Nyssa’s stomach twisted. Back in the day, she’d taken on “assignments” for less cause, just to survive. However, now she was finally doing more than surviving, working a job she loved with a man who respected her in spite of her past, not seeing her as a tool. “That’s not who I am anymore. It never was. I was just a scared kid who didn’t know any better. I’ll take my chances in court rather than return to that life.”
“They won’t prosecute her based on a technicality. The crime may not have been mentioned in her pardon, but the spirit of the decree was for all her past crimes.” Mr. Calloway motioned for Nyssa to come towards him. She hovered near his side. “I’ll speak on her behalf.”
The man’s mouth curled into a sneer. “You think you can be rid of me that easily? You don’t know who you’re dealing with, girl.” He stepped forward.
Mr. Calloway’s hand shot under the counter. He whipped out the silver-handled revolver. “I don’t like to live by the sword, but I will not let you harm this young lady. Get behind me, Nyssa.”
Nyssa’s pulse throbbed in her ears like the ticking of a clock. She squeezed between Mr. Calloway and the wall, so tight she could feel the raised letters on the Dalhart 2 imprinting on her back.
The man laughed. “Really, old man? Really?” He extended his seemingly empty gloved hand.
Mr. Calloway leveled the gun. “You’re unarmed. I don’t want to shoot, but I will.” The hammer clicked back.
“I don’t need guns.” The man made a fist. Wires shot from his knuckles and sank into Mr. Calloway’s chest. The gun went off, but the bullet flew over the man’s shoulder, shattering the window into a rain of glass. The air crackled as Mr. Calloway convulsed.
Nyssa screamed. A smell of charred flesh singed her nose. Then he collapsed at her feet, his eyes staring blindly up at her.
The man grinned. “Now, girly, looks like you just killed your employer. Sure, you can say it was a mysterious man you've never seen before, but why would they believe a ‘reformed’ cat burglar?”
Nyssa swallowed. The revolver glistened on the floor beside Mr. Calloway. She dove for it, but the man lunged at her. His hand clawed at her arm, and she stumbled back. With a snarl, he scrambled over the counter. Nyssa grabbed the closest thing, her own satchel hanging from a hook in the wall. With all her might, she swung.
The bag impacted against the man’s face, causing him to shout. He crashed into the shelf of tools behind the counter. Wrenches clattered to the floor and over his head.
Nyssa sprang over the counter, crossed the floor in two great leaps, and flew through the broken window. Broken glass crunched beneath her feet. She turned towards the busy Main Way, but a horseless carriage blocked her path.What if he has a partner in there?Spinning on her heel, she headed off in the other direction, towards a back alley.
The man’s cursing chased her down the street.
Chapter Two
Nyssa’s footsteps pounded down the cobblestones of Clockwork Row. Mr. Calloway opened his shop an hour before the other businesses bothered, and no one emerged to investigate the shattered morning calm. Nyssa glanced back. The dark figure in the top-hat darted out of the shop. She clambered over a fence.
Policemen … large crowds … somewhere to hide … Her mind scrambled for potential places of refuge, but each turn seemed to take her further away from the Main Way. I need to stop, think, find my bearings, find help. Her satchel slapped against her side.
Coming around a corner, her boot heel caught something and she stumbled. Her hands skidded across the cobblestones, scraping off a layer of skin. Her palms stung. She leapt to her feet and darted into a narrow alley.
Behind a stack of barrels which smelled strongly of fish, she flattened herself against the brick wall.
They can’t think I did it. No one would think I did it. Oh Mr. C, why’d you try and protect me?
A sob pushed through her clenched teeth. Nyssa slipped to the ground, her knees against her chest, her head on her knees. She drew a long breath. Closing her eyes, she counted her heartbeats, rapid fire at first, then slightly slower, finally normal pace.
“Think, Nyssa, think. Some place safe.”
Faded lettering on the side the fence read, “Albion Packing Co.” She knew where that was, where she was.
The police station is all the way across town, but my apartment is just around the corner. I can use the videophone there and call for help, report the murder, tell my side. The police don't particularly like me, but they have to believe me. Right? Those convictions aren't on my record any more. They won't hold it against me. It’ll be fine … how can anything be fine? Mr. C is dead. Not fine, but safe. God please help me be safe.
Nyssa didn’t pray often, but Mr. Calloway had been fond of the practice, and it seemed to calm him. That was what Nyssa needed right now. Calm. What would Mr. C say now? Turn to the rock, Miss Nyss, turn to the rock. She almost smiled. He’d been fond of that sentiment, telling her to draw on spiritual comfort when she became frustrated with a particularly difficult task … or human stupidity. Mostly human stupidity. Nothing ever seemed to frazzle him. She drew one more steadying breath and stood.
She dug into her satchel for a compact mirror. Her wiry brown hair leaned towards the right, already mostly out of her bun. Removing the last few hair pins, she brushed it over her face. She took off her peacoat, revealing her white blouse and gray vest beneath, and donned a pair of round-lensed, dark glasses. Not exactly a disguise, but perhaps enough to fool someone from a distance.
Nyssa took a maze-like route home, darting down alleys and even dropping into
