“And yet,” she said with feeling. “Besides, you’re not a Wynchester. This is my case and my client, and it is therefore up to me to fulfill my promises. You’re free to tinker in privacy, just as you wished.”
Thatwaswhat he wished. Or at least, it had been so, every previous moment of his life… up until Elizabeth Wynchester chopped down his door. Now he wasn’t so certain.
For years, Stephen had made an art form out of keeping people out. He did not know what to do with the idea of letting someone in. The very specter was more terrifying than wandering into a maelstrom of sharp nails.
But perhaps this was his chance to try something different. Tobesomeone different. To pause the relentless rise of his fortified stone walls and look for a trapdoor instead. Take a risk.
Just this once.
“Would you…” He shifted his weight. There was a 0.0001 possibility that she would be interested. No one ever was. What was the point in asking? But he could not stop himself. “That is… Would you like…”
Her eyes lit up. “Is it ices? Have you got pistachio ices?”
“I do not have ices, pistachio or otherwise. I have five pounds of nails and two thousand yards of string, both of which are significantly less tasty.” He cleared his throat. “But… If you’re not terribly busy, that is… You could come into my laboratory. For a minute.”
Her lips parted. “And see what you’re working on?”
He inclined his head.
She clapped her hands. “Marjorieneverlets me see what she’s working on! She has an entire wall of easels covered in canvas to keep us from peeking. Yes! I’m honored. I would love to see what you’re up to.”
He could scarcely believe it. “You would?”
“You must know how exceptional your machines are. Didn’t your logical brain ever realize that your talent makesyouexceptional, too?”
“Exceptions aren’t always good things.”
“Well, you’re a splendid one. I had no idea buttering bread could be both time-consuming and deadly until I met you.”
Stephen ducked his head to hide his pleasure. Smiling, he led her into the Great Hall.
Hesitantly at first, then with growing loquaciousness, he began to explain each of the machines-in-progress. Their ostensible functions, their hidden defensive traps, the reasoning behind each element.
Elizabeth’s unrestrained enthusiasm was both infectious and flattering.
When he finally finished his tour, she turned to him in wonder. “How could you dream of keeping all these magical devices secret from me?”
“Decades of experience,” he replied. “No one else has ever shown interest. The lads at school tore down my machines whenever they caught me tinkering, and followed that up with their fists for daring to be different. My parents despaired at having birthed such an inane embarrassment. They threatened to destroy every stick if I did not give up my unseemly hobby.”
“Tell me you did not give up,” she breathed.
“I had to,” he said simply. “Densmore used to help me repair my machines after others broke them, but between the threats of bullies and Bedlam, I had no choice but to box it all away. Densmore and I couldn’t take on the world. In the end, we stopped trying. That is,until I was of age to be my own man and live alone, free to tinker as I pleased. No more beatings from bullies, or impending incarceration from my own parents.”
“But that’s horrible,” she exclaimed. “Families are meant to besupportive. It shouldn’t even matter whether your machines work or not. The fact that your devices bring you joy should be reason enough for people who love you to accept them.”
“Maybe in the Wynchester family,” he said. “Whereas, in the Lenox family… But that was long ago. It’s been twenty years since I last had to face their disapproval.”
Her eyes flashed. “I know a thing or two about disapproving parents. If you weren’t an orphan, I’d slice your parents into pieces for being so dreadful at their primary role.”
“I’m not an orphan.”
She frowned. “But you said…”
“I’m a castoff,” he explained bitterly. “My father died a few years ago. My mother still lives. Neither of them has spoken to me since the day I left home. Not that they spoke to methatday, either. I got the distinct impression they feared paying me the slightest attention might tempt me to stay.”
Elizabeth looked as though she was going to cry. “I will find your father’s grave and stab my sword through his shriveled heart.”
“It’s a bit late for that, though I appreciate the sentiment. Please don’t kill my mother, though. I wish her no ill will. I don’t need her anymore.”
