Free Ticker by Lisa Mantchev Page A

midsection.
    Caught up in my worries, I paused at the foot of the stairs. “I should wait for Nic.”
    Marcus twisted about to address our somewhat dumbfounded audience. “Mister Stirling, would you please advise your friend on the gravity of the situation?”
    Sebastian’s face was pale under his fashionable mustache. “Get in the SkyDart, Penny.”
    Just because I had to go didn’t mean I had to be polite about it. I cast a deliberate glance at the burnished oxblood leather. “I never agreed to air travel. I’ll be sick all over your very expensive upholstery.”
    “This should take care of it.” Marcus reached under the front seat and extracted a bottle of Doctor Westerley’s Vitamin-Fortified Liquid Courage.
    I rolled it over in my hand.
    A T ONIC OF C ONCENTRATED C URATIVE P OWER & A M OST E FFECTIVE T INCTURE CONCOCTED FROM F ENNEL S EED , P EPPERMINT , W ILD L ICORICE, AND G INGER .
G UARANTEED TO REGULATE AND STRENGTHEN THE DIGESTIVE SYSTEM!
W ILL ALSO ADDRESS SYMPTOMS OF THE COMMON COLD AND EASE ACHING JOINTS .
50 PROOF
    But I wasn’t done arguing. “This only has room for two. Where are the others going to sit?”
    “The others are going to follow in a second transport as soon as we retrieve your brother,” Marcus said, impatience clipping his consonants. “Now, will you please take your seat?”
    When I continued to hesitate, I thought he might pick me up and toss me in. Instead, he reached for my hand and gave me the bag of Eidolachometer cards.
    “I’ll entrust this to you for the duration of the flight.”
    A moment passed, with something more exchanged than just the bag of purloined and recovered goods. Energy crackled between us until I felt an unexpected kinship with Tesla coils. Marcus looked as though he very much wanted to say something, his eyes the same somber gray as his uniform, a bit of bristle standing out on his cheeks and chin. I wondered if it felt as sandpaper rough as it looked, but wouldn’t have dared remove my glove to touch his face.
    Except to administer a right good slap.
    I climbed in and tucked my hands firmly at my sides.
    Marcus’s features shifted from searching to stern as he followed. “Please do me the favor of fastening your safety belt, MissFarthing. It’s a long way to the ground.” He propped one foot against the door and made a great show of fastening his own lap belt. “Although every air transport must, by law, be outfitted with as many parachutes as there are seats, I wouldn’t care to test such devices unless it was a dire necessity.”
    Reaching for the heavy safety belt, I fastened the connectors. “I would quite enjoy parachuting.”
    “Have you ever parachuted?”
    “I’ve read the manuals.”
    “Theory and experience are two different things.”
    “The last time I read a manual, I immediately climbed aboard a Vitesse and drove it all the way around the Heart of the Star.” I didn’t mention that shortly thereafter I’d taken a header over the handlebars and landed without ceremony in a hay cart.
    Marcus handed me a pair of ornate aviator goggles. “This will be a bit farther to fall than off your cycle.”
    The moment his hands returned to the controls, the flyer rocketed into the sky. I admit that I made an undignified noise that might have been a half-swallowed squeak. Torn free from its combs, my hair whipped about my face and shoulders, and I pulled on the goggles both to protect my eyes and relieve my squint. Soon, Bazalgate was no more than a collection of miniature rooftops and streets. The fog crept off the River Aire, and gas lamps the size of wax tapers burned bright.
    Whatever I might have thought about Marcus as a conversational partner or a soldier, he was damned good behind the controls. His shoulders even relaxed a small measure while dealing with instrument panels and levers.
    As opposed to people.
    “This is marvelous!” I shouted over the mighty cacophony of the rushing wind and the engine. Remembering too late to