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Revenant's Storm (The Wicked West series)

Chapter Four: Pisces Awakening

Centuries prior, before the medley of World Wars, the ever-shifting transmutation of the ice caps, the tectonic plates and their gritty churn of patchwork continents, before the waves of radiation which purged the Earth of nearly all life on more than one occasion, and before the sun had aged and reddened and began to swell, humans had taken a keen interest in a chemical element first called aurum, or "shining dawn".

It was, more colloquially, referred to as gold. Gold was first used in tandem with a silver alloy, a metallurgic matrimony called electrum that was used in ancient jewelry. Since then it had been fashioned to suit many purposes. It was a harmless substance, but had prompted many wars and skirmishes throughout history over its projected value.

Cultures across the globe for eons had preserved their own unique beliefs about the precious metal. Way back once, the Inca believed gold fell from the sky as tears or the sweat of the sun god Inti. A chap named Aristotle held that gold was hardened water, transformed when the sun's rays penetrated deep underground. Another bloke, referred to as Isaac Newton, transcribed a recipe for making it with a philosopher's stone. Rumpelstiltskin, of course, could spin it from straw.

Theo considered most of this, the bits that had not been lost to history, as she took in Cyrus Englestead's impressive set of shining, golden teeth smiling right at her.

He was a handsome man with sun-honeyed skin, sharp eyes, striking features, and an expertly oiled coif of black hair. But all his charm tilted out of focus when he flashed his gold at her in a polite baring of teeth. The effect was off-putting and intentional. It was a trick he seemed to play often; an unspoken test he sprang on the unsuspecting.

Theo had no doubt the teeth were authentic. If his solarium were any indication, Cyrus was a man of considerable wealth and power.

The intrados of the domed room was cluttered with a web of cables and ovular shades suspended above. The shades were uniquely wrought with the designs of vibrant butterfly wings, which would pivot to obscure the sunlight if one sought privacy in the glass room. There were large circular lenses, too, interspersed through the stained-glass shades, that could overlap to magnify the stars. The effect was dizzying and breathtaking.

Theo recalled the time that Dr. Hertzog had chaperoned a much younger version of herself to visit a colleague, who happened to be a forerunner in the field of lepidopterology. The office had been alive with a spectrum of fluttering, dusty wings that Theo always marveled at in her perfect memory.
The blinds in the solarium were currently askew, and a brilliant splash of stars glittered unobscured through the rounded glass.

As it were, the solarium was Englestead's private lounge, intended to entertain only his most esteemed guests. It was an honor to be invited to partake in its cultivated splendor. Theo, certainly, had not expected to find herself included with its impressive list of guests.

She thought of Desmond Cleary's extravagant science conference and her brief time spent at the sumptuous gambling tables. She thought of the luxuries she had seen in Mojave, more spectacular than even her wildest daydreams. All of this had only happened just a handful of hours ago. She marveled at that. How quickly time passed when one was not giving it the proper attention.

How many more dazzling sights did this country have tucked within its shifting sands? How many secrets could she uncover? The prospect of her future in this land was expanding before her, and it was unfolding into a game board, of all things.

The sun had tiptoed past the horizon while she had navigated the windowless, timeless, labyrinthine casino. It had been like walking through a silver-touched dream. Was Cyrus the person responsible, pulling the strings to orchestrate such splendor? Or did he hire others to handle such matters for him?

Here in the solarium, there were an assortment of jewel-toned velvet couches and cushions. Small tables and shelves had been constructed from rare fossilized lumber. Buttery light from gilded sconces and delicate stained glass lamps warmed the parlor, illuminating the glinting artifacts which adorned every available flat surface.

The artifacts were cluttered everywhere, propped up on end tables and shelves and even along the ledge of the haunch, far above their heads. Each was labeled studiously with a small, golden plaque. It was a dizzying assortment of baubles and trinkets and relics of some personal interest, all looted from history.

Theo felt that glimpsing into his collection was to scrutinize Cyrus himself; his overlapping passions focusing into clarity like the astronomical scopes suspended overhead.

It was not his golden teeth which set her on edge, per se, or the foreboding display of prestige, but rather the intelligent gleam in his eye. When their eyes had first met, an instant and unexpected recognition had sparked to life between them. It was an understanding between strangers which could not easily be described with words. Something that, upon discovery, unlocked a once hidden door to a newborn world of possibilities. It was something that echoed kinship; the mutual conclusion that they were of the same ilk. It was the deliberation in their movements as they mirrored the other in a polite, predatory duet.

Genius. Plotting. Scheming.

Hungry in every sense of the word.

They were not acquainted; rather, nearly perfect strangers linked merely by a business card. They did not pretend otherwise that the other was not a match in intellect, or, at the very least, a formidable opponent. As they took each other in, eyes devouring the other in a witch-hunt for weakness, they met at the fiery conclusion that they were two powerful pieces on a game board.

But what game were they playing? Did their interests align? In the warm lamplight, their eyes were bright with cunning and, despite themselves, keen interest.

This man was, clearly, both dangerous and important. It was upon his personal request that she even glanced at the opportunity to enter this luxurious place of his design. What had drawn his interest to her? What did he expect? To what lengths was he willing to go?

When she thought of her meeting with Councilman Cleary, her mouth soured. Did this Englestead have an interest in her, or simply her employer? She, stubbornly, smothered the indecision beneath bolstered confidence instead. If she gave any more gravity to that thought, it would consume her.

No, she had to assess her strengths realistically. She felt the weight of the parcels of cash tucked into her skirt pockets. She had earned that with her wit. She had walked into a den of tricksters and out-tricked them. If she could replicate the technique, she could have a steady source of income. With a giddy feeling, she realized that she was only just getting started. That it was only the beginning.

It had been simple, really, when she remembered the fate of every visible card and measured the statistics from what remained. A process of elimination. An acquaintance with the concept of probability.
She still felt the lingering, heady sensation of power that had accompanied the extortion of the handsome cowboy who had clearly endeavored to swindle her. His duplicitous reaction loitered in her mind, but instead of guilt, she only felt the satisfaction of victory. Her success was empirical evidence justifying her qualifications to stand in this room, in this country, in this profession. It was not her fault, after all, that the cowboy with the warm brown eyes and easy smile had turned out to be a buffoon. She had simply outplayed him.

But to stay on top of this game, she had to stay sharp. She had to stay focused. It was a problem which had trailed her since childhood.

She turned over the situation in her mind anew, poking and prodding at it. He was not how she had expected him to be, Cyrus. Her mind recalculated the trajectory of her plans as she dissected him critically in turn. He was older than her, but not old. He was not tall, and he was not particularly strong, but his gait and posture radiated the ease of confidence. His regal personality filled out his stature and even extended it, perhaps through charm alone.

His pride was a thing manifested through his wardrobe. He was impeccably dressed. He wore a deep berry suit tailored to accentuate the sharp lines of the black velvet lapel and cuffs. His hands dripped with aureate rings and signets. A golden cigar case was tucked into his breast pocket, wrapped inside a scarlet handkerchief. A gold chain slithered beneath the folds of his lapel.

Theo suspected that every possession was a conquest, the description of its nature and capture meticulously included in an italic subtext. Cyrus was not only a captor to his interests, but also their historiographer. It was fascinating to her. She began to piece together how his mind worked. She recognized herself in its puzzle, for it was not so unlike her own, after all.

Her eyes flicked back to his face. Was he doing the same with her, now, dissecting her? What conclusions would he reach? Which courses of action would he consider, what tactics would be employ?
A tingle shivered down her arms. She smiled and narrowed her eyes at him. He mirrored her, mouth quirking up higher on one side in amusement.

Without further ado, she thought with grim pleasure, it is time to begin this parlay.

Theo wandered to the glass surface of a nearby display case, hands loosely clasped behind her back. She leaned forward to inspect its contents. On the right side lay a crumbling device, the screen cracked and the outdated circuitry exposed. On the left, the dented metal canister of a rusted grenade.

His approach was ghostlike as he stood behind her, observing from a small distance over her shoulder. When he spoke, his tone was indulgent, as though unable to resist succumbing to some insatiable curiosity. "May I inquire which treasure has caught your interest, Miss Hartmann?"

Another test. Another flash of teeth.

She stepped aside and he stood beside her, both looking down onto separate sides of the case. The device of some forgotten scribe, and the weapon of deadly intent. By some happenstance of coincidence, their intent was reflected by their onlookers. But who was it that stood in front of each artifact, in the low lamplight of evening?

Theo cleared her throat. "I must admit, my interest was attracted to neither," she confessed as she studied him from periphery, "and both. I was simply curious as to why you, Mr. Englestead, as the curator, have chosen to place them together."

The answer pleased him. She could tell by the way he straightened, as though in sudden interest despite his polite facade. He laughed genuinely, caught off-guard. "You flatter my novice attempts at category, truly."

A play at humility. A redirection of the conversation. Pulling the strings without making it appear so. Their rapport was a dance, twisting and feinting and seducing the other in calculated attempts to take the lead.

"It is wonderful," Theo breathed, unable to contain the compliment, as she took in his collection.

Rusted tin toys. Cracked bovine skulls with long, protruding horns. Geodes and clusters of minerals from the region, a spectrum of turquoise and a crumbling chunk of calcite and chips of petrified wood. Extinct animals, now glassy-eyed and taxidermied. Discarded arms from forgotten wars. Her encyclopedia mind greedily devoured all she could glimpse.

She cleared her throat again. "Your wunderkammer, that is. It is a splendid array."

Cyrus cocked his head to the side. He fumbled over the word as he tasted it for himself, like a tourist might sample a foreign wine. "Wunderkammer?"

Theo laughed, but inwardly she was kicking herself. She hurried to smooth over the blunder. "A small collection. A personal museum. Your..." she paused, considering how to neatly repackage her language for him. "It is a... cabinet, of curiosities and sorts, if you will." She shrugged, dismissively.

His narrowed eyes scanned the room. He smiled genuinely, assessing his beloved collection anew. "Cabinet of curiosities," he mused. "It is an apt term. Surely better than any I have used to describe it." His smile turned wolfish. "Would you mind terribly, if I stole it?"

She motioned breezily with a hand. "I insist that you do."

Cyrus regarded the case once more, thoughtfully. "I must admit, I have paired them for a reason. But, forgive me, it is difficult to explain. I thought..." he hesitated, seemed to take a leap of faith, "for some reason, I thought they must be borne of the same desire. I imagined they surely reflected one another, if only through their contrast. Do you understand what I mean?"

Theo nodded. Cyrus nodded. She had understood what he meant, subtext and all. He had taken point and addressed the elephant in the room. She had not failed to notice history's symbolic parallel, and he had not failed to notice their instant, magnetic attraction.

His fingertips reached out to brush the loose strands at the end of her braid, but she did not see and stepped, unknowingly, away.

"I imagine," she cut straight to the chase, "that you have called me here for a reason, Mr. Englestead?"
He straightened and drew his hand back quickly. "Yes, Miss Theodosia. Please, allow us to speak business for a moment." He explored his pockets, roving through their contents for some desired item.

Her eye snagged on an address, pinned to the side of a coin purse. In a snapshot, it was preserved in her memory, and added to its clutter.

At last, he retrieved a thin envelope. "I have found myself under the impression that you are a talented scientist back overseas, Miss Theodosia Hartmann?"

She waited for him to continue.

He obliged her. "I am conducting some research, of a very high personal importance. I believe your talents may greatly benefit my endeavor. Before I continue, I must take the time to warn you, Miss Hartmann, because I am an honest man."

Theo suspected that he was, most certainly, anything but.

"This research, it is... unorthodox. It presses the very boundaries of ethics."

It was not so unexpected, not after the conference. Nevertheless, a chill ran down her spine, not unlike how one is supposed to feel when someone steps on their grave. Malfeasance and opportunity, two sides of this particular coin. What could he want from her? He continued, "You, of course, would be rewarded handsomely for your contributions."

Her eyes cut upward to peruse the canopy of desert stars. The constellations were familiar but out of alignment, askew to her on this distant side of the globe. It was a moment before she answered, as if she didn't want to pop the fragile bubble of hope trembling inside of her just yet. Eyes still fastened to the constellations, she haltingly asked, "What is the catch?"

Cyrus lifted both the envelope and a dark eyebrow. An errant curl rebelled against the pomade and coiled against his forehead. He is handsome in a dastardly way, Theo realized, like a devil meant to lead you astray.

"I admit, my eagerness may have spurred some preparation on my part: I simply could not wait to meet you. I have preemptively drafted a contract, listing my terms of employment and expectations for your performance. It is, of course, simply a draft and not the final copy. Should this offer interest you, we would negotiate the more specific conditions of your labor. We would have to discuss what equipment to include in your laboratory-,"

"My laboratory?" Theo echoed, breathlessly. She had stumbled, blindly, into her wildest dreams, through sheer serendipity alone. A nagging thought wormed its way through the euphoria of her sudden good fortune.

What's the catch?

Cyrus flashed another golden smile at her. He clasped his hands in front of him, his ringed fingers clacking as he drummed his fingers absently in anticipation. "Why, but of course. However, we must take it all in due time, Miss Theodosia. First, we must determine if you would you be interested. I am afraid that I cannot divulge any further information concerning the details of this project until you are sworn under my oath."

Theo did not move for ten seconds. He was untrustworthy, and a scoundrel, but his offer had struck true the tender longing in her heart. Her dreams, ethereal and impossible, hovered just within her reach. Could Englestead provide her the resources to achieve them? Desire and temptation warred within her, but Theo found she could not ignore the icy suspicion that he was not being completely honest with her.

She would not deny the offer; only extend her time to consider its implications. At the crux of it, she simply needed to find out more before jumping into this professional enterprise. She longed to consult with Dr. Wieland Hertzog back at the hotel first, as he was expecting her after her dramatics at the science conference. She winced at the prospect of the tongue-lashing she was due to receive.

"I am overwhelmed by your generosity, Mr. Englestead." She selected her words carefully, like a master poisoner selecting the perfect draft. "I am indeed interested in your offer, but I must request an evening to consider. I am exhausted, and must expire for the night."

The glint in his eyes was a spark off flint. His responding polite smile stayed with her during her brisk walk to the hotel. Not because of the sparkle, or the way his lips curved in a way that made her skin heat, but because of the way the practiced warmth of it did not touch anywhere near his cold, calculating eyes.