His Clockwork Canary

Willie was tempted to dispense with her tinted spectacles as well, but it had been jolting enough confessing her gender, never mind her race. “Where would I find the transformation center?” she asked Bear.

“Why would you want to go there?” Simon asked.

“I’d rather look like a bride than a groom,” she answered honestly.

“I don’t care—”

“I do.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony,” she said.

“Kind of square,” Bear said. “But hey, whatever the lady says should go.”

Simon shot the longhair a lethal look, then turned back to Willie. “I’m not keen on letting you out of my sight. Not in this wild territory. Not after—”

“I can take care of myself, Simon. I’ve been doing so a very long time.” She reached out and grasped his hand. “Do not deny me this pleasure.”

He met her gaze and Willie felt the force of his passion to her toes. The intensity shook her soul.

“Meanwhile back at the ranch . . .” Bear shoved his hair behind his pierced ears, then eyed Simon with a disapproving frown. “Listen, dude, in Skytown, everyone’s equal. Mods, Vics, Freaks, Orientals, blacks, fairies, men, women. Playin’ the heavy ain’t cool. Let the chick do her thing and meet up with you later.”

Simon held her gaze, her hand. “The Flying Flower in one hour.”

“Two,” Willie amended.

Frowning, he pressed a kiss to her palm. “I’ll be waiting.”

•   •   •

The hardest thing about letting Willie go was having faith that she’d show up at the appointed rendezvous. That she wouldn’t stand him up. Again. That she wouldn’t give over to doubts and fears and flee. Again.

Simon spent the next two hours wrestling with dread whilst making arrangements for his wedding. By God, he’d thought more than once, I’m getting married.

His mother would be horrified that she hadn’t been invited. Although he couldn’t imagine a staunch Old Worlder like Anne Darcy ever setting a pristine boot on a skytown deck. Nor could he imagine her reaction to the news that he’d married a Freak. Jules and Amelia would be accepting of Willie. This Simon knew in his heart. But his mother? It did not settle well, knowing intolerance existed within his family. Like many people, Anne Darcy feared what she did not understand.

Simon thought about Willie’s mission to educate the skeptical world regarding her race. He could not dismiss the importance of her contribution to “the cause” and wondered briefly how he could support her efforts whilst keeping her safe. It didn’t help that, whilst bracing for the evening with a snifter of brandy, he’d overheard other patrons discussing reported skirmishes between Freak Fighters and International ALE over the Atlantic Ocean. How long until those skirmishes reached shore?

Downing the brandy, Simon left the cannabis-hazed bar and immersed himself in the here and now. He tracked down Reverend Karma, bought a ring, secured overnight lodgings, and tried to transform the opulent, harem-looking room into a tasteful honeymoon suite. Simon had always enjoyed lavishing attention upon women, sweeping them off their feet with gifts and special outings, showering them with compliments, flowers, and champagne. He rarely questioned himself when it came to romance and yet on this night he questioned everything.

Blast.

By the time Simon returned to Karma’s Chapel of Love, he was quite miserably a nervous wreck. He stood next to the reverend as the seconds ticked by. He combed his fingers through his hair in an effort to tame the perpetual wildness, checked the time, then smoothed the lapels of his burgundy velvet frock coat. He stared down at his shiny boots, willing his toe to stop tapping; then he glanced at the musicians who would double as “witnesses.” A long-haired guitarist sat cross-legged on a plump velvet pillow playing a love song Simon did not recognize. A slight young woman wearing a billowy peasant gown and a flowery wreath upon her head looked blissfully serene as she rang her finger bells.

Simon envied their calm.

“Natural to be anxious,” Reverend Karma said when Simon glanced at his pocket watch for the umpteenth time.

“She’s ten minutes late.”

“Also natural. Chicks tend to lose track of time when preparing for their nuptials. Chill out, my friend.”

Simon eyed the Nehru-suited preacher man with his long, wiry hair and layers of wooden love beads, and, again, second-guessed himself. “You’re quite certain this will be legal.”

The old man spread his arms wide and looked serenely skyward. “To anyone who truly matters. Yes.”

Mmm. Simon checked his watch again, surprised when Woodstock-you-can-call-me-Bear peeked in through a flowered archway.

“Dude,” Bear said. “Your lady wants a word.”

So Willie hadn’t jumped ship. That was something, although Simon still sensed a problem. He followed Bear out of the chapel and into a dimly lit reception area . . . and nearly tripped over his feet at the vision of loveliness stirring up the petal and herb rushes as she paced the flower-strewn floor.

“Blew my mind too,” Bear said in a low voice. “Saw her comin’ out of Fuddrucker’s Fantasy Farm and thought, Whoa. Some dog’s gonna jump this fox before she ever gets to her man. So I walked her over but then . . .” He dragged a hand over his scraggly beard. “Don’t freak, dude, but I think she got cold feet.”

“Thank you for ensuring her safety.”

Bear looked at Simon’s proffered hand as though it were a stick of dynamite. Instead of clasping palms, he raised two fingers. “Peace, man. And good luck.”

The stoner slipped away and Simon moved toward the woman in white. She’d had her hair color restored to its natural, vibrant red. Curled and fashioned into a soft updo, the stylish hairstyle accentuated her long neck and exquisite bone structure. The gown, with its corseted bodice and voluminous skirts, was somehow sensual and angelic at the same time. Simon had never seen a more beautiful bride. He knew not if she’d made this spectacular transformation for him or for herself. What he knew was that she’d made a solid and courageous decision to shed her male persona. It was an extraordinary step.

Simon was grappling for a worthy compliment when she whirled to face him, her expression troubled if not tortured.

“I apologize for the delay, but I had a most difficult time settling on a gown. It has been a long time since I’ve dallied over fripperies.”

“I’m glad you dallied,” Simon said, mouth dry. “You look stunning, Wilhelmina.” He found it difficult to think of her as Willie when she looked so utterly feminine, and even though she’d returned her hair to her natural hue, Mina did not fit either. Mina had been a young girl. The angel before him was all woman.

“I thought the long lace sleeves to be most brilliant as they disguise my bandages, but do you think the decolletage too revealing?”

Simon admired her slender neck, her smooth, pale skin, and the swell of her small but exquisite breasts. He quirked an appreciative smile. “I think it perfect.”

“The skirts? Too frilly?”

“You look like a princess.” He angled his head. “Except perhaps for the tinted spectacles.”

“I did purchase new corneatacts, as I’m not yet ready to reveal my race to the masses, but for tonight, I’d prefer no illusions.”

“I appreciate that.” He reached up and slid off the glasses, smiled into her rainbow eyes. “I’m entranced. Truly.”

She glanced away, blew out a nervous breath.

Interesting that whilst shedding her mannish clothes, she’d also been stripped of her brazen confidence. “What troubles you?”