And he got that distraction as the gun turret aimed in his direction. He ducked when it fired, shattering rock over his head. The Heirs' mercenaries added their rifle fire to the a.s.sault. Bennett wheeled away, flattening his back against the rocks of the cliff. More chips of gravel as bullets whined and slammed into the cliffs, barely a foot above his head.

He watched the caique slowly moving through the shoals. Halfway there. London was almost safe. But not yet.

He turned back to the strait and the Heirs' ship. Kneeling, he braced himself on one knee, and shot.

A man went down. Bennett never liked to kill, but he couldn't afford to be naive. If he had a chance to take out a threat-especially to London-he'd take it, and face the consequences of his conscience later.

None of the fallen man's comrades paid him any heed. They kicked the body aside as they sent a volley of bullets Bennett's way. The gun in the turret added its contribution.

More rocks tumbled down on him, blasted free from the cliff. He glanced up. Not only was the aim of the Heirs' mercenaries improving as their ship neared, but he'd be flattened by rocks as his cover crumbled.

He ducked back as several boulders crashed down. His mouth curved in a tight smile. The Heirs just provided him with more cover.

He repositioned himself behind the boulders before resuming his sniping. Bullets slammed into the boulders as he fired-the men on deck had already arrayed themselves to get a better angle on him. The gun turret wasn't as speedy as it swung around.

The cannons had almost completely decimated the stone pillars, which meant the Heirs could be even closer, could take better aim at the boat. He chanced a look back at the caique. Nearly there. London was nearly safe.

Something stung his cheek. He touched a hand to his face and it came away red. So much for his pretty face. But he really didn't give a d.a.m.n.

He took out three more men, but, h.e.l.l, none of them were Heirs. Doubtless Edgeworth had himself safely secreted away in the bowels of the ship, content to let others kill and die for him. Even Fraser and that vulture Chernock were nowhere to be found.

Just as he was reloading his rifle, London's voice carried across the water as she called his name. Even the sound of her sent his pulse speeding faster than it had been moments earlier, exchanging gunfire with his enemies.

"Come back, Bennett!" she called. "We're almost clear!"

He fired off one more salvo before starting his sprint for the caique. It was a full-out run, racing not only the Heirs' guns, but the caique. In a moment, the sailboat would make open water. He'd rather be stranded than have them turn back for him, or he could swim for it, but he hoped he wouldn't have to pick between those options.

Another sting at his shoulder. h.e.l.l. He couldn't let himself be wounded. There wasn't b.l.o.o.d.y time for it.

He ran, legs churning in the water. The caique was half a mile off, but it felt farther out as he skirted the twisted opening in the shoals and dodged bullets.

Finally, lifetimes later, lungs and legs burning, he came alongside the caique. When London's face appeared over the rail, his heart gave a leap. Jesus, was he glad to see her. She and Athena reached down and, with groans of strain from everyone, hauled him up, just before the boat cleared the shoals.

The three of them fell onto the deck of the caique in a heap. For a mere moment, Bennett allowed himself the pleasure of feeling London beside him, her limbs tangled with his, her breath against his face.

She raised herself up on an elbow, and her eyes widened as she looked at him. "You're hurt!"

"Kitten scratch."

Her scowl was fierce and beautiful. Before she could scold him, Kallas's command sent them all hurrying to their positions. They adjusted the sails to let the wind carry them as fast as possible from the shoals and the island. And the Heirs, still negotiating the strait, continued to fire on them.

Kallas proved himself again, harnessing the wind and currents to speed them away. Bennett didn't allow himself a sigh of relief until the boat was well out of the cannons' range. Even when the Heirs' ship breached the strait, there was still the matter of the serpentine shoals. Not only was their vessel much bigger than Kallas's caique, they also didn't have his uncanny seafaring knowledge to see them through the dangerous sand banks.

"I think, for now, we have bested them," Athena said. She strode to the captain and seemed to debate for a moment whether she should throw her arms around him. Instead, the witch settled for a congratulatory handshake. "Nicely handled, Captain," she said.

Kallas accepted it with a wry smile. "And to you, Lady Witch."

Athena released the captain's hand and went to Bennett. She tsked when examining his wounds, but said, "These will heal quickly with a poultice."

"Later," said Bennett.

He watched as London carefully tied off the jib and then lowered herself to sit on the deck, hands pressed to the center of her chest.

Alive. She'd made it through alive. And only slightly bruised instead of crushed under a boulder or smashed to pieces by a giant stone pillar or shot by cannons. Or captured by the Heirs. Jesus. Bennett needed a drink.

"You'll need to repaint your boat," Athena said to Kallas.

Bennett adjusted the mainsail, tied it off, then went to London. He needed to touch her, to hold her.

"I'm fine," she said as he approached.

"I'm not." He gathered her up in his arms and held her tightly, his heart beating against hers.

When he felt her shuddering, his heart wrenched. She wasn't a Blade, with danger an old, familiar friend. What the h.e.l.l was he thinking, dragging her into jeopardy? London was a woman bred to the salons of the gentry-cultured, erudite, not a gallivanting fool like him.

"Please, love, don't cry," he murmured into her hair.

Then she looked up at him. And his heart stuttered then pulsed back to life.

She was laughing.

"That was exciting," she said. Her whole body shook with laughter, her dark eyes sparkling.

Something melted inside Bennett. "Exciting?" he demanded. Then, "It was, wasn't it?"

His fear was gone, replaced by unbound happiness-not merely from cheating death again, but from London's joy, her limitless hunger for experience. His head spun with it; he felt his blood throughout his whole body, thundering to life.

At once, he hardened. He needed inside of her. Now.

She caught the instant need in his eyes. Her laughter quieted and was replaced by her own immediate desire. Her hips pushed against his so he felt the warmth of her cradling his pulsing c.o.c.k. Their kiss was a hot explosion, deep and desperate. She clung to him as he pulled her close, as close as possible. The wet heat of her mouth, her searching hands. Holy G.o.d, she was a h.e.l.l of a woman.

Without speaking, he broke the kiss, took her hand in his, and strode with her toward the quarterdeck house. They would go to his cabin. Or hers. He didn't care.

"Aphrodite and Adonis," Kallas said, dry, "before you run off into the woods, we've a few more matters to address."

Growling, Bennett rounded on the captain. d.a.m.n it, Kallas was right. But tell that to his body, his body that wanted London so badly Bennett felt he could power dozens of steam engines with the heat of his desire.

"We sail east now," London said. The husky undercurrent in her voice nearly undid Bennett.

"Toward what?" asked Athena.

Bennett glanced at the mirror, lying on a table in the quarterdeck house. Its surface cast a reflective circle of light onto the roof of the small structure. "Toward wherever the Source wants us to go."

London, holding the mirror in her hands, stared down at it. Her own face looked back at her with searching eyes. If she had been back in England, in some acquaintance's drawing room, her appearance would have qualified as an utter disaster. Hair in wind-tossed snarls, face dusted with freckles, gown stained with seawater.

She wasn't in England any longer. And she loved how she looked. Like a woman experiencing the world. A woman feeling herself grow and change. Surrounded by people, by a special man, who encouraged that growth, that change. A gift. She had been given a gift, and would not squander it.

Which meant she must find the Source.

She felt as though her fingertips just grazed the edge of an answer, but the more she reached for it, the more she pushed it away. And it was difficult to concentrate, knowing that her father and the Heirs of Albion were so close behind them. She hadn't seen her father on the ship back at the strait, but knew he was there, felt his presence. What would he do, if he caught up with her? Would he punish her? How? But even that mattered not at all. She knew with certainty that her father would kill Bennett, kill Athena and Kallas. She couldn't care about her own fate when faced with the surety of her friends' deaths.

She refused to let that happen. She would surrender to ensure the lives of her friends, if that's what it took.

Yet she hoped it would not come to that.

Athena tended to Bennett's wounds, reminding London how very close he had come to either serious injury or being killed. She fought a shudder.

"The mirror told us to head toward the rising sun," she said, pushing aside her dark thoughts, "which means east. But the sun isn't rising now. It's just afternoon."

"There are old tales," said Kallas, "sailor's lore of an uninhabited island on the other side of the strait. Some believe the tale began with Odysseus when he came home from Troy. It's said there is great treasure on the island, but no one's ever been. Crossing the strait's too dangerous."

"We're on the other side of the strait now," said Bennett with a grin.

"Then I'll find it," Kallas said. "We can anchor there for the night. Give us time to mend the sails and get some fresh water."

"Is it safe from the Heirs?" asked London.

The captain grinned. "It's said that only Atlantis is better hidden."

With a yelp like a startled dog, the gunner fell, knocked back by the fist of Joseph Edgeworth. He yelped again when Edgeworth lunged forward across the wheelhouse, grabbing the gunner's neck, and slammed his head into the bulkhead. The gunner's eyes glazed over as blood dampened his hair and smeared onto the metal behind him.

"Why didn't you keep shooting at the boat?" Edgeworth snarled. "You were supposed to take out its masts."

"The sniper..." The gunner's words slurred as unconsciousness beckoned. He choked when Edgeworth's grip tightened on his throat. His fingers struggled to pry away Edgeworth's hand, but the older man's hold could not be broken.

"Was a b.l.o.o.d.y distraction distraction. One you fell for."

The gunner couldn't answer, on the verge of pa.s.sing out.

"Mr. Edgeworth," Fraser said in English behind him, "sir. It might not be good policy to throttle a member of the crew to death."

"Why the h.e.l.l not?" Edgeworth didn't turn around, but watched with satisfaction as the gunner's face purpled. "Teach them a lesson for disobeying orders."

"Punish the man, yes." Fraser stepped closer, his tone conciliatory. "Make an example of him. But killing him won't put the right fear into the rest of the crew. Suspicious and frightened men aren't as easy to control."

Cursing aloud, Edgeworth realized that Fraser's a.s.sessment was correct. He needed the steamship crew to obey his every command without thought, without question. Money and a bit of intimidation worked well, made them compliant. But if they felt their employers might turn on them, the crewmen could rally against the outnumbered Heirs. Murder Edgeworth and Fraser and Chernock as they slept, if not worse. Better to keep the crewmen's lives than receive the rest of their payment. Self-preservation trumped even greed.

Edgeworth released the gunner, then, as the man struggled to regain his senses, hurled a fist directly into his face. The gunner crumpled to the deck, utterly insensible. For good measure, Edgeworth kicked the man's chest and belly, but the gunner was too far gone to even groan, so it wasn't particularly gratifying.

"You've a brig, right?" Edgeworth barked to the captain standing nearby. When the man nodded, Edgeworth said, "Take him there. No medical attention. No food or water for three days."

The captain nodded again, his eyes flat and expressionless. Crew were sc.u.m, disposable, but harder to replace far from port. He signaled to two sailors, and they stepped forward to drag off the unconscious gunner. Each took an arm and hauled the gunner away, suspended between them like a cut marionette, his legs dragging behind him.

Once the gunner was gone, Edgeworth wheeled on the captain. "That's twice now we've lost the Blades."

"You can't blame me for the boiler," protested the captain. "It was that witch."

Edgeworth didn't care about excuses. "But your men cost me the Blades at the strait. By the time we got through those d.a.m.ned shoals, they'd slipped away." With London. h.e.l.l, she'd been so b.l.o.o.d.y close. He'd watched her from the safety of the wheelhouse, using a spygla.s.s, and saw her not only helping the Blades but-and this made his gut twist and sicken-kissing Bennett Day just before Day leapt off the caique to the shoals. It hadn't been a little peck, either. Edgeworth's revulsion was two-p.r.o.nged. No father liked considering his daughter as a woman. Even worse was knowing, seeing, that London was taking not just any man to her bed, but none other than Edgeworth's most despised enemy. Bennett Day just before Day leapt off the caique to the shoals. It hadn't been a little peck, either. Edgeworth's revulsion was two-p.r.o.nged. No father liked considering his daughter as a woman. Even worse was knowing, seeing, that London was taking not just any man to her bed, but none other than Edgeworth's most despised enemy.

Yet that gave him some comfort. It was simple seduction, not deliberate betrayal. Day used his skill as a seducer to manipulate London. Women didn't have men's capacity for logical thought. They let their wombs think for them. Right now, London was too much in Day's sensual thrall to understand what she was doing was wrong.

As her father, Edgeworth must correct her, discipline her. It was his duty. And once she'd been properly punished, he'd welcome her back into the fold, as his position within the Heirs demanded. Wedded, of course. She had to have a husband to control her.

"But we'll catch them again, sir," said Fraser, interrupting his thoughts. "The Bloodseeker takes us straight to the Blades."

Edgeworth cut his eyes to Fraser. Smart enough, but not too smart. Thomas Fraser could keep London well contained, but be easily manipulated by Edgeworth.

"Would you like to kill Day?" Edgeworth asked him.

Fraser's face lit up like a boy offered an orange on Boxing Day. "Yes, sir!"

"When you get a chance to kill him," said Edgeworth, "do it. Do it, and London is yours."

"Thank you, sir!" Fraser practically skipped away, heading to his cabin to presumably sharpen his favorite knife. Fraser liked using knives.

When Chernock emerged from the shadows in his silent, unctuous way, Edgeworth contained his urge to shudder. It was d.a.m.ned handy keeping a sorcerer, but sometimes using magic rather than outright force gave Edgeworth an oily, unclean feeling that slithered through him like pools of grease floating on the Thames. Chernock stirred that feeling often.

"What the h.e.l.l are the Heirs paying you for?" Edgeworth snapped to hide his unease.

"Neville Gibbs and Albert Staunton are working on the Primal Source as we speak," said Chernock. "Only fitting, since they were the ones who retrieved it from Africa." And managed to kill a Blade, Michael Bramfield, in the process, an additional benefit.

"But what about here and now? Every time we get close to the Blades, they find a way to slide away."

The sorcerer never blinked and barely ate, more uncanny than human. If Edgeworth didn't have a file on Chernock, detailing his undistinguished birth in Norwich, his educational career at Oxford with frequent dabblings in dark magic and alchemy, and his subsequent recruitment to the Heirs, Edgeworth would have hardly believed Chernock was an ordinary man.

"We will will catch up to them," intoned Chernock. "And when we do," he gave his catch up to them," intoned Chernock. "And when we do," he gave his memento mori memento mori smile, "I have something particularly special planned. Something I believe you will greatly enjoy." smile, "I have something particularly special planned. Something I believe you will greatly enjoy."

"What is it?"

So Chernock showed him. Edgeworth emerged from the wheelhouse, his face pale but his mouth curved in triumph. The Heirs were lucky to have a sorcerer like Chernock on their side. He could produce and harness monstrosities from which even the G.o.ds would hide.

Kallas's promise held true. Here, in an obscure corner of the Aegean, sat a little pearl of an island, barely two hundred acres, white rocky sh.o.r.es sloping down to white beaches and aquamarine water. Small, tenacious phrygana scrub clung, dusty and green, to the rocks, and purple wildflowers nodded sleepily in the afternoon breeze. Further back, pines formed pockets of shade and seclusion.

The seclusion, London understood, was brief and illusory. No matter the distance she put between herself and her father, he kept finding her. The danger he presented never vanished. But she would allow herself a literal island of calm for just this night, knowing that she and her friends had a moment only to catch their breaths before the chase began anew in the morning.

They had made anchor and waded onto the beach, even Kallas, lured away from his beloved boat by the miniature pleasures of the island. For the first time in nearly a week, London stood on dry land, her bare feet curling into the warm sand, Bennett tall and comfortable beside her. A rifle was slung over his broad shoulder. While her eye was drawn to the island, she could not stop watching him as he strode, long-legged and masculine, through the tall gra.s.ses that sprouted over the sand and rocks.