she’d just earned with a simple confounding act?
Claire remained on the examination table but maneuvered her body so that she sat facing the women, watching. A lot could be learned from simply paying attention to how a person stood. Dr. Stone’s posture was relaxed, but she held her arms across her chest in an almost defensive manner. Arden Grey held a carpetbag in front of her like a shield, but her face was open and free of tension. Neither woman wanted trouble, but they were prepared for it.
And all because of little old her.
She didn’t blame the countess for coming. Were the situation reversed, she would also want to see the woman who had screwed her husband—just to see how she measured up. It was a little perverse, perhaps, but human nature.
The two women stopped talking and turned to walk toward her. Claire kept her expression neutral.
“Claire Brooks, this is Arden Grey, Countess Huntley. She’s here to discuss your upcoming assignment with Lord Wolfred.”
Of all the things she might have said, that was not one Claire had even entertained. “What of it?” she asked, directing her attention to the redhead.
Arden Grey wasn’t afraid of her, either. Good. It would be horribly disappointing to think of Fi . . . Huntley with a weak woman.
“Many of the weapons and equipment employed by W.O.R. agents are of my design,” the woman began in a voice that seemed better suited for a schoolmistress than a countess. “I’ve studied the items found on your person when you were brought into custody, and I would like to discuss them with you.” She drew her shoulders back, as though she expected Claire to refuse.
Ktindrew“What would you like to know?” She didn’t care if she gave away Company secrets. They’d lost her loyalty the moment they let her brother’s murderer escape. Nothing mattered except justice for Robert.
The countess set the carpetbag on a waist-high table beside her. She opened it and withdrew not only Claire’s gun, but several other familiar items. For a split second Claire imagined herself grabbing that gun and making a run for it. Foolish thinking, of course. The ravaged flesh around the bullet wound tingled—it was already healing—but not enough that she could move that quickly.
“I studied this pistol and its operation. I am correct in that it channels aether as ammunition?”
Claire nodded. The inlaid pearl handle had been molded for her grip. The wide barrel needed a bit of a polish, but it gleamed in the light, a few scratches on its surface. That gun had saved her ass more than once.
“It has a small aether absorption tube inside, and concentrates a tiny amount into a powerful blast. It refills almost instantly because the force of each use helps draw more aether into the tube. There’s a vacuum extension for the barrel that effectively silences the discharge. I shot a man in a lending library once, and no one heard anything until his head hit the table.”
“Effective.” She sounded genuinely impressed—by the weapon, not her. “And this?”
It looked like an ornate, heavy cuff bracelet made of gold. “Plated gregorite.” She didn’t need to tell this woman that gregorite was the strongest metal known to man. “If you press the large stone in the center once, it releases a length of spun gregorite wire suitable for a garrote. Twice releases a much longer length, and the cuff itself converts into a grappling hook.”
Arden pressed the stone. A length of wire not even as thick as a boot lace spilled out of the bracelet. “Genius. How does it retract?”
“Press the pearl.” The wire was sucked back in when she did.
They went through the rest of the gadgets—a locket with a secret compartment for cyanide, a ring that concealed a small device that, when swallowed, emitted an aetheric signature that could be tracked using a matching compass hidden within what appeared to be a pocket watch, and a fan that appeared demure but was actually made of
Claire remained on the examination table but maneuvered her body so that she sat facing the women, watching. A lot could be learned from simply paying attention to how a person stood. Dr. Stone’s posture was relaxed, but she held her arms across her chest in an almost defensive manner. Arden Grey held a carpetbag in front of her like a shield, but her face was open and free of tension. Neither woman wanted trouble, but they were prepared for it.
And all because of little old her.
She didn’t blame the countess for coming. Were the situation reversed, she would also want to see the woman who had screwed her husband—just to see how she measured up. It was a little perverse, perhaps, but human nature.
The two women stopped talking and turned to walk toward her. Claire kept her expression neutral.
“Claire Brooks, this is Arden Grey, Countess Huntley. She’s here to discuss your upcoming assignment with Lord Wolfred.”
Of all the things she might have said, that was not one Claire had even entertained. “What of it?” she asked, directing her attention to the redhead.
Arden Grey wasn’t afraid of her, either. Good. It would be horribly disappointing to think of Fi . . . Huntley with a weak woman.
“Many of the weapons and equipment employed by W.O.R. agents are of my design,” the woman began in a voice that seemed better suited for a schoolmistress than a countess. “I’ve studied the items found on your person when you were brought into custody, and I would like to discuss them with you.” She drew her shoulders back, as though she expected Claire to refuse.
Ktindrew“What would you like to know?” She didn’t care if she gave away Company secrets. They’d lost her loyalty the moment they let her brother’s murderer escape. Nothing mattered except justice for Robert.
The countess set the carpetbag on a waist-high table beside her. She opened it and withdrew not only Claire’s gun, but several other familiar items. For a split second Claire imagined herself grabbing that gun and making a run for it. Foolish thinking, of course. The ravaged flesh around the bullet wound tingled—it was already healing—but not enough that she could move that quickly.
“I studied this pistol and its operation. I am correct in that it channels aether as ammunition?”
Claire nodded. The inlaid pearl handle had been molded for her grip. The wide barrel needed a bit of a polish, but it gleamed in the light, a few scratches on its surface. That gun had saved her ass more than once.
“It has a small aether absorption tube inside, and concentrates a tiny amount into a powerful blast. It refills almost instantly because the force of each use helps draw more aether into the tube. There’s a vacuum extension for the barrel that effectively silences the discharge. I shot a man in a lending library once, and no one heard anything until his head hit the table.”
“Effective.” She sounded genuinely impressed—by the weapon, not her. “And this?”
It looked like an ornate, heavy cuff bracelet made of gold. “Plated gregorite.” She didn’t need to tell this woman that gregorite was the strongest metal known to man. “If you press the large stone in the center once, it releases a length of spun gregorite wire suitable for a garrote. Twice releases a much longer length, and the cuff itself converts into a grappling hook.”
Arden pressed the stone. A length of wire not even as thick as a boot lace spilled out of the bracelet. “Genius. How does it retract?”
“Press the pearl.” The wire was sucked back in when she did.
They went through the rest of the gadgets—a locket with a secret compartment for cyanide, a ring that concealed a small device that, when swallowed, emitted an aetheric signature that could be tracked using a matching compass hidden within what appeared to be a pocket watch, and a fan that appeared demure but was actually made of
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