Chapter 1: Faust Interrupted

Even in the alley, with the stone walls of the theatre looming above them, Penance could still eye a handful of stars in the square patch of inky sky. She was taken by the sheer force of them, the speed and energy it took for each one of them to reach her. And the absoluteness of something so powerful appearing to her so shimmering and beautiful.

Amalia sighed, and Penance's head, which rested on Amalia's shoulder, rose and then fell. At times, Amalia's steady breathing calmed Penance more than words ever could. Even here, in the dank alley, ripe with recent violence, their breathing evened out and they became one entity. This talent for each other, this ability to find calm even after the terrifying trouble at the opera, was vital to both of them now.

Amalia was trembling slightly beneath the thin shawl Penance had draped over her shoulders. "Are you ready to get out of here?" Penance asked softly, not lifting her head, still allowing Amalia space, if not distance.

Amalia let her head drop lightly onto Penance's, an affirmation. "It is a bit chilly," she said, standing more slowly than she would've liked, a jab of pain along one side of her knee. She extended a hand to help Penance up.

The gesture was enough to let Penance know that the equilibrium between the two of them had settled back to its normal frequency, Amalia's guard up and back in its rightful place.

"I'll call our carriage," Penance offered with a trying smile, her voice taking on the loftiness of the wealthy. Amalia chuckled.

"Yes, by all means, summon our coachman," she answered, kicking away the canister of beer she had snatched away from the drunken lard who had mistakenly tried her earlier. She adjusted the fallen straps of her chemise and pushed a strand of sweat-logged hair from her bloodied face. "After all, we are two fine women having a grand night at the opera."

They laughed into the darkness of the alley, and the sound echoed off the high walls and embraced them, a reminder that hope could still be found in the midst of defeat. One of the stars above them blinked out. Before Penance could do anything more than observe it, the motor carriage stopped at the front of the alley.

"Times like these I appreciate the general insensateness of your creations," Amalia said, glancing at the cloak-covered coachman robot that would steer them home through the cobbled streets of London. "It certainly won't offer an opinion about our appearance."

Penance mischievously crinkled her brow. "Its name is Chad. Opinions are merely a hypothesis at this point."

The dusty streets were emptying at this late hour. Soon the city thoroughfare became the familiar lanes near home, a place that up until recently, had been home to neither Penance nor Amalia. But things change. They road quietly, each dreading their arrival in different ways. Penance was not looking forward to rehashing the events that had transpired at the opera house. Amalia was not looking forward to disappointing her charges nor seeing the fear she would strike with her dreadful appearance. Penance could tell by the rustling of Amalia's fingers her dread would momentarily rip her away from the carriage and she braced herself for the stillness.

In fact, Amalia was already gone, snatched forward in time to some unforeseen place. One of the terrible masked figures appeared too close to her face, so close that she could see that it was less a mask and more of a bag worn for so long it seemed melded into place. She was frightened, her hands immovable, panic long gone and replaced with dread. The mouth of the mask opened, and a grunt came from the hole, then she felt a waterfall of cold sluice into her, frozen water knifing into her and forcing air backwards into her throat back. She was struggling to breathe in the dark, damp room and she rippled back in time and found herself struggling to breathe in the cab of the carriage. Over time, she had learned to cope with these flash disturbances, these ripples that had become her turn. She knew her body would catch up to reality later than her mind would, and she breathed deeply and steadily, calming herself, if only to assure Penance that all was fine. For it was fine, because she was here, anchored to the present moment now, with Penance near her and the orphanage gate outside the carriage window. As they pulled into the yard, it was clear that the orphanage was still buzzing with latent energy, clearly awaiting their arrival.

"Do you want to take the carriage into the garage and put dear old Chad to bed?" Amalia asked with the glint of a smile. "I can deal with the humans inside." She angled her head toward the door, where she could see little shadowed heads peering out at them from the windows. How she did hate to disappoint the girls, who were so excited as they watched them leave.

Penance nodded, grateful for the reprieve and the few quiet moments she would have with just her inventions. Amalia glanced down at her stained corset and chemise and pulled the shawl tighter around her bare shoulders as she headed toward the main door. She may as well walk right into the front door and immediately put to rest the curious jitters from the rest of the children. Lucy beat her to it, opening the door wide. Amalia hadn't realized how cold she was until the warmth from the still lit fire practically pulled her closer to the hearth in the parlor. As she stood in the foyer, the excitement on the faces staring at her quickly turned to bewilderment before morphing into frightful concern. It was then that Amalia realized her misstep. "Miss Adair is in the garage putting away the carriage. We're fine."

"I knew there was a reason I never stepped foot in the opera," Lucy murmured, taking in Amalia's appearance and the solemnity of her face. She gave two quick claps of her hand. "Okay, children, upstairs you go. Mrs. True has clearly had a… ahem, a night of it and will tell you all about it in the morning."

"Was the show really that terrible?" Primrose asked, crestfallen.

Amalia gave her a prim smile. "There was a slight interruption, nothing to worry yourselves about."

"But your beautiful dress-"

"-was torn slightly on a ledge in our haste to escape." She blinked in quick memoriam for the dress, a lovely gift from Ms. Bidlow that did deserve a better fate than hanging from a forgotten stairwell shaft. "Nothing that can't be mended." She winked at Myrtle, hoping to signal to some effect that her appearance had nothing to do with her or the masked beings that they confronted earlier. "It's late and you all have lessons tomorrow."

Harriet herded the girls upstairs toward their rooms, quieting their murmurs with forced levity. Amalia eyed the fire again, but Horatio stepped closer and peered at her nose. "I must say, Faust does at times make me want to bang my head against the wall, but you look as if you actually did."

Amalia angled her head away. "We can regroup in the morning when we're fresh. Talk then."

Both Horatio and Lucy knowingly eyed each other, committing to whatever team effort it would take to get Amalia to abandon the silly notion that she would not immediately share with them the details of what had brought her to such a disheveled state.

"I'll make tea," Lucy motioned, already turning to the kitchen.

"I'll grab my bag," Horatio seconded.

Amalia sighed, defeated, as the two went their separate ways. She lumbered up the stairs, pausing at the top to ensure the girls were tucked away in their rooms before crossing to her room. She purposefully avoided her face in the looking glass above her washstand and futilely attempted to wipe away some of the blood, which had now stubbornly dried across her face and hands. She did the best she could and slipped delicately out of her pinafore, muffling a groan, and into a long nightgown, the gentleness of the fabric feeling like more than she deserved.

In the kitchen, she found steaming mugs of tea on the table, along with a few pieces of fresh bread. Horatio sat with his bag on the table, ready for her. He plucked up a piece of bread. "Lucy, it's a constant surprise to me that your genius in the kitchen isn't your turn."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "A regular sister suffragette, you are."

Horatio eyed Amalia as she sat down, the floor coming up too fast to meet her.

"I may have a concussion," she said, wincing. As Horatio cleaned her wounds with a gentle touch and glowed them as best he could, suturing the gash across her nose, she told them about the unwelcome and violent intermission and the events afterward.

"Why did you go after them?" Horatio asked, shining a bright light into her right eye. "Was no one else in the whole fucking opera house capable?"

Lucy scoffed. "They're not mad. No one in their right mind would go chasing after a murderous lunatic." She raised an eyebrow at Amalia as Horatio moved the light to her other eye. "Present company excluded, of course."

"You do seem to be slightly concussed," he affirmed. "Should I proceed in telling you how to properly care for yourself, or will you ignore that?"

Penance slid in the kitchen door, her shoulders rising in surprise at the sight of them. "Oh tea," she piped cheerily, the smell of chamomile momentarily soothing the turmoil the evening had caused. She filled a mug and pulled out a chair, and by the time she sat her face had returned to its initial weariness. Amalia watched her, wishing she could replace the frown with the delight that had overcome Penance when she realized her electric motorcar had indeed surpassed prototype status.

"The police will be all over this," Horatio pointed out, and Amalia snapped her eyes back to him.

"A lot good it will do," replied Lucy, still standing, agitation not allowing her to sit. "They've buggered every other investigation into Maladie with nothing to show for it."

"This was different," Penance said quietly, hands wrapped around her mug. "To commit such an act in front of a theatre filled with people." She shook her head and instead tried to summon the song.

"She was looking for Mary Brighton," Amalia said. "She knew who she was. What she could do. The question is, who told her." She pursed her lips and pressed a hand against her temple. "We'll keep up the same security protocols as decided upon this morning. Penance can activate the alarms and we can use them if need be."

"Are we in any danger tonight?" Lucy asked.

"No." Amalia was certain of this, if little else. "Maladie has who she wants. She's not hunting us."

Lucy plucked the last of the bread from the plate. "Well, that helps." She moved to the back stairwell. "Sweet dreams, my loves."

Amalia looked at Horatio. "You should go home, friend. Although I do find it heartwarming that you stayed." She quirked an eyebrow. "Dare I say perhaps you do enjoy Faust?"

"I couldn't very well leave Lucy with the girls abuzz like they were. I don't hesitate to say if you didn't detest Faust before, you probably do now."

"You've been here entirely too long today. Get back to your family."

Horatio sighed deeply, contemplating whether to say more. Instead, he looked at Penance. "She has a concussion. May be worth looking in on her once or twice tonight." He snapped his bag shut and stood. "I'll be back at sunup tomorrow."

Amalia sighed. "I didn't get any bread."

Upstairs the two of them parted ways to their respective rooms. Penance washed up, hanging her dress with care in her wardrobe, wondering if she would have another opportunity to wear it. She thought sadly of Amalia's fine dress, that fit her so beautifully, and then realized she wasn't exactly sure what had come of it. She let the thought go, pulling her hair loose and letting her curls fall down her back, then changed into her simple nightgown. She picked up a book on synaptic energy that she hoped wouldn't excite her into sleeplessness, and then opted for a more lugubrious volume on organic chemistry instead. Climbing into bed, she heard a knock at her door. Despite knowing it was most certainly Amalia, she swallowed a tiny yelp of fear as she moved to open the door.

There Amalia stood, holding the shawl in her hand. "Thank you for your kindness tonight," she said, extending her hand. Her words encompassed much more than the shawl, but she didn't need to say it and Penance didn't need to hear it in order for it to be understood.

Penance grasped Amalia's hand through the fine shawl and pulled her into the bedroom, closing the door. She placed the shawl on the dresser beside the door and allowed herself a moment to take in the wholeness of Amalia-the stark red and now lightly purple streaks across her nose and forehead, her scraped and bloodied knuckles, the marks of someone too fearless to avoid danger. Enough to make her seem intimidating if not downright untouchable. But, as they always did, Penance's eyes found Amalia's and settled into them. "You are not in fine shape."

Amalia started to reply, but the quip caught in her throat and instead she simply looked at Penance, quiet, until Penance leaned forward and embraced her. They stayed with their arms wrapped around each other, neither quite certain who was holding up who. Penance smelled of lavender soap and faint embers, remnants of her shop, which Amalia found comforting. After a moment, Amalia pulled back with a question in her eye. She opened her mouth to speak, and that is when Penance leaned in to kiss her. Softly, at first, but as their hands discovered new places to touch, the kiss deepened. Penance was warm with electricity, honing in on the heat that seemed to settle between them, right below her belly. Amalia was pulled toward that warmth, so different than the coldness that seemed always to ripple inside her.

Penance's hand roamed a bit too far to the side, pressing against Amalia's wound and a small yelp split them apart as Penance realized what she'd done. "I'm so sorry," she hissed, scrunching her nose. "Are you okay?"

Amalia leaned back against the door, a hand held delicately against her side. She grinned drunkenly up at Penance and then let out a tired laugh. "Objectively, no," she replied, and laughed again, exhaustion underlying her mirth. She leaned forward and placed another kiss on Penance's mouth and Penance siphoned pleasure from it, storing it away for the duration of the night.

"Objectively, we should sleep," Penance said thoughtfully, once her lips recovered. "I will check on you."

The tacit thing stood between them, threatening the blooming warmth. Amalia didn't hide from it, nor did she speak of it, because she didn't like to speak of things that confounded her. "You'll know where to find me." She squeezed Penance's hand, a loving gesture, acknowledging that there were questions Penance had that she couldn't answer. She padded back to her room, closing the door behind her. Penance left her own door open, knowing that soon she would hear the creak of the floorboards as Amalia wandered aimlessly over to the girl's room to lay down on the cold, dark floor, the very place that Penance found her each morning.