Gilded Hearts (The Shadow Guild Series) (32 page)

“Make it do something else. Something special.”

He’d never tried to do anything beyond making the cogs spin. It was a bloody broken watch, not a clockwerker’s automaton. “No.”

“Come now, I thought you wanted that second bag of sweets.” The man patted the outside of his pocket. “This is nothing more than a distraction, a ruse. Show me what you can really do.”

“Fine.” But he wouldn’t do it for sweets. There was something about him, something Keegan couldn’t quite put his finger on. This was an opportunity to discover something about this man and what he was really after. If Keegan had learned anything during his time on the streets, it was to gather as much information as possible. You never knew when you’d need it to save your neck.

It took him several moments to trace the spinning metal down to its center, but once he found the spot it was clear what he needed to do. With a thought, he
pushed
the metal, bending it in such a way that the tension broke. The second it snapped Keegan laughed and opened his eyes.

“Yes.” He grinned, watching the result of his handiwork. “How’s that for ya?”

The minute hand was spinning backward, opposite of the second hand, while the hour hand stood straight at the twelve. Each would cross over the stuck fast hour hand, giving the illusion of a man pinwheeling his hands in an effort to regain his control.

“That’s perfect.” The man’s smile became a full-on grin. “You are a very special boy.” He released his hold on Keegan’s wrist and dropped the second bag of sweets on top of the watch. “Very special indeed.”

The temptation to eat the sugary treats was nearly blinding, but Keegan tucked them away in his pocket. “Can I leave?”

“Leave?” He crossed his arms, shaking his head. “But I offered you a job. A position with my corporation, one of great importance I might add. I don’t make such commitments lightly, and I’m always true to my word.”

“I don’t wanna work in no factory.” That was what had killed his parents, and he’d promised him mum he’d do what he could to stay out of the grip of the guilds. “I’d rather be out on the streets.”

“A factory?” He snorted, cutting the air with his hand. “Nothing of the sort. Do you think a man such as myself would be allowed to run a business here? An American living this close to the French? The guilds would just as soon see me dead as risk me getting a foothold on their business. No, this won’t be that sort of
work
.”

“Then what?”

“Why don’t you eat your sweets and we’ll discuss it?”

“I dunno.” It would be awfully good to have another taste of that sweetness. But he’d learned the hard way to save any extra food for the times when it was scarce.

“What if I told you the job would entail working with a very special machine? And your payment would be room, food, and all the sweets you would ever want. If you’re concerned about this cell, I promise improvements will be forthcoming.” The man put his hand on Keegan’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You see, I dislike the guilds as much as you do. But that’s not the only reason why I’m here. I have a… special project that could only be accomplished here in New London. There aren’t many people I can trust to help me with something so delicate.”

That was something Keegan could appreciate. “But you trust a street rat?”

It had been years since anyone had shown him any kindness, let alone trust. Not since his parents had been taken away by the guilds. They’d been able to make machines do special things, too, though not in the way he could. They would work longer and longer hours, leaving him home alone to fend for himself until one day he realized they weren’t coming back. He’d been lonely, despite having fallen in with the Underlings. This might be his chance to find a new family. Maybe the man could be a new father for him.

“What kinda machine is it, sir?”

He laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Oh, none of that
sir
stuff with me. Come along and I’ll show you what I started to build. You can tell me what you think of it. I bet you’ll be able to make it do amazing things, maybe even offer suggestions on how to make it better. Even more than what you can with your watch.”

The hallway outside of his cell wasn’t in much better shape. The air was cool and damp, making it hard for Keegan to warm up.

“Ah, what should I call ya if not sir?” As they walked away, Keegan took the bag of sweets out of his pocket and shoved more of them into his mouth.
I could get used ta this.

“In America it’s customary to refer to your employer by his name.” He reached down and ruffled Keegan’s hair. “You can call me Mr. Edison.”

Christine d’Abo is hooked on romance and, as a novelist and short story writer with more than thirty publications, her imagination is always flowing. She loves to exercise and stops writing just long enough to keep in shape. When she’s not pretending to be a ninja in her basement, she’s most likely spending time with her husband and daughters and her dogs, Jack and Jill.

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