Page 8 of The Mech Who Loved Me
Seemed they were going to be spending more time together thananticipated.
He couldhardlywait.
Three
SHOUTS ECHOEDTHROUGH the narrowstreets.
"What on earth is that sound?" Ava demanded, as the steam carriage came to a halt. "Are we going to make it to the crimescene?"
"Hopefully." Kincaid helped Ava down from the steam carriage, a scowl furrowing his brow. The traffic had been thick in the last few minutes, but he'd been distracted by Ava's absorption in the notes she'd been writing. He hadn't been paying attention to what was going on around them. This was his home territory—the borough he'd been born in, and had spent most of his formative years within. Sheets flapped from laundry lines slung between narrow alleys; windows were boarded over; and the usual assortment of flower girls were out with their baskets of posies, trying to begasale.
But something was wrong. There was a tension in the air he hadn't seen for at least three years, almost like a thunderstorm on the horizon. And the streets were far less crowded thanusual.
"Five shillings," said the hackney driver nervously, his hand sliding over the stick shift of thesteamhack.
Kincaid paused with his hand on the pouch. He couldn't hear anything anymore, but there were hints of smoke in the air. Across the street a man hurried his wife and child down a small lane, glancing back over his shoulder. The butcher in the store opposite them locked his door and then pulled down theblind.
"I've got another hire," the hack driver muttered, as if to hurry him along, and Kincaid made hisdecision.
"Are we going?" Avacalled.
There were Nighthawks holding the scene of the latest Black Vein death, Malloryn had said. A ruckus was clearly going on nearby, but it wasn't unmanageable. And Kincaid was armed if necessary. Handing over the coin, he helped Ava onto the footpath and out of the way as the hack driver pulled out into thetraffic.
"How unusual," Ava muttered, staring after the hack. "He couldn't wait to be ridofus."
"Expect trouble," he told her, tucking her hand through the crook of his arm. "I don't know what's goin' on precisely, but something'sbrewing."
"Thedisease?"
"Perhaps." The body they were going to investigate was certainly in the direction of all the noise. "Can youhearany—"
"Get back!" someone called. The sound of cries suddenly echoed aheadofthem.
Kincaid stopped dead in his tracks. A pack of street children ran past, thin leather shoes slapping on the cobbles. A pair of dogs galloped at their heels, tails tucked between their legs. Kincaid captured Ava's hand beneath his, stepping between her and the rumble of brewingnoise.
"What is it?" Ava asked, trying to peer over hisshoulder.
She took a step toward the noise—which matched the address of their crime scene—and he suddenly realized what washappening.
"Bloody cravers! Taking our blood!Ourjobs!"
Something smashed around the cornerfromthem.
Flames whooshed, as though oil or something flammable was thrown on a small fire, its orange glow licking over the rooftops ahead of him. Kincaid took a step back, nerves firing to life down hisspine.Shit.
"Take backwhat'sours!"
"Should've killedthemall!"
Somewhere ahead of them glass sprayed with a tinkling sound across cobbles. A cheer went up and it sounded as though a dozen men slipped their leashes, their excitement tumbling all over the crowd as they egged eachotheron.
He'd heard that sound before.Trouble.
"Stay here," he urged, shoving Ava into a nearby alley. "Have you got a pistol? Or aweapon?"
Ava flourished her parasol. He'd seen some of her defensive designs in action, and knew that hidden within the lace was a shield, and possibly worse. The last one she'd designed had a hidden bayonet at the tip she could trigger with a twitch of her finger. "Not a weapon, precisely, but it will do. What are youdoing?"
"Let me check it out first." He could feel the blood rushing through his veins, preparing him to fight—or flee. "It sounds like a riot's about tohappen."
