Twisted Tale of Stormy Gale by Christine Bell Page A

hard against the bed as he came.
    “I love you, I love you,” he whispered into my hair.
    It was some time later before I realized that my entire body had gone numb from his weight and I let out a muffled squeak. He rolled heavily off me, leaving one arm wrapped around my waist. His hand stroked my stomach almost absently as we lay. Neither of us spoke for a long time. I was deep in thought about the irony of fate, my predicament, my feelings for Dev, my loyalties to Gilly and more. I lay quiet, not wanting to disturb Dev from his undoubtedly equally philosophical thoughts. He began to snore. I stared at him, flabbergasted. I was absolutely torn up inside and he was off in dreamland. How could a person have such an emotionally crazy night, all these questions unanswered, all these feelings unresolved, and just conk out?
    With no plan beyond getting the TTMs back in my possession, I extricated myself from under Devlin’s arm with painstaking care. Rising, I gathered my clothes as stealthily as possible, although the effort was wasted as his snoring had picked up steam and taken on epic proportions by that point.
    Once dressed—except for my torn undies—I rifled through his clothes and found my TTM and goggles in his waistcoat pockets. I tiptoed over to my carpetbag and, to my immense relief, found the mercury pin in its hidey-hole. Good start. I put everything in my bag and turned back to Devlin.
    Despite my intentions, staring at his gorgeous, naked body sprawled on the bed, his sweet face soft in sleep, I just couldn’t bring myself to slap the shackles on him. But I couldn’t allow him out of the room until I checked the house and located the second TTM either. I went back and pulled the door key from his pocket and moved out of the room, locking the door behind me.
    I went through the house methodically, opening each door, giving a cursory look and then moving on. My hope was to narrow it down from the twenty-plus rooms to the few most likely locations, making the search a little more manageable.
    Turned out, it was far easier than I’d expected. About eight rooms into my recon, I opened a door and hit pay dirt. Devlin’s workshop. It was a huge room, perhaps a ballroom in a former life, with remarkably high ceilings. Clearly it was where he spent most of his time.
    I stood in the doorway for a moment, my eyes flickering from one thing to the next in amazement. The place looked like Rube Goldberg’s childhood playroom. Dozens of odd-looking contraptions, ranging from the simple to the extremely complex, stood on every available service. The centerpiece of the room, however, was a large, pod-shaped flying machine hung by thick ropes from the high ceiling. It resembled a modern-day blimp, but the material looked more like parchment or worn leather. It reminded me of a giant, prehistoric moth that had been stripped of its wings.
    I spared the dirigible only a fleeting glance and walked forward, picking my way through the maze of creations, focused on one thing. A giant replica of the TTM. Not exactly right, but close enough that I knew exactly what it was. There was no way that had been made in the weeks since he’d won the mechanism from Bacon. No, this thing was elaborate, like it had been years in the making. The implications had me floored. Either Devlin, by some impossible stroke of luck, had created something very similar to Gilly’s invention on his own. Or, as crazy as it was, he had seen the TTM before and was attempting to recreate it himself.
    When I finally reached the display, I stood in front of the device, dwarfed by its size. The intersecting gears were precision, and looked to be made of real silver. The numbers were painstakingly hand painted and decorated with gold leaf. While it was beautiful, it appeared to be in the midst of repairs. A couple of empty spots, a few missing hands; I could only guess that since he had the actual item in his possession, he was retooling this one now for accuracy.