Open Flame (Dragon's Fate) (2 page)

BOOK: Open Flame (Dragon's Fate)
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She jerked her attention to his angular face. What an odd thing to say. An easy smile turned his masculine lips. The sun hit his eyes, making them glint with deep secrets. A red fleck sparkled on his cheek. She stared at the scarlet crescent. How odd; it winked back at her. Everything about this man was odd.

Her stomach fluttered again. What was that? She closed her eyes. Fina needed to stop ogling this man and concentrate. He was a wealthy man here to see her pa. If they sold a clock today, they could rest without Catherine complaining for the next month. She wished Pa would arrive with haste.

She circled back to the duty of opening the door. “I am fifteen, sir. My pa is the master clockmaker. He was up late working on a new clock, so I am opening the shop while he does his morning preparations.”

She jiggled the iron latch and twisted the key. Nothing happened. The door always stuck for her. Why would today be any different? She pushed and jiggled again. “Please open,” she mumbled beneath her breath.

“That is unfortunate.” His callused hand rasped the skin of her hand that held the key. Heat engulfed the flesh, and her heart jumped. She sucked in a breath. How could he be so bold as to touch her? He twisted their joined hands on the key. The lock clicked open, and the heat vanished. She narrowed her eyes, agitated.
He wished to help you open the door. Indeed, that is true, but…
“Thank you, sir, but you should have asked before touching me.”

He bowed his head in acknowledgment, and his long black hair slipped over his shoulder and tumbled in a smooth swath down to his waist. “I am here because I need a part for a clock that I am making.”

She stared at his loose hair. Beautiful. Could a man have hair she thought was pretty? She had never seen a man with hair so long, so shiny, so perfect. All the men of her acquaintance cut their hair at least to chin length. His shone with glints of red in the strands, as if the morning sun danced off the textured surface. How could hair do that?

It is hair, Fina.
She was daft today.

She shook her head and pushed the shop door open. She stepped in, and the tick-tick-tick sound that had lulled her to sleep all her life enveloped her. She relaxed into the cocoon of protection she had always known here. Nothing could ever go wrong in this shop.

The man followed her. “I usually have my clockmaker in Paris make my workings, but I am hoping to obtain this part with haste.”

He was here for a
piece
of a clock. Disappointment settled in her gut. He may still purchase more. If not today, then tomorrow, her pa always said. “Why would you send all the way to Paris when you have Peter Byron here?” She relaxed her shoulders as she rounded the counter and tucked the keys on the hook that hung below the ledge.

The man said nothing and walked from one of her pa’s tall clocks to a rough-hewn shelf of smaller, intricate table clocks. He leaned in and listened, then nodded. “From the sound of the clocks you have here, I just may have to do that. There is something whimsical about the flower on each face. The feel of the drawing is also echoed in the sound of the clock. Who does the engraving?”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I do the drawings, and Pa has them engraved on brass.” He liked her flowers. Though what did he mean by them being echoed in the sound?

“You are talented.” He smiled, and the light in his eyes twinkled.

“Thank you, sir.” She reached up and fidgeted with a piece of her long brown hair that had slipped out of its tie. “Do you have a drawing of the part? I might be able to find the piece for you.”

“I do have a drawing, though you will not have the piece handy. It will need to be made.”

“I doubt that, sir. My pa has extras of all the workings needed to create the fanciest clock you could desire.”

A smirk curled his lips. “I am sure he has many parts… But this is not ordinary. Let me show you.”

Not ordinary. Of course not. He was not the typical client, so logic said he would have a different clock. He fascinated her. She bit her lower lip, and heat rose to her cheeks anew. She diverted her eyes to the roll in his hands.
Concentrate on the parchment
.

He stretched the paper out on the counter with his long, lean fingers. The hairs on her nape tickled as his graceful movements smoothed the roll. “If you will hold the corner, I will show you which part I seek.”

She placed shaking fingers on the curled corner he indicated. He caressed her knuckle with the back of his finger as he lifted his hand away. Chills raced up her arms, and her skin pebbled. He’d touched her on purpose. Again. Anger spiked. Her stomach tightened as she fought off the pleasurable sensations looking at him created. She lifted her chin and met his amber eyes. “How dare you presume—”

“Good day.” Her pa’s voice rang from behind the tall man. “I am Peter Byron. How may I be of service, sir?”

The man spun about, lifting his fingers from the parchment. “Indeed, I believe you can help me.”

The drawing curled up about her hand.

Her pa walked forward with a smile on his face, though his eyes held none of his smile’s joy. He lifted his hand with slow exhaustion to shake the stranger’s.

“I am admiring your craft, sir. You have a skill for creating a beautiful rhythm.” The man kept his back to her.

She frowned. How rude could he be? She stared with narrow eyes at his back. The contrast in the cut of his red-and-gold vest and the billowy white shirt highlighted the broad expanse of his shoulders.

Laughter touched her pa’s voice. “Glad a gentleman such as yourself notices such things.”

She barely heard him. The swath of black hair, which hung down to the swell in his vest caused by his bottom, captivated her. How had she not noticed any other man’s rump with such fascination? She wanted to run her fingers down his hair and over the hill in the fabric.

Her pa rounded the counter and stared down at the parchment beneath her hand. “You need a part?”

“Indeed. But not just any part.” The man circled back toward her and grasped the curled parchment. With deliberate slowness, he peeled the drawing back flat.

Illegible workings drawn in bold strokes across the paper here and there met her gaze. Numbered measurements, weights, and all the little details that her pa’s drawings held for a new working jumped off the page.

Pa leaned heavily on the counter. “Where did you get this?” His harsh voice rasped.

Fina’s attention snapped to his face. She had once heard him use that tone when scolding Jonathan, the apprentice, after he’d made a mistake.

“I drew the design.” The man tilted his head to the side as he regarded her pa.

“No. You stole my design,” her pa spat, anger twisting every word.

The man jerked his head back in disgust. “I did no such thing.”

Her pa whirled from the counter and went back to his drawing bench. He unlocked the chest in which he kept his portfolio of inventions. Then he returned to the counter with a parchment in hand. He unrolled a design that resembled the man’s down to the small ticks around the curve in the part. Though some details looked very similar to her eyes, the handwriting and even the numbered drawing weights themselves were different.

The man stared at the drawing in shock. “I did not steal. I designed this myself.”

“Impossible! Get out!” Her pa’s voice shook.

Fina flinched.

“You are mistaken, sir.” The man pulled on the parchment roll.

Pa’s anger made her press harder against the counter, holding the drawing in place. She would not let that design out of the shop until her father was absolutely sure that the design had not come from him.

The man pursed his lips. “I can see I will have to send to Paris after all.” He yanked hard, and the corner of the page she held tore in an uneven line about her hand. She glanced at her father. The room swayed and rippled. Her heartbeat doubled, and she grasped the counter’s edge.

She turned back to the man. The room stood empty. Gone. She had not heard the door open and close. How odd.

A thud came from beside her, and she reeled. Her vision darkened. Pa lay on his side on the floor. His parchment fluttered to the ground next to him.

Her stomach rose into her throat as she stared at her father’s ashen skin and lax expression.

She screamed, but no sound left her mouth. With trembling hands, she reached down and grasped his face in both hands. Clammy skin met her touch. His eyes remained open, but he did not blink. “Pa! Pa!” She wrapped her arms about him and pulled his body up to hers. What should she do?

Catherine.

Catherine would know what to do.

“I will get Catherine,” she said in a rush. She pushed to her feet and ran from the shop. In a single blink, she stood in the door to their kitchen. The heavy smell of bubbling mutton stew hung in the air and clogged her nose, choking her. She gasped.

“Catherine!” She forced the name through her thickening throat. Her head spun, and she grabbed the painted wood molding of the doorframe as the room’s walls closed in on her.

Catherine stepped up to her. “What’s wrong, Fina?”

Fina’s focus sharpened on the panic in Catherine’s brown eyes. “Come quick! Pa has fallen and…” Tears welled in her eyes. She couldn’t say the words she feared most in the world.

Pa is dead
.

Chapter Two

Five years later. 1795

Paris, France, Society of Time’s annual showing

Madoc walked along the maze of inventors, watchmakers and clockmakers that lined the large hall that once hosted ostentatious balls for the continent’s elite. Twenty-five gold-and-emerald chandlers hung from the white-and-green-painted ceiling. The walls were covered with equally hideous green-and-yellow-diamond-pattern wall fabric. If the room had not been filled with every kind of instrument of time known to man and otherworldly, he would run from the room with haste.

But he could not resist the lure of the clocks. Time fascinated him. It had since the day he’d discovered his abilities. Beyond his elemental power of fire, he could stop time, and stop it for whomever he wished at any moment. Fire guided him whenever he chose to use the flame. But as he aged, his desire to call the flame diminished. It was a difficult power to command, and even with all his years of practice, he lost control at times. It was better to simply refrain from its use.

Time, though… Time was his obsession.

In this hall he would find Franco. He tapped his fingers on his long vest. His perfect new watch design might be the answer to all they so desperately desired.

He rounded a corner and headed down a row of tables. Each display table lay cluttered with inventions He bumped into a fair-haired human as he leaned into one display. “Pardon.”

The human looked up at him and smiled, exposing crooked teeth. “Excuse me, sir.” He turned away from the table to allow Madoc access.

Small gold and silver pocket watches and fobs lay on yellowed velvet. He leaned in and brushed his long hair away from his ear.

Tick tick tick.
Traditional time.

Nothing of interest here.

Although humans’ ideas paled in imagination to his, what they knew, they knew well. He would always respect their knowledge of traditional time. Because of that and their ability to find passion in their endeavors, humans both intrigued and frightened him. He pivoted back into the aisle and headed to the next table.

Hot, argumentative energy washed along his skin as he stepped farther into the throng. He passed a man with copper-colored hair and an almost perfectly rectangular face. The man smiled and exposed fangs to Madoc.

Madoc smiled back and inclined his head. The man was a Jaberon. They were well known for their ability to see the future and change lives. Humans and otherworldly beings all mingled here. That aspect Madoc enjoyed most about this event. The otherworldly had a different view of time, as did he. He had met some who could travel through the years and back in seconds. Others, like him, who could stop time or fast-forward it.

Someone’s hand touched his shoulder. “I will see you after the noonday. Shall we meet in our room for cognac at three?” Deep onyx eyes stared up at him. The former Duke of Hudson.

Madoc blinked, half expecting to see his friend’s old blue eyes shining back at him. They had been friends since Madoc arrived in England. Hudson’s transition from human to blood drinker after his battle with a black energy had been hard, but he had triumphed. At times, darkness still seeped into Hudson’s eyes, but Madoc held faith in his friend’s ability to keep the demon away.

Madoc pulled his copper pocket watch from his vest and flipped open the case. It was quarter past ten. “How about half past one?”

“Capital. I will be famished by then.” Hudson started to leave.

Madoc touched his friend’s shoulder. Hudson spun back to him. “Please restrain yourself here. The more you stand out as a newer creature, the more trouble you will cause.”

One side of Hudson’s lips quirked up, and he nodded.

Hudson had never been to an annual meeting as an otherworldly creature. Some would take advantage of his new abilities and might make a jest of him for their pleasure. Madoc’s jaw clenched, and his stomach tensed. He hated that. Being the focus of humor was something both Madoc and the duke avoided at any cost. Madoc had been teased over his loss of control over his element as he grew, and Hudson over his short stature.

BOOK: Open Flame (Dragon's Fate)
4.73Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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