hand tightened convulsively on the pistol, his other hand groping behind him for the door latch. "You won't fire."
Sebastien was just calculating his angle of attack when Jack slipped past him. Jack did know how fast he could be, and dodged his grab as slickly as the guttersnipe he had been. Sebastien's fingers brushed Jack's wool suitcoat, and before he could grab again Jack had walked between the men with the guns, his arms spread wide.
"Neither of you is going to fire," he said. He faced Leatherby, his back to Allen, and Sebastien saw Allen's hand tremble. And he also heard the soft, near-silent scrape of chair legs on the carpet's pile, and knew that Michiel van Dijk was standing, cautiously.
Please don't, Sebastien thought, wondering if he was fast enough to intercept a bullet, if that was what it took.
"Dammit," Allen said. "Get to one side, boy."
And how ridiculous was it for a vampire to pray? He did, anyway; if he'd been a breathing man, he would have held his breath. And beside him, all but forgotten, Lillian gave a little squeak.
"Mr. Allen," Jack said, "put up your weapon. There's nowhere for Mr. Leatherby to run."
"He could sabotage the airship," Allen argued, and Jack shrugged.
"So he could. And you could set us all on fire over the North Atlantic. Let him go for now. He's got nowhere to run to, until we reach New Amsterdam."
Allen shuddered, shook his head, and leveled the revolver again. He closed one eye, the revolver at arm's length, and squinted at the iron sight.
He was going to try to shoot past Jack, Sebastien saw, and he almost turned aside. Almost. Instead, he drove his nails into his palms and forced himself to watch.
"Your logic is impeccable," Virgil Allen said, and with a single crisp motion, elevated the muzzle of his gun.
No one intervened as Leatherby coughed out a labored breath and fumbled with the door. He slipped through it, back first and gun following.
Sebastien heard him moving on the far side of the doped fabric the way a cat hears rustling mice. Sebastien was much stronger than a cat, and much faster than a man, though Allen and van Dijk were both lunging for the door by now, along with one of the brawny crewmen. He simply moved through lathe and fabric, shredding it like crepe.
And on the other side, he broke Hollis Leatherby's right arm in two places in the process of relieving him of his gun. A spiral fracture, a nasty one.
It would likely never heal quite right.
* * *
Jack came to find him after dark. Sebastien stood on the promenade, his hands laced behind his back, and stared out at the air. The vast curve of the airship blocked any chance of stars, but the night was soothing, and there was moonlight in the east. They stood silently for a little, shoulder to shoulder, and Sebastien sneaked a sideways glance.
Jack stared straight ahead, his spine stiff. "I've been thinking," he said.
Sebastien winced. "What you said to Captain Hoak is true, you know."
"That I'm a free man? I know it." Jack sighed, and let his hands fall to his sides. "They'll take the Leatherbys and Mademoiselle LeClere back to Germany for trial on their charges of murder and blackmail, respectively. And I don't think any of the passengers for America will spread tales about you. I had a word with Miss Meadows and with Korvin úr."
"Thank you, Jack. Actually, we've been invited to visit Boston."
"We?"
"Oh, yes," Sebastien answered, letting his teeth show when he smiled. "You know, I think our Mrs. Smith quite fancies you."
They fell silent again. For a little while, Sebastien listened to Jack breathing, and considered what to say, to let Jack know it was all right, that
Sebastien wouldn't hold a grudge. Jack frowned sideways at him, and
Sebastien shrugged, and smiled slightly. But Jack spoke first. "Forgive me?"
"What's there to forgive?" Honestly startled, Sebastien turned and looked at Jack. And—at last—Jack was looking back.
"I was unreasonable about Lillian."
"You are never unreasonable," Sebastien answered.
"Will you visit her again?"
"Atlanta is far from New Amsterdam."
"Actresses and wampyr both tend to travel."
Sebastien shrugged. "I won't, if you forbid it."
They stood for a little while, becalmed in silence, until Jack spoke. "I talked to her a little. Her patron. . .she burned."
Sebastien winced. Vampires only passed one way: by violence, either at their own hand or that of another. Suicide was far more common than angry mobs, these days. And Sebastien knew very well that