Read The Inventor's Secret Online

Authors: Andrea Cremer

The Inventor's Secret (3 page)

BOOK: The Inventor's Secret
4.34Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Deciding that was all the effort her weary self was willing to put into grooming for the day, she reached around
for the laces of the corset that bound her soft, sleeveless
blouse to her torso. She loosened the stays and began the
tedious process of freeing herself from the embrace of boning and leather.
Still working at the laces with her fingers, Charlotte
walked back to the wardrobe and pulled open a wide
drawer so she could return the corset to its place among
its sisters. She ran her fingers over the varied textures of
leathers that ranged in hue from the tawny shade of a fawn
to embossed leather as dark as obsidian.
A sudden voice behind her made Charlotte give a yelp
of surprise.
“Getting ready for bed, are we?”

4.
C

HARLOTTE WHIRLED AROUND to catch
Jack staring at her from where he stood in the
doorway.

Charlotte’s hands froze on the laces of her
corset.
“What are you doing here, Jack?”

He gazed at her for a moment and then said, “You
brother sent me.”
She waited for the polite reaction, which would have
been for Jack to apologize and leave or at least turn his
back. Instead, he chose simply to lean against the door
frame and let his eyes roam over her.
“Do you mind?” Charlotte straightened up.
“No, not at all.”

She scowled at him. “I’m trying to get undressed.”

34

“You know I’m quite good with knots.” He lifted his
eyebrows. “Need a hand?”
“No, not at all,” she parroted. Charlotte stared him
down and carefully worked out the tangle of lacing at her
back.
Jack didn’t balk, but remained perfectly still. A smile
twitched at one corner of his mouth.
“I see you’re good with knots too.”
Unwilling to lose this dare, Charlotte pulled the corset
away from her body and dropped it. The stiff boning clattered against the stone floor. When Jack still didn’t move,
Charlotte glared at him but determinedly moved her fingers to the buttons of her blouse. A ripple of satisfaction
passed through her veins when his eyes widened ever so
slightly. She knew it was hotheaded of her, but she couldn’t
resist the temptation of outdoing Jack. Though she wanted
to laugh, it would ruin the moment, so Charlotte held her
breath and slipped one button free, then a second. Jack’s
skin began to pale, then his cheeks started to go pink. His
changing expression made her hesitate. His face was no
longer full of mirth, but instead was fighting shock . . . or
maybe horror. The thrill Charlotte had been feeling boiled
up into anger.
How dare he! Thinking he could spend every other
moment teasing her and making suggestive remarks, but
when she took up the gauntlet, he looked at her as though
she’d done something awful.
Her cheeks were hot, and likely redder than his, which
made her angrier still. She opened her mouth, ready to box
his ears with her indignation.
“Holy Hephaestus!” Ash appeared behind Jack, who
jumped at the sound of Ash’s voice and knocked his head
on the top of the door frame.
“Bloody hell.” Jack rubbed the top of his head. “Can’t
we make the doors any taller? This happens to me at least
once a day. I’m going to have a permanent lump.”
Charlotte put her hands on her hips. “Bring the falls
down on us so poor Jack doesn’t bump his head? Don’t you
listen to anything Birch says?”
“Only when he’s telling me how not to blow myself up,”
Jack quipped. “Or suggesting that he’s going to teach that
bat of his to scout for us during night patrols.”
“I think you should keep up the head injuries. Horns
would be a natural look for you.”
Ash shoved Jack back from the door. “Why are you
standing in front of Jack with only half of your clothes
on?”
She blushed but said, “This is more than half. You can’t
see anything.”
“And that’s a good thing,” Ash told her. “I’d hate to
have to gouge Jack’s eyes out. He’d be much less helpful in
a fight if he were blind.”
“Eye gouging? Really Ash?” Jack laughed. “You know
eventually someone’s going to peruse the goods Charlotte
has to offer.”
“Peruse my what?” Charlotte began to look around for
something to throw at Jack’s head, giving him a second
bump to match the first.
“Jack—” Ash’s voice made her stop her search for projectiles and gaze at her brother instead. She hadn’t known
Ash could growl his words, but apparently he could. And
very well.
Jack continued without heeding Ash’s tone. “You might
want to rethink your position, because I’m sure it will be
someone she likes, and if you blind the poor fool she’ll be
cross with you.”
“I will mostly definitely like him, and he will not be
a fool.” Charlotte rose on her tiptoes so she could glare
at Jack over Ash’s shoulder. “Which means it will
not
be
you.”
“Is that the reason just a moment ago I could see
your—” Jack coughed, glancing at Ash. “Never mind.”
“I expect more of you, Jack,” Ash said. “She’s just a
girl.”
“She’s not just a girl—she’s your sister. And that means
you think she’s five years younger than she really is. Wake
up, friend.” Jack laughed, but covered it with another
cough when Ash glared at him.

She
is standing right here, and she does not appreciate
being talked about like a child,” Charlotte said, lifting her
chin.
Ash turned to her. “I know Jack can be irritating, Charlotte, but you shouldn’t let him draw you into his pranks.”
“If he weren’t so irritating, I wouldn’t have been so
tempted to give him a taste of his own medicine.”
Jack returned to lounging against the door frame.
“Ummm, irritating Jack is standing right here, too.” He
fixed his eyes on Charlotte, mischief filling his gaze once
more. “And is that what that was? My own medicine? Interesting.”
“Shut it, Jack.” Ash whirled on him. He grabbed Jack
by the collar and shoved him down the hall. “The only reason you’re not bleeding right now is that
I
know that
you
know better than to insult my sister.”
“He insults me every day!” Charlotte protested.
Jack started to reply, but Ash cut him off. “You’ll stay
bruise free if you shut that trap of yours. Get down to the
dock and see if Birch needs help getting the
Pisces
ready for
tomorrow’s launch.”
For a moment, Jack’s face twisted as if he would argue,
but instead he mock saluted Ash, saying, “Whatever you
think is best, sir,” and walked away.
Ash sighed, shaking his head.
“You should have punched him,” Charlotte offered.
“He needs a good punch.”
“I’m not sure what Jack needs, but I’m absolutely certain you don’t know.” Ash frowned. “Tell me again why
you were undressing in front of him?”
The way her brother posed the question made Charlotte squirm. “I wasn’t undressing in front of him.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Well, if you have to be literal about it, I suppose I was.”
Charlotte spread her hands, exasperated. “But it was only
because he walked in without knocking and then wouldn’t
admit he’d done anything wrong.”
“So you decided the best thing to do was to keep taking
your clothes off?” Ash asked.
Charlotte refused to give in to her brother’s obvious attempt to shame her. “I know what you’re trying to do, Ash,
but it wasn’t like that. You know how Jack is.”
“Yes,” Ash said. “I do know how Jack is. And I’m sure
he was goading you one way or another. But, Charlotte,
you must understand—no matter how well you think you
know Jack, he’s still a man.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Her brother’s voice faltered. “I mean . . . it’s difficult to
say. You don’t know as much about men as you think you
do. Mother hasn’t been here to speak with you—”
“I know about men and women, Ash. I’m not a little
girl, no matter how much you refuse to accept that. Jack
was right. You do think I’m five years younger than I am.”
Ash straightened, shaking a finger at her. “So you think
young women of your oh-so-mature age have license to
strip in front of any man who bursts into their room?”
“It wasn’t any man, it was Jack!” Charlotte spat. “And
it was just a stupid game.”
“I don’t know if it was only a game,” Ash said coldly.
“But it was most certainly stupid. And childish. If you
want to prove that you’re an adult, then act like one. I’m of
half a mind to leave you here tomorrow.”
Charlotte felt angry tears creeping into her eyes. “You
would never talk to Jack or Birch like this! They’re always
joking and pranking.”
“Jack and Birch aren’t my sisters.” His voice was gentler. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“You think Jack would hurt me?” Charlotte blinked
her tears away, looking up at her brother’s face. “But I
thought you trusted him.”
“I do. And he wouldn’t hurt you. At least not . . . purposefully.” Ash choked a little on the words.
She was surprised to see crimson creeping up his neck,
coloring his ears.
“I shouldn’t be the one to—” He met her puzzled gaze
and quickly looked away. “I’ll ask Meg.”
“Ask Meg what?” Charlotte crossed her arms, fully
prepared to sulk. “Are you really not going to let me come
tomorrow?”
Caught up in his own thoughts, Ash’s reply was distracted. “No . . . it’s just . . . never mind. I can’t afford to
leave you here. You’re too good with the POC.”

She’s
called Pocky, and of course I am.” Charlotte’s
anger withered, and she flung her arms around her brother,
kissing him on the cheek. “And you’d miss me too much.”
Ash tensed up for a moment, but his temper had cooled
and he ruffled her hair.
Stepping back, Charlotte said, “What did you want
anyway? Jack said you sent him to find me.”
“I did.” Ash’s scowl returned momentarily. “And I came
to find you myself because he was taking too long.”
Not wanting to revisit their argument, she quickly
asked, “Well, what do you need?”
“Meg came to the refectory,” Ash said, looking tired.
“Grave just woke up.”
“Who?”
“Your stray.”
“You’re calling him Grave?” Charlotte asked.
“Birch is,” Ash told her. “I guess I picked up the habit.”
Charlotte shrugged. “What about him?”
“He wants to leave the workshop, and we’d like to keep
him there. We can’t risk him wandering around the Catacombs.”
“Do you really think he poses a threat?” Charlotte
asked. If anything, the stranger Birch had christened Grave
seemed sick or mentally unhinged, but not dangerous.
Ash shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what I think. We can’t
be too cautious. Even if he’s perfectly harmless, he’d get
lost in the tunnels without a guide.”
Charlotte nodded. New inhabitants of the Catacombs
were required to have a seasoned resident with them until
they could manage to navigate the tunnels on their own.
“Would you visit him and convince him that staying
with Birch is the best option he has for now?” Ash asked.
“Don’t tell him too much about us. Just enough to keep
him calm until we learn more about who he is.”
“Why me?” It had been a long day, and Charlotte was
feeling desperate for sleep.
“Because he trusts you, Lottie. You’re the one who
saved him and all.” Ash smiled. “This is a consequence of
your action. Reap what you’ve sown. I’ll consider it a mark
of your newfound maturity.”
“Don’t gloat. I’ll go.” Charlotte swiped her corset from
the floor. “Just let me get dressed again.”
Ash turned to leave, muttering, “You shouldn’t have
gotten undressed in the first place.”
He closed the door before Charlotte had a chance to
reply.

5.
E

VEN IF CHARLOTTE hadn’t known how
to get to the workshop, she could have found
it by closing her eyes and smelling her way
through the Catacombs. As she approached
the tinker’s den, the unmistakable odors of

molten metals, sulfur, and charred leather filled the air.
Though it was by far the most thoroughly ventilated of any
of the caverns, the workshop never lost its haze of steam
and smoke.

With a slightly wrinkled nose, Charlotte picked her
way through the room. It was the most irregular cave in
the Catacombs. Though long and wide, it featured an array of strangely shaped nooks and small chambers that
Birch used to house his creations in their various states of
completion.

43

She found Birch at his largest workbench tightening
the gears on a conglomeration of mechanical parts that
no doubt belonged in the guts of some machine. Moses
was hanging from the ceiling above Birch, and Meg was
perched on a nearby stool with a wooden cup in her hands.

“Ash said you needed me.” Charlotte waved to Meg before she peeked over Birch’s shoulder. “What’s that?”
“Don’t ask,” Meg said before Birch could answer. “I
did, and the answer took half an hour.”
Birch gave her a sour look. “You can’t understand how
this part functions without conceptualizing the whole machine.”
“Which is why you don’t want to ask,” Meg told Charlotte as she slid from the stool. Meg’s hair, dark as a raven’s wing, was piled atop her head and held in place by
an engraved steel cuff. A matching steel cuff encircled her
slender wrist, its bright hue accentuating the loveliness of
her deep skin tone.
“Never mind, then.” Charlotte smiled at her while
Birch huffed, insulted.
Charlotte turned her smile on the tinker. “Don’t be
cross. Not all of us need to know how your inventions
work. Just how to use them.”
“No one appreciates my art,” Birch said.
“Pip does,” Meg countered. “She idolizes you.”
“Idolize is a strong word.” Birch brushed metal filings
off his apron.
“Strong and accurate.” Charlotte brought Birch a
broom. “The moment she’s out of the wheelhouse she’ll be
down here.”
Birch coughed his embarrassment. “She’s a fine assistant.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is protégé,” Meg
teased. “Or maybe supplicant.”
“Another strong and accurate word.” Charlotte
laughed.
“If you’re done.” Birch snatched the broom and swept
the filings into a corner full of metal scraps. Nothing that
could be melted down and used in the future would go to
waste on Birch’s watch. “Can we turn to the pressing matter at hand? Grave is not adjusting well.”
“He’s only just arrived,” Charlotte said. “Do you expect him to settle in like he meant to end up here?”
“People aren’t like machines, Birch,” Meg told him.
“They aren’t predictable.”
“Since when are Birch’s machines predictable?” Charlotte smirked.
Birch’s mouth twitched into a wicked smile. “If you
continue to insult me, I’ll take the POC away and make
you use another gun.”
“You can never separate me and Pocky.” Charlotte
wagged her finger at him. “We were meant to be together.
But you’re right. I shouldn’t insult you. Your eyebrows
have grown back perfectly.”
“As I was saying,” Meg interrupted, “people aren’t predictable, and your boy is . . .”
“A conundrum,” Birch scratched at his temple beneath
the leather strap of his goggles.
A new head appeared from around the corner, featuring sea-green pigtails that bounced like springs.
“A what drum?” Pip asked. “Does it need fixing? How
can I help?”
“Why hello, Pip,” Meg winked at Birch, who turned
away but not before Charlotte saw him blushing. “What
a surprise.”
Pip bounced into the workshop. “Scoff’s on the night
shift this week. He should have been there an hour ago.
But he was late. He claims he was this close to a breakthrough, but I think he was just making excuses.”
“A breakthrough on what?” Birch turned away, his eyes
bright with interest.
“I don’t know,” Pip said, rolling her eyes. “You know
how Scoff is. All secretive about whatever he’s working on.
I keep telling him he’d be better off watching you work, but
does he listen to me? No.”
“Excuse me.” They all turned around at the sound of
the unfamiliar voice.
Grave was standing at the edge of the workshop, looking just as odd and ashen as he had when Charlotte had
found him. He’d emerged from the side tunnel that led to
the infirmary, which had purposefully been placed adjacent to the workshop, since that was where most of the
injuries happened. Usually to Birch.
Grave’s eyes found Meg. “I tried to sleep, like you
asked. But I couldn’t.”
Meg nodded, her voice took on the tone she used with
the small children who lived in the Catacombs. “That’s
understandable. You’ve had a difficult time. I made you a
sleep draught.”
She offered him the cup, but he stepped back into the
shadows of the tunnel.
“It’s meant to help you,” she coaxed. “We want you to
get well.”
“You think I’m sick?” he said from the darkness.
Meg threw a questioning glance at Birch, who pulled
off his work gloves.
“We’re not sure, Grave,” he told the boy. “But it’s a bad
sign that you have no memory, and your coloring—”
“What did you call me?” Grave asked.
“Oh . . . ummm. . . . yes, the name . . .” Birch tugged at
his shirt collar. “You kept talking about a ‘grave time,’ and
so I started calling you Grave.”
Charlotte chimed in. “He didn’t mean any harm.”
Grave shook his head. “I suppose I don’t mind. It’s nice
to be called something.”
Pip scooted forward, peering at Grave. “It’s not a very
nice name, though. I could pick a name for you. I’m very
creative.”
“Why is your hair green?” Grave asked.
“Scoff,” Pip answered, without bothering to take into
consideration that Grave had no idea who Scoff was. “Shall
I name you, then? Something dashing?”
“No,” Grave said quickly. “Grave is fine. That’s all I
remember, after all.”
“Please sit.” Meg beckoned Grave from the shadows,
inviting him to sit on the stool.
“Thank you.” He smiled at her, but his eyes quickly
fixed on Charlotte. “I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to talk
to you.”
“About what?” Charlotte asked. “Ash said you were
trying to leave.”
“Who’s Ash?”
“The boss of us.” Pip answered as she hopped up on the
workbench, letting her legs dangle off the edge.
“He’s my brother,” Charlotte cut in. “And Pip is right.
Ash is in charge.”
“I told him that you didn’t want to stay in the workshop,” Birch explained. “That’s why Charlotte came.”
Grave ducked his head, throwing an abashed look
at Birch. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause trouble. The
children kept sneaking into the room to look at me. They
whispered and giggled, but ran away if I tried to talk with
them.”
“They shouldn’t have done that,” Charlotte said. “But
they didn’t mean any harm. They’re only curious about
you.”
“Neither did I,” Grave told her.
“No trouble, chap,” Birch said. “But you can’t go wandering off in the Catacombs until you get to know the
place. You’ll end up walking till you reach the Worldclock
at the center of the Earth.”
“Very likely.” Meg nodded. “We weren’t trying to make
a prisoner of you. Just to keep you safe.”
“I understand,” Grave said, turning his eyes on Charlotte. His tawny irises were the only feature he had that
bore color and light. Their hue reminded her of amber
reflecting sunlight—a striking contrast to his silver-white
hair and ashen skin.
“I don’t want to give offense,” he said to Meg, though
he was still looking at Charlotte. “But I wanted to talk to
her because she saved me from that thing.”
“And?” Charlotte asked.
“And I thought you’d be the least likely to lie to me.”
“Pshaw!” Pip brandished a screwdriver at him. “We aren’t a pack of liars.”
“Hush, Pip,” Meg snapped. “We’re strangers to him,
and this is a strange place. Have a little compassion.”
Pip rolled her eyes and began sorting different-sized
cogs into piles beside her on the workbench.
Grave offered Meg a shy smile. “I thought Charlotte
would tell me where I am.”
“You’re in a place called the Catacombs,” Charlotte
told him. She waved her hand at her companions. “This
is our home. There are about two dozen of us living in the
caves at the moment, and there isn’t a person among us
you can’t trust. The eldest—Ashley, Meg, Birch, Pip, Scoff,
and me—keep the Catacombs supplied and secured so the
younger children here have a safe place to grow up. This is
a refuge for them—for us—from the Empire.”
“Empire?” Grave sighed, his body wilting a bit. “There’s
so much I don’t know. I wish I could remember.”
“We’ll help you,” Meg said, proffering the wooden cup.
“But you really should rest.”
Grave looked to Charlotte, who nodded. He took the
cup, swirling its liquid contents.
“Before I sleep, tell me why you’re here.” He looked
around the group. “You’re so young. I thought I’d be taken
to the person in charge. An adult.”
“The adults are doing the important work. Work that’s
far from here,” Charlotte answered him, flinching a little
at the thought of Ashley’s reminding them that Meg’s eighteenth birthday was drawing close. “And we’ll be doing
that same work when we’re of age, too.”
Pip giggled. “Safe and cozy caves.”
“Safe enough,” Charlotte said. She frowned at Grave.
“You don’t remember anything? Just something about a
‘grave time’?”
Grave nodded. “Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can
see a man standing over me, and he whispers, ‘A grave
time, such a grave time.’”
“Do you remember anything else about the man?”
Charlotte asked.
“Nothing,” Grave told her. “I hear his voice, but I can’t
see his face. Just the shape of a man, like a shadow.”
“You really should rest,” Meg said to him, but she fixed
a piercing look on Charlotte before she addressed Grave
again. “I’ve made up a cot for you in the infirmary.”
Charlotte returned Meg’s gaze stonily. “Why don’t I go
with you?”
Meg wore a smug smile when Grave perked up.
“Thank you,” he said, waiting for Charlotte to lead
him out of the workshop.
On the short walk to the infirmary, Charlotte sternly
shooed away a little flock of children who’d clustered outside the door, hoping to spy Grave. They gave her glum
looks, but complied, and Charlotte led Grave into his
accommodations. The hollow featured rounded walls,
an apothecary’s cabinet, and three cots—one of which
boasted fresh linens, courtesy of Meg.
“Am I the only one who’s staying here?” Grave asked as
Charlotte turned a crank on the wall. A moment later, the
glass globes that ringed the room began to glow, offering
more light than the bioluminescent blue fungi.
“Be thankful for that,” Charlotte said with a wry smile.
“Anyone else stuck in here might keep you up all night with
their coughing. Or their complaining about Birch blowing
them up.”
Grave shifted his weight uneasily.
“You’ll have the room to yourself, but Birch sleeps in a
room that’s attached to the workshop, so he’ll be close by,”
Charlotte said quickly.
“Where do you sleep?” he asked.
Charlotte startled a bit at his query. It was the sort of
inappropriate question she’d come to expect from Jack, but
not a stranger.
Grave made a choking, horrified noise and stepped
back. “Argh. Please. I didn’t intend . . .”
Seeing his distress, Charlotte caught her breath and
said, “Of course. No harm done.”
“I only . . . I feel so alone,” he said, sitting on the cot.
“And you were so kind.”
“I wasn’t kind,” she told him. “No one belongs in the
belly of a Rotpot.”
He nodded, staring into the wooden cup Meg had given
him. Charlotte’s heart pinched, and she rested her hand on
his shoulder.
“And you’re not alone,” she said. “I’m sure Meg will be
checking on you all night.”
“Meg?” Grave frowned. “Not you?”
“Trust me”—Charlotte laughed—“it’s Meg you want.
She’s a healer and is quite the mother hen. Now drink that
sleep draught she made you and get the rest you need. We’ll
talk more tomorrow.”
“I’ll go to sleep,” he said quickly, “but I don’t want to
drink this.”
When she balked, he said, “Please.”
“Very well.” She couldn’t blame him for not wanting to
drink the strange-smelling liquid.
Charlotte waited in the room until his breathing was
slow and even. She stole from the infirmary and made her
way to the workshop. She was surprised to find only Meg
waiting for her.
“How is he?” Meg asked.
“Asleep,” Charlotte told her. “Where are Pip and
Birch?”
“At the dock, tinkering with the
Pisces.
” Meg moved toward the passage from which Charlotte had just emerged.
“I think I’ll stay in the infirmary too. In case he wakes up
and gets a fright.”
“Good idea,” Charlotte said, making to leave.
“Charlotte.” Meg’s voice made Charlotte pause. “Don’t
let Ash be too hard on you about Grave. Bringing him here
was the right thing to do, and Ash knows it. He’s just overly
protective of all of us.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” Charlotte grimaced. “He’s
never cross with you.”
Meg laughed. “Good night, Charlotte.”
“Night.” Charlotte retraced her steps out of the workshop and toward her room. Her path took her past Ash’s
room. The door was ajar, and the voices within brought
her to a halt.
“It will be there,” Jack was saying. “Like we hoped.”
“Intact?” Ash asked. “That’s a big haul. How will we
bring it back?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Jack told him. “As long as you’re
sure that cave you found is a safe enough place to stash it.”
“It’s the best we can manage,” Ash said. “It’ll have to
do.”
Along with their voices, Charlotte heard a strange
buzzing sound. Curiosity made her peep around the door
frame.
Ash was flopped across a chair, his suspenders hanging loose at his waist. Jack stood nearby. His hands were
cupped, and a small whirring object hovered above his
palms.
Charlotte gasped. “Hephaestus’s hammer! Is that a
homingbird?”
Ash jumped out of the chair. “Charlotte!”
The sight of the homingbird had so startled her that
she’d forgotten she’d technically been eavesdropping.
She tried to cover her mistake by striding confidently
into the room. Jack closed his hands over the tiny bird, and
the whirring of its wings stopped.
“Don’t hide it,” she said. “I want to see.”
“This is a private conversation, Lottie,” Ash told her.
She put her hands on her hips. “Then why is the door
open?”
“The door is ajar,” Jack said. “Not open.”
“And I presumed everyone was asleep, not haunting the
passageways,” Ash said.
“I was checking on Grave,” Charlotte sniffed. “Like
you
told me to.”
“Who’s Grave?” Jack frowned.
“Charlotte’s act of charity,” Ash answered. “How is
he?”
“Sleeping now,” Charlotte told him. “But he’s scared,
so being a bit kinder to him wouldn’t hurt.”
“I’ll find time for kindness when we know he isn’t a
threat,” Ash said.
She scowled at her brother and turned to Jack. “Where
did the bird come from? I didn’t think Birch had figured
out how to make them work.”
He didn’t answer, and she drew a sharp breath.
“It’s not a message from
inside,
is it? From the Empire?”
she asked. “Who sent it?”
Jack swallowed, glancing at Ash.
“I already told you this is a private conversation, Charlotte.” Ash pushed her toward the door. “Now go to bed.”

BOOK: The Inventor's Secret
4.34Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Betrayed by Carol Thompson
A Witch Central Wedding by Debora Geary
The Mandie Collection by Lois Gladys Leppard
Bound Together by Eliza Jane
The Darkness of Perfection by Michael Schneider