Ultimate Nyssa Glass H. Burke (bookstand for reading .txt) 📖

nose at the whiff of ozone. “Ellis, electricity is not a toy.”

In his motorized wheelchair at the workbench, Ellis grinned. “It is if you use it right.” He picked up a pair of wire cutters.

Nyssa shook her head and focused on the sign … or what would be a sign if they could agree on the wording.

“How about Cormac’s Electrical Repairs?”

“That ties us to our current aliases.” The gentle hum of the generator powering his soldering iron rose from the corner.

“Put your goggles on,” she ordered. “You need to protect your eyes.”

“Yes, Mom.” He snickered.

Nyssa tightened her hair ribbon to keep her wiry brown hair from her eyes. He had a point. Their current documents all read “Hart and Nessa Cormac”—partially because Nyssa Glass was wanted for murder, and partially because Ellis Dalhart didn’t want to be associated with his late father. Their aliases wouldn’t necessarily last forever, though. She’d like to prove her innocence someday and maybe reclaim her name. Also, their aliases were married. Their real selves were just sort of courting.

More than enough commitment for an almost seventeen-year-old … though it might be nice to trade Glass for Dalhart someday. She stole a glance at Ellis. His long, agile fingers tinkered with some wiring, a slight smile quirking beneath his thoughtful brown eyes. Yeah, maybe at seventeen and a half.

She cleared her throat. “So, if not Cormac, what then?”

“Let’s have some fun with it. How about Wired and Fired?” Sparks sizzled from his soldering iron.

“It’ll be Wired and Fried the way you’re going. Seriously, didn’t your dad teach you basic safety precautions? Put on your gloves.”

“Oh, I like Wired and Fried.”

“I’m not putting that on the sign.” She came to stand over his workbench. He had a series of electrodes laid out, several attached to a voltaic pile battery. Though most things in San Azula—as in most industrialized nations—ran on reliable steam, electricity was Ellis’s new obsession, especially in portable forms such as batteries.

He pushed his safety goggles up into his dark wavy hair, his eyes twinkling. “We could just call it ‘Sparky’s’.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Which of us is ‘Sparky’ in that scenario?”

“How about Sparks and Shocks?”

“I’m not using an oath, no matter how mild, on my signage.”

“Too shocking?” He winked.

She rolled her eyes.

“That’s an idea. The Shock Shop.”

With a groan she turned back to the board.

“Watt’s Up? Loose Sparks? Charge It?”

He thinks he’s so funny. Nyssa sniffed but couldn’t help a smile. “I’m going to write ‘Electrical Repairs’ for now. We can always put up something flashier later.”

“Flashier? Nyss, did you just make a pun?” He laughed. “I’m so proud.”

She chuckled. “You’re rubbing off on me … you and your malfunctioning humor program.”

Nyssa finished her lettering in bold, broad strokes, then took a hammer and nails and went outside to hang her masterwork. A few swift blows later, she stepped back to admire the sign.

Sweat beaded on her forehead in spite of the overcast sky. It would probably rain later that afternoon. According to Renard—the wealthy nobleman who’d accompanied them on the zeppelin from New Taured—their arrival two months before had been right at the beginning of monsoon season. The weather had been far from a tropical paradise since then.

Though any place without an extradition treaty is paradise enough for me.

It was beautiful in San Azula. They’d set up their shop far enough from the tourist traps to enjoy the local charm. Sun gleamed off the white plaster buildings with their red tile roofs. Palm trees swayed along the edge of the streets, and colorful canopies fluttered in front of the businesses. Their store, however, was a newer construction, a three story shop and living quarters combination. Made of brown brick with reinforced plate windows and metal shutters, it squeezed between two old San Azulan style buildings. It seemed an appropriate home for two expats from the Continent.

A few pedestrians—some in formal continental garb, a few in the lighter-weight, more brightly colored fabrics of San Azulans—scurried from one business to another. None gave the shop’s new signage a second glance.

“Maybe Ellis is right,” she mumbled to herself. “Maybe itis a little plain.”

Something prickled against the back of her neck. Someone’s watching.

She focused on the glass windows of the shop. The reflection of the street behind her played out like cinema. A steam car jolted down the street and a woman with a parasol walked beside a clockwork baby carriage. No one’s eyes appeared to be on her.

I’m getting paranoid. She shook her head and entered the shop.

Zap!

Nyssa ducked as a streak of light burst above her.

“Blast, Nyss! Sorry!” Ellis grasped a ceramic tube with wires plugged into the voltaic pile.

She blinked away the spots dancing before her eyes.

“What is that thing?” she asked.

“It’s supposed to be a fly zapper.” He flushed. “I saw a moth over the door and … um … got excited to test it.”

Nyssa glanced up. A scorch mark wider than her hand blemished the white ceiling. The smudge in the middle might’ve once been an insect.

“A fly zapper?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, well, it shoots a low voltage arc.” He put the tube down. “It may be a bit overpowered for its intended purpose.”

“A bit?”

“I’ll adjust it.” He picked up a screwdriver.

She clicked her tongue and began polishing their display case. It only contained a few items, older model radios and videophones Nyssa had picked up from a junk dealer for a few pennies. She’d repaired and refurbished each one ‘til they gleamed. Yes, newer, fancier models were available, but these older machines still had life in them. They’d make her a reasonable profit. Those sales, combined with any repair jobs they took in, and their business would soon be thriving.

The bell over the shop door rang. Nyssa plastered on her best “customer appreciation” smile. She turned and froze.

A short, middle-aged man with watery gray eyes and bristle-brush chin whiskers winked at her. He wore a shabby brown bowler hat, and from his pocket hung a gold watch