Abraham took me by the arm and walked with me to my room.
“Get your things.”
I still had my duffel, so my things consisted of the revolver which I apparently shouldn’t have brought in the house with me. I picked it up, dropped it back in my bag. “Ready.”
“Did Neds say where he was staying?”
“No.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll find him.”
27
Alveré Case and his assistant also survived the triggering of the Wings of Mercury. And though Alveré died at an advanced age, his assistant and their children, still live.—2196
—from the journal of L.U.C.
We drove the back roads, starting with those closest to the house, then moving outward.
An hour rolled by. Neds was nowhere to be found.
“Where do you think he would go?” Abraham asked as we drove down the highway for the sixth time, looking for any sign of him. “The farm?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t think so. He would know that we might expect him to return there, right? And I’m sure he wouldn’t just go back to House Gray.”
“He was what—House White before working for you?” Abraham said.
“I never asked.”
“I think we should go back to House Gray and get records on him. There should be people from his past, family if they’re alive, friends. Places nearby where he would think he was safe.”
He slowed and pulled alongside a small café.
“What are we doing?”
“Getting some coffee and something to eat. It will only take a minute.”
“We need to keep looking.”
“I have a feeling if he wants to be gone, he’s got a good idea of how to do it. He knows you’re going back to House Gray. He will contact you there.”
It made sense. Even if I didn’t like it.
He ordered coffee and sandwiches, while I stared sullenly at the blue sky.
Abraham handed me my share. Even though I didn’t think I was hungry, the coffee was a welcome warmth.
He took a drink, unwrapped the paper off the sandwich, took a bite, and then drove back out onto the freeway to the speed-tube ramp.
“Eat something, Matilda. It will help.”
I took a drink of coffee and leaned my aching head on the headrest. I’d stopped bleeding, so that was something at least.
Neds had said that Robert wasn’t Robert. I’d sort of lost track of that, what with all the gunfire and wrestling and judgment.
“Is Robert always like that?” I asked after I gave in and took a bite of the sandwich.
“No.”
“Neds said that Robert wasn’t Robert.”
“What?”
I shrugged. “It’s what he said. Robert didn’t seem to recognize Neds, even though they met in the garage. And when Robert first came to the house, he didn’t seem happy to see you. He was so much more . . . formal and annoyed about everything. Could he somehow not be himself?”
Abraham pulled the car into a transfer pod, tapped in our information, destination, and fee.
“He’s been under a lot of pressure,” Abraham said. “House Orange is a difficult station to hold. But there was no reason to bring a gun to the house. You didn’t know that, but he did. Galvanized don’t need guns to settle conflicts.”
“Maybe he heard or saw Neds outside my window?”
He shook his head. “Still no need for a gun.”
“You told me once that scientists and researchers have done experiments on galvanized. And even . . . tortured.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think someone did something to him? To Robert?”
“No. Not even Slater Orange is that vile. And if anything had happened to Robert against his will, if he had suffered any harm, he would have rights to abandon House Orange. The only time a head of House can physically harm a galvanized is if he or she fears for his or her life, and then the head will use the Shelley dust.”
“So he was just being an ass.”
“It appears so.”
A ping on the dash rang out, and he tapped the screen.
“Welton is patching in the security cameras around the town, and”—he touched the corner of the screen—“around the nearest cities, especially the speed-tube exits. Since we have another couple hours to blow before we get back to Chicago, we might as well look through the feeds.”
I wadded up the sandwich paper, a little surprised that I’d eaten the whole thing. If someone asked me what kind of a sandwich it was, I wouldn’t be able to say, but my stomach was settled and my coffee was still hot.
“At least it will make me feel like I’m doing something,” I said.
He keyed up the multiple feeds, and we didn’t talk much, watching more than a hundred screens sort and sift through images. If Neds went anywhere near a camera, we’d see him. A two-headed man wasn’t such a common sight that we’d mistake him for another.
The hour rolled by, and then the second.
No Neds.
Abraham paused the feed.
“I thought Welton’s cameras were everywhere,” I said.
“Neds could be going overland on foot.” He rubbed at his eyes. “He could have taken side roads, avoiding cameras. Or . . .”
“Or?”
“Or he could have thrown in with a House who is covering his tracks for him.”
“What House has the power to do that? And why would they?”
“Any of the Houses can make someone disappear,” he said. “On their own or in concert with another House. And to answer your second question: to get to you.”
I pressed my palms over my face and exhaled into them. “I am beginning to seriously regret coming to the city.”
He drew my hair away from the side of my face, where it had fallen in a heavy curtain.
“We’ll find a solution. There isn’t any problem we can’t solve as long as we don’t stop trying to solve it. Trust that, Matilda. And if not that, trust that you are strong enough and resourceful enough. You’ll find your way through.”
I pulled one hand away from my face and let it fall in my lap. “That’s nice of you. But if we don’t find Neds, if we don’t find Quinten . . .”
“We’ll find them.”
He finished tucking my bouncy hair behind my ear, which I knew revealed the line of stitches down my jaw and neck.
I turned to look at him. Concern kindled in his eyes, shifting into heat and desire.
He held very still, maybe waiting for me to say something. Maybe waiting for me to say no. I raised one eyebrow. I wasn’t saying no.
He bent and covered my mouth with his own.
I made a small sound in the back of my throat, surprised, but not in a bad way. Not at all in a bad way.
His soft, warm lips moved over mine with a slow intensity, as if every inch of me should be savored, tasted. I inhaled and let him devour me. Heat pooled in my chest, pouring down my stomach and spreading across my thighs.
Oh.
I drew my thumb and palm gently across his rough jaw and smooth temple, and then buried my fingers in his hair, resting my palm across the back of his neck so I could hold him closer to me.
He gently opened my mouth with his tongue, and I gratefully let him in.
It was his turn to moan a little.
Slowly, we drew away from the kiss. His hands remained on my back and at my hip. I wasn’t ready to let go of him either. I pressed my lips together, already missing the taste of him.
“Are we going to talk about that?” I asked.
“Do we need to?”
“Most people would.”
“What would most people say?” He drew his hands back slowly, fingers slipping across my ribs.
I reluc
tantly released my hold on him. “I don’t know. That relationships aren’t easy. And we don’t even know if I’m staying in House Gray—”
“You’re staying in House Gray.”
“—much less if you and I are going to work well together.”
“I don’t see why we wouldn’t.”
“Your friend tried to shoot me today, Abraham. Maybe we should hold off on whatever this”—I pointed my finger at him, then at me—“is. At least until things are less complicated in our lives.”
“Lives are always complicated, Matilda. Happiness doesn’t seem to care. But, then, I am so much older than you.”
“You’re older than almost everyone.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
I shrugged. “I think I’d like an experienced man.”
“You say this because of all the experienced men you’ve had in your life?”
“No. I say that because I haven’t had any experienced man in my life. Or,” I said, “any man in my life.”
His head pulled up and he leaned back on an exhale. “You’ve never . . . had a boyfriend?”
“Hello? Living on a farm, staying off grid and as far away from civilization as possible. Also, stitched, so even if I did meet someone, I’d be a monster. Not human enough for that sort of thing.”
The chime of exit warning rang out and Abraham tapped the screens, closing the camera feeds and preparing to take over the driving again.
“You are not a monster,” he said, giving me a smoldering gaze. “Not even close.”
“That’s nice of you to say so. But look who’s talking.”
That got a smile out of him. “The voice of experience,” he said. “You should listen to it.”
“Should I?”
“I promise I’ll make it worth your while if you do.”
And there it was again, that smile, that heat. A blush crept across my face and neck, which only made Abraham smile wider.
“Is that a yes?” he asked.
“It is,” I said, while my heart pounded too hard for just those simple words. “Yes.”
“Good.”
Then the pod deposited us in the queue to the exit ramp, and a call came in.
Abraham shifted, his shoulders pulling back and his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He drove the car down a side alley and opened the message.
“Who is it from?” I asked.
“Slater Orange.” He frowned.
“House Orange? What does he want?”
“For me to attend him. Immediately.” He closed the message and swore, scowling out at the city and shifting crowd of people who moved by, paying our dark-windowed car no attention.
“Do you think it’s because of what happened with Robert?” I asked.
“Probably.”
“When does he want you there?”
“Immediately. The moment the message is sent, a countdown begins. If it takes me a minute more than allowed to reach him, there will be tension between our Houses. Debts owed.”
“That’s a stupid rule.”
“It’s there for a reason. We cut corners in the old days,” he said. “Took our time doing service to the Houses. Sometimes it would take us decades to following through on their summons. So the countdown was implemented.”
He rubbed at his jaw, then brushed fingers through his hair, making a decision. “I’ll take you to House Gray before I go.”
“I could go with you to House Orange.”
“No. He wants to see me alone.”
“All right. How long will it take you to drop me off at House Gray?”
“Ten or fifteen minutes.”
“Just let me out here. I can walk.”
“I don’t think you should be left unprotected.”
“I’m not made of glass,” I said. “There are signs posted everywhere to guide me and a million cameras watching. I couldn’t get lost if I wanted to. It’s in walking distance right? Plus, you were just saying I am resourceful and strong. Don’t go making me doubt your pretty words, Abraham Seventh.”
“Fine.” He bent and pointed out the window. “Do you see that building with the spiral at the top?”
“Yes.”
“That’s Gray Towers. Oscar will be there. He will know about my summoning and is probably already waiting for you. Someone at the door will let you in. Oscar will allow you up the elevators to the suites.”
“Good. That’s settled.” I reached into the backseat and picked up my duffel, slinging it over my shoulder. I thought about taking my rifle too, but decided it might cause more attention than I wanted. I still had the revolver in the bag anyway. I put my hand on the door handle.
“Matilda,” Abraham started.
“I got it. Don’t cause problems, don’t insult other Houses, and don’t get lost.”
“Yes,” he said, squeezing my arm, “but most importantly, be careful.”
“I will be fine,” I said. “I’ll go straight to the tower. I’ve faced a lot deadlier things than what roam these streets.”
“I know.” He hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something more.
“You are going to be late. Go.” I got out of the car, glad for the cool breeze on my warm face, and made sure to hide my stitches with my hair before I started off at a long stride toward the spiral building.
Abraham revved the engine and drove in the opposite direction.
I tried not to make eye contact as I strode down the street, but shouldn’t have worried. No one would look me straight in the face unless it was behind dark glasses. People standing alongside buildings or lingering in alley openings or dancing on street corners waved whatever they had in buckets, pockets, carts, telling me to buy, telling me it was good, the best, telling me they had no food and sickly children and no House to claim them.
The throb and noise of the place took up an ache in my head. Just like any other great beast, the city rumbled and roared and moaned in a language of wants and needs and pain, built out of a million voices, machines, and minds.
I looked for Neds, but the crowds were filled with strangers. I had never felt so alone in my life.
I crossed the next intersection, weaving between people, and glanced up at the spiral building now and again to make sure I was keeping my bearings. I reached the other curb, and a woman in a hooded coat bumped into me.
“Sorry,” I said.
Her hand caught at my arm and did not let go. I took a closer look at her. Short black hair, and a whorl of silver stitches laced across her cheek.
Helen Eleventh. “I know where your brother is,” she said. “Come with me.”
She strode down the sidewalk, swallowed by the crowd.
I waited, tracking where her pace should be taking her. Caught sight of her almost a block off.
I shouldn’t follow her. She was from House Silver, Vice, and could be using my missing brother as a way to try to claim me. Or maybe she knew where he was and I was letting a perfectly good lead get away.
“Dumb, dumb, dumb,” I muttered as I hurried up and followed her. I’d promised Abraham I’d walk straight over to Gray Towers. Oscar was waiting for me, right?
Still, if she could give me answers, it would be worth being a little late.
I paid attention to street names so I could navigate my way back. She was another block ahead of me, waiting next to a car. I looked around for guns or other signs of ambush. Didn’t see any.
Every fiber of my body was tense. This was probably a trap. But I had a gun in my duffel and it wasn’t there for decoration. I stopped a few yards away from her.
“You know where my brother is?” I asked. “Prove it.”
She gave me a look, one that said she didn’t like it when I asked questions.
Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out Qui
nten’s pocket watch. I knew it was his, just like it had been Dad’s and Granddad’s and Great-Grandad’s, all the way back to the early twentieth century. Quinten always carried it and wouldn’t have given it up easily.
My heart sank and then started pounding its way back up into my throat.
“Where is he?” I asked.
“Get in.” She pointed at the open car door. “I’ll take you to him.”
Bad idea, I thought. But that didn’t stop me. I got in the backseat, expecting the car to be crowded with muscle and threats. But it was clean and empty.
Helen got in the driver’s seat and started the engine.
“Sit back. Relax,” she said, pushing the hood away from her face now that she was safely hidden behind the darkened windows. “Have a drink if you like—there’s a small selection of spirits in the center section of the seat.”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s not far.”
House Silver. Abraham told me House Gray had contracted Quinten to work for House Silver. Oscar talked to Reeves Silver about it. Maybe Quinten was still there.
“Is he okay?” I asked.
“He’s alive.”
Relief hit me so hard, I almost went light-headed. “Are you holding him prisoner?”
Helen laughed, and it was the sort of low, sexy sound that makes men cut off their wedding rings.
“That’s a question for Reeves to answer.”
“Is that where you’re taking me?”
Her black-lined eyes shifted to look at me in the rearview mirror. “Yes. To meet the Saint of Sin.”
28
The Wings of Mercury device still exists, filled with the pulse of a long-dead comet.—2196
—from the journal of L.U.C.
Helen navigated the streets to a downward ramp and then drove through a series of tunnels lit with alternating yellow and red lights. We emerged into daylight and eventually turned down another street, and climbed up that to a huge mansion on top of a hill that overlooked the entire town.
She parked the car beneath an awning, turned off the engine, and paused before opening the door. “I’ll take you in. You can keep the gun in your duffel, but my advice? Leave it stashed, sugar. You don’t want to play hardball here.” She checked her lipstick in the mirror, then put on a smile and got out of the car.