Dearly, Beloved Part 10

NORA.

The hold music I was being forced to listen to was atrocious. Something about a "gilded cage." Leaning my head back against Dad's gun cabinet, I did my best to tune it out. Kept in the house, sitting on the floor, surrounded by boxes and stacks of paper-I felt positively claustrophobic.

A voice finally cut through the music, but only to tell me, "Your wait time is forty-five minutes." There were so many people still missing that a special hotline had been set up for those trying to find them.

I hung up. For days I'd been following my father's orders-and getting nowhere. It was like Aunt Gene had dropped off the face of the earth. A few months ago I would have been ecstatic had that actually occurred, but not now. Not when my imagination couldn't help but continually review all the horrible things that might've happened to her.

I stretched my left leg out and hooked the toe of my boot around a pile of folders, pulling it closer. The top file contained information on the Allisters, and I paged through it for the fiftieth time, uncertain what I should be looking for. I knew the basic story-that Aunt Gene had stayed with the Allisters following my abduction-slash-rescue, that she fled the city with them, and that she went missing at some point. And there, it stopped.

The door opened and Bram stepped in. I didn't look up, but I pressed my knees together beneath my long aubergine dress. I'd been sitting with my legs splayed open, relaxed, uncaring. "What's up?"

"Went into town, took a look at the lost and found posters," he said as he edged himself into a narrow s.p.a.ce of bare floor next to me and sat. "Only saw the ones we put up asking for info on your aunt."

The gate in front of City Hall was covered in flyers made by those still searching for loved ones, as well as those who'd taken in wanderers. Occasionally, bouquets of flowers, small plush animals, and tea candles would appear beneath the slurry of paper, offerings made in memory of the missing and deceased. "Thanks for looking, at any rate."

"Pleasure." He leaned over to glance at the file in my hands. "Went to the cops, too. Still no information on the carriage."

"What else is new? I'd still like to know why those guys were wearing those stupid masks."

"Probably bought them all at the same store. Maybe that'll come back to bite them."

I couldn't help it. "Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Nora, you're the only person I'll ever bite. And you know it." A smile ghosted across his lips. "You think I'd cheat on you with common criminals?"

"How messed up is it that I find that really romantic?"

Bram chuckled, and kissed my temple. It occurred to me that the last place we should be hanging out alone was a room that contained a bed-not that there was much danger of that with a dead guy. "Any luck on your end?"

"Not a thing." I handed him the folder. "But there's nothing in here about Michael." Bram made an adorable face when I said his name, and I took the opportunity to scoot closer, as if I wanted to comfort him. Noticing this, he slid his arm around my shoulders. "So I'm almost starting to think I should try to talk to him. As vomit-inducing as this concept is."

"Why?" Bram tossed the folder into a random pile. "He was with Miss Roe and us the whole time. Unfortunately."

"Yeah, but before that he was with Aunt Gene. He was the one who told Pam she was with his family. Besides, you heard what he said. That he likes me." I stuck my tongue out to show Bram exactly what I thought of that idea. "So maybe he'd talk to me. I don't know. I feel like it's the only direction left to go in."

Bram thought about this, his eyes lidding. I could almost identify, by the little emotions that flitted across his masculine features, what he was internally arguing with himself about. Even in death he was so alive. His skin was like purest white candle wax, his eyes like faded mercury gla.s.s baubles-inanimate objects-and still they conveyed so much.

"I know what it's like to hold out hope," he eventually said. "But you have to be prepared to accept ... she's gone. And you'll never know what happened to her. That the Allisters are telling the truth. I think your dad has more problems with this than you do. I'm not saying it's time to give up, I'm just saying it's a possibility."

"I know. I feel bad, though. We didn't get along in the end, but I wouldn't have wished this on her." Leaning back against his arm, I decided to confess. "Things up here aren't like we imagined they would be, are they?"

"Not entirely." It was honestly a relief to hear him say it.

Drawing my knees up, I encompa.s.sed them with my arms. I'd been debating whether I should tell him, and in that moment, I decided it was the right thing to do. "Papa wants to send me away."

"What?" Bram turned to look at me fully. "Where?"

"Belize. To his relatives. I don't even know them. It's a long story ... let's just say Mama was poor and they hated her for that. They cut him off. Aunt Gene eventually married a man from the South and came down here to join him. She was the only one who'd talk to him." I'd always considered that fact mere family history, a dry, boring dust mote of information-but this time, as I said it, it seemed suddenly so important. So human. Cold as she was, Aunt Gene had truly loved her brother.

We couldn't give up looking for her. We had no right to.

"Is he going to?" Bram's voice was tight.

"I think I managed to talk my way out of it." Steadying myself, I went on. "Obviously, he's terrified. And he has reason to be. But next time he comes home, we have to talk. I'll be honest with him. I'll him that he has to give me some freedom-or I'm going to have to get it behind his back. And I'm sorry if that makes me sound selfish. But I want to feel useful. Hanging around the house squinting at legalese doesn't cut it."

Bram leaned forward and brushed his cool cheek along the edge of my jaw, and my eyes seemed to shut of their own accord. "You don't sound selfish. I get it. I want to follow his rules because I respect him, but I think he's kind of confused right now. Not himself. I hate to say it, but it's the truth."

"After this week, then, no more." Lifting my hand to the edge of his vest, I pulled him closer to me. "Because neither of us has time for this. Alone or together. But if I end up having to go slightly underground ... you don't need to sneak around or lie for me. That's all I'm saying."

"I sneak around and lie for you every morning. Well, did." Bram put his hand over mine. "We'll play it smart. And besides, I think I have a mission lined up that he'll agree to. Maybe we should look at it that way. Chance to prove we can go out, handle ourselves like adults, come back in one piece."

"Mission?"

"Got some zombies in the city who need help. Not in the Morgue. Been holding off till you can go. Sound like a good place to start?"

"Yes! Finally!" Pulling back, I bounced a little where I sat. "Between that and doing something about Michael-G.o.d, it sounds stupid, but I already feel better."

"Maybe it's my reptile brain talking, but I don't want to hear about the thought of Michael making you feel better."

Grinning, I said, "Sorry." I lowered my eyes to the tarnished watch chain draped atop Bram's brown vest, and reached out to follow its length to his pocket with my fingers. I slipped my hand inside, drew the watch out, and opened it to find the photograph it contained. Bram and his little sisters. "I have to try everything, though. I bet your family looked for you. Maybe they're still looking."

Bram reached out and gently extricated his watch from my hands before closing and repocketing it. "I honestly hope not," he said, before standing. He seemed genuinely troubled by the idea.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He put on a smile. "Really. It's nothing."

I have a pretty good bull radar, and his statement made it go off. I didn't press it, though. Bram'd had a rough life, and the hard-won right to brood about it in private if he wanted to. "I'll look everything over again later. Lord knows there's nothing else to do besides this and arms training." Standing up, I brushed down my skirt and held up two fingers. "Two days and twelve hours. I think I'll celebrate by setting off fireworks on the front lawn. In my underwear. While I dance."

Bram laughed. "Promise?"

"Pinky swear." I curled my little finger and tried to grab his hand. "Come on!"

Bram twisted his pinky with mine. "I'm holding you to that, then. I can't court a girl who doesn't keep her word."

"Oh, I'll so do it. It's on."

Bram shook his head, but was having a hard time fighting his laughter. "Dr. Dearly will kill you."

"Around here, dead is normal." I held out my arms. The long sleeves of my dress were puffy at the shoulders, with inserts of close-fitting black lace beneath. The effect on my pale skin was appropriate. "I think I'd look awesome as a zombie, personally."

Bram's expression went from jovial to mortally serious in about one second flat. He turned fully toward me and captured my upper arms, pushing me gently up against Papa's gun cabinet. "Don't joke about that," he said, his voice focused and intense. He let go of me with one hand and gestured at his face. "You can't become like this. You physically can't. We've talked about this before."

Forcing a laugh, I said, "I have to joke about it, Bram. Just like the rest of you do. It's laugh or cry, live or die."

"I know. It's just ... the hijacking reminded me of that. You have one shot at living." He slid his big hands up my arms, over my shoulders, and cupped the sides of my face. "You're perfect the way you are, Nora. Don't ever think I want you to change, to be something you're not."

Had Bram felt the fear, too? Just a few weeks ago, terrified and overwrought, I had watched him while he slept, convinced he'd be taken from me. I didn't want him to know. He was the strongest person I had ever met in my life. All my striving aside, as self-loathing as it might sound-I wanted to be worthy of him. I admired him that much.

"I won't do anything stupid," I promised, sneaking my hands up to lay them on his chest, marveling at the power I felt there-even as I failed, as always, to detect a heartbeat. "Believe me, I want to be safe. I want all of us to be safe."

Bram slid the thin pad of his thumb over my cheekbone and nodded slowly. My breath caught as he started to lean closer, the motion of his neck fluid. We hadn't kissed properly since Colombia, and I could still recall every second of the last one he'd given me. Sick as it was, I'd loved the sensation of his cold lips so much that I couldn't even comprehend the idea that warm ones might be better. I loved how firmly he had kissed me, just hard enough to hint at the sensation of a bruise. He was the only boy I'd ever kissed, and I knew he was perfect.

Thank goodness no one was around to see just how eager I was to disobey my father. Or possibly judge how disturbed I was. But if other people wanted to call me a "necros.l.u.t"-fine. That's what I'd be. And I would never feel ashamed about it again.

His lips were just about to touch mine when the door opened and I heard Pam say, "Nora? Matilda said you were ... Oh."

Spoke too soon.

Bram grimaced and sort of whirled away from me, ending up at my side facing the door. I straightened, hoping disappointment wasn't evident on my face. Pamela's eyes whisked between us, and I thought I could read some disapproval there-but she clamped down on it a second later. "I'm sorry."

"Nothing to say sorry for, Pamma," I said, infusing my voice with cheer. "I just didn't know you were coming over. We're probably breaking all sorts of-" Bram cleared his throat, and I course-corrected. "What's up?"

"I just came over to help, like you asked." Pamela removed her bonnet, glancing up at Bram coolly. "Unless I'm no longer needed."

Bram bowed. "Miss Roe. Forgive me, I have something to ... do. Elsewhere." I flashed him a grateful look as he started to see himself out.

Pam released a breath. "No ... hold on, Mr. Griswold. This likely concerns you, too."

"What is it?"

She reached into her satin reticule and pulled out a calling card, which she handed to me. The name on it was unfamiliar. Lord Lopez? I wasn't up on the society lists. "I ran into him on the street. He never said anything about being a lord while I was with him."

"Wait, you spoke with this guy?"

Bram stepped back and took the card. Unlike me, he seemed to instantly recognize who it was. "Wow. How'd he get to be a lord? Or was he one when we met?"

"Who is it?" I asked, growing annoyed.

"The guy from the docks," Bram said. "The one who came out to meet us when we landed the airship there."

Pam pointed at her skull. "You know, aimed a gun at Mr. Griswold's head?"

"Oh!" I exclaimed. "Him! Well, in my defense, a lot of people have threatened to shoot Bram in the head."

Bram smirked. "Thing is, he's also the guy who gave part of Company Z a chance to get out of their death sentence. Got them off the docks. And I say that without understanding why. I definitely owe him."

"He might call on my parents on Sunday," Pam continued. "I thought you might like to be there. Maybe you could get some answers."

Altogether, about fifty members of Company Z had died between New London and Averne's base, almost half the force. I knew their names because I'd helped Bram write letters of condolence to their families, sealing the envelopes and addressing them so he could concentrate on the actual words. If any of the others still had their unlives due to this guy's intervention, we all owed him. "Absolutely," I said, smiling at her. "Thank you, Pamma."

She nodded and looked to the sea of paperwork, her dark eyes widening a tad. "Goodness. Where do we pick up?"

"Somewhere around ... Shark Food." Pam pulled her mouth to the side, realizing whom I meant.

"Ladies," Bram said, saluting casually with two fingers as he went for the door.

Before I could tell him goodbye or pull Pam into my world of detective work, the sound of laughter floated up from the street outside, accompanied by the squeal of tires. Bram paused, his head turning. "What was that?"

Pulling my skirts up, I threaded my way through the papers and boxes, opening the doors that led out onto Papa's balcony when I got there. The noise grew louder-a lot of whooping and hollering.

"Quiet!" someone yelled-a woman. "We're out in public! There are security cameras everywhere!"

"The sky's dead, cameras might be, too! Ain't no way you're ruining this for me, Bel!" a man countered. "Today is a day for miracles!"

Glancing down, I saw three dirty, dented carriages and a canvas-covered truck stopping in front of the house. People started exiting the vehicles, many of them armed. My heart rate picked up. "This doesn't look good."

Bram was soon at my side, his hands wrapped around the balcony railing. "Agreed."

"What's going on?" Pamela asked, her voice tremulous.

"We don't know yet," I told her as I entered the room again. "Come on. Downstairs."

"But if they're downstairs ..." Pam was practically contorting her hands around her purse. "We should stay here. Lock the door. We don't know what they want!"

As I took a breath to steady myself, Bram moved toward the gun cabinet. It was now regularly left unlocked, and it didn't take him long to find a rifle and ammo. He loaded up, and I wrestled with my instincts. I wanted to go with him. If we were being invaded again, I wanted to protect my home.

Pamela clearly saw how torn I was. Her eyes broadcast and somehow amplified every argument her mouth could have made if she let it. It worked.

"Do you want me to stay here, too?" I asked her, feeling my shoulders rising.

Pam nodded, guilt creasing her features. "Yes," she said. She might have felt guilty, but she sounded relieved. "Stay here with me."

The doorbell rang, a ma.s.sive gong that set my teeth on edge. Pamela'd become so skittish since December-I didn't know what to make of it yet. She never talked about it, even when I asked. Until she decided to open up all I could do was try to be a good friend, try to give her what she needed.

Slapping the side of the cabinet, Bram told me, "You've got weapons, then." He flicked his safety off, then on again, and looked at me. "Don't open the door unless you hear three knocks, then two."

This simple, genius detail reminded me why I fell in love with him in the first place. "Right."

He left the room and I shut the door and stationed myself before it-but didn't lock it. I could hear Bram's heavy, limping footsteps as he made his way down the hallway. He was on alert, slow and sure in his movements.

"Lock the door," Pam said as she backed up toward the balcony, home to the rose trellis I'd had to climb the last time something like this had happened. It struck me that my father's bedroom was an incredibly unlucky place.

"Not yet," I told her. I opened the door just a touch, to listen.

Downstairs, someone approached the front door, his or her-most likely her-heels clicking on the marble. Matilda, I figured, my anxiety rising. I should suit up and run out there with Bram. He needed backup. Pamela could handle herself.

Suddenly, Samedi shouted, "I'll get it! It's for me!" Blinking in surprise, I listened as his footsteps overtook the others and the door opened. "Pa.s.sword?" Samedi asked, voice infused with a sarcastic sternness.

"Your mother has never known the pinch of a corset," the woman I'd heard in the street replied.

"That is an old pa.s.sword."

"I figured it'd be the only one you'd recognize. Time flies when you're having fun, I see." The woman's voice was warming.

"Baldwin?" a male voice outside said. "Is that you?"

"No," Samedi drawled. "It's someone wearing my face. Remarkable what they can do with antirejection drugs these days."