The Eidolon Read online

  All of the sudden, the ballroom air felt musty, dirty. Veronica had attended one too many balls, cotillions, musical events. Watched the same events unfold, with the same ending. Except tonight. Her eyes sought out the foreign stranger even, wishing she could catch one more glimpse. But he’d vanished. She had to leave before she spent the night looking for him, or even worse, found him again.

  Veronica swept up her skirts and waded through the slow-moving dancers until she reached Alec. She snatched the timepiece hanging from his neck and held it up to his face.

  “I believe I’ve satisfied your requirement, brother dear.”

  Alec glanced at the watch and arched a brow. “Ten minutes yet remain.” He inclined his head at the crowd of females gathered around him. “I plan on using that time to it’s utmost.”

  She used the chain from the piece to yank him closer to her. “I’m leaving, brother, with or without you.” She let it drop and turned to move away but he stood, shoving the girl off his lap and grabbed Veronica’s arm. He pulled her aside and spoke in a low voice.

  “Peanut, what happened? Are you alright?” He lifted his mask, revealing the concern in his eyes.

  She shrugged him off. “How can you do this, Alec? How can you join them?” She glanced at the ballroom, at the dancers and the observers, duplicity reflected in the shiny surfaces of their trifles. Guilt nagged at her for her accusation, but she ignored it. On the other hand, she wanted to know if Alec felt as she did on the balcony, when the foreign stranger took her in his arms.

  Alec snapped his mask back on and turned away. “Why not? I have few enough diversions in my life.”

  “Alec.” Diversions. The same word he often used to describe the track. This could be simply a temporary thrill for him—the thrill of winning. His prize was to feel something, anything good for a while. But only for a while.

  Which was why she herself was leaving. She was not immune to the same lure.

  Veronica lowered her voice. “Don’t let your anger at Papá turn you into this.”

  Alec laughed once. It was a bitter sound. “What a quaint idea. Now, if you will excuse me, I have an appointment with a young lady.” He took the arm of the girl he’d kissed openly and strolled toward the same alcove Veronica had occupied minutes ago.

  Matilda approached. “I am quite ready to leave. I find the company here tiresome. Shall we, my lady?” She took Veronica’s arm.

  Veronica allowed herself to be led out to where Hale stood waiting by the Richmond carriage. She tossed off her mask and threw it aside as they descended the steps. When Hale saw the action, he hopped down from the driver’s box and opened the carriage door.

  “You’d best keep that mouth of yours shut, Hale. My lady is in no mood for your smart remarks,” Matilda said.

  Hale bowed and lifted Veronica into the carriage. “Why your ladyship, when have I ever been so bold as to express an opinion on any subject of importance?”

  Veronica felt one corner of her mouth turn up.

  “Therefore I will not say how glad I am to see you leave this place,” he said.

  “Well,” Matilda sniffed. “Then I will not stop you.”

  Chapter Nine

  The day before

  Emil watched the woman, the one he’d battled and nearly kissed earlier, Milady Trouble, leave the ballroom. Her gait was steady and fast, her full skirts unable to hinder her as she marched through the front door. He’d waited out here, in the shadows cast by a lamp at the bottom of the steps, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, maybe even learn her name.

  A smaller woman followed Milady Trouble through the front door. He presumed the chit to be a companion, dressed in a white so bright as to be nearly blinding. As they passed, he noticed gentleman averting their eyes in a rather guilty fashion, as though the reminder of innocence made them uncomfortable. Emil smiled, liking the statement she made.

  Lady Trouble rushed down the stairs, the silver in her corset catching the flickering light. She paused for a moment, released her heavy skirts, and removed her mask. He caught a glimpse of a bright, blue set of eyes and a pursed mouth that thinned and hardened as she tossed the mask heedlessly in his direction. She hadn’t appeared to see him and when the mask fell at his feet, some impulse made him pick it up. He wanted to applaud the gesture, dismissive as it was of the entire event. Though he’d not admitted it to her, he felt the same way about this farce, this “ball” where the Ton revealed it’s true nature in a room of candlelight and shadow. He’d goaded her, for her answers were the only interesting part of the evening.

  Out on the balcony … Lady Trouble’s words had stirred something in him. He couldn’t believe he’d confessed such a thing to her. But when Emil spoke the words, they felt right. And then she touched him with fingers that were warm and oddly, a bit rough. He couldn’t move, frozen by her tenderness. The story, her voice, neither too high nor low but somewhere pleasing in between, scratched at his barriers. He thought, he felt, that she might know something of his life. He’d wanted to kiss her with all his darkness, absorbing her passion and kindness. For the first time since he could remember, a woman intrigued him with not only her figure, but with her rough, honest words. Plenty of women in Sombor had wanted the hero, but none had been interested in the factory orphan.

  Why hadn’t he kissed her? Something kept him from pressing her against the wall and taking what she might have given—just a taste. He could imagine what it would feel like, the way it would make his heart pound and his skin burn…but no. The decision was quick—leave, now. Before she turned into a greater complication. Before he got distracted. She’d given him an opening to go with her sweet hesitation. Maybe like him, she’d found it hard to believe that neither of them were as alone as they thought.

  He watched now as she took the hand of a familiar burly gearman and stepped into a carriage, never once looking back at the white columns of Waterman house. Sound still pulsed from the pillars and the smoke of a hundred candles still wafted through open windows, but her face did not appear in the window of the carriage after the door shut. She made no pretense of her eagerness to leave the venue.

  Emil continued to stare at the boxer-type gearman as he shifted the carriage forward. With a small puff, the fancy machine shot into the darkness, but not before Emil recognized the purple crest on the door.

  His eyes narrowed and he cursed under his breath.

  Hayır, olamaz. Her? She was Richmond’s daughter? The nitwit promised to Durad?

  This innocent girl, who danced the proper length apart, who froze when he touched her, who knew his secret, she shared the same blood as the Duke? He glanced at her mask, still warm from her skin. He nearly crushed it in his palm. He turned and headed toward the hotel, his stride quick enough to nearly make him a little winded.

  Why would she bring up the unfashionable subject of the factories of all things with him? With anyone? He was certain she could not know who he was.

  Before he danced with Richmond’s daughter, he’d heard nothing more than praise for Grillet’s new air cruiser, or discussion of the latest steamtech, and even complaints of husbands spending too much time at the gurney races. Some wanted their figures admired in leather corsets or skirts, or the shape of their arms in metal bands that writhed from wrist to shoulder. It made little sense that Richmond’s daughter had been fixed on the orphans and the blind eyes of the Ton.

  Surely she did not oppose her father’s past business activities. It provided her that ridiculous carriage and the other comforts of a lady in her position. Why would she be any different?

  He stuffed the mask into his cloak pocket and slipped deeper into the shadows. Nothing about this woman added up. He would need to keep a close eye on her. Nitwit indeed. She was no more fit for the white coats of Earlswood Asylum than he was.

  She did fit into that charming dress quite well. With such a figure, and with her wealth and position, men should’ve been lining up, hats in hand, fairly drooling. She’d pulled the wool ove
r everyone’s eyes thoroughly, to have them miss such a jewel.

  The feel of her oddly rough hands—so gentle—and the moment they’d almost kissed wouldn’t leave his mind, assaulted his senses. His heart thudded and he could hardly think straight.

  The mere thought of this woman drove him mad. Mad with longing, hungry for more answers, questioning when he might see her next.

  Several minutes later, he found himself back at the hotel. For the duration of the two-mile walk, he realized he’d thought of nothing but her. Lady Richmond.

  Oh, but this is why he hadn’t kissed her. He had only one objective now, the only one that had ever mattered to him. The Duke. Richmond. The man who’d snatched his bright, innocent sister. The man he’d hunted. Hated. The idea that fueled him in the darkest corners, where nothing else could. Fueled him to a relentless pace, across borders, into the impossible factories—the ones everyone deemed impregnable. All in search of what now lay within his reach. Revenge on Richmond.

  His daughter, intriguing as she may be, would serve not only to distract him from his life’s goal, but could lead him into a dangerous place. One where he might hesitate. As he well knew, hesitation was a cost he couldn’t pay. His sister deserved more than a fickle brother, who could be swayed by a little bit of kindness and a striking figure.

  He would steer his ship starboard, clear out of Lady Richmond’s path. It was best chance he had of success.

  As Emil crossed the lobby, he spotted a masked, caped man stumbling toward the lift with Paget’s help. The man hummed a bawdy English melody, which he mixed with descriptions of Somborian women.

  Emil strode up to the Prince and slung Durad’s other arm across his shoulder. Durad turned toward Emil and laughed. His breath made Emil shudder.

  “Paget, get yourself to bed. Rosseau and I will take care of the his royal drunkenness.” Emil signaled Rosseau, who waited across the lobby.

  The stiff Frenchman bowed, dusted off his hands and scampered off.

  Emil laughed. “Did you quite enjoy yourself, your highness.” It was not a question.

  “I’d forgotten how lovely English women are. And so much more liberated. I danced with so many skirts and then we—”

  Emil interrupted. It struck him suddenly that Durad might have met his intended. The thought disturbed him for some reason. “How about the lovely creature in the silver corset?”

  Durad’s head tilted to the side as they entered the lift. “Silver corset…there was one with no corset, she was so soft.” He sighed and then sagged. Rosseau heaved him back up.

  Something like relief shuddered through him. He told himself he was being ridiculous.

  “Thanks you, captain, for taking me out on this fine evening,” Durad said to Emil in a slurred, jesting voice. “I know this is not, it’s not—”

  “You could not be more wrong, my prince. I adore a good party.” Emil swung his cape in an attempted half-flourish.

  Durad laughed until he doubled over. “If only you had such aspirations at the ball. I saw you dancing, but not one of them caught your interest. Did they?” He shook his head. “In all my years, I have seen few boast such conquests as you, as you have had. Even before you donned your scarf and all the country knew of your heroics.”

  Emil feigned examination of his figure in the lift mirror. “Alas, no woman can match such perfection. See how aquiline my profile? How fine the cut of my cape?” He removed his mask. “These puckered scars on my face serve only to highlight the perfect height of my cheekbones, like so.” He turned in profile. The view startled him for a moment, as if he’d forgotten, just for this night, that his face told his morbid story.

  Even Rosseau chuckled at his antics, as he said, “Capitan, it is not safe.”

  Emil saluted his first mate and replaced his mask, hating his relief at its protection.

  The prince turned to him, his eyes eager and open. “I am sorry you did not find a good prospect tonight, my friend. You seem quite … lonely since you’ve returned.”

  Emil laughed. “And you, my prince, will be lonely no longer after tomorrow. Go sleep off that wine, you will need to look your finest for the new princess.”

  Durad snorted.

  Emil decided then he wouldn’t tell the prince about the Duke. He was too weak in this state, too annoyingly fragile. A silent plan, known to few, always made a better plan in any case. Emil would find a way to anonymously take from the Duke what he had stolen from him—the Duke’s life’s purpose, whatever that may be. Money. Power. Position.

  Now that Emil had the Duke within his grasp, now that the man he’d searched for in dirigibles and steam carriages across the world had an address, Emil longed to shove aside all his careful planning and simply cut the man down where he stood.

  The Duke deserved no such mercy. He would suffer, as Emil had.

  Emil looked up and glimpsed Durad’s heavy-lidded, blood-shot eyes in the mirror of the lift before his head fell to his chest. The prince would be fine. His new princess would not suspect who’d destroyed her father. Once married, neither of them would want for wealth or power.

  As with all things that mattered, Emil would do this alone. This was too important to trust anyone with, not even Rosseau.

  “Sir, I will take him to his quarters,” Rosseau said as the lift opened.

  Emil shrugged off Durad’s arm and smiled beneath his mask. “Are you ordering me to bed?”

  “You have not slept in several nights, sir.” Rosseau pulled a key out of his pocket and shuffled toward the Prince’s room, the sight of his back clearly stating his opinion on the matter.

  Emil shook his head and opened the door to his suite. He headed over to the window and pushed it up as he tilted his head back to breathe in the night air, tinged with English roses and a steamy mist.

  Tomorrow he’d accompany Durad to meet Lady Richmond. The Duke was certain to be there. Emil would stand mere feet from him. Revenge was now within his reach and he thanked the gods or Suzanna or whoever watched over him for giving him this chance to make it right. To wrest payment for the lives of so many, including his sister’s.

  The involvement of Richmond’s daughter and Durad changed nothing.

  Chapter Ten

  The day it started

  Veronica nodded at Clank. His eyes whirred and he returned the gesture, understanding without specific instruction that he was to wait. The clock had just chimed 2AM. The shrill of the factory whistle followed, somehow sounding louder in the early morning stillness.

  These streets, reeking of sewage and hot steam, smelled better to her than that duplicitous ballroom. She rolled her shoulders back, felt a stitch pop, and grimaced. This was where she was supposed to be. This gave purpose to her life. The masque had been a clever illusion, one of smoke and mirrors, and she had nearly been fooled. The thought made her reach for her Tesla-ray. She simply refused to believe she had nearly been taken in by a handsome figure and strong hands. Veronica was not that woman and she never would be.

  The guards posted outside factory thirty-three tossed aside their coffee and opened the doors. A line of pale-faced children marched through, eyes never lifting from the ground in front of them. Veronica counted—one, two, three …, up to twelve. A smaller shift than normal. And the children younger than she’d seen—some appeared no more than six years of age. With their hair cropped short, and the same shapeless, gray rags, she could not even tell their gender. One, a thin prospect at any age, stumbled and fell to the ground. The others were too dazed to help their comrade. They simply stopped and waited, slumped in place.

  Veronica pointed to the smoker Clank held in his hand. He pumped the small bellows and aimed it at the lamp directly above the factory doors. The device spewed a generous amount of smoke directly into the lamp’s beam.

  One of the guards, having noticed the fallen child, removed a sleek club from his belt and headed toward the line. But the smoke quickly obscured the scene, leaving the guards swearing and the children whimperin
g.

  Veronica secured her goggles and rushed into the opening. She squatted in front of the group of children and spoke quietly. These children were too young to understand who she was, and she had no time to explain. So she simply said, “I have orders to take you to your next home. You will follow this man,” she pointed to Clank, “and do so as quickly as possible or there will be consequences. Do you understand?”

  They all nodded, sleepy eyes growing large with fear. She hated to terrify them so, but after her last encounter with the Enforcers, she feared discovery would not be long.

  Clank scooped up the fallen child and jogged toward the hidden carriage. The rest followed him, skinny arms pumping, thin chests heaving.

  Veronica turned in time to find one of the guards near the alarm bell on the factory wall. As he reached for it, she aimed and threw one of her knives. It landed directly in the center of his hand, sticking it to the wall.

  The guard screeched until she rushed over and swung the handle of her Tesla-ray on the back of his head. He slumped, unconscious.

  She heard the report of the pistol, twisting just in time for the bullet to nick her shoulder. The guard pinned by the knife, however, was not so fortunate.

  “The Eidolon, is it?” the remaining guard said as he reloaded his pistol. “Not much of an angel, are ya, if ya do stuff like that?” He pointed to his comrade.

  She didn’t look, but a knot grew in her chest. Another death.

  Veronica thought about using her Tesla-ray but drew her sword instead, feeling a twinge in her arm around her stitches. She didn’t have much time. The Enforcers were sure to have heard the shot.

  The guard, his face smudged with gunpowder, laughed at the sight of her slim rapier.

  “Not much good that’ll do against the likes of this.” He leveled his pistol on her but she flicked her wrist, sending the gun several feet out of his reach. He put his hands up in a gesture of surrender and smirked at her.

  “You gonna kill me in col’ blood? ‘Eh, angel?” His gaze raked her head to toe. “You’se a bit small for an ‘ero, isn’t ya?”