Amanda Quick - Quicksilver

“That’s the spirit.”

“Are you laughing at me?” she asked, suddenly suspicious.

“No, Virginia, believe me, I am not laughing. It would hurt far too much. I doubt that I would survive.”

He began to move slowly inside her, using his grip on her hips to guide her into the rhythm. She was raw from his initial entry, but she was increasingly certain that she could at least endure the remainder of the process.

To her astonishment, the pain began to transform into a stimulating sense of urgency again. She was still exquisitely sensitive, but the sensation was now a compelling force. Her fingers locked around Owen’s shoulders.

One of his hands left her rear and shifted to the place between her legs where their bodies were joined. She felt his fingers on the bud that was the center point of sensation.

A short time later he struck an invisible chord, launching her back out on the fabulous waves of sparkling energy. Small, powerful currents flashed through her, sweeping her along on the dazzling tide. She wanted to scream with the pleasure of it all; she wanted to laugh, to sing, to cry.

But she could do none of those things, because with another low, savage groan, Owen crushed her mouth beneath his own, swallowing any sound she might have made. He thrust heavily into her one last time, and then he went rigid. She felt the shuddering power of his climax slam through him in near-violent waves.

For a timeless moment they sailed the storm together. Then with one last heavy, groaning sigh of release, Owen relaxed deep into the chair.

When Virginia opened her eyes she saw that he was watching her with the lazy satisfaction of the hunter after a successful hunt.

“I knew you were the one,” he said.

The scientist entered the laboratory the way he always did, through the kitchen door. He stood quietly for a moment, savoring the faint currents of energy that still shivered in the atmosphere. They were starting to fade. That was only to be expected. The experiment was concluded.

He took out the specially designed gold pocket watch that the clock maker had given him and walked down the narrow hall to the stairs.

The atmosphere thickened quite pleasantly as he made his way to the floor above. There were still hints of dread interlaced with the exciting nuances of incipient panic. He admired the aura of escalating fear that he had succeeded in capturing. But it was the dark power of the energy preserved at the moment when the subject understood that death was imminent that was the signature of his great talent.

The subject in this particular experiment had not been a strong talent. There were very few truly powerful glass-readers. But like Ratford, Hackett had served well enough for his purposes.

A muffled clink and thud stopped him at the top of the stairs. In spite of the fact that he was prepared, a cold chill wafted across his senses, rattling his nerves. The clockwork devices that he used to conduct the experiments were ideally suited to the great work. They were, in fact, the key to the perfection of his engine. But they were extraordinarily dangerous, not to mention expensive. He did not like having to leave them on guard, but after discovering that burglars had contaminated the scenes of both experiments, he’d been forced to take precautions. That was a problem with letting a house stand empty. They were magnets for housebreakers and thieves.

He struck a light and then flipped open the pocket watch. The interior of the watchcase was fitted with a special mirror. He held the watch so that the mirror inside was focused on the dark doorway.

The flaring light fell on a praying mantis the size of a house cat. The eyes of the clockwork insect glittered with malevolent energy. The increasing chill in the atmosphere warned him that the device had obtained a focus on him. The energy level started to escalate. His insides chilled. For an instant, panic assailed him. What if the mirror in the pocket watch no longer worked?

He shuddered with relief when the mantis clanked to a halt. The icy currents ceased emanating from the faceted glass eyes.

The scientist breathed a shaky sigh and continued down the hall.

The Hackett and Ratford experiments had both been unqualified successes, thanks to what he had learned during his preliminary research in the basement of the Hollister mansion. In the course of that work he had discovered how to calibrate the clockwork devices.

After Hackett and Ratford, he had been satisfied that the devices worked on glasslight-talents precisely as he had theorized. He had been ready for the final experiment, the one that, if successful, would energize his magnificent engine. But everything had gone wrong the other night.

That was always the way with scientific progress, he reminded himself. One had to expect setbacks.

He opened the door of the bedroom. Inside, all was just as he had fashioned it on the night of the experiment. The body of the subject and her personal possessions had been removed immediately after the death, of course. They were not important. What mattered was that he had achieved his goal of igniting some energy deep inside the dressing-table mirror. The currents were quite weak, because Hackett had been weak, but that was not important. What mattered was that he had proven the validity of the theory.

He opened his senses. The mirror on the dressing table still contained a little fire, but the energy was fading rapidly. There was no reason to return again to this house. He had learned all he could from this experiment.

He left the bedroom and went back along the hall, pausing long enough to collect the praying mantis. The device was still frozen as a result of the effects of the mirror, but he knew that status would not last long. The only certain method of ensuring that the curiosity would not activate was to remove the key from the back of the machine. He set about the task cautiously, holding his breath until he had the key safely out. When the mantis was secured he put the key in the pocket of his coat and dropped the curiosity into the canvas bag that he had brought with him for that purpose.

He carried the mantis downstairs. Outside on the street, he walked to the corner and whistled for a hansom. It was only a short distance to the scene of the second experiment, but he did not feel comfortable walking alone at such a late hour. The newspapers were full of stories of hapless citizens who had been set upon by violent criminals at night.

Ten minutes later he got out of the hansom at the corner, paid the driver and walked quickly to Ratford’s address. Excitement and anticipation built rapidly within him. The second experiment was still fairly fresh. In addition, Ratford had been somewhat stronger than Hackett. He was very curious to see if the fires in the glass would last longer.

He opened the door and moved into the kitchen, pausing to absorb the atmosphere.

The first faint, discordant currents drifted across his senses. The atmosphere in the house had been disturbed again. Anger flashed through him. Another ruffian had entered the premises. Really, the rise in crime was appalling. The dragon would have taken care of the problem, but there would likely be a body in the upstairs hall. Disposing of the corpse would be a nuisance.

Annoyed at the thought that yet another intruder had entered the carefully staged experiment, the scientist took out his pocket watch and went up the stairs. At the top he paused, struck a light and listened tensely for the mechanical clink and thump of the clockwork dragon he had left on guard.

He was greeted with a disturbing silence. He looked around, fearful that he might accidentally stumble over the lethal device. But there was no sign of the automaton.