Storming: A Dieselpunk Adventure by K.M. Weiland Page B

rolled his eyes. “Brother.”
    Hitch glared at Earl. Let Livingstone talk. The longer he talked, the better the chance he’d decide this whole stunt had been his own idea.
    Livingstone straightened the lapels of his white suit coat. It was a crazy getup for flying in, but it had become his trademark.
    He smiled, almost genuinely, at Jael. “It’s quite all right, my dear.” His gaze seemed to snag on something. “Now, that’s an interesting piece.”
    Hitch turned to see.
    On a chain around her neck, she wore a heavy brass pendant. Round like a compass and intricate with clockwork gears, it had a little crank in the center, the handle of which was shaped like a leaf.
    She darted a look at it, as if shocked to find it there.
    “Might I have a better view?” Livingstone asked.
    What he was doing, of course, was asking her to let him save face after the rejected hand-kissing. Hitch knew it. Earl probably knew it. But in light of her record so far today, Jael was likely to take it as a threat and punch him in the face.
    She snatched the pendant and held it against her chest. Her other hand tensed into a fist.
    Hitch reached for Livingstone’s shoulder. “You best leave her alone. She’s a little... unsettled today.”
    “Nonsense. She wears it with pride. I’m sure she’d like to exhibit it.” And then Livingstone actually reached for it.
    Jael scrambled back two steps. “You stop! Or I—I kill you!”
    Livingstone probably had no real interest in the pendant. But now it was a test of wills—and he had made his reputation winning those battles.
    He laughed and followed her two steps. “Don’t be ridiculous, child.”
    She threw a wild punch, all strength and no precision. Her fist clipped his Adam’s apple, and his breath exploded in a noise too much like a hen’s clucking to be good for his pride or anybody else’s well-being.
    Hitch ducked under the wing and snagged her free hand before she could swing again. He rose to his feet, facing Livingstone. “She didn’t mean that.”
    Earl choked on something suspiciously like a laugh. “I’ll say she didn’t.”
    All Livingstone’s blood rushed right back to his face. “You little— Is she mad? You’re all mad!”
    Hitch pushed her farther behind him. “Look, I’m sorry.”
    She put her free hand on his back, either to reassure herself he was there protecting her—or, more likely, getting ready to hit him too if he did something she didn’t fancy.
    “You scared her is all,” he said.
    Livingstone grasped his throat. “I am pressing charges for this one!” His voice sounded just fine, so she couldn’t have hit him hard enough to do damage. “She can spend the rest of the week in custody, that’s what!”
    “Oh, c’mon.” Hitch’s own temper rose. “She hardly speaks any English. She didn’t understand what you meant.” He lowered his voice. “You really want the kind of publicity you’re going to get for chucking a girl like this into jail?”
    “You are not exactly in a position to be talking about who belongs in jail and who does not.” Livingstone clamped his lips. Then, finally, he released his throat and straightened up. “Fine. But I want her off this field. You get rid of her, you understand? She is no longer a part of your act.”
    “She’s not mine to get rid of. And anyway, you’ve got no right telling me who can be in my act and who can’t.” He kicked himself as soon as the words were out of his mouth. What was he doing? He didn’t want the girl on the field or in the act. He needed to just let Livingstone have his way. Calm him down and get him off his back before it was too late.
    But he said it anyway. “She stays.”
    Livingstone glared at him. Then once again, he glanced across the field to where the other planes were parked. “All right.” With the backs of his fingers, he slowly knocked the dust from his hat. “If that’s the way you want it, then let us reach a compromise. I will allow your”—he