Chapter Twenty-Eight

The building to which Patrick Kelly conducted them belonged to another of his friends. The automaton, Romney reflected, possessed more close ties than might be expected. But then, Kelly had a strong and generous spirit.

And could an automaton—a machine built of skin laid over steel that didn’t breathe and had no actual heart—possess a spirit? It seemed abundantly evident Kelly did.

And Romney had already begun to learn it was all about the spirit, not the flesh at all. He’d met Topaz first in spirit; he knew for a fact that during duress the spirit might vacate the flesh. But it did endure.

And now his spirit had bonded to Topaz Hathor’s, and his flesh craved her, like a fire burning.

Kelly shuttled them by horse and buggy, well-swathed against the cold, down Niagara Street to the warehouse that had been adapted into a dwelling. A sign out front read, Buffalo Animal Refuge, and Kelly’s knock was answered by a diminutive woman, visibly pregnant, who promptly threw herself into his arms.

“Pat, come in out of the cold. Jamie’s just in the yard and will be here directly.”

“How are you, Miss Cat?”

She smiled infectiously and gestured at herself. “Blooming, as you can see.”

“These are your guests.” Patrick turned to Romney and Topaz. “Names, I fear, are not in order—for your own safety, you understand.”

The woman fixed Topaz with a level, hazel stare. “Well I can certainly give you my name. Catherine Kilter and—oh, here’s my husband, James.”

A man had entered through a door at the back of the building, silhouetted by the bright morning light. Romney had time only to note his height, which nearly matched Kelly’s, and the powerful way he moved before he reached them.

Romney still held Topaz’s hand and felt her twitch when she saw the man’s face. Or should Romney say his half face? Dark auburn hair sprouted from the left side of his head—on the right, scar tissue prohibited any hair growth. The damage, no doubt the result of severe burns, extended down the right side of his face in a livid mask. But his blue eyes held a kind expression, and Catherine looked at him as if he illuminated her world.

“Welcome,” he said, and his lips twisted in a half smile. “I’m Kilter—James.”

Romney stuck out his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Kilter, for offering us a bolt-hole.”

“Any friends of Patrick are welcome here.”

“I thought since it is a refuge,” Kelly put in, “two more would not hurt.”

“Certainly not. I prepared our spare room after I got Pat’s message this morning.” Cat shot another adoring look at her husband. “Not so long ago we were shuttled hither and yon from one safe house to another. Remember, my love?”

She doesn’t even see his scars, Romney thought, and his heart bounded.

Topaz turned to Kelly. “What about your other guest?”

“She was able to impart the rest of her story to me last night. I will share it with you when we have more time. For now, I think it best to house her elsewhere.” His face did not change expression, but Romney felt his caution. “The miscreants will come after her. They cannot do otherwise.”

Topaz nodded unhappily. “And my brother?”

“One of the Squad will bring him here as soon as he’s finished at the hospital. Meanwhile, I urge you to keep your heads down.”

Romney placed his arm around Topaz and drew her against his side. Keeping her acquiescent would be a challenge. But he said, “We will, and thank you for all you’ve done.”

Kelly left after shaking hands with James Kilter.

“Have you had breakfast?” Cat asked. “Our quarters are upstairs. Would you like me to show you around first?” She smiled impishly. “Only I’m always hungry these days.”

“She can eat prodigious amounts, for such a tiny thing,” Kilter put in, his voice a caress.

Cat leaned toward Topaz confidingly. “It’s the baby. I think it’s going to be a boy, a big one.”

Together they toured the large building, which had a reception room in front, a small area that served as a surgery, and a number of indoor cages, all immaculately clean. The cages were occupied—one by a mother cat and her kittens, another by a nearly bald rat. Out back in the sunshine, feeling miles from the bustle of the city, sprawled a yard filled with kennels, many occupied by dogs, and a small paddock area holding two horses.

“I never would have guessed all this was here,” Topaz said in wonder.

Cat laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “All James’s doing.”

“With Pat’s help,” Kilter put in. The clear, outdoor light revealed the worst of his disfigurement, but the animals, who all pressed forward eagerly at the sight of him, did not seem to care any more than did his little wife.

“The dogs come to us as found,” Kilter said. “The horses were both taken in cruelty cases. Bobby there—the white horse—was far too old to be working when we found him. Jenny—well, you can see the scars from the whip, if you look.”

“What will happen to them?” Romney asked.

“We doctor and rehabilitate those that need it and search for good homes.” Kilter slanted a look at them. “I hope you don’t mind dogs, for there are some upstairs who seem to have become permanent residents.”

“Come on,” Cat invited. “I’ll show you.”

The quarters upstairs, bright and sunny, had been extensively remodeled. New windows, floors, and wall coverings made the rooms feel homey. A small horde of dogs came to meet them, everything from a tiny ball of white fur to a large yellow lurcher that held back standoffishly.

“That’s Greta,” Cat explained. “She’s looking for James.” Kilter had stayed below in the yard.

“How long have you lived here?” Topaz asked curiously.

“Since we married last June. I’m due in March.” Cat blushed charmingly. “We didn’t wait, you see.”

Love fills this place, Romney thought, rooted like a primrose blooming on a stony street. A lesson, perhaps? For the love here clearly went beyond the physical—and even the barriers of species—to spirit.

But surely Kelly, an automaton, couldn’t have brought them here merely to show them that?

****

He hung in the darkness again with the voice—that hated voice—once more in his ears. Pain flicked through his body like the bite of a whip, and he shuddered.

“Remember. What do you remember? Where were you born?”

Writhing where he hung, dreading the next touch from the electrodes, he strove for the information. They had been over and over this: his questioner knew he could not retrieve the answers to his questions. Why continue to torture him?

But suddenly strength flooded through him, beating back the darkness, burgeoning, and uplifting him. Knowledge streamed into his mind, whole.

South Sussex, Romney Marsh—the great green wastes of his childhood, unchanging and serene, that yet this monster who now tormented him would taint with his unnatural practices.

But he could not, he would not tell his tormentor that. Nor that he’d been sent to stop the Undertaker at any cost, even if that cost included his life.

“It’s all right, hush. Hush. You’re safe here with me.”

A second voice intruded on his panic. This one curled through him like an extension of his own being—like comfort, hard won. He breathed again.

“Topaz?”

“Yes. I’m here.”

The pieces of reality fell into place and he suddenly knew where he was: the small room to which little Mrs. Kilter had shown them, the one that overlooked the big yard with all its refugees. He lay in the bed. More importantly, he lay in Topaz Hathor’s arms.

That knowledge allowed him to draw still more air into his lungs. He could not see her, but he could feel her—arms, naked breasts, spirit.

She moved in the bed and began to sit up.

“No,” he said.

“I am just going to light the lamp.” She spoke as one might to a child.

She swore as she fumbled with the lamp on the bedside table. She struck a flame which seared Romney’s eyes. By its radiance he saw her leaning above him, black hair raining down and eyes full of concern. His world abruptly steadied.

“I’m sorry. I left the lamp by the door burning—I didn’t want the dark to find you. It must have gone out while we slept.”

“It doesn’t matter. I dreamed—but that doesn’t matter either.” He caught hold of her, seeking to impart the magnitude of what he had to tell. “Topaz, I’ve begun to remember.”

“You have?”

“Yes—not all of it, but enough. Bits and pieces. I know the rest of it will come.” He gazed into her eyes. “And it’s because of you. You’re the answer, the connection. Topaz, I do believe I was meant to come to you—you, not your father—that first night. There’s some meaning in it. Every time I love you, I grow stronger. You make sense of everything.”

“Just by loving you?”

“By joining with me. Don’t you see? It’s the two of us together that makes the magic.”

“I need no persuasion to share myself with you. But,” she sobered, “if we fight my father and Danson Clifford, we face an uphill battle indeed. My father is a spiritual master and fully invested in finding Rose. If he employs all his power to search for us—”

He cupped her cheek in his hand. “You have power also—I’ve felt it. It’s grounded me, pulled me back from the brink. Maybe you can use it to shield us now.”

She shook her head. “Against my father?”

He told her with absolute conviction, “I believe in you.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “And I would sooner die than fail you. Yet I’m but a fledgling. I never applied myself to the lessons my father tried to teach me. And now it’s too late.”

“You’re the only one who can challenge or thwart him.”

Wildly now, she shook her head again. “I’m not strong enough.”

“We will strengthen each other.” And he pulled her into his arms.