“Quite the contrary, actually. The first batch of weapons have all been tested and not a moment too soon. Will arrived not long before you to pick them up.” Emma seemed pleased to report, and Florence was equally pleased to hear. Her tone shifted, however, on the next note. “It seems the timeline has been pushed forward to get as many Perfect Chimera to Nova as possible.”
“I trust you facilitated this transaction to be as quick and smooth as possible?” Florence gave no indication that she had not heard of nor approved things happening faster. Either Bernard had been included, or he had been told. No matter, it was too late now to change it and Florence silently praised Willard and Ethel for being able to accommodate the change.
“I did.”
“Good. I’m ready to see an end to this war.”
“As we all are.”
Florence gave a nod of agreement and produced a folio from her satchel. “I have new schematics here for the next round of manufacturing.”
“Another round of edits?”
“I have no doubt that there will be some moaning over having to re-tool the line again.” And I don’t care, Florence left unsaid. “But there is no point in making something unless we continually strive to make it better, make it right.”
“Agreed.” Florence believed Emma stood behind her on the matter. It was the Rivets who would protest.
“Inform the Rivets that these modifications come from Arianna.” Florence was still becoming accustomed to Arianna’s name meaning something to random strangers, but she’d use it to her benefit without reservation.
“Right away.”
“Take it on ahead. I’d like to put my things down and change out of my traveling clothes. I won’t be long.”
Emma gave a tip of her cap. It had a short, leather, rounded brim with a band over top and, unlike a top hat, the fabric sort of flopped over on one side. Florence had been admiring it since she’d stepped off the train and immediately regretted not asking Emma who had stitched such an interesting headpiece.
Later. Right now, her priority was elsewhere. It had nothing to do with changing her clothes or dropping her bag. No, she was on the lookout for a certain someone she had an insatiable urge to see in private.
The door to their adopted abode was unlocked. They had never made a habit of locking it, so Florence thought little of it when she entered the foyer. “Shannra?”
There was a long moment of silence and, just when Florence was about to leave, she heard floorboards creak from an upper floor. The building they had assumed as theirs was three stories. Foyer and living spaces on the first floor, workshops on the second, bedrooms on the third.
“Shannra, it’s me.” Florence called again as she rounded the first flight of stairs, not wanting to startle the woman if she’d somehow not fully heard the first time. Their respective work tables were vacant, which left the third floor as her only remaining option. She’d been hoping to get the woman in bed, and it seemed Shannra would make it easy on her.
Florence paused halfway up the second flight of stairs, when she heard the floor creaking again. The sound came with a second’s worth of hesitation.
Something was off.
The floorboards weren’t moving in the rhythms Florence had come to associate with her lover. Their syncopation, combined with the silence and . . .something else . . . something familiar…
Honeysuckle. It was unmistakable after being around Arianna. But where Ari’s floral magic was mixed with other scents—there was always the soft hint of something woodsy—this scent was cloying and powerful against the nose. Florence put her finger on the difference immediately as she rounded the last step and into the doorway of the bedroom.
Shannra stood at the double window, just where they’d huddled underneath the blanket the night before Florence left. She turned, greeting Florence with a familiar smile. The fading daylight glinted off her white hair and she opened her arms invitingly.
“It’s so good to see you.” Florence spread a smile across her face with great effort at the visage that was every bit as familiar as it should be, yet incredibly off-putting. She dropped her bag at the foot of the bed, rummaging through it. “I was hoping I would catch you.”
Every hair on Florence’s body stood on end. Magic was thick in the air, potent and powerful. It was overwhelming and unlike anything Florence had ever experienced before.
She didn’t quite know what specter was before her, but she knew it wasn’t Shannra.
Right at the top of her bag, where they should be for any self-respecting Revolver, were her canisters and weapon. “Ari did a great job.” Florence held up a canister, putting it on display. “They’ll be manufacturing these soon, I’m sure.”
Imposter Shannra kept her arms outstretched, motioning in a sort of “come hither” way. Florence popped her spare revolver into the empty slot on the left side of her under-arm hoister.
There was only one entry and exit to the room—the door she had come through. The creature would, no doubt, expect her to flee in the direction she came. Whatever magic this animal possessed, it was a safe assumption to think it could run her down. Until she knew what she was fighting, she wasn’t going to waste ammunition fending it off.
Until she knew what she was fighting, she also wasn’t going to give it the benefit of predictability.
Florence took a step toward the Shannra-shaped specter. She held out her hands as if to accept its embrace. Every muscle coiled with tension around her bones. At the very last moment, she let it spring.
The specter half-lunged forward, dropping her head. Florence drew her weapon and thrust it to the imposter’s chin. Her hand disappeared straight through—an illusion. The muzzle of the gun didn’t find the creature’s head, as Florence had hoped, but she brought the hilt of the gun hard against its chest, firing in the process.
It roared, a feminine sound, but not like those she’d heard from any Fenthri or Dragon before. She took advantage of the creature’s surprise, and bolted.
“Get back here!” Imposter Shannra grabbed for her wrist at the same time Florence’s hand twisted the handle of the window. It swung open as she was grabbed back by a hand that felt much larger than what her eyes saw wrapped around her forearm.
Florence used the release of momentum to twist, crossing her arm over her, to draw her second gun. She pressed the muzzle into the air just above the creature’s hand, meeting invisible flesh.
Florence pulled the trigger and gold blood flew through the air—a Dragon.
Even still, the monster didn’t release its hold on her. Florence yanked her arm, once, twice; on the third time, it snapped free with the Dragon’s claws raking across her forearm.
Florence was face-to-face with one of the most unnerving creature she had ever seen. The Dragon was nearly the size of the Dragon King, but lacked the stoicism and composure of the man. She had a hooked nose and narrow jaw, adding to the severity of her overall look.
The eyes were the only familiar part of her. Like the smell of her magic, the woman had a nearly identical set of lilac eyes to Arianna. But the similarities ended there, as these sharp and angry eyes were framed by the rich green skin of a Dragon.