s coat, wincing at the wrinkled fabric.

“Are you quite alright?” he asked as he smoothed his sleeves.

“I am. It has just been a confusing time for me.” Containing the sigh of relief that threatened to escape, she sat down and managed to breathe out slowly. Thank goodness I learned how to have hysterics from the best. I just hope it wasn’t too much.

Once they were both seated and looking over the choices, the inspector said, “If you are at all interested, I recommend the lamb stew.”

“Do you?” With a definite little nod, Demetra said, “Then I will trust you and try it.”

“Excellent.” The inspector rose from the table and approached the bar to place their order.

While he was away from the table, Demetra took advantage of her solitude to take another furtive look around the establishment. Noting any possible avenues of escape, as well as sensing two more Aetherals in the area, she then turned to look out the window behind her. When she did not see a mischievous artificer skulking in the shrubbery, she relaxed in the sturdy wooden chair.

“Thank you,” she said when the inspector returned and placed a glass of water in front of her.

“It is my pleasure to be of service to such a lovely lady.” He sat back down across from her, his good eye on her face. “Did you give any thought to what I said last time we met?”

“The last time we met, you spent a good several seconds lying on top of me,” she answered playfully. “I remember that quite well, which is why I could not stop myself from… well…” Using her fingertips to push the glass back and forth between her hands, she bowed her head and pressed her lips together. Let him think what he will.

The inspector chuckled and said, “I am glad to hear it. However, I hope you recall the conversation as well.”

“That I do, and it grieves me to admit you were correct. Even still, my feelings befuddle me.” She picked up her water and sipped at it before speaking again. “I am not accustomed to giving in to emotions, and I certainly am not sure I will ever find someone who will appreciate me just the way I am.”

“Miss Ashdown…” He leaned forward across the table, grasped her hands in his, and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Can you not see that I am that person? You should know I find you, not just beautiful, but fascinating. You are half-infernal, yet I cannot sense you as I can other Aetherals. Your powers are a complete mystery, and you should know how enticing that can be – you who pursue answers so ruthlessly. However, nothing about you is more intriguing to me than your personality. I cannot quite make you out, but I know you are exceptionally courageous and unafraid of a challenge. Your intellect and wit exceed your beauty, if such a thing is possible. I must say I am completely besotted by you.”

Demetra sat back and stared at him for a long, silent moment. “So the feeling is somewhat mutual. I cannot say I am surprised, Inspector Farrell. Though I tried to pretend you did not say those words to me two days ago, I have been unable to forget them. Hence my… inability to contain my feelings. I must admit, your sentiments have made me rethink my intentions and reconsider my options.”

“Have they?” The inspector moved their hands to thread his fingers through hers, but the server arrived with their lunches. They both sat back, their eyes on one another as the pub keeper placed the bowls of stew before them, along with a platter of bread in the center of the table. When they were alone once more, the inspector continued, “Have they, Miss Ashdown? Have you truly reconsidered your decision to wed Lord Winterton?”

“On more occasions than I care to admit,” she answered with a grimace. And there is more truth in that statement than I could ever convey. “However, there seems to be a rather significant impediment to any relationship you and I might develop.”

“What could that possibly be?”

Demetra sipped at a spoonful of stew, and then said, “It would seem you are the kidnapper, Inspector Farrell.”

“Pardon me?”

“Oh, please, do not play at being disingenuous with me. If you truly value my intellect, just tell me the truth and save the patronizing for Mr. Christie.”

The inspector took a deep breath and looked down at his bowl. “Very well. If we are to be truthful with one another, where should I begin?”

“You can either tell me the entire story, or I can tell you my version of it. Which do you prefer?” Demetra cocked her eyebrow at him in challenge.

“I take it you aren’t actually interested in me after all.”

“On the contrary, I am so very interested in you, it may do me significant harm.” Demetra placed her elbows on the table, folded her hands, and rested her chin atop them. “Unlike you, I have not told a single lie, though my little show earlier might have been a tad over the top. Come, now. Let us not have secrets between us. Enduring relationships are based not just on mutual affection and attraction, but trust as well. Give me a reason to trust you.”

The inspector finally met her gaze once more and said, “It seems wiser to tell you my side of the story.”

“Then I am all ears.”

“As an Aetheral, I am a technopath. I can manipulate electricity-based technology, and communicate with mechanical and electronic devices. At first it takes physical contact with such a mechanism to make a connection with it, but once I have done that I can issue commands that are almost instantaneous. This is one of the many things that makes me quite effective in my line of work. While the police as a whole do not yet encounter many crimes involving such devices, they tend to assign me to special cases that are suited to my talents. The matter of the Trafalgar Tortures was one of those cases.”

“That is when you lost your eye,” Demetra stated. She had already half-finished her stew, as she let him tell his story.

“Correct. Had the police arrived on the scene a moment sooner, I suppose they would have just bound my wound and hoped for the best. Then I would not have this.” He inclined his head, rubbing the backs of his knuckles against the eye patch. “As it was, someone arrived just before my police back-up. She could have salvaged the remains of the women, but she chose me over the humans. She took me to her laboratory before the police arrived, so word of my involvement in solving the case never made it into the newspapers.”

“Is there any reason this angel of mercy whisked you away from the scene of the crime, before your fellow policemen could find you?”

“She saw an opportunity to make me something more than what I already was. The implant gave her a chance to use her expertise to benefit a fellow Aetheral.”

Demetra nodded and took a roll, breaking bits of it to eat. “So she was a celestial like you?”

“Yes, she is, and she remains my benefactress.” The inspector clenched his fists atop the table. His food remained untouched. “I owe her more than my eye. I owe her my life. Can you imagine a detective with only one eye?”

“A defective detective,” she quipped in response.

“You may laugh about it, but trust me – it would have meant a very bleak outlook for me.”

“I believe you are the one who just made an even more gruesome pun.”

The inspector bobbed his head in acknowledgment. “Your cavalier attitude does not shock me in the least, and I know you are not a sentimental woman. Nevertheless, try to consider how I felt and still feel about Dr. Heiland’s timely intervention. Because of her, I am as whole a man as I ever was, and capable of more than I used to be.”

“Somehow I have a feeling this Dr. Heiland is part of the reason you are now involved with these abductions.” Demetra finished the roll and sat back in her chair.

“How could I not be loyal to her after the service she rendered me?”

“First of all, you could consider the difference between right and wrong, law and crime, and make a decision based on logic instead of a guilty conscience. You have free will and you are, ostensibly, a man of the law.” Demetra quirked her eyebrow up a fraction and folded her arms as she regarded him.

“Yes, I know you are judging me, but if you only knew what she is doing, you would not be so quick to condemn my involvement.”

Demetra scoffed. Leaning forward, she said, “Then try to make me understand, Inspector Farrell. You have told me but half the story. Why compromise your ethics – that is, if you ever had any to begin with?”

“Please bear with me. This is difficult.” The inspector had not even touched his stew, and now he finally ate several spoonfuls of it.

She flicked her glance toward the window while she waited. Wherever Simon was lurking, she knew he was probably getting impatient. Even though she could not see him, she knew he was probably out there, ready to burst into the pub if he thought she was in any danger. She could also imagine Francis’s annoyance as he waited in the carriage. Despite risking his ire, she knew it was more important to bide her time. Rushing the inspector was not in her interest if she wanted both the entire story and a clean escape.

“Thank you.” He set down his spoon and looked at her once more. “I returned to the Yard after I recovered in a week or so. The doctor wanted to remain anonymous, so of course I respected her wishes. I told my colleagues only that when I woke up in a strange place, this was a new part of my body.” He gestured to the eye patch. “Meanwhile, Dr. Heiland remained in touch with me to check on my progress and my adjustment to the implant. This was two years ago in 1890. Soon she asked me to start visiting her on a regular basis, for the purpose of using my powers in one of her experiments. She was building a special contraption. Actually, she was improving one that already existed – something her grandfather built many, many years ago.”

“The iron maiden,” Demetra said in an undertone.

“Yes, that is correct. He invented the one found in Nuremburg. She wanted to replicate it, but with some modifications. Over time, she removed most of the spikes and added electronic components to it to assist with her work. She wanted to create an effective medical station for operating on Aetherals that would not just restrain them with a paralytic chemical agent, but anesthetize them as well. The agents were released by electronic means, with me controlling the medications and dosages she needed. It accelerated the operative process, which meant she could act that much quicker to save lives.”

He fell silent as the server arrived to take away their bowls and offer them tea. “Yes, please,” Demetra murmured. The inspector also nodded and they waited together without saying a word until the tea arrived. Once they were alone again, she focused on adding sugar to her tea, as she said, “It sounds like an idealistic endeavor, using this contraption to save lives.”

“You have no idea of the good she can do with it,” he answered fervently and leaned forward, his eyes wide. “It is an amazing contraption, and I am the only one who can control it.”

“Then tell me what good she is doing with it now. I take it the Aetherals you have abducted are somehow benefitting from her expertise.”

“All Aetherals stand to gain a great deal from Dr. Heiland’s experiments.”

“Gain what, inspector?”

“What she does now is for the good of all of us. Her work will tell us much more about how our abilities work – where in our body they originate – so perhaps we can develop them to an even greater extent.”

Brow furrowed, Demetra took a sip of the tea. “Why do we need to develop our powers further?”

“Consider your own lack of them.”

“My… lack?”

“Yes. You are half-infernal, yet I cannot even sense you. That must mean your power is very weak indeed. Surely you want to explore that and see what you can do to better yourself. Given enough time, Dr. Heiland will be able to find out how you can do that.”

“Time to do what?” she asked.

“Time to complete her experiments. This is not an easy task. She must explore each part of the Aetheric body to form a hypothesis and then, once she narrows down the possibilities, she will need to perform more experiments to learn how to make alterations to our genetic structure. In the end, she believes she will be able to enhance our natural abilities.”

“Has she been successful with her patients thus far?”

“Not at all. The worst part is they keep dying as she works on them. I try to find her stronger Aetherals, but none of them survive the initial process.”

“Inspector Farrell, I refuse to believe you are a stupid man.” Demetra put her cup down and shook her head. “Can it be that her experiments are so dangerous, she is murdering these people?”

“That is not her intention at all!” he gasped, bringing his fist down against the table. The dishes clattered and a few patrons look their way. Lowering his voice, Farrell continued, “Why, she thought the elder Lord Winterton was going to be her saving grace, but even with all his strength, he died too.”

Demetra dropped her hand beneath the table to clench at her skirts, and strove to maintain a neutral expression. “Francis’s father?” she asked, trying not to choke on her words.

“Yes. It was so unfortunate when she lost him in January. However, she believes his son may be even stronger. I think so too, after the energy I sensed when I first met him. With your connection to him, you can help convince him to assist the doctor.”

“How am I to do that?” Demetra asked, careful to place her clenched fists on her knees, out of sight beneath the table. She tried not to sound breathless, but her heart hammered in her chest so violently, she thought she would faint. That’s a first.

“Bring him to St. James’s Square tonight and I will do the rest.”

“What about her other patients? The ones you procured on her behalf from March until now? They have family and friends desperate for their return.”

“For a few, it is too late. Others are still alive, yet she is no closer to getting answers.”

“If her experiments have yielded no results, have you considered that it is time to give up?”

“No!” The inspector glanced around the restaurant and realized he had drawn diners’ gazes once more. In a lower voice, he said, “It is madness to give up now.”

“It is madness to continue!” Demetra retorted in a forceful whisper. “The doctor is committing murder, and you are aiding and abetting her!”

“We shall see if you call it murder once she finally succeeds!” For the first time in their short acquaintance, the inspector’s attitude toward her became openly hostile. He narrowed his eye at her and said, “You can either do something great and help secure a better future for our kind, or you can let Aetherals continue to stagnate. The choice is yours.” He rose to his feet and left a handful of coins on the table to pay for the lunch. “I cannot believe an infernal with no powers to speak of, yet the most rational mind I have ever encountered, could be so short-sighted.”

“Short-sightedness is an affliction of the ethical,” Demetra retorted. “Clearly this is a problem you do not experience, not that I expected much of a policeman.”

~~~~~

By the time she was in the carriage, she was even more agitated. Each time Francis and Simon tried to question her, Demetra just shook her head and glared out the window. When they arrived at Albermarle Street, she flounced out of the carriage and up the stairs of her home. Both men followed, exchanging befuddled glances. While she stripped off her gloves, Demetra issued some terse commands to Elodie about dinner, then motioned to the men to follow her into the parlor.

“I am not sure how to say this, but you know me,” she prefaced. “I will just come out with it and then we will decide how to approach the matter.” Both men eyed one another warily as they seated themselves, while Demetra paced back and forth with quick, almost frantic, steps.

“You are worrying me,” Francis said, his gaze following her movements.

“My love, I am much more concerned about you right now. I found out more than I bargained for today.” She turned to face them and said, “Inspector Farrell is a technopath. He can interact with and command electronic devices. The reason he is abducting Aetherals and working with the person experimenting on them is because he feels he owes her a debt. She is the person who gave him the implant and patch he now wears to replace the eye he lost in the line of duty. As a result of his sense of honor, he has become very misguided in believing this woman – this doctor – is doing something that will ultimately be to the benefit of all Aetherals.”

“Well, I am with you so far, but how does this affect me?”

“Her supposed reason for these experiments is to learn where our power originates in our bodies. She believes if she can do that, she can enhance our genetic structure to make us stronger and more powerful.” Demetra walked swiftly over to Francis and knelt before him. “When did you lose your father?”

“Earlier this year, in January. You know that.”

“If not for the matter of the Chronos Clock, you would have remained in the country in mourning.”

“No.” Francis shook his head. “When my father died, I realized then how short life can be, and I wanted to remedy the mistake I made by letting you go. Beckstrom’s abduction was only a convenient excuse to involve you in the matter.”

“What happened when your father died? All the obituary said was that Lord Winterton died unexpectedly of a heart condition.”

“Yes. That is what my mother told me when she found him.”

Demetra clutched at his arm, her eyes wide. “Where did she find him?”

“He went to London on a business trip a few weeks prior. On the day we expected him to return, he was found out behind the stables on the estate.”

“She knew just what she was doing,” Demetra muttered. “Only this time, she has either become careless, or mad…”

“What are you talking about?”

She looked up at him, her golden eyes beseeching. “Inspector Farrell handed your father over to the madwoman who is performing the experiments, and that is how your father died. She killed him.”

Francis gaped at her and tried to speak, took a shuddering breath, shook his head, and tried once more. “That… that is just not possible.”

“It is more than possible, Francis. He confessed directly to me. He wants me to bring you to St. James’s Square tonight, so he can bring you to the doctor. That way, she can do the same thing to you.” Demetra felt her fiancé’s arm tremble beneath her hand.

“And the other victims?” he asked.

She shook her head and looked down at the carpet beneath her knees. “For some, it is already too late. I have no idea if the others stand a chance of surviving.”

When she looked up again, she saw that even Simon looked sick to his stomach, his hand over his mouth. Venturing to look at Francis once more, she saw the tight set of his jaw and the twitch of a muscle in his forehead.

“Francis?” she whispered.

“St. James’s Square,” he answered. “Tonight.”

Chapter Eleven

St. James’s Square after sunset was devoid of the usual society hustle and bustle. Instead of a constant flow of pedestrian and equine traffic, there remained only the shadows of towering buildings and trees, made more ominous by the glow of gaslamps on the outskirts.

Demetra stood at the edge of the square near the street, not at all eager to see what tonight would bring. Trying to pry information out of the inspector had brought her some satisfaction. Francis’s unyielding desire to confront him would not. There was too much risk of him being the next victim, a risk Demetra had no desire to take.

She whisked a sidelong glance at her fiancé. When he was adamant about a course of action, there was no dissuading him from it. They were much alike in that sense, except in how they approached such matters. She rationalized her decisions, while Francis’s came from the heart.

“You do not have to do this,” Demetra muttered, tucking her chin close to the collar of her coat.

“My father died because of him.” His chin lifted, his posture stiffened, and his muscles tensed when she touched his arm.

“Revenge is not the logical avenue. Not this way, anyhow. You run as much risk of ending up like your father, as you do of killing Inspector Farrell. There is no telling what might happen to either of you tonight.”

“I will take that chance.”

“Your emotions will get you in trouble.” She sidled closer to press her shoulder against his arm. “Why not confront him in the light of day? Why take his bait and fall into his trap?”

Francis growled, “Because what proof is there, other than the words he spoke to you? This is the one way we might be able to get to all the people involved in these atrocities.”

“So you are not planning on killing him?” She let out a low exhalation of relief.

“No,” he retorted. “Not just yet, anyway. But give me time, and it will happen.”

Before Demetra could respond, she sensed the inspector’s presence across the square. Aware of Francis quivering with barely contained rage beside her, she knew he felt the celestial too. Not only that, but Francis’s ability allowed him to see the inspector’s aura in the darkness. Demetra realized they were almost evenly matched in that sense – both able to ferret out their opponent without the need for light. The difference was, between Inspector Farrell’s technopathic powers and Francis’s supernatural strength and agility, she could not guess who would triumph in a battle of abilities.

Francis’s hands drifted down to the pistols at his hips – guns that radiated their own Aetheric signature. They had belonged to his father and were imbued with Lady Winterton’s protective energy. Demetra thought it a shame they had not done the elder Lord Winterton more good when he had been alive, but it was a misgiving she had to set aside for the moment.

Reaching down to take her fan, she unfurled it, ready for a fight. This was a calculated risk on Francis’s part, and she hoped he knew what he was doing. Regardless, it was something they had to face together.

“You know what you need to do,” he said grimly, not even looking at her.

She nodded once. “I do, but that does not make it any easier.”

The inspector was approaching from the opposite side of the square, and Francis strode to meet him. Demetra followed, ready to strike if necessary. There were words, and then there were actions. She would use whatever she must, even though she knew in her heart and mind the inevitable outcome of the meeting.

“So my words struck a chord with you, Miss Ashdown,” the inspector said, his voice more smug than usual. “Or perhaps Lord Winterton came to see me of his own accord.”

“This is between the two of us, Farrell. Leave my fiancée out of it,” Francis retorted, his lip curled with disdain. “You sent my father to his death.”

“For a cause that will benefit all of Aetheral-kind.”

“That is an incredibly twisted justification, and you know it.”

The inspector shrugged and said, “It is all in how you look at it, Lord Winterton. Right now we Aetherals are scattered and hardly know what we are, or how we originated. What we are now is nothing compared to what we could be. Dr. Heiland wants to change that. She wants to make us more powerful. The Christians say the meek shall inherit the earth. I say the strong shall claim it as their own, as is their right.”

“An Aetheric government?” Demetra asked dubiously.

“Mortals come and go. They bicker amongst themselves and cannot seem to adhere to one stance or another. We will bring order to the world – an order that will last for ages and ages to come.”

Francis drew both guns and leveled them at the inspector. “Or I can end your life here and now, as any man would, as redress for the wrong you have done my family.”

“And risk the life of the man who set your beloved Miss Ashdown on this path?” Inspector Farrell asked tauntingly.

Demetra reached up with her free hand to rest it on Francis’s arm, and asked, “What are you talking about?”

“Mr. Christie has been our guest for the past few days. However he is an undesirable candidate for Dr. Heiland’s experiments.” The inspector reached into his trench coat and withdrew a cigarette case. With a casual shrug, he turned to Demetra and asked, “May I?”

“If you think asking my permission as a gentleman should means I will regard you as one, rest assured my opinion of you is already tainted beyond repair,” she answered with a sniff.

“That is quite a pity, but your opinion will change once I remove the one impediment to our lasting happiness.” The inspector removed a cigarette and match from his case. Striking the match against the inside of the case, he lit the cigarette and returned the case to his pocket. “Mr. Christie is a formidable man, but lacks the constitution to withstand the doctor’s experiments. It is obvious we made a mistake in selecting him, so we might be willing to make an exchange.”

“My life for his,” Francis stated.

“For someone who is all muscle and very little brains, you catch on quick, Lord Winterton.”

“I may yet surprise you with my intellect. Let me say I do not buy what you are selling – not for one moment, Farrell. Mr. Christie is the Astronomer Royal, and highly placed enough to bring this matter all the way to the Queen. There is no way you will risk letting him go. He would have imperial dogs on you in a matter of hours.” Francis straightened his arm and raised his aim. “Your negotiation is nothing more than a high-handed deception, and a ruse for which I will not fall.”

“Very well. Then think about it this way: you will never find any of these people if you do not come with me.”

“And what good will that do us?” Demetra hissed, pointing her fan at the inspector. “If Francis goes with you, he is only condemning himself to the same fate as his father. No deal.”

“I am not here to discuss this matter with you. This is between me and his lordship.” The inspector did not even look in her direction, keeping his gaze trained on Francis. “What is it going to be, Lord Winterton? Will you come along quietly, or are you going to hide behind the lady?”

Demetra winced. Such slights against Francis’s manhood were bound to provoke him beyond reason. Even though she had tried to make peace with the inevitability of this moment, she still was not prepared for it.

Cocking back the hammers on the pistols, Francis held them both steadily before him. “Heart or head,” he murmured. “It is clear to me you lack the first, so I should really aim for the second. After all, it is already damaged beyond repair.”

“Francis,” Demetra whispered, almost choking on the word.

The air between the three of them was heavy with tension.

With a click, Francis uncocked both guns, shoved them in their holsters, unbuckled his belt, dropped it on the ground, and stepped forward. “You want me, you got me, Farrell. I refuse to do anything that might implicate my fiancée in the murder of a policeman.”

The inspector’s lips turned upward in a smirk of satisfaction. “A very wise decision, Lord Winterton. I commend you once again for using your brains, though they will do you little good when Dr. Heiland begins her work.” He extended his arm to one side and the iron maiden shimmered into view. At last they could see it – an upright human shaped cabinet, with open iron bands inside waiting for a person to step into them.

Demetra reached out to grab Francis’s shoulder. “You cannot do this!” she cried. “How could you?”

“It is for the best.” He turned and captured her hands in his. “Just promise me you will find a safe place to stay while you wait this out.”

“He will find me anyway. That is what a detective does.” Demetra looked up at him, shaking her head. “How can you let this happen?”

Placing a finger beneath her chin, Francis said, “Because maybe if they get what they want now, you will be safe.” He leaned toward her and muttered, “Damn propriety,” before pressing his lips to hers.

Demetra had not expected their first true kiss to be under these circumstances. She did not even want to think about it. There were enough conflicting thoughts in her head about etiquette and decorum, love and fear, that she just focused on how it felt to finally have his warm lips on hers. When he stepped back, she clung to the fabric of his jacket. Francis gently lifted her hands away and walked toward the coffin-like contraption.

Head bowed, unable to look, Demetra flinched at the sound of the iron bands locking in to place. She took a long, shuddering breath before she opened her eyes and surveyed the square.

Both Inspector Farrell and Francis were gone.

She waited a few more heartbeats, before bending over to pick up the belt on which the holsters hung. Careful not to touch the guns, lest the celestial energy coursing through them shock her, she turned and cross the grounds back to the street.

“Are you alright?” Simon stepped around a tree on the corner and took the belt from her.

“I will be,” she answered softly. “Is it activated?”

Draping the gun belt over his shoulder, the artificer reached in his pocket and pulled out a small black metal case with a short antenna and a red light blinking in the center. “It is crude, but the best I could come up with on such short notice,” he said, turning in a slow circle with the device. “The light seems brightest toward the west.”

“Then we must go that way.” Demetra turned in the direction Simon indicated, but he grabbed her by the arm.

“Slow down. What do you think you are doing?”

“We need to get him back,” she answered. “I know this was what he intended, but now…” She dropped her gaze to the ground and shook her head.

“Now you need to rest. You need to wait. Their movement now might not reflect the ultimate destination. The inspector is not a lackwit. He knows how resourceful you are, and will no doubt take that into consideration. You must give it time before we start chasing them. Besides – did you forget the other parts of the plan?”

Clenching her fists at her sides, Demetra answered, “No, but I cannot stand idly by, let alone sleep, while they experiment on my fiancé.”

“And we will not do that, but we have a few other measures to take before we mount our rescue. Is that perfectly clear?”

“The kiss was not part of the plan!” she cried out.

“No, it was not. But neither is you running yourself ragged to see it through. Sleep first. Do you understand?”

Pouting with frustration, Demetra gave a nod.

“Good. At least try to sleep. You won’t be any good to anyone if you are dead on your feet. Tomorrow, we have to pay a very important call and send out a few messages if we are going to round up our cavalry.”

“Simon, please try to understand my feelings,” she pleaded, pressing her hands to her heart. “If it was me, would you want to wait an entire night?”

He shook his head. “No, I would not. But Francis can take care of himself and I doubt there is anything they can do to him right now that will cause lasting harm. You have had a very long day. Let me take you home.”

Gritting her teeth, Demetra allowed Simon to take her arm and escort her down the street.

Chapter Twelve

Somehow, she managed to sleep through the night. When she awoke the next morning, Demetra eschewed her usual routine of reading The Times in favor of preparing the necessary messages. When they were written, folded, sealed, and sent out for delivery, she ate her breakfast and waited impatiently for Simon’s arrival. Wearing a pale green day dress with a black leather bodice, she gathered her tools for the day. By the time she had attached her pouch and fan to the bottom of the bodice, Elodie was admitting Simon to the house.

“Excellent timing,” Demetra said as she met him in the front hall.

“At least you look rested. I thought you would toss and turn all night.” He waited just inside the front door as Demetra fetched her gloves. “You will get more done if you take care of yourself.”

“Yes, I suppose my rational side prevailed. Time goes by faster when you ignore it, and I will not be of any use to Francis if I am exhausted. The first thing I did this morning was send those messages to Lady Winterton and my parents.”

“Good. I am sure they will come as quickly as they can.”

“Let us hope so.” Demetra picked a green top hat up off the table and secured it to her head with two ribbons beneath her chin. “What did you pick up with the tracking device this morning?”

“It still indicates that Francis was taken to the west. Wherever Dr. Heiland keeps her facility, we might finally be able to locate it and free your missing Aetherals. When we get close to Francis’s location, the light will blink, but right now it is steady. I think they are somewhere outside of London.”

“Then it becomes a game of hot and cold,” Demetra said. She canted her head and sighed. “Well, the sooner we pay a visit to Aunt Vertiline, the sooner we can make the next move in the game.”

They walked out onto Albermarle and, with long, determined strides, reached the other Ashdown home within minutes. Gilbert opened the door at their knock and bade them enter. “You did not bring Lord Winterton with you?” he asked, shutting the door behind them. “Verti will be quite disappointed.”

“I hope Aunt Verti is feeling better, because we need her if we are ever going to see Francis again,” Demetra responded, not bothering to remove her hat. “Gilbert, this is my dear friend, Simon Warom.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Warom.”

“Why, little Demi! Is that you?” came a voice from atop the stairs. Verti glided down them effortlessly and stopped at the second-to-last step to look Simon up and down. “My, oh my. What have you brought me today?”

“Simon Warom, this is my Aunt Vertiline Ashdown, my father’s eldest sister.”

Verti extended her hand to Simon, along with a simpering smile. “And his most eligible sister too.” She tossed her glossy black curls. The black and white striped dress she wore only made her look more girlish and Demetra tried not to roll her eyes as Simon responded.

“Truly?” He took Verti’s hand and kissed the back of it. “It is difficult to believe such a beautiful young woman is unattached.”

Wagging her finger at the artificer, Verti grinned and said, “I give this one credit, Demi. He has the charm your fiancé lacks. But where is that dear boy? You know how I love to torment him.”

“Oh, that makes two of us,” Simon chuckled, releasing her hand.

“Unfortunately, Francis made a rather rash sacrifice of himself last night.” With a baleful glare at Simon, Demetra interjected, “He allowed himself to be abducted and we are trying to find him. If you are completely recovered, we would be grateful for your assistance. This matter involves at least two Aetheral conspirators, and I need all the help I can get to fight them.”

“You would put this adorable little human in harm’s way?”

Simon’s blue eyes twinkled with mirth as he said, “I can take care of myself, Miss Ashdown. In fact, if not for my gifts and talents, we would have no way of locating Francis.”

“Gifts and talents, you say?” Verti’s eyes swept up and down Simon once more.

Clearing her throat, Demetra recalled her attention. “If you could hold off on the insolent ogling for just a moment, please? Yes. Simon is an artificer, like my father. He has provided me with numerous little gadgets to assist my past endeavors, and this one is no exception. Last night we placed a tracking signal on Francis before he turned himself over to the kidnappers. Now we need to follow it to find him, and you are the best offensive weapon I have. Will you help us?”

“Very well.” Verti looked at her companion. “Gilbert, stay here and run things as usual.  I do not know when we will return.” She leapt off the stairs to the ground floor, her dress flouncing with each step she took as she gathered her things.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Gilbert asked, his brow knitting with concern. “If these people are doing experiments on Aetherals, your powers might be very interesting to them.”

“We will see just how much experimenting they can do from the floor,” Verti retorted, twirling her wide-brimmed hat on her finger. “You need never worry about me. Just tend to your usual duties and keep an ear out for anything interesting.”

After the diminutive infernal tied her hat on, she nodded to the others.

“Thank you both,” Demetra said fervently. “You have no idea how much this means to me. Inspector Farrell is a formidable technopath, but as long as we are not using any electricity or machines to fight him, I do not think there is much he can do with his powers. I am not as sure about this Dr. Heiland…”

“Dr. Bernadine Heiland?” Gilbert interrupted.

“Yes, I believe so.”

The huge, black man’s eyes shifted nervously to Verti, then back to Demetra. “Take care with that one, ladies. She is mad as a hatter.”

“Another psychotic villain?” Verti scoffed. “We managed one perfectly fine in America.”

“I know her only by reputation but, yes, she is short of a full deck. In fact, I am not surprised to hear her name mentioned. Her supposed genius is more frightening than useful. Sadly, I cannot tell you what her ability is, but I do know her name is not one any Aetheral wants to hear.”

“Well, since it is too late for that, we need to act.” Demetra nodded to Gilbert and said, “Thank you for taking such good care of my aunt. Now it is my turn. I promise we will bring her back safely.”

“Along with that dear Francis boy,” Verti added. “We best get on our way before this woman cuts holes in him.”

~~~~~

As they made their way west in the Ashdown carriage, the light on the tracking device still glowed a steady, brilliant red. After a half-hour of driving, Demetra sighed. “Will it ever do something else?”

“Maybe it’s defective,” Verti suggested. “What, precisely, is it supposed to do?”

“It should blink when we get closer to the signal beacon. Either it doesn’t work or we are nowhere near Francis.”

Simon looked down at the device, an almost-pout on his usually cheerful face. “I told you it was an iffy proposition. It has not been tested long-range or… well, at all.”

“Then why did you suggest it?” Demetra was slouched in the corner of the carriage, her arms folded as she glared at her friend.

“Because we were unable to dissuade Francis from this rash course of action, so it was at least one thing I could offer to try to set your mind at ease.”

“Let me see it.” Without waiting for permission, Verti snatched the device from Simon’s hands and began turning it over in hers. “I am guessing this is the ‘on’ switch, and this antenna picks up the signal for the tracking device. So what happens next?” Before Simon could respond, Verti gasped “Oh!” and fumbled to keep hold of the tracker. She scrutinized it and then said, “Oh!” again.

“What is wrong?” Demetra sat upright, pressing her hands against the cushions of the seat.

“It just blinked. Twice.” Handling the little box with more care than before, Verti offered it back to Simon, who took it and watched it.

Everyone leaned forward just in time to see the light flash.

“Is that how you intended it to work?” Demetra breathed, staring at the red bulb.

“It is. At least, I think it is.” Simon also could not take his eyes off the light, which flashed again. “We just need to keep driving in this direction.”

“We are paralleling the Thames, so you were clearly correct about going west. If only we could get the horses to move faster.”

“Actually, we would move at an even quicker pace if we took a ferry.” Leaning out the window, Simon scanned the area, then pointed and said, “There!” He hollered some instructions to the driver, and the carriage turned slightly toward the river. It finally pulled to a stop, and Simon opened the door to leap to the ground.

Both ladies stepped out of the carriage and watched Simon as he strode toward to the docks to converse with one of the workers. When he motioned to them to join him, Demetra turned to her driver.

“You can return home now,” she told him. “Please tell Elodie to let my parents know we went west from Wapping along the Thames, and we will try to return as soon as possible. But if anyone else should call, she must not tell them where we have gone. Is that understood?”

“Yes Miss,” the driver answered. “I will convey your instructions to the household, if you are sure everything is set here.”

“I am sure. Thank you.” Demetra turned and, with Verti, approached Simon and the man to whom he was now handing several coins.

“Ladies, this is Captain Shaw. He can accommodate us on his ferry.”

“The young man tells me you don’t have a destination,” the man said, rubbing at his graying beard, “however, and I will be of service if I can.”

“That is very kind of you,” Demetra said.

“Kind? Not at all. Coin is coin, and I’ve nothing better to do at the moment.” The man shrugged and waved toward the ferry. “It’s yours, folks.”

Everyone followed him on board and Demetra tried her best not to fret with impatience as they prepared to sail. She handed Simon a handful of coins to reimburse the cost of the ferry and then walked around the deck, watching all the preparations made to shove off. Once they were finally away from the dock and moving westward, she let herself breathe evenly. The ferry was a small steamer, but it chugged along at a faster clip than the carriage might have moved.

“Look,” Simon said, walking over to Demetra. He held out the tracking device for her to see, and she realized the light was now flashing at a constant rate. “We are getting closer.”

“But how soon will we reach him at this pace?” she asked.

“I cannot estimate. The closer we get, however, the more rapidly the light will flicker. We just need to be patient.”

“Patience is a virtue I have never possessed.” Casting her glance out along the river, she shook her head. “I can only imagine the things this so-called doctor has done to Francis in the short time she’s had him in her clutches.”

“You need to stop letting your mind do that to you. I never took you as someone prone to gruesome fancies.”

“After some of the things I have encountered, I know what both humans and Aetherals are capable of, Simon.” Demetra kept her eyes on the churning water.

“Then you know all of us are capable of good – not just evil. We are going to find him and, when we do, you will have the satisfaction of saving not just one life, but several.”

“I hope so,” she responded in an undertone.

~~~~~

When the flicker of light became an almost frantic pulse, Simon asked the captain to bring the ferry to a halt. He stood in the center of the deck and turned a wide circle, then pointed to the land. “The signal is strongest from there.”

“That is the Isle of Sheppey,” Captain Shaw said. “I can dock there if you like and wait for you to return.”

“Are you familiar with the area?” Demetra asked, joining the men.

“Fairly, aye. I can take my ease at the pub, if you would like me to wait and return you to London when you’re done.”

“We would appreciate that, but I am curious – are there any law enforcement officials about?”

“Not on the island, no, but over on the mainland…” The captain thrust his thumb back over his shoulder, indicating the way they had come.

“It would hardly matter,” Verti said, grasping the railing and standing on her toes. “What good will they be against Aetherals?”

“True enough, and we can make a report directly to the police when we return to London,” Simon agreed. “Scotland Yard never sleeps.”

Demetra answered, “I am more concerned about back-up, should we find ourselves outnumbered. How is Simon going to defend himself?”

“Well, once I return these to Francis…” He pushed his coat aside to reveal Francis’s gun belt around his waist and the pistols in their holsters at his hips, “I have this.” With that declaration, he reached over his shoulder to pull another gun from a holster along his back, which Demetra had not noticed earlier. It was almost the length of Simon’s entire arm, and double-barreled with a brass and leather scope on top nestled between both barrels. The stock was cherry, with a high polish to it, and the brass trigger mechanism a strange, serpentine shape. There were two more brass cylinders along the forestock, with tubes connecting them to what looked like a double magazine. The brass muzzle flared slightly at the end.

“What exactly is it you folks are hunting?” Captain Shaw asked, his wide eyes trained on the modified rifle.

Demetra grinned, sensing the infernal power radiating from the gun. Feeling optimistic for the first time all day, she responded, “Big game.”

Chapter Thirteen

They followed the tracker further inland, away from the lights and quiet hum of activity at the docks. An initial assessment of the area revealed no Aetheric energy, except a couple of sailors in the pub where Captain Shaw had gone for his dinner. Verti hesitated and looked longingly at the faded stone and weathered thatched roofing of the pub, but Demetra took her by the hand and pulled her away from the building. Rifle slung over his shoulder and tracking device in his other hand, Simon looked less like an inventor, and more like an infantryman scouting for the enemy. With a determined grimace on his face, he stared down at the tracker and blindly put one foot in front of the other.

The island was slightly marshy, the wheat-colored grass already quite tall for this time of the year. Dots of light ahead of them further inland indicated residences. They passed by several modest cottages and a few larger ones, all with a warm, inviting glow behind their windows. The indicator on the tracker flickered rapidly as if urging them to go further, so they bypassed the homes on either side of them. As they walked, the device led them steadily inland until the cottages gave way to a wide expanse of marsh grass and a hulking shadow in the distance.

“What will you wager that is where we will find Dr. Heiland?” Demetra clenched her fists and set her jaw as she looked at the gray form looming before them.

As if in response to her speculation, the light flashed even more wildly, pulsed non-stop until Simon turned off the device and placed it in his pocket. “I would not be foolish enough to bet against you,” he said. “Nor would I dare approach them with active technology, if it might give us away to the inspector’s abilities.”

“Agreed.” Lifting her face to the night air, Demetra reached out with her senses. “It is faint, but there is a trace of Aetheric power radiating from there.”

“I feel it too.” Verti reached into her jacket and pulled out the flask of gin she always carried with her. “Here is too success, my young friends,” she said, and took a long draught.

“We will count chickens later, aunt, after we have them neatly corralled.”

“Eggs, chickens, Aetherals – all the same to me, dear niece.”

They continued their advance, and Demetra grimaced as the power emanating from the home grew stronger. There were only two energy signatures as far as she could tell – Inspector Farrell’s and the other, she suspected, must have been Dr. Heiland’s. “It is no wonder she either considers herself a doctor, or actually trained to be one. She has the ability to see inside organic structures.” Demetra cringed at the thought.

“What do you mean?” Simon asked.

“She can look through your skin and at all the systems beneath it. While it is not a particularly active power, and one I doubt will do us any harm, she certainly knows how our bodies work. It would not be difficult for her to make a fatal shot or strike with the object of her choice. Even though her power is quite harmless, all it would take is a mundane weapon in her hands to use this knowledge against us. Be on your guard and don’t let them take you by surprise.”

“Still, there are only two of them in there,” Verti said, raising her fist in a determined gesture. “I think we can take them, especially since we are the ones with the element of surprise.”

“Whatever you do, Simon, do not let Inspector Farrell anywhere near you. If he touches that rifle, he will be able to control it.” Shooting a warning look at her friend, Demetra said, “You stay out of his reach and let us handle any direct confrontation.”

“Sounds like the most intelligent plan,” Simon agreed, shifting the rifle to his other shoulder so he could salute her.

“Verti, if you incapacitate both the inspector and the doctor, we can try to release their victims.”

“An excellent notion,” the small Aetheral answered, “but how do you suggest we get them back to the ferry, especially if they are weak or injured?”

Demetra’s glance roved from the structure before them, to the shadows on either side of it.  “One of those must house a carriage and horses. I doubt the doctor chose this remote location without considering transportation.”

“Yet Farrell made the iron maiden simply appear and disappear in thin air,” Simon pointed out. “How did he manage that if it is not one of his abilities? What if they have a transportation device of some sort that isn’t mundane?”

“Either there is a third Aetheral involved – someone who has that particular ability,” Demetra suggested, “or, because I never sensed anyone else, it is possible they have managed to construct these contraptions in a way that allows them to bend time and space. However, that seems rather farfetched, don’t you think?”

“Despite that, it would not be out of the question,” Simon said. “This means if they have sensed us coming, they may already be working on their escape.”

“Then we need to work faster.” Demetra looked up at the imposing building before them now that they had reached it. It was an old-fashioned manor home, constructed from crumbling gray stone and thick, weathered wooden doors.

“It looks like a fortress from the Middle Ages,” Simon said with a shudder. “Have you ever seen anything so foreboding?”

“No, and that is why it is entirely appropriate for a mad scientist.” Without hesitation, Verti walked up to the door and grasped the handle. She gave it an upward thrust and they heard the latch disengage. Pushing the door open wide, even she winced at the piercing creak of the rusty old hinges. With a bow, she said, “First floor: gothic puns, Frankenstein jokes, and men’s’ wear.”

Simon turned to grin at Demetra. “I see where you get it.”

“Get what?”

“That beautifully impertinent attitude.”

“It is truly a genetic gift.” Demetra winked at him, and then stepped past her aunt, opening her fan as she did.

The first floor of the house was quiet, even though the candles in the wall sconces were lit, illuminating the bleak interior. The only things she saw from the entrance were a stone staircase to her left and two suits of armor flanking the lengthy hall that extended before them. Shadows and light wavered around her as she turned to gesture to her comrades.

“They are one floor down,” she whispered. “We need to find the stairs to the lower level.”

With tentative steps, she advanced down the hallway, which opened out into a parlor. Her eyes sweeping the room, she turned to the door on the left and carefully pushed on it. Peeking around it, she saw a formal dining room, with a kitchen just beyond. Waving to the others, she passed through the dining room, into the kitchen, and pointed at the door on the other side of the room. Then, placing her finger against her lips, she approached it and lifted the latch.

A feminine voice drifted up the steps to greet them. “How good of you to join us,” it said. “Why not just come downstairs and show yourselves? Of course we were expecting you. Do not worry – you will not be harmed.”

“A likely possibility,” Verti snorted.

Demetra placed one foot on the top step, then the next, her fan held before her. When she finally made it all the way down into the basement, she saw Inspector Farrell standing across the room. Without acknowledging his presence, she moved her gaze to the woman who crossed the room to greet her.

“So, if it is not Miss Ashdown,” the woman said, her German accent heavy. “This is a most anticipated meeting, if I may say so. Nicholas has spoken of nothing but you since your first meeting. He is most eager to win you over to our cause. I am Dr. Heiland.”

She wore her wheat-blonde hair pulled back in a severe chignon, and her ice blue eyes were startlingly direct. On her forehead was a pair of goggles with red lenses and a small light. The high, white collar of her gown made her look sterner. Not even the red ruffles framing her bodice could soften the effect. The wide black leather belt around her small waist had various tools hanging from it, each one glinting silver in the flickering candlelight. The red skirt ended in ruffles at the knees, revealing black leather boots with several buckles along the front from knee to toe. Her white sleeves were also short, falling to the elbow where they gathered in a tight ruffle. Black gloves covered her lower arms, and Demetra suspected the darker colors hid the visceral evidence of the doctor’s work.

“Now.” The doctor clapped her hands together as she grinned with delight and her gaze moved to Vertiline and Simon. Her palms made a strange, wet sound when they came together. “Where to begin? I suppose we really need introductions. Who is this marvelous infernal you brought to me?”

“I cannot imagine why we need bother with formalities,” Verti said from behind Demetra, sounding bored. “The only people with whom I bother with introductions, are the ones who will live to see me again. That hardly seems likely in this instance.”

“Oh my!” The doctor giggled. “Isn’t the little one feisty? And such power! Do you know her, Nicholas?”

“I have not had the pleasure,” he answered in a bland tone with an expression to match.

“Well, very soon you will have the one pleasure you have been anticipating for the past week. And the other – the human?”

“That is Simon Warom,” Farrell said. “He is just the son of an apothecary. He poses no threat to us.”

“Really?” The doctor canted her head to the side and said, “Well, perhaps Mr. Warom would find our experiments quite interesting. After all, the work of the apothecary and the physician go hand in hand.”

“I would rather drown myself in the Thames,” Simon answered calmly, lowering the rifle from his shoulder to hold it in both hands.

“Well, I am sure we can arrange that.” The doctor sounded giddy at the prospect. She turned on her heel and tossed her hair as she strode back across the room. “Naturally, we cannot allow any of you to leave this place. Our work is far too important to allow shortsighted humans and Aetherals to disrupt it.” The doctor turned to face them once again and extended her arm, inviting them to proceed. “Please, won’t you come and see my laboratory?”

“Why not show us the way?” Demetra responded. “Do you think we are foolish enough to precede you into that… that dungeon of yours?”

“Fair enough, my friends.” The doctor turned and walked through the door behind Inspector Farrell. “Come along, Nicholas. They do not trust us, so we must help them along.”

Verti slid a narrow-eyed look to Demetra. “Let me just do it now,” she muttered.

“We need to bide our time just a little longer,” Demetra whispered back.

“Or we could knock them out and tie them up.”

“I vote for Verti’s plan,” Simon said with an adamant bob of his head. “Let us not give them a chance to escape.”

“Patience.” Demetra crossed the small, empty room and stood on the threshold of the laboratory. What she saw in there made her blood run ice cold.

Lined up against the far wall of the massive chamber was a row of seven iron maidens, all but two on the end occupied. Between the doorway and the coffin-like prisons were three low-lying steel tables, apparently large and strong enough to accommodate the iron maiden that now lay on one. There were two large wooden sets of drawers on either side of the room, one open enough so Demetra could see the cruel-looking tools lined up inside of it on red velvet. She saw no other technology in the room. Other than the line of iron maidens, everything was sparse and clinical.

“My workshop is just beyond the laboratory,” the doctor said, her tone apologetic. “This may not appear very impressive to you, but I assure you it more than suits our purposes. The specialized devices are in my workshop, and used only when warranted, such as when I gave Nicholas the gift of sight.”

“Do you mean when you took an honest man and completed his unfortunate transformation into a monster?” Demetra glared at the doctor and hissed softly, “You know why I am here. Where is my fiancé?”

“Ah, Lord Winterton is as snug and cozy as can be over there.” The doctor flicked her fingers toward the wall dismissively. “Of course, you are seeking the others as well. But I am afraid poor Mr. Gunnan, Mr. Bullard, and Ms. Mae did not fare at all well in our experiments. A pity. I had especially high hopes for Ms. Mae. Her ability was most extraordinary, and had she survived the process, I think she would have proven a great asset to our endeavors. Still, she was but one of many. We will continue to progress toward our goal of making Aetherals a force capable of taking the world from humans, and doing with it what we will.”

“That is insanity,” Verti piped up from behind her niece. She shoved her way into the room. “Our abilities do not give us the right to dominate and rule others.”

“Then why do we have them?” Dr. Heiland asked.

“To do this.” Even as Verti glared at her, the doctor began to tremble.

Reaching out with both hands to steady herself against a table, Dr. Heiland closed her eyes and bowed her head. “What are you doing to me?”

“It was arrogant of you to just wait for our arrival. You should have escaped when you had the chance.” Verti took another step forward. Demetra had seen her aunt on the offensive before, but never had the petite woman looked so fierce. “You are despicable.”

“Nicholas,” the doctor gasped, sinking to her knees and pressing her hands to the floor. “Remove… Winterton…”

“Simon!” Demetra cried. “Stop him!”

The artificer raised his rifle and took aim at Inspector Farrell. As he fired, the policeman ducked low to the ground, dodged the first shot, and dove at one of the iron maidens. The moment the bullet hit the far wall, a fine mist started filling the room.

Simon followed the inspector’s movement, lowered the muzzle, and took aim for a second shot. As he pulled the trigger, Inspector Farrell reached out to press his hand against one of the standing coffins. Both man and machine shimmered out of sight, and the bullet slammed against the wall. Once more, mist spread into the room. A thin fog covered the floor and slowly expanded, rolling toward them.

“What was in those bullets?” Demetra asked, taking a step back.

“Cyanide.”

She turned to stare at him.

“I was joking.” Simon turned the gun on the doctor, who had fallen unconscious, and said, “It’s a simple muscle inhibitor.”

“As in a paralytic agent?”

Simon nodded, his gaze still trained on the prone Aetheral.

“So if we inhale it, we will be as helpless as the doctor’s victims.” Demetra darted into the room, replaced her fan on the clip on her bodice, and grabbed the doctor’s ankles. “Get her arms, so we can get out of here before it overcomes all of us,” she instructed Verti.

Together, both Aetherals dragged Dr. Heiland out into the first room.

Simon reached into his jacket and removed a pair of manacles from an inside pocket. Cocking an eyebrow at him as he fastened the cuffs around the doctor’s wrists, Verti asked, “Do you always carry those with you, or was this a special occasion?”

“Does it matter?” Demetra sighed and watched the mist from the doorway. “We need to figure out how we are going to get these people out of here, and find out where the inspector brought Francis.”

Reaching beneath his jacket once more, Simon extracted a strange-looking mask and offered it to Demetra. “Wear this. The vent will filter out the toxin.” He pulled out a second mask and put it on, then rose to his feet and walked into the room.

Sliding hers over her face and fitting the mouthpiece in place, Demetra took a few experimental breaths, before stepping back into the laboratory. She approached the first iron maiden – the one lying on the operating table – and walked around it. The mist was up to her waist, but her breathing remained normal. Looking through the slots in the head of the contraption, she realized it was Mr. Christie on the table. She ran her hand along the seam in the iron near the head, looking for a way to open it. When her fingers finally caught on something at the shoulder, she curled them around it and flipped the latch up. Her hand drifted down along the side of the iron maiden and she found a second latch near the ankles.

It took two hands to lift the lid, but once she did, it fell open revealing the Astronomer Royal. His white shirt was unbuttoned and open, and there were a number of incisions along his torso. Repressing a gasp of horror, Demetra turned to one of the cabinets and rummaged around in search of something to cover the thin cuts. Finally locating a roll of bandages, she returned to the older man and did her best to bind his wounds. He was barely conscious, groaning softly, as she pulled him upright.

“I need some help here,” she said, her voice muffled by the mask.

Simon turned from where he stood by the line of iron maidens and approached her. He helped drag Mr. Christie out and draped one of the man’s arms around his shoulders. Demetra did the same and they hauled him out of the room to lay him on the floor near the stairs.

“This is going to take some time,” Verti said. She was crouching over the doctor, keeping an eye on the unconscious woman. “Should I see if I can locate something to get all of us out of this place?”

“Yes or, better yet, run back to the docks and see if you can get some strong hands to assist us,” Demetra answered as she caught her breath.

“Aye aye!” Verti jumped to her feet and ran up the stairs.

“She may be small, but at least she is fast.”

“And effective.” Simon looked down at Dr. Heiland. “What exactly did Verti do to her?”

“Appropriately enough, she has the ability to cause vertigo. It comes in quite handy. Are we ready to see to the others?” Demetra rubbed at the small of her back and returned to the laboratory.

As they dragged Aetheral after Aetheral out of their living caskets, she lost track of all time. When they finally laid the last victim out in the room by the stairs, Dr. Heiland was moaning and trying to sit upright.

“Simon,” Demetra said. “Turn on the tracking device and see if we can get Francis’s signal.”

The artificer removed the tracker from his pocket and flipped the switch. The red light glowed steadily as he slowly turned to face the different directions. “I am not getting any signal,” he said after making two complete turns. “He must be very far from here. At least, he is certainly out of our range at the moment.”

With a nod, Demetra said, “Then all we can do for now is tend to the others and get them to safety.”

While Simon went from person to person to assess their injuries, Demetra knelt beside the doctor and took her fan out once more.

Opening the accessory, she laid the blade over the woman’s neck and said in a low voice, “I would not move if I were you.”

“And why not,” the doctor groaned, blinking her eyes rapidly.

“Because if you do, you might just lose your head.”

Shifting her glance, the doctor nodded and said, “So I see. Genius little weapon you have there, Miss Ashdown.”

“Where did Inspector Farrell take Lord Winterton?”

“Why should I tell you that? It is the only thing keeping me alive right now.”

“I hardly think it will take long for the inspector to show his hand in this matter,” Demetra retorted coolly. “However, you are about to be charged in the deaths of at least three Aetherals, and the torture of more than half a dozen others. Tell me where the inspector is, and I may persuade the courts to show leniency.”

“I will not implicate him. We are loyal to each other.”

“You need not say a word. Your victims will do the work for you.” Lowering the fan along the doctor’s torso, Demetra said, “However, you bade your accomplice to run off with the one Aetheral who matters most to me. I am not above giving you some pretty incisions to match what you have done to these poor people.”

“Then how does that make you any better than me?” The doctor’s icy glare was as challenging as her words.

“Love trumps world domination. The difference is, your madness is what drives you to harm others, but harming the man I love could very well drive me to madness.”

Chapter Fourteen

The sailors and dockworkers who accompanied Verti brought three horse-drawn carts. Captain Shaw directed their efforts to get the Aetherals to his boat, while Demetra, Simon, and Verti followed. Two of the sailors took their dinghy to report the incident and the findings at the home to the nearest constable, with Demetra’s assurance that Scotland Yard would be out in force in the morning to take over the investigation.

Finally, back on board the ferry, exhaustion washed over her. Gripping the railing, Demetra looked at the Isle of Sheppey as it receded into the dark of the night. Even though she wanted to remain in the doctor’s home in the vain hope that Inspector Farrell might return, she knew the moment he realize it was now occupied by the local police, he would step out of her reach once more. Clenching her jaw in annoyance, she tried to catch her breath.

“Hey, easy there, princess.” Simon’s hand gripped her upper arm. “You are going to pass out if you continue to breathe like that. Take a deep breath for me, in through your nose and out through your mouth.”

Even though she rarely did what others told her to do, Demetra listened this time. Letting the muscles in her face loosen, she did as he instructed, until her heartbeat slowed and she no longer felt dizzy.

“Good. You are always the one who takes care of everyone else,” Simon said, gently turning her to face him. “Let us see to you for once.” He made her sit on the deck itself, resting her back against the solid wood of the ship’s hull.

“You know I cannot sit idly by while Francis is in danger. There is no telling what the doctor’s contingency arrangement with Inspector Farrell was, or what he may do on his own.” She took another long inhalation, followed by a cleansing exhalation. “He holds a grudge against Francis for whatever reason; perhaps on my account, since he has made his interest in me clear from the start. I feel like we are back at the beginning of this entire matter.”

“But we are not back at the beginning.” Simon took her hands in his. “At least we have Dr. Heiland in custody and we found the missing Aetherals. Once the police question everyone, you might get the answers you seek.”

“That is the problem, Simon. I might get those answers. But there is no guarantee that she will cooperate.” Demetra shook her head and leaned it back against the thick wood of the stern. “Why is it when Francis came back into my life, he brought every human emotion in the book with him?”

The artificer chuckled and said, “I think they call it ‘love’, my friend. He broke your heart and you buried your very human emotions, but you never stopped experiencing them. You can neither deny them nor control them. Since you are so fond of logic, I suggest the rational thing to do is accept the inevitable.”

“The inevitable being human sentiment,” Demetra said flatly.

“Precisely. After all, you are half-human. Are you ashamed of half of what you are?”

Shoulders drooping, she gave a nod. “At times, like when I fail.”

“How did you fail tonight?”

She turned her gaze on him so he could see the tears shimmering at the corners of her eyes. “Do you really need to ask?”

“I suppose not.” He squeezed her hands and asked, “But do you really think your Aetheral side is superior to your human side?”

“You know I do.”

“Then,” Simon said, tilting his head to one side, “how are you any different than the doctor in your view of Aetherals and humans?”

~~~~~

This time, Demetra did not just anticipate a restless night. She experienced it, from the moment Simon spoke those last few words, until the following morning.

The hours between were a blur of dispatching all the rescued abductees to hospitals, answering questions for Scotland Yard, and finally accepting a police escort home, where she pushed the dinner the staff served her around her plate until it grew cold. Unable to let go of her worries about Francis or having her own prejudices mirrored back to her, she left the dining room and crawled into bed, where she tossed fitfully until just before dawn.

Finally kicking the blankets off her, she rose out of the bed and started pacing the room.  After a few passes, she grumbled, “I am going to wear out every floor board in this house at this rate.”

She brought her fingers to her lips and stared out the window, watching the light creep up over the home across the way. The pigeons outside had already taken up their morning chatter – a soft cooing that seemed to come from deep within their throats. She had not slept a wink.

“This will never do.”

With that declaration, Demetra strode across her room to the wardrobe to remove her most stylish ensemble. While she paid little attention to the latest fashions and had even less regard to conforming to the current style, the call she intended to make today was not one to be taken lightly.

She could not afford to look anything less than formidable.

~~~~~

The splendid burgundy day dress with silver stripes and silver ruffles all along the bodice, a black leather belt at the waist, and black top hat with one silver and one burgundy feather was perhaps more formal than what most of the ladies wore during the day. However, Demetra knew her hostess was not a woman with whom one trifled. As she sat in the fashionable parlor, which was decorated in white, with a tastefully selective application of gilding in just the right places, she chose her words with care.

“You received my letter.”

“Obviously.” Lady Angeline Winterton looked like she would rather be rat catching than entertaining the woman her son had rebelliously chosen to marry, despite his mother’s disapproval. She sat still as a statue, and Demetra might have thought her made of marble, if not for a stray wisp of dark hair that escaped the woman’s soft chignon to drift across her forehead. Barely blinking her violet eyes, Francis’s mother swept the hair off her face.

“Then you realize time is of the essence.” Demetra would not allow the woman to intimidate her. Lady Winterton was not the only expert at the games of condescension and intimidation. “Unless, of course, you are not concerned for your son’s safety.”

The noblewoman stiffened. “You dare imply…”

“I am not implying anything. I am saying very plainly your son is in danger and needs all the help he can get. Perhaps with you can intimidate Dr. Heiland into revealing his whereabouts. We took her into custody last night and she is at Scotland Yard. If you read my message, you will know she was abducting Aetherals and experimenting on them.”

“Young lady, I am familiar with Dr. Bernadine Heiland’s work. Pray you never see what I have seen, experienced what I have experienced.”

Demetra could not stop her eyes from widening and her mouth dropping open ever so slightly. The sweet smell of lilacs in the parlor was suddenly cloying, making it difficult for her to breathe properly.

“Oh yes, I surprised you, did I not?” Lady Winterton looked very satisfied with herself. One side of her mouth curved upward as she pursed her lips. “This Dr. Heiland you caught has been around for quite some time, though her atrocious research was confined to the continent before now.”

“You were aware of this, and yet you let it go on?”

“Had I known it would become a personal matter, I would have intervened long ago.” She shrugged and said, “I could not foresee Farrell’s involvement. I am not a clairvoyant.”

“Are you saying you know Inspector Farrell as well?”

“My husband knew him.”

Demetra sighed and rolled her eyes, despite her initial intentions to be on her best behavior. “Why not just be more forthcoming and tell me everything. There is clearly more to this story than you have been willing to share. This is not about me, Lady Winterton. Your son’s life is at stake, and you may have the power to save him. You said you bound his powers to protect him. Where is that maternal sentiment now?”

For a brief moment, Demetra thought the woman would have her removed from the home for her impertinence. Instead, Lady Winterton rose to her feet and walked gracefully away from the sofas to look through the bay window. A heartbeat later, she turned and placed her hand on the small writing desk that stood there. “Yes, you know how very much I wanted to protect my son,” she began in her gentle, melodic voice. “My goodness, I live for that boy, and how I loved his father. Francis is his very likeness, not just in face, but also in temperament. I knew when he was young that his impulsive tendencies would cause trouble, so I chose to bind him. It was not a decision I took lightly, as the power of binding sometimes cannot be undone. However, I saw it as my duty to do whatever was necessary to shield him.”

She glanced back outside the window, then turned to Demetra once more.

“I especially did not want his children to be cursed with the same dual heritage as him.”

“Dual heritage?” Demetra asked, her brow furrowing.

“Francis’s father, Victor, was an infernal.”

“Like me. Yet you oppose our marriage.”

Lady Winterton inclined her head. “Yes. I do not oppose it on genetic grounds, as you seem to think, but on ethical ones. Two such dissimilar heritages make for a most volatile combination. I know from at least some experience.”

“Lady Winterton, what would you say if I told you my Aetheral half is not completely infernal, but a ‘volatile combination’ of infernal and celestial?”

“Is that so? One cannot tell with you, Miss Ashdown, because while the ton is aware that you are an Aetheral, those of us of that particular race cannot sense your power. That concerns me too.”

“Rest assured my power is as tangible as yours. Whatever keeps others from sensing it seems to be a natural defense mechanism to prevent others from using my ability to their benefit.”

With another nod at her, Lady Winterton remarked, “Then perhaps your relationship with my son is not as dangerous as I initially feared. However, I realize I am digressing from my original point and your question. You see, Victor was not just a member of the House of Lords and a clever businessman. He was a member of a rather covert society of Aetherals. That is how I met him when I was young and adventurous – through this society. We did not operate under the auspices of any particular government or regime, but as an autonomous enclave dedicated to preserving the dignity of our kind. Our main concern was protecting humanity from those of us who might take advantage of or subjugate them. In other words, we sought to prevent Aetherals from using their superior abilities to the detriment of mortals.”

Her violet eyes softened with remembrance.

“Nicholas Farrell was also a member of the enclave. All the better for him to covertly do what he did best – use his powers to his own twisted advantage.” Lady Winterton blinked and shook her head. “Obviously, my husband found out about it. When he did, he was furious beyond words. Victor always had a temper, you see – one that he passed on to Francis. Well, the day he confronted Nicholas, there was no stopping him. Victor could do something rather alarming. He could control parts of another’s anatomy. When he learned what Nicholas had been doing, he wanted to tear him apart. The only reason Victor started with the eye, was because Nicholas tried to shoot him. What he really wanted to remove first was something far too delicate to discuss in polite conversation.”

“Is that when the inspector killed your husband?” Demetra asked.

“No, Nicholas escaped that day, thanks to Dr. Heiland’s intervention. He returned later to kill my husband. Not the first Winterton he killed, mind you.”

“Nor will your husband be the last if we cannot find Francis.” With a sigh, Demetra rose to her feet. “It saddens me to hear your story, but I am glad you told it. Now I understand your objections to mine and Francis’s engagement.”

“Please know I do not object to you, Miss Ashdown, not truly. It’s just that I… As Francis resembles his father, I see a great deal of myself in you. Had your mother and I run in the same circles, I would venture to guess she and I would have been friends. However, she was always of a scientific mindset, as I understood it.”

“Yes, quite, and I believe she still is.”

Lady Winterton scrutinized her for a long moment, and then said, “You love my son very much. It is not something you show often, though, is it?”

“Am I truly that easy to read?” Demetra asked.

“I can just tell with you.” The woman’s expression relaxed into something almost resembling a smile. “What if you had come here and I was not willing to tell you these things?”

“Then I would have said something horribly and rudely unflattering, stalked out of here, gone to Scotland Yard, and interrogated Dr. Heiland myself.”

A muted sound of mirth escaped Lady Winterton’s lips. “I do not doubt it. However, let us see if our efficacy in conducting such an interview is greater if we work together. I will call for a carriage.”

“A moment, though.” Demetra put her hand out and said, “May I ask what you meant when you said your husband was not the first Winterton that Nicholas Farrell ever killed?”

“Why yes. My husband was the second. The first was my husband’s twin sister, Chastity. Sadly, Nicholas did not respect either her surname… or her forename.”

Chapter Fifteen

“Miss Ashdown? I am Chief Inspector Solomon Lantry.” The policeman extended his hand and Demetra accepted it with a nod. He was quite a bit older, with a lined, weathered face, steel gray hair, and earnest brown eyes.

“Good morning, Chief. May I please present Lady Angeline Winterton? She is here on behalf of her son, Francis Winterton, who is still missing.”

The chief bowed and said, “We will do everything we can to locate your son, Lady Winterton.”

“Sir, as this is a matter between Aetherals, I wonder if we might be permitted to speak with your prisoner.” Lady Winterton tilted her head slightly and gave the chief a charming smile. It was the first time Demetra had seen her look something other than supercilious and she blinked in surprise.

“We recognize this as a joint investigation under the auspices of the Astronomer Royal. Since Miss Ashdown is acting as his agent, you are more than welcome to see the doctor. Please follow me.” The chief led them down a series of halls until they were in an isolated area with prison cells spaced apart widely. “We do not want her near our other prisoners, of course,” he explained.

A man was standing before one of the cells, his hands clasped behind the back of his black jacket, and Demetra gasped. “Mr. Christie! Are you well enough to be here?”

He approached to take both her hands in his. “Miss Ashdown, it is only because of you that I am here at all. How can I ever repay you for rescuing us? I did not think I would see the light of day again. How did you do it?”

“You may thank Lord Winterton for the rescue. He sacrificed himself in hopes that a tracking device we placed on him would lead us to the perpetrators.” She turned to include the noblewoman. “This is–”

“It is dear, beautiful Angeline.” The Astronomer Royal took Lady Winterton’s hand and kissed the back of it. “It has been far too long.”

Demetra’s gaze moved between the middle-aged man and woman. “You know one another?”

“Mr. Christie was a member of the original enclave before his appointment to his current office in 1881.” The noblewoman’s smile turned fond and she tilted her head to one side. “I realize I have been remiss in keeping in contact with you. Please forgive me, William.”

“You had your reasons for stepping aside after your son was born, particularly with your husband trying to keep the enclave moving forward until his death earlier this year.”

“We have all moved on since then. Victor and Nicholas were really the only ones left at that point, besides Marlowe. But with Victor’s death and Nicholas’s betrayal, Marlowe was completely disheartened. Like me, he felt it best to retreat from society for a time.”

“New responsibilities, families, and tests of loyalty have driven all of us apart,” the Astronomer Royal said earnestly. “That and time itself seems to be the other culprit. I think many of us were weary of adventuring. We may be immortal, but many of us are no longer as young as we once were.”

“But,” came the doctor’s voice from within her cell, “you could be stronger if you had trusted our vision.”

“Is that what you promised Nicholas?” Lady Winterton turned, her expression once again the frosty, foreboding one to which Demetra was accustomed. “You should have remained in your motherland, Dr. Heiland, since we were content to let our continental counterparts deal with you. Now you are on our land, and subject to our laws.”

“What will you do with me?” the doctor asked, grasping the bars and grinning through them at the people there. “Will you torture me for information?”

“We are not in the habit of employing barbaric means to extract a confession,” the chief interjected. “Furthermore, we do not need it, since we have the testimony of seven witnesses. If you are willing to cooperate and tell us where to find Lord Winterton, though, it may go easier on you in a court of law.”

The doctor threw back her head and laughed, the sound reverberating off the walls. When her mirth subsided, she looked at them, her blue eyes wide. “You are fools, condemning yourselves to mediocrity, when our kind has been given the power to subjugate the world!”

“And you,” Lady Winterton hissed, “are a fanatical madwoman whose experiments have done more ill than good. It ends here and now. You committed cold-blooded murder on English soil and, by the gods, I will gladly take on the role of executioner. Now tell me where my son is, or so help me–”

“You will what?” Dr. Heiland’s grip on the bars tightened and she continued to stare at them with that same, zealous expression on her face.

Lady Winterton reached through the bars and seized the doctor by the wrists.

From her vantage point, Demetra not only felt the power flowing from the noblewoman, but saw the shimmer of threads of golden energy wrapping around the doctor. Entangled in the eldritch tendrils, the doctor’s eyes widened and she pulled back from the bars, straining against the other woman’s grip. However, Lady Winterton’s grasp on her wrists was tenacious as the climbing strands of energy. With one last burst of power, she set the binding in place. It felt to Demetra as if the tension in the room had briefly expanded, and then woven itself tightly around the doctor.

“You will never harm another living creature,” Lady Winterton declared, her voice hard and her gaze unblinking.

The doctor sank to her knees, staring at her hands. “What have you done to me?” Her voice rose to a wail. “I cannot feel my powers. What did you do?”

“If you somehow manage to escape the hangman’s noose, which I doubt, then it will hardly matter with your powers bound. It will last for as long as I deem fit, and that means forever. There is no undoing it, unless I choose to undo it.” The noblewoman glared down her nose at Dr. Heiland. “And I won’t,” she hissed.

“No…” The doctor’s body shook as shudders wracked it. It took a moment for Demetra to realize the maniacal woman was crying.

“Yes. How does it feel to no longer sense your own abilities, to be as far removed from your Aetheral heritage as possible? How does it feel to have your power completely blocked? How does it feel to be unable to access it, no matter how hard you try?”

“Why not render me blind and deaf as well,” the doctor sobbed, looking up through the tears glistening in her eyes. “You have taken everything from me.”

“You have taken my son from me and Miss Ashdown’s fiancé from her. Your powers for his life.”

“No. No.” Shaking her head, Dr. Heiland glared at them and choked out, “You will get nothing from me. Let them try, sentence, and execute me. I do not care. You will never see your precious son again!” Her sobs bubbled into laughter that echoed off the walls of the chamber.

Lady Winterton turned on her heel and walked out of the prison area, leaving Demetra, the chief, and Mr. Christie to ponder the matter. As the madwoman continued to cackle, the chief merely shrugged and followed the noblewoman.

Mr. Christie turned to Demetra and said quietly, “Miss Ashdown?”

They fell into step together, leaving the hysterical doctor behind in the jail cell.

“I am sorry about Lord Winterton,” the Astronomer Royal said when they passed back into the hall that led to the lobby of the building. “We will do everything in our power to pursue Farrell.”

“I know you will, and of course I will not give up either,” Demetra agreed.

“Lady Winterton probably has resources she will want to call upon to assist in your search.” Mr. Christie sighed. “This is the whole reason the enclave existed – to prevent atrocities like this from happening. Why did all of us have to get a little older, a little more settled, have careers and appointments get in the way of it all?”

“How many of you were in the enclave?” Demetra asked as they stopped just at the end of the hall.

“Oh, roughly a dozen or so. There were the Wintertons, myself, Farrell, Marlowe, and a handful of others. Over time, we moved on with our lives, though some of us died.”

“Such as Chastity Winterton?”

“Indeed.” He nodded and said, “Hers was a most unfortunate loss. If not for that, I think her brother would not have behaved so rashly.”

“But I am confused, Mr. Christie. Inspector Farrell told me he was working with you when you initially brought me into this case. Why is that?”

“I suppose the inspector did not realize I was aware of the circumstances surrounding Lord Winterton’s death. After all, it was only this past January, and Lady Winterton remained in the countryside at the time. She made no move to avenge her loss. However, I did hear the details about it from Marlowe. When I got the news, I decided it was important to keep Farrell close to me, rather than have him indicted on charges of murder.”

“Why?”

“Well, no one witnessed the murder. That was problematic. So, rather than treat this as an incident for the human police to investigate, we treated it as enclave business.”

Demetra furrowed her brow and said, “I highly doubt Inspector Farrell was completely ignorant to the fact that you were aware of Lord Winterton’s murder. If anything, it sounds to me like you were both playing a very dangerous game of keeping one another close. He was probably waiting for the most opportune moment to strike at you.”

“As was I,” Mr. Christie said. “It seems he won in that regard. I suppose it was a rather complicated little dance of intrigues, even though I had hardly been in touch with Farrell for about ten years, but now it is at an end. There remains one last bit of enclave business unresolved, and that is bringing Farrell to justice.”

“Odds are he will lead us on a merry chase.” Demetra pursed her lips and slid her gaze toward the door. “I wish I knew what his next move will be.”

“Do you not still have that tracking device that led you to your fiancé in the first place?”

“Of course, but we were unable to pick up a signal from the doctor’s laboratory. We will try again, however he could be out of range. You knew the inspector quite well. Did he perhaps have a country home to which he may have retreated?”

“Not that I was aware of. Farrell tended to prefer the city. More distractions, I suppose, to cover the truth of what he was really doing.”

Demetra nodded as she mused over his words. “The doctor may have another residence elsewhere, but I know she has no intention of cooperating with us. We may simply have to wait on Farrell to contact one of us, an option I simply do not like.”

They rejoined the chief and Lady Winterton at the front door, Demetra still mulling over the situation. Her heels tapped smartly against the cold, hard floors of the Yard, but the reverberation of her footfalls did nothing to draw her from her musing. A piece of the puzzle was missing, she realized. Why Francis?

“If your men recover any pertinent information from the doctor’s home on the Isle of Sheppey, will you please contact me immediately?” she asked, giving her attention once again to the police chief and the celestials. “They may find some clues as to where Inspector Farrell has gone with Lord Winterton.”

“Of course, Miss Ashdown. We will keep you, Lady Winterton, and Mr. Christie informed of any new developments.”

As they left the Yard, Lady Winterton shook her head. “I should have known that idiotic woman would test my patience, but I do not regret my actions for a moment. I’ve been waiting to get my hands on her for so long. This time she made it personal; she has gone too far.”

“You did the right thing, Angeline,” Mr. Christie said with a nod. “Death is too good for her. Rest assured we will do all we can to find your son and bring Farrell to justice.”

“What do you have to say about this, Miss Ashdown?” The noblewoman turned to her. “As I understand it, you always have an opinion.”

“Well,” Demetra responded, not sure how to respond to the statement about her nature, “I will call on those who assisted in the rescue, and see what we can work out together. Since we used a tracker to locate Francis, I will see if it detects him now that we are back in town. We did not pick up a signal on the island, but we may be closer to Farrell’s new location now. Do either of you wish to accompany me?”

“Actually, I would like to peruse my case files in this matter,” Mr. Christie said. “Now that I have inadvertently acquired more information, it is time to look at this with fresh and experienced eyes. It isn’t often that one investigating such a case has the opportunity to look at it from the perspective of a victim, but my rather unfortunate involvement may be of some help here.”

“Since I have only recently been brought into this matter, I think it is in my best interests to go with William and learn all I can.” Lady Winterton surprised Demetra by patting her hand. “I have faith that if anyone can find Francis, it is you. My son is impetuous, but you are tenacious, which will serve you well. There is no doubt in my mind that you will do your utmost to rescue him.”

“Thank you, Lady Winterton. If you need me, please send word to my home, and I will respond promptly.”

The trio parted ways, and Demetra hired a hansom to bring her to Warom’s Apothecary. She stepped out onto the pavement at Piccadilly, paid the driver, and walked into the shop. Mr. Warom was behind the counter, looking over an array of bottles and making notes on a sheet of paper. He looked up and smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“How good it is to see you, Miss Ashdown. It has been far too long since we last met. Simon told me you had returned and you two have certainly been enjoying one another’s company. How was your trip to the continent last month?”

“It was most enlightening.” Demetra leaned across the counter to give the man a kiss on his cheek. The fondness he had for her was mutually reciprocated, as she had been as much his protégé as her father’s. She owed a great deal of her medical knowledge to him. “Is Simon here?”

“He is running some errands for the shop, which may take him the better part of the day. However, he did ask me to give you this if you stopped by.” The older man reached below the counter and then set the tracking device atop it. “I suppose this is another of his odd little inventions.”

“Indeed, it is.” Demetra picked up the device and slipped it into her purse. “Thank you so much, and please convey my disappointment at having missed Simon. Good day, Mr. Warom.”

As she walked home, she pulled the tracker out of her pocket, flipped the switch, and waited for the light to glow a steady red. Then she turned slowly in each direction, looking for an indication that Francis’s signal was somewhere within range. The light did not so much as flicker, and she pouted with frustration.

Once she arrived home, she ordered lunch and sat in the dining room, drumming her fingers on the table as she read The Times. The last couple of days had been a whirlwind of activity, and she knew it was not over yet. Not by a long shot.

Once the sandwiches were served along with tea, she absent-mindedly devoured every triangle of bread and fillings on the plate, while still flipping through the newspaper. After several minutes, she realized she was not even reading the words on the pages. Everything was a jittery jumble of black and white, and she finally rested her head on her hands.

“This is a disaster,” she muttered to herself. “I have no idea what to do next.”

“Miss?”

Demetra raised her head to see Elodie standing in the doorway. “Yes?”

“A message just arrived for you.”

Extending her hand, Demetra sighed and straightened in her seat. After the maid placed the letter over her palm and departed, she scrutinized the seal. It was not one she recognized, and she furrowed her brow as she opened the missive.

“My Dear Miss Ashdown,” it began, and she fought the childish urge to stick her tongue out at it. “At last I have the good fortune to reacquaint myself with your family and finally speak at length with your sister. After all your recent adventures, a holiday in the country will do you – and your family – a world of good. However, I would advise against bringing anyone but the necessary servants, as we would not want any harm to befall your fiancé. Very Truly Yours, Nicholas Hargate Farrell.”

Rising from her chair, Demetra strode from the dining room to begin her preparations.

“So it is to be just you and me,” she murmured as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. “Very well. Let us see how you propose we end this little game.

Chapter Sixteen

The Ashdowns’ country home was situated in Northaw, a beautifully wooded town in Hertfordshire, only a two-hour carriage ride north from London. Demetra watched for a while as the city scenery gave way to countryside, and then finally turned her attention to the book in her lap. Elodie sat opposite her, working on a piece of floral embroidery. The tracker lay on the seat beside Demetra. Ever since they had passed out of the greater metropolitan area, the light had remained a steady and unapologetic red.

Reading through the contents of the small, leather-bound book, Demetra noticed a corner peeking out at a slight angle. She flipped toward the back of the book and removed a photograph from it. It was folded in quarters and when she opened it, she realized it was a group portrait. On the back in faded ink was written, “The Aetheric Enclave, 1872: W. Christie, A. Winterton, V. Winterton, C. Winterton, N. H. Farrell, L. Griffin, M. Griffin, E. Smythe, D. Marlowe, and D. Marlowe.”

Her eyes widened as she studied the names, then flipped the picture back over in her hand. Mr. Christie and Lady Winterton looked significantly younger in the photograph. Though Aetherals did not tend to age much beyond their thirties and forties, they looked like they were still adolescents in the picture. Demetra had never actually seen Francis’s father, and this was her first look at his face. She saw some resemblance in the shape and set of his jaw, nose, and dark eyes, but the rest of Francis’s features were certainly inherited from his mother. Chastity Winterton was beautiful, as Demetra guessed she would be, and Farrell’s hand rested on her shoulder.

She did not recognize the others in the photograph, but her gaze rested on D. and D. Marlowe. Dante Marlowe had been, according to Mr. Christie and Lady Winterton, the last remaining member of the Enclave before it fell apart. Something about the features of both Dante and the woman beside him reminded her of Simon, yet she could not put her finger on it. It might have been, she thought, something very subtle, such as a turn of the lips or the shape of the forehead. Either way, she was intrigued, particularly as it was Dante’s diary in her lap.

Before embarking on her journey, she had obtained the book from Mr. Christie. The entries dated from 1890 to 1892, each progressively more melancholy than the last. Marlowe spared no detail in his description of the deterioration of the relationship between Farrell and Chastity – how her engagement to another man had enraged him, and set him on his destructive path; how Farrell took out his rage on mortal women who were unable to fight back; how the situation had ultimately ignited a fatal chain of events that had shattered the Winterton family and the Enclave itself.

Chastity could not retaliate or defend herself from Farrell, as her powers were limited to the ability to influence others’ moods and emotions. Try as she might to assuage Farrell’s pain, he was even angrier that she dared use her powers on him. It culminated the night he attacked and murdered her, which set her brother off on his quest for vengeance against his former comrade.

The last few entries spoke of Chastity and Victor Winterton’s funerals, Lady Winterton’s retreat from society, and the fact that the only witnesses to Farrell’s crimes were both dead.

“I fear,” Marlowe wrote, “he is untouchable. Christie seems to think it best to keep him close and has included him as a member of his celestial entourage. However, this serves only to compound my fears. I think it will ultimately do more harm than good to remain in contact with Farrell. His wrath has poisoned any hopes we had for the future. Rather than play such political games, I will follow Angeline’s example. The Enclave is no more. I dare not even approach Diantha’s son, for fear of embroiling him in this tragic business.”

Demetra mused over the names. Mr. Christie had not mentioned the Marlowes as siblings, and the way Marlowe wrote about Diantha, she wondered if the woman was deceased. Sorting out the relationships among the members of the Enclave was almost as tricky as sorting out the list of Dr. Heiland’s victims.

She closed the book, and placed it in her valise along with the photograph. The light on the tracker remained a steady red, despite the fact that they were close to Northaw. Shaking her head, Demetra turned the device off. She did not know what Farrell’s game was, but she was determined to beat him at it.

~~~~~

Ashdown Hall was not a grand manor, but it was larger while somehow being cozier than their townhome on Albermarle Street in London. Demetra preferred London for all its bustle and activity, while her father and sister preferred the Hall for its space and solitude. The grounds were considerable, but kept tidy by the gardeners. The home itself dated back to the sixteenth century, but was updated to include all the modern conveniences. It was constructed of brick and stone, painted white, and timbered in the Tudor style. The windows were glazed with crystal leaded lights, which gave the home a warm glow at night.

The carriage stopped on the drive before the home and Demetra looked out the window, letting her senses extend to see if anyone was on the grounds. She felt both her mother and half-sister, but no signs of other Aetherals in the area. Eyes darting from one side to the other, she slowly opened the door to the carriage and placed her foot down on the gravel.

Before she could take a full step, the front door opened and her mother ran toward her, grinning from ear to ear. “Demetra! I was so worried about you!” Acadia pulled her into an embrace. “Of course, I know you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, but your note still worried me. Is everything alright?” She stepped back to take her daughter’s hands in hers.

“Everything, as you ask, is tolerable,” Demetra answered cautiously.

“How delightful to have you join us today! Our little party will be complete.”

“What party?”

Acadia laughed and tossed her head to get some stray, wild curls off her face. “Inspector Farrell called on us to see how Verity is getting on, and we invited him to come for dinner tonight.”

“You must not trust him,” Demetra said, her grip tightening around her mother’s fingers. “He is the person responsible for the Aetheric disappearances in London.”

“That cannot be true. He works at Scotland Yard, after all.” Acadia tugged her hands free of her daughter’s. “What is wrong with you?”

Demetra shook her head. “Think about it, mother. You know people are not always what they seem. He was working with some horrible woman named Dr. Heiland. They kidnapped and killed several innocent Aetherals over the past month.”

Her mother stiffened and she asked, “Dr. Bernadine Heiland?”

“The very same.”

“I have a feeling you will tell me the entire story without me even asking what is going on. First, we need to get you settled and then you can tell me everything.” Acadia linked her arm through her daughter’s and led her into the house, laughing. “You seem to get in as much trouble as I did at your age.”

Once Demetra’s luggage was in her room and tea was served in the small family parlor, she showed her mother the tracking device and recounted the entire tale from start to finish. Acadia only sipped her tea and nodded.

When Demetra was done, her mother compressed her lips into a thin line for a long moment. She ran her hand over the pale blue damask of the loveseat and finally said, “I remember the Enclave. They were the equivalent of Aetheric do-gooders trying to protect the common man. Goodness knows such things were and still are needed in this world. You have seen for yourself the kinds of madness some Aetherals possess. We may be descended from the gods, but we are in no way exempt from the illnesses and proclivities of humankind. That includes sickness of a mental sort, which Dr.  Heiland has in spades.”

“I am concerned that Farrell lured me here as a distraction,” Demetra said. “Yet I do not think he would get me out here under false pretenses. He wants something, and I am sure this is a matter he feels is between Francis, him, and me. After all, he wanted me to come here alone. At first I felt certain you were in danger too, but it seems to me he is replaying the events of earlier this year – everything that transpired between himself, Chastity, and Lord Winterton.”

“I think you are right and we are not the ones in danger. He does not want anyone else involved in these matters but you and the Wintertons,” Acadia said. “With victims who can now tie their disappearances to both Heiland and Farrell, there is no way he can return to London. Involving us will only make it worse on him, should someone manage to bring him to justice. Perhaps our best bet is to keep our dinner appointment with him and let Farrell think he has some control over the outcome of this matter.”

“At the moment, he does. As long as he has Francis, I cannot do anything.” Demetra bowed her head and curled her fingers against her skirts, making long, taut furrows in the fabric. “I dislike this feeling more than words can express, mother.”

“I know you do, but try to let everything unfold in its own time. You need to go along with whatever he wants. Farrell is not inclined to give up his advantage any more than you would be if you were in his position.” Acadia rested her elbows on her knees, and her chin on her hands, looking at her daughter. “Why is it when I finally get you back, I have to abandon you to handle matters on your own?”

“That is not quite what you are doing, mother. You know as well as I do how important strategy can be in matters of life and death. Besides, I think I know what he wants…” She let her gaze wander to the Ashdown family portraits on the wall. After another moment, Demetra shook her head and said, “Forget my problems. How are you and father getting along? How is Verity?”

“Well, of course your father is in his workshop and I have been working with him. However, when I felt your presence, I left him so I could see you. It is wonderful to work together once more, and we are making some enhancements to his Emanator. Verity likes her solitude as well, but I have been able to tempt her out of the library for some walks on the grounds and into town. We seem to be getting along just fine, and I think I have been able to draw her out at least somewhat.”

“That is excellent news. Verity could use more encouragement to come out of her shell. It was difficult when her mother was alive. Rowena was more concerned about finding her a good marriage, than letting her just grow and be the young woman she chose to be.”

“Still,” Acadia said, “it is sad that she lost her mother. No matter what Rowena was, and despite the evil thing she turned out to be, it is hard on a child to be without a parent.”

“You need to stop dwelling on the past, mother. I have accepted you without question, and so has father. We need to focus on the future.”

“Yes, you are absolutely correct. I suppose I feel like I need to make up for something…”

Demetra leaned forward to put her hand on Acadia’s knee. “Mother, what you need to do now is just be here.”

The other woman straightened, smiled, and nodded. “I will say it is quite a relief to hear Dr. Heiland is in custody. Some of the horror stories about that woman make even me shudder.”

“Now that Lady Winterton has bound her power, there is nothing the doctor can do to harm another creature. That, at least, is some reassurance, even if Farrell finds a way to break her out of prison.”

“A prison-break hardly sounds likely. The way you explained it, I am sure his vendetta is specifically against the Wintertons, and working with Dr. Heiland was just one way to get to Francis.” Acadia rose to her feet and said, “I will make sure the kitchen staff know we have another one for dinner since you have arrived. However, I would not say anything about this to your father. Odds are he will give the entire game away, and then you will not get the answers you seek.”

“Thank you,” Demetra said. “Father can be a little too honest at times, and I need Farrell to think he has the upper hand.” With a small, feline grin, she added, “For now.”

~~~~~

When Farrell arrived at the house, Demetra waited in her bedroom while the family greeted him. She took three long, deep breaths, and then turned to check her reflection in the mirror. Even though this was no ordinary guest, she wanted to play tonight perfectly. Farrell had something she wanted, and it was up to her to exercise patience, particularly with Francis’s life at stake.

She turned and opened the door. The house was bathed in the warm light of the gas lamps, which gave it an almost festive glow. What Ashdown Hall lacked in activity, it made up for in pastoral beauty. Demetra patted her upswept golden ringlets and smoothed her hands along the bodice of her pale green evening dress. Though the country was less formal than town, her mother had insisted she treat Farrell’s visit like any other – as if it were important to make a good impression. Even though Acadia tended to favor earth tones and men’s clothing, she was also dressed to play the part of the gracious hostess.

Demetra opened her door and took her time descending the stairs, her hand gliding along the banister. She could hear laughter drifting from the large, formal parlor, some of it familiar and some of it… Grip tightening on the banister, she lifted her chin and gritted her teeth. Remember to play his game. With an exhalation, she let her body relax and continued her descent to the first floor.

Entering the salon, Demetra saw her father already chatting with Farrell in front of the fireplace, while her sister sat in one of the chairs, her gaze demurely lowered. Acadia was nowhere in sight, but Demetra sensed her in the kitchens, probably checking to ensure that everything was moving along as it should.

Her father turned first and said, “Ah, Demi. I am so glad you came to join us at the Hall. How has London been?”

“Quite lovely and busy as ever,” Demetra answered, approaching her father to give him a light kiss on the cheek. She turned and offered her hand to Farrell. “It is good to see you once again, Inspector.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” he responded, his expression neutral as he held her hand but did not kiss it. “I enjoyed a most delightful afternoon with your family yesterday, and was most honored when they invited me for dinner tonight.”

“We do not tend to entertain very often. That probably has something to do with my father’s penchant for putting all his energy into his work, and very little into socializing.”

“A problem we intend to rectify to at least some extent,” Acadia said from the doorway.  She walked into the room and shook hands with Farrell. “Though I also enjoy the work, I will do my best to ensure my husband does not become a hermit.”

“Then you are the very best kind of wife,” Farrell complimented her. “You give him the freedom to do what he must – to pursue that which drives him – yet you make certain he does not get lost in it. I, too, wish for such a wife.” His gaze strayed to Demetra, and she felt an icy chill sweep through her.

“Shall we dine? Everything is ready and it smells absolutely delicious.” Acadia offered Farrell her arm and he escorted her out of the salon. Nigel followed, and Demetra took Verity’s hand.

“Something strange is going on,” Verity whispered. “I can feel it.”

Demetra squeezed her little sister’s hand. “Coming into your powers at last?” she whispered back.

“I can hardly tell you, but I do know something about this whole night worries me.”

“All of you will be fine. It is me he wants.”

“Why do you think that?”

With a little laugh, Demetra said, “Ask whatever it may be – women’s intuition or a premonitory instinct, or even one of those gothic novellas you enjoy so much – and you might learn the answer. However, whatever you do, say nothing. Farrell cannot know you or mother suspect anything, or he will become suspicious himself. Let me handle this.”

“If you say so. Just be careful. You know what happens to pretty young girls in those gothic novellas.” In an expression rather unlike her usual, placid gaze, Verity lifted her eyebrow just a trace and nodded once at her. She then let go of Demetra’s hand when they entered the dining room, and took the seat next to Farrell. Demetra sat across from him, while her father sat at the head of the table, with her mother at the opposite end.

The chatter was low and pleasant as they spoke about work, the weather, and the latest news from London. Farrell asked Verity how she was getting on with her latest book, and she was surprisingly talkative, sharing her thoughts on the plot and the characters.

Despite the casual banter, Demetra felt the tension in the room. She sipped at her wine, determined to keep a clear head, as well as some modicum of patience.

“What do you think of it, Miss Ashdown?”

“Pardon me?” She lifted her head when she realized Farrell was addressing her directly.

“A House of Pomegranates by Oscar Wilde, the book your sister is reading.”

Shaking her head, Demetra responded, “I do not read books often, sir. I prefer to keep up on current events and confine my reading to the newspapers or books on science.”

“What a dull life you must lead,” Farrell said. “Personally, I hope my wife will amuse herself with fiction, and often. It does not do to become too serious. Constant solemnity is the sign of someone who does not enjoy life.”

“And constant levity is the sign of someone who does not take it seriously enough,” she shot back.

“There are enough serious moments that we must make our own light ones. In fact, I think it is vital for people – particularly women – to cultivate a more joyous approach to life. Rather than worry about it, they should accept what comes their way and make the best of it.”

“On that point, we will have to agree to disagree,” Demetra answered, returning her gaze to her plate. She realized she had eaten only a few bites of her dinner, and tried to apply herself more intently to the meal.

“It was a lovely dinner, Mrs. Ashdown,” Farrell said, turning to Acadia. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”

“It has been a pleasure to have you here. Perhaps you would care for some brandy or dessert?”

“No, thank you. However, I do wish to have a word with Miss Ashdown, alone if you do not mind.”

“Why, of course.” Acadia set her napkin on the table and gave her most charming smile. “Goodness knows we do not keep our daughters on a short leash. They may do what they like, within reason, of course. Darling,” she continued, turning to her husband, “I am sure you want to finish those adjustments on the Emanator. Shall we adjourn to the workshop for the evening and let Demetra see our guest out?”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.” Nigel rose from his chair, as did Farrell, and the two men shook hands. “Good evening, inspector. It was wonderful to see you once again.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ashdown. I hope to call on you again soon. Good evening.”

Verity also stood and said, “I would like to finish my book. Thank you so much for your kind inquiries into my reading. I must say, no one has ever taken the time to ask.”

“It was my pleasure.” Farrell watched as the family left the dining room, then, still smiling, turned to Demetra. “You have no intention of using your mother for any sort of back-up?”

“You told me to come here alone, and I am of the mind that our business is between the two of us.”

“That is very astute and wise of you, Miss Ashdown. I should hate to see harm befall Lord Winterton all because of you making a rash decision, and involving disinterested parties.”

Demetra gave a little curtsy and said, “In this matter, you may consider me your servant.”

“I hope to consider you more than that after tonight.” He took a step toward her and offered his arm. Demetra looked down her nose at it, and realized her feelings were plain on her face when the inspector said, “Do not worry. I mean you no injury.”

“Despite that declaration, I would feel more comfortable walking on my own. Shall we see the gardens?” She led Farrell to the front hall, where she took her coat off the rack. Fastening the buttons, she said, “It seems we have much to discuss.”

“We certainly do.” He picked up his hat and placed it atop his scruffy auburn hair. “Since we each have something the other wants, I am sure we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement to resolve this matter.”

“Farrell, I have a feeling the only thing that will resolve this matter is your conviction and execution, both of which I hope to have a direct hand in.”

Chapter Seventeen

“That was rather harsh, you know.”

“Was it?” Demetra wandered slowly among the rows of flowers and glared at the blossoms, impatient to get to the heart of the matter. “Farrell, let us come to the point here and now, rather than continuing this ridiculous game.”

“Very well. Since you insist, we will skip over the niceties and get straight to the point.” He turned and faced her. “I do not care about Dr. Heiland. She was a means to an end. While I felt I owed her some loyalty, she has served her purpose. Of course, since she is in custody, she will implicate me in her crimes. Even if she does not, the victims will. I am not foolish enough to return to London, or to remain here in England. The only reasonable thing for me to do is flee somewhere out of reach of the authorities. My family home in County Longford is one possibility, however it is a rather lonely place and I prefer not to spend the next twenty years hiding in solitude.”

“Then I suggest you find someone to keep you company,” Demetra retorted, “as both Scotland Yard and the last remaining members of the Enclave are well aware of your crimes, past and present.”

“Ah, so you know about the Enclave. Well, I should not be surprised. After all, Angeline may be a cold creature, but she would do anything for her son.” Clasping his hands behind his back, Farrell nodded. “Yes, Chastity and I were in love, or so I thought. It broke my heart when she refused my proposal.”

“Broke your heart so much, you used your powers to torment, not only mortal women, but Chastity as well.”

“Quite true. She was rightfully mine, though. Everyone in the Enclave knew it.”

“No human being can belong to another, unless they choose to do so,” Demetra said, glaring at him in the moonlight. “What you did to a family was far more appalling than a woman breaking your heart.”

“It hardly matters now. It is in the past, and I am owed a Winterton.”

“You took her life of your own accord. They owe you nothing!”

Farrell looked at her for a moment, his brow furrowed, and then he laughed. Demetra folded her arms and tapped her foot on the ground, waiting for his unseemly mirth to cease.

“You are too precious, Miss Ashdown.” The compliment came out as a growl, and he fixed his gaze on her. “Certainly too precious to let you marry that arrogant Lord Winterton, so I am offering you an opportunity to change your life forever, as well as to save his. You will agree to marry me. Once the agreement is fulfilled, your former fiancé can return to his mother and get on with his life.”

“If you think I will acquiesce to such a scheme, you are as mad at the doctor. First, prove to me that Francis is unharmed.”

“Did you think I would kill my one bargaining tool?”

Demetra shook her head. “Of course not, but did anyone think you would ever kill Chastity Winterton?”

“Touché, Miss Ashdown. Very well. Are you sure you want proof that Lord Winterton is alive and well? Do you realize what you are getting into?”

“Where is he?”

“At my family home in Ireland, of course. Did you think I would keep him in the country now that I am a wanted man?”

Clenching her fists, Demetra hissed, “How did you manage to get him there from Dr. Heiland’s laboratory?”

“It is a strange thing, the way our powers function. Some of us can merely make someone laugh or cry, like Chastity could. Others can bend time and space to their will. I can teleport a machine to any location I have ever visited, though I have tried this teleportation on my own and failed. So it seems technology empowers me to do it. Quite interesting, really. Dr. Heiland was never able to figure it out, though she had her theories.” Farrell took a step closer and looked down at her. “What I still have yet to figure out is what your power is, Miss Ashdown.”

Looking up at him, unblinking, she simply said, “You will never find out.”

“There can be no secrets between husband and wife.”

“Whether or not we will become such things to each other remains to be seen.”

Farrell snorted with laughter, and then held out his hand to her. “Shall we?”

Placing her hand in his, Demetra shrugged. “I do not see any sort of device you can use to trigger this teleportation ability of yours.”

“I think this…” Farrell reached into his coat pocket with his other hand and withdrew a circular band made from a series of wires. “This little item ought to do the trick, do you not agree? Interesting piece. I found it on Lord Winterton’s wrist after escaping the doctor’s laboratory. Perhaps this is how you managed to locate us.”

Her breath hissing between her teeth, Demetra bit back a sharp retort.

“As soon as I saw it, I deactivated it. However, it does not need to be active for me to use it for teleportation.” His hand tightened around hers and, suddenly, Demetra felt as though the ground had been yanked out from beneath her feet.

~~~~~

Once she felt her feet on solid ground and the dizziness receded, Demetra blinked and looked at her surroundings. The building was made of gray stone with dark wood accents that brought to mind a cozy hunting lodge.

“Welcome to my ancestral home,” Farrell said, dropping her hand and walking around to survey the room. “It may not be as nice as your family’s, and it certainly is not as grand as anything the Wintertons own, but it has its own charm.”

“Unlike its owner.” Demetra turned a full circle to look at the home and nodded. “It does seem to offer many comforts, however the one thing I do not see is my fiancé.”

“Do not worry. He is just fine and being treated as a guest. Mind you, it was quite a surprise when he woke up and I found out he is stronger and more agile than I expected. I must admit, I did have to neutralize him to keep him from causing me any harm.”

“Neutralize?”

“I did not do any lasting damage. It was just to put him out of commission, so I could secure him. Please, follow me.” He turned and walked out of the room, leading Demetra to a flight of stairs. “As you can see, I did not chain him up in the basement as though he is some kind of animal.”

“Surely you are a gentleman of the highest caliber,” Demetra retorted.

“You can be as sarcastic as you like, Miss Ashdown, but everything I have done, I have done for you. That includes treating your dear Lord Winterton with at least some modicum of respect, and I suggest you do the same for me. Keep in mind you are now in my home. There is no way you or Lord Winterton can leave this place without me allowing it.”

“Then why should I trust that you will let him go once I agree to your terms?” She raised her face to glare up at him, her hands on her hips.

“That is an excellent question.  ou will just have to trust me, Miss Ashdown.”

As they walked up the stairs, Demetra’s gaze moved continually, taking in her surroundings. The stone was cool to the touch and the house smelled musty, even though it looked clean. She moved her awareness back to Farrell. “Why this interest in me?” she asked. “I have nothing to offer – no dowry, no title, no influence.”

“You have something very significant to offer. When you first met with Mr. Christie a few months ago, he asked me to keep tabs on you. Since you were involved with the Wintertons, it was only natural that my own interest evolved beyond a professional level. After all, you found a most interesting item for him, only to allow it to get destroyed. Mr. Christie speculated on your abilities, but never had a specific answer about them.”

“Is that why you are interested in me? My abilities?”

“Not at all.” He stopped at the top of the stairs and looked down at her. “My interest in you is far more personal than that.”

Demetra waited, her foot on the edge of the step below his. “Should I be flattered by your regard?”

“I think so, though you may disagree.”

Her gaze slid past him, to the hall beyond. “Francis is up here.”

“Yes, he is. I realize you are eager to see him. Come along with me and you will be reunited, at least for a brief time.”

“You cannot expect me to remain here for the night. It is highly improper without a chaperone.”

“Out here, you need not concern yourself with such things.” Farrell turned and led her along the hall. He pulled a large ring of keys from his pocket and opened the door. “Mind you do not take too long. It is quite late and I am sure all of us are tired.”

With a nod, Demetra stepped into the room. He shut the door behind her and she took a moment to view her surroundings. The room was sparsely furnished with a bed in the middle, a chest at the foot of it, and an armchair by a small window.

Francis turned upon her entrance, but did not rise from the chair where he sat. He wore the same clothes as the night he had given himself up to Farrell. The growth on his chin and rather scruffy appearance to his hair indicated that he had not bathed since that night. Demetra crossed the room to him and knelt before him.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, her fingers curling into the upholstery of the chair.

He shook his head. “Not physically, no, though I cannot move very well.”

“What did he do to you?”

“He somehow converted the paralytic agent in the iron maiden for use as a separate injection. I suppose it is the only thing that keeps me from ripping his head off.” Francis’s voice was a low growl and his body was taut, which Demetra suspected was not merely a result of the chemical agent coursing through him.

“I suppose so.” She could not help but smile at his remark or the fury emanating from him.

“We need to find a way to get out of here,” Francis sighed, slowly lifting his hand to pat her shoulder. “Did you bring Verti or Simon with you?”

She shook her head.

“Your mother?”

She shook her head once more.

“Your… sister?”

Demetra walked her fingers toward him until she touched his leg. “I did not bring anyone with me. I met Farrell alone, as he instructed.”

“How could you do anything so foolish?”

Demetra put her fingers over his lips and said, “Do you know why he is so interested in either of us, beyond the fact that he killed your father?”

“Yes, he told me the story – everything that happened with my aunt and my father. More things my mother never revealed in her endeavor to shelter me, I suppose.”

With a nod, Demetra said, “Did he tell you about the Enclave?”

“He did.” Leaning his head against the back of the chair, Francis sighed. “It is hard to believe my parents were involved in such a thing. Clearly, my mother’s scheme to keep me in the dark did not protect me at all. Had I known the whole story, I might have been suspicious of Farrell when we first encountered him.”

“Looking back and realizing your mother did us more harm than good by withholding information will not help us now.” She heard the door handle and glanced back over her shoulder. “It looks like I need to play the docile captive and go to bed. Trust me, Francis, when I say I will do everything in my power to get you out of this.”

“And what about you?”

“I can take care of myself.” Demetra rose to her feet and scowled at Farrell when he entered the room. “For goodness sake, the man needs a bath and some decent clothes.”

“I am sure he can obtain all of that when he returns home on the morrow.” The disgraced inspector shrugged. “I have already contacted the parish priest and made the arrangements for us. I hope you approve of my expeditiousness.”

“That is rather presumptuous of you, since I have yet to give my consent to the marriage.”

“I see. Well, perhaps I was wrong in anticipating your cooperation in this matter.” Farrell took another step inside the room, flicking his glance over to Francis. “Did seeing your fiancé change your mind?”

“If you will recall, I never gave an answer one way or the other.” Demetra shrugged. “You named your terms. One thing we did not discuss was whether or not I agreed to them.”

“Well, I think it would be wise for you to make a decision before tomorrow morning, as our appointment is at eleven o’clock.”

“And if I do not agree? Killing Francis will not give you a bride. It will simply lose you a hostage.”

Farrell’s eye narrowed and he finally snarled, “Who said anything about killing him?”

Chapter Eighteen

Sunlight danced at the edges of her vision, but Demetra kept her eyes shut a few moments longer, determined to make the night last. When she could no longer ignore the insistent motes of bright gold, she threw the duvet cover off and placed her bare feet on the chilled stone floor. Crossing to the wardrobe on the other wall, she opened it and took out last night’s evening dress. The nightgown she had been provided was a little large, but serviceable. Now she removed it and replaced it with yesterday’s clothes. Without any of the feminine basics, all she could do was comb her fingers through her hair and hope her blonde curls did not look terribly wild.

The room Farrell had given her was only a few doors along the hall, diagonal from Francis’s. She glanced at his door, but knew it was pointless to try it, since Farrell kept it locked. Resigned to her present course of action, Demetra walked downstairs, listening for the clatter of flatware that might indicate where she would find the dining room. It was just to the left of the stairs and she walked along a very short hall until she found it.

Farrell was sitting at the table and a rather plain-looking maid was setting plates of food on it. “Please, come in and have some breakfast,” he said when he saw her.

“Thank you.” Demetra took the chair to his right and reached for a plate of eggs. As she began loading food on her plate, she let her gaze slowly wander around the room. There was a large fireplace with decorative swords crossed over the mantel. They did not appear particularly effective as weapons, and she returned her attention to the plate of food.

“Did you sleep well?” Farrell asked solicitously.

“Quite well. I find the cooler air refreshing.”

“You certainly never did strike me as a delicate lady unable to handle a drafty old home. Obviously such a hardy constitution is vital for living in a place like this.” Farrell nodded with approval while he cut into the ham on his plate. “While I do think fragile women have a certain charm to them, it is an overrated charm.”

“Indeed.” Demetra ate her breakfast, which, while not tasty, was adequate. When she was done, she wiped her mouth on the napkin and said, “Perhaps you will show me the grounds.”

“Interested in seeing your new home?”

“It only makes sense.”

Farrell nodded and rose from his seat. “Shall we begin out front?”

“Of course.” Demetra followed him to the door and stepped outside when he opened it. The landscape was a lush green, dotted with large gray stones and rocks. A cobbled path led from the door and down over rolling hills. She saw the steeple of a church and thatched roofs of a small village in the distance. “What is that place called?” she asked, pointing toward the buildings.

“That is the village of Keenagh. Once you are settled here, you will want to meet the villagers and get to know them.”

Tilting her head, Demetra said, “Do you not think that is rather premature of you?”

“You are here and have no way of removing Lord Winterton from my custody. It seems rational to presume I have won.”

Reaching down to unhook her fan from her bodice, Demetra swept it open and retorted, “You presume incorrectly, Farrell. I will end you here and now.”

He stared at her for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed. “Really?” he chortled, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “You and what army, Miss Ashdown?”

Tipping her face up to the sky, she answered, “That one, Farrell.”

Before he could even look in the direction she indicated, a thick rope ladder tumbled down between them and something dropped from the sky. Tossing her fan to the ground, Demetra used both hands to catch the rifle. She pulled back the hammer and took aim.

“Did you think I was without resources?” she asked, arching her brow.

“Do you think you can actually use that on another human being?”

“It depends. Did you miss the part in my file where it said ‘Has killed when necessary’? You acknowledged I’m ‘no delicate lady’, so go ahead and try me.” She pressed the butt of the rifle to her shoulder and looked along the sight. “Though I would really rather permit Francis the honor.”

Farrell glanced up as someone climbed down the rope from the airship overhead. The inspector took two steps back as Simon let go of the rope and dropped the few remaining feet to the ground. His normally rumpled appearance was rumplier than usual, Demetra concluded. However, she could overlook that, given the present state of things.

Rendering a jaunty salute to the two people looking over the rail at him, the apothecary said, “It seems Lady Winterton, Verti, and I arrived at the perfect time. Shall I take over from here?”

“Thank you, Simon, but I am perfectly capable of injuring or killing this pathetic excuse for an Aetheral if he so much as blinks at me. Farrell, would you be so kind as to give Simon your keys – specifically, give him the one to Francis’s room.”

Shooting a withering glare her way, the inspector reached into his pocket and handed the ring of keys to Simon as instructed.

“You will find him up the stairs, second door on the right,” Demetra said. “I’m hoping the effects of the drug Farrell used to incapacitate him have worn off, and he can walk out here on his own. However, I hope you will know what to do if he is still under some sort of chemical influence.”

As she spoke, two more people slid down the rope and to the ground. Simon nodded and with a terse “Of course,” jogged into the house, while the other two men positioned themselves on either side of Demetra.

“Cheever,” Farrell snarled.

The man ignored the prisoner and turned to Demetra. “Inspector Cheever of Scotland Yard, as well as Mr. Christie’s celestial society. It seems we finally have the evidence necessary to bring Farrell to justice for at least some of his crimes, if not all of them.”

“Would the confession he made to me regarding the deaths of Chastity and Victor Winterton serve to ensure he is charged in their murders as well?” Demetra asked, her head still cocked to the side, keeping Farrell sighted over the barrel of the rifle.

“I think so, Miss Ashdown. At the very least, we can take your testimony and see what the courts decide. With the number of eyewitnesses to his collaboration with Dr. Heiland, there is no doubt in my mind he will hang alongside her, but I am sure it will give the Winterton family satisfaction to see him prosecuted for his crimes against them as well.”

The other policeman removed a pair of manacles from his belt and approached Farrell, with a quiet, “It would be better if you cooperated, sir.”

Farrell did not take his gaze from Demetra, and she narrowed her eyes when she felt the surge of power only seconds before he reached for the muzzle of rifle. As soon as his hand closed around the barrel, she pulled the trigger. He fell back, but not before the weapon wrenched itself around to point at Cheever. The hammer cocked back of its own accord, and Demetra gasped in horror. Dropping the rifle, she threw herself in front of the startled celestial as the next shot fired. The shot flew wide and before she could catch her breath, Demetra extended her hand for the rifle and called it to her. Farrell did the same, and the weapon wavered back and forth violently in midair, trying to respond to the pull from both sides.

“So that is your power,” Farrell growled, his gaze sharp. “You can call technology to you.”

“Aetheric items, to be precise,” Demetra answered, still battling for control of the rifle. “Simon is an excellent artificer. He incorporates infernal or celestial energy in nearly everything he invents. You may as well give up, as you are outnumbered. Even if you somehow manage to obtain this weapon, there is no way you can stop all of us.”

“Oh, I think I am marksman enough to do the job.”

“Really?” Demetra gave another tug of power.

“Really.” Farrell’s pull was slightly stronger, and the rifle flew into his hands. He drew back the hammer, took aim at Demetra, and a shot went off.

The inspector’s eyes went wide with surprise before he slumped to the ground and dropped the weapon.

“My only regret is I did not have the opportunity to look the bloody bastard in the eyes when I did that,” Francis snarled from where he stood behind Farrell’s body, one of his pistols held before him.

“At least I know the trackers work,” Simon said, approaching Demetra. “I cannot believe yours transmitted the signal all the way from Ireland.”

Raising her arm, Demetra reached under her sleeve to remove the blinking device. “Neither can I. It is very fortunate you made improvements to the second model.” She looked at Francis, her gaze sweeping over him from head to toe. “Are you fully recovered, my love?”

“I think so, though I could do with a good night’s rest, a decent meal, a bath, and a shave, among other things.”

“Oh? What other things.”

Francis put his arms around her and grinned at the policemen. “Would you give me a moment of privacy with my fiancée?”

“Of course, Lord Winterton.” Cheever and his partner tipped their hats and walked away to crouch over Farrell’s body.

“I think I will just return topside and let the ladies know all is well.” Simon turned and began his ascent up the ladder.

“Are you sure this is appropriate?” Demetra asked, raising her face to Francis’s.

“No one but you, me, and the Emerald Isle need to know,” he answered, before kissing her.

Chapter Nineteen

“No obituary whatsoever? How odd.” Nigel Ashdown furrowed his brow and reached for his morning tea. “That is very irregular, don’t you think?”

“When an Aetheral dies in disgrace, the powers that be rarely dignify them with something such as a memorial, especially written.” Shaking her head, Acadia reached for another slice of toast. “Of course, we rarely receive the credit we are due for many of the crimes we solve and the people we bring to justice, however that is probably for the best. This world may tolerate our kind, but we still frighten them.”

“I suppose we should just be grateful for Dr. Heiland’s swift trial and execution. I only wish some of our kind did not have to lose their lives in the entire process.” Demetra neatly folded The Times and set it beside her breakfast plate. As far as she was concerned, everything was where it belonged – the Ashdowns back in their London townhouse, breakfast and The Times in front of her at half past eight o’clock in the morning, and Francis no longer in the clutches of an avaricious rival.

“Without someone to police the Aetheric world, these things will continue to happen.” Acadia shrugged and continued to pile toast upon her plate. Demetra raised an eyebrow as her mother added, “Look at me. I chased Ciaran around the world. I spent over twenty years of my life trying to stop him, though I am sure he is not the worst thing out there.”

“Also, look at you store up for winter,” Demetra pointed out.

Acadia looked down at her plate and shrugged. “I’m quite famished this morning.”

“That much is obvious.” Demetra placed her napkin on the table. “Well, while you send all of London spiraling into a bread shortage, I have an appointment with the Waroms this morning. If you do not mind, I must excuse myself.”

“Of course.” Her mother nodded, then turned her gaze to her plate once again. As her face took on a greenish tinge, she said, “I have a feeling the both of you have much to discuss.”

“Ah… yes, we do…” Demetra tilted her head as she regarded the pile of golden slices on her mother’s breakfast plate, then rose to her feet to prepare for her walk.

When she arrived at the apothecary it was not yet open, but Demetra knocked lightly on the glass door. It opened immediately and Simon said, “Come in. I cannot wait to see what it is you have for us.”

“Thank you. I expect you may not know as much about this little item, however, as your father does, though.” She followed him up the stairs to the living quarters above the shop.

Mr. Warom was standing in the cozy parlor, waiting for her. “Welcome, Miss Ashdown. I understand you have something you wanted to discuss with us about possible family matters.”

“Yes sir.” She sat on the small loveseat and reached into her valise for the diary. “While I was pursuing the matter of the missing Aetherals recently, I was given this diary. Someone named Dante Marlowe kept it. Did you know him?”

Eyes widening, Mr. Warom slowly shook his head. “Miss Ashdown… I-I…” he stuttered.

“I believe he had a sister named Diantha,” she rushed on, before Mr. Warom could protest. “I base that belief upon this passage: ‘The Enclave is no more. I dare not even approach Diantha’s son, for fear of embroiling him in this tragic business.’ Dante was referring to the death of Victor Winterton, Lord Winterton’s father. Since I noticed a bit of a resemblance between the Marlowes and Simon, I wondered if you could tell me more about Diantha.”

Simon licked his lips and glanced at his father. “Diantha was my–”

“Please, Simon, do not say another word.” Mr. Warom held his hand up for silence. He looked at Demetra once more, and then rose to his feet with a heavy sigh. “It is a very painful topic for me,” he said, rubbing his weathered forehead. “I cannot bear remembering, let alone discussing it.”

“Please try or I will be forced to draw my own conclusions,” Demetra answered gently. “Simon has a right to know.”

“Know what?” The young artificer’s gaze shot from his father to Demetra, then back once more. “Father, what is going on?”

After a long silence, Mr. Warom said, “Your mother, Diantha Marlowe, was a celestial. It did not appear as if she passed on her powers to you, but I wanted to be sure no one would find you or harm you, particularly with the Enclave connections. To confuse others who might somehow detect your powers, your uncle Dante set up a number of safeguards around the shop and our home. They make it appear as if any celestial energy radiates from them, and not you.”

“I have detected celestial energy many times during my visits to you.” Demetra pointed to the tea set on a table in the corner of the room. “Mind you, it comes from such mundane things as those plates, or an ink pen or a vase of flowers, that I was sure they were minor artifacts of some kind.”

“Dante returns every few months to recharge the protections and spend some time with Simon. He is my son’s only connection to his mother’s family.”

“How could I be celestial and not know it?” Simon asked, shaking his head.

“Francis was and did not know it.” Demetra handed him the photograph. “Your mother and uncle, and Francis’s parents and aunt were all involved in the Enclave. Clearly, they felt the need to protect their children. It only makes sense, considering they specifically organized themselves to function as Aetheric guardians here in England.”

Simon looked over the photograph, then up at his father. “Why did you not tell me?”

“For your own protection, son. You are involved heavily enough with Miss Ashdown’s endeavors, and while I have never questioned you, I do worry about you. I lost your mother. I do not want to lose you as well.”

“How did she die?” Demetra asked. “Aetherals rarely die of natural causes.”

“No, they do not.” Mr. Warom placed his hand over his mouth and blinked away the tears that shimmered at the corners of his eyes. “A traitor killed her. She learned that one of the other members of the Enclave – an Inspector Farrell – was using his powers to the detriment of others. Rather than wait to work with the others, she decided to confront him. Diantha was always more hotheaded than her brother. The note she left him told him she could not allow this evil to continue, but by the time Dante found her, it was too late.”

“So when everything was said and done with the Wintertons, both Dante Marlowe and Lady Winterton decided it was best to walk away quietly for the sakes of the children,” Demetra said, his shoulders drooping and his head bowed.

“Indeed. They had their families to consider, and they knew there was no way to bring Farrell to justice without eyewitnesses. Their logical conclusions, while solid and supported by evidence, were not enough to bring charges to have him prosecuted for murder.” Mr. Warom looked at his son. “I am sorry I never told you, but…”

“But you had to protect me.” Simon nodded and said, “I understand. So…” He looked up at his father, his blue eyes shining. “What powers do I have?”

“Well, I am not really qualified to discuss that with you. I think that question calls for a visit with your uncle Dante. I will arrange it as soon as possible.” Mr. Warom dropped into a faded old armchair and heaved a long sigh. “I suppose this was inevitable.”

Demetra bowed her head. “I am sorry if I have caused any trouble for your family, Mr. Warom.”

“You did not. Someday, I will be gone, and Simon deserves to know these things. I suppose I cannot protect him forever, particularly given his own little penchant for playing with Aetheric artifacts and devices. Do not feel as though you have trespassed on my good will. You are always welcome in our home, Miss Ashdown.”

With a smile, Demetra rose to her feet. “I am very glad to hear that. Now, if you are going to see Mr. Marlowe, perhaps you would be so kind as to return his diary and photograph to him. It will save me the trouble of bringing them back to the person who originally lent them to me.”

“Of course we will.”

“Thank you. If you will excuse me, I have another appointment to keep today.”

“Let me show you out.” Simon jumped to his feet and led her downstairs. “I cannot believe this,” he said with all the excitement of a child opening a present at Christmas. “How did you make the connection between me and the Marlowes?”

“When I saw the photograph, the resemblance was quite clear. I just had to hope for the best in asking your father such personal questions.” Demetra put on her gloves and smiled. “You, my dear old friend, have had quite a shock.”

“Not at all. It is thrilling! I cannot wait to find out more about my mother and my uncle.”

“Just promise me you will not go looking for trouble before you know what you are capable of,” Demetra said, placing her hand on his shoulder. “It is one thing to know you are an Aetheral. It is quite another to go gallivanting around town, embarking on foolish heroics.”

“Like you?”

“You know I do not take such ridiculous chances…” Her words faded and she put her finger to her lips, then amended, “Often.”

Simon chortled and shook his head. “Oh no. Not the great and logical Demetra Ashdown. Trouble simply comes to her.”

“Well, you may be right about that.” One corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. “But do promise me you will exercise caution until you learn more about your heritage and your abilities.”

“Of course, oh fearless leader,” Simon answered, saluting her.

Demetra tossed her hair and scoffed. “The day I take it upon myself to lead anything, is the day I fear for England.”

Chapter Twenty

“Miss Ashdown, I wish to apologize for my remarks when we first met.” Lady Winterton sat with her hands folded primly in her lap, her violet eyes earnest. “It was not just unseemly of me, but hasty. I spoke out of fear, not prejudice. Now you understand why I did.”

“I do, Lady Winterton, and I respect that.”

The noblewoman nodded and said, “Nothing would please me more than to see you and Francis married. However, I must object to this October date. Can you not make it sooner?”

“Did Francis put you up to this?” Demetra slid her glance in her fiancé’s direction.

“My dear, the two of you were engaged three years prior, and I see no reason to delay. Of course, back then, we really did not know one another and a date was not originally set. Now that we have finally had the opportunity to clear up any misunderstandings based upon our disparate heritages and origins, I think we should proceed as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, but why is that?”

“Do you not wish to be married? Most young women cannot wait for their wedding day.” Lady Winterton fluttered her hands as if they were small birds. “A June wedding would be divine.”

“But we have no observed all the protocols yet.”

“My husband did all of that three years ago, as I am sure your father will recall. The dowry was set, the match approved on both sides, and there was simply no cause for alarm at the time, since the Enclave did not realize yet the dangers it faced.” Leaning forward, Francis’s mother continued, “The entire incident between Farrell, the Marlowes, and my husband spooked us something terrible. Now that Farrell is no longer a threat, we must consider moving forward. If your past escapades are any indication, I think it is best for the wedding to take place next month.”

“What do you mean by that?” Demetra looked at her quizzically.

“Well, first you two went all over London and Greenwich in search of some clock. Of course, I was obliged to make the trip into town to make certain neither of you had damaged your reputations, and to discuss your renewed engagement. The moment I told you I disapproved of the match, what did you do?”

“Convinced Francis to accompany me to Paris and the States?”

“Correct, and I must say that while Vertiline Ashdown is a formidable Aetheral, she was hardly an appropriate choice of escort.” Lady Winterton shook her head and made a “tsking” sound. “And, once again, you two set off to bash about London like two children who do not know any better. In fact, on two occasions, I believe you have disguised yourself as a young man to accompany my son to less than desirable locations. Is this correct?”

Demetra nodded wordlessly.

“So I believe it is incumbent upon me to rectify the problem by insisting upon your prompt marriage, while your reputations remain intact. You are both quite intelligent – not young and foolish. Your affection for one another is obvious, and finances on both sides are stable. Furthermore, should you continue to attract trouble, you will be able to investigate such matters without concerning yourselves about a chaperone or escort. The suggestion is not just a romantic one, but a practical one. I see no reason for you to put off matrimony any longer. Do you?”

“I… I…” It was rare that Demetra found herself at a loss for words, but she finally shook her head and answered, “No.”

“Then I shall send word to St. James’s immediately to schedule the day. I will meet with your parents to plan everything. May I call upon them tomorrow at ten in the morning?”

“Yes, that would be most convenient.” Demetra sat back, her mind whirling with more thoughts and questions than she could even isolate.

“Lovely. A noon wedding on a Wednesday in June, followed by a small reception at your parents’ home, after which time you and Francis will honeymoon at – well, wherever you choose!” Lady Winterton looked delighted and she clapped her hands together. “I expect you two would like to take a walk and discuss your plans.”

Demetra simply stared at her, until Francis finally took her by the hand and pulled her to her feet. “Yes, we would most certainly enjoy that, mother. Thank you.”

Once they were outdoors, Francis gave her arm a shake.

“Did that just happen?” Demetra asked.

“I am afraid so. You look shell-shocked.”

“Somewhat, yes.”

Francis chuckled and asked, “Are you really that dead-set against marrying quickly?”

“It is just unexpected.” She shook her head and said, “You have barely had time to clean up since arriving home, and now your mother wants us to get married next month! There are so many things we learned in the past few days, I think we need time to really think about them.”

“That is very true.” They crossed Piccadilly Street and into St. James’s Square, where they finally sank down into a park bench and sat in silence for a few moments.

“Dante Marlowe, the man whose diary I read to learn more about the Enclave and the situation with your family, is Simon Warom’s uncle.”

“Really?” Francis looked at her with wide eyes.

“Yes. His sister, Diantha, was Mr. Warom’s wife and Simon’s mother. She was one of Farrell’s victims. It is no wonder Mr. Warom and your mother kept each of you in the dark about your abilities. They lost people very dear to them as a result of Aetheral in-fighting.”

“What I learned about my parents just amazes me,” Francis said with an incredulous shake of his head. His hunched posture as he sat on the park bench betrayed his thoughts. “The Enclave and all they went through…”

“It is tragic,” Demetra sighed, her own gaze drifting to the ground. “So many lives lost and so many people left brokenhearted as a result. I used to think Aetherals were enlightened, rational creatures; that all of us simply accepted life as some sort of tedious inevitability. Now I see I was wrong. Our kind are just as prone to irrationality and sentimentality as humans. I suppose that is why they formed the Enclave, though. The members knew these things and I? I have been blind to the faults of Aetherals, but there are some who are just as insane and sociopathic as any human.”

“I only wish something could be done about it,” Francis said with a nod. “Think of all the good the Enclave could do, if only it still existed.”

They both looked up from their mutual contemplation of the grass.

Demetra felt her heartbeat quicken as she met Francis’s gaze and asked, “Are you thinking what I am thinking?”

Acknowledgements

I write this with everlasting gratitude to my beta readers: Betsy, Meghan, CuzMo, and Joey – I hope you’re ready for Demetra’s next adventure.

The Aetheric Artifacts

The Chronos Clock

The Daemon Device

The Enigma Engine

The Gilded Gun: The Aetheric Artifacts Prequel

The Aetheric Enclave

Coming in 2015…

About the Author

Wendy L. Callahan is an urban and steampunk fantasy author, as well as a genealogical Nancy Drew in disguise. You can keep up with her at www.WendyLCallahan.com.

Table of Contents

The Gilded Gun The Aetheric Artifacts Prequel

The Gilded Gun The Aetheric Artifacts Prequel London, April 1889

The Chronos Clock Aetheric Artifacts: Book One

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

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

The Daemon Device: Book Two of The Aetheric Artifacts By Wendy L. Callahan

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

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

The Enigma Engine: Book Three of The Aetheric Artifacts By Wendy L. Callahan

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

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Acknowledgements

About the Author