The Mech Who Loved Me(75)

"Do his feelings extend to match yours?"

"I don't know." She dwelled on everything Kincaid had told her yesterday. "He said if he wasn't ill, then he'd... consider being with me. But he doesn't want me to watch him slowly die, and he doesn't want to pass on his illness to any children." All her secret hopes and dreams were the antithesis of Kincaid's.

"Sometimes it just doesn't work, lass."

She nodded sadly, her throat tightening, before she ruthlessly drained her tea. "Sometimes it doesn't." But she had to try. And she'd be damned if she'd let either Kincaid's or her own pride ruin their burgeoning romance. "I'd best be going. He'll be back at Malloryn's by now, and I think best when I can bounce ideas off him."

She set her cup and saucer aside.

"Be careful, Ava." Gibson gave her the folder containing all his notes on the case so far. "You deserve more than a broken heart."

It might be a little too late for that.



* * *

Fickle light trickled in through the steam cab's window as Ava tried to transcribe the notes she'd made after talking to Dr. Gibson.

The streets were quiet, all her leads drying up. She needed a dash of inspiration to break this case.

Rewinding the ECHO recording device Fitz-the Nighthawks mechanical genius-had created several years ago, she pressed Play and heard her own voice fill the carriage. "...is it the SOG or the dhampir group behind all of this... Zero's death argues for dhampir involvement, but-"

The cab hit a bump, and Ava's thumb slid off the button as she jolted. Her paperwork slid forward on her lap, and she hastily snatched it up. If the hackney driver thought he was going to charge her full rate for this ride, she'd be reminding him of the rough journey.

Ava pressed the button again. "...who killed Winthrop? Why? Did they know we were there? Were they watching the shop? Or... were they watching us?"

Another jolt. Ava looked up from the recorder, scowling a little. "Is everything all right out there?"

The steam carriage's boilers suddenly hissed, and then she was flung back in the seat as the carriage lurched forward.

"Hello?" she called, her clockwork heart beating steadily in her chest even as her head swam with a sudden surge of fright. The worst thing about her replacement heart was its monotone beat. Her body might be preparing itself to flee, but her heart ground inexorably on at its regular pace, and denied her the rush of blood she sometimes needed in these situations.



       
         
       
        

They veered to the right and Ava slammed up against the carriage door, crumpling the blinds, which revealed a searing flash of a green park rushing past the window, surprised faces turning to the carriage as it went by.

Something wasn't right.

The boiler was hissing at a frightful pitch. Ava shoved the blinds up, gasping as she saw the London streets rushing by. What on earth had happened to the driver? She wound the windowpane down, poking her head through the opening. The flap of a man's black split-tail coat was the only thing she could see of the driver.

"Excuse me!" she cried, gripping the windowsill in both hands. "Are you all right? What's going on? Why are we rushing-"

A gloved hand reached out, and as she watched, slid the carriage into a higher gear.

A thrill of nervousness lit through her.

He had to have heard her, but why would he be ignoring her? Or pushing the carriage to its utmost limits in these busy streets? This was madness. Someone was going to get hurt.

"Hey!" a man yelled-as if to prove her point-leaping out of the way.

"Stop!" Ava screamed. "You're going to run someone over!"

Or worse. What happened if they struck a building, or an omnibus? There were still horse-drawn trams in this section of London, weren't there?

Ava's breath caught. She couldn't help remembering the last time she'd been trapped in a carriage like this, her father's horses dancing in their traces as a man stepped out of the shadows and shot her driver off the seat. For a second she saw Hague's face superimposed over the driver in front of her as he glanced behind him. "Not now," she whispered grimly.

Hague was dead. This was an entirely new set of circumstances, and the last thing she needed was to lose herself when she was the only person who might be able to stop the carriage.

The driver gathered his feet beneath him, and then launched himself into the foggy afternoon.

Ava screamed as the carriage rocketed forward. He'd left her here! No. He'd deliberately locked the steering wheel, veering them directly toward a busy intersection ahead.

All the heat drained out of her face. Dozens of people looked up, pointing at the carriage. A child screamed, and his mother turned around frantically, looking for him in the sudden surge of a frightened crowd.