The Watchmaker's Daughter: Glass and Steele Book One by C. J. Archer

Author:C. J. Archer [Archer, C. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Fantasy & Magic, Fiction, Gaslamp, General, Historical, Juvenile Fiction, Magical Realism, Mystery & Detective, Paranormal, Romance, Romantic, Urban, Victorian
Amazon: B01DK93WKW
Goodreads: 29671347
Publisher: C.J. Archer
Published: 2016-06-28T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

"How is your aim?" I whispered to Willie.

"Why?" she whispered back, her voice shaky.

Dennison wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing saliva across his cheek. He grinned, a distorted stretch of thin lips.

"Get on with it, man," Travers urged him. "I want to keep playing."

"Throw the gun," I whispered to Willie.

I thought she'd protest, but she wasted no time hurling her weapon at Dennison.

He ducked, lost his balance, and fell to his side. The gun clattered to the floor, where it skidded under a table. Willie swore. Travers roared with laughter.

"Stupid whore!" Dennison shouted. "You missed."

He lurched to his feet. There wasn't a moment to lose. I reached behind me and snatched the carriage clock off the mantel. It felt solid, reassuring. The gold plating heated my skin and glowed in the candlelight. I threw it at Dennison's head. He saw it coming and ducked again, but the clock suddenly dropped too. It hit him square on the forehead. He fell back, unconscious.

"Bloody good arm," Travers said with admiration as he surveyed Dennison's prone form.

"Run!" I shouted.

Willie and I ran for the unattended door. Mr. Unger didn't try to stop us. Thankfully, no one did. Willie pulled open the door. I glanced back to see a collection of gentlemen gathered around Dennison, helping him to sit up. Blood trickled from his head wound, but he was alive, thank goodness.

A bell clanged and the porter at the base of the stairs opened the door there. Mr. Glass strolled through, holding a lantern.

"Matt!" Willie cried.

He lifted the lantern high. It illuminated the hard planes of his face and the black pools of his eyes. "Finally," he ground out. "I've been looking—"

"Yes, yes." Willie rushed down the stairs and met him half way. "Make yourself useful and fetch my revolver for me. It's up there, under a table."

Mr. Glass looked to me and then back to his cousin. His face darkened. "Why is your revolver not with you?"

"There's no time to explain." She shoved him. "Go!"

"No," I said as Mr. Glass climbed the stairs toward me. "Leave the gun." I glanced behind me, but the doorway was unattended. No one chased us.

I tried to push past Mr. Glass, but he caught my arm. "What is going on?" His voice sounded strained, tight, and a little tired.

"Matt will be fine," Willie assured me. "No one will try anything with him, and if they do, he'll just throw a punch or two. Won't you, Matt?"

Mr. Glass went very still. He stood two steps below me, bringing our faces level. His chest rose and fell with his heavy breathing, and his gaze bored into mine, as if he could dig out answers. I swallowed and considered heading back into the gambling room. It could be safer.

"Stay here," he growled. "I want an explanation upon my return."

He let me go and pushed past me. He only got as far as the doorway, however. Mr. Unger stood there with Willie's gun. He handed it to Mr.

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