The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele #1)(76)

I swallowed, shut my eyes and willed for someone to walk past, to see me at this evil man's mercy. But our clothing was dark and the streetlamps were not yet lit, and nobody passed by anyway.

"But they wouldn't let me see him, thanks to you, you little bitch. I know you told them about me. I could see it in that kid's eyes—and his chief's, when he came out. I only just got away after some quick talking."

I tried biting him, but only found a mouthful of leather glove.

He chuckled. His teeth flashed white in the darkness, and a glint shone in his eyes. "Do you know the man you're helping is a turncoat? He was an outlaw, too. He's got blood on his hands, has Glass. Lots of blood."

My breath hitched. My body stilled.

He chuckled again. "So he failed to mention it to his little lady friend, eh? He hates ordinary folk knowing. Hates that he's related to the Johnsons. But that ain't the worst of it, no ma'am. You think I'm bad, but he's worse. We've both killed men before, but at least I haven't murdered my own kin."

Bile surged up my throat. I choked on it, making my eyes water and my nose run. Tears pooled but didn't spill. He must be lying.

"Murdered his own grandfather in cold blood," Dorchester went on. "Glass could have got him arrested, like the others in the old man's posse, but he chose to shoot him instead. My little brother was one of Johnson's posse. Just a kid, he was, when they strung him up." He sniffed and wiped his nose on his shoulder. "So what do you think of that, Miss Prim? What do you think of your big handsome hero now?"

His hot breath scalded my forehead. The sharp point of his blade nicked my skin. Blood trickled into my collar. I whimpered and shut my eyes. My watch chimed again, louder this time. I prayed someone heard it and became curious.

But no one walked past.

"He ain't going to rescue you now," Dorchester said, chuckling. "He's all locked up, getting a taste of his own medicine. Pity he'll probably get out, sooner or later. But when he does, he's going to find his pretty little friend was the victim of just another London murderer, right here under Scotland Yard's nose. He took someone from me, so I'm going to take someone from him."

I wanted to scream at him that I hardly knew Matt, that I wasn't important to him. But I wasn't sure it would have mattered. Dorchester hated me for being on Matt's side, for bringing attention to him now. He wanted me dead, and no amount of pleading would make a difference. With my mouth covered, I couldn't even try.

He pressed the blade again. Fresh blood oozed and trickled down my neck. I shut my eyes and prayed for my soul. There was nothing more I could do.





Chapter 16





Dorchester bared his teeth then leaned in and licked the blood on my neck. I gagged. He laughed, and did it again, enjoying my horror. Enjoying toying with the rabbit in his snare.

My reticule moved in my hand. My heart leapt and I gave a muffled cry, but I clung onto it. If I'd not heard the watch chime earlier, if I'd not heard the word magic bandied about, I would have thought a mouse had found its way inside. But a small, mad part of me knew my watch was trying to get out.

My arms were pinned, but my hands had some movement. I managed to maneuver the reticule and insert my fingers into its drawstring opening to stretch it wide. My watch found its way into my hand. The silver case, usually cool to the touch, felt so warm that I could feel it through my glove.

My mind flashed back to the night of the poker game, when I'd thrown that carriage clock to knock out my attacker. A strange thought settled, one that I couldn't shake—it hadn't been my good aim or the force of my throw that propelled the clock into Dennison's forehead. It had been the clock itself, changing course to hit him. It had been magical.

Dorchester laughed again. He licked my ear then pressed the blade harder into my neck. I cried out, not because of the sharp pain, but because the watch fell from my hand. I'd lost it! No, no, NO!

Dorchester froze. The pressure from the blade eased. Then his body began to shake violently. He released me and stumbled back, convulsing. He looked like he was doing a crazed dance. He tried to speak, but no words came out. His eyes begged me to help, but I did not, even though I knew it was my watch causing him to act that way. The chain wrapped around his wrist and the watch itself pressed into his palm.

He fell to his knees as if someone stronger had shoved him down. Then he fell forward onto his face, smashing his nose into the stones.

I ran. "Help! Help me!"

Three men hurried up to me, two of them uniformed bobbies, the other declaring himself to be a detective inspector from the Yard.

I pointed to the doorway. My hand trembled and my voice wobbled, but I managed to tell them that a man by the name of Dorchester was in there. "He's the American outlaw known as the Dark Rider, and he attacked me. He—he wanted to silence me."

I could just make out their incredulous expressions in the dim light. They must have had a dozen questions for me, but they all knew the most pressing concern was capturing my attacker. They carefully approached the doorway, batons raised. I followed, not sure what we'd find.

The constable at the front lowered his baton. "Is he dead?"

I stumbled, sick to my stomach. Please don't be dead. I knew he would be hung for his crimes, either here or in America, but I didn't want to be the one to pull the trigger, so to speak. I didn't want his death to be a result of my…magic.