Zoe Archer - [Ether Chronicles 03] by Skies of Gold Read Free Book Online

heel of her palm against her forehead. She made an adjustment on the delicate brass leg of the cricket. When the tiny automaton worked, it was supposed to rub its legs together in a soothing imitation of real crickets, and its abdomen would softly glow. It would help children afraid of the dark—or so she hoped. Normally, she worked on larger-scale projects, things with broader technological and economic uses.
    She couldn’t bring herself to think of the larger world now. Only these little designs that might make someone’s life feel safer—even if it was only an illusion.
    When she almost twisted the cricket’s leg beyond fixing, she tossed her screwdriver down in disgust. Her thoughts were wayward as welding sparks, cascading everywhere. She stared out the window at the scrubby field surrounding the cottage.
    Three days had passed, and not a word or sign of Fletcher. He hadn’t returned since he’d rushed out, advising her about how to eat rabbit.
    She stood up from her workbench and stretched, then untied her waxed canvas apron and tossed it onto her chair.
    Tea the other day had been . . . strange. She hadn’t planned on inviting him inside, but the words had leapt from her mouth as if some hidden part of her had summoned them. Having him at her table, with them cagily drinking tea, she’d wondered who would get up and run off first—her, or him. She didn’t think him a ghost any longer—more like a feral animal cautiously nosing its way toward the fire, in search of warmth and companionship.
    Should she chase him away from the fire, or try to lure him closer? Both impulses wrestled within her. Maybe they were both ghosts, pale shadows of who they’d once been, brought to haunt this island. She’d come here to be by herself, and never had she been in the company of a creature more isolated than Fletcher. He was her dark reflection, and the tea they’d shared had been an education in what it meant to be alone.
    Her gaze caught on the cricket. If she focused, she could have it finished within half an hour. True to her calculations, in thirty minutes, the little automaton hopped and chirped, its belly glowing gently.
    She threw on her cloak and strapped on her tool belt and tucked in her revolver. She wrapped the cricket in some muslin, and also packed a satchel with a lamp and a few other supplies, just in case she was caught after dark or the weather turned inclement.
    Heading out, she saw the mists still lying across the island in patches. Since her arrival, she’d explored her half of Eilean Comhachag, and now recognized more landmarks. The twisted rowan tree right before the ridge of hills began. Where to avoid the scree at the base of the hills so she didn’t lose her balance again. The gradual slope upward of the field, leading to the pond.
    Strange disappointment twisted in her when she reached the pond and found no sight of him. Then again . . . if she met up with him before she reached his home, she’d have less of an excuse to see where he lived. Would it be a cottage like hers? Some rough lean-to or structure of barest survival? Hell, he could have found a cave in one of the hills and made his home there. But that wouldn’t explain the light or humming, which she’d continued to hear every night since she’d arrived.
    Past the pond, the terrain opened up into a rocky, rolling moor. Gorse and heather sprung up in surprised tufts, as if unable to believe that they’d endured in such an inhospitable environment. The mists hung lower here, caught in bowls formed by the moorland. She pulled her cloak closer as she trudged over the heath. It brought to mind her father’s tales of malevolent fairy folk and monsters—creatures like the hideous Arrachd, lurking on the moors, waiting for the unwary traveler to feast on his or her bones.
    Her feet demanded she turn around and go back to her cottage. Fletcher hadn’t invited her. He’d made it clear enough that he wanted to be left alone. But she