The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie

Violet scarcely noticed. All she saw was Daniel on the floor, and nothing else in the world mattered.

Images poured through her head. Daniel sticking out his hand in greeting in the overcrowded dining room in London, smiling because he knew Violet was a fraud. Daniel had teased her from the beginning, pushing the planchette on the talking board so it spelled a rude word, finding the rigging that worked her effects, knocking out ghostly messages in Morse code—You are lovely, do you know, lass? He’d seen right through Violet, and he’d laughed at her.

She saw again Daniel daring her to take smoke from his cigarette, using the excuse to kiss her. Then Daniel standing in front of the stage in Marseille, laughing again, when she’d believed him dead. Indestructible.

He’d given Violet a taste of true freedom when he’d taken her up in the balloon, letting her leave the littleness of her day-to-day life behind. And he’d kissed her.

Slow goodness. Daniel had freed Violet from her prison little by little, teaching her to trust, showing her how to let go of pain and seek pleasure. And teaching her that letting go was not wrong.

Oh, and Violet. I love you too.

He’d said it offhandedly, but what Violet had seen in his eyes had been real. He’d meant it.

Violet had finally found a man who loved her for herself, for what she was. Something precious and incredibly rare, and Jacobi was taking it all away from her.

Violet had been alone before, but Daniel had changed everything. Before meeting him, she had been resigned to walk along her chosen road, alone, that road bleak and unending.

But now Violet knew differently. She’d tasted the magic.

Without Daniel, she would be rudderless. Empty. Alone in the dark.

She’d be the sixteen-year-old girl at the moment her innocence had shattered. From that instant, until she’d met Daniel, Violet had been existing. Walking, eating, sleeping, but not alive.

Daniel Mackenzie had smiled at her, and her world had changed. Violet had dragged in her first breath of life.

And now Jacobi had taken happiness and love away from her—again.

Violet heard the scream well in her throat, the desperate No! Then she was running forward, breaking away from Simon.

Jacobi’s pistol discharged again, and Violet felt a sharp pain in her thigh. But she couldn’t stop. She reached Jacobi and clawed at his face.

Jacobi lifted his arms to defend himself. Violet’s hand landed on the pistol. The steel was hot, the stench of gunpowder harsh. She closed her hand around the gun, black and heavy, and tried to rip it away from Jacobi.

Jacobi struggled with her for it. The barrel now pointed at Violet’s heart, which was already so shattered she’d never feel a bullet go into it.

Ian grabbed Jacobi, and Simon got his hands around Violet. The pistol turned, Violet still struggling to take it away from Jacobi.

When it went off again, the sound deafened her. Violet stumbled back from Jacobi in wild fear, but she now held the pistol.

Jacobi looked at Violet in vast confusion, blood bubbling on his lips. He said, “My flower . . .” Then life left his eyes, and he fell forward onto her, sliding down the front of Violet’s beautiful dress.

Violet dropped the pistol. Simon grabbed it from the floor, but Violet hardly noticed. She took staggering steps to Daniel’s lifeless body and fell to her knees beside him.

She gathered Daniel up and rocked him, his blood warm against her. No tears could pour from her eyes—they were dry and aching. Her entire body hurt, and nothing would ever be right again.

“Daniel, I love you,” she said. The words tumbled out, faster and faster. “Don’t leave me. Please, Daniel. You are my life. I love you. Don’t leave me.”

Daniel’s blood was all over her, mixing with her own from where she’d been shot and Jacobi’s on the silk bodice. Violet’s wound brought pain, but nothing like what burned through her heart.

She realized the rest of Daniel’s family had come down to the kitchen—Mac, Daniel’s father, Bellamy. Cameron dropped to the floor beside Violet, his eyes holding stark grief.

“Danny.” Cameron’s gravelly voice broke, the tears Violet wanted to cry wetting his face. He stroked Daniel’s hair. “My boy.”

Ian was there. He leaned past Cameron and tried to lift Daniel. Violet held Daniel fast, not wanting to break any contact with him.

Cameron snarled. “Ian, leave him.”

“Simon knows,” Ian said. With amazing strength, he took Daniel straight out of Violet’s arms, and laid his limp body on the floor.

Violet’s tears came then. She curled up into a ball and pressed her hands over her face. Cameron’s arm came around her, and he wept with her without shame. Whatever Daniel might think about his father, Cameron loved Daniel with a powerful love, one that matched Violet’s own.

Simon was bending over Daniel, hitting him. Simon’s fingers stained red, and he was slamming his closed fist to Daniel’s chest, over and over.

Violet cried out. Simon kept pounding. Daniel grunted, his eyes flew open, and he gasped, then coughed.

“Damnation,” he said, voice so weak it was barely audible. “The papers. Someone get the bloody papers.”

“Don’t matter,” Simon answered, breathless and still on his knees. “I think your lady is a widow now.”

Violet staggered up. Cameron was on his feet with her, his arms around her. They went down again beside Daniel, Simon moving for them. Daniel’s face was ashen, his breathing labored. He was alive, but barely.