As the cab they'd arrived in departed down the drive, they trudged wearily up the marble steps of Claremont. Bridget leaned against the door frame and rang the bell. A moment passed before Hamilton opened the door. His customary nonchalance dissolved and his eyes widened with alarm at their dishevelled and bloodied appearance.

"Whatever has happened?" he asked with genuine distress, helping them into the foyer.

Bridget and Franky collapsed on the chaise longue by the stairs as Hamilton shut the front door.

"I shall tell you shortly – but it has been a long day and I have never been in more need of a bath!" Bridget appeased.

"Are you hurt?" he indicated the gash on her head.

"Nothing serious."

"Should I send for the doctor?" he suggested.

"Best not arouse suspicion. I should have difficulty explaining how I came by such injuries."

Hamilton nodded.

"I'll fix you up," Franky said. "Bit of gin on that and you'll be good as new."

Bridget smiled half-heartedly at her. Despite their violent run-ins today, Miss Doyle did not seem to have lost her high-energy or fortitude.

"I shall draw you both a bath," Hamilton declared, ringing the service bell for assistance and already heading for the stairs.

Bridget was about to protest as she didn't like asking Hamilton to do things she could easily do for herself, but everything hurt and the idea of sinking into a drawn bath was too tempting.

"I meant what I said," Franky declared when they were alone.

Bridget held her eye. "So did I. Let's get cleaned-up, a meal inside us, then I shall tell you what you want to know."

Franky nodded.

She got to her feet first and offered her hand to Bridget, who took it. Her grasp was light as Franky hoisted her to her feet and the two women moved tiredly up the stairs. Every muscle aching.

At the top of the landing they went their separate ways.

Franky arrived at her room to find Milly standing over a tin bathtub. She was a spritely and persistently cheerful girl, no more than 18. She was filling the bathtub from a giant, bubbling, copper urn. The urn was attached to a trolley and had a large tap sprouting out of the base from which poured steaming hot water.

"Amazin' innit? The Mistress invented it," Milly said proudly. "Saves us to-ing and fro-ing with the kettle!"

Not one for ceremony, Franky stripped out of her dirty clothes and let them drop to the floor. The maid blushed and quickly scuttled off – taking the monstrous urn contraption with her.

Franky stepped into the tub. She scrubbed herself all over with carbolic soap and gave her hair a thorough wash too. For a moment she lay back in the tub and relaxed. Steam whirled about her, the hot water soothed her fatigue and she let out a contented sigh. She may have been roughed-up today but this job certainly had its perks.

When Franky got out of the tub, she dried herself off and slipped into a cotton summer dress that had been laid out for her by one of the maids. She noticed her new dresses had been placed in the wardrobe and her shoes, hats and gloves put away. She clicked her tongue in annoyance. If Franky were anywhere else she'd knock the maid's block off for touching her things.


When Franky entered Miss Westfall's lab, Bridget was clean and changed and curled-up in the wicker chair by the stove. The shabby quilt covered her legs and Darwin dozed in her lap. A tray of tea and plate of sandwiches and cold cuts sat on a foot cushion beside her. Franky noticed a second chair had been added; a large leather armchair.

"Help yourself," Bridget indicated the food.

Franky was always ravenous; she'd grown-up hungry and had learnt never to refuse food because she never knew where her next meal was coming from. So she moved closer, scooped up several sandwiches and crammed them into her mouth as quickly as possible, barely giving herself time to chew.

"Tell the maids to stay out of my room, I don't like anyone touchin' my stuff," she said tersely, mouth still full. She grabbed a handful of cold cuts and rammed them into her mouth too.

Bridget looked mildly amused. "Of course."

Franky took a swig of tea from a cup Bridget had already poured for her. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and resisted the urge to smack her lips in appreciation. Mrs. Jenkins made a mean sandwich and an even meaner brew.

Franky pulled the empty armchair close to the stove. The oil lamp burnt low, bathing Bridget's features in an ethereal glow. Franky sat down, her limbs moulded into the seat; it was the most comfortable piece of furniture she had ever sat on. She leaned back and nestled into the chair.

The fire crackled and flickered, comforting and warming. After the day they'd had it was welcome respite.

Bridget glanced over at her new companion and they exchanged a smile.

To her astonishment, Bridget found she could be silent with the former inmate. A comfortable silence she had found with few outside the confines of Claremont. Despite their wildly different backgrounds, they shared a tacit understanding. Franky was canny and astute and Bridget found her esteem for her new acquaintance growing by the hour. That Miss Doyle was also strong and lithe and startlingly beautiful had no sway with her, Bridget assured herself.

Franky noticed the gash still visible on Miss Westfall's scalp. She tried not to wince, felt guilty that Gidget had been hurt on her watch.

They sat in silence contemplating each other.

They both knew it was time and Bridget had every intention of being as honest as she could. She felt she owed Franky the truth. Miss Doyle had been nothing but forthright since they met and Bridget hated that she had to be so constrained. She wanted Franky to trust her.

"When you're ready," Franky said evenly, reading her mind.

Bridget stared into the flames of the stove. The fire hissed and spat in the stillness of the room.

"I just hope you believe me."

"I will," Franky pledged. She'd seen so much strange shit in the last two days that there's nothing she couldn't believe.

Bridget took a steadying breath and glanced over at Miss Doyle. "I built a machine that can travel through time. It is called the Tiraveller."

Franky blinked uncomprehendingly. "What?"

"I discovered how to control the rate of temporal acceleration - "

"In English!" Franky exclaimed.

"Whoever uses it can travel to any point in time." Bridget tried to simplify her explanation. "Think of time as a book. The history of the world – everything that has ever happened or will happen - is a book. Whoever has this machine can dive in and out of the chapters. Say here and now is chapter 8 - they could jump to chapter 20 and then jump back to chapter 5. Whoever possesses this machine has great power. With knowledge of what is to come, they have the power to change things. Prevent events or bring about different events. Change our lives, alter our history forever. Bend it to their will. Do you see? Do you understand why I cannot risk the Tiraveller falling into the wrong hands?"

The magnitude of the situation hit Franky and she nodded sharply.

"It is imperative that neither Ferguson nor Miss Bennett gains control of the Tiraveller," stated Bridget.

"Yes," Franky agreed resolutely.

Bridget seemed relieved.

"You've hidden it, right? Somewhere safe, somewhere far away?" she asked.

Bridget smiled. "Plain sight is always the best option. People are looking so hard for it; they cannot see what is under their noses."

Franky felt oddly unreassured by this. "Why did you invent it anyway?" she probed, it was curiosity not accusation.

"To see if it could be done. Sometimes I do not think ahead. I become swept-up in the joy of discovery and do not see all the pitfalls." Bridget's brow furrowed, eyes downcast, disappointed by her own ineptitude.

"Because your intentions are pure," Franky said softly. "You can't imagine anyone else's motives being otherwise. I'd hardly call that a fault."

Bridget smiled brightly then, aware of how touched she was and trying desperately to ignore the hammering of her heart as Franky gazed at her. Bridget's expression grew solemn again. "My father is my weak spot. Ferguson knows I would do anything to keep him safe, she knows I would not negotiate unless I had to."

"You really love him, don't ya?"

"Of course. Do you not love your parents?"

Franky shrugged.

There was a long silence.

Bridget peered at her companion quizzically. "You are so guarded over your heart but not your tongue. It is a curious combination."

Franky snorted with laughter. "I think that's the nicest insult I've ever had!"

"It was not meant as an affront," Bridget said hastily.

Franky folded her arms across her chest and laid her head back against the chair. "I don't do talking."

"Ever?"

"I prefer action."

"Humour me. I know almost nothing about you, save what I have read in your prison file and that is not you. Not the real you. Paint me a picture," Bridget requested, her tone gentle.

Another long silence.

Franky glanced at Bridget and felt a twinge... Miss Westfall had been nothing but kind and patient with her. She had been honest when Franky had asked it of her, she had listened when Franky told her to and done as Franky had bid when they were at Wentworth and Ah Sing's. She'd also saved Franky from a good thrashing. The brunette rubbed her neck. She felt her stomach tighten, felt her nerves blaze as she began to speak. "My Dad looks out for himself, I only see him when he wants something. My Mum put me in an orphanage when I was 6."

Bridget looked at her tenderly. She swallowed hard and her voice came out hoarse. "I am sorry. Sometimes I forget how privileged I am."

Franky shrugged again. "Luck of the draw. You don't got to feel bad just cos you got a good deal. Where is your Mum anyway? I've not seen hide nor hair of her since I got here."

"Nor will you. She has not left her rooms for eight years."

Franky let out a low whistle. "What's wrong with her?"

"Nothing the doctor can find and he has been looking, believe me." Bridget sounded resigned. "Every day is a new ailment, a reason not to leave her room. I hardly see her. Not that we were ever attached. She is not particularly... nurturing. When I was a child she did not like me to get too close to her in case I got her dirty. She did not like to spend time in the nursery because it gave her a headache. My laughter was too loud and my play too rowdy but my father... he took joy in everything, in teaching me everything. We are great friends and I cannot imagine a world without him." She smiled brightly, her eyes filled with fondness.

This confession made Franky want, for the first time, to talk about her mother. To share something of herself. "My Mum was a seamstress. She could make a shirt in a day. I remember watchin' her sewin' by hand in poor light, she could barely afford candles. Needed 12 shirts to earn six shillings, if she was lucky." Franky sounded wistful. "Wasn't enough. Couldn't feed us both and pay the rent. So she gave me up."

"Did you ever see her again?"

Franky gave a quick shake of her head. Eyes dulled with sadness. Bridget waited for Franky to continue. After a moments silence, Franky finally added. "Last I heard she died in the poor house."

"I am sorry," Bridget consoled.

"That's the way it goes."

Bridget looked reflective. "You sound as if you hold no grudge."

Franky shrugged. "What's the point? Won't change nothin'. I used to be a mudlark, scavenged the Thames bank for what people threw away to sell. Even collected dog shit and sold 'em to the tanneries. Leftover cigar butts – we rewrapped them and sold 'em as new. Learnt every trick in the book. Had to. To survive. She taught me that. Now I don't need anyone. Self-sufficient, me. Best gift anyone can give you, being independent."

Bridget smiled knowingly. "I understand that, believe me, but are there not times you..."

"What?"

Bridget struggled to find the right words. "Do you ever get lonely?"

Franky seemed surprised by the question. For a moment her bravado failed and Bridget saw a streak of hurt, anger and hope run deep within her.

"Never really thought about it. I've always got people around me," she replied.

"That is not the same as having someone."

Franky tilted her head and studied Bridget. "Could say the same about you. Shut-up in your lab with just your Dad and Hamilton for company."

Darwin let out a little yelp, as if insulted at being overlooked. They both looked down at him.

"And Darwin – my apologies," Franky amended.

She looked up from the mechanical dog snuggled in Bridget's lap to see Gidget's blue eyes gazing inquisitively at her and knew another question was poised on the scientist's lips. She'd never met anyone who asked so many infuriating questions.

"Tess is younger than you so how did she - " Bridget began.

"You ask a lot of questions, Gidge."

"I have a curious nature."

"That's one word for it."

Bridget smiled, it was radiant and breath-taking and Franky had to look away. She plucked at the arm of the chair. "Hey - you should invent a machine that can read people's minds and then you wouldn't have to ask so many questions."

"I just might," Bridget said thoughtfully. "Then I could work out the human mind and its mysteries and stop people from committing crimes and unspeakable acts."

"Oi! Not all crims are wicked."

"No," Bridget agreed. "You stole because you would have starved if you did not. I understand that. Any reasonable person could. It is the likes of Ferguson I cannot fathom. People who enjoy doing evil to other and take pleasure in their pain and torment. That I shall never understand."

Franky nodded. "She's got dead eyes that one. Look right through you. They say she wears black gloves cos her touch can turn a man to stone. She has her henchmen but she doesn't need them. She's got the devil in her. Dark and wild. I've seen her rip out a woman's tongue with her bare hand. Tore it right out like it was nothin'."

A chill ran through Bridget. The idea of her beloved father, so good-natured and brilliant, at Ferguson's mercy was sickening. Hidden away in some dark hovel, like a caged animal. She shivered again.

Franky noticed and was sorry she'd spoken at all. "I always say too much. Gets me in terrible strife. I'm sure your father's fine. Ferguson'll take care of him as it wouldn't do to hurt him, would it?" she reassured gently.

Bridget nodded, a little too forcefully and winced as the gash on her scalp began to bleed again.

"Let me," Franky said and got to her feet.

She crossed over to the dresser, filled the basin with water and picked-up a cloth. Then she knelt beside Bridget and soaked the cloth in the water. She wrung it tightly, then raised it to Bridget's wound. Her nimble fingers gently applied pressure. Bridget hissed a little, her eyes closed against the pain and the headache resounding in her skull.

"He got you pretty good," Franky murmured.

Bridget's eyes opened and looked kindly at Franky. Her gaze dipped to the marks on Franky's throat. She reached out and brushed a fingertip across a newly forming bruise. Franky didn't flinch. "Got you pretty good too."

Franky gave her a half smile. "I'm used to it," she said flippantly. Living on the streets she'd met plenty of unsavoury characters who'd done far worse.

It was meant to lighten the atmosphere, instead Bridget's eyes filled with concern. Franky suddenly felt self-conscious. It unsettled her. She rinsed the cloth, breaking eye contact with Bridget and dipped it in the cool water again before pressing it lightly against Bridget's delicate skin. Franky had never seen anyone with skin so smooth before. Everyone she knew was covered in scars, tats, blisters, boils or some blight. Bridget's skin glowed, Franky was tempted to run her fingers along Gidget's jaw... but didn't dare. She didn't want to break the spell binding them in that moment.

When the wound clotted, Franky drew back the damp cloth.

"Thank you," Bridget said quietly. Her face tilted towards Franky. A few lines round her eyes were visible as she smiled.

Franky got to her feet and returned the basin to the dresser.

When she took the armchair again she realised the lady had fallen asleep. Franky smiled to herself and settled further into her chair. It was more comfortable than most beds she'd slept in. Half the time she ended up in Liz's attic at Wentworth Inn with nothing but a draft, rats and Boomer's snoring for company. She stretched out her legs, her toes warming by the fire, her back arched, letting out the knots of the day. It had been a long, trying day but they had made a good start.

Franky's gaze lingered on Gidget's face as the blonde slumbered and Franky thought this might just be the most pleasant way she'd spent a night. She yawned and her own eyelids flickered shut.

Soon they were both sound asleep, worn-out, warm and peaceful.


Josiah Westfall's head bobbed down in exhaustion. He straightened-up, trying to stay awake. His eyes strained against the darkness. He didn't know how long he'd been here. Days? Weeks? He was cold, his limbs stiff from being tied to a chair. A hood covered his face. He was airborne, he'd deduced that much. He could feel the lightness in his stomach and the pressure in his ears.

He was being guarded, had been given food and water, hadn't been ill-treated, but no one had spoken to him. He had shouted himself hoarse demanding to know who was holding him and why. He suspected it was something to do with Bridget's invention. The only difficulty in having a genius daughter was the world viewed her as a commodity, as the brainchild of incredible things they coveted for their own selfish ends.

Josiah had feared this day would come and he had made Bridget promise not to endanger herself or hand-over any invention she deemed dangerous. He just hoped her resolve held; he did not wish to be responsible for the downfall of humanity. His was one life, in the face of many he was prepared to be sacrificed.

He heard footsteps. Slow and menacing. The blood pounded in his ears as fear gripped him. The hood was snatched off his head and he blinked. He glanced around. The room was dark with no windows. He was surrounded by cargo. No other clues.

A shadowy figure stepped in front of him. He craned his neck up. Steely black eyes met his.

"Mr. Westfall," said an emotionless voice.

He blinked again.

Ferguson lowered her face to his. "I apologise for my methods but your daughter has left me no choice. She refused to cooperate and so I have been driven to extreme measures."

"She will not hand it over to you," he protested, struggling against his restraints.

Ferguson smirked, full of smug nefariousness. "Oh, I think you will be pleasantly surprised. I expect your stay with us to come to a close very soon."
He shifted forward in his seat, the ropes that bound him cutting into his skin. "She will not exchange the Tiraveller for me."

"She loves you. That is her frailty. She will give me anything I ask in exchange for your safe return."

Ferguson stepped back and the hood was thrown over his head again. He heard her receding footsteps and struggled futilely, soon wearing himself out.


Franky was awoken by a loud ringing. She stirred as Bridget bustled across the room at great speed, a flurry of activity. She opened a secret panel next to the bookcase to reveal a cubby hole. Inside was a periscope and horn that hung from a hook and attached to the wall by a long curly wire. Deftly Bridget unfolded the periscope and peered through the eyepiece.

Franky stood up and stretched, yawning loudly.

"Oh dear!" Bridget groaned as she saw through the spyglass their unexpected guest standing on the front doorstep. "Mr. Jackson is at the door."

"Who's Mr. Jackson?"

"My fiancé," Bridget replied as she packed the periscope back into its slot and picked up the horn, speaking directly into it. "Send him up," she instructed Hamilton, who was on the other end, then replaced the horn on its hook and closed the cubby hole.

Franky's mind reeled with this new information. "You have a fiancé?!" she exclaimed.

Bridget nodded absently and moved to stand in front of the mirror above the fireplace, trying to make herself presentable. She tucked several loose curls of honey coloured hair back into her bun and pinched her cheeks while Franky stared at her incredulously.

"You didn't tell me you were engaged," Franky sounded wounded.

"You did not tell me you kissed girls," Bridget retorted.

That startled Franky. Neither of them had mentioned her embrace with Kim but clearly Bridget had registered it and all it implied.

Bridget straightened her skirt and then looked over her shoulder at Franky, her gaze soft. "It was arranged by our parents when we were children. I do not wish to marry him, I have yet to find a way to tell him. He is persistent. He cannot see that we would make a bad match. I have many interests, none of them men."

Before Franky could be comforted by this, there was a knock at the door and Bridget stepped around Franky to receive her visitor. Franky felt an unexpected surge of something... jealousy? She thought she had Bridget Westfall all to herself. Yet here Gidget was, surprising her again. It seemed every time Franky thought she had Miss Westfall figured out, Bridget surprised her. Her head ached a little and she felt stupid for thinking she had any claim on Gidget. As soon as they found Bridget's father they would part company and she would never see the enchanting inventress again.

The lab door opened and Mr. Jackson entered. He was tall and burley but had a kind face.

He reached for Bridget's hands and they held onto each other familiarly. Bridget smiled at him with all the warmth of an old friend, his smile was much wider.

"I apologise for the early hour of my visit but I was most worried about you since your father's disappearance. I called in yesterday but Hamilton said you were out. I had to see you, to ensure you were - " he stopped dead when he noticed Franky. His questioning gaze flitted between the two women.

Bridget took the opportunity to reclaim her hands and drew back from Mr. Jackson, she signalled for Franky to come closer. "Will, this is my companion, Miss Doyle."

He nodded politely at Franky as she stepped forward. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Franky did a mock curtsey and battered her eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion. "Likewise, I'm sure."

Bridget bit her lip to stop from smirking. She wrung her hands together, then said. "She is staying with me through this difficult time."

"Good," Mr. Jackson said emphatically. "Then I need not worry about you being quite so alone here."

"Indeed," Bridget answered.

Just then Darwin came yapping from under Bridget's workbench. He snapped at Mr. Jackson's heels, bearing his metal jaws. Mr. Jackson jumped back, startled.

"Bad boy Darwin!" Bridget chided.

It was Franky's turn to hide a smirk as she reached down to pat the pup on the head, Darwin stopped barking and leaned into her touch. His little tail wagging happily. Both Bridget and Mr. Jackson seemed surprised.

"He appears to have taken a shine to you Miss Doyle," said Mr. Jackson.

"He's a good judge of character," Franky replied pointedly.

"Yes... well..." Mr. Jackson trailed off.

The wake-up clock on the table suddenly sprang into life. The hammer hit the gong and it echoed vociferously through the room. Bridget rushed over to it and tugged on a lever which seemed to calm it. Then she turned back to her audience, eyes intense. "Do excuse us, Will. Miss Doyle and I have plans for the day and must not be delayed."

Mr. Jackson seemed thrown. "No, of course not. I shall bid hello to your mother if I may, then take my leave."

"Of course," Bridget agreed. "She will be pleased to see you."

He stepped forward hopefully. Bridget hesitated. She glanced awkwardly at Franky, who turned her back to them and pretended to gather-up papers on Bridget's workbench. But she saw, reflected in the mirror, Mr. Jackson lean tentatively towards Bridget. He lowered his head to kiss her lips but she turned her face away and his mouth brushed her cheek instead.

He drew back, disappointed. Bridget glanced at the floor.

"See you soon, dearest," he said affectionately.

"Yes," she mumbled.

He headed towards the door, giving a small nod to Franky as he walked past. "Miss Doyle."

Franky returned the courtesy and watched him leave.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Bridget's entire body teemed with relief. "Let's have breakfast," she said, "and then I have a surprise for you."

Franky beamed, pleased it was just them again and curious as to what the surprise could be.


Breakfast was served in the dining room. They crowded together at one end of an immense table that could easily accommodate 40 people. They gorged on toast, eggs, mushrooms, sausages, bacon and kippers. Franky ate till she could stomach no more and was sure she felt the stitching of her dress loosen. She used a napkin to wipe her mouth, trying to improve her manners around Miss Westfall, when she noticed Bridget staring at her.

"You have a healthy appetite," Gidge said admiringly.

"For many things," Franky replied mischievously.

Bridget cleared her throat and Franky wasn't sure but she could swear a slight blush had risen in her cheeks. She was about to tease Bridget further when Hamilton walked briskly into the room carrying a silver tray. He strode with purpose to Bridget and held out the tray. On it was a letter. Bridget's countenance shifted to one of dread. She looked up at Hamilton, whose expression matched her own.

"Ferguson?"

"One of her henchmen delivered it."

"Bet it was Jesper," Franky guessed.

"I didn't recognise the gentleman," Hamilton replied.

"Did he have a fly rink?" she asked.

Hamilton looked puzzled.

Franky mimed a bald head. "Fly rink? And a Parish pick axe?" she mimed a big nose.

"I believe the gentleman in question matches that description, yes."

"That's jesper. Nasty piece of work."

Bridget reached for the letter. Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment, then she tore it open.

"What does it say?" Franky asked.

Bridget held the note out to her. Franky shook her head, embarrassed. "I can't read."

This snapped Bridget out of her distress. She seemed shocked, then quickly recovered and took the note back up.

"It says; Limehouse docks, 10pm, tomorrow. Bring what I want or your father dies."

"Well," Franky sighed shakily. "That still gives us a chance to find him before the rendezvous."

Bridget turned back to Hamilton and tapped her chin twice. He nodded and quickly departed. Bridget stood up and indicated for Franky to follow her.

She led Franky upstairs, to the lab, and closed the door behind them. Picking up a small leather case and moving towards the mantelpiece, she had an air of grim determination. A concentrated weariness and readiness. Like a warrior preparing for battle.

Bridget held out her hand and drew Franky close. "I am going to trust you Franky. More than I have anyone. I hope it is not misplaced," she whispered.

Franky felt her heart thud at Gidget's nearness and the longing to deserve that trust. She nodded dumbly, hoping the sincerity in her eyes was enough to assure Bridget.

Miss Westfall released her and reached out to the mantelpiece. She slid her fingers deftly under an acorn engraving, pressed something and the mantelpiece swivelled open, like a door.

Franky stared at the dark alcove behind the mantelpiece which led to a secret passage beyond. Bridget slipped into the secret tunnel. Franky followed. When they were huddled together in the alcove, Bridget swung the mantelpiece shut and led the way down a narrow spiralling staircase until they were underground, Franky could smell the richness of the earth and felt the chill in the air. She kept close to Bridget as she didn't like the confinement of the tunnel or the pitch darkness but she trusted Bridget.

After several minutes they reached a moss-covered grille where sunlight filtered through. Bridget pushed it open and they emerged in the apple orchard behind the house.

Franky blinked as her eyes adjusted to daylight. Bridget closed the grille behind them and gazed soberly at Franky. "That is the quickest escape route from the house should you need it."

Franky gulped. She didn't like the ominous sound of that but she nodded anyway.

Bridget started across the orchard, Franky trailing after her as she strode towards the far side. Amidst a cluster of apple trees were a row of archery target boards. Bridget opened the leather case and pulled out a smaller version of the ray gun she'd used on their assailants yesterday.

She held the gun out to Franky. "You need to be able to protect yourself if anything should happen to me."

Franky hesitated. "I don't know Gidge."

Bridget offered it again. "I shall teach you to use it properly."

"What if I drop it in a struggle and someone turns it against us?"

Bridget smiled. "I considered that. I designed it so that no one but you can fire it."

Franky stared at her in awe. "But how did you..." she paused. "Actually – don't answer that, I wouldn't understand even if you explained!"

Bridget grinned. "It will respond to your hand alone."

"You're a fuckin' genius, Gidge. You know that?"

"It has been remarked upon before," Bridget teased.

Franky was struck by just how brilliant Miss Westfall was and just how little she realised it. That saddened her. She took the offered gun. It felt surprisingly heavy. She let the weight settle in her hands, getting a feel for it.

Bridget gripped Franky's shoulders and turned her to face the first target board. She leaned in close behind Franky and murmured in her ear. "It is slightly different from a gun – more kick-back because it fires a stream of electricity."

Franky nodded, though she was finding it hard to concentrate with the feel of Bridget pressing against her.

"Aim," Bridget instructed.

Franky gripped the gun in her right hand and raised her arm.

Bridget gently guided Franky's left hand up to support her firing arm. "You will need all the control you can muster," she explained, her breath warm against Franky's neck.

Franky focused on the yellow circle of the target board.

"When you are ready, squeeze the trigger," Bridget commanded.

Franky pulled the trigger. A bolt of electricity shot out of the barrel of the gun and hit the target board. It was intense and volatile. She struggled to keep the stream directed at the target. Her aim wavered and burned a jagged line through the target board. Smoke filled the air. Bridget's arms were about her again, gripping her hands, steadying her... until Franky got the stream under control.

Franky released the trigger and the stream stopped. The target board collapsed in a smouldering heap. Franky took a deep breath. She felt powerful and slightly terrified. She turned to Bridget, the ray gun facing downwards, her smile dazzling and her eyes dancing. Bridget stood close to her and seemed to share in her euphoria. For a moment they swayed together as if unsure what to do with the intimacy of the moment.

Then Bridget stepped back. "Try again," she encouraged. "This time on your own."

Franky nodded and turned to face the second target, confident and primed.