Free Angel of Brass by Elaine Corvidae

rig
had been the one thing that made all the rest almost bearable. He’d
never been free to use it when he wanted—it would have made it too
easy for him to slip away. Malachi had kept it locked up securely,
and so Jin had been forced to escape without it, even though it had
been like leaving a part of himself behind.
    Molly shifted in the bed and mumbled
something incoherent. Jin sat up, trying to move quietly so as not
to disturb her. She’d twisted the blankets around herself, and the
nightgown she wore had rucked up, exposing a lush expanse of soft
leg.
    He swallowed against the sudden dryness in
his mouth and tried very hard not to imagine trailing his fingers
over her skin. Don’t think about such things. There’s no use in
it . Unbidden, he saw Rebecca’s face, her mouth twisted in
revulsion as she pushed him away. “I can’t believe I ever kissed
you. If I’d known what you were...saints, what sort of sick freak
are you, to trick a girl like this?”
    She’d tried to run away, shortly after that.
He feared that she’d decided that she couldn’t stand to be under
the same roof as him, even though he’d avoided her since the day
she’d broken his heart.
    If that’s true, then I’ve got her death on
my conscience, too . No one ever ran away from Dr. Malachi.
    Ever since that day, he’d done his best not
to even look at any girl. Not in that way, at least. But in the
silence and stillness of the morning, with Molly tousled and
beautiful in her bed, it was impossible to drive the fantasy from
his thoughts.
    She’s my friend. I’m glad for that. It’s more
than I deserve. If she knew what I was thinking, I wouldn’t even
have that.
    Somehow, he summoned the willpower to turn
away from her. Moving quietly, he pulled on his vest, tucked his
gloves into his belt, and slung his boots around his neck. The
clock on the dresser was shaped like a man, the clock face in his
round belly and his jointed arm poised to strike the bell.
According to the clock and the gray-tinged light seeping through
the window, the sun was just breaking the horizon.
    Time to go, then, before true daylight came
and someone spotted him climbing around on the roof. He found a
handy piece of paper and scribbled a note. Leaving it on the
blankets he’d used as a bed, he slipped out the window.
    The morning air held a hint of frost, so he
found a small café one street over. Some of the coins Gibson had
given him went to a coffee, which he sipped for the next hour,
loitering at the window and keeping a sharp eye out for the smiling
men. Eventually, Molly appeared, her heavy coat tight against the
cold. When she spotted him, she smiled brightly and ducked inside
the café.
    “Good morning! Did I keep you waiting?” she
asked, blowing on the tips of her fingers, which her gloves left
exposed to the cold air.
    “No. But I haven’t had breakfast yet, so I’m
glad to see you.”
    She linked her arm through his. “I know a
place that serves the best polenta you’ll ever taste. Use Gibson’s
money—if we’re foiling a plot, the very least the government can do
is foot the bill.”
    * * *
    As Molly had predicted, Liam did indeed know
a boy in the medical wing. More to her surprise, Liam’s friend was
perfectly happy to discuss resurrectionists, including the primary
sources of corpses and the differences between professionals and
amateurs. And so it was that, a few hours after dark, Molly and Jin
found themselves crouched behind a yew tree in potters field.
    It had rained in the late afternoon, and the
chilly air was redolent of damp earth and mold. Restgate, the
largest cemetery in Chartown, sprawled high up on one of the hills.
Most of the space was given over to monuments and mausoleums, but
potters field was marked by nothing more than the occasional stone
or scrap of paper, slowly dissolving in the damp. Great trees
towered over the forgotten graves, water dripping from their
moss-festooned braches to plunk on the muddy