The Twisted Tale of Stormy Gale @page { margin-bottom: 5.000000pt; margin-top: 5.000000pt; } The Twisted Tale of Stormy Gale By Christine Bell I’m a time pirate�"born in 1810, now a 21st-century woman. I travel through time trying to right wrongs without disrupting the fragile balance between what is and what can never be. That’s why it’s vital that I go to 1836 and find the man who conned my brother out of his Time Travel Mechanism as quickly as possible. If the technology falls into the wrong hands, it could change the world as we know it. The notorious Duke of Leister definitely qualifies as the wrong hands. An amateur scientist of the slightly mad variety, he’s bound to figure out how to use the TTM sooner rather than later. I knew this wouldn’t be easy. But I wasn’t counting on him being as sexy as hell. Or winding up chained to his bed�Ś 25,900 words Dear Reader, A new year always brings with it a sense of expectation and promise (and maybe a vague sense of guilt). Expectation because we don’t know what the year will bring exactly, but promise because we always hope it will be good things. The guilt is due to all of the New Year’s resolutions we make with such good intentions. This year, Carina Press is making a New Year’s resolution we know we won’t have any reason to feel guilty about: we’re going to bring our readers a year of fantastic editorial and diverse genre content. So far, our plans for 2011 include staff and author appearances at reader-focused conferences such as the RT Booklovers Convention in April, where we’ll be offering up goodies, appearing on panels, giving workshops and hosting a few fun activities for readers. We’re also cooking up several genre-specific release weeks, during which we’ll highlight individual genres. So far we have plans for steampunk week and unusual fantasy week. Readers will have access to free reads, discounts, contests and more as part of our week-long promotions! But even when we’re not doing special promotions, we’re still offering something special to our readers in the form of the stories authors are delivering to Carina Press that we’re passing on to you. From sweet romance to sexy, and military science fiction to fairy-tale fantasy, from mysteries to romantic suspense, we’re proud to be offering a wide variety of genres and tales of escapism to our customers in this new year. Every week is a new adventure, and we want to bring our readers along on the journey. Be daring, be brave and try something new with Carina Press in 2011! We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [e-mail]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page. Happy reading! ~Angela James Executive Editor, Carina Press www.carinapress.com www.twitter.com/carinapress www.facebook.com/carinapresss Dedication This one is for you, Gram. I was so privileged to have had you in my life and I miss you�Śevery single day. Acknowledgements First, I want to thank my editor, Jessica Schulte. If you don’t have a Jessica Schulte, you should go out and get yourself one. She’ll make you feel important and funny and brilliant, while simultaneously slicing, dicing and molding your work into something so much better than you ever dreamed it could be. I still have to pinch myself because she picked me. There aren’t enough words to express my gratitude. A big thanks to Angela James for her willingness to take a chance on me and this book, despite the fact that I was a total noob and cried when she called me with the contract offer. I also want to thank Ally, Donna, Kristina, Lisa, Melinda and Wyanne for their priceless input and unflagging support. They are the best CPs a girl could ask for. Last, I have to thank my sister, Nicole. She’s long insisted that The Wonderful Wizard of Oz is an allegory for life, and if you look hard enough, you’ll see it everywhere. I found it cropping up, unbidden, time and time again in this book. So, a nod to my sister, and all the respect in the world to Mr. L. Frank Baum for creating a timeless and magical masterpiece that enthralled me as a child. Contents Copyright� � � � � � � � � � � � � � Chapter One� � � � � � � � � � � � � � Chapter Two� � � � � � � � � � � � � � Chapter Three� � � � � � � � � � � � � � Chapter Four� � � � � � � � � � � � � � Chapter Five� � � � � � � � � � � � � � Chapter Six� � � � � � � � � � � � � � Chapter Seven� � � � � � � � � � � � � � Chapter Eight� � � � � � � � � � � � � � Epilogue� � � � � � � � � � � � � � About the Author� � � � � � � � � � � � � � Chapter One Lordship, Connecticut, October 18, 1836 A blast of sunlight punched through the persistent blackness, backlighting my eyelids in a hazy wash of red. I took a deep, steadying breath as the vague sense of weightlessness abated. Following protocol, I didn’t open my eyes until there was ground beneath my feet. Sand. A cool gust of wind sucked the air out of me as I took in my surroundings with a practiced eye. The beach was deserted, and it seemed as if we’d ended up exactly where we intended. Fabulous. But the real mark of success was whether we’d made it to when we intended. I looked down at the time-travel mechanism in my palm and waited as the wildly spinning hands slowed to a halt. �śWell, shit,” I muttered under my breath, prying my hand from Bacon’s too-tight grasp. �śWhen is it?” he shouted. The whipping wind plucked the words from his mouth and sent them sailing down the stretch of beach, but I’d gotten the gist through lip-reading. �śSaturday the eighteenth,” I yelled in reply. �śBollocks.” Yep, bollocks about covered it. The whole trip had the makings of a major cluster-fuck. One that Bacon was directly responsible for. Already cranky at having to make the journey in the first place, being rushed on an important mission made me want to really lay into him. To be fair, our arrival date wasn’t his fault. It’s a tricky proposition, time travel. Once in a while you nail it, balls on, and get where you want, when you want. Most times, it’s a little more hit and miss than that, and we were lucky we’d done as well as we had. The reason for the trip itself, however, was all his fault. See, a few months prior, Bacon had lost his time-travel mechanism to the Loony Duke of Leister in a drunken game of whist. Needless to say, it had been priority number one to get it back from him as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, by the time we’d located his residence and come up with a viable plan, the bastard had left the country. We had finally tracked him down in the United States. And, after weeks of planning, we had come to get it back. We’d intended to arrive three days before the harvest fair began. Early enough to set my plan into motion and take care of some details, but not so early that we’d have stay in the nineteenth century for very long. Ostensibly, because the longer one stays away, the trickier it becomes to find one’s way back. But, if I’m being honest, I have an unholy obsession with hot showers and Starbucks coffee that keeps me motivated to limit the duration of my trips. My career has taught me to be a roll-with-the-punches kind of girl, so despite the setback and my mood, I got down to work. I methodically disassembled my handheld time-travel mechanism and stored the various pieces into different compartments of my ever-present carpetbag. Time travel rule number one: always immediately disassemble one’s TTM. This holds true even for an experienced time pirate such as myself. One might think that, given the nature of my occupation, being prepared for a quick getaway would take precedence over all other concerns. I’ve found, however, that it’s much better to be stuck somewhere reassembling for a few extra minutes than to be caught unawares when the village idiot steals your intact TTM and winds up in 1929 Siberia. Been there, done that, and spent almost a week chasing him through time to get it back. Talk about a time suck. For this particular recovery mission, I’d chosen to travel light (aside from being saddled with Bacon, who was necessary in order for me to secure lodgings during this sexist time period). The only thing I carried with me was my carpetbag stuffed with a change of clothes needed to execute my plan. For the trip in, I’d opted for an unfortunate mutton-sleeved blue dress over a suffocating corset, and a wickedly starched petticoat. I am a jeans girl through and through so the look was out of character for me, to say the least, but I had long since accepted the costumes as one of the necessary evils of the job. The only concession I allowed myself was comfortable shoes, as being fleet of foot was a requirement. To that end, I had added a pair of supple, low-heeled calfskin boots to complete the ensemble. Once our gear was packed away and we’d slogged through the sand to reach the road, we hotfooted it to Mariner’s Inn about a mile from the beach. Bacon spoke to the proprietress and a short while later we were secure in our quarters. With Bacon’s back to me, I shucked the �śproper lady” costume as fast as possible, pulling off the hideous gown and undergarments. I replaced them with a full cotton black skirt adorned with brightly colored hand-stitched poppies, and an off-the-shoulder black blouse that knotted at my waist. Then I adjusted �śthe girls” so that they were displayed to their best advantage�"because, regardless of what the magazines may say, breasts never go out of fashion. Releasing my dark hair from the elaborate chignon, I turned my head upside down and shook it out. When I’d righted myself, a mass of curls hung loose down my back. After lining my navy blue eyes in black, I added my twenty-first-century MAC lip gloss in Rockin’ Red. I’d finally begun to resemble a Gypsy fortune-teller. I inserted large gold hoop earrings into my lobes and slid a gold ring on every finger, including my thumbs, for good measure. With a last quick look in the mirror, I was satisfied to see that Stormy Gale was nowhere to be found, and �śMadame Baptiste” was ready for action. Missions accomplished, I stuffed the Victorian Miss uniform back in my bag and called to Bacon. �śOkay, ready.” He turned to face me and grinned. �śYou look great.” �śThanks.” His broad smile drooped at my clipped tone. I looked away, a little ashamed, but still not ready to forgive him for getting us into this mess. �śWe’ve got one hour. Let’s rock and roll.” By the time we got to the fairgrounds, evening had stolen over the little town, and the night had that witchy aura exclusive to Octobers in New England. A swollen harvest moon hung heavy in the sky, its light casting a golden hue over the field. �śLots of people already,” Bacon said, scanning the crowd as we walked. �śWow. Keen observation. You should be a private detective,” I replied. He shot me a hangdog look, then turned his face away and mumbled, �śI said I was sorry. I don’t know what else I can do.” I sighed. �śIt’ll be fine once we get it back. Until then, I’m going to be a little on edge. You can’t blame me for that. It’s really serious this time, bro.” He nodded grimly and that made me feel even worse. Bacon always owned up to his mistakes. It was one of his finest qualities. I just wished he didn’t make them quite so often. At nineteen, he was trusting and optimistic to a fault. Although, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. We’d been filthy little urchins living on the streets of London eating garbage and begging for money until Professor Gilbert Green came and took us away with him thirteen years ago. Life was peachy after that, but those early years had leeched the optimism right out of me. The things we saw�ŚWell, you can’t unsee them, and I honestly don’t know how Bacon managed to hang on to his innocence through it all. Needless to say, the big, nasty world took pleasure in trying to strip him of it, chewing him up and spitting him out on a pretty regular basis. But damned if he didn’t always dust himself off and keep smiling. This time he’d really stepped in it, though. And despite the fact that his starry-eyed innocence often confounded me, the thought of him losing it made my stomach pitch. The smell of roasted meats, toffee apples and yeasty bread interrupted my thoughts. It was so tantalizing, we stopped and purchased two fat loaves stuffed with sausage bits. We nibbled on the crusty loaves as we scouted the fairgrounds for a good location to set up shop. After some deliberation, I chose a spot toward the middle. As much as I liked the idea of being on the fringe for a quick getaway, it was imperative that I set up in the thick of things so that the duke wouldn’t pass me by. �śI’m going to try to get that space over there,” I said to Bacon. �śWander around and see if you can find me a few candles and a couple jugs of wine. Keep an eye out for the duke. And make sure you leave your hat on and wear it low over your eyes. He won’t be looking for you, but we don’t want to risk a run in and him recognizing you. Meet me back here when you’re done.” �śAye-aye, Cap’n,” he said with a salute, then headed off. Unfortunately, as I approached the chosen spot, I saw that an old had woman beaten me to it. She was setting down a rickety cart filled with baskets of apples, pears and corn to sell. When she saw me coming, she scowled. �śHello there!” I called and then flashed my teeth in hopes of dazzling her with my smile. �śMove along, witch. Tart! Strumpet!” she snarled, flashing her tooth in a grimace, which was far from dazzling. I leveled her with a menacing glare and wiggled spell-casting fingers in her direction. A childish satisfaction warmed me as her face paled and she backed away. Forced to abandon my intention of making a deal with the hag directly, I took my leave. After a few minutes of searching, I located the groundskeeper. He agreed to move the woman down a row and to give me her spot in exchange for the ruby ring I wore on my left index finger and a gander at my tatas. Not thrilled about the latter part of the deal, I stood before the fat, greasy tosser as he licked his fleshy lips in anticipation. Eyes closed, I took a deep breath, calling upon my steely time-pirate resolve. Then, cursing Bacon roundly, I gave the pig a quick flash of the goods. Upon his leering promise to have a tent erected for me in short order, I stifled a gag and fled the scene, eager to forget the incident. Not one to cry over spilled milk�"or in this case, bared breasts�"I threw myself headlong into preparing for the evening’s activities. Making the rounds of the other tents, I was able to purchase some brightly colored cloth, herbs, a rickety little table and a decorative orb made of delicate green blown glass. By the time I was through, I’d made some friends, gained some admirers and doled out quite a few bribes. In return, some of the merchants agreed to try to get a message to me should they notice the Loony Duke of Leister had arrived. And when he did? Well, �śMadame Baptiste” was going to con him out of the TTM he had stolen from Bacon, take the rest of his valuables and get the hell out of Dodge. An hour later, the tent was draped in gauze and smelled of beeswax candles. Complete with �ścrystal” ball, it looked appropriate for the purpose. The general public had started trickling in, so I sent Bacon back to the inn to wait for me rather than risk him blowing my cover. But as concerned as I was that the duke might recognize him, I was even more concerned about how I was going to recognize the duke. Bacon had been very vague on details as far as the duke’s appearance was concerned. He’d estimated Leister was in his thirties and recalled that he had dark hair and had worn a dapper suit. Beyond that, Bacon remembered very little else about him or that drunken night. The only other thing we knew for sure was that he was a Brit and a recent transplant to the States. Despite my recon earlier that evening, I had learned little else. None of the merchants I had chatted with had met him as of yet. The only additional information they could offer was that he’d just arrived in the area a month ago and purchased a large estate on the outskirts of town. Well, that, and the fact that he was bat-shit crazy. Apparently the �śLoony Duke” title had been with him since he was a young man in London, and it had followed him to America. During the short time he had been in Lordship, the working-class folk of the town had built Leister up into some pre-Mary Shelley type of mad scientist. Everyone expected that the fair would be his debut of sorts, and gossip was rampant. No matter how cracked his Liberty Bell might be, I still had to get the job done. I decided my best bet was to focus on his mode of dress and his accent to help me identify him in the crowd of Americans. With that in mind, I stood out front with my eyes peeled, eavesdropping as people streamed by. In an effort to seem authentic, I halfheartedly called to passersby, offering fortune telling and good luck charms. Inevitably, there were some takers, and I did my best to put on a good show. My first customers were a charming ginger-haired young man and his sweetheart. They entered the tent, sharing nervous smiles with each other as they sat down. He didn’t even glance at my cleavage, and she hung on his every word. They were adorable together. After consulting the spirits I quickly assured them that they would have a long and happy life together. They grinned at each other, and some of the tension knotting the back of my neck dissipated. As the evening wore on, people trickled in and out, their merriment rubbing off on me. I actually started to have a good time hamming it up as Madame Baptiste, ad-libbing a Romanianish accent and all. I would be the first to say it wasn’t exactly spot on. Growing up on the streets of London in the 1800s, moving to America in the late twentieth century when I was thirteen and spending my life flitting through time, it’s been difficult to settle into one mode of speech. That said, who was going to question my Romanian? So I went with it. I’d just handed a bundle of herbs to a lovely woman hoping for a grandchild when I noticed a tall man, half a head above the rest, looking at me from a distance. I found my gaze drawn to him as well, not because of his size, but because of the intensity of his stare. Holding my gaze with his own, he walked toward me until he stood only a few feet away. He shook his head briefly but didn’t speak. Hello, tall, dark and handsome. I cleared my throat. �śHello there, sir. I haf come all the vay from Romania to bring the secrets of the Romany to the Americas. Vould you like to see vhat your future holds?” I said in what I hoped was an enticing, spooky voice. I’d laid it on a little thick and grimaced inwardly. �śWhy, yes,” he replied, sounding surprised at his answer. �śYes, I believe I would.” A Londoner, I surmised, although the crisp accent had flattened somewhat, sort of like that of a person who’d lived in the States for a long time. Even so, I wondered for a moment if this might be the duke. I dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred to me as I took in his workman’s clothes with a sweep of my eyes. His lips kicked up at the corners as I completed my inspection, and so I headed into the tent, making sure to keep my face turned away until some of the color had faded. Presented with this stunning batch of man candy, I was feeling a bit unnerved and uncharacteristically shy. I grabbed the jug of wine and poured myself a small cup, hoping to quell my nerves. After chugging half of it down in one huge gulp, I took a deep breath and turned around to face my handsome patron. I started in surprise as our bodies bumped. The sneaky fellow had rolled up right behind me. �śOh, I bek your pardon! Von’t you seet down?” I backed away while motioning toward a crate that was acting as a chair. I took a seat on the opposite side of the rickety little table and waited for him to join me. He sat and continued to look at me intently. I was starting to wonder if this guy ever blinked. A trickle of unrest snaked up my spine. Had my libido gotten the better of me? Sure, he looked great, but if he planned to cut my head off with some old-fashioned lopping shears or make a dress out of my skin, it was so not worth it. An irrational panic had started to build, its insidious fingers brushing up the sides of my neck. What with the music and noise from the festivities, if I screamed, would anyone even hear me? I looked to see the tent flap still laying wide open as it had been all evening, and was about three seconds from lobbing a beeswax candle at him and running out screaming, when he spoke again. �śI’m sorry, I just�ŚYou remind me of someone. I don’t mean to stare, but it’s quite uncanny.” Okay, so I looked like someone he knew. The panic began to subside. �śI promise you, sir,” I replied with a purr, on solid ground again now that I felt reasonably reassured that he wasn’t serial killer, �śI vould remember you if ve’d met.” He didn’t smile at my flirtatious tone as I’d expected. Instead he pinned me with another heated gaze. My heart beat faster at the stark sensuality in his face. His dark eyes slid away from mine, down to my mouth. My breath fell short and my lips parted of their own accord. Suddenly it became very warm. Gathering my wits, I pasted a smile on my face. �śSo what�Śer, vhat do you vant to know, handsome? About money, maybe? Or a voman? Just ask it, and Madame Baptiste vill give you answer.” I tried for a faux cheery tone that, to my chagrin, came out sounding rather shrill, �śAll right, Madame Baptiste,” he replied, his eyes never leaving mine. �śSa dansezi cu mine?” My stomach dropped at his response, for two reasons. Mostly, because the man’s knowledge of what I assumed was Romanian did not bode well for me. It felt like a bad omen. Of all the gypsy joints in the world, the guy who speaks Romanian walks into mine. Some fortune-teller I was�"I never saw that coming. But rounding out a close second was the effect that husky voice coming out of that sensuous mouth seemed to have on me. A little shaken, I realized he was watching me, waiting for a response. For a brief moment, I debated brazening it out in hopes that this was some one-off Romanian phrase he’d learned, but dismissed the idea. The comfortable way the words just poured out of his mouth along with the smooth way he rolled the r led me to believe that he was fluent. Fluent in Romanian! What are the frigging odds? �śUh, vhat language is thees you speak?” I asked, feeling like a huge idiot but not quite ready to concede, on the off chance that he was speaking Greek or something and I might be able to salvage my image. �śWhy, Romanian, of course. Don’t you speak, Madame Baptiste? O singura limba nu este suficient. Wouldn’t you agree?” he asked, a nefarious dimple flashing on his right cheek. I almost rolled my eyes then. Of course he had a dimple. Like he wasn’t distracting enough without it. Deciding that something resembling honesty was in order, I let out a long but ladylike snort and slammed a hand on the table. �śAll right, you got me. I don’t speak Romanian. Happy? It’s just, no one takes me seriously if I tell them that I’m a gypsy from Pratt’s Bottom.” Rallying, I pressed forward. �śSo what did you ask me? I can still tell your fortune, you know.” �śI asked you if you wanted to dance with me,” he replied, his expression solemn once again. �śAnd what else?” My throat felt a little tight. �śI said, �ŚOne language isn’t enough.’ Don’t you agree?” His gaze swept down the column of my neck, skimming along my shoulders, then lower. He ran his tongue over his lips before he met my eyes again. �śOne language to tell a woman like yourself just how beautiful she is would be a hindrance. Vos yeux sont beaux comme la mer,” he murmured. Ah, French. This one I knew. But what’s a girl supposed to say when a gorgeous stranger tells her that her eyes are more beautiful than the sea? �śMerci, Je suis flatté.” It was true, I was flattered. Worse than that, I was crushing on this fellow hard. It had been a long, long time since I felt this way about a man. But I couldn’t allow myself to be sucked in by his charm, no matter how droolworthy he was. I needed to tell his fortune and send him packing so I could get my focus back. Find the duke. Retrieve the TTM. In truth, I was probably being overly cautious in my efforts to recover it. Neither Gilly nor I had ever let Bacon walk around with all the pieces to his TTM anyway. It had always been our habit to remove the mercury pin upon arriving at our destination without his knowledge. We didn’t want to demoralize him, but at nineteen he was easily distracted, and anything from a pretty girl to a juicy steak could make him lose focus. The responsibility of keeping the technology a secret was a heavy one, so it was really best for everyone if he didn’t have to bear it. Without the mercury pin in it, from the duke’s perspective, what he had on his hands was probably just some sort of elaborate timepiece. A curiosity to be sure, but certainly not a time machine. If I left well enough alone, things would probably turn out all right. And it would give me some free time to spend with the hunk before me. So. Tempting. Still, if by some miracle the TTM should get into the hands of a real scientist or bright young inventor, and he or she got lucky�ŚWell, I couldn’t take that chance. Time travel is inherently fraught with risk. The technology is so volatile that in the wrong hands, it could destroy the world as we know it. In order to maintain balance and harmony, it needs to be regarded with reverence, if not a little fear. Every time we travel forward or back, something changes. Even with the risk index module we use to measure how much impact each trip could potentially have, nothing is guaranteed. And still, governments would kill for it, hoping to undermine other governments. Grief-stricken people would riot for it, hoping to undo tragedy and awaken the dead. None of them would care or understand the ramifications of their actions. Nothing is more important than protecting our secret. Nothing. Flirting with this sexy man was a pointless endeavor in any case. There was no room for a relationship in my life. Once again resolute, I sat up straight, steeled myself against his diabolical dimples and the intimacy of the candlelit space and pressed forward. �śAll right, then, sirrah, what would you like to know about your future?” I asked him, hoping he would pick up on my newly brisk tone. His sharp eyes took in my countenance and he cocked his head. Not willing to let me off the hook so easily, he asked, �śMight I know your real name first, chéri? Surely it would be silly for me to continue calling you �ŚMadame Baptiste’ now that we have peeled away that guise?” With his head at that angle, for a split second, he did look oddly familiar. And for some inexplicable reason, with his eyes locked on mine, suddenly I wanted him to know my real name�Śwanted to hear him say it. I licked my lips and croaked, �śDorothy. But my friends and family call me Stormy,” wondering, even as the words spilled from my mouth, why I was telling him the truth. Well, half the truth, anyway. My family does call me Stormy, but I don’t really have any friends. It’s hard to have relationships, or keep them at any rate, due to my lifestyle. At a certain point, people always start to ask questions. And the odd thing about me is that, even though my profession often requires me to lie or pretend to be someone I’m not, I actually don’t like lying to people. I justify it by reminding myself that what I do is for the greater good. I take from the rich and give to the poor. I rob the undeserving and redistribute their wealth to those who deserve it more. I travel through time trying to right wrongs without disrupting the fragile balance between what is and what can never be. It’s important work, my life’s work, and if I have to deceive people to do it, so be it. But I draw the line at lying to those I care about. If someone trusts me, it’s my responsibility to be worthy of that trust. So, I’ve found it easier to just have casual acquaintances rather than best buds, a rare tryst rather than a boyfriend. Always making sure they know from the start that I’m not going to play house with them or marry them or have their babies. That kind of life just isn’t in the cards for me. �śAnd do you have a surname, Stormy?” I purposely ignored his use of my nickname, knowing full well he was trying to bait me and answered, �śGale. My name is Dorothy Gale.” Again, it was the truth. Since he wasn’t familiar with The Wizard of Oz or moving pictures at all, I was saved from having to answer the questions that typically follow that pronouncement�"a bonus, since answering truthfully there was not an option. �śDorothy Gale” had been my own choice. My adopted father, Gilly, had been a Scotsman, a scientist, an inventor and the creator of the time-travel mechanism. On one of his earliest journeys, he found himself in London, circa 1823. Bacon and I attempted to pull a pickpocketing scam on him. Rather than turning us in to the constables, he bought us bread and cheese. He spent a few days in London taking care of some business but made sure to see us each day and give us food. Upon preparing to go back to his twentieth-century life in America, he found he could not just walk away, so appalled was he by the conditions in which we lived. When he offered to take us with him, we didn’t think twice, and we never looked back. Life before Gilly was�ŚWell, I don’t like to think about that. My life began at the age of thirteen when he found me. Gilly was an indulgent sort, as if it was his job to make up for all the misery we had endured in our young lives. So when I told him we wanted to forget our past, to start fresh, he suggested that we come up with new names for ourselves. I pondered for weeks, tossing around this name and that, until I saw The Wizard of Oz on television. Breathless with exhilaration and flushed with excitement from the spectacle, I told Gilly from that point on, he should call me Dorothy Gale. He later nicknamed me Stormy because of the color of my eyes�"at least, that’s what I tell myself. I often wonder if Bacon wishes he had taken a little longer in picking his name. He’d only been six at the time and still awed at the prospect of eating three meals a day, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise that food came into play for part of it. Gilly had gotten down on one knee and said, �śWell, little master, what do you think? You can be called anything, whatever pleases you most.” At this direction, Bacon chose the things that made him happiest, and there you have it: Bacon Frogs. I shook off the memory, trying not to smile, because I was still really pissed at Bacon. He’d allowed himself to be suckered out of his TTM during a drunken game of cards. Once again, his trusting nature made him an easy target for a charlatan. The bastard Leister had chosen his victim well. And sometime tonight, justice would finally be served. �śDorothy Gale,” my luscious patron murmured thoughtfully, dragging me from my reverie. �śHmm, I think Stormy might be a better fit.” �śProbably so, sir,” I said, trying to ignore the tingle that ran through me as he said my name. I busied my hands, popping a lemon drop into my suddenly dry mouth, offering him one as well, which he declined. �śNow you know all about me. Let’s find out about you. For starters, what shall I call you?” I prompted, pulling my seat closer to the table and holding both hands over the green glass ball in an effort to get things back on track and moving along. It seemed long past time to end this dalliance so I could get outside to find out if my intended victim had arrived. �śWell,” he replied with a sardonic twist of his heavenly mouth, �śThe name’s Leister, but to be honest, most people just call me the Loony Duke.” Chapter Two He stared at me in abject horror as I promptly began to hyperventilate, huffing in frantic gasps like a landed carp. The lemon drop I’d been sucking on was vacuumed into my windpipe, where it lodged like a little sweet-tart life stopper. The noise that escaped from between my lips sounded like a cross between a leaky tire and a choked gasp�"sort of squeaky �śpffffttpp” ending with a �śgack.” My eyes teared and my vision blurred as I struggled for air, working my throat in a futile effort to dislodge the dastardly little nugget. I’m not too proud to admit that there may have been a fair amount of drool and eye bulging as well, which must have tipped the duke off to the seriousness of the situation. He leaped to his feet, crossing the distance between us in a single stride. Standing behind me, he pounded my back soundly with his hand. Once, twice, three times a charm. With an audible pop, the candy careened out of my mouth with impressive velocity and smacked directly into my fake crystal ball, shattering it on impact. For a full minute I sat drawing sweet air into my lungs. My brain was reeling�"the very duke I’d been looking for was here in my tent. It wasn’t until the sound of my own harsh breathing began to quiet and my panic began to subside that I realized he was rubbing my back in a gentle, comforting rhythm. I stood up and moved away, picking up my cup of wine and taking a sip to soothe my burning throat. I scrambled to call upon my infamous, steely time-pirate resolve, but came up empty, taking another gulp of wine in hopes of soothing my frayed nerves. �śThank you,” I said with as much dignity and grace as could be expected after unwittingly enacting what could easily have been a scene from I Love Lucy. �śAre you all right?” �śYes, fine,” I replied stiffly. I was pretty pissed at myself and more than a little worried that my Spidey senses were on the fritz. How could I not have known that the man before me was the duke? Instinct is everything in this job, and mine had barely made a peep. When this was over, I needed to reassess a few things. First on the list? How not to be swayed by a pretty face. Looking into said pretty face, I put my worry aside and grabbed onto the silver lining; the Loony Duke of Leister was in my tent. Despite things not going exactly the way I had planned, the result was optimal. Buoyed by the thought, I moved my focus to getting the TTM. Game on. �śSorry, the drop just went down the wrong pipe is all. Happens all the time. I have a condition�"erm�Śspastic windpipe disorder. Since birth. Irreparable, you know. We’re just lucky it wasn’t a boiled egg or a chicken leg. Anyway, you were just telling me about your funny little nickname and then we were going to do our reading,” I reminded him with a smile. He squinted at me, obviously confused by my response to the near-death experience and my ever-shifting moods. Then he turned and eyed the shattered crystal ball pointedly. �śNo problem,” I said, taking the gaiety down a notch, as it may have been overdone the first time round. �śWe’ll just do a palm reading instead. Madame Baptiste is an excellent palm reader.” I’d hoped the banter would relax him and maybe he’d chuckle at my self-deprecating humor. He did not, and continued to stare at me as if I were some strange creature. Pasting on an encouraging, non-judgmental smile, I said, �śSo, do tell me how you earned your moniker and why you’re dressed like that if you are a duke.” I needed to get him to let his guard down again, and maybe a heart-to-heart chat would do some good. Leaning forward to give him a good view of my cleavage, I began clearing glass from the table, glancing up surreptitiously and noting with satisfaction that he was enjoying the view as he contemplated my request. I wrapped the shards in a cloth and put it aside, looking at him expectantly. �śIt really isn’t all that intriguing, the story not nearly as juicy as the nickname would imply,” he replied in a measured tone. �śI’m something of an inventor, and spend quite a bit of my time creating gizmos and things. I’m afraid there are times that I get lost in my work and don’t adhere to the social norms. If I’m on a particularly interesting project, servants will often see me pacing in circles, talking to myself, maybe tossing gears and bits out the window in frustration. I’ve been that way since my teenage years, and after a while the name just stuck. I wanted to get out of the house and enjoy the fair, but knew I would get no peace if everyone in town spotted me. Needless to say, they’re curious about the Loony Duke, so I made sure my attire allowed me to blend in.” My Spidey senses chose that moment to come back to life, as I knew with utmost certainty that he had not told me the whole story. I guess it takes a phony to recognize a phony. And while it wasn’t news to me that he considered himself a man of science, this reminder combined with the fact that he mentioned inventions specifically did reinforce the need to get back the TTM ASAP. He epitomized the type of person we couldn’t chance having it. �śWell, the name does have a nice ring to it, but if you don’t mind, I’ll just call you Leister, then.” I decided to let the matter rest rather than pressing him on the details of his past just to satisfy my own curiosity. �śWhy don’t I get you a nice cup of wine and we can have a drink together while we contemplate the possibilities of the universe and your illustrious future?” He nodded. �śFine, that might be nice. You’re sure you’re all right after your choking spell?” he asked again, his expression troubled again. The man was good, I had to give him that. He actually seemed genuinely concerned about me, but the false sincerity only served to strengthen my conviction. I turned to grab the second mug, filling it from the wine jug. Plan A was quite simple, as most good plans are. First, I would get the duke addled. Then I would con him out of his valuables and try to ascertain whether he had the TTM on his person. If he did, I would deliver the coup de gr�óce, knocking him out and taking it from him. If the TTM wasn’t on his person, I would have to move toward the more complex plan B. Since it was just the backup plan, the details hadn’t exactly been worked out. In a nutshell, I would somehow have to break into his estate the following evening, then search the premises. Needless to say, that course of action was fraught with problems and uncertainties, so I sincerely hoped that my instincts were right and he had it on him. I handed the duke a cup of wine and sat down again, holding both hands out to him. He reached out and clasped them loosely, pausing to gaze into my eyes before grazing his thumbs over the pulse points in my wrist. A bolt of heat jolted through me at his touch, and I gasped, struggling not to pull away. His pupils dilated, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly. He’s a fiend, I reminded myself and slapped a casual smile on my face to mask my reaction. �śNo, silly, yours need to be palm up.” Tugging my wrists from his grasp, I turned his hands over to lie flat on the table. �śNow, then, here is your lifeline.” I traced the crease that led from beneath his index finger in a curved vertical line almost to his wrist. The urge to follow it with the tip of my tongue hit me like a train, but I tamped it down. �śIt appears that you will live long and prosper,” I said, realizing only after the words left my lips that I’d been quoting Mr. Spock from Star Trek. I really had to stop watching so much TV. �śHow can you tell that?” he asked, arching a cynical brow. �śWell, the line is long and deep. And your money line is also very pronounced,” I replied, tracing a crease running from beneath his ring finger parallel to the first. I’d read a short booklet on the basics of palm reading for authenticity’s sake, and what I told him was mostly true, if you believe in that kind of stuff. �śAnd what about love?” His voice had dropped to a husky whisper. I swallowed hard and traced another line, deciding to take him down a peg for toying with me. �śI see love here, yes. Oooh�Ś” I looked up and gave him a pitying shake of my head. �śWhat? What is it?” �śWell, it’s a bit too vague with only a palm, but I foresee some trouble in the area of love. Really, I shouldn’t say more. It wouldn’t be proper.” I dropped his hand and turned my face away in faux modesty. He picked up his wine and took a slug, setting it back down hard, sloshing it over the sides of the cup. �śOut with it. Come on now, you can’t start telling me something like that and then stop. It’s only the two of us. You’re a fortune-teller and I’m a loon. Why the need for propriety?” he asked. He stared at me again, this time with a challenge in his eyes. Cocky bastard. �śAll right, then, sir, if you insist. It’s your money after all. Is everything�Śerm, working down there?” I flicked a pointed glance below his waist. �śWhat do you mean?” he sputtered. �śOf course. Absolutely. It’s never been a problem.” His brow furrowed. �śIs it going to be? A problem, that is.” �śCan’t say without my crystal ball. Palm reading is much less accurate. Oh, but I do have another method we could try! How about pulling some cards? I have a deck around here somewhere.” I turned to rifle through my bag. I dropped the deck of cards on the table between us. My goal was to get him talking, drinking and making merry so he wouldn’t notice the slightly bitter taste when I drugged his wine. To that end, I decided that to let him off the hook and cease my efforts to unman him. I would just redouble my efforts to charm the pants off him. I spread the cards out over the table and advised him to choose four. He did, and with a flourish, I flipped them over. �śAhh, I see now. The queen of hearts. Beautiful. Love is on the way for you, good sir. Oh, and your palm was misleading!” I gave him a broad wink. �śJack of spades only surfaces for the most virile of men.” He sat back and let out a sigh of relief. �śI wasn’t really worried, but one never knows.” That damned diabolical dimple flashed like a bloody beacon as he leveled me with a grin, then finished the rest of his wine. I stood and picked up his mug, refilling it. As I poured, I flicked my thumbnail against a catch on the emerald ring that adorned my third finger. The stream of powder that trickled out was imperceptible in the dim candlelight but I kept up the animated chatter to distract the duke just in case. I set the cup in front of him and filled my own glass in turn, sans the mickey. �śLet’s have a toast, shall we, Leister? To impropriety,” I trilled. �śTo impropriety,” he answered, clinking his mug against mine. Following my lead, he drank it down. �śDo you happen to know what time it is?” I asked, relieved when he seemed to take no notice of the subtle difference in taste. �śI do.” He rifled through his pockets. To my disappointment, he pulled out a gold pocket watch and glanced at the face. �śHalf past eight.” Of course, it would have been way too easy if he’d just pulled out the TTM. It did keep perfect time, but the way my luck was going, it lay hidden in his house locked in a safe somewhere. �śSay,” I ventured, my tone conspiratorial. �śIt’s still fairly early and I’m really enjoying your company. Would you care to play a game with me? Mayhap we can be really improper and do some gambling. I would wager this ring.” I pulled the sapphire off my pinky. �śWhat will you wager, handsome?” I lowered my gaze and fluttered my lashes, trying my best attempt at the seductive coquette. �śDo you have something in your eye?” He leaned forward, all concerned, to get a closer look. �śEr, no, no, just a little smoky from the candles.” Note to self: brush up on flirting techniques. Changing tactics, I leaned toward him again, relying on old faithful to reel him in. It worked, as his attention strayed to my breasts. �śAll right, a game might be nice. I’ll wager my watch, then,” he responded, still watching my breasts as if in a trance. I rose again to fill the mugs. I felt a tiny bit tipsy, but nothing I couldn’t handle, and it was far more important to make sure he kept drinking. The powder he’d ingested was a mild drug that would lower his inhibitions a bit and, mixed with alcohol, would cause him to pass out. He was much larger than I’d anticipated when I measured the amount, though, and now I doubted if the one dose would do the trick. A second ring on my left hand held a similar dose, but I didn’t want to overdo it. I decided to hold off and see how things progressed. �śWhat shall we play? How about a game of guessing?” I suggested. �śGuessing? And what would we guess?” �śWe’ll use our powers of observation to determine things about one another. I’ll tell you something about yourself and if I’m right, I win that round. Then, you do the same to me until one of us is wrong when the other is right, and declared the winner. But we have to tell the truth or else it wouldn’t be fair.” �śAll right. But as a fortune-teller, I think you have the advantage,” he teased. �śAnd truly, I’ve no need of your possessions. Let us make it more interesting, shall we? What say we shut the flap to the tent and play for something I want more than your ring.” His voice dropped to a husky tone that gave me shivers. �śHow about a dance?” I was totally taken aback, but shouldn’t have been. What he was suggesting was a little risqué for the time period, but he was nicknamed the Loony Duke, for God’s sake. And really, what was a dance? I had nothing to lose except my reputation. And as a traveling gypsy fortune-teller in the 1800s, it really wasn’t all that valuable at any rate. More importantly, I’d convinced him to stay, and that was all that mattered. Moving toward the front of the tent, I untied the knot securing the flap and rolled it closed. �śYou’re on!” I added a little extra sway to my hips as I walked back to my seat. �śI’ll go first.” I took a moment to look at him, sizing him up, as if mining his visage for information. It didn’t hurt that I had a limited dossier on him and already knew some basic facts that I could use. I opened my mouth to �śguess” the month of his birth�"May�"when I stopped short, mesmerized by his pretty brown eyes. �śYou pretend that being called the Loony Duke doesn’t bother you, but it does. In fact, it’s been the source of a lot of pain for you,” I heard myself say. Well, where the hell did that come from? Way to go Stormy. That should put him in a real festive mood. I stared at him, shocked at my own audacity, and waited for him to walk out. He looked back at me for what seemed like an eternity. �śAnd you,” he said finally, his voice filled with quiet understanding. �śYou like pretending to be someone you’re not, because you don’t trust anyone enough to just be yourself.” I sucked in my breath hard as his words crashed over me like an icy wave. How could he know that about me? I didn’t even know that about me until he said it. The air between us trembled with tension, as if what happened next hung on a precipice, teetering first one way, then the other. I struggled to regroup and then said, too loudly, �śYour birthday is in May.” He looked at once relieved and disappointed. �śYour favorite color is blue.” �śWrong. I don’t have a favorite color, because they’re all too pretty to choose just one!” I shouted gleefully, holding my hand out for my prize. I was happy to have bested him, but even happier the super awkward moment had passed. �śYou win,” he said with a crooked smile, and reached into his pocket to pull out the watch. �śSo what now?” �śWell, what else do you have to wager?” I gave him a saucy smile. �śI have a small sack of coins tied to my belt. But if I’m to wager that, I require more than a dance.” His dark eyes burned into mine. �śAnd what would you consider a fair bet?” I tried to keep my tone light despite my pounding heart. He was finally going to reveal himself to be the smarmy low life I knew he was by suggesting a quick bonk or a knob-slobbing. Shame on me for feeling a little bit let down. �śA dance�Śand a kiss,” he said with a slow smile. �śA�Śa kiss you say? All right, then. A kiss and a dance it is.” Why did I feel perpetually off-kilter with this odd man? He stopped me before we began the game, and raised his cup high. �śTo new friends,” he toasted with a warm smile. �śTo new friends,” I parroted and drank, the wine suddenly tasting sour, like vinegar on my tongue. �śLet’s play a different game now. How about three-card monte?” Not invented yet, genius. I quickly covered my blunder. �śHere’s how you play�"I’ll push around three cards facedown, and you try to locate the queen. Then vice versa. Whoever has the best results after ten games will be declared the winner,” I improvised. Anything that got us away from the intimacy of the previous game but still held his interest would have seemed like a big improvement. But more importantly, I was a seasoned card mechanic and it would be near impossible for him to win any card game against me. To my surprise, as play commenced, I began to enjoy myself. We laughed and teased and shouted as the game wore on. A few times, I got so caught up that I forgot to cheat, and ended up winning the match by the skin of my teeth. I jingled my newly acquired bag of coins playfully and did an impromptu I-won-so-suck-it jig. The duke seemed impressed with my moonwalk, and I spent a solid ten minutes trying to teach it to him. �śA new dance from the Orient,” I explained. As we sat, breathless and chuckling, a young woman called into the tent, �śHello? Will you be finished soon? I’d like my fortune told, if you would.” The duke met my eyes and started to stand. �śI really should let you take some other patrons instead of hogging all of your time. I will stop back by before I leave. What do I owe you for the reading?” �śNo, please stay. I’m having such fun. One more game,” I begged him, realizing with a sharp blast of fear that I was in danger of blowing it. �śI’ll tell her to come back a little later.” I walked over to the flap and did just that. I returned to the table and grabbed the cups, focused enough to realize that if he hadn’t yet passed out from the first dose of the drug, he wasn’t going to. I added the second dose of powder to his wine before turning back to him. �śI have nothing left to wager except a few more coins for a meal,” he said, with a rueful chuckle. �śYou’ve already won almost everything I brought.” Half of my mission was complete, then. I’d robbed him. I tried to brush off the hollow feeling that accompanied that thought, assuring myself that joyful vengeance would follow once I got the TTM back. Now for the important part. �śNothing?” I asked, starting to feel a little desperate. �śWell�Ś” He hesitated. �śThere is one more thing. But you’ve been so lucky, I’m not sure I want to risk it.” Am I finally going to catch a break? I tried to keep my voice calm. �śAnd what thing would that be?” �śWell, it’s almost surely one of a kind, and I’d hate to part with it so soon after acquiring it.” Convince him to show it, to risk it. Make him an offer he can’t refuse. Hoping against hope that it wasn’t too good to be true, I took a deep breath for courage, then sauntered forward and put my hands on the duke’s broad shoulders, pressing him back into his makeshift seat. I bent low, my face level with his. �śThis is all going the same way, win or lose. I want you as my lover tonight. But I’m having too much fun to quit. Won’t you play one more game with me? This time, I wager all my clothing, along with the dance and the kiss,” I said with my very best siren’s smile. As I waited, I said a silent prayer that my �śsiren” was more convincing than my �ścoquette.” It seemed not, as he peered at me through narrowed eyes. His voice was curiously cold, completely at odds with the heat of his gaze as he nodded. �śIntriguing,” he said grimly. �śBut I’d like a taste first. Just to see if it will be worth it, you understand.” He reached up and wrapped his hand in my hair, pulling my lips to his. The kiss was no gentle taste, but a searing clash of lips and tongue. I whimpered, shocked at the pressure building fast and low in my belly, shocked that I wanted to continue kissing this man, my enemy. He pushed me away and it was over as quickly as it had begun. The tent filled with the sounds of our labored breathing. He stared at me with raw need and something else I couldn’t define. �śThat will do. It’s a wager. Let’s drink on it.” He turned to face the table once again and held his glass up. I clinked mine to his and we drank. �śI want to play the guessing game again. And I want to go first this time,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. He turned and set his empty cup to the side. �śFine.” It didn’t matter if I won or lost. He had the TTM on him and I would win it now or take it once the second dose of the drug took effect. Then I would go get Bacon, head off to the copse of trees near the beach, don my alternate perception goggles, locate the wormhole and the two of us would blow this place for good. �śGuess number one,” he said, his face suddenly impassive. �śYou are a liar and a cheat.” �śWhat do you mean?” My voice trembled as gooseflesh rose on my arms and the master plan came to a screeching halt. �śWho are you really?” he asked, his icy gaze drilling into mine. �śAnd remember, if you lie, you lose.” I swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump that had formed in my throat. �śDorothy Gale. Fortune-teller. Rorn and braised in Bratt’s Pottom. Pratt’s Bottom.” My tongue felt like a fuzzy, fat caterpillar and my head had begun to swim. Everything seemed to flicker before my eyes like a silent film from the twenties and I struggled to stay alert. The last thing I remember is Leister reaching into his pocket and pulling out Bacon’s TTM, with a shake of his head. �śYou lose, Dorothy.” Then my world went black. Chapter Three A chilly breeze swept over my bare shoulder and roused me from my stupor. I gingerly opened my eyes only to slam them shut again as the light bum-rushed my pupils. My head pounded in protest. An oil slick of nausea roiled in my belly. Where the hell was I? Hospital? And where was Bacon? I reached a hand to my aching head but met with resistance halfway. Again, I struggled to open my eyes and fought through the pain and nausea until my pupils adjusted to the light. When I saw the chain around my right wrist, I almost wished I’d just left them closed. The events of the previous night came flooding back to me. I’d been duped. The con artist had been conned, the pirate pirated. I tried to piece together what had happened. Somehow he had obviously switched the cups, but when? I had poured in the second dose and it was only a few minutes later�"ah, the kiss. Had the kiss been nothing more than a distraction? Maybe he saw me adding the powder to his drink and decided to take action? Maybe he’d been looking more closely the second time? Maybe I was too obvious in my quest to find out if he had the TTM and he’d gotten suspicious? Or maybe�"Holy shit. My TTM. Sitting up as much as the chains would allow, relieved to see I still had my clothes on, I scanned the room. I nearly passed out with relief as I spied my carpetbag in the corner. OK, at least there was a chance, albeit a small one, that he hadn’t looked through the bag yet. To my everlasting shame, I realized that I owed Bacon an apology. Obviously the Loony Duke was a formidable foe if he had outfoxed me too. Poor Bacon. He was probably waiting for me all night at the room and worried sick. Not only that, but if I couldn’t escape, he’d be stuck here forever without a TTM. I tried to focus, calling upon my steely time-pirate resolve to figure out how to get myself out of this mess. First things first, I needed to free myself from the chains. I pulled my shackled arm until the chain was taut and I could I trace it back to its origin. Drat! It was anchored by a thick iron plate on the wall behind me. Less than optimistic, I grabbed the chain just above my wrist with my free hand and gave an experimental tug to see if there was any give to the plate or the chain. My suspicions were quickly confirmed. It was as strong as, well, iron, and I stood no chance of breaking it. I held out my wrist, turning it this way and that, trying to see how much room there was between chain and skin. While I was able to move it around, there was no slipping free from it. I moved to swing my legs over the side of the bed but was stopped short by the yank of a chain on my ankle. Fanfuckingtastic. Stringing a litany of curses together in frustration, I began plotting my revenge on Leister while scanning the space for anything I might use as a weapon. The words died on my lips as I truly looked at the room for the first time. The walls were adorned with various lengths and sizes of whips, chains and cat-o’-nine-tails. A rack along with branks, an iron bridle of sorts to hold one’s head immobile, sat in one corner of the room. A chair with leather straps at the arms and feet sat in another. A torture chamber. I was in a bloody torture chamber. Footsteps rang outside the doorway and I froze. Sick with dread, I started to shake. Tears sprang to my eyes. Stop it, you stupid girl! I bit my lip hard and took a deep breath. I’d promised myself sixteen years ago that I would never allow anyone to make me feel helpless, afraid or weak again. On a dime, my terror turned to anger. If he was going to try to break me, it was going to take a lot more than intimidation. Bring it. A lock tumbled and the door swung open. Leister stood with a key in one hand and a tray of tea in the other, a grim expression on his face. I glared at him, furiously blinking back the unshed tears �śI’ve brought some tea,” he said, closing the door behind him. �śWhy, thank you,” I cooed, voice dripping with sarcasm. �śNo need to be tart. I’m the one who was wronged here, you know.” �śI don’t know what you’re referring to, but whatever your plans are with me, skip the tea and get on with it. But know this sir�"whatever sick thrill you get out of torturing people, you won’t get it from me. I won’t make a sound.” I lifted my chin and turned away, attempting to project an air of disinterest. In truth, I didn’t want to face him, but I didn’t want to look at anything else in this room of horrors either. Something sounding like a strangled chuckle issued from his side of the room and I turned a suspicious eye on Leister, but he remained stone-faced under my scrutiny. �śBefore we begin with the torturing, why not have a little talk first, eh, Dorothy?” As serious as his face was, and as angry as I knew he was, my Spidey senses were telling me that he was tweaking me somehow. No matter, because, despite my brave little speech, I was all for stalling the torture portion of our show, so I assented with a nod. �śSo talk.” �śAll right, then, I’ll start.” He set the tea tray down on the night table and moving to sit on a velvet-covered chair a few feet from the bed. �śWhy were you trying to poison me?” �śI wasn’t trying to poison you. I was trying to make you take a nice little nap, is all. Obviously that much is true, since you switched the cups and I’m still alive after drinking it. What tipped you off?” �śYou weren’t exactly subtle about it, now, were you? I had no idea until I started to feel odd, drowsy, much more so than I should have after a few cups of wine. Once I noted that and how focused you were to see what else I had to wager, I started paying close attention. The wine had tasted a little strange after you had come back from closing the tent flap and refilled the glasses. When we kissed, I switched the glasses, figuring if I was wrong, then there would be no repercussions. If I was right, well, I would have caught a rat.” He shook his head in disdain. �śAnd look what the cat dragged in. But I’m not the one under scrutiny here. Why did you feel you needed to knock me out?” I had already decided that sticking with half-truths was the best way to go. He wasn’t stupid, so there was no point in trying to pretend I wasn’t guilty of something. I just had to throw out a big, fat red herring so he wouldn’t figure out what, exactly, I was guilty of. �śTo rob you,” I told him truthfully. It may have been a trick of the light, but for a moment he looked a little sad at my admission. I pressed on. �śDo you know how difficult life for the less privileged can be? As a duke you can have no real idea what it’s like to want, to go without.” I was ad-libbing now and less than thrilled with the results. Effective? Possibly. Way too revealing? Probably. Painful? Definitely. �śSo you’re a down-on-your-luck fortune-teller with an American, British and I don’t know what kind of accent, who decided to rob the Loony Duke. Is that it?” �śPretty much.” �śAll right, even if I believed that part, which I don’t, you were winning every game we played and had already won my watch and my purse. Why the laudanum? What were you going to do, take my clothes and leave me naked in the tent? Surely I would be found, and you would be hunted down. And you had already succeeded in robbing me. It makes no sense.” I pondered his remarks and opened my mouth to speak, only to have him save me the trouble. �śUnless, of course, you wanted to steal something particular. Is that the case, Dorothy? Do I have something you want?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper. The blood rushed from my cheeks as I realized, more due to his tone than his words, that he knew. Dammit, he knew. It was showtime. Taking a deep breath I worked up some tears, satisfied as they scalded a path down my face. I let out a loud snuffle for good measure, �śM-m-my br-br-brother lost a g-g-game of cards to you a fortnight ago. And w-w-when he did, he lost our father’s timepiece. It was a f-f-family heirloom and I n-needed to get it back,” I wailed between Oscar-worthy, body-racking sobs. Again, pretty close to the truth, way closer than I liked, but I was out of ideas. Maybe he’d feel sorry for me. �śBacon is your brother?” he asked, disbelief coloring his voice. �śYes.” �śYou look nothing alike. He is a flaming redhead.” �śWell, he takes after our mother, you see. And she was a bit of a tramp, if you must know. So we’re only half brother and sister.” I began to sob anew, hoping he would feel guilty for forcing me to divulge another painful �śfamily secret.” Unmoved, he barked, �śStop that, this instant.” I did. He stood, moving until he stood over the bed, peering down at me. �śYou’re a good actress, I’ll give you that.” He shook his head in disgust. �śMust be hard on your lovers. How could they ever know when you’re telling the truth? Poor bastards.” �śI have no lovers. There’s just me and Bacon. He’s all I have now, and I need to get back what you stole from him. Take the watch, take the money. I just need the timepiece. If you believe nothing else that I’ve told you, believe this�"it is a matter of life and death.” That was as honest as I could possibly be without revealing the true nature of the TTM. �śNow, that, I do believe. Let’s lay our cards on the table, shall we?” He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a disassembled TTM and a pair of alternate perception goggles. My TTM and my APGs. Bile rose to burn my throat. He’d already gone through my bag, and now we were sunk. He had it all, and Bacon and I had no way to get any of it back. The wormhole would be closing within the next forty-eight hours and we would be stuck here, possibly forever. Not to mention, the duke had all the pieces to my TTM including the mercury pin, and once he compared it to Bacon’s, he would easily be able to reverse engineer the thing and put mine back together into a usable, working time machine. I scrambled, and went for a Hail Mary, knowing it was a long shot, �śIf you do not release me this instant, I am going to scream my head off until someone comes. Everyone already knows you are a loon, and now you have kidnapped and chained a woman to your bed. Don’t think your meaningless English title will save you here. This is America, dude. You will hang for this!” I bellowed. He looked at me, a rather bored expression on his face. �śThe staff was given a two-day holiday and won’t be back until late tomorrow. The estate lies on fifteen acres of land and the next house is a mile away, and town is another mile from that. Scream until your heart is content. No one will hear you. �śAnd as for kidnapping, everyone at the fair saw us leave together. Granted, you were slung over my shoulder, but everyone assumed you’d had too much to drink. I left to a chorus of boisterous encouragement. As I laid you over the top of my horse, I gave your bottom a hearty slap and let everyone know that you wouldn’t be sleeping for long.” He continued on. �śIt’s not often that people take the word of a fortune-teller seriously, and regardless of my alleged mental incapacity, I’m still a nobleman. No, you are well and truly stuck here, and the sooner you accept it, the sooner we can move on to more important things. Like you telling me how to work this thing.” He shook the pieces of the TTM lightly in his hand. �śWork it?” I cocked my head to the side, treading carefully. �śWork. It. How do you make it go? I have studied the gears and the hands intensively since having acquired Bacon’s. It’s genius, truly genius, but I haven’t yet been able to make it work. There’s something missing. Once I sit and put yours together, I’ll find it. It would be much easier on the both of us if you just tell me.” A little thrill coursed through me at his words. So maybe he hadn’t found the tiny mercury pin at all. It was hidden in an inside compartment of my carpetbag and was small as a matchstick, so it was certainly possible he’d overlooked it. I buried my relief, affecting a concerned expression. �śI don’t know what you mean. I’m afraid you may be having one of your loony spells. These are a pair of timepieces, albeit very expensive timepieces, that mean the world to my family and have been passed to my brother and me. They were given to our great-great-great-great grandfather by Leonardo Da Vinci himself. We were in a very bad way financially and had sold them to a buyer in France. We’d been traveling to deliver them when you stole them from my brother. Those pieces are all that stand between us and complete financial ruin. Are they important to me, life or death? Yes. But beyond that, this talk of making them work, I don’t understand.” I eyed him pityingly. �śDon’t look at me like that,” he said, his voice icy. �śAnd I suppose the goggles are just newfangled eyewear, then?” I didn’t respond, still staring at him, nonplussed. �śHave it your way, then, wench. You can stay here until you decide to tell me. I have spent my life trying to figure this out, and the answer is at the tip of my fingers now. Believe that I will not easily let it slip away from me.” He turned to go, then stopped. �śI must know, though, why do you keep saying that I stole it?” �śBacon told me. He wouldn’t lie to me.” �śHmm. Well, in this case, I’m afraid you are incorrect. I won the item in question during a card game. Whist, if you must know.” �śYes, he told me that. But he also said that you tricked him into betting it. And that you cheated at cards to win it. To my mind, that is no better than stealing.” �śNot quite. It would seem that your brother is just a terrible card player. There was no need to cheat. I won fair and square. I do admit, however, that when he began drunkenly waving the timepiece around, I was determined to win it from him. I would have stolen if I had to.” His tone was matter of fact. �śWhy?” I wanted to bite the word back. Some part of me, deep down, knew that his answer was going to change everything. �śWhy? So I could find you, Molly.” I suppose I should have been grateful that there was nothing in my mouth, but my �śglass half-full” mentality flew out the window as I began to hyperventilate for the second time in twenty-four hours. How could he know? How could he possibly know? My lungs burned and my head spun as I tried to regain some control. Easy, slow, long breaths. Okay. So he knew who I was. Maybe Bacon had somehow slipped up in conversation? That had to be it, how else could he know? No one else in the world knew. �śMolly?” The duke’s voice penetrated my fog. �śDon’t call me that,” I responded dully. My breathing had become more regular, and rather than embracing the panic, I had retreated into a numb shell of denial. I was totally adrift, clueless and hating every second of it. �śI know you’re confused right now. But I need you to look at me. Do you truly not remember me?” His voice was gentle, so gentle. I lifted my gaze to meet his, and looked at him hard. Surely I would remember such a handsome face. Such warm chocolate eyes, such lovely dimp�" Blood rushed to my ears as my brain finally located the file, locked away, deep, deep down in the dungeons of my past. In my mind’s eye, I saw a much younger, almost gangly version of the man in front of me. I’d met him when I had just turned thirteen, not long before Gilly had taken us. He had been a teenager then, and his face hadn’t grown into those large, soulful eyes yet. His gait had been awkward, like that of a colt not used to its legs. A loaf of bread under an arm, a kind smile ever present, he would come and give us street kids a coin and food. He would tell us a funny story and talk with us like we mattered. And although he looked sad upon leaving, he never treated us with anything but dignity and respect, never eyed us with pity or disgust. On the rare occasion that I allowed myself to hope and dream during such a hopeless time, I invariably hoped and dreamed of marrying a man like him. So when he asked me my name, I’d told him the truth. And in that other life, my name was Molly. �śMaster Dev?” I asked in shock, startled to feel the warm splash of genuine tears against my shoulder. �śYes Moll, it’s me.” �śHow�Ś” For once in my life, words escaped me. How had he known it was me after all these years? I’d been just a child. There were so many questions. I didn’t even know where to begin. He sank down on the side of the bed, the last remnants of anger leaving his face. God, how could I have forgotten that face? I had adored that face. It was one of the few in my childhood that, upon seeing me, would alight with a smile rather than twist into a snarl of fury. He held his hand out to me now, one of the few hands that had ever reached out to me in kindness rather than to administer pain. Exhaustion, despair, relief and fear coalesced and, falling forward, I pressed my head against his big, warm shoulder and began to sob in earnest. Chapter Four I don’t know how long we sat there, but the afternoon light was fading by the time I stirred against him. I lifted my face to his and tried to figure out what the hell to do. How do you continue to lie to someone who has shown you such kindness? Yet my allegiance had always been, had to be with Gilly, and I promised him that I would never tell. There were so many questions I needed answered, too. How had Devlin found me, or even known it was me when he did? More importantly, why had he even been looking? He stared back at me, lifting a hand to my hair and tucking it behind my ear. Leaning close, he pulled my face to his and said, �śI missed you, little one.” Then he laid the softest of kisses on my lips. It was as though a dam had burst within me at that touch. I grabbed the back of his head with my free hand and brushed my lips against his, nipping at his lower lip. His response, a delicious moan, told me everything I needed to know. With my heart in my throat, I said, �śI need you, Dev. No more questions, no more lies. I’m so very raw right now. I just need to not think. What do you say to a truce? Just until morning.” �śTruce,” he replied, giving me a wicked grin that I needed so very much at that moment. He traced my lips with his finger, and I bit it gently. I struggled to move closer to him, but the jangle of the chain stopped me short. �śWait. Why all this?” I gestured to the creepy stuff all over the room. It was just to satisfy my curiosity by that point. Now that I knew who he was, I knew for certain he would never hurt me, or anyone else, for that matter. Dev chuckled, although for some reason it sounded a bit forced. �śThis room was here when I moved in. The gentleman that lived here before me had odd collections of things in every room of the house. I just hadn’t gotten around to emptying this room out yet. When I�Śtook you, I thought it would be the perfect spot to put a little scare into you. That, and it’s the only room with shackles.” He gave the offending chains a rattle. �śNow, to address that issue.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the key. He unlocked my wrist first, then slid down to unlock my ankle. I felt the chain fall away, then the heat of his breath, the brush of his lips. I squirmed in delight as he kissed and nibbled on my ankles, moving his way up my calf. His fingers traced a devilish path on the soft skin on the back of my knee as his mouth continued its journey to my thigh, bunching my skirt higher as he went. I forgot to breathe as he pressed his lips against each of my hips in turn. He stood then and reached his hand out to me, pulling me up to stand in front of him. Spearing his hands through my hair, he urged me onto my tiptoes and bent low to kiss my forehead, my cheek, the tip of my nose, each corner of my lips, then finally my mouth. Gentle kisses this time, filled with longing and tenderness. I moved closer, until our bodies were flush, my hips cradling his thighs, his hard length pressing against my stomach. �śI want you so much right now,” he whispered into my mouth. I moaned in response and pulled him tighter to me. His hands left my hair and slid slowly down the sides of my neck, brushing my bare shoulders, slowly sliding my formfitting blouse further down my arms. He watched in the dim light, mesmerized, as my breasts came into view. Finally they spilled forward, aching for his touch. He continued to push the shirt downward, catching the waistband of my skirt as he went, pulling it down too until both garments lay in a puddle at my feet. He straightened, nuzzling my breast for just a moment as he paused, and looked at me. �śWherever did you get that diaphanous undergarment?” he asked, his voice like gravel. I glanced down at my barely there, sheer black lace, string bikini panties, the likes of which he had certainly never seen. �śFrance,” I told him. �śJe l’aime.” He liked it. With one finger, he traced the string. He was almost reverent in his concentration. His face was intense and focused, so in the moment. Just watching him was making me crazy. Part of me wanted to shout, �śHurry up!” while the other part just waited, suspended in a sensual haze. He gripped my hips for a second, then shifted his hands lower and around to cup my ass. A rush of warmth spread between my legs as he squeezed. I bit my lip, and still he stared. �śGod, you are so beautiful.” �śYou too, Dev. You too,” I whispered back. And I meant it. Suddenly desperate to feel his skin against mine, I hastily pushed off his waistcoat and reached for the buttons of his shirt to undress him. I could feel his heart pounding underneath my hands and it thrilled me. When his shirt lay open, I rubbed my cheek against his chest, back and forth, then lower, pressing soft, sucking kisses to his tense abdomen. He trembled. I unbuttoned his pants, then pushed them down over muscular thighs until he was naked. He was a large man in every sense, and I felt a trickle of unrest as I eyed what he had brought to the party. Holy giant schlong, Batman! I started to think about the limitations of the female anatomy at that point and wondered if maybe Dev needed to find himself a heartier lass, but was distracted as he seized that moment to kiss me senseless once again. Filing my concern in the �ścross that bridge when we came to it” part of my brain, I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck and fell back against the bed, pulling him with me. The weight of him was luscious. I felt warm and safe beneath him. He pulled his mouth from mine and pinched my earlobe between his teeth and released. He roamed downward, pressing his lips to my jaw, then to the pulse that leaped in my neck. One big, firm hand closed over my breast and I whimpered with satisfaction as he tugged and teased. I couldn’t get close enough, and arched my hips against his, grinding against him. He looked down at me and said through gritted teeth, �śIt’d be better if you didn’t do that.” I grinned and, grasping his magnificent, juicy bottom in both hands, swiveled my hips again in a slow circle. He issued a muffled curse and lowered his mouth to my chest, flicking my nipple with his tongue, then drawing it into his hot mouth. It was my turn to curse as my hips pulsed against his of their own accord. He turned his attention to my other breast as one hand snaked down my side, over my ribs, trailing my hip. He half rolled off me to his side, splayed his open palm over the cloth of my panties and squeezed. I let out a squeak and he smiled. He grabbed the cloth and gave a sharp tug, breaking the strings with a snap. A moment later his hand covered my already moist heat and a finger slid down my core. �śOh God, Dev, please, just�Ś” I was too far gone to care that I was begging. �śJust what, love?” he whispered as he flexed his long finger deep inside me. I reached for him then, wrapping my own fingers around his swollen sex, and held him tight, stroking up, then down. He groaned, pulling my hand away, then rolled back to cover me. �śNext time,” he muttered under his breath, and spread my legs with his knee. Both of us held our breath as he probed with his thick, hard length and found his mark. Flexing his hips, he stared into my eyes as he pressed, inch by exquisite inch, into my waiting heat. His arms shook with the effort of holding back as my body stretched to receive him. Finally he was buried, seated deep inside me, and it felt so right. I tried to savor the sensation, tried to stay still as my body clenched around him in gentle waves. Soon it became too much, and I began to bounce my hips against his, pulling at his backside with my hands. Eyes blazing, jaw clenched, with his dark mop of curls, he looked like some sort of avenging angel come to life. He took my wrists in his hands and held them down against the bed over my head, pulling back and sliding deep as he did. I moaned as he pulled away again, only to gasp when he came back, filling me once more. He worked his hips long and slow, despite my attempts to urge him faster. He was relentless, and my body was like a wire about to snap. I started to shake as the pressure began to build, heat suffusing my whole body, skin tingling. �śYes, that’s it, love. Come on,” he said, his voice an urgent whisper as he thrust faster and deeper. He bent his head low and sucked my nipple into his mouth, giving a long pull as he plunged forward. Then I was flying. I let out a yelp as my body imploded in hard, smashing waves, clenching tight over him again and again. As tremors still racked my body, Devlin stiffened above me and shouted, quaking and straining, pinning me hard against the bed as he came. �śI love you, I love you,” he whispered into my hair. It was some time later before I realized that my entire body had gone numb from his weight and I let out a muffled squeak. He rolled heavily off me, leaving one arm wrapped around my waist. His hand stroked my stomach almost absently as we lay. Neither of us spoke for a long time. I was deep in thought about the irony of fate, my predicament, my feelings for Dev, my loyalties to Gilly and more. I lay quiet, not wanting to disturb Dev from his undoubtedly equally philosophical thoughts. He began to snore. I stared at him, flabbergasted. I was absolutely torn up inside and he was off in dreamland. How could a person have such an emotionally crazy night, all these questions unanswered, all these feelings unresolved, and just conk out? With no plan beyond getting the TTMs back in my possession, I extricated myself from under Devlin’s arm with painstaking care. Rising, I gathered my clothes as stealthily as possible, although the effort was wasted as his snoring had picked up steam and taken on epic proportions by that point. Once dressed�"except for my torn undies�"I rifled through his clothes and found my TTM and goggles in his waistcoat pockets. I tiptoed over to my carpetbag and, to my immense relief, found the mercury pin in its hidey-hole. Good start. I put everything in my bag and turned back to Devlin. Despite my intentions, staring at his gorgeous, naked body sprawled on the bed, his sweet face soft in sleep, I just couldn’t bring myself to slap the shackles on him. But I couldn’t allow him out of the room until I checked the house and located the second TTM either. I went back and pulled the door key from his pocket and moved out of the room, locking the door behind me. I went through the house methodically, opening each door, giving a cursory look and then moving on. My hope was to narrow it down from the twenty-plus rooms to the few most likely locations, making the search a little more manageable. Turned out, it was far easier than I’d expected. About eight rooms into my recon, I opened a door and hit pay dirt. Devlin’s workshop. It was a huge room, perhaps a ballroom in a former life, with remarkably high ceilings. Clearly it was where he spent most of his time. I stood in the doorway for a moment, my eyes flickering from one thing to the next in amazement. The place looked like Rube Goldberg’s childhood playroom. Dozens of odd-looking contraptions, ranging from the simple to the extremely complex, stood on every available service. The centerpiece of the room, however, was a large, pod-shaped flying machine hung by thick ropes from the high ceiling. It resembled a modern-day blimp, but the material looked more like parchment or worn leather. It reminded me of a giant, prehistoric moth that had been stripped of its wings. I spared the dirigible only a fleeting glance and walked forward, picking my way through the maze of creations, focused on one thing. A giant replica of the TTM. Not exactly right, but close enough that I knew exactly what it was. There was no way that had been made in the weeks since he’d won the mechanism from Bacon. No, this thing was elaborate, like it had been years in the making. The implications had me floored. Either Devlin, by some impossible stroke of luck, had created something very similar to Gilly’s invention on his own. Or, as crazy as it was, he had seen the TTM before and was attempting to recreate it himself. When I finally reached the display, I stood in front of the device, dwarfed by its size. The intersecting gears were precision, and looked to be made of real silver. The numbers were painstakingly hand painted and decorated with gold leaf. While it was beautiful, it appeared to be in the midst of repairs. A couple of empty spots, a few missing hands; I could only guess that since he had the actual item in his possession, he was retooling this one now for accuracy. Walking around to the back side of it, I confirmed my suspicion. A fresh hole had been bored into it, still sharp-edged, not yet buffed down, mimicking the empty hole that would house a mercury pin. I stepped back, bumping into a long worktable. Glancing down, I puzzled at the contents. It was covered in drawings, notes and literally dozens of miniature TTM replicas. As I picked them up, one at a time, turning them this way and that, I realized with dread, he was close, terrifyingly close to figuring it all out. One pin away, really. Who has he shown these to? Does he have other engineers, inventors working with him? This could be far more serious than I had even suspected. As I searched gadgets, I found Bacon’s easily. It was clutched in a vise, surrounded by tools as if had been worked on. I released it from the grips, and slipped it into the carpetbag with mine. There was no point in taking the rest of them. He had the knowledge to recreate the mechanics of it. I could only hope that no one else knew and that he had no inkling of what was in the pin that drove it. I began to look through the myriad of papers on the worktable. The top ones were drawings of my alternate perception goggles. He had worked fast, creating maybe a half-dozen sketches already, with measurements and various specs jotted all over the pages. I took those and shoved them into my bag as well. Even if the TTM could be recreated, it would be difficult to locate an open wormhole without the APGs. And without the sketches, it would be nearly impossible to make the goggles from memory. Whether any of this would stop him, I couldn’t know, but it would at least slow down his progress. As I continued to shuffle through his papers for anything else of any import, my eye fell upon something that stopped me in my tracks. Dropping all but the sheet in my hand, I was stunned to see the face of my beloved Gilly staring up at me. Tears instantly pooled in my eyes, a sob clogging my throat. I ran my fingertips over his sweet face. God, I missed him. Why is this here? I looked harder and realized that he was young in this picture, at least relatively speaking. This was not Gilly at age seventy-six, right before cancer ripped him from our lives. It was Gilly in his sixties, the way he looked when he first found us. For no reason except that I wanted it and couldn’t bear to leave it, I folded it carefully and stowed it in my bag as well. Shoving back the sorrow that threatened to engulf me, I picked up the sheaf again, determined to unravel the mystery that was getting more mysterious by the second. This time, under the pile, I noticed a tan leather journal. Tamping down a tiny niggle of guilt, I opened the worn, smooth cover to read. Chapter Five Bethlehem, September 15, 1823 If I wasn’t insane before, staring at these walls is making me feel that way. I know I shouldn’t complain. At least I have private quarters, miniscule though they may be. Some of the ladies here (whose husbands are not as generous with the hospital as my parents have been) are just piled together like stones, sometimes five to a room. The worst part of it is that many of them seem perfectly ordinary. It is said within these walls that some are no more than victims of their husbands’ anger. Maybe they were disobedient, maybe they strayed, but they seem so normal. I suppose I seem normal as well. And I suppose it’s not so bad, really. Sometimes, for those of us who have the capacity to enjoy it, they hold dances in the great hall. During the day they let us into the yard for a while. It’s nice to feel the sun on my face. Father and Mum feel they know best, so here I must remain, with the other unfortunates, until my diseased soul is cured. I don’t know when that will be, because I know what I saw. It didn’t �śseem” real. It was real. I am so tired, all of the time, tired. Bethlehem, September 28, 1823 It seems strange that three months have gone by since I first arrived. It feels like forever, yet no time at all. Today was difficult for me. For a fee, several times a month they allow people fascinated by the macabre to come in and stare at us, even in the curable wing. Today was such a day. I can’t say why it bothered me more today, to have them stare and point. I have heard that the incurables are sometimes poked and prodded with sticks. It is a wonder that these visitors are not required to stay here as well. Wouldn’t it seem that only a wicked mind, a broken soul, could delight in another’s misery so? Most of the time, it feels as if it all must be a dream, or a nightmare. But I know, too, that this is my punishment. Not for being a lunatic, or diseased, or possessed by demons, or for any of the reasons doctors give for my being here. No, I’m being punished for not saving those children. I had the chance. I could have done something, but fear stopped me. And now, here I am. Unable to search. Unable to convince anyone else to search. Would that I could close my eyes just once and not see her dirty little face, her oft belligerent, brave countenance in my mind. Would that I might sleep one night through without waking, wondering if they suffered a fate far worse than mine. Would that I�Ś Bethlehem, November 11, 1823 They tell me that I seem to be responding to treatment. Before last month, it had been limited to mustard plasters or leeches. The leeches are disgusting creatures, but those treatments are mild compared to those of some of the other patients. Because my condition wasn’t improving, the doctors have moved to something entirely new called the tranquilizing chair. I�ŚI do not like it. I will do whatever it is I need to do and tell them whatever it is they want to hear in order to not have it again. If I supply the proper answers to their questions, perhaps there will be an end to this. I have not seen Mother or Father in quite a while now. I understand their not wanting to be here, and hope, for their sake, that the speculation and gossip of the ton had�Śrun its course. I know I’ve embarrassed them. And I know they fear that I have ruined my chance of ever finding a suitable wife, but I cannot find it within me to mourn that fact. I just want to go home now. I long for the freedom to ride my horse, to go outside when I choose, to eat what I like. Yet at times I wonder, would freedom be better? Will I even be truly free until I know about what happened to Molly and the boy? I cannot stop my brain from imagining some new horrors that they might be subjected to. If I could just know they were all right, I would be all right. Bethlehem, November 23, 1823 I’ve settled into a routine of lies for the past month, denying my eyes and what I know to please the doctors here. To the point that I’d almost even convinced myself. I’d begun to hope that, rather than replaying that day over and over, rather than obsessing about it and what I could have done differently, that maybe as time passed, the event would be less affecting, that maybe I could go on as if it never happened. But in a moment of clarity�"and they seem to occur less and less of late�"I realize that I don’t want to forget. I need to remember, need to write down my thoughts about that day in the event that all these �śtreatments” make me lose sight of my thoughts altogether, in order to preserve the truth, so that if I ever get out of this place, it will serve as a reminder. But not today. I can’t face it this day. Tomorrow, then. Bethlehem, November 24, 1823 I suppose I should really start at the beginning, and the beginning was January 2nd of that same year. I hadn’t ever really noticed the urchins on Fenchurch Street. I am sure they’d always been there, but preoccupied with my own import, I’d never truly seen them before that day. They were a part of London, part of the setting, no different than the cobbles or the vendors or the gloomy winter weather, and as such, I paid them no mind. On this particularly cold day, I was on my way home, wrapped snugly in my heavy wool greatcoat. Scurrying down the street, arms full of sketches I’d done that week at my art lessons, I was looking forward to a blazing fire in the hearth and a cup of warm chocolate. Distracted, I tripped on a loose stone and landed hard, vellum flying everywhere. Cursing my stupidity, I looked around to see if anyone had noted my mishap. Three grubby, solemn-faced children milled nearby. One of them, a girl, stepped forward and silently began picking up the scattered sketches. I stood quickly and began to scoop some up as well, mumbling my reserved but polite thanks (though, to my everlasting shame, I clearly remember hoping that the filthy little thing didn’t smudge them). Once they’d all been gathered up, I held a hand out for the ones in her possession. The girl boldly met my eyes with hers and I finally, really looked at her. She couldn’t have been more than thirteen. Her frame was thin, too thin. Dark shadows under her eyes gave her the look of someone far older than her years. She lifted her pointy little chin haughtily as I stared. Her navy-blue eyes snapped with pride, daring me to judge her. She handed me the drawings without a word and, with the bearing of a miniature queen, turned to go. Something made me reach out for her scrawny little arm, but I stopped as she flinched. �śIt’s all right, child. I just wanted to give you a coin for your help.” �śYou aren’t much more than a child yerself, are you, Master? But I’d be ’appy to take yer coin,” she responded blithely. The two children behind her, a small red-haired boy and another towheaded lad, moved forward then, hands out. I looked at them, noting how pale they were, and that all three were trembling. �śYou tremble. Are you afraid of me, then, children?” I asked them gently. The girl snorted and replied, �śNo, sir. Mayhap you didn’t notice, but it’s bloody cold out ’ere.” I realized then that none of them had coats or gloves and suddenly my world tipped. The scenery came to life and the background became the foreground. I dropped the sketches onto the street and stripped off my coat, tossing it over the girl’s shoulders. She swam in it, and it could have wrapped her three times around, but she closed her eyes and buried her face in the neck. I stripped off my scarf and waistcoat, wrapping up the little redheaded boy next, and gave the yellow-haired child my gloves and hat. I pulled the purse from my belt and handed it over. �śGet something hot for dinner, will you?” I said and picked up my drawings to leave. Turning back, I called over my shoulder, freezing myself now, �śI’ll be back later in the week!” �śSure you will, sir. We thank you fer the clothes and coin, though,” she said, her face filled with acceptance and an understanding that humbled me. Then they scampered off with the small sack of coins, chattering with excitement. I kept my word. In fact, I went back once every week, dropping off food each time�"mincemeat pies, loaves of bread and even coins when I could. The three soon became a dozen, and I would sketch them and tell them stories. During this time, I became especially attached to the little girl I’d met that first day, Molly. She was full of piss and vinegar, and I admired her greatly. Although she remained wary and a bit reserved, every time I came when I promised I would, she seemed to trust me a little more. There was something special in her. Something that both humbled and surprised me. I was in awe of the way she took the younger children under her wing. The way she was so willing to share when she had so little. I found myself wishing I was as strong as she was, as good as she was. I spent a fair amount of time thinking how unfair it was that she never really had a chance in this world. In truth, I spent even more time hoping that someday I would be able to give her that chance. As the weeks passed, I got to know all of the children to some degree, learned their names and their favorite foods so I could smuggle the most wanted items from Cook if I had the chance. This went on for a few months until my father got wind of it from his solicitor who had seen me with the children. I was forbidden to go any longer. I had turned seventeen that April and was practically a man by any standard, but as I had no income of my own, I was bound to my parents tightly. His edict didn’t stop me, but I had to be tricky and limit my visits to a couple times a month. On a warm June evening, not knowing the visit would be my last, I’d gone to bring the young rabble on Fenchurch Street some berry tarts I had secured from the kitchens. As I approached the corner of Fenchurch by way of Upper Thames Street, I heard a voice I recognized down the alleyway. Little Molly. Thinking to alert her of my visit, I headed toward the alley to call to her when another voice, a deep male voice rang out. �śYou will have things you never dreamed of, sweets. And I would never hurt you or the boy.” I peered around the corner, shielding my body behind a large shrubbery, and saw Molly and the little ginger-haired boy, Peter, standing with a well-dressed older man. Molly’s face was scrunched up in thought, and the man spoke again. �śIf we are to go, the time is now,” he said urgently. She looked up at him, grabbed Peter’s tiny hand in hers and gave one brisk nod. �śAll right, sir.” I wanted to run out and yell. What possible reason could this man want to lure these young ones into a deserted alley? Why would he want to take them somewhere else with him? My brain supplied possible answers, none of them good. I couldn’t believe Molly would go with him. Surely she knew better. But maybe his offer was more than she could refuse. Terrified for the children but unsure what to do, I backed away a bit to conceal my face from view. Wherever they were going, they would be coming back my way leaving the alley, and I could remain undetected, then jump out and intercede when they got closer. It could be that the man would just let them alone when he realized there was someone watching. I was sure I could convince Molly that this was not prudent if I just had a moment to speak with her. And worst-case scenario, if it came down to a fight, the man was large and fit but getting on in years. With the element of surprise maybe I had a chance. I ducked low behind the bush, waiting. But a minute later, they still had not passed. I took another furtive peek around the corner and stared in disbelief. They stood in the same spot, but the man had donned a pair of strange goggles, with multiple lenses in varying sizes. In his hand he held a timepiece. It was big, with elaborate gears, and he turned a dial on it with care. Linking his arms with the children, he stood remaining very still. �śClose your eyes,” he counseled. They did. I had no idea what to expect at that moment. Would he dash them in the head with his strange, giant pocket watch? Would he push them to the ground and beat them? Would he laugh at their na�Żveté and walk away? Whatever my brain had conceived could not compare to what actually happened next. The air behind them crackled, then wavered, almost like water rippling. A small pinpoint of bright light appeared and flickered. And as I stood frozen, stood doing nothing to stop them, I watched Molly and little Peter, hand in hand with the devil, vanish in a blinding flash. Gone. The words blurred and my eyes burned. Fat tears plopped onto the yellowing pages as, for the third time in the last thirteen years�"and the second time that day�"I cried for real. My heart was breaking into a million pieces. Devlin, the Loony Duke of Leister, had gone to Bethlehem Hospital because of me. Bedlam, they call it. The most infamous sanitarium in history. And I had put him there. I had quite literally ruined his life. How lonely he must have felt, how scary it must have been, how abandoned he was. A bolt of fury toward his parents shot through me. Parents who don’t stand by their children are lower than slugs in my book. Tears still flowing, I turned the page and found a whole section of drawings of me, of Gilly, of Bacon, of the TTM and goggles. They were all painstakingly detailed and fairly accurate, with the exception of Gilly. His eyes looked somehow cruel, indicating that Devlin had a skewed view of him based on his interpretation of the events of that day. At least an hour passed as I continued leafing through the rest of the journal. There were no more entries from Bethlehem Hospital. The next written entry was dated February 1824, and it was apparent that Devlin had just been released, writing from home. He seemed relieved to some degree, but still very troubled by our disappearance. Entries were sporadic from then on, sometimes with several months between them. Many of them chronicled his interviews of the other street children regarding our possible whereabouts and the strange man who had taken us, and his theories over what had happened. One entry mentioned his nickname (although at that time it was �śthe Loony Lord of Leister”), which bothered him more out of guilt for the burden on his family than anything. Things took a turn when he entered university and started taking a serious interest in science and engineering, even dabbling in alchemy. He began to put it all together then, and through his studies, realized that it was no magic or devilry, but science that he had witnessed. This gave him some relief because it allowed him to hold out hope that we were alive and well. By his early twenties, Devlin was numb to any judgments of him and had lost patience with his parents’ preoccupation with society and their reputations. By the time they were both killed in a carriage accident when he was twenty-five, their relationship had been strained to say the least. He dutifully mourned their passing, but if their relationship had been one of affection, by the time of their passing it had dulled to one of obligatory respect. He moved on with his life quickly. After their deaths, he traveled, studying science wherever he went, still on a quest to unlock the mystery of our disappearance. It was around 1832 that he’d become convinced that what he had witnessed was time travel, and all his efforts and entries surrounded that topic. I was glad to see that they indicated his determination to solve the mystery as well as passion and interest in time travel rather than just guilt and despair over Bacon and me. The very last entry was the day after his card game with Bacon. Apparently, Devlin had no clue that this was the boy he’d been looking for all those years. Bacon had only been six at the time we disappeared. As a man, he looked nothing like the dirty little ragamuffin of Devlin’s memories, aside from maybe the hair, but even that had mellowed to a strawberry blond over the years. All Devlin was hip to at that point was that the TTM looked exactly like the device he had seen in his dreams for the past thirteen years, and that he needed to possess it. Once he had won it, he did try to get some information on the devices’ origins, but Bacon, in a rare display of common sense, told him that he had won it himself only a few nights before. I closed the book after reading the final page and stood for a moment, still reeling. In all real terms, nothing had changed. I’d promised Gilly that I would never divulge our secret. This was the one thing, the only thing, he had ever asked of me, and I wouldn’t let him down. Telling anyone, even someone as worthy as Devlin, was out of the question. So now what? Suck it up and keep it moving, Stormy, that’s what. I tried not to think about Dev at all as I did a thorough check of the room, making sure I didn’t leave anything important behind. I checked my bag one more time to make sure I had everything and left the workspace. As I tiptoed up the stairs and approached the chamber where Devlin slept, I was at once relieved and heartsick to hear him snoring still, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. I wished I could have just woken him up, for even one minute. But I wouldn’t lie to him anymore. And I couldn’t tell him the truth. So there was absolutely nothing to say. Jesus, what kind of person am I? After all he went through for me. Could I dare to hope that he would just be satisfied to know that we were alive? That he would be able to move on and find happiness now? Maybe even a wife who would love him for his dogged determination and innate kindness. Or the way he smelled, all warm and manlike. Or the way his dimple flashed and his eyes lit up when he laughed. The tears that seemed to be my constant companion of late returned in a rush and I bit my hand to stifle a pitiful sob. Get on with it, you twit. I pulled the key from my bag and stuck it in the lock but didn’t turn it, leaving it sticking from the keyhole. Then I reached into the carpetbag one more time and pulled out the sketch of Gilly, tearing off a corner of the sheet and putting the drawing back in my bag. Grabbing a pencil from a nearby desk drawer, I wrote: Devlin, For the first time in thirteen years, I truly wish things were different. But they’re not. And still, I can’t leave without letting you know that Bacon and I have lived a wonderful life, with a gentle, loving man who treated us as his own. And you don’t have to worry about us anymore. Forever, Stormy I folded the note gently and laid it on the floor in front of the door, knowing that once Devlin woke up, he would find the key in the lock and use his ingenuity to free himself. He would find my letter, but not before I had a chance to get away. Then I grabbed my bag and walked out of the house, leaving Devlin behind. Again. Chapter Six I had purposefully gotten a room close to Leister’s estate so that if a break-in and getaway was necessary, Bacon would be close by and we could make tracks fast. But as I walked the two miles back to the inn, I discovered that covering the relatively short distance still left me way too much time to think. I stopped and almost turned back at least a dozen times, only to continue walking because there was no point in going back. It would only delay the inevitable. I cared about Devlin a lot. That much was true. And to be honest, even that much was tough for me to swallow because I can count on two fingers how many people I’ve allowed myself to get close to in the last twenty years. Sure, he was gorgeous and funny and sexy and smart and great in bed. But more than that, he was a good man with a shiny, pure soul. If I could find a man like that in the twenty-first century, I’d chain him to my bed. But I couldn’t tell him about the TTM and I couldn’t tell him about time travel, or anything else for that matter. So he couldn’t come with me, and I couldn’t stay in 1800s. Not just because of air-conditioning and tartar-control toothpaste, but also because I needed to take care of Bacon. We made a pact a long time ago that we would never go back to stay, and I could never leave him, so that was that. Not that Bacon was the problem, really. Even if there was no Bacon, and I could stay, Devlin wasn’t the type of guy to let it go. �śHey Dev, listen, about all that stuff? The stuff that landed you in the loony bin for six months and ruined your life forever and destroyed your family? Just forget it. I am going to stay here with you and just plead the fifth about what went down that day, where I’ve been and what that machine is. You cool with that?” I almost cracked a smile, thinking about what his reaction would be to that. The urge was fleeting as I reminded myself that I would never see his reaction to that or anything else, ever again. My stomach pitched at that, and I would have given anything to click my heels and be home a moment later where I could sleep until the pain of it all passed. Despite my waffling, I made pretty good time. I arrived back at the inn about a half an hour later, freezing my ass off�"since I had no drawers on. I looked like a disheveled gypsy mess. There was no way the proprietress would recognize me as the same lady who had checked in. To avoid any hassles, I sneaked around to the side door, maximum stealth engaged, and sidled through the hallway to our room. I unlocked the door and slipped into the room. Bacon was standing in the corner near the window. I shut the door behind me and rounded on him, the despair a living, writhing thing inside me. It was determined to manifest itself in some horrible way and found a suitable target in my brother. �śWell, Bacon,” I began in a voice dripping with acid, �śI just want to thank you again for setting this hideous mess into motion with your careless�"ooof!” The air was forced from my lungs in a rush as he threw his arms around me, lifting me off my feet and squeezing so hard I thought was going to end up a human bobblehead doll. �śDammit, Storm, you scared the ever-loving shit out of me. I thought you were dead or something. One hour, one more hour and I was leaving for Leister’s to get you. What the hell happened? I was so afraid for you,” he said softly, voice breaking, dopey green eyes swimming with unshed tears. Aww jeez. My mouth was still open in preparation for verbal castration, but I closed it with a snap. And for my next act, ladies and gentlemen, seal pup clubbing. Dammit. I wasn’t even allowed to throw a decent hissy fit. With a sigh, I holstered my word pistols, packed away my puppy-kicking boots and pasted on a reassuring smile. �śI’m okay, I’m fine.” Breaking away from his iron grip, I held out my arms and executed a turn so he could see that I was in one piece, at least on the outside. �śBut we have to go. Right now.” I brushed by him and started gathering the few things we had brought with us, shoving them into my bag. I briefly debated changing into my proper lady garb again to make the walk through town toward the beach in the event that Devlin asked after us and described me, but didn’t want to waste another minute. Even if he woke shortly after I left, it would take him some time to escape. Odds were that we would be long gone by the time he was out and about asking questions. Even so, he was wicked smart and my instincts were telling me that above all else, we needed to get out of town as quickly as possible. Plus we still had to get out to the beach, assemble my TTM and locate the wormhole. We needed as much of a head start as we could get. �śRight, so you got it, then?” Bacon asked hopefully. �śOf course I got it.” �śThanks, Sis.” He sounded pathetically grateful and I gave him a quick grin. �śNo problem.” Until that point I’d been so wrapped up in my own feelings that I hadn’t considered whether I would tell him what happened, or about Dev and the asylum. On one hand, he wasn’t a child and he deserved to know. On the other, he would feel just as guilty about it as me, and what purpose would that serve? For the gazillionth time since his death, I wished Gilly were there to give me some advice. Sick to death of my own self-pity and determined to shake off the melancholy, I stopped quibbling, took the bull by the horns and gave it to Bacon straight. �śHere’s the situation,” I began, closing my carpetbag, and trying to keep my voice light. I told him almost everything but left out the sex part�"because who wants to hear that about their big sister?�"and any mention of how I left things with Devlin. He stared at me, trying to gauge whether I was serious or not, for a long moment. �śYeah.” He nodded. �śYeah, he does look like him, now that you mention it. Man, he was so nice to us, ’member?” Sigh. I ’membered. I tried to push the big lug toward the door, but he dug in his heels. �śSo is he okay now?” He sounded so forlorn I wanted to cut my tongue out for telling him. I couldn’t for the life of me recall why I thought it was a good idea. I guess maybe misery really does love company. For someone who detests lying to someone they love, I prepared to make a hypocrite of myself and geared up for a doozy, because I knew Bacon wouldn’t let it go. �śHe’s okay. When I left, he was sleeping like a baby. And I asked him earlier if he wanted to come with us, but he’s a really busy guy, so he said no. Now that he knows we’re okay, he’s going to live happily ever after. Probably get married and have twin boys named Mackenzie and Jack, buy them ponies and so on. It’s going to be great,” I announced cheerfully, grabbing one of his big mitts in mine and pulling him toward the door. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but lucky for me, he allowed himself to be led away and soon we were on the street hoofing our way to the beach. It was only about a ten-minute walk and I set a grueling pace, mostly due to the circumstances, but also to keep Bacon out of breath so he would stop asking me questions: did I think Devlin was going to be okay? Could we could come back and visit him sometime? Loads of questions, none of which I wanted to answer, because the answers were just too sad. I was totally disgusted with myself, but no matter how I turned it, I didn’t see any possible way to make this a happy ending. We approached the beach, and the brackish smell of the water assailed me just as the breeze kicked it up a notch. I scanned the area quickly and had Bacon do the same. It was deserted, as would be expected in October, and we moved to the copse of trees we had come from only the day before. Lord, has it really only been one day? So much had happened and I was so wrung out, it seemed like a month or more. Once we found our landmark tree, I set down my bag, calling to Bacon over the whipping winds. �śGet out the APGs, and I’ll put together my TTM. Dev was messing with yours and I don’t want to take any chances with it.” He nodded and pulled the goggles out of the bag. I reached in and grabbed various pieces, losing myself in the intricate task of rebuilding the TTM. �śUh, hey, Storm?” Bacon called a few minutes later. �śI’m almost done, just a couple more minutes. Did you find the wormhole yet?” �śThat’s what I wanted to tell you. I don’t see one.” I put the half-assembled TTM down and held out a hand for the APGs, donning them quickly. As I moved through the various loops and lenses, I noted that my perception stayed the same no matter which lens I selected. I went through all seven once, then again. No striations, no change in color, no ripples in the atmosphere. Nothing. It was almost like the lenses were just plain glass. I closed my eyes briefly as realization dawned. Dammit, Devlin. I should have known that he would take some precautions. Replacing the lenses with glass would be the safest thing to do on the off chance I somehow got to them. Okay, so this was a minor setback. I had a legendary eye for wormholes and, as I knew we were in the general location, it was only a matter of time until I spotted it. �śGlass,” I shouted to Bacon, pointed to the lenses. �śIt’s okay, I don’t need them. See if you can find it while I finish.” I had added the last just to keep him busy. If Hogwarts had a wormhole-spotting class, Bacon would have failed miserably. I bent to pick up the time-travel device so I could complete the assembly, but was halted by another unpleasant epiphany. If Dev had taken the time to sabotage the goggles, why would he carry all the pieces to the TTM in his pocket for me to find? I knew, just as surely as I knew all of my names, he wouldn’t. I continued, determined to finish the task and find out what was missing so I could evaluate just how dire the situation was. A couple of minutes later, I found out. The temporal displacement module was missing. It was nothing but a tiny sensor and a needle that moved to and fro. In fact, it didn’t really alter the functionality of the machine at all. But what it did do was allow us to gauge when to stop. Without it, accuracy, even to within a decade, was impossible. Prognosis: pretty fucking dire. Sticking around to fix it by dismantling Bacon’s TTM and swapping parts out would take at least an hour. Not to mention that no time-travel devices were exactly alike, so there would need to be additional adjustments. At the end of the day, without the proper tools, we still could be off by as much as a year. No, we needed to get out of Lordship ASAP. We’d have to just go where it took us and hope for the best. Wherever or whenever we ended up, we could take our time and fix it properly. This trip had been doomed from the start and I was finally resigned to that fact that its conclusion was going to be no picnic either. I looked up to see Bacon squinting at various points in the air, closing one eye, then the other, occasionally swiping at the air like a bear trying to knock a beehive out of a tree. �śGot anything?” I asked him, managing with some effort to keep all the sarcasm out of my voice. �śNot yet.” �śAll right, then, you set the TTM and I’ll look for the wormhole.” As I began the hunt, trying to keep my eyes unfocused in hopes of spotting a ripple, I heard a sound. It just barely penetrated the rush of the wind and the crash of the waves. I stopped and strained to hear more clearly and was rewarded with the sound of a baying bloodhound. My heart stuttered and I froze in sheer terror as the sound got closer. Please, no. A moment later, a lean brown dog came around the bend and entered our little thicket, jowls flapping as it howled and barked. A sharp whistle sounded, and the hound went silent. Not twenty feet away, Devlin of Leister rounded the corner looking loonier than ever, wild-eyed, with my torn underwear clutched in his hand. His mouth a tight line, his jaw tense. There had always been some small part of me that took comfort in the fact that I had endured so much pain in my life, almost like it might make me somewhat immune to more. Part, �śOkay, I’ve had my share of misery, so in the interest of Even Steven-ness, the rest of my life should be easy, right?” Combined with a dash of, �śAnd if not, fine. After what I’ve seen and been through, there isn’t much you can do to me that could be worse, so whatever.” But as I stood staring at Devlin, that part of me shriveled up and died. Apparently, fate was intent on making this a teaching moment. The lessons? You never become immune to new pain, you don’t get credit for old pain and it ain’t up to you to decide when you’ve had your share of it. Devlin’s eyes stood out in stark relief against his face, so pale and so full of sadness and bitterness, it took all I had not to look away. The hound trembled with excitement as Devlin reached to pat him, murmuring words of praise as he continued to skewer me with his stare. �śHello, Dorothy.” He inclined his head in a stiff nod, �śBacon,” he said, his voice thawing slightly. �śGood to see you again.” �śHey, Master Dev,” Bacon said, his eyes alight with unrepressed happiness. Dev returned his smile halfheartedly as he surreptitiously stuffed my underwear into his pocket. �śStormy said you were sleeping but I hoped I’d get to see you before we left. This is great, like a reunion, right?” Bacon asked, sensing something was amiss as his eyes flitted from me to Devlin and back. �śYes, just like that. I had hoped I would see you before you left as well. Where are you headed?” he asked Bacon in a deceptively casual tone. �śDon’t,” I pleaded. �śDon’t what, Dorothy? Don’t try to get the answers I have spent my whole life trying to find? Don’t try to stop this from happening again?” he asked, his voice raw with hurt and edged with desperation. �śYou don’t want to be with me. You’ve made that abundantly clear. But dammit, don’t rob me of the answers I deserve.” �śThey aren’t my answers to give,” I said, begging with my eyes for his understanding. �śWhat’s happening, Stormy? I thought you told him. I thought he didn’t want to come.” Bacon asked. �śGive me the TTM.” I held my hand out to Bacon. Accustomed to me bossing him around, he gave it to me without a word. I kept his hand in mine as Devlin began to walk toward us, closing the distance quickly. Looking down at the TTM, I noted with relief that Bacon had already set the date and location. I planted one foot for leverage and pivoted toward the spot two few feet behind us where I thought I’d seen a ripple. Praying it was the real deal, I depressed the lever and yanked on Bacon’s arm with all my strength. A moment later, Devlin’s shell-shocked face flickered before my eyes, and we were gone. Chapter Seven West Grove, Pennsylvania, Christmas Eve, 2010 We ended up spending two weeks in 2004 fashioning a new temporal displacement module, but we finally made it back home. I think I’d been outside of the house maybe twice since then�"once to buy twelve pints of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, and once to chase some pious-looking carolers off our front porch. I just couldn’t get my shit together. Everything, from washing my hair to making tea, felt like a Herculean effort. Christmas was usually my favorite time of the year. Every year we would make a few special trips the month before and hoard tons of treasures, then sell it all on eBay. Flush with cash, we’d clean out all the toys stores in town and bring loads of gifts to all of the homeless shelters and Boys and Girls Clubs. We’d have bikes and books and video games, chocolate Santas and stockings stuffed with goodies. Then we’d hit the food banks and stock them up with turkeys, potatoes and pies. This year, Bacon did all the work. I didn’t even have the heart to deliver the gifts with him. I was in glass-half-empty mode, and even though their faces would be alight with joy at their gifts, I knew half of the kids there didn’t have fathers, or had drug addict mothers, or no home to go to. Worse, they stood little chance of breaking that cycle. Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la. I couldn’t work but I couldn’t relax either, and the only time I felt even close to normal was when I was sleeping. I dreamed of Dev and of Gilly, and in that second before waking, that moment between dreams and reality, I felt right again. But then I invariably woke up. The ugliest, most selfish part of me wished that I could just travel back to the day the TTM was lost to Devlin and stop Bacon from leaving the room that night at all. Then I would never have heard of the Loony Duke and I could go back to my old life. But Devlin would never have known that we were all right, and after all he’d been through, I didn’t have the stomach for that. And even if I did, one of the many problems inherent in time travel is that if something happens as a result of time travel, it cannot be undone. Once the state of that time period has been altered, it cannot be altered again without serious consequences. And since we’d been in London on a time-travel mission when Bacon played cards with Devlin, we had already changed things once. We couldn’t go back and fix it, no matter how much I wanted to. By the time we got back home, despite the lies and the fact that he did not agree with my choices or my methods, Bacon forgave me almost right away. Partly because he saw how devastated I was, and partly because we’re family, but mostly because he is a wonderful person and he doesn’t have it in him to hold a grudge. He did, however, try to convince me to go back and get Devlin. �śHe is obviously your soul mate. Fate handed him to you when we were kids, now again as a grown up. And what if you only get one, then what?” he asked for the twentieth time. �śWe promised Gilly we’d never tell,” I reminded him yet again. Bacon stared at me, his soft eyes filled with pity, his thoughtful expression making him look much older than his nineteen years. �śAnd if Gilly was alive he wouldn’t make you keep that promise. If he knew how sad you were right now, there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do to make you feel better. Don’t you know that?” �śI do,” I agreed. �śGilly had a weak spot for us, and he would have sacrificed anything for our happiness, even it meant revealing a secret as potentially dangerous to the world as time travel. And just because he might have been willing to risk that for my happiness, doesn’t mean I am.” �śThe thing about being a martyr, Storm, is that you end up dying alone.” He gave me a sad little smile and walked out, leaving me alone once again with my Chunky Monkey, reruns of I Love Lucy blaring in the background. I dreamed of Gilly again Christmas night. It seemed so real, like I could touch him. And whoever said you can’t dream in color is so dead wrong, because in my dream, Gilly’s lively blue eyes crackled with barely repressed glee, just as they had in life. We sat together on a pair of swings not unlike the ones he had gotten for us when we were young. We swayed forward and back, just enjoying the sun on our faces and being together. He spoke first, and the sound of his voice and that gentle, lilting brogue he’d never quite shaken was a balm to my soul. �śWhat are you doing, lass?” he asked, the glee in his eyes dimming. I almost played dumb and said swinging, but opted to just answer the question. �śWallowing, I guess.” �śNah, wallowing means it’s overdone, undeserved. You have every right to be sad. You’re nursing a broken heart. The question is, why?” �śYou know why. Because it can’t happen,” I responded sharply, instantly regretting my irritable tone. �śSorry, it’s just hard.” �śDo you love him, then? �śI do. I think I loved him from the day I saw him bumbling down the street on those skinny legs, so oblivious to everything around him, so filled with hope. He was like a bright light. I wanted a piece of that light so bad.” �śThat’s what you and your brother are to me, lass. The two brightest spots of my life. More than my inventions or the adventures. I love you unconditionally. And if you love him, then I know he has to be a good man. You couldn’t love another kind. And I trust you to know what’s best, even if it means sharing our secret. See, if you truly love someone, you have to trust them, even if it terrifies you. Not everyone will let you down or hurt you. Haven’t I shown you that? Hasn’t your brother?” I woke with a start, in that heart-pounding �śI feel like I’m falling” way. My face was wet and I felt robbed that I hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye. Knowing that Gilly would visit my dreams again and feeling like I had to take immediate action, I tamped down my disappointment and jumped out of bed, trying to stay calm, trying not to let the little ember of hope flickering within me run amok. I went straight to my desk and unlocked a large drawer, pulling out the Risk Index Module. Breathless with fear and anticipation, I hooked it up to the computer and began frantically typing in the data. Twenty endless minutes later I sat, my finger paused over the Enter key. Closing my eyes, I pressed it and waited as the RIM whirred and clicked. When all was quiet, I opened my eyes, cracking them first like a child playing hide-and-seek and pretending not to peek, then opening them fully to take in the results flashing on the monitor in front of me. Forty-nine percent. My breath hitched as I allowed it to sink in. There was a forty-nine percent chance that Devlin’s absence from his world would cause such a major change in history, that life as we know it could be altered. We had never even attempted anything with a risk factor of higher than ten percent before. Forty-nine was�Śso far out of the question it wasn’t even worth contemplating. And just like that, my little ember of hope fizzled and died. Even if I wanted to go back and get him, I couldn’t. Deep down I think some part of me had always known that. I closed my eyes again and slumped forward, pressing my face to the cool walnut desk, finally, truly beaten, too sad to even weep. Bacon found me in that same spot when he woke up a few hours later. He called to me softly, thinking I was asleep. �śI’m awake,” I said, not even attempting to inject any emotion into my voice. After sitting in that position for hours and thinking about Dev, I was numb. I couldn’t feel my face, and I didn’t care. Bacon moved across the room until I could feel his hulking presence behind me. He let out a soft whistle. �śForty-nine, huh? Well, that won’t do, will it?” He began tapping on the keyboard. Knowing I had entered all the data correctly, I wasn’t even mildly interested in what he was doing, and didn’t even bother to pick my head up to see. By the time he was done and the machine started whirring and flickering, I had almost fallen into a white-noise coma. I was so entranced by the sound of the clicking keys that, when all went quiet again, it was jarring. My eyes popped open and I saw two separate numbers flashing. The one on the left side of the screen read 6 and the one on the right read 10. I turned to look at Bacon questioningly, and he peered back at me, that wide, guileless smile wreathing his face. With a shaking hand, I reached out and clutched the mouse, dragging it to scroll downward. As I read the data he’d entered, I flicked my eyes to Bacon again. �śYou sure?” I asked, the weight of this decision heavy in those two words. �śAre you kidding? Of course I’m sure,” he replied without hesitation. And if there was even the slightest doubt in my mind about my feelings for Dev and what I wanted, it fled as pure joy coursed through me. I leaped to my feet and grabbed Bacon’s hand in mine as we engaged in an impromptu and most excellent dance-off, falling into a gasping, laughing pile on the floor somewhere between the twist and the robot. Chapter Eight Lordship, Connecticut, October 31, 1836 The �śFarewell to 2010” Buffalo chicken salad and diet cola, followed by a shared pint of Cherry Garcia, had seemed like a good idea at the time. But as I walked up to the front door of the estate, eh, not so much. I felt like I was going to blow chunks. Granted, even if I’d sipped weak tea and eaten toast, I probably would have felt that way. But if I did boot, the fallout of tea and toast would have been much less heinous than what was potentially coming up the pike after Bacon’s and my epic binge. Bacon stayed back at the inn, waiting for the verdict. He was pretty optimistic, but since that’s his general state of being, it didn’t give me much comfort. Despite my initial euphoria, during the week of planning that had followed Bacon’s offer, I had gotten progressively less confident about the outcome of this trip. I was still happy that I had a shot at least, but as the look on Dev’s face at the beach that day played like a loop in my mind, I had to wonder�"how many times can you hurt somebody before they stop caring? And had I used up all my chances? I took a deep breath, summoning every last bit of my steely time-pirate resolve, and knocked sharply on the door. A full two minutes passed, and I knocked again, harder this time. And still, another couple minutes later, nothing. Having gone through the gamut of emotions and working myself up for this moment for two weeks, I was panicked at the thought of walking away. Even if it was just to come back later or the next day. On top of wanting, needing to see Devlin’s face, I also needed to know the ending to the story. If it was a yes, I needed to hear it. And if it was a no, well, I needed to hear that too. I was putting it all on the line. And until I had his answer, I was like an armadillo with its belly exposed�"totally vulnerable. I knocked harder. Under my pounding fist, the door popped opened and swung wide. I leaned forward and peeked in but saw no one. Where were his servants? And where was Dev? Almost in answer to my question, a loud banging sound echoed down the long hallway in front of me. It was coming from the workroom. Trembling from head to toe, I stepped into the foyer and shut the door behind me. As I marched slowly down the hallway toward the bang-bang-banging of a hammer, my apprehension was so great that I felt dizzy. If someone took that opportunity to shout, �śDead man walkin’!” it would not have seemed out of place. A moment later, I stood in front of the door of Devlin’s workroom. Either the banging had stopped or all the arteries in my brain had exploded from the pressure, and I could no longer hear. I cleared my throat to check which option was the most likely. A loud bang from the other side of the door let me know my brain was in one piece. �śMary?” shouted Devlin. The panic I felt at the sound of his voice almost sent me tearing ass over teakettle down the hallway and out the door, but the feeling was quickly outweighed by a surge of jealousy. Who the hell was Mary? �śI told you, you didn’t have to come today, I am just going to have some of that cold pie and a�"” The door swung open, and there he was�"Devlin of Leister, love of my life, staring down at me in shock. He was a mess. A gorgeous, sexy mess, but a mess nonetheless. His hair stood on end, dark circles ringed haunted eyes and his clothes hung off him as though he hadn’t eaten since I’d seen him last. Bacon and I had tried to come back to the day after we had left, but the wormhole on the beach had closed, and the best we could do was two weeks later. By the looks of it, it had been a tough two weeks on Devlin. My heart broke just looking at him. I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to it. �śCome back for the rest, did you? Do you want me to pack it up for you?” he asked. He shocked me. His tone was so cold. It was if he was someone I had never known. �śNo�ŚI just wanted to�"” �śWhat? What did you want to do, Stormy? Bugger up my life some more? Because I think you’ve already proven you’re a smashing success at that.” At that, my eyes began fill. I turned to walk away, burning with shame and regret. He had every right to feel the way he did. I had screwed it up and now it was too late. I was halfway to the door before his voice, the one I knew so well, stopped me. �śI won’t tell anyone,” he said softly. �śIf that’s why you came, I won’t tell anyone. As soon as you left, I burned it all. The blueprints, the notes, everything. Your secret is safe, so you can tell your�Śbenefactor that you did your duty.” I turned to face him, but he was already turning to head back into the workroom. My heart thundered at the implications of his words. This wasn’t a definite rejection. He really didn’t know why I was there. So maybe I still had a chance? When I thought he had rejected me just a moment before, it had been so hideously painful that I hesitated for a second, wondering if I could risk putting myself through it again. And then I thought of what Devlin had gone through for me, and what my life would be like without him in it, and I ran toward the workroom door, catching it just before it closed. �śI�ŚI love you,” I stammered at his retreating back, �śand I want to stay here with you. Well, not necessarily here, but anywhere, with you. I’m sorry I hurt you. I tried to come back sooner, but the wormhole was closed and I couldn’t get back, and if you forgive me, I’ll, well, I’ll do anything, Dev. Anything. And even if you don’t, I want to tell you what happened that day, and about my life and about time travel,” I finished breathlessly, the words tumbling out of my mouth coming to a halt as he froze, then turned to face me. I strained to hear him over the pounding of my heart, but he just stood there with his eyes closed, not saying a word. So I kept talking. For the better part of an hour I talked. I told him about Gilly and about his life and his death. I told him about time travel and how it worked and about places I’d been. I even told him about my mother and how she left me. I was terrified to stop, in case he stayed silent. That would be the death knell, the nail in the coffin, Taps bleating from the trumpet. But eventually, I ran out of both steam and saliva, and silence filled the great hallway, nearly suffocating me with its weight. A long moment passed; then, to my great relief, he spoke. �śDo you want to play a game with me?” �śWhat kind of game?” I asked, trying to maintain my composure despite the sudden urge to faint. �śA game of guessing.” �śYes, I do.” I said without hesitation. �śWhat do you have to wager, then?” �śWell,” I said thoughtfully, trying to sound nonchalant as my entire world clicked into place with an almost audible snap, �śI have this emerald ring. It’s got a latch and a secret compartment, in the event that you need to poison someone.” �śSounds intriguing. But I’d rather have the skirt.” �śThe skirt I’m wearing?” I asked, feigning shock. �śThat’s the one,” he said with a smile. But the smile faded, as he moved to stand in front of me. He reached out to cup my chin in his hand. �śEu te iubeste pentru totdeauna.” �śWhat does it mean?” �śI will love you forever. And I will, Stormy.” �śI’m not wearing dresses and corsets everyday, I’ll tell you that right now,” I began to babble. �śAnd you can forget all that �Śobey’ stuff too. That’s not how I roll. I can’t cook either. So don’t say I didn’t war�"” �śOh, for the love of God, would you shut up?” he asked. It was a rhetorical question. He pulled me tightly to his chest and planted a searing kiss on my lips. A long while later, I pulled away. �śI will love you forever too, Dev,” I said, my voice shaking. Sucking in a deep, shuddering breath, I allowed the last of the fear and panic that had been my constant companion for the past two weeks slip away. I worked up my best siren’s smile and asked him, �śNow, how about that game?” Epilogue And so it went that we soon became the Loony Duke and Mad Duchess of Leister. Through with running away from our problems, we moved back to London. With me around town in my britches, hair flying loose, my new nickname was a reasonably good fit. Even so, the locals have really come around to treat us as more of an eccentric novelty than with the previous cruelty they had shown to Dev as a youngster. To address our desire to effect real change in people’s lives, we opened a safe house for children. They can stay, learn a trade, get a hug, eat three squares and sleep in a warm bed at night. We can’t save them all, but we do our absolute best. I also finally uncovered the mystery to Devlin’s torture chamber back in Lordship. Once he had inherited his parents’ fortune, he had used much of it to purchase an old asylum. He had stripped it of its outdated, miserable treatment devices and made it into a real hospital where people could go and be safe while doctors tried to learn more about their patients’ psychological disorders. Devlin kept the items in the hopes of using them to demonstrate the cruelty many mental-health patients were forced to endure. He felt certain that if people saw them and were faced with the brutality of it all, they too would be spurred into taking action. Already, we have two hospitals in England agreeing to try alternative and humane treatments. I’ve used my goggles once a year for a time-traveling adventure. When we travel now, we go to the past and do a little �ścollecting” for Gilly’s House. The trips keep my instincts sharp and the coffers full when we have a lot of mouths to feed. We never go to the future. We’re exactly where we’re meant to be, and the lure to stay would be too strong. In the interest of full disclosure, however, we did go to 2010 one time, right in the beginning. We didn’t stay long, just long enough for me to stock up on a lifetime supply of essentials like Advil and chocolate. Devlin got to try pizza and ice cream. He also got a look at automobiles, television, an airplane and porn. He is infinitely curious about all things twenty-first century. I spend a lot of time sewing lingerie to model for him, drawing pictures of various inventions like the iPod and explaining why anyone would pay money for a bottle of water or a sweater for a dog. The conversations typically go something like this: �śSo a person buys a dog?” �śRight.” �śAnd then they get the dog’s fur cut?” �śWe call it �Śgroomed.’ But yup.” �śAnd then they buy a sweater for it?” �śUh-huh.” �śBut it sort of came with a sweater right from the start.” �śTrue.” �śSo why did they shave it in the first place?” �śGreat question. But sometimes even if they don’t even shave it, they just get the sweater anyway in case the dog gets chilled.” �śOh. So they treat them like people.” �śBingo.” �śWhat’s �ŚBingo’?” And then it starts all over again. Our days are pretty full with the children, and any spare time is spent inventing. Our Magnificent Flying Contraption is almost complete. Devlin also built us a glorious bath for two, and I must say showers are overrated. In fact, when we were testing out our new tub for the first time, we created a miracle. Our daughter Molly will be one-year-old next month. With her father’s soulful eyes and mop of curls, and her mother’s sense of adventure and steely time-pirate resolve, she is trouble with a capital T. Her uncle Bacon adores her and the two of them spend hours playing games together. I only wish Gilly could have met her. She would have stolen his heart for sure. Bacon’s met a lovely young girl named Catherine and they are fast becoming an item. They help out with the children and we have a lot of laughs together. Bacon never was a very good time pirate and he was happy to give it up for good. A simpler guy cut out for simpler times, I think, and far too guileless to be a good pirate, in any case. I don’t know what the future holds. Scratch that. I guess I actually kind of do. But I know there are no guarantees in life, and that’s okay with me. Devlin, Molly, Bacon, Gilly’s House, they’re all worth the risk. And even though sometimes I crave a mochaccino desperately, I know my namesake had it right. There’s no place like home. About the Author Christine Bell is one half of the happiest couple in the world. She and her handsome hubby currently reside in Pennsylvania with a four-pack of teenage boys and their two dogs, Gimli and Pug. If she gets time off from her duties as maid, chef, chauffeur or therapist, she can be found reading just about anything she can get her hands on, from young adult novels to books on poker theory. She doesn’t like root beer, clowns or bugs (except ladybugs, on account of their cute outfits), but lurrves chocolate, going to the movies, the New York Giants and playing Texas Hold ’Em. Writing is her passion, but if she had to pick another occupation, she would be a pirate�Śor, like, a ninja maybe. When she isn’t writing steampunk romance, she’s writing erotic romance under her pen name, Chloe Cole. Christine loves to hear from readers, so please contact her through her website, www.christine-bell.com. Where no great story goes untold. The variety you want to read, the stories authors have always wanted to write. With new releases every week, your next great read is just a download away! Keep in touch with Carina Press: Read our blog: www.CarinaPress.com/blog Follow us on Twitter: www.twitter.com/CarinaPress Become a fan on Facebook: www.facebook.com/CarinaPress ISBN: 978-1-4268-9152-6 Copyright © 2011 by Christine O’Neil-Bell All rights reserved. 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