Dearly, Beloved (16 page)

Bram leaned forward and brushed his cool cheek along the edge of my jaw, and my eyes seemed to shut of their own accord. “You don’t sound selfish. I get it. I want to follow his rules because I respect him, but I think he’s kind of confused right now. Not himself. I hate to say it, but it’s the truth.”

“After this week, then, no more.” Lifting my hand to the edge of his vest, I pulled him closer to me. “Because neither of us has time for this. Alone or together. But if I end up having to go slightly underground … you don’t need to sneak around or lie for me. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I sneak around and lie for you every morning. Well, did.” Bram put his hand over mine. “We’ll play it smart. And besides, I think I have a mission lined up that he’ll agree to. Maybe we should look at it that way. Chance to prove we can go out, handle ourselves like adults, come back in one piece.”

“Mission?”

“Got some zombies in the city who need help. Not in the Morgue. Been holding off till you can go. Sound like a good place to start?”

“Yes! Finally!” Pulling back, I bounced a little where I sat. “Between that and doing something about Michael—God, it sounds stupid, but I already feel better.”

“Maybe it’s my reptile brain talking, but I don’t want to hear about the thought of Michael making you feel better.”

Grinning, I said, “Sorry.” I lowered my eyes to the tarnished watch chain draped atop Bram’s brown vest, and reached out to follow its length to his pocket with my fingers. I slipped my hand inside, drew the watch out, and opened it to find the photograph it contained. Bram and his little sisters. “I have to try everything, though. I bet your family looked for you. Maybe they’re still looking.”

Bram reached out and gently extricated his watch from my hands before closing and repocketing it. “I honestly hope not,” he said, before standing. He seemed genuinely troubled by the idea.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He put on a smile. “Really. It’s nothing.”

I have a pretty good bull radar, and his statement made it go off. I didn’t press it, though. Bram’d had a rough life, and the hard-won right to brood about it in private if he wanted to. “I’ll look everything over again later. Lord knows there’s nothing else to do besides this and arms training.” Standing up, I brushed down my skirt and held up two fingers. “Two days and twelve hours. I think I’ll celebrate by setting off fireworks on the front lawn. In my underwear. While I dance.”

Bram laughed. “Promise?”

“Pinky swear.” I curled my little finger and tried to grab his hand. “Come on!”

Bram twisted his pinky with mine. “I’m holding you to that, then. I can’t court a girl who doesn’t keep her word.”

“Oh, I’ll so do it. It’s on.”

Bram shook his head, but was having a hard time fighting his laughter. “Dr. Dearly will kill you.”

“Around here, dead is normal.” I held out my arms. The long sleeves of my dress were puffy at the shoulders, with inserts of close-fitting black lace beneath. The effect on my pale skin was appropriate. “I think I’d look awesome as a zombie, personally.”

Bram’s expression went from jovial to mortally serious in about one second flat. He turned fully toward me and captured my upper arms, pushing me gently up against Papa’s gun cabinet. “Don’t joke about that,” he said, his voice focused and intense. He let go of me with one hand and gestured at his face. “You
can’t
become like this. You physically can’t. We’ve talked about this before.”

Forcing a laugh, I said, “I have to joke about it, Bram. Just like the rest of you do. It’s laugh or cry, live or die.”

“I know. It’s just … the hijacking reminded me of that. You have one shot at living.” He slid his big hands up my arms, over my shoulders, and cupped the sides of my face. “You’re perfect the way you are, Nora. Don’t ever think I want you to change, to be something you’re not.”

Had Bram felt the fear, too? Just a few weeks ago, terrified and overwrought, I had watched him while he slept, convinced he’d be taken from me. I didn’t want him to know. He was the strongest person I had ever met in my life. All my striving aside, as self-loathing as it might sound—I wanted to be worthy of him. I admired him
that
much.

“I won’t do anything stupid,” I promised, sneaking my hands up to lay them on his chest, marveling at the power I felt there—even as I failed, as always, to detect a heartbeat. “Believe me, I want to be safe. I want all of us to be safe.”

Bram slid the thin pad of his thumb over my cheekbone and nodded slowly. My breath caught as he started to lean closer, the
motion of his neck fluid. We hadn’t kissed properly since Colombia, and I could still recall every second of the last one he’d given me. Sick as it was, I’d loved the sensation of his cold lips so much that I couldn’t even comprehend the idea that warm ones might be better. I loved how firmly he had kissed me, just hard enough to hint at the sensation of a bruise. He was the only boy I’d ever kissed, and I knew he was perfect.

Thank goodness no one was around to see just how eager I was to disobey my father. Or possibly judge how disturbed I was. But if other people wanted to call me a “necroslut”—fine. That’s what I’d be. And I would
never
feel ashamed about it again.

His lips were just about to touch mine when the door opened and I heard Pam say, “Nora? Matilda said you were … Oh.”

Spoke too soon
.

Bram grimaced and sort of whirled away from me, ending up at my side facing the door. I straightened, hoping disappointment wasn’t evident on my face. Pamela’s eyes whisked between us, and I thought I could read some disapproval there—but she clamped down on it a second later. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to say sorry for, Pamma,” I said, infusing my voice with cheer. “I just didn’t know you were coming over. We’re probably breaking all sorts of—” Bram cleared his throat, and I course-corrected. “What’s up?”

“I just came over to help, like you asked.” Pamela removed her bonnet, glancing up at Bram coolly. “Unless I’m no longer needed.”

Bram bowed. “Miss Roe. Forgive me, I have something to … do. Elsewhere.” I flashed him a grateful look as he started to see himself out.

Pam released a breath. “No … hold on, Mr. Griswold. This likely concerns you, too.”

“What is it?”

She reached into her satin reticule and pulled out a calling
card, which she handed to me. The name on it was unfamiliar. Lord Lopez? I wasn’t up on the society lists. “I ran into him on the street. He never said anything about being a lord while I was with him.”

“Wait, you spoke with this guy?”

Bram stepped back and took the card. Unlike me, he seemed to instantly recognize who it was. “Wow. How’d he get to be a lord? Or was he one when we met?”

“Who is it?” I asked, growing annoyed.

“The guy from the docks,” Bram said. “The one who came out to meet us when we landed the airship there.”

Pam pointed at her skull. “You know, aimed a gun at Mr. Griswold’s head?”

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “Him! Well, in my defense, a lot of people have threatened to shoot Bram in the head.”

Bram smirked. “Thing is, he’s also the guy who gave part of Company Z a chance to get out of their death sentence. Got them off the docks. And I say that without understanding why. I definitely owe him.”

“He might call on my parents on Sunday,” Pam continued. “I thought you might like to be there. Maybe you could get some answers.”

Altogether, about fifty members of Company Z had died between New London and Averne’s base, almost half the force. I knew their names because I’d helped Bram write letters of condolence to their families, sealing the envelopes and addressing them so he could concentrate on the actual words. If any of the others still had their unlives due to this guy’s intervention, we all owed him. “Absolutely,” I said, smiling at her. “Thank you, Pamma.”

She nodded and looked to the sea of paperwork, her dark eyes widening a tad. “Goodness. Where do we pick up?”

“Somewhere around … Shark Food.” Pam pulled her mouth to the side, realizing whom I meant.

“Ladies,” Bram said, saluting casually with two fingers as he went for the door.

Before I could tell him goodbye or pull Pam into my world of detective work, the sound of laughter floated up from the street outside, accompanied by the squeal of tires. Bram paused, his head turning. “What was that?”

Pulling my skirts up, I threaded my way through the papers and boxes, opening the doors that led out onto Papa’s balcony when I got there. The noise grew louder—a lot of whooping and hollering.

“Quiet!” someone yelled—a woman. “We’re out in public! There are security cameras everywhere!”

“The sky’s dead, cameras might be, too! Ain’t no way you’re ruining this for me, Bel!” a man countered. “Today is a day for miracles!”

Glancing down, I saw that three dirty, dented carriages and a canvas-covered truck had stopped in front of the house. People started exiting the vehicles, many of them armed. My heart rate picked up. “This doesn’t look good.”

Bram was soon at my side, his hands wrapped around the balcony railing. “Agreed.”

“What’s going on?” Pamela asked, her voice tremulous.

“We don’t know yet,” I told her as I entered the room again. “Come on. Downstairs.”

“But if they’re downstairs …” Pam was practically contorting her hands around her purse. “We should stay here. Lock the door. We don’t know what they want!”

As I took a breath to steady myself, Bram moved toward the gun cabinet. It was now regularly left unlocked, and it didn’t take him long to find a rifle and ammo. He loaded up, and I wrestled with my instincts. I wanted to go with him. If we were being invaded again, I wanted to protect my home.

Pamela clearly saw how torn I was. Her eyes broadcast and
somehow amplified every argument her mouth could have made if she let it. It worked.

“Do you want me to stay here, too?” I asked her, feeling my shoulders rising.

Pam nodded, guilt creasing her features. “Yes,” she said. She might have felt guilty, but she sounded relieved. “Stay here with me.”

The doorbell rang, a massive gong that set my teeth on edge. Pamela’d become so skittish since December—I didn’t know what to make of it yet. She never talked about it, even when I asked. Until she decided to open up all I could do was try to be a good friend, try to give her what she needed.

Slapping the side of the cabinet, Bram told me, “You’ve got weapons, then.” He flicked his safety off, then on again, and looked at me. “Don’t open the door unless you hear three knocks, then two.”

This simple, genius detail reminded me why I fell in love with him in the first place. “Right.”

He left the room and I shut the door and stationed myself before it—but didn’t lock it. I could hear Bram’s heavy, limping footsteps as he made his way down the hallway. He was on alert, slow and sure in his movements.

“Lock the door,” Pam said as she backed up toward the balcony, home to the rose trellis I’d had to climb the last time something like this had happened. It struck me that my father’s bedroom was an incredibly unlucky place.

“Not yet,” I told her. I opened the door just a touch, to listen.

Downstairs, someone approached the front door, his or her—most likely her—heels clicking on the marble. Matilda, I figured, my anxiety rising. I should suit up and run out there with Bram. He needed backup. Pamela could handle herself.

Suddenly, Samedi shouted, “I’ll get it! It’s for me!” Blinking in surprise, I listened as his footsteps overtook the others and the
door opened. “Password?” Samedi asked, voice infused with a sarcastic sternness.

“Your mother has never known the pinch of a corset,” the woman I’d heard in the street replied.

“That is an
old
password.”

“I figured it’d be the only one you’d recognize. Time flies when you’re having fun, I see.” The woman’s voice was warming.

“Baldwin?” a male voice outside said. “Is that
you
?”

“No,” Samedi drawled. “It’s someone wearing my face. Remarkable what they can do with anti-rejection drugs these days.”

“Oh my gosh, it’s actually him! It’s the Undertaker!” someone else shouted.

“Okay,” I asked aloud. “What in blazes is going on?”

Pamela grabbed my arm, startling me. “They’re unloading something outside. It’s under a tarp.
Please
lock the door!”

Doing as she asked, I prepared to go take a look—but then five knocks rang out. Pam jumped a mile. By the time I opened the door, Bram was already halfway down the hall again, his gun on his back. He looked back and crooked his finger, beckoning us. I quickly followed, taking Pamela by the hand along the way. She squeezed mine fervently.

As we descended the stairs, Dr. Chase entered the foyer and caught sight of us. She looked at Sam once in panic, before apparently deciding to give up, her features softening. She came over to meet us as Renfield and Chas entered the room, the short train of her green velvet dress swishing behind her. “It’s all right. There’s no danger.”

“What is it, then?” Bram asked her.

Chase glanced at Samedi again before telling us, “We’re replacing the carriage.”

Samedi opened the door, revealing a crowd of about fifteen people. For a moment I cursed the fact that we’d left all the
weapons upstairs. They were a rough-looking bunch, an assortment of men and women in various styles of plain, lower-class dress, many with pieces of mechanical detritus or equipment strapped to their bodies. One girl, young and with bay-colored pigtails, was clad in pin-striped trousers and a newsboy’s cap, and apparently unself-conscious about it. None of them were dead.

“Jesus, man.” A broad, muscular man with greasy brown hair and a cleft palate scar, the one who’d spoken before, stepped forward. “It
is
you.”

“In the oh-so-transient flesh,” Sam said, a smile sneaking onto his lips. “Good to see you, Ronnie.”

Ronnie rushed into the house and swept Samedi up, hugging him like a rag doll. Sam hurriedly reached up to grab hold of his head. “Oh my God! Baldwin! You’re alive!”

“In a manner of speaking. Put me down! Don’t you know I’m a walking biohazard?”