Revenant's Storm (The Wicked West series)

The moments leading up to discovery were always the ones that enthralled Theodosia the most.

She had always known that she was brilliant, because people had always told her so. Memorization was easy for her. Just a glance and the words were preserved forever in her scrapbook brain. Her mentors had been delighted by her ability to recite textbook chapters seemingly by heart in her early tutelage.

It had even caught the eye of the esteemed Dr. Wieland Hertzog, and had led to her working in his laboratory for over ten years starting at the ripe age of twelve. Under his supervision, there were hardly any pieces of equipment or scientific tests that she could not expertly utilize. She had his beloved tatterdemalion collection of books memorized.

But it was the pursuit of an answer, the thrill of the chase, the challenge of a riddle which truly sparked her capricious interest. Theodosia loved a challenge.

The world was a puzzle, and Theo loved puzzles. She understood that the universe was linked together by a cascading network of cause and effect, since the beginning of time, and when she set her mind to work, it unfolded before her very eyes and revealed its secrets to her. She knew in her heart that there was logic to everything, and that logic would give her all the answers she could ever desire so long as she knew where to look. For, if something could not be understood, it simply meant that her perspective was askew. Redirecting her attention would cause the truth to shift into focus like a lens magnifying a specimen into perfect clarity. To her, truth was the ultimate tool, and she knew how to find it like a bloodhound a scent.

So, it was with a clear head that she surveyed her surroundings. Although she was perfectly safe at Dr. Hertzog's side, she did not fool herself into being enchanted by the wonders suspended before her.

Silk and gauze drapery twined in an eternal handshake between marble pillars. Emerald green tile beveled with gold stretched like taffy into the distance in the spacious meeting hall. Stained glass chandeliers illuminated by the fizzing hum of hundreds of tiny electric bulbs. The warm light permeated the atmosphere, casting a hazy spell over the hall.

It was the most decadent place she had ever visited, and the sights dazzled her more than she had anticipated. But it was not the wait staff dressed in plush velvet carrying garnished refreshments and complicated hors d'oeuvres that caught her focus, or the polished guests dripping with jewels and prestige, but instead the massive assortment of vendors and displays that filled the teeming hall.

She was at the most clandestine and controversial science conference surrounded by the most dangerous and influential men in existence. They displayed their work here, advertising their illegal activity hoping to find the right investor, speaking with righteous conviction to those deemed worthy by either a reputable connection to a darker market or with extreme wealth.

It took place in the only wicked corner of the world it could: the cutthroat Federation of Commerce, located deep in the gut of what used to be the Sovereign States.

They were in the capital called Mojave, a dazzling city adorned with adobe and silver and turquoise architecture and all the innovate commodities that luxury could afford. It was a glittering jewel engulfed by a cavernous desert, otherwise pocked sparsely by ramshackle communities and shanty towns.

Morality and law did not exist in the barren spaces between civilization. Bandits and murderers and the scum of the earth resided here, called this sinister land home, and Theo had traveled a great distance to break bread and join them.

She would grow her roots here, establishing her reputation as a gifted scientist, offering her services to the citizenry. She would melt into the culture and be praised for her intellect and ingenuity. Her mentor would be nearby, but she would finally break this eternal internship to dedicate herself to her own individual projects, which had been deemed far too experimental for the conventional tastes of her homeland.

The government here, if it could be called even that, was nothing more than a federation of allied merchants across the cities where the wealth was hoarded. A complicated knot of commerce strung together the struggling communities in the unrefined wilderness. Encampments of stragglers littered the spaces in between. The only real roads were well-worn trade routes carved into the baking sands.

The Chamber of Commerce, the elected officials that held all authority, had little concern for the gangs squabbling over territory. They openly commissioned the illicit aid of bounty hunters and desperados to keep the peace.

This resplendent hall and city, in particular, belonged to Councilman Desmond Cleary. An enormous portrait of his grim face in the lobby loomed over the attendees. Theo noticed there were tiny spectacles perched precariously on his hawk-like nose. His white hair was slicked back flat against his skull. His face was all gaunt angles and sharp cheekbones. In the painting, he perched primly on a gilded stool with a somber expression that Theo thought a doctor might wear while informing a patient that he had come to saw their legs off.

This was the man who she had an appointment with at the end of the hour. This was the man who held her entire future in his hands. She stared hard at the portrait, straining to really study its countenance.
If her research met his exacting standards, he would fund her future projects and she would officially be employed as a servant of the Chamber of Commerce in the scientific research department.

As it were, this just so happened to be an exhibition of the anathema and macabre. It was beautiful, yes, but it was also perilous. It was a fact not advertised freely, but she would have had to been very foolish indeed to not notice the intimidatory undercurrent crackling through the air.

Theo was but a young woman amongst wolves, but she happened to be a wolfish woman herself. Her long and impossibly thick curls were choked into a braid as thick as rope. It swung from the momentum of her confident stride. Her large circular spectacles sloped down her nose, and she reflexively pushed them back up. She endeavored to stay focused and keep Dr. Hertzog in her line of sight, but her wandering curiosity snagged on a few of the vendors.

She, inevitably, fell headfirst into distraction, as she was oft to do.

Tittering spectators hovered nervously around one table where floating watery orbs glowed a soft, languid green. The ominous bubbles were filled with corrosive chemicals that would melt through to the bone at the slightest provocation, but would not pop unless touched. They floated in meandering circuits, unperturbed by the energy radiating from anxious spectators or the proximity of sharp corners.

The presenter spoke in an exaggerated stage whisper. Theo did not miss the large pair of brass goggles and thick leather gloves he wore for effect. If the product worked as well as he claimed, Theo speculated that such "precautions" would do little to protect him. He clearly was not the brains in what she considered to be some variety of business partnership.

Her eye caught on a humble-looking man that had been standing at this display for a long period of time. He looked perpetually enthralled by the presentation and, though he tried to conceal it, appeared to take offense from criticisms voiced by other spectators. Theo suspected that he was the true engineer, a shadow tethered to the attraction of his own glorious discovery, and made a conscious effort to stand beside him while she came to understand his invention.

Her mind picked at theories concerning density and membrane permeability, of toxicity and carcinogens, but she did not indulge the line of thought for long before finding distraction elsewhere. There were other vendors, after all.

Before she wandered away, she patted his shoulder gently and whispered, "It is a splendid invention. Congratulations."

The startled man stared at her with his mouth parted in surprise before slowly removing his cap and holding it over his heart. Theo left him long before he could muster the wherewithal to respond.

At first glance, the next oddity prompted her to pause and reconsider her perceptions. The surface of a glass table reflected the golden glow of the stained-glass chandeliers above, making the disembodied brass and gold hands perched on top appear to float miraculously.

There were only a few patrons missing limbs amongst the crowd, but there was always a demand for prosthetics outside the cities, particularly for those who could not afford such lavish wares as these. And there were plenty of towns that had a much higher demand than this sparkling city.

The vendor claimed the delicate prosthetics to be so sensitive that they would respond to intent alone, however when Theo inquired about the specifics of threshold activation, the vendor balked and barked at her, "Go on, this is no place for lost girls."

Her shoulders tensed at the rebuke, but she smiled kindly and apologized for the distraction. It would not do to make enemies with anyone in this room. Figures lurked nearby, clearly waiting for Theo to leave before snaring the vendor in secretive negotiation.

She nurtured her wounded ego while she walked. She found that she did not fancy dismissal without a chance to defend her qualifications. It was her very first time experiencing such blatant prejudice in her professional career, and it was a bee sting in her chest.

She shook her head, resolving herself not to fret upon the differences between her new home and her old country. Of course people would conduct themselves differently here. She would have to be made of tougher stuff. Despite her resolve to adapt, the pang of home homesickness struck her. She shook herself again, fervently, and moved on.

A lank man dressed in his finest suit stood before her suddenly, blocking her path. His wiry red hair bobbed when his hands flailed with exaggerated gestures. A frenzied insistence glinted in his zealous green eyes. The man was speaking to her and she blinked, surprised to find him covered in dozens of skittering mechanical insects so small and intricate, they could allegedly spy completely undetected. She turned away and shuddered at the thought of all those jittery legs crawling over her skin.

Although the sight of the swarm was jarring, it was simply just another take on robotics. It was actually a sign of wealth and prosperity in her homeland. Wealthier citizens would keep a similar "pet" on their person to record notes while running errands or, in one playful article shared by a local newspaper, send it to school in their child's knapsack to ensure that the curriculum met the high standards set by reputation.

She gingerly removed herself from the man's fiery introduction and pardoned herself from his company. Her eyes searched for the familiar bent posture of the esteemed Dr. Hertzog. Her mind lingered on the memory.

It was a very long way from her home in the Euro-Germanic Alliance. The language in the Federation of Commerce did not fit properly in her mouth. The consonants and syllables tangled miserably on her thickly accented tongue. To her dismay, only the city dwellers spoke it. The ghost towns and boroughs preferred the more universal Esperanto, a pigeon language married from local tongues, which both she and Dr. Hertzog had trouble grasping, though she seemed to have more luck with it than her frustrated mentor.

It had been an arduous and treacherous sojourn here. Memories of flaky powder-dusted pastries and shimmering aspen leaves sometimes visited her unbidden as the boat had creaked and swayed in the rolling darkness of the belowdecks. Her journey had not left her unmarked. She could not stand the steamy humidity of crowds and the press of people surrounding her on all sides.

Despite her tribulations, she had shrugged off her past like an ill-fitting coat to embrace the opportunity to embark on her life's work. And it was here, in this glimmering den of criminals, that she would seek funding and benefactors for her own devious research.

With a jolt, she remembered Councilman Cleary's office and her fate awaiting her. She cursed herself for allowing her confounded curiosity to take off with her yet again.

There was a gentle tug on the end of her braid, and she startled. "I trust that you are having fun, wandering around like excited puppy?"

The soft-spoken jibe brought a relieved smile to her lips, and she whirled around with an apology already springing out. "Sorry, Dr. Hertzog. I maybe have gotten distracted by the displays. There are some very clever minds here. I have yet to understand some of the inventions."

Dr. Hertzog rolled his blue eyes and crossed his arms. The motion crumpled the small teal ribbon pinned to his button-up shirt. The shirt happened to match the color of the appetizer, a minuscule cube of cheesecake with pear preserves and pecans, pinched between his fingers.

The badge itself was smaller than the length of his thumb, and it was the sole reason for their relocation westward. Theo remembered the afternoon it had arrived in a thin velvet box to their pristine laboratory nestled right against the Rhine. It had certified their eligibility to conspire with the other entrepreneurs in this room.

Dr. Hertzog had been pleased by its sudden and unprompted arrival, but his mood had soured upon the discovery of the reason behind his eligibility: the highly taboo and confidential research he had conducted alongside his wife, decades before her premature death. Despite all Theo's pleading, he would not divulge any details concerning his past projects.

Theo had, regardless and against all odds, convinced him to attend and use the opportunity to establish himself with his more recent works. She might have also used the opportunity herself to pester him into allowing her to accompany him. To her enterprising mind, it seemed like a mutually beneficial arrangement, but the cantankerous elder still grumbled about it to himself under his breath when he thought she couldn't hear.

"I understand that you are excited to jump headfirst into career and leave poor old employer behind in dust, but please consider not getting lost before your appointment." He paused to consider, chewing his bottom lip in thought, and then snapped, "And do not pick apart other's research at first glance. It is not safe to show off too much here. These so-called 'geniuses' have egos made with same fortitude as wet paper bag. Cannot handle constructive criticism, unbelievable. I fear you are too clever for your own good."

"Why, doctor," she laughed, "there is no such thing as too clever!" Theo flashed her most dazzling smile, and the doctor harrumphed in response.

She pursed her lips to stifle a laugh. The thought of Dr. Hertzog nitpicking and offending another acclaimed mind here was amusing, to say the least. It seemed that during their brief separation, she had not managed to stir up the same trouble that the doctor had, no matter how innocent and unintentional the aging, balding man pushed to convince her it had been.

He popped the rest of the appetizer into his mouth and ran a hand over his scalp. He eyed her critically. "The office is upstairs. Are you ready for him?"

She quirked an eyebrow, but could not hide the nervous smile that had bubbled up with the anticipation. It was time. It was finally, finally time. Her future was waiting for her. She was young and brilliant and, thus far, undefeated in her endeavors.

With infallible confidence she declared, "Is he ready for me?"

* * * * *

Twenty minutes later she would come to regret those words, seated in his immaculate office with the backs of her thighs sticky from perspiration against the rubbery leather chair.

Councilman Cleary had not glanced up once while she had poured herself into her presentation. He only flipped crisply through the documents she had prepared for him, filled with informative diagrams of her findings and visual aids and hopeful implications for future experiments.

She had thought his portrait might have been exaggerated, in order to intimidate any adversaries. In reality, the artist had been generous in his depiction.

It seemed as though the man who sat before her had never once experienced joy before in his life. His presence was a cold spot in the room, completely devoid of any sympathy or geniality. His eyes were the palest, iciest shade of blue she had ever seen. When his gaze had pinned her under its scrutiny, she felt as though she had been blasted by the icy gale of a blizzard. Wrinkles creased deeply into his skeletal face. Her eyes flagged the age spots faintly speckled at random across his papery skin.

Unbeknownst to Theo, Desmond Cleary had started his day as he always did. His newspaper and breakfast had been waiting for him when he woke; a single silver platter at the head of an impossibly long dining table, prepared by the nameless servants whose existence he had never once acknowledged. He had methodically folded his napkin over his lap and dissected all articles of food into identical bite-sized pieces. At this point the procedure was automatic, and akin to all his actions, were hammered down by years of unfaltering routine. If he had felt excitement for the science conference today, the biggest philanthropic event of the year under his personal care, his face would never show it. But his eyes sparkled. He tamped down his giddiness as he reread the list of attendees, his greedy gaze landing on the name that roused him the most– Dr. Wieland Hertzog, of the Euro-Germanic Alliance. It had taken some digging, but Desmond had finally found the research that he had been seeking for quite some time.

In truth, he had agreed to meet with the assistant, thinking that she had simply reserved the meeting in place for her mentor. Now he sat in his office as she babbled on, impatiently twisting the thick emerald ring around his thumb.

After she had finished, out of breath from the excited explanation, she waited for him to acknowledge her. The stuffy air was smothering, but she pushed the discomfort aside and focused on his severe expression.

He gently placed the packet down, steepled his fingers, and lifted his critical gaze to hers. He spoke as though he might be delivering a eulogy, drawing the words out in a slow torture. "Where is Dr. Hertzog?"

"He is downstairs." Theo faltered. She had not expected this response. "I wanted to meet with you today to discuss my research, Councilman Cleary. I think you could benefit from my-,"

The movement was so miniscule that Theo did not notice it. The corners of his mouth ticked downwards a fraction of a millimeter. It was the biggest change of expression that Councilman Desmond Cleary had displayed in years. It signaled, more than anything ever could, what a disaster this meeting had been.

The baritone of his voice came out as a slow creak, as though his vocal chords were perpetually rusted from disuse. His tone was cutting. "Is this all?"

"I beg your pardon?" Her accent fumbled over the foreign consonants, surprise stealing away some of her conviction.

"I do not care to repeat myself," he sighed irritably. "Miss Theodosia, I have reviewed your research. Is this all of it?"

Her cheeks burned at the reprimand. She nodded tersely.

He picked up the packet, pinching the stapled corner between the tips of his fingers like one might pick up a dirty sock. Disdainfully, he tossed it into the waste bin beside his desk. Theo flinched as though he had struck her.

"It is respectable," he said at last, "that a young woman such as yourself has traveled so far to receive such terrible news. But, unfortunately for you, I already fund the research that interests me."

"My research... is not interesting?" Theo echoed, a thin line creasing between her brows as she frowned. She had thought her work to be unique and daring. A necessity to improve life here in this saintsforsaken place. She had thought that she could truly help people here.

Her confidence buoyed as doubt trickled into her mind. Was she mistaken? Was she out of her depth?
"You cannot even understand me." Councilman Cleary sighed, exasperatedly, and readjusted his polished emerald cufflinks with a cold precision.

Her entire face burned with the humiliation when she realized that he was referring to her accent. A small, strangled squeak lodged in her throat at the mortification of it all.

"Saints know I can barely understand you. Even if your research is useful to me, how am I to expect a lady such as yourself to execute it? Science requires fortitude and discipline, not flights of fancy. I assume you are a smart woman, Theodosia. I would have hoped that you may have considered this before wasting both of our times."

The shock hit her all at once, like the jarring impact of an oncoming train. She understood that her body moved, but she felt as though she were floating above herself, spectating from the clouds. She did not recall standing stiffly and thanking the councilman for his time. She did not recall the feeling of the cool silver doorknob against her sweaty palm as she pushed into the hallway. She did not recall descending the stairs and standing beside her mentor.

When Dr. Hertzog glanced at her, entangled in the middle of a discussion with an unexpected associate from overseas, he did a borderline comical double-take at her devastated expression and excused himself.

It was only the press of his fingers as he grasped her shoulder that drew her from her stupor. He did not ask questions, simply folded her tightly into a rare, paternal hug.

She could not bring herself to return the embrace. Her glasses had slipped down her nose, but she could not bring herself to care. Dr. Hertzog was being uncharacteristically kind, murmuring reassurances and apologies. His deviation from his usual cranky personality solidified the experience of the rejection, crystalizing the memory and making it real.

She hated it. She hated the councilman for dismissing her in favor of her employer. She hated that the doctor, who was treating her so kindly, had given her everything and then unknowingly stolen it all away. The conflicting emotions of gratitude, respect, envy, and humiliation warred within her. She knew that the doctor could not be held responsible for her failure in the office. She understood that her mood was unreasonable. The resentful thoughts were poison in her heart.

Dr. Hertzog spoke gently, not recognizing the turmoil brewing inside of her. "This country is not ready for you yet. They are all idiots. But we shall not let that stop you. You will continue as my assistant only in name. So long as you do not mind continuing as an apprentice in the eyes of others..." He shrugged sympathetically, offering a sad smile. "You will have all the freedom you could desire."

His kindness touched her, but it was not what she wanted. She wanted to be recognized for her efforts as an individual in the field that she had poured all of her time and resources into. She wanted to develop her theories and contribute to the body of scientific knowledge that had been derived from the most brilliant minds over the span of human history. She wanted to leave her mark, her legacy, for future generations to expand upon.

She wanted to scream and denounce all of the vendors at this conference, whose so-called "genius" inventions she had figured out with single glance. She was smarter than everyone else in this room and she knew it. But she was not allowed the same opportunities as them. She was so envious, she could spit.

It was at this moment in time, with these aspirations and emotions swirling in turmoil, that her fate silently branched into a new direction. The eternal tapestry of cause and effect, of action and reaction, which humanity glimpsed in microscopic fragments and grasped blindly for in petty concepts such as coincidence and fate, had shifted irrevocably and without notice. Her next actions followed a logic that was both spontaneous and preordained.

Although she wanted to throw a fit, to rave and rampage, to scream and cry, she did not do any of those things. Instead she smiled dutifully, thanked dear Hertzog for everything, and curtly announced that she would like to be alone for the time being. She informed him that she would return to her hotel room later that night. She ignored his persistent attempts to speak.

Pushing out of the ambient convention hall and into the fresh air of the bustling city, sunspots dancing in her eyes, she breathed deeply for the first time since entering Councilman Cleary's stifling office.

She almost dropped that card that had been pushed at her as her vision adjusted to the bright daylight. A young girl dressed in an aureate velvet dress stood before her. To Theo, it seemed like she had simply been spirited into existence before her very eyes, but the girl's life had unfolded in its entirety, depositing her to that spot in that exact moment.

Both Theo and the girl failed to notice the significance of this exchange.

The girl bobbed into a brief curtsey. The golden ribbon denoting her employment as a servant around her throat fluttered with the dainty movement. As abruptly as she had come, she vanished back into the conference hall and out of Theo's awareness.

Intrigued, Theo turned the business card over in her hands. The sun, nearing the end of its lifespan, radiated energy from its swollen red mass. Volcanoes erupted in century-long tantrums on distant, gargantuan planets. All of these cataclysmic and momentous events held the same gravity.

Typed in a golden serif font, she read: CYRUS ENGLESTEAD, CURATOR AND COLLECTOR. On the back, in a scrawling cursive that looked like spider legs, a message had been written.

"Councilman Cleary is not the only benefactor investing in the sciences. If legality is not a concern, find me in the solarium at the Indigo Plume."

Theo did not like to admit just how restored she felt by this fortuitous turn of events. Hope and ambition and suspicion at his intentions distracted her from her minute of melancholy. She worried at her lower lip as she fell into a deep contemplation.

She was not a fool. She was in an unfamiliar country that would devour her, given the first opportunity. But... if she played her cards right, if she planned accordingly, she could, in theory, achieve everything she wanted.

She would have to be smarter than everyone here. When she began to scheme, she found that she could not stop. More surprising still, she came to the conclusion that she held no desire to. The more her mind plotted contingencies and backup plans, her options splitting into an expanding kaleidoscope of fractals, the more she discovered that she had a talent for it.

Above, far in the desert, a red-tailed hawk circled the belly of azure sky over the yawning oblivion of sand. The hawk both did and did not exist in relation to the desert, having been both bred to fit the niche of its environment and removed from its perils by the safety of distance. It hung in suspension from both the wind and its philosophical juxtaposition. Its displacement granted it the freedom to fully observe the surface of the desert sands; to anticipate patterns based off observation; to guide the trajectory of its future from the knowledge of such patterns.

The hawk, however, with its idle liberty and tertiary existence, could never transcend the scope of its nature. For when the hawk spotted its prey, tipping deliberately into the acceleration of its predatory free-fall, the inertia of sonder was broken. The divine perspective slipped from its precarious alignment. Through inevitable interaction with the arid land, the hawk was inevitably claimed and consumed by its ancient sands.

Theo, despite all her brilliance, did not perceive the enigmatic and imperceptible forces of the universe which nudged her foot to step into the street and, subsequently, into her fate.