The Moonstone and Miss Jones (28 page)
Chapter Thirty-three
P
HAETON APPROACHED THE ENTRANCE
to Lovecraft’s factory carefully. The iron doors looked as if they had been torn off and tossed to one side—run over by a swarm of Reapers, perhaps?
HAETON APPROACHED THE ENTRANCE
to Lovecraft’s factory carefully. The iron doors looked as if they had been torn off and tossed to one side—run over by a swarm of Reapers, perhaps?
No wonder Edvar had steered him here—and not to Pennyfields. It appeared that Lovecraft had overestimated the alliance and underestimated Prospero’s greed. Phaeton kicked bits of debris out of the way, and the sound bounced from wall to wall of the passageway. He took a right turn, which he was almost sure led down to the factory floor. He hastened his pace, fearful he was too late—the battle was over, and the other side had already won.
Entering the vast cavern of the abandoned train station he could not help but notice the imposing landship. Occasional bursts of steam made it appear as if the impressive engine was about to roll down what remained of the old Underground tracks. Phaeton listened to his footsteps echo off the paved parapet overlooking the facility. Other than a great deal of debris laying about, there didn’t appear to be any great damage done to either the landship or the manufacturing enterprise.
Phaeton scanned the abandoned factory floor and the platform above. His gaze settled on a rather rotund chap tied to one of the station pillars. He climbed over an upended cart and made his way to the old passenger platform. Tim Noggy rolled his eyes in relief when he saw who it was.
“I thought Lovecraft was in irons.” Phaeton removed the gag. “And weren’t you supposed to be watching him?”
“The mistake was coming here. The tables turned pretty quickly once a battalion of Reapers arrived.”
“And Lovecraft?”
Tim’s eyes shifted. “Watch out mate—he’s right behind you.”
Phaeton pivoted. The professor walked behind a wheelchair that appeared to be propelled by some sort of clockworks. The young man in the chair steered the vehicle by manipulating a large toggle switch.
“Mr. Phaeton Black, meet my son, Lieutenant Alexander Lindsay Lovecraft.” The professor’s face was a mass of lash marks and bruises. Even those watery bulbous eyes were swollen and near closed from the bashing Lovecraft had received at the hands of the Reapers. The two goggle eyes were back, though, perched above Lovecraft’s forehead.
Phaeton exhaled. At least one knew where to make eye contact.
The son leaned forward and offered him his good hand, all other limbs were mechanized. “Call me Lindsay.”
“Phaeton.” He shook his hand and leaned closer. “It seems I missed the most bruising part of the action. Mind filling me in?”
“The Reapers turned the lab upside down.” Lovecraft offered. “When they didn’t find what they came for, they decided to believe what I had been telling them—”
“That Gaspar was in possession of the Moonstone.” Lovecraft’s mechanical eyes shifted ever so slightly.
Phaeton’s jaw muscle twitched. “You realize America is with them?”
Lovecraft pulled out a pistol and pointed it at Phaeton. “She’s not a priority now that I’ve got you, Phaeton.”
“Quid pro quo, Lovecraft.” Phaeton backed away.
“About an hour ago they swarmed down the tunnel heading toward Pennyfields.”
“And when do we expect the Reapers’ return—or do we?” He felt a charge run through his body as his heart beat harder and faster.
“As soon as the Moonstone is operational, so to speak, these limbs of Lindsay’s will make him more powerful than any ordinary man—twice as fast and ten times as strong. Then I will build an army of automatons just as powerful.” Lovecraft actually smirked. “And no one from this world or another will ever be able to challenge me again.”
If the professor’s face didn’t already resemble a piece of raw meat, Phaeton would have gladly added a few lashes. He looked down at Lovecraft’s son. “Ready to be tanked up with potent aether?”
Lindsay looked weary, ready to die. “This is the last time I will put myself through such a trial. After this, I’m through.”
Lovecraft leaned far over the chair back. “You’re through when I say you’re through.”
“You are torturing me!” The son erupted, his anguished voice more of a plea than an accusation.
Phaeton turned to Tim. “Do we know who exactly is with Gaspar?”
Tim shook his head. “It doesn’t much matter who all is with him—it’s whether or not they managed to dodge the hordes, mate.”
“And how is it you’re alive?” Phaeton studied Tim’s unmarked face. “At the very least, avoid a drubbing?”
Tim shrugged round shoulders “Same way I always do.”
“He’s our brother.” Life-sized images of both Victor and Oakley materialized on top of a number of crushed factory carts. “Don’t mind us—we’re only projections.” They were full sized and made up of many tiny particles. One of those odd grainy images that were so popular in the Outremer, only this was three-dimensional in effect, as if they were both actually standing upon the overturned wagons. “And the fact is he’s brilliant, which makes him somewhat indispensible.”
“Of course.” Phaeton tilted his head. “Victor and Oakley are your brothers.”
“We’re kind of estranged.” Tim’s eyes rolled toward his brothers. “You’ve met them—they’re pushy and arrogant and they each have their own weird agenda.” He shot Phaeton a pudgy-faced grin. “You kind of remind me of Victor—only taller.”
Tim and his brothers might be alienated, but Phaeton sensed no real animosity, either. “Victor and I do get on, and Oakley reminds me of you—only thinner.”
Tim continued to grin. “I’d be handsome, wouldn’t I? If I lost a few stone.”
Lovecraft waved Phaeton away using his revolver. “I want you over there—next to the transport machine.” The professor motioned to his son, who used a separate ramp built for the wheelchair.
“What is this machine exactly?” Phaeton craned his neck as they neared the behemoth.
“Opens portals when and where I want them.” Lovecraft flipped a few switches near a large opening. “The portals will eventually have two-way access, powered by enough potent aether.”
Oakley snorted, “It’s my understanding after you shut down Vauxhall, you couldn’t get the machine calibrated again for our world—excuse me, the Outremer.”
“Spying, Oakely?” Lovecraft’s alternate eyes narrowed. “He steals all of his best ideas here—sends over his little electronic flies on the wall.”
“And where are you are sending your guinea pigs, Lovecraft? Have any idea where they might be in the universe? They might never be found again. Lost in the cosmos.”
Victor caught Phaeton’s eye. “I wouldn’t get too close to that door. There’s an energy field—a vortex that sucks unsuspecting volunteers in.” Victor shifted his gaze briefly to Lovecraft. “I believe that is how you do your recruiting?”
Phaeton shifted away. “And how goes the rebellion?”
Victor grinned. “Remember the big bang I mentioned? We took out a huge aether refinery—powers most of Prospero’s machinery. It should have helped some, over here, what with the attack on.” The small man looked about. “Ah, here come the mighty warriors.”
Everyone swung about—even Tim managed a peek.
Jersey Blood led the way, followed by Valentine, Gaspar, and America. Cutter and Ruby, in their usual positions, guarded the rear.
Astounded to see the Nightshades alive, Lovecraft poked the gun muzzle into Phaeton and urged him forward. He hardly noticed the revolver at his back, because he hadn’t taken his eyes off America.
“Phaeton!” She tried to break away, run to him, but Jersey held onto her. Good man. She appeared tired and dusty, and she never looked more beautiful to him.
“So what happened to the Reapers?” Phaeton asked them. “I know you’re good but—”
“They were weaker than normal, right from the start. But they just kept coming—by the time we broke into the tube, they were standing around in a kind of stupor. Not dead exactly but—not really responding to anything, either. We walked right through them to get here.” Jersey shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “They just ran out of juice.”
Phaeton turned to the dwarf. “I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude, Victor.”
Lovecraft nodded to Gaspar. “Toss the bag over.”
Jersey Blood moved to fire up his sword—but nothing happened. The other Shades tried their weapons. Cutter shook his head. “I’m on empty.”
Lovecraft eyed them all. “This machine is an aether receptor—your force has been usurped. Those weapons are useless here.”
Gaspar moved toward Lovecraft.
“Stay where you are—just toss it over.” The professor moved out from behind Phaeton to catch the bag.
“As you wish.” Gaspar flung the suitcase so hard it hit Lovecraft in the solar plexus, and knocked the breath out of him.
Gasping for air, Lovecraft pointed the gun at Phaeton and cocked it. “Now Miss Jones.”
“Don’t. Stay where you are, America.” Phaeton ordered. “He’s not going to shoot me—I’m the one who grants the wishes. He plans to use you to manipulate me.”
Lovecraft fired the weapon so close to Phaeton’s head, a horrible ringing began in his ear. Slightly incapacitated, Phaeton grimaced in pain.
America broke away from the Nightshades and ran to him. The moment Lovecraft had America in his clutches he shoved Phaeton off and backed away.
“Finally—” The sniveling grin was back on Lovecraft’s face. Holding onto America with one arm, he opened up the satchel with the other, which proved a greater task than he could possibly imagine. “I have the Moonstone, Phaeton Black, and Phaeton’s motivator.”
“The miracles inside the stone cannot be forced—let her go.” Ping walked through a burst of steam and joined Phaeton who was gradually creeping up on Lovecraft.
Phaeton continued his advance. “And that part about finally having the Moonstone.” He sucked a bit of air through his teeth. “Not exactly true, professor. The Moonstone in that satchel is a fake—a very good copy I must say, but alas, not the real stone.”
“You’d like me to believe that, wouldn’t you?”
“Drop the gun, professor.” They all turned toward the new voice in the crowd. Phaeton was relieved to see Inspectors Zander Farrell and Dextor Moore on the platform above them aiming good old-fashioned hardware at the professor.
“Well, the gang’s all here—there’s a wine cellar below the lab—be sure to remember us with a toast.” Lovecraft grabbed the satchel and the stone and dragged America into the pre-chamber of the machine. “Come along Phaeton, you’ll cooperate with love in your heart or she goes . . .” Lovecraft’s lunatic smile was back. “Who knows where.”
Phaeton moved forward slowly. Someone had to wipe that feeble grin off his face. No use prevaricating. Phaeton lunged straight for the professor as bullets flew.
He shoved America out of harm’s way, just as Lovecraft took several bullets.
Try as he might, Phaeton could not stop his forward momentum and slid directly into the chamber of the machine—something like hurricane forces whipped up around him as a whirlpool of aether yanked him farther inside.
America flung herself forward and caught hold of his jacket. “You must let me go, America.”
“I will not!” As hard as she tried, she could not pull him out. It took all the strength Jersey and Cutter possessed to hold onto America, holding onto him. Her beauty and her bravery stunned even now. “Earlier tonight, I met our child—our daughter.”
America’s brows lifted. “What did you say?”
“Her name is Luna. You have to let me go, America.”
Phaeton did something he didn’t think was possible—he used a bit of potent lift to rip the coat off his back, and then he slipped away. The last thing he saw as he was sucked deeper into the machine was her sweet face. She reached out and screamed, “Phaeton!”
America fought and kicked and tried so very hard to go after him, but Jersey hauled her into his arms and held her until she promised not to do anything reckless.
Even after she promised he held onto her wrist with a wary eye.
Bleeding from several bullet wounds, Lovecraft dragged himself up and pointed his gun. “Watch out, he’s going to fire!” Lindsay’s warning caused Lovecraft to turn the gun on his own son. “You betray me after all I have done for you?”
“You betrayed me years ago. You did all this for yourself.” Lovecraft’s son nearly choked on his own words. Cutter stepped in front of Lindsay to protect him.
A second volley of police bullets hit Lovecraft and tossed him against the control panel of the machine. Dead-eyed, the professor slid down the side of the door and threw a switch. The engine made ominous noises that sounded as if it had locked up.
“Open the door! We must get Phaeton out!” America tried her best to twist out of Jersey’s grip.
Jersey called on both female Nightshades to try to calm her as he and Cutter went to work. Feverishly they tried to open the doors to the machine. The panel on the door had a number that ticked down. Four. Three. Two. One.
Other books
The Left Series (Book 4): Left In The Cold by Fletcher, Christian
The Lion, the Lamb, the Hunted: A Psychological Thriller by Andrew E. Kaufman
Jigsaw Lovers by William Shenton
The 39 Clues Turbulence by Riley Clifford
You Only Die Twice by Christopher Smith
Make Me Yours: A BWWM Billionaire Love Story by Cher Etan, BWWM Club
Caged in Darkness by J. D. Stroube
Enraptured: Spellbound (Book Four) by Night, Trinity
The Exact Location of Home by Kate Messner
RETALI8ION: The Cobalt Code by Meador, Amber Neko
