Storming: A Dieselpunk Adventure (50 page)

He filled his lungs and tensed his calves, ready to run.

Behind, more footsteps swooshed in the grass.

“Walter? Waaaalter?”

Aunt Aurelia. Oh no, no, no. His throat clamped around his heartbeat again. He darted a look back at her.

She zigzagged in his general direction, both arms swinging, like she did when she was bored. “Waaaaalter, where are you?” She walked right past him, halfway to
Schturming
.

He looked at the ship.

The pirates had all gone still as a green sky before a tornado.

This was bad. He crouched lower. If she figured out what was going on, maybe she could run for help. But if she didn’t figure it out... who knew what Zlo would have his men do to her.

Walter hissed at her and gave his hand a little wave.
Go back
, he wanted to shout.
Go back to the party and tell everybody!

She stopped and looked straight at him. “Oh. There you are. What are you doing?” When he didn’t respond, she raised her voice. “What—are—you—doing?” She walked toward him.

He held his breath.

The pirates seemed to hold their breaths too. For two seconds.

Then Zlo ran right at Aunt Aurelia.

No!
Walter shot to his feet.

Aunt Aurelia whipped around to face Zlo. “You! No—” She screamed.

Zlo clapped one hand over her mouth and pinned her arms against her sides. He spun her around so he could scan the field.

“Are you there again, boy?” he said.

Walter’s feet grew roots. He stood, hands fisted at his sides. Just like this morning—just like that day at the creek with the twins—he couldn’t move.

Zlo shrugged and turned back to the ship, dragging Aunt Aurelia with him.

Not again. Not one more time could Zlo take something Walter loved
because
of Walter.

A scream built up inside of his head, louder and louder. It was like his eardrums were popping from the inside out. Who cared about being a hero? Who cared about being brave? This was about something else.

He opened his mouth and let the scream loose. He ran. His feet pounded the ground. He reached Zlo almost before the man could turn around to see him. Hot tears burst down his cheeks. All the air filtered out of his chest. But he kept right on screaming.

“
Chevo
?
Zatknis
!”

Walter dug his fingers into Zlo’s arm and hung on. He kicked Zlo’s leg, first with one foot, then with the other. Zlo lifted him clear off the ground, but he still kicked. His toes landed higher, leaving bone to thwack into the heavy meat of the thigh.

Zlo snarled and shook him off, like a dog shaking off a rat. “
Vozmite ego tozhe
!”

Hands reached out of the darkness and grabbed him. They hauled him away. Someone slapped him on the side of the head. Someone else held his mouth shut.

Pain swirled in his head, and he blinked hard. His lungs heaved for air, but, on the inside, the scream ran on and on. He would kill these men! He would kill them all!

In Zlo’s grip, Aunt Aurelia stared at him, eyes huge.

Zlo looked up from Walter and surveyed the distant glitter of the party. Then he nodded to whoever held Walter. “
Otpustite nas
. It is time to go.”

Thirty-Nine

GOODBYES WEREN’T USUALLY worth bothering with. So usually, Hitch didn’t bother. But this time was different. He looked up from topping off the Jenny’s gas tank, by the light of Earl’s flashlight, and turned toward the glitter and the music of the celebratory party. That’s where Jael would be.

“You sure you’re sure about this?” Earl asked. “Wouldn’t hurt nothing to stay another couple of days.”

A few yards off, Livingstone worked on turning around his wicker wheelchair, so he could head back to the party himself. “But of course, he’s sure.” He flashed a grin. His top half was immaculate as always—from white Stetson to waxed mustachios—which put the contrast with his lower half somewhere between ridiculous and pitiful. Both legs stuck straight out, swathed in rock-solid plaster casts, his swollen toes poking from the ends.

Livingstone seemed unaware of the disparity. “You did a most excellent job, my boy,” he said. “Our minor disagreements aside, I couldn’t have done it better myself in the end. I have true appreciation for your stepping in for me in the hour of my calamity.”

Earl huffed.

“I am truly proud,” Livingstone went on, “to welcome you”—he offered half a glance to Earl—“and your valuable associate to the Extravagant Flying Circus.”

What Livingstone really meant was he was happy to snap up the hero of the day and any resultant publicity. But what difference did it make? It got Hitch and Earl a job, and now that the dirigible was solidly out of Livingstone’s grasp, it was a good job at that.

So Hitch just nodded.

Livingstone set both hands on the chair’s wheels and started pushing himself toward the party. “I thank you for traveling on ahead of me and ensuring the circus’s good name is upheld until my wounds allow me to rejoin you.” He cast one more look back at Hitch, his gaze shrewd. “We will, of course, discuss the specifics of your contract more closely in the future.”

And no doubt that contract would have plenty of clever little clauses designed to keep Hitch firmly under Livingstone’s thumb. But that was a battle for another day. Lord knew, there’d certainly been enough battles for this one.

“Sure thing,” Hitch said.

He watched Livingstone go.

The Jenny was already packed, fueled, and ready to head out. But before he could leave town, the one thing he absolutely
had
to do was tell Jael about the pendant. She’d probably be mad about it, but at least that’d make the goodbye part easier.

He cleared his throat. “Reckon I’ll go say my goodbyes.”

When Earl didn’t respond, he glanced over.

Thanks to his own cast, Earl couldn’t cross his arms, but his whole posture sent out the same attitude of skepticism.

“You sure you’re up to flying?” Hitch asked.

“I’ll fly out of here with you. I always do, don’t I?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You want to stay?”

“Didn’t say that.”

Hitch glared a little. “Then save both of us the time and just say what you do want to say.”

Earl shrugged. “Nothing
to
say.”

“Good.”

“Except—what you’re doing here is runnin’. You know that, right?”

Hitch stared at the party—at the happy swirl of simple country folks, dancing and singing and eating just because they had people to hold onto at the end of a fright.

“I know it,” he said and started walking.

He crossed the field and elbowed through the loud, swirling crowd. Every few steps, someone hallooed him and wanted to shake his hand and tell him what a brick he was and how the whole durn town was indebted to him. He smiled and nodded and pulled his hand free as quick as he could. Sure, tonight he was a hero. Tomorrow, he’d be the black sheep again.

He reached the dancing platform and scanned the couples waltzing to “Goodbye Girls I’m Through.” On the far side, Griff danced with Jael. He was smiling at her—about the first and only smile Hitch had seen on his face since coming home.

Hitch’s stomach jigged a little.
If only
...

So many
if onlys
.

He shoved aside the swirl of regret and crossed the platform to reach them.

Griff turned, and Jael came into view.

Somebody’d given her a dress, a sleeveless black lace affair that swirled below her knees. With her short hair crimped into waves, she looked as keen as any society belle—except still Jael. A society imp maybe.

No wonder Griff was smiling at her. And
Hitch
was leaving her, doggone it. He’d come to say goodbye, tell her he’d pawned her pendant to Campbell, and then take off. His stomach jigged again. What kind of an idiot was he anyway?

Jael saw him and started to smile. But then she faltered under his stare and blushed prettily.

He groaned on the inside. Criminy, but she wasn’t like any woman he’d ever known. Beautiful and brave, stubborn as all get out, and savvy right down to the ground in spite of her occasional naïveté. If he had half a brain, he would have seen that from the start. But no, he’d done everything he could to make sure he could leave her behind as easily as he left everything else.

Maybe he was losing his touch. Because this sure wasn’t feeling none too easy.

Griff looked over his shoulder. His gaze met Hitch’s, and his smile hardened to stone. He murmured something to Jael and inclined his head to her in half a gallant bow. Then he released her hand and left her to Hitch without a backwards glance. That much ran in the family, evidently.

Jael held out a hand. “Your brother is teaching me how you do this dance.”

Hitch came forward to take her hand in his and pull her to him. He cleared his throat. “Last I knew, Griff was the one who needed somebody teaching him.”

She floated in the circle of his arm, her steps light, if not quite correct. No wincing and no limping, just fluid grace with that vibrant energy that always seemed to be boiling right under the surface. She leaned her head back to smile up at him—and exposed that long, white sweep of her neck.

He cleared his throat again. “How’d Griff come to be here? I thought Campbell had everybody pulling guard duty tonight.”

She shrugged her bare shoulders. “He
is
pulling this duty. He is only taking what he is calling ‘break.’ Campbell and others are all with
Schturming
now.”

“Oh. Right.”

The music jingled along, and they danced a few more steps.

He should tell her. Do it and get it over with. The confession only got a little harder every moment they danced like this, with the lace under his hand shifting against the small of her back.

He opened his mouth. “I like the dress.”

She grinned. “It is belonging to Lilla. Nan did not approve.”

“Yeah, well, Nan wouldn’t.” His voice dropped a note or two, in spite of himself. “But I do.”

They danced on. His tongue forgot how to talk. He watched her, and she watched back.

Her smile faded. Her eyes deepened into that studying look once more, except this time she seemed to think she’d seen all there was to see.

Another
if only
.

The music stopped, and they stopped with it.

Now or never. He took a breath. “Look. There’s something I have to tell you. Come for a walk?”

He kept her hand in his and led her off the platform. They made their way back through the party, toward the Jenny. From the looks of it, Earl had gone off to say his own goodbyes.

Jael wrapped her fingers tight around his hand, like she didn’t want him to let go any more than he did.

What he
wanted
was to pull her into the shadows, take her by the shoulders, and kiss her like she’d never been kissed before and never was likely to be again. He clenched his teeth to keep back another groan.

Con
found
it. He couldn’t possibly have been so stupid as to fall in love with her, could he? He knew better. He’d warned himself—Earl had warned him—the Berringers had warned him. Everybody had. Was he the only one who’d failed to realize how much he
hadn’t
had this thing under control?

But maybe that wasn’t
all
bad. Just because he had to go didn’t mean she couldn’t come too. Maybe she’d forgive him about the pendant. Her heart was big enough for it, Lord knew.

They reached the plane, and he did pull her into the shadows. But he didn’t take her by the shoulders, and he didn’t kiss her.

They stood in the darkness, facing each other. The silence grew.

He shifted his weight and opened his mouth.

She beat him to it. “Have you said any words to Walter?” Her voice was clear and level. If she was anywhere near as confused and upset as he was, it sure didn’t show. “He has distress about something.”

Walter was someone else he couldn’t leave without talking to.

“About that,” he said. “That’s my fault, I reckon.”

“Well, you will say something to him?” She came a step nearer. “He thinks you are hero.”

“I’m no hero, Jael.”

She moved nearer still. “Yes, you are. I think you are.” A smile pulled up the ends of her words. She raised her face. The flickering light from the bonfires slanted across her features and deepened her eyes impossibly. “You have done good things here, Hitch. Things no one else could have done.”

“Kept you away from Zlo, I reckon. But I didn’t get you home. I’m sorry for that.” Sort of.