Free Machine by K.Z. Snow Page A

doesn’t matter if you’re not better yet. I want to help you get better. Let me stay and help you.”
    “No. There’s nothing you can do. And that tonic only does so much.” Fan wrenched free of Will’s grasp. “Please don’t look at me. Don’t touch me. And for gods’ sake, don’t make me hate you. Just go. You can come for your things while I’m at work. Take the OMT and use it as long as you need to. If it breaks down, have Bentcross fix it. I’ll make good on the debt.”
    Will’s throat tightened with every word. “Don’t make me hate you.” Was it possible such a thing could happen? That, simply by being there, he could suffocate Fan with his caring, or exacerbate Fan’s shame?
    “I don’t know what to do,” Will croaked out, aggrieved and furious and helpless. Uncle Penrose had always told him not to be a quitter unless it was for his own or the common good. But he couldn’t determine if this was one of those cases. He knew only that he couldn’t bear it if Fan hated him. Worse, if he, regardless of his good intentions, contributed to Fan’s turmoil.
    “Yes, you know what to do,” Fan said quietly. “You must go away. And stay away. I won’t send you off into this dismal night, but… I would like you to be gone in the morning. My mind can’t be changed, William.”
    Trying to keep himself from shaking, Will took three steps toward the parlor. Then something welled up in him, something like the white-hot liquid metal that poured from casting ladles in every Purinton foundry, and the force of it made him stop and spin toward Fan. “I know you have every right to toss me out like a beggar. This is your house. But I have every right not to stand for it.” He shot an arm forward and pointed at Fan. “I’ve given you the best I have to give, and I would’ve offered even more if I could, and now you’re slapping it away like a mosquito. If that’s how much you value my love, Fanule, perhaps I should stop squandering it on an ingrate like you.” Too distraught to think clearly, Will kicked at the stove. His face felt on fire, and his voice boiled toward a shout. “From now on, feel free to find strength and comfort in your bloody damned blasted self-pity or self-reliance or pride or vanity or whatever the hell it is. And leave me alone.”
    Ten minutes later, as Will lay shivering on the sofa beneath a blanket, he feared he might vomit. Every word spoken in the kitchen stabbed at him. Not for the thinnest shaving of a second had he ever thought he might say such things to Fan. Or Fan to him. Not since the deaths of his parents and uncle had he felt so utterly bereft.

Chapter Six
     
    I F W ILL slept at all, it couldn’t have been for more than an hour or two. He’d heard Fan leave for work, knew Fan had stood over him for a moment before heading into the barn and saddling Cloudburst. But Will hadn’t sat up or even cracked open his eyes. What would have been the point? Fan hadn’t touched him or whispered a single word, which meant nothing had changed since yesterday evening.
    A note on the kitchen table read, simply, Good-bye. I’m sorry.
    After forcing himself to eat and bathe, Will packed a valise with immediate necessities. He made sure to bring enough money to carry himself through the next couple of weeks, although he fervently hoped Fan would come to his senses much sooner and begin taking his tonic again. Will had already determined that he wouldn’t stay away completely. He couldn’t.
    The most terrifying outcome of this bout was that Fan, driven by despair, would try to harm himself. Will had to do something to guard against that. He’d skulk around Fan’s house and property every night if he had to, or beg the nocturnal Marrowbone to take turns with him. He’d even tell Mr. and Mrs. Pinshins to keep an eye on Fan while he worked.
    Anything. Will would do anything in his power to keep this affliction from claiming the man he loved. Wasn’t that what his own father