With only 13 days left until
Legacy is released as an eBook, I thought I would post a teaser to whet your appetite.
Enjoy!
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Summer heat grips Savannah in an
iron fist. Even with the wooden doors at the back of the zeppelin
hanger opened wide, it's sweltering under the metal roof. Willa wipes
a dribble of sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. The
fans turning overhead barely move the humid air and her shirt's
already soaked.
She glares at the guts of the
tension-triggered, chain transmission lying on the crate that doubles
as a workbench. “More like tension fucked.” The derailing arm is
sticking at all the wrong points, dropping the chain every time she
attempts to change gears. She gives it another prod, prompting it to
fold at the appropriate joints, but it moves as a whole and the chain
snarls.
“Fire and
damn.” Resisting the urge to whack it with the spanner, she reaches
for the screwdriver instead.
The money had been good. If it
hadn't, she'd never have taken the job running rifles down to the
Gulf in the face of a storm. Trouble with good money is it never
makes up for the trouble that comes with it. Now all four props on
her air-ship are wracked and need new parts before they'll run smooth
again.
The bell at the front door
jangles. Then heavy footsteps.
Willa doesn't
even bother to look up. “No trips today.” Likely
no trips this week.
“I'm looking
for Captain Arch.” The voice is deep, with a rough edge.
“You've
found her.” She waits for the muttered apology, the hasty retreat.
A quarter turn on the middle tension joint and another prod at the
derailer. Better.
“You're
Captain Arch.” The stranger's tone is a mix of disbelief and
amusement.
She stands up, wipes the grease
from her hands. “That's right.” He's dressed like an Amerigish
trader, but his hands are not those of a merchant and his accent is a
blurry Imperial. She fixes him with a hard stare. “You're not from
these parts.”
He shakes his head. “No. I'm
far from home.” Something about that makes him grin, dry as dust,
and it catches Willa off guard. There's a rawness to him she
recognizes. The sense of never belonging.
She clears her throat. “Can I
help you with something?”
His grin softens. “Maybe. I
understand the sly-like smiles now. The lack of a first name.”
“It would
have spoiled the joke.” She hooks her thumbs into her belt. “As
it is, it don't matter much if what you're looking for is transport.
Squirrel
is down for repairs.”
He rubs his fingers through his
hair. “A shame. I've plenty of coin to spend on the right pilot.
Every man in town says that's you.”
Willa frowns. He's clever,
holding out the promise of good money, but she's just about had her
fill of that. Besides, if every captain in Savannah is pointing him
to her it can only mean one thing. “You're headed for Lake
Ponchartrain.”
Coming 7.14.15
