The Twisting (31 page)

She relayed every last detail she could remember about the pea nut plant, then tasted a bite of the spread herself to glean more details through her Knack. He consumed the food to the last bite, possibly only to please her attentive eye, but he ate it all, nonetheless.

How many fibers would it take? She passed another apple slice, and he caught her hand.

“You eat something,” he said. “Very soon you’ll need the strength you say this pea nut provides.” Then he laughed at her astonished look.

Laugh, would he? Annmar squeezed his hand and narrowed her focus, not on Mr. Shearing, who immediately apologized for his improper comment, but on her Knack. Her other hand rose to her collarbone. His gaze tracked it and settled lower.

But this time Annmar didn’t care. Blue threads ran through Mr. Shearing.

She dropped his hand and ate an apple slice to cover her grin.

Of course, this set him to laughing again, but he joined her in crunching a few slices, so she let him think she had agreed with his suggestion.

Her stomach started flipping again. The threads were there, but would they do her bidding?

Mr. Shearing rose. “I’m happy we’re well on our way to settling this fine arrangement.”

Annmar had no chance to counter before he pulled her to her feet.

“This pea nut is a splendid find,” he said. “You’ve persuaded me. A pea nut field will grace every Shearing farm come spring, and you shall devise some clever advertising campaign. We must celebrate.”

“But I haven’t agreed—”

“Come dawn, I’m sure you will have accepted all of my proposals.”  He took her into his arms, and kissed her with more enthusiasm than earlier.

Caught by surprise, Annmar froze. It didn’t deter Mr. Shearing. He proceeded as if he had her full agreement, on both items.

Bile rose in her throat. She forced it down. She had to do this. For Henry and Wellspring. Relaxing in his hold, she put her mind to her Knack. Blue threads swam behind her closed eyes.

To really see if it worked, she needed the courage to let him do more with her, to do what Mary Clare insisted was the minimum so he’d think he had gotten what he paid for. Yes, the money—the image of him handing her the roll of notes steadied her resolve.

She lifted her head and smiled at the man staring down at her. His thumb rubbed a circle on her neck. As Mary Clare had instructed, she said, “I am feeling a bit shy, George. Will we be able to take things slowly tonight?”

“Of course.” He swept his hand from her waist to press at the side of her breast.

This was slowly?

Daeryn hadn’t touched her so intimately. No one had.

Mr. Shearing’s breath heated her neck before he dived to kissing it, her collarbone, and…lower.

She groaned, which he mistook for encouragement, and suddenly his lips skimmed into her bosom’s lacy modesty panel.

Ugh, this was too much. She didn’t want him kissing any part of her. She’d much rather strip to the corset that was nearly impossible to get off, get him out of his trousers, let him think something was going to happen and be done with him. Her other drawings of him—the rude ones—rose in her Knack’s view, with him drooping vividly.

He froze.

So did Annmar, her breath in her throat, the image held in her mind.

Then he moved, and his mouth was upon her, open and insistent. Her head muddled with the sudden heat of his body against hers, of him touching…
her
. Even Mary Clare’s precise descriptions hadn’t clarified this. Waves of confusion enveloped her, and the blue threads flew apart, gone. She fumbled for what to do, in her head and with her hands. They fell from his neck to his chest and pushed.

They separated, and she stared up at him, trying to catch her breath. Amazingly, he didn’t seem upset. He simply smiled in an oddly intense way.

“A little warm?” Mr. Shearing asked.

She nodded dumbly, and he stepped away, removing his coat and unbuttoning his waistcoat as he watched her.

Annmar turned away.
No
. She’d just made this worse.

Why had her Knack worked and then stopped? Why…his touch had startled her, been something she couldn’t ignore. But she had to. She had to focus to do this, and he was making her lose that focus.

No, she couldn’t. She would do this.

He dimmed the gas lamps and then he was behind her, smoothing his hands around her waist and up her sides. With each stroke his hands came higher, closer—

She gritted her teeth and forced herself to pay no heed to the touching. She closed her eyes and focused. The blue mist rose, separated, and threads streamed in all directions.

She would do this.

He pulled her to his body and dipped his lips to the back of her neck, settling his hands exactly around what her corset cupped.

She ignored him, keeping a hold of her blue threads. That worked, until he turned her in his arms and flicked his gaze over her.

More kissing was clearly coming, for her lips
and
her exposed chest.

Hang Mary Clare’s suggestions for dragging this out. They were different girls. Annmar fingered the pearl buttons on her bodice.

His pupils dilated, and he covered her hands with his. “Can I help you?” he asked, his voice hoarse with excitement.

She let him unfasten the first few, but when his hands assuredly slid beneath her clothes, her breath caught.

“You’re luscious,” he said.

Oh…
mercy
. Throat tight with fear, her attempt at an enlightened, “Thank you,” emerged in exactly the breathy voice Mary Clare had recommended.

Without ever seeming to have his hands off her, Mr. Shearing unfastened the rest of the round buttons. Annmar kept her fingers curled into his waistcoat to stop herself from swatting him away.

His movements advanced in a precise manner, as planned as the construction of his machines, and Annmar found herself in the bedchamber, next to the bed, loosened from her skirt, her petticoats falling, and then, clad only in her corset and lady drawers, she was upon the bed.

Annmar participated, if one could call it that, as if from a distance, as if this wasn’t happening to
her
. Because she had already decided it
wouldn’t
happen to her. She was allowing it to proceed only because she had to believe she could stop it at any moment.

But when a naked man climbed into the bed beside her, Annmar shrank back. His patently murmured, “No need for alarm,” did nothing to calm her. The blue she’d determinedly held to fled once more.

“I can’t…” she said.

“But you agreed,” he whispered. “You’ve accepted my money. Unless you’d rather return it and go?” Frowning, he parted slightly from her.

The money. The money she no longer had. The money Wellspring so desperately needed to hold the farm together, to keep the Collective’s people working. For Henry. And to keep her there, and near Daeryn.

Annmar swallowed and opened her eyes. She would lay him out if she had to—more easily now. “I mean, I can’t believe I’m here.”

He grinned down at her and moved closer. “I told you, this is a better place for a fine woman like you than among the wild elements of Blighted Basin.”

No, it wasn’t. This didn’t feel right at all. She was so very tired of him assuming he knew what she should do. What felt right was Daeryn, her new friends at Wellspring, her Knack. The blue warmed within her. She reached for the threads, and while Mr. Shearing petted her hair, her shoulders, and…the
rest
of her body, Annmar took charge of those wild elements.

It required all her focus to direct the threads. The gleam in Mr. Shearing’s eye made her lose them. But with a push from her Knack, his manhood drooped. She didn’t want to watch him, but she had to. His eyes closed. His teeth nibbling over her lips faltered, then his mouth skimmed her cheek. His head lolled to her shoulder, heavy and still.

Her breath expelled on a sigh…and his hand found its way over her hip.

She gasped, and the threads scattered. The place he pressed—
oh, Lord, no
. She shrank back, but there was nowhere to go. He had her pinned, his body creeping over hers, weighing against her, pushing.

Her fingers clenched into the sheet, and she struggled to ignore his groping, to
focus…
focus…focus
…

Slowly, slowly the threads returned. They were harder now to control, seemingly farther from her…but she was far from the Basin, and Mr. Shearing had so few to work with. She bound them to her, to him, pushing every fiber with every ounce of her will.

Finally, his hands slowed. Minutes later—long, scary minutes, in which Mr. Shearing made fair progress in his intentions—he fell heavily upon her, his breathing deep and slowing, and
every
part of his body limp.

Deep in her Knack, Annmar fixed the threads in place and collapsed, lying panting beneath him with tears leaking into her hair. His skin was hot against her, so very hot, and she couldn’t get a full breath with her corset so tightly laced.

Even after his snores broke out, she couldn’t lift her arms to push him away. At last, when her sobs subsided and her tears dried up, she untangled her limbs. Wiggling, then levering him up more forcefully, Annmar rolled away and curled up at the edge of the bed. If only she rested, she could get up.

He moaned.

Annmar’s heart leaped into her throat. Half-asleep, he reached blindly for her. She sent her fibers connecting with his. Fear kept her focus until he eased down. A half hour later, she decided it was safe to move again.

This time she recognized the weakness from overusing her Knack. She had to eat. After stumbling to the sitting room table, she licked a spoonful of Patrice’s jam and scooped another—

“Where are you?” Mr. Shearing called.

She flew back, using the convenience as her excuse, and had to bear his groping all over again.

After she’d put him to sleep the third time, the ugly truth hit her. She could only affect Mr. Shearing if she was touching him.

Tears trailed down her cheeks. Why? Why could she do this with Rivley and not Mr. Shearing? Why hadn’t she tested it on Daeryn, if only to have more ideas at hand?

Annmar drew a deep breath and wiped back her loose hair. She couldn’t spend time worrying. She was tired and emotionally spent, and now she’d have to make a run for it in the morning. But she needn’t do that in her underclothes. She had hours before daylight to collect her clothes and dress.

Keeping a hand upon his arm, she eased off the bed and eyed her petticoats. But she needed the jam worse. With it and the remaining food, she could restore her strength. After, she would retrieve her clothes, and lastly dress. She went into her Knack to give the threads a last urge to stay with him and cast a look at him to watch them.

Old Terry’s bindings at her wrist glowed golden, like a faint ray of sunlight.

No, not fainter, just with a different light. They were different threads, rock threads, not plant threads.

Rock threads.

Annmar swung around and spotted her satchel, all the way across the sitting room.

He’d surely wake and be…ready again. She rubbed a hand over her face. She had to do it.

He was stirring by the time she snatched up the jam, bread and satchel.

“You’re right, I need my strength,” she murmured to him, managing to tip jam onto a hunk of bread before he tipped her back onto the pillows. Chewing, bearing his hands all over her and his hips rocking to open her legs, she took another bite and another, eyes closed, and reached for her Knack. The threads gathered, as weak as her arms. Dredging strength, she pushed them onto Mr. Shearing.

He hesitated, then sagged over her.

She grabbed the satchel. When her searching fingers found the stone, his eyes blinked open.
Come to me
, she urged the pale gold fiber and rubbed her thumb across the rough crystals. The thread squirmed to her fingers. She dropped the stone and met Mr. Shearing’s frown with one thought streaming through her Knack:
Sleep.

Seconds later, her empty hand and Mr. Shearing’s bewildered expression told Annmar the fiber had done her bidding. His eyes fluttered closed, and stayed.

Chapter THIRTY-FOUR

When she could
lift her arms again, Annmar shoved Mr. Shearing aside and slid from the bed. Gasping shallow breaths, she stared down at the lying
scoundrel. He would not have let her leave, even after asking if she wanted to return his money.

For a minute she stood, watching. Two minutes passed, then three. He moved only to breathe.

She had done it.

Annmar wiped the hair from her damp brow. She still had the rest of the night to spend in his company, but
not
in this bed. Glee spread like a glowing dawn through her, and Annmar grinned. It was ridiculous how good she felt, because if she tried to take a step now she’d fall to the floor.

Gripping the bedstead, she leaned to his ear and whispered, “No, you bastard.”

Then she took the jar from the bed, scooped jam with her finger and ate until she had the energy to find her rock and satchel, and finally turn her back on Mr. Shearing.

* * *

Just after dawn,
Annmar accepted the familiar driver’s help and, with her knees shaking, climbed into the carriage pulled up in front of The Grand. He handed in her valise and closed the door. Inside, a wide-eyed Mary Clare searched her face, then, without a word, tucked her hand into the crook of Annmar’s arm.

She peered out the edge of the window, not daring a word while the wooden conveyance creaked and swayed with the weight of the driver climbing aboard. Reins snapped, the man clicked to the horses and the carriage rattled forward. Mr. Shearing wasn’t chasing her, the knowledge at last allowing Annmar to release her breath.

Mary Clare squeezed her hand. “Annmar?”

A tear welled at the corner of her eye.

“Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry.”

Annmar shook her head. “No, he didn’t,” she said with finality and dashed away the tear.

“But you’re crying?”

“I’m not.” She searched her valise for her handkerchief with undo concentration, avoiding Mary Clare’s concerned face.

Mary Clare passed her a handkerchief. “What happened?”

It was so hard to explain. “Nothing, and everything,” she said from behind the lace-edged cotton. “I didn’t like it, and I had to pretend I did, and it felt so awful. And he kept waking up, so I had to put my hand on him for the longest time—”

“On his—”

“Of course not,” she hissed, lowering the handkerchief to glare. Mary Clare had the most improper ideas of any girl Annmar had ever met.

Her friend’s brows were raised. Then Mary Clare wrinkled her nose. “I was teasing. I knew you probably didn’t. But you were sure ripe for asking, so I did, and now you don’t look about to cry.” Mary Clare squeezed her into a hug.

“I kept him at bay,” Annmar muttered into her shoulder. “It was awful, and now it’s done and I just can’t think about it.” She straightened, put away the handkerchief and adjusted her gloves. “I’m going to get those Harvesters on the train and get out of these clothes. Twenty-four hours confined in a corset is beyond necessary.”

Mary Clare grinned. “Now you’re seeing things properly. So go on. You had your hand on…”

“His arm.” Annmar rolled her eyes. “I must be the most awful prude in the whole of England.” Another check out the carriage window assured her Mr. Shearing wasn’t following. “My Knack couldn’t keep him asleep unless I continued touching him. It wasn’t at all like controlling Rivley’s…er, Rivley.”

Mary Clare frowned. “And Rivley is no sissy. He’s strong-willed, especially when it comes to his manhood, so that’s not the difference. What did you find out about your Mr. Shearing?”

Annmar described his Knack and the actions he used the best she could. “He said his talent only worked on human Knack-bearers, but it didn’t work on me. My threads kept his from entering my skin, which I think is why I felt so confused. He can’t tell if it works, because when I pretended it did, he believed me. He also complained Basin dwellers don’t try new things. That’s not what I’m seeing at Wellspring.”

“It’s true for most of the Basin,” Mary Clare said. “Remember I told you the old Creator chapels that grew into marketplaces are the most progressive?”

“Then Mr. Shearing isn’t from one of them”—she drew a breath—“because he hates ’cambires.”

Mary Clare’s eyes widened. “He said that?”

“Well, he said the
wildlife
are holding back progress. The way he said it made it clear how he feels about them.”

“Oh.” Mary Clare bit her lip. “You got that right. Calling ’cambires wildlife is the worst sort of insult. It’s like calling them dumb animals or brainless.” Mary Clare tapped her head. “I can’t remember where those pockets of ’cambire haters are, but my granny tells stories of their attacks. Do you suppose he hates ’cambires because his Knack doesn’t work on them?”

Annmar raised a finger. “I bet you’re right. I wonder what makes them different.”

Mary Clare snorted. “Practically everything? I can’t believe you’re asking that. You’re human and his Knack didn’t work on you, and neither could you fully use your Knack on him.”

“Not until I used this.” Annmar pulled the glove from her left hand and pointed to the knuckle of her middle finger. “You can’t see it, but wound around this finger is a fungus fiber from a rock I found when Old Terry took us to the tunnel.”

Mary Clare’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Like the ones she bound you with?”

“The same. With some experimenting, this one bound Mr. Shearing into sleep so I could leave his side and dress.”

They grinned at each other. “Good trick,” Mary Clare said, “but why is it on your finger again? What’s holding Mr. Shearing there now?”

Annmar shrugged. “Modesty. I sent his clothes out to be cleaned.
All
his clothes.”

Mary Clare gave a wicked laugh. “I’m surprised you didn’t just leave him bound.”

“I didn’t know how I’d release him if I wasn’t there to collect the thread. The constable might have tracked me down if they found him comatose.”

Mary Clare nodded slowly. Annmar replaced her glove. “We’ll be at the station in a few minutes. Hopefully, that other freight isn’t there.”

“Our machines will get on, Annmar, one way or another. Things always work out, my ma says.”

Annmar looked out the window to again assure herself Mr. Shearing wasn’t following. “How was your visit with Mary Alice?”

Mary Clare grinned. “She took me to one of their clock client’s houses. I have a job in the woman’s kitchen for this winter, after the assistant cook has her baby.”

* * *

Derby

Daeryn cinched the
tie-down strap over the speeder’s frame, glad the task kept him turned away from the mice scurrying under Derby’s platform in the faint early light. A snack would fill his yawning belly, but even without Mr. Yates’ warning he couldn’t risk changing here. The city unsettled him. Tall buildings. Too much strange machinery. Barely a tree, rock outcrop or patch of soil in sight. Worst were the smells—the same city taint Annmar had arrived with covered
everything
.

Metal clanged in the distance, and his hackles rose again. Damn, the noises were increasing. Daeryn forced his body to stay human and fingered the paper in his pocket with the name of Mary Alice’s street. In minutes they’d be free to search for Annmar across this waking city—

“That’ll do,” Rivley called across the flatbed, and came around the end with the railroad worker who was helping them load the speeder for return to Mr. Yates.

“It’s a beaut,” the man said, sounding a bit envious.

“So are those,” Rivley replied, pointing to Master Brightwell’s two Harvesters sitting on a flatbed.

Along with the rail worker, Daeryn turned to the Harvesters. He hadn’t wanted to draw attention by asking about the two machines on the adjacent track. Trust Rivley to come up with a way to do it naturally. Of course, the avian wasn’t lacking for sleep. Not that Daeryn would have slept anyway, but being hungry
and
tired on top of his overloaded sense of smell made his ’cambire side harder to control.

The man snorted. “Now there’s a case of misconceived appearances. Word around town is them ain’t worth a fig, yet some lady paid cash to have them hauled here. And for what, I ask you?”’

No, it couldn’t be a coincidence that Annmar came to Derby and some lady was shipping the Harvesters.

“Huh,” Rivley answered as expected. “What?”

“To pay more good money to haul them clear out to Gapton. Immediately, she wants them. Ain’t no room for a good day, though they didn’t bother telling her that when they took her money. We got bets going for which train they’ll be on.”

“Which is paying the highest stakes?”

“Five thirty. Forty minutes from now. You want in?”

Rivley pulled out his cash.

Daeryn turned away to hide his smile. Smooth. Rivley placed a wager, then upped it, opening the flood of information: The stationmaster was a stickler for protocol, but the lady had already arrived to wear him down. “The others are listening in over yonder, some to guard their bets, others all ears for clues how to work him for future needs.”

Annmar is here.
Thank the Creator, this couldn’t be easier.

The rail worker waved to the platform. Daeryn headed for the group at one end while Rivley thanked the man.

A feminine voice filtered past the other travelers arriving and purchasing tickets. “And if there’s no sign of the booked transport?”

That lady trying to get her freight on board wasn’t Annmar. This woman sounded confident. In charge. Dammit, they would have to look for her after all. Daeryn turned to tell Rivley as much just as he caught up.

“How do you suppose Annmar paid for the shipping?” Rivley whispered.

Ahead of them, an exasperated man said, “Ma’am, they aren’t due for another half hour.”

“I’ll increase my compensation fee for that booking to take a later train.” The lady’s tone was refined and firm…and Annmar’s.

Daeryn wanted to smack himself. He craned to see around the capped heads, listening intently. He couldn’t match his sense of her with this voice of a mature Annmar Masterson, a woman who didn’t hesitate to tell these people what their course of action should be.

Did she have two forms, like a ’cambire?

“We absolutely cannot do that to our best customer,” the stationmaster said to her. “Regardless of the cash you offer, his crates will be loaded.”

“Blasted things,” muttered a loitering worker. “Best I can say about those animals is they don’t stink.” Another grumbled his agreement, waving a bandaged hand.

“If this…stock gives you problems, why not accept an easier shipment?” Again, her voice conveyed the assurance that she offered a logical solution.

“Because I don’t pay attention to the complaints of workers who drop a client’s goods.” The stationmaster gestured to a broken crate tossed off to the side with other rubbish. “What I do is make adjustments to meet the needs of all parties. Since a man was bitten, we don’t allow them to bring the crates until a quarter hour before departure. I am trying my best to satisfy your request…”

Daeryn let the stationmaster’s droning appeasement slide off, as his damned alpha ’cambire urged him to run to Annmar’s side. His need to protect her warred with his acute awareness of the strange surroundings. Not just Outside, but a city. With city rules, not Basin rules. He had to follow those rules to keep all of them safe. Besides, he was no more in charge of Annmar than he was Rivley. She was doing fine taking care of herself.

So he waited, making a study of the broken crate that contained animals. The slats had been gnawed. Like the vegetable stalks at Wellspring. He stepped closer and sniffed.
These animals have no smell, and they bite.
It didn’t take a genius like Master Brightwell to put this one together.

“Gobblers,” Daeryn practically shouted, drawing looks from those nearby.

Annmar whirled. Their gazes met and her eyes lit up. A spark of excitement ran through him. It was good to see her, safe and well. But her familiar face was the only part of her resembling the girl he’d escorted to Market Day twenty-four hours ago. The rest looked better. Too much better. With his nose unable to provide that usual sense of her, Daeryn’s gaze skimmed the tendrils of brown hair curling from under her hat, her creamy cheeks, the swell of her bosom, her narrow waist and flare of blue-green skirt hiding her legs, then returned to those lush curves before meeting her blue eyes.

The desperate urge of wanting coursed through him just as a kind of mask slid over her face, like it’d done when she’d seen him with Maraquin. He’d lost her.

She turned back to the freight window. “Please remember, my machines are here,” she said. “I have paid and am willing to tack on a compensation fee in addition to a handsome tip when my machines are loaded.”

Annmar knew what she was doing, fitting far better into these city environs than she had in Blighted Basin. Clearly, she belonged here. Still, Daeryn didn’t move while she thanked the man and turned again, presenting a stunning figure in those clothes. Whatever punishment she had decided to dole out to Shearing must have worked. Instead of looking like she needed help, Annmar seemed confident. A farm guard could never ask
her
to return to Blighted Basin with him. Yet this woman was looking his way while speaking with Mary Clare, whom he hadn’t noticed at the edge of the dispersing group.