Far From Broken (8 page)

Callie fought her way to Patrick’s room. The far side of this wing hadn’t yet been consumed by the fire, but it was filled with thick smoke and she was coughing constantly now.

Someone had pushed a wadded length of fabric in the crack beneath the door. Thank God for small favors. As she pushed it open and stepped inside, she blinked. Her good eye was too irritated by smoke to see anything, but her other eye was able to pick out every detail, and she noticed quickly that the boy was not in his bed.

“Patrick!” She shut the door behind her to keep out as much of the heat and smoke as possible.

A weak cough from her right. When she turned, she saw him collapsed on the floor, dressed in a nightshirt. “Are you all right?”

“I made it to the door, but I didn’t…didn’t have the strength to do anything else.” He sounded embarrassed.

“That’s more than I would have been able to accomplish in your condition, Patrick. But we must hurry now and find a way out of here.”

He frowned and looked away. “You have to leave without me. There’s no way you can get us both out of here. I’ll only hold you up and then we’ll both die.”

She hunkered down beside him and looked him in the eyes. “We’re going together. If you don’t like it, I can arrange it so that you sleep through the process.”

His gaze widened as he glanced down at her iron fist, but when he turned back to her, the look in his eyes was grateful. “I, ah, don’t think that will be necessary.”

She nodded. “Good.”

“But how are we going to get out of the house? We can’t go back out there.”

Callie shuddered. “I know.” She coughed and looked around the room. “We’re going to have to use the only other exit available.”

He followed her gaze to the window. “You’re daft,” he snapped. “Do you know how high up we are?”

“We’re only on the second story. It can’t be that high.” She kept her voice as light as possible. It wouldn’t do either of them any good for Patrick to see just how petrified she really was. She quickly walked to the bed and started stripping it of the blankets and sheets. “Do you have a better idea?”

He muttered under his breath before finally holding out his hands. “Give me those sheets then,” he said. “My da was a sailor.”

She tossed them his way, gladly. “Make sure the knots won’t slip apart.”

“They’ll hold. But can you?”

Callie didn’t know. Her new limbs had made her stronger, but could she dangle at least forty feet above the ground, holding his weight on her shoulders while the building burned down around her?

She couldn’t think of that now or doubt might stop her before she even tried. Looking behind her, she watched as more and more smoke poured into the room. The small bit of hand towel stuffed under the door had charred and blackened, its usefulness over. The door itself had buckled and warped from the heat.

There wasn’t any time for doubt.

Callie refrained from prodding Patrick to go faster, knowing that the knots had to be right if they were going to work. Once he had tied every available piece of fabric together, including the drapes she’d yanked down from the window, into a long rope and fastened one end to the sturdy leg of the bed, Callie tried to open the window, but it had been nailed shut.

Patrick groaned. “Now what are we going to—?”

She smashed it with her fist and ran her hand over the frame to knock out all of the glass. The cool air was a welcome respite to her burning throat and she took a few big gulps of it into her lungs before turning around.

Hunkering down in front of Patrick, she helped him climb onto her back. “Are you sure you can hold on, or do you want me to tie your hands together around my neck?” She was worried about him. He wasn’t in any condition to be out of bed, much less attempting what she was asking of him now.

“I’ll be fine, but let’s do this before the roof caves in.”

She took another deep breath, this time for strength. Grasping the rope in both hands, she swung out the window…and immediately realized that this was going to be a lot harder than she’d thought.

Her feet slipped against the outside wall of the building, as the smooth metal failed to find purchase. Her hands slid down the rope at least three feet until the next knot stopped her. There, she simply let herself hang by her arms. But the wind was strong, and she and Patrick were blown aside, twisting until his back slammed against the brick. The breath was knocked out of him. She felt it across the side of her neck the same time the arms around her neck slackened.

“Damn it, Patrick,” she yelled. “Hold on to me!”

Letting go of the rope with her weaker hand, she clasped his forearms and held onto him tight, trying her damndest to right herself. She braced her knees against the wall for balance.

Above them something crashed and flames burst out the window, fueled by the sudden rush of oxygen. She had to get moving. If the room was on fire, it meant their rope would be on fire too.

Patrick’s arms tightened around her neck once more, but he eased up when she choked and coughed. “Sorry,” he said into her ear.

She shook her head and started her descent. She tried putting one arm below the other and making her way down slowly, but it became immediately apparent that she wasn’t strong enough for that. She purposely let go, holding onto the rope with only her mechanical hand, and let herself slide from knot to knot, keeping her knees and her other hand on the wall for extra balance. Her shoulder screamed against the strain.

“My lady, stop!” Patrick tightened his arms around her again. “Stop. There’s no more room. We’re out of rope.”

Callie looked up, at the wildly flickering orange and thick black smoke coming from the room above them. Above that, she noticed an airship hovering a distance beyond the rooftop and wondered if they were enjoying the show.

Suddenly, a voice was shouting at them.

She tried looking down and realized they were still too high off the ground. Malcolm stood in the snow on the ground. “Callie, let the boy go.”

“I can’t!” she cried.

But Patrick didn’t hesitate. He knew they had no choice but to get down from this rope one way or another and he started to relax his grip, but she reached up and held on. “No. Patrick, wait,” she gasped. “Climb down my body. Get closer to the ground before you let yourself drop.”

She extended her arm and helped him ease down, until he hung from her hand. With her other one, she clutched the rope, stopped by the last knot.

“It’s okay, my lady,” he called. “You can let me go.” But Callie was so afraid she was throwing him to his death, she couldn’t loosen her grip.

Finally, he had to reach up and pry her fingers open.

And then he was falling.

She didn’t hear screaming, but couldn’t look down. Not until Malcolm called up to her, “I’ve got him. It’s your turn to let go. I’ll catch you.”

He couldn’t possibly catch her, she knew it. With all the iron fused to her body, she was going to fall like a sack full of stones. But looking back up, she knew she didn’t have any other choice. The flames were already burning three or four feet down the length of rope hanging out the window and it was going to snap at any moment.

“Come on, Callie. Don’t you give up now or Jasper’s going to kill the both of us!”

She found herself smiling at that before her last image of him flashed through her head and turned her smile to a cry. She let go of the rope, trying to brace herself for the impact, but when she hit, it was a much softer landing than she’d expected. Malcolm had actually caught her. He also grunted and pitched backward into the snow, but his arms held her close to him and when she opened her eyes he was smiling. “See,” he wheezed. “Piece of cake.”

She quickly scrambled up, and he rose to his feet with a wince. “That was a marvelous lift.” She smiled. “You would have made a passable dancer, Malcolm. Thank you.”

The doctor and Mrs. Campbell were standing a few feet away and several servants bustled to and fro. In the distance, she heard the sound of sirens and assumed the fire fighters would arrive shortly. Turning her attention to Patrick, she was glad to see that he had already been bundled up in someone’s heavy coat. “Are you all right?” she asked.

He nodded, and although he looked pale and tired and his legs would need to be looked at, she thought he would be fine after they got him a hot bath and a warm bed.

She turned back to Malcolm. “Where is Jasper?”

His expression darkened and he shook his head. “He hasn’t come out of the clinic.”

Callie raced to the front door, fear strangling her like the thick smoke had been unable to do. She would have continued right back into the heart of the blaze without thinking, but Malcolm held her just as a set of large picture windows exploded above them.

She ducked her head as shards of glass rained down, but felt none of the tiny cuts to her cheeks and hands. She felt nothing at all. Not the cold, not the wind. Not the burning in her lungs or the torn muscles in her shoulder. She was only aware of the gaping hole in her heart, damage that would never be fixed by any doctor with needle and thread or iron balls and gears.

At her side, Malcolm suddenly shouted. She looked up and saw a figure lurch through the fiery doorway. Something was draped over his shoulders.

“Jasper!”

He fell to his knees, letting the body he carried drop to the ground beside him. Malcolm sprinted forward and Callie followed. Malcolm reached him first, and quickly forced Jasper to roll in the snow.

When she knelt beside him, she gasped at the sight of him. The left side of his face was angry with a deep burn, and a nasty gash crossed the front of his chest. He had probably lost a lot of blood from the bullet wound in his arm, and his breathing was ragged and weak.

“Doctor!” she called.

He tried to open his eyes, but his lids were stuck together. Finally, he managed to peer at her through one swollen eye. “Callie,” he whispered.

“I’m here. Don’t try to talk.”

“Love you.”

She choked out a cry. Her tears fell onto his face and she swiped at her cheeks with her dirty hand. “You idiot,” she snapped. “You can’t love me if you’re dead.”

“Always.”

The body he had carried out from the fire coughed. She glanced over and groaned before looking back down at Jasper. She was glad he hadn’t risked his life carrying Murphy out of that burning building, but…

“Did you have to save General Black?”

Callie approached Jasper’s room, wondering if this is how he had felt when she’d been the one lying in bed, broken and battered.

Once the fire at the clinic had been put out, he and Patrick were taken to the public hospital. It was a dreary place and she hated it, but Dr. Helmholtz had access to the supplies and help he’d needed to treat Jasper’s burns and remove the bullet lodged in his arm. Not to mention, Patrick had fallen prey to a deathly fever that had lasted for three days before breaking. When he did finally awake, she’d chastened him well and good for scaring her so badly before she assured him her earlier promise would still stand. She’d stay until the doctor was ready to fit him with his new legs, and be there to help him get used to them.

Jasper opened his eyes when she entered the room. Callie had done her best to make it look less like a sick room with the addition of some holiday decorations, but it hadn’t really helped.

He turned his head to smile at her. She sat on the edge of his bed and placed a small box on his lap.

“What is this?” he asked, picking it up.

“Merry Christmas.”

He opened the box and lifted out her father’s pocketwatch with a sad sigh. It was completely black, and the heat of the fire had softened one curved edge, making it look like a melted pat of butter. It was no longer working and inside, the glass had broken and the tiny daguerreotype of her mother was gone. “Oh, Callie, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” she whispered, heart in her throat. “If it had been made of expensive gold or brass, it probably would have melted away to nothing. But it’s steel. Hard and strong. It might be broken and ugly now and it won’t ever be the same, but it can probably be fixed. And I want you to have it back.”

He swallowed hard before looking into her eyes and taking her hand. “I have always cherished it, and it will never leave my side again. Thank you.”

She nodded and examined the bandages on his face. When he moved, they pulled, making her wince. Her own injuries had healed in mere hours. By the next day, her torn muscles hadn’t hurt at all, and the small cuts on her skin had faded as if they were a week old already. The biomechanical organisms in her blood had worked wonders.

“Do you find me ugly now?” Jasper joked, but his shoulders were tight as if he worried what her answer would be.

She repeated the words he’d said to her not so long ago. “I’m going to kiss you now. Don’t hit me, all right?”

She leaned forward and gently touched her lips to his, lingering for a long moment.

He frowned up at her as she pulled away. “That was pathetic.”

She lifted a brow.

He sighed dramatically. “I’ll let it go, but only because I can’t move to drag you on top of me for a proper kiss.”

She chuckled. “There will be plenty of time for that, don’t you think?”

His gaze turned serious. “I don’t know. What do
you
think?”

“I hope so.” She grinned. “I’ve discovered that I’m growing rather attached to this new and improved body of mine and there are a few things I want to try.”

Jasper laughed and then he did indeed drag her on top of him, but their whispered declarations of love were interrupted by a sharp rap at the door.

She looked up to see General Black’s wide form filling the entrance. He wore a sling on his arm and a bandage across his temple. He’d been hit pretty hard over the head by a falling beam in the fire, but had otherwise escaped relatively unscathed.

Thanks to Jasper.

“Colonel, I’ve made a decision.”

Jasper struggled to a sitting position, ignoring her hand on his arm. He glared at the general. “I saved your life, Black.”