Isla withdrew from her portmanteau two skirts, another pair of breeches, two blouses, and an additional corset. She shook them out and hung them in the small wardrobe, chewing on her lip and deciding that if she were the weepy type, now might be a good time for it. Tears were useless, however, and she’d realized as a child that when she encountered problems, finding solutions was entirely her own responsibility. She’d yet to experience a situation where crying helped.
Nigel Crowe. What on earth were the odds he would demand passage on this particular flight? She rifled through her underthings in the portmanteau to feel for the ridge of the false bottom. Underneath were two additional knives and a pack of throwing stars, a few extra rounds of Tesla chargers for the ray gun, and a packet of herbs that could stun a large opponent. She’d lied to the captain about not having more weapons, but desperate times and all that. Now that Nigel Crowe was going to be within shouting distance for the next three weeks, she wanted to be doubly certain she had access to her defenses.
She withdrew a leather-bound book and pen from the bag and sat at the small desk next to the bed. She checked off several items on the list she’d made earlier in the week and breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the engines fire up. The sooner the ship left England, the closer she would be to finding a cure for the botanical curse that had plagued her for ten long months. Captain Pickett hadn’t realized the boon he was handing to Isla when he offered the use of this private cabin. The curse made her vulnerable, and if she were forced to bunk among other people . . . She’d been willing to take the chance, but hadn’t realized until now how much the danger had weighed on her mind.
She turned to a fresh page in her notebook and started a new list, titled Curing the Curse. She could just as easily have called it Fixing the Mess Melody Made or Ten Reasons Why Melody Is the World’s Worst Sister.
Thoughts of her younger sister lodged a familiar pit in her stomach, and Isla wondered how Melody would possibly avoid trouble without Isla to keep her well in hand. She amended her thinking; trying to control Melody at this point in the seventeen-year-old’s life had led to nothing but trouble. Trouble that even now found her aboard an airship bound for the Caribbean with a hostile captain, an enemy from the PSRC, and a trio of predatory shifters. Of the three dangers, she feared the shifters the least.
1. Obtain passage to Port Lucy.
She began with this item so she would have something already accomplished she could cross off.
2. Locate Malette.
3. Bribe Malette for a cure. Blackmail, if necessary.
This did Isla little good because she had nothing to hold over the Dark Magick witch’s head. She frowned at her list.
4. Threaten Malette with bodily harm if she refuses to help.
5. Avoid Nigel Crowe like the plague. Which he probably has.
She smirked.
6. Enact the cure.
She didn’t know how long this step would take, or even what the cure would entail. She would have to content herself with leaving item number six open-ended in terms of a deadline.
7. Return to England before the Autumn Festival, where Melody will surely wreak havoc upon all and sundry, most especially upon herself.
Some things would not change. She would always feel responsible for Melody, and Melody would always resent it. Isla set down her pen and closed her eyes, rubbing her temples. She considered telescribing their mother with the reasons for her sudden departure to the tropics, but quickly dismissed it. Bella Castle Cooper and her sister, Hester Castle O’Shea, had a successful dress shop in Mayfair that consumed their every waking thought. Isla had grown too accustomed to the situation to begrudge it.
Bella and Hester had put their skills to good use when Bella’s husband had left her a widow with two young daughters, and she and her sister had not only survived, but flourished. Everybody who was anybody shopped at Castles’ Boutique, and some even dressed their ’tons in Castles’ creations.
The boutique had provided a comfortable living for Isla and Melody, and also Hester’s children, cousins whom Isla had found informally under her charge while the women created a small empire. It wasn’t old money, but it was substantial money, and it had provided every educational opportunity Isla had desired. Her mother had even fronted the money for Cooper Counseling and Investigations, a business Isla had been unable to begin on her own for lack of capital. Bella was an unconventional mother, emotionally flighty perhaps, but she loved her daughters in her way. Regrettably, when Melody had run amok this past year, Isla found herself parenting a teenager who most definitely did not desire parenting.
Isla reviewed her list and wished she had a more detailed, useful plan to follow. There were too many variables and that made her uneasy. Perhaps she wouldn’t mind so much if her entire future—professional and personal—wasn’t at stake.
Daniel stood in the wheelhouse with Samson, relieved that all seemed in working order, but he still felt edgy. Smuggling missions were never carefree, but he usually had use of the bigger ship, which had been specifically designed for the purpose. With this voyage, he had been forced to improvise and it didn’t sit well.
“You are uneasy, Captain.” Samson glanced at Daniel. “Your body temperature has risen, and your heart rate is substantially elevated.”
“You sound like a grandmother, Samson. Remind me to reprogram you at the earliest possible convenience.” Daniel glanced at the control panel at the helm and checked the figures the ’ton had logged once the ship had reached altitude. “No problems with the instrumentation, then?”
“None thus far, sir, other than the wall clock I recalibrated to Greenwich Mean before liftoff. And please dispense with further thoughts of reprogramming me.”
Daniel smiled. He had personally seen to Samson’s design and functionality. The ’ton could easily pass for a handsome human male in his early thirties, distinguishable only by the fact that he never blinked. His design was the finest and most progressive the programming community had to offer. Samson was adept at countless tasks and calculations, his brain held volumes of information on a stunning array of subjects, and his personality was pleasant and comfortable; he was even adept at subtle humor. Daniel had mused on more than one occasion that these days his best friend was a machine. It spoke volumes about the complicated stage of his life.
“I am uneasy, Samson,” Daniel admitted. “I do not like unexpected events on runs such as these.”
Samson nodded and flipped a switch that set the Stirling Engine heating mechanism into motion. That, in turn, engaged the mechanism that drove power to the airship’s two enormous propellers. The huge black balloon above the ship was sleek and expertly constructed, and proudly bore the large P and A of the Pickett Airship logo that had become Daniel’s easily recognizable brand.
His fleet was head and shoulders above the competition in both style and function, sophistication and comfort. Daniel made it his business to stay abreast of modern discoveries in the scientific community that could be applied to his air-bound empire. He had been the first to convert to exclusive use of Stirling Engines, which required only oil as a heat source; many of his competitors were still obliged to carry enormous amounts of coal and water. His adaptation of the Stirling freed up much needed space, not to mention lightened the entire load.
The airship’s body resembled a sailing ship, exquisitely and tastefully appointed in dark woods and full sails, which were largely ornamental but utilized at high altitudes as wind shields. The Briar Rose was Daniel’s personal craft, and he supposed some of the disquiet he felt stemmed from that fact. Its purpose was pleasure, which Daniel rarely mixed with business.
“Have you spoken with Mr. Crowe, Captain?” Samson glanced at Daniel, eyebrows raised in question, vocal inflections so effective that Daniel had to remind himself the ’ton wasn’t actually human.
“No.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m avoiding it as long as I can.”
“Better to be proactive, sir, is it not?”
“Definitely in need of reprogramming. You’re entirely too helpful.”
“And what of Dr. Cooper? Do you anticipate a pleasant voyage where she is concerned?”
Daniel sighed. “I do not know. What can you tell me about her?”
Samson paused, and Daniel heard the subtle whir of well-oiled cogs and gears in the ’ton’s brain unit.
“Dr. Isla Elizabeth Cooper, eldest of two children. Father, Edmund Cooper, died when she was ten years. Mother is Bella Castle Cooper, founder of Castles’ Boutique with her sister, Hester Castle O’Shea. Shall I continue?”
“Please. I could have gleaned that much on my own.”
Samson shot him a sidelong glance, but resumed his recitation. “Dr. Cooper finished her primary degree in Shifter Studies in two years rather than the customary four, aided by her natural abilities as an empath. She then earned an advanced degree in Shifter Behavior and Physiology and became a Doctor of Shifter Therapy, Rehabilitation, and Human Relations.”
Daniel blinked. “How old is the woman?”
“Twenty-five.” Samson tipped his head in afterthought. “Twenty-six in two weeks, coincidentally. She founded Cooper Counseling and Investigations two years ago and acts as a government consultant on Shifter Affairs.”
Ah. That was why her name was familiar. Cooper Counseling and Investigations had an excellent reputation. It was also the only organization of its kind. To define Dr. Cooper as “busy” was an understatement. What on earth would take the woman so far away from home and under such desperate circumstances? He couldn’t deny a lingering sense of irritation at the way she’d secured her passage but had to admit reluctant admiration for her resourcefulness.
Samson engaged the propellers, and the ship glided through the early evening sky. A single horn sounded throughout the ship’s communication system, signaling the dinner hour.
“I suppose you have no choice now but to speak with Mr. Crowe.” Samson smiled at Daniel in sympathy. “Do remember to keep your temper, Captain. I know how little patience you have for anyone on the Predatory Shifter Regulations Committee.”
“Very sage advice, my friend. Alert me at once to any concerns. Your charge is still adequate?”
Samson nodded. “I will need to connect at one a.m.”
“Very good. I’ll relieve you then.” Daniel clapped Samson on the shoulder and exited the wheelhouse.