Beth Ciotta - His Clockwork Canary

On the wild chance Strangelove did procure access to a futuristic computer at some point, and if by a long shot the memory disk was functional, chances were still one in three that the data compiled and entered regarding studies on Briscoe Darcy’s time machine were not stored on this particular disk, but on one of the other two volumes. Worst-case scenario, she thought as she left the shop, Strangelove would access information that would enable him to build a rocket ship, thereby shooting him to the moon or beyond. That did not seem a bad thing.

“I hope the information you gleaned was worth the several heart attacks I suffered whilst you were lollygagging with Thimblethumper,” Simon said, sweeping in beside Willie as she walked briskly to the corner.

“Leave off, Darcy,” Phin said good-naturedly as he took up pace along her opposite side. “Can’t you see she’s bursting with news?”

“Of course I have news,” Willie said as they hurried toward the station for the underground that would take them to Simon’s town house. “I am the Clockwork Canary.”

She wasn’t sure why she’d felt compelled to tout her famous moniker. Perhaps because Simon’s admonishment rubbed her the wrong way. Lollygagging, her arse. She’d been working.

Simon started to say something, then thought better of it.

“Right, then,” Phin said. “A subject best discussed behind closed doors.”

Securing seats on the underground transit, they fell into a charged silence and Willie pondered Simon’s sour mood. No, not sour. Anxious. Restless. Intense. Deep down she understood that he’d been worried about her, but Willie couldn’t abide someone breathing down her neck, questioning her judgment. She’d been operating on her own for years. She was smart. She was savvy. And, damnation, she was skilled. True, time-tracing gave her an advantage and, aye, an unfair edge, but regardless, she was quite good at procuring sensitive information utilizing her brain and wit.

By the time they reached Covent Garden, Willie had worked herself up to a frightful huff. Part of her wanted to blast Simon and his possessive tendencies, whilst the other part itched to share a goodly portion of what she’d learned from Thimblethumper. She was still debating her choices when Simon prodded her over the threshold of his home, blast him.

Fletcher took their coats and announced a forthcoming evening meal. Simon begged Phin’s pardon, then whisked Willie upstairs and into the library. “Too long.”

“What?”

“The suspense. The waiting. You took too bloody long with Thimblethumper. Don’t do that to me again, Willie.”

“I cannot promise.”

He backed her against the wall displaying the ancient wonders of Egypt, China, and Rome. “Is this what I have to look forward to?” he asked. “Standing by whilst you indulge in your unique interviews? Worrying that you might get distracted, that you might interact and somehow lose yourself in another person’s mind?”

“In all the years I have been time-tracing, in all the thousands of instances,” Willie said, “only once was I distracted and that was by my mother. I know what I’m doing, Simon.”

“Maybe now. But what about two years from now? Ten years from now? You said it yourself. A Freak’s supernatural gift strengthens and intensifies with age. Your ability to time-trace could spiral out of control.”

“And you could contract some hideous disease. That is what you said.” Fists clenched at her side, chest heaving, she gave her obnoxiously controlling husband what-for. “How dare you manipulate me into marriage with sweet words of support and understanding regarding my gift only to snatch them back days later!”

Hands braced on the wall on either side of her head, Simon leaned in, eyes sparking. “I did not manipulate you.”

“I beg to differ.” She ignored the sensual ache coiling in her stomach. Being stimulated by his intimidating manner was beyond perverse. Disgusted with herself, she rallied. “You discombobulated me beyond measure, Simon Darcy. Turned my head with sensual kisses, seduced my soul by pretending you accepted me for who I am.”

“I do accept you, dammit.”

“Yet you’re asking me to ignore a vital part of who I am. I am a Time Tracer. You knew this when you married me. Not that the marriage is binding.”

“One tiff and you’re ready to forsake our vows?”

“I’m not forsaking anything,” she said as her heart cracked. “I am merely pointing out the disgusting reality of our circumstance.”

“Do tell.”

“I am a Freak and you are a Vic and an official union is forbidden.”

“Yes, well. Some of us color outside the lines.”

“Meaning?”

“I am not willing to live my life as ordered by someone else. Are you?”

“No. No, I am not. That is why I am telling you to bugger off.” Before he could respond, Willie ducked under Simon’s arm and out the door. Never could she recall being this angry, this hurt. Except for that day twelve years past when she thought Simon had jilted her. She resented the power he had over her. The way he could make her feel. The things he could make her do.

She’d been confident attacking life as a male Vic. Simon had tempted her to embrace her true gender and race. She’d fallen for his utopian views. She’d put him on a pedestal above all other Vics. Her heart had proclaimed Simon Darcy different, but her heart had been blinded by love. Aye, love . There was no skirting her situation. She loved Simon Darcy. She was in love with Simon Darcy. Blast and damnation, she had always and always would love Simon Thomas Darcy.

But that didn’t mean she had to like him.

The infuriating sod caught up to her before she descended the stairs. He touched her arm. “Willie. Wilhelmina,” he amended in a gentler tone.

“Phin is waiting,” she said without turning. Just now she wanted nothing more than to distance herself from Simon and the emotions ravaging her soul. Between the enlightening discussion with Ollie Rollins and the volatile confrontation with her husband, her mind and heart were spectacularly overtaxed.

“Whatever you learned from Thimblethumper, is there anything to be done about it today?”

“No,” she said, spine stiff. “Still—”

“Phin!” Holding Willie steady, Simon glanced to the bottom of the stairs, casting his friend a meaningful look when he appeared at the landing. “We’ll be picking up on this tomorrow.”

“Right, then,” Phin said with a nod. “I’ll be on my way as soon as I wrangle my coat from Fletcher. On the morrow, then.” The man flashed Willie a sympathetic smile, then disappeared around the corner.

Willie whirled on Simon, eyes narrowed.

“Before you accuse me of being rude,” he said, “let me assure you Phin understood. We need to be alone, Willie. We need to work through our differences instead of walking away or counting on Phin to act as a buffer.”

Another reproach? Her temper sizzled and snapped. “Had you not attacked me the moment I emerged from Thimblethumper’s—”

“I apologize. I did indeed initiate this argument, albeit unwittingly.”

Frowning, she shook her head. “Why . . .” She looked over her shoulder just as Fletcher let Phin out the door.

The caretaker cast a disapproving glance Simon’s way, prompting Simon to hustle Willie back into the library. “The longer you kept me waiting at McSteam’s,” he said in a measured tone, “the longer I had to envision a time-tracing venture gone wrong. Not just with Thimblethumper, but with future transmitters. My imagination got the best of me, as did my frustration. When you emerged from the shop unscathed . . .” He closed the door behind them, visibly tempering his emotions. “I cannot explain the fathom of my relief.”