Eros Element (30 page)

“Ahem, I don't know if I'm still supposed to chaperone you,” Patrick O'Connell said. “But it seems like you need one. Hands where I can see them, you two.”

Edward stood and helped Iris to her feet. The burns on his face and arm had mostly healed, leaving streaks of pink as if he'd been sunburned, not aether burned. Iris had heard of aether accidents and knew how bad they could be. While she was grateful for the miracle, she also wondered what price might be exacted from him. The gods were a capricious bunch, after all.

Iris glanced to the corner, where Radcliffe and Johann had laid Jeremy Scott's body.

“Don't look at him,” Johann said. His face had lost its usual high color, and his paleness made him look younger. “It's not pretty. I'll spare you the details.”

Iris thought about telling him she wasn't a weak woman, she could handle it, but she also knew she wouldn't be able to un-see the mess that had become of Lord Jeremy. “I won't look.”

“We'll notify the authorities,” Radcliffe said. “Go on back to the hotel. Both of you need to rest.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Porta Maggiore Plaza, Rome, 28 June 1870

With Iris's and Marie's help, Edward crossed the square at what he hoped looked like an ambling gait. His mind reeled through the events of the morning.

“Are you all right?” Iris asked once they cleared some of the crowd.

“I'm not sure.” He answered her with honesty because he didn't want there to be any deceit between them ever again.

She looked up at him with a small curve to her lips, a secret smile just for him. “I feel the same way. Physically I'm fine, but I'm shaky through my spirit, and I fear it will take a long time to sort everything out.”

They crossed the street and entered the hotel, so Edward didn't say anything, but he squeezed her hand. She squeezed back, and he knew she understood.

When they arrived back at the hotel, the clerk behind the desk raised an eyebrow at Iris's and Edward's dusty, wrinkled clothing. Iris guessed she and Edward looked like they had been engaged in naughty activities in the temple. Granted, they had, but nothing near what the young man behind the desk seemed to think, judging from the smirk on his face.

“Signorina McTavish?” he asked. “A letter arrived for you this morning.” He handed her an envelope bearing a return address from Paris and a seal with the image of a Roman coin on it.

“What is it?” Edward asked.

Iris's fingers trembled, which echoed the shakiness in her core. Could the Marquis have decided to charge her for the damage to his statue? Or was this another surprise from Jeremy Scott—would he continue to torment her now from beyond the grave? Her thoughts shied away acknowledging Lord Jeremy was dead and Edward was capable of—

“I don't know.” She peeled the wax seal and extracted the letter.

“‘Dear Miss McTavish,'” she read aloud because her mind slipped over the words. “‘Congratulations on your discovery of the temple at the Porta Maggiore! The archaeological community here in Paris has been abuzz with it, and we would like to invite you to be a student in our inaugural class at the new
Académie de l'Archéologie
. Classes will start in September, so please give us your answer as soon as possible. Sincerely, the admissions committee, Monsieur Roget Firmin, Chairman.'” For the second time that morning, tears made it difficult for Iris to see three feet in front of her, much less three months.

“Aren't you happy?” Marie asked. “This is your dream.”

“Well, yes, but school requires tuition, and tuition requires money.”

“You'll have the stipend from Cobb,” Edward said.

Iris did some mental calculations. “But it will not be enough. Plus there's room and board to consider. Paris isn't a cheap place to live, and I have to worry about the Marquis de Monceau.” She rubbed her eyes. “I need to lie down.” She broke away from them and rushed up the stairs to her hotel room, where a clockwork butterfly lay on the bed. The rest of the room was pristine, and nothing seemed to be missing, so Iris took it as a message: they were still being watched.

Edward didn't know how he was going to face his friends. He'd left a mess in the temple, and they'd stayed behind to clean up after him. But when Johann came to their room, he greeted Edward with a tired wave and collapsed on his bed.

“Italian women, Edward,” he said, “are a tireless bunch. And thankless. I'm lucky to have escaped yesterday evening with my balls intact.”

Edward looked at him, open-mouthed. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Johann sat. “What do you mean? Oh, good job eliminating Scott, by the way. He was a nuisance. He'd've hurt Iris if they'd married, I have no doubt.”

Edward sat across the room from his friend. “But I killed someone. That makes me a murderer, a horrible person.”

Johann stood and crossed the room to stand next to him. He put a hand on Edward's shoulder, and Edward braced against being hauled to his feet, but Johann patted his shirt.

“You did what you had to do. It was a tough decision, but you risked yourself to save her. That counts for a lot. Come on, the others are going for lunch and a big carafe of wine. I suggest you join us.”

He didn't haul Edward to his feet, but he did manage to get Edward up and out the door.

When Edward walked onto the sidewalk, he expected to see people sneering at him or pointing at him in judgment, and it struck him as strange that the world hadn't changed because of his deed. The same old men sat at the edge of the piazza and played chess. The same women sold flowers on the corner, and the trattoria had the same tattered curtains in the front window. The main difference he noticed was how Iris's eyes lit up when she saw him. Now there were no traces of caution, only happiness he was there, and he felt an answering smile on his face in spite of his dark musings.

“How are you holding up?” she asked.

He thought about the clockworks. “I feel like I've been disassembled and put back together into something else.”

“Me too.” She squeezed his hand, and the tension around his heart eased. She'd hated to lie to him—he knew that now—but she'd done so to survive. It wasn't exactly murder, but it was something he could now understand about her, and he hoped she would not judge him for his grave misdeed.

They ordered, and when the waiter stepped away, Iris dug something from her reticule. She put a clockwork butterfly on the table. It didn't have a wax recording cylinder in it.

“This was on my bed when I went up to my hotel room,” she explained.

“A warning,” Radcliffe said, his tone flat. “They're still watching us, and they know we've found something.”

Now Edward's anxiety returned. “And they might know what happened this morning.”

No one contradicted him. In the excitement, it was unlikely anyone noticed whether a butterfly was flitting around the temple, particularly if it stayed in the shadows.

“So that makes three people or organizations we have to beware of,” Marie said. “The Clockwork Guild, the neo-Pythagoreans, and Cobb.”

Iris looked at Edward, her face stricken. “Mister O'Connell and Doctor Radcliffe can escape to the American front, but the rest of us have to go into hiding. But where?”

“You're not giving up this opportunity in Paris,” Marie told her. “We will make it work. And there's nowhere better to hide than a big city, especially if you're under the protection of the owner of the Théâtre Bohème, who knows everything that's going on at any moment.”

“And the theatre will be the perfect place to test out the EE,” Edward said. “As I recall, the gas system had problems, so Madame St. Jean want to replace it. Think of how beautiful the theatre lighting will be with power from an aether-derived element.”

Iris looked up at him. “And you'll be there?”

He thought about the University, how his office had been painted over, his beloved ivy stripped away. Now he only wanted to be with her, a true source of strength and steadiness. “I think it's time for me to bring my research from the theoretical into the practical. And it's difficult to court long-distance.”

She blushed and looked away, but she licked her bottom lip, and Edward knew she thought about their kisses. Now there would be more.

“So it's settled,” Marie said. “I'll send a telegram to
Maman
and let her know to expect three guests for an undetermined amount of time.”

“Are you sure you're okay going back?” Iris asked.

“I will be as long as it's not just me.”

“Make that four guests,” Johann said. “I can't go back to England, at least not yet, and I should try to smooth things over with the Marquis when he returns from holiday. I can at least do that for you, Iris.”

“Six, if there's room,” Radcliffe said. “I continue to hope this will help Claire.”

“And you'll need an engineer to come up with a way to actually use the element,” O'Connell added.

“So it's settled,” Edward said. It felt strange to take charge of the group, but Iris smiled at him, and he knew she would be there by his side. Hades, she'd probably take charge when necessary.

Hades? Where did that come from?

“To the Eros Element,” Edward said and raised his glass. “And to friends.”

About the Author

Cecilia Dominic wrote her first story when she was two years old and has always had a much more interesting life inside her head than outside of it. She became a clinical psychologist because she's fascinated by people and their stories, but she couldn't stop writing fiction. The first draft of her dissertation, while not fiction, was still criticized by her major professor for being written in too entertaining a style. She made it through graduate school and got her PhD, started her own practice, and by day, she helps people cure their insomnia without using medication. By night, she writes fiction she hopes will keep her readers turning the pages all night. Yes, she recognizes the conflict of interest between her two careers, so she writes under a pen name. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia, with one husband and two cats, which, she's been told, is a good number of each.

You can find her at:

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www.ceciliadominic.com

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www.facebook.com/CeciliaDominicAuthor

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@RandomOenophile

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