Weather by Isobelle Winter

Author:Isobelle Winter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: 9781615729456, YA, steampunk, fantasy, Isobelle Winter, Weather, fan, young adult, clockwork, pigeon, dirigible, France, magic, fantasy, historical, Second Empire, 1852, 1851, Napoleon III, incarnations, Prosperity, Liberty, Freedom, Truth, healing, traitor, magical power, weather mage, musket, pistol, revolver, Europe, spy, bounty hunters, secret society, double agent, imposter, magic spell, geas, slavery, wind, sanctuary
Publisher: Damnation Books LLC
Published: 2013-05-03T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

“Subject not reclaimed, declared dead in official records. Ongoing search not high priority due to low rank at time of violation and the nature of violation.”

—Council File on Henrietta Becker, 1829

“We’ll have to be very careful when we get to New York,” I told the others later that night. I had told my story, and there was some relief we didn’t have to worry about being picked out of our beds in the middle of the night at least by the Guardians. There was no telling what the hunters might try, especially if they were goaded to earlier action by the presence of said Guardians.

Then there was our arrival to worry about.

I’d gotten into the habit of lying awake. I stared at the ceiling and wondered what possible escape we could have from the Elites. None came to mind, and I could not keep from thinking of the Elite’s words. It was true. I had delivered countless incarnations to the knife. I had never seen the procedure performed—I thanked God for that—but I had heard it described often enough that I could imagine it vividly. The cut would run along the back from neck to waist, an incision that bared the bone of the spine to let the spell wrap around every nerve, crawling up and into the brain. The actual introduction of the magic was agonizing, according to all the books.

They had trusted me. Each of them, all the incarnations and young magicians I guided to what I believed was safety. They had trusted me, and what they found on the other end was the table and the knife, and a life of frightened agony-edged obedience. I was worse than Ivan, simply because I believed myself better. I deserved exactly what he had to offer. It would only begin to compensate for my deeds. They had trusted me, as Truth and Justice and Lars trusted me now.

I turned my face to the pillow, the sick disgust roiling in my stomach making the close room seem closer, and the air stiller. Lars slumbered on—the boy had to have some bear in him, somewhere—oblivious. I wondered if Truth and Justice really did trust me. I wondered if I might someday be forgiven for all I’d done and aided.

Then I heard the stealthy tread outside the door, and swung myself out of bed, giving Lars a hard poke in the shoulder to wake him. He sat up, looking like a weary owl, and the door moved slightly. In the complete silence of the cabin, the click of the lock sliding back was unnaturally loud.

“Go wake Josette and Margot,” I murmured, and Lars was across the room by the time I’d managed to draw my fan.

The door eased open. Therenburg Lines was proud of its housekeeping, and so it failed to creak ominously. I swallowed, my throat seeming to stick to itself with the dryness of my mouth.

“Mister Lambert,” said a voice, and I recognized it as the Elite’s, “Do think on our offer.

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