Burning Up

Oh, blue. This could work.
    No. This would work.
     
    I t was well after dark when Ivy finally made her way topside, but when she came up the ladder to the upper deck, she saw that Mad Machen hadn’t retired to his cabin yet, either. He stood on the quarterdeck, his feet braced, his hands clasped behind his back. She climbed the stairs and joined him at the balustrade.
    Standing close to him, she asked quietly, “Does it need to look like the real thing?”
    The deck lamps cast feeble light across his expression, but she couldn’t mistake his smile. “Give it giant eyes and tentacles, Ivy, and the rest won’t matter.”
    Good. Hugging herself against the cold, she looked out over the water. The moon was full, throwing silver across the waves. She imagined a tentacle rising up from the surface, the suckers glistening like wet mouths, and gave herself a good scare. Shivering, she glanced back at Mad Machen. He’d been watching her.
    “My leg hasn’t given me any trouble,” he said. “Climbing ladders and stairs is almost as easy as it was before. Thank you.”
    She nodded, then gasped when he pulled her in against his side, his arm circling her waist. His heat surrounded her. She let herself melt into it, but had to warn him, “I smell like fish.”
    He laughed quietly against her hair. “Cookie told me that you’d come and cut out fifteen fish bladders—and he asked that you be given galley duty. He said you handled a knife better than a Castilian assassin.”
    “Thanks to the bugs in the mechanical flesh.” She lifted her right hand. Moonlight reflected in her fingernails. “They’re so precise, I could engrave my name on a grain of sand . . . if my heart didn’t beat, and I didn’t breathe. Even I’m not as steady as they are.”
    “Nothing on a ship is that steady.”
    Mad Machen was. When he stood like this, big and solid beside her, Ivy felt as if she could lean against him forever and he’d never falter.
    “Why are you out here so late?” The last time was when the megalodon had chased them north. Her gaze skimmed the water again. “Was there trouble?”
    “No. I was waiting for you.”
    And her last coin. Ivy’s throat tightened, and her heart drummed hard against her ribs. Not since her first day in Port Fallow had she been without any money at all. She’d barely been an hour off the airship when Netta’s husband had spotted Ivy’s guild tattoo and hired her to repair his cart’s steam engine. She’d never had a lot of money, but she’d always had some. She’d always had a tiny bit of security.
    Now she’d have none. And what would it gain her? A single day.
    Mad Machen withdrew his arm from around her waist, gave her a little push toward the stairs. “Go and ready yourself for bed. I’ll wait here until you’ve finished.”
    A single day, plus the time it took to prepare for bed. Ivy nodded and headed down. As always, Duckie had hot water ready—perhaps he’d been listening for her to come up from the smithy. The captain’s soft soap erased the clinging scent of fish. She brushed her hair until it crackled with enough static to deliver a wiregram, and for the first time, she dressed in a nightgown instead of the trousers she’d been sleeping in. Clutching her last denier, Ivy climbed into bed and waited.
    When he came in, she rose up on her knees and held out the coin before she could change her mind.
    He smiled faintly, but it faded as he approached. His face darkened. “Your hand is shaking.”
    “Take it. Please.”
    “Goddammit, Ivy. I’m not—”
    “Please.”
    His fingers folded over hers. With another curse, he took the coin and turned away.
    Ivy sank down, hugging her knees to her chest. She closed her eyes and listened to him undress, to the splash of water and the scrape of a razor. She heard him return to the bed, but as the seconds passed and he didn’t lie down beside her, she opened her eyes.
    He stared down at her, his chest bare and his face a stark mask. “Earn it back.”
    Her heart thumping, she sat up. “How?”
    The wary note in her voice spread shadows over his expression. He seemed to struggle, his lips paling as they thinned. Ivy fought not to shrink back, sensing that her fear would only make his reaction worse.
    After an endless moment, he said gruffly, “You’ll kiss me.”
    Oh. That wasn’t so bad, was it? She frowned.
    Mad Machen’s brows drew together. “What?”
    She rose up on her knees again and moved toward the rail.