Free Curio by Evangeline Denmark

steps bearing down on her. Scrambling to a sitting position only sent the shadowy street spinning. When her vision cleared, Grey scooted backward.
    She searched for an escape route. At first glance, the structures on either side of her appeared to be connected shops, like the business center of the Foothills Quarter. But a closer look revealed ornate facades, groomed gardens, and decorative iron fences—a residential neighborhood. Grey wobbled to her feet and peeked over her shoulder. The rows of terraced houses stretched on into the night.
    She clutched her aching head. Where was she?
    The soldiers nearing her didn’t belong in the drab ranks of the United States military. Long guns perched on their shoulders and stretched up into the night like a moving forest of stripped branches. The gun muzzles and metallic buttons on their chests glinted in the hazy illumination. Grey squinted. Their long coats reflected light like a tin bucket in the moonlight. Underneath bushy black hats, the men’s faces gleamed as well. Metal. Their clothes, their shoes, their faces. All metal.
    The group halted. One soldier—an exact replica of the man next to him and the man next to him and so on—stepped forward and bowed at the waist.
    A mechanical hum accompanied the opening of his mouth, and a monotone voice spoke.
    â€œDo you require assistance, Mistress Porcelain?”
    Grey gaped.
    The flat voice continued. “Are you fully animated, Miss?”
    â€œI . . . I . . .”
    The soldier next to the apparent leader broke into the same mechanical whirring. His jaw opened and he spoke in an identical voice.
    â€œIf I may, Lieutenant?”
    The lieutenant’s head rotated to the left. “Yes, Sergeant?
    The second soldier stepped forward to join the lieutenant, but kept his round eyes locked on Grey. His unblinking gaze reminded her of the glass-eyed dolls in her grandfather’s shop.
    Granddad. The store. Haimon. Grey almost crumpled. She’d been in the shop. Haimon had pressed her bleeding hand to the curio cabinet. Then he’d told her to find him and bring him back. Find who? She glanced about the street. Pain and bursts of light accompanied the movement. More streets. More muted orange streetlamps. What was this place?
    The two metal figures before her conversed in their unnatural speech. She caught the end of the sergeant’s sentence.
    â€œ. . . not a porcie I recognize, sir.”
    The lieutenant’s head swiveled back to examine her. He took another step closer and his mechanized jaw released. “You are correct. And the Mad Tock left her. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
    â€œIndeed.”
    Grey turned from the shiny soldiers. She would run. The metal men were slow, and they’d never catch her. She studied her feet. Why weren’t they moving? She pitched forward. The wet cobblestones rushed toward her face.

    Something pulled at Grey’s hand. Her head ached. She ignored the little tug and drifted back to sleep. Sometime later, a tickling sensation registered on her palm. She flinched as a smooth object pressed into her scraped flesh. Another poke and she yanked her hand away.
    A gasp accompanied the swish of her eyelids. Pink. A swathe of pink like the sky at sunset hovered over her head. No. The pink thing wasn’t hovering. It remained motionless as Grey focused. The smooth material above her looked soft, but the sheen of the light on the satiny fabric reminded her of the glinting metal men. She opened her mouth to cry out but only managed a cough.
    â€œWe gave you water, but you didn’t animate. What manner of porcie are you?”
    Grey shifted toward the voice, grateful for the cushioning support beneath her head. All the swirling pink faded into the background, and she jerked.
    A woman sat studying her. Grey blinked, but the exquisite figure remained. A delicate, heart-shaped face regarded Grey. Large blue eyes fringed with long, black