5

Ashton Wells pushed the power-cycle to its limits, his eye on the gauge’s vibrating needle as he tore through the dark streets. Squinting through goggles, he swerved to avoid a horse-drawn taxi and caught the sight of the horse rearing out of the corner of his eye. Dark hair flying, tailcoat flapping, he sped around a delivery wagon, temporarily blinded in the white smoke churning out of its exhaust pipe. The cycle shook and Ashton feared it would rattle apart, yet he twisted the throttle even more. He must get to Blackburn. Hassled by the need to evade the security soldiers cost him precious time, especially when he learned of plans to take the old Colonel with force. He couldn’t let that happen, not without getting answers first.

Nearing the brownstone’s address, he noted a small crowd gathering in the street, their heads angled upward. He followed their gazes and ground his jaw at the sight of the Colonel’s daughter flying through the air, barely visible above the street lamps.

He was here for Blackburn, for what he knew, and yet her terrified scream pulled Ashton’s focus.

Commotion in the window of the home told him the Colonel was under attack. The security force would take Blackburn in moments if he didn’t intervene. A soldier leaned out the window, taking aim at the daughter. A frisson of energy pulsed from the weapon, barely missing her.

She screamed, flailing.

Growling in frustration, Ashton veered away from Blackburn’s home, toward the daughter. Another cry spurred him faster. He flipped the rocket ignition and the force of the thrust slammed him against the seat as he shot skyward toward the roof. Pulling his tracer gun, he fired blindly at the building. The soldier dove for the floor.

The power-cycle rattled violently and Ashton holstered the gun. He fought to control the ascent, his hands gripping the handlebars with white-knuckled determination. At the peak of his flight, his headlight passed over the shocked Miss Blackburn and he tugged on the lever near his knee extending the bat-wing foils on either side of the cycle. The gunpowder burned through and he banked in a controlled dive for the building just as she reached the end of the zip line and toppled onto the roof. He clattered down with a bone-rattling crash.

Retracting the wings, he jumped from the still skidding cycle. The grappling hook pulley continued to wind, dragging Miss Blackburn across the gravel as she thrashed in and out of moonlit shadows. Ashton reached for her only to dive at the last moment when she brandished a tracer gun. A short burst seared past his temple slamming into the brick behind him. The rooftop light glowed to life. Someone obviously heard the commotion.

“Stand down,” he shouted, noting the terrified but determined expression on her face. She kept the barrel trained on him despite being pulled inexorably toward the wall. “I am trying to assist you.”

“You’re one of the attackers,” she yelled and fired on him again. “Release my father!”

Grateful for her shaking hand, he barely moved and the burst hit the gravel a good yard from his leg. The line wound completely, trussing her with one arm up, off of her feet as she dangled against the wall.

“I am not.” Ashton put his hands up in surrender. “I assure you.”

“Keep away.” She did not seem to know whether to keep her gaze on him, the building opposite, or the grappling hook that held her prisoner. The oversized cloak rustled as she struggled.

“They’ll be on us in moments, Miss Blackburn.” Ashton rose slowly, walking toward her with forced calm. “We must get off of this building.”

“You know who I am?” The tracer gun wavered with her uncertain look.

“I came for your father, Colonel Blackburn.”

“He’s…he’s…” Her face crumpled into a sob.

Ashton took the moment to rush over and disengage her wrist from the leather strap. She dropped to her feet, nearly going down, but he caught her with an arm around her waist. Taking the tracer gun, he secured it to the bandolier that crossed his chest. He glanced back at the brownstone and saw the movement of the security solders within. One hooded figure peered out at them, turning to shout. In the distance, the slashing light of a dirigible lamp flitted across the sky. The Aero Squad had come to assist the soldiers.

“Quickly, Miss Blackburn.”

“But my father—”

“Now!” He grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward the cycle.

“But where are they taking him?”

“I don’t know.” Ashton kept his gaze on the building.

An Aero Squad dirigible now hovered over her roof.

He turned to face her. “But we must leave.”

She clung on, shaking as she let him lift her onto the seat. She bunched her skirts, sitting astride. He climbed aboard, rose up, and slammed the kick-start down. The cycle rattled to life, the last of the reserve gunpowder igniting and stirring the power. Steam coughed out of the rear pipe glowing against the inky sky. Testing the throttle, the cycle jerked forward, revving as the pistons pumped.

“Are we…” she stared wide-eyed at him.

“Pull this lever when I tell you,” he said and pressed her palm around the metal bar. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Her eyes clear, she gave him a resolute nod.

“Hold on,” he ordered and felt her arms wrap across his middle, her cheek against his back.

“I’m ready,” she croaked.

Pushing off with his boots, he aimed the cycle’s headlight for the edge of the building and they sped forward. Ashton reached into the utility pouch at his hip. He pulled an impact grenade from its depths, released the tension coil, and hurled it at the retaining wall. It exploded on contact. Bits of brick and grout blasted back at them as he sped toward the hole. They soared off the roof, the weight of the cycle sending them into a plummet.

“Now!”

Her body shifted and then the wings shot outward, the frames groaning with the stress of their descent. The cycle angled sharply when he pulled the throttle, evening out with a shudder. He strained to see the ground, dragging back on the handles before falling level with the street and shooting past the soldiers running across the road. Ashton flicked the small lever at his thumb and the wings disengaged, tumbling behind them as they sped away. They clattered in front of a carriage, spooking the horse. It reared, tossing the driver and throwing the cargo all over the street which impeded the chasing soldiers. Ashton took aim, fired at another passing carriage. The blast from his tracer gun sent the driver veering off the road. It collided with a line of advancing security soldiers, taking them out as it skidded to a stop.

He peered back over his shoulder at the sound of another volley of tracer blasts, but they were too far. Miss Blackburn squeezed him, her body shaking against his. She did not utter a word.

He whipped around a corner onto the next street and slowed, careful to blend into the slower pace of the steam taxis and horse-drawn carriages still on the road. Taking them in a circuitous route, he doubled back to be sure no one could follow. They needed to get out of sight. Middle of the night or not, a man with a lady sitting astride the back of this strange machine would surely be remembered. An idea formed, and he turned and steered for the abandoned train yard at the edge of the domed territory—a rough area with beggars and thieves. He swept the landscape with his gaze when they arrived, only slowing to a stop when they reached the gated entrance.

Ashton cut the engine, breath ragged as he listened out into the night. Miss Blackburn remained stone still behind him, her grip on him a vise. After a few moments, he turned, trying to see her over his shoulder. “We walk from here.” Ashton kept his voice soft and peeled her arms from his chest. “Are you able?”

“Yes, I—I think so.” She panted, eyes wide. “That was…that was...”

“You’re sure?” He dismounted, extended his hand, and helped her from the cycle.

She wobbled on her feet, steadied, and pulled away to smooth her cloak. “I’ve never,” she fought for breath. “I was just flying through the air…twice.”

She did not show signs of fainting. All told, she seemed to have handled the whole of the situation quite well. Ashton looked at her askance. Figures. “My name is Ashton Wells,” he said softly, lifted his goggles, and leaned down to catch her gaze. “And I am sorry I could not get to your father in time.”

She bit her lower lip, not taking her pale eyes from him even as she struggled to control what must be a flood of sorrow. She nodded toward the power-cycle. “I—I’ve never seen a mechanized horse before.”

“It is a power-cycle.” He ran his palm along the curve of the seat. “The only one of its kind.”

“Where did you get it?”

“I made it,” Ashton said and frowned. A ragged hole scarred the engine casing and acrid smoke seeped out. He’d taken a blast after all. “Such as it is.”

“It saved us. You saved us.” She fixed him with a strange expression before wrapping herself tighter in the cloak. “Thank you. I owe you my life.”

“A debt you’ll no doubt repay with the information I need,” he said and pushed on the handlebars, leveraging his weight to move the cycle into the bushes off the gate path. It was of no use to him now. “Answers I’d hoped to get from your father.”

“Information?”

Nodding, he covered it with branches, concealing it from view as best he could. “We worked together, for the O.S.S.”

“I’m sorry?” She looked confused.

“Order of the Sword and Scroll,” Ashton said and cleared his throat. She favored him with a bewildered look so he continued, “We’re a society of intelligence officers from several agencies…”

“Why would my father know about spies?”

“Because he is one,” Ashton searched her puzzled face. “Or was one, for most of his life. There are family legacies within The Order. Surely you know about this…”

“I would if it were true.”

“You think I went through all that trouble just now only to lie to you?” Ashton looked at her, flabbergasted.

“I honestly can’t say what you would do. We’ve only just met. I do know, however, that my father is a man of science. He is a chemist. He served as a doctor in the war, but—”

“Yes, and as a spy working with contacts in the middle states.” Images of Roland, a tracer gun blast leaving a hole where his heart had been, flashed in Ashton’s mind. He cleared his throat against the ache. “Your father was to meet with one of my men a few days ago. The Colonel never showed and my man is dead. Now, where is your brother?”

“Brother? I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Colonel Blackburn sent out an alarm.” Careful to keep the anger from his voice, he pressed. “I was told Charlie would have the information we seek.”

“By whom?” She stared at him, dark hair tousled about her head.

He ignored her question. “Where is Charlie Blackburn?”

“No. That’s not right—” She shook her head.

“Miss Blackburn, we do not have time for this,” Ashton snapped and rubbed his eyes, exhausted.

She bit her lip, eyes filling, she was close to tears. He felt like a cad. She’d only just been attacked and spirited through the night by a complete stranger. If he did not need the answers so desperately…

“Please, I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t have a brother,” her voice quaked. “Why did the soldiers attack us? Th—they aren’t supposed to do that.”

“I believe your father discovered something terrible.” Ashton searched her face for signs of deception. She stared back at him, fearful and confused, but not lying. There was no brother. He fought the frustration welling in his gut. The Union Soldiers had Blackburn and he had nothing.

“What do you mean, terrible?”

“Something horrific is already happening here. I had hoped your father could help me figure out how to stop it.”

“Stop what?” She followed after him when he strode toward the railway.

“Monsters.” Turning, he straightened his leather vest with a tug, and fixed his gaze on hers. “Something is making monsters of men.”