Ada piled a handful of smoke bombs on the bench in Edison’s workshop and clapped her hands together to shake off the dust. Still hunched over his spot at the far end of the long counter, Edison seemed oblivious to her presence.
They’d been in his workshop for hours. She doubted he’d said more than a few words to her, and those had been, “Please pass the potassium.”
She hung her head. They only had two more days before they put their grand new plan into motion. The killer would strike quickly once she surfaced.
After that there’d be no reason for her to remain.
And Edison was allowing the last crumbs of their time together to tick away.
Would the blue satin rekindle his interest?
Even as the thought rose, she discounted it. He might be a brick-headed oaf, but he wasn’t callow.
She inched closer to his side of the workbench. “None of this’ll do a bit of good if I’m not one of the speakers.”
He popped the two halves of the casing together and examined his completed device. “You’ll be there.”
Oaf. What was it going to take to catch his attention?
“We can’t barge into a professional meeting and storm the stage.” She rolled a smoke bomb down the counter.
He caught the grenade in one big hand, stopping it cold. “We won’t be barging.”
“Have I done something to offend?” The question was out of her mouth before she had a chance to reconsider.
Finally, he turned, giving her the full benefit of his attention. “Why would you say that?”
The blankness of his stare gave her pause, as if she were a stranger trying to spark up a conversation on a crowded omnibus. A toxic mix of embarrassment and anger exploded in her chest, searing her cheeks, making her breath come short and shallow.
“There’s no need for concern,” he said. “By tomorrow afternoon, you’ll be the main speaker.” He went back to his fiddling. “Spencer and Meena are handling that right now.”
“But how will they—?”
Edison squinted at one of the grenades, examining the seam. “That part’s magic to me. I just keep everyone safe.”
Safe, and safely away from his heart.
How had she not seen this side to him before?
Tears shimmering in her eyes, Ada shuffled back to her own side of the counter and tried to force her mind back to the task at hand. Thoughts of circuits and cascading chemical reactions would put her back on level ground.
She rubbed her palm over the metal casing of the smoke bomb she’d filled. The smooth, cold texture soothed her raw emotions. Meena and her husband might be able to get her on the stage, but it would be up to her to dazzle the crowd, to make her stalker so green with envy he’d want to grab her straight from the lectern.
Her job would be to incite anger. The hotter their prey’s emotions ran, the more likely he’d be to act in haste. She could blather on all day about her batteries, but a bang-up demonstration would put things over the top.
“We’ll need a way to demonstrate the battery’s capabilities,” she said.
Edison turned fully around this time, putting his back to the workbench. “Good point.” He waggled a wrench in her direction. “Now you’re thinking like a showman.”
So it wasn’t her imagination.
He met any mention of emotion with stony silence. But get the man talking about a caper, and he lit up like magnesium dropped in a vial of carbon dioxide. A bright flame, to be sure, but wholly unstable.
Ada crossed her arms, considering. Perhaps it was better to cut things off now.
Edison’s brass butler regarded her from his place in the far corner of the room. She headed for it, bending down on one knee to open the back hatch of the device.
The silvery guts glimmered in the afternoon light. Edison was right. Between the gears and cables necessary to make the thing run, there wasn’t any room inside for a bigger flywheel to power it.
“My battery would run this,” she said.
Edison knelt beside her, the wrench still in his hand. “Could be too powerful. I’ve got the power regulation set for the flywheel.”
“It’s worth a try, isn’t it?” Ada wanted to grab the wrench and bash him over the head. Where had his passion gone? His verve? His formidable zest for life?
Edison shrugged, not even enthusiastic enough to bother with an utterance, but he did grab a screwdriver off the bench behind him and start removing the springs. Strands of silvery clock springs danced in the light as he pulled them out by the fistful.
His elbows and knees brushed against her as he worked. The heat from his body reminded her painfully of the velvety feel of his skin against hers.
Tears threatened. She inched away, trying not to give in to the urge to rush to the far side of the room, away from the painful memories. Away from him.
And yet he seemed unaffected by her nearness. He worked away at the renovations, intent on the task at hand, curiously distant from his emotions.
“Let’s try it now.” He stepped over the pile of clock springs surrounding the mechanical man and moved to the safe housing her battery.
A few spins of the dial, and the safe opened. The muscles in his forearm flexed as he hefted the heavy device and bent down to maneuver it into the automaton.
“Hand me those wires, would you?” he asked, his head inside the machine.
Ada scooped up the insulated wires and pressed them into his waiting hand.
A few more connections made, and he backed away from the hole and closed the hatch. “All right. Let’s power it up.” He flicked the switch.
Silence.
Just as she was certain it wouldn’t work, the round body shuddered and rumbled to life. The arms rose slowly, jerkily toward the sky, as if hesitant to move. The rumble intensified, rising to a high-pitched shriek, like the whistling of a kettle. Mechanical arms now at shoulder height, the whole device lurched forward, only to seize up and topple over.
After one last agonizing moan, the motor stopped.
“See?” Edison raked a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “I told you it wouldn’t work.”
“It worked for a moment,” Ada said.
“You call that working?”
She gritted her teeth until her jaw ached. “Is this what you do when things don’t go smoothly? Give up?”
Edison’s eyes narrowed, and his expression became carefully blank. “I assume you’re referring to the butler?” He threw up his hands. “It’s too much power. Your battery puts out too much power for the gears.”
“We’ll re-gear it then.”
He gave a weak shrug. “If you insist.”
Ada clamped her mouth down on an angry retort. The automaton would make a fantastic demonstration. Couldn’t he see that?
Suddenly she wanted this. Wanted to make a statement. Wanted to do something exciting with her work. Something flashy and bold and fantastical.
She nudged him out of the way and bent to examine the automaton’s innards, searching for a clue to their failure.