Shadow of the War Machine (The Secret Order) by Kristin Bailey Page B

brushed against a roughened etching on the flat end of one side. I peered at it more closely. It was a set of faint initials scratched into the surface.
    After placing the crystal carefully on the table, I inspected the others. Peter and Will were still marveling at the ones they had chosen, holding them to the light. While they peered into their prizes like fortune-tellers with oddly shaped crystal balls, I felt the ends for etchings. Finally I found one marked with my grandfather’s initials. “It’s this one.”
    It took a moment, but Peter discovered the small chamber in the machine meant to hold each crystal in place. It was difficult to work the crystal through the various brass arms. Perhaps there was a section we could open, but we hadn’t figured out the mechanism to release it. With the dexterity that had always served him well at the Academy, Peter removed the crystal that showed Rathford and his wife, and replaced it with the one I had selected. Will pulled the lever to wind the machine again.
    Fog spilled out from the base of the machine. First it curled over the floor the way mists do in a deadly bog. Then it reached higher, seeking to drown us.
    The light flared.
    The apparition of Rathford appeared once more, this time bent over the collection of crystals at the table. Peter, Will, and I backed toward the wall to stay out of the way of the haunting projection. Rathford looked much older thanhe had in the first turn of the machine, his face creased with a heavy sadness that settled in his drooping eyes. He caressed a crystal lovingly and waited, glancing at the sliding door every couple of seconds. He was expecting someone.
    A second apparition appeared. My breath left me and refused to return. Like the captain of a valiant sea vessel, my grandfather marched into the room with his head held high and an austere air of command. His chiseled features and smooth bald head gave the impression of a great bird of prey. His winged eyebrows and the piercing intelligence in his silver-gray eyes only added to the effect. He wore charisma like a mantle upon his shoulders. He wasn’t the sweet and loving Papa I knew. This was another man entirely.
    “Haven’t you done enough?” Rathford spat the words. His hunched manner reminded me of a growling dog with his hackles raised. “I’ll find the pieces of the plate lock. You can’t keep me from what is mine.”
    “Ulysses. It’s over,” my grandfather said. I felt a tingling deep in my body at the sound of his resonant voice. Rathford must have made improvements on the crystals, because the voices didn’t sound as hollow. “We are not the enemy,” my grandfather continued. “We are trying to help you see reason.”
    “I can have her back.” Rathford stood, clenching the crystal in his hand. “I can reach her. I know I can. If I had only been there to lead her up the stair to the bedroom.”
    “She’s gone.”
    “She will never be gone so long as I live.”
    “I know how you must feel.” Grandfather attempted to place a hand on Rathford’s shoulder, but he shrugged away from the touch.
    Rathford let out a derisive snort. “Do you? Tell me how you would feel if you were responsible for the deaths of everyone you loved. George. Elsa. What of your precious granddaughter?”
    Grandfather grabbed the ghostly Rathford by the throat, and I leapt back, slamming myself against the wall. Will took my hand and squeezed it. This wasn’t real. It wasn’t happening in the moment. It was all smoke and mirrors. I had to remember that.
    My grandfather’s gaze turned icy. “Charles told me how you tried to bribe him to return the plates we stole from your lock. Now he is dead. Edgar is as well.”
    Edgar and Charles had been Amusementists and had helped my grandfather in his endeavors. Their murders almost tore the Order apart.
    “I didn’t kill them. I swear it,” Rathford choked out.
    Grandfather released him with a hard shake. For a moment the memory of the