Page 1 of Unbroken
CHAPTER 1
Rain lashed down, so thick David Siewert could barely see to steer his Buick along the coast road. The tires alternately whipped up mud or bounced over rocks, clacking his teeth together. At times, the windshield was so obscured he had to stick his head out the side window just to make sure he was still on the road and not heading over the edge of a cliff.
Julie wanted him to stay home—but the meeting in Salem couldn’t be put off, not if he was going to expand his leather factory. The accidents had caused his brother to pull back the funds he’d promised, as if the machines were at fault instead of the incompetent workers who contrived to fall into them. Then the employees had the gall to mutter about unionizing.
So he needed to meet potential investors face-to-face if he wanted to secure funding for the new equipment. He’d hire some Pinkertons, too, turn them loose on the union organizers. A few broken heads would put things right.
Siewert’s breath fogged the inside of the windshield, and he slowed so he could lean forward and wipe it off. Perhaps he should have risked rescheduling, or at least put off the meeting an hour so he could take the train instead. But the weather hadn’t been nearly so bad when he left Widdershins.
The fog reformed almost as soon as he cleared it. As if in collusion, the rain grew even heavier, pounding against the canvas roof. The road in front of him vanished from sight.
“Damn it,” he muttered. Damn the rain, damn the workers, damn the investors.
Slowing further still, he stuck his head out the window in an attempt to see. Rain pelted his skin in stinging needles, plastering his hair to his driving goggles. Swearing, he dashed hair and water from the lenses?—
A telegraph pole loomed up directly in front of the auto.
Siewert yelled and jerked the auto hard to one side. Metal squealed as the fender raked against the splintery wooden pole. The front wheels hit something hard, slamming him into the steering wheel. All forward momentum halted; the engine sputtered, then died.
For a long moment, the only sounds came from the drumming rain, the rasp of his breath, the roar of blood in his ears. His chest ached from the impact.
When he’d pulled himself together sufficiently, he took account of his surroundings. What had jolted the car so badly?
Railroad tracks. He’d struck the first rail at an angle, half-off the road, then the front wheels had come to rest against the second rail. Leaving him perfectly positioned in the middle of the tracks.
“For God’s sake.” He lowered his head to rest against the steering wheel. He should have listened to Julie. Or taken the…
A train whistle sounded from off to the south.
He jolted back. Dense curtains of rain blew, alternately hiding and revealing the landscape. He couldn’t see the train yet, but the whistle sounded uncomfortably close.
It was going to be fine. He still had time to get out, crank the engine, and move the Buick. So long as he hurried.
He needed to get out. Turn the crank.
His hands remained welded to the steering wheel.
Was he panicking? Was that why he couldn’t seem to move his arms or legs, why they suddenly felt as though they belonged to someone else altogether?
With what felt like a superhuman effort, he struggled to move his pinky. Flex his toes. Anything.
The whistle sounded again, far louder this time. His eyes remained the only part of his body under his control; turning them as far to the side as he could, he caught sight of the train’s headlight, glowing flame-bright.
His breath hissed through teeth he couldn’t unclench, and his heart furiously pumped blood to useless limbs. He had to move—he couldn’t die like this.
The train engine emerged through the blowing rain, whistle screaming. The wheels shrieked and sparks flew as the engineer tried to brake, but it was far too late.
The last thing David Siewert saw was the vengeful eye of the headlight bearing down on him.
CHAPTER 2
“Hello, son. Did you miss me?”
Vesper Rune froze. He stood in one of the staff corridors of the Nathaniel R. Ladysmith Museum, having just emerged from the third floor men’s washroom—which, through a quirk of the architecture, was the easiest to reach from the first floor entrance to the library. He’d been lost in thought, worrying about the birthday party being held at the Endicott manor tonight. His guard down, mind tricking him into thinking he was safe.
But safety, for him, was an illusion. At least when his mother was skulking about.
He turned to face her slowly. Lenore Rune waited in an alcove that served no conceivable purpose, except maybe to give people somewhere to lurk. She wore a serge dress dyed a deep shade of plum: practical attire that wouldn’t stand out amidst the bustling staff of the museum. The electric lights, widely spaced in this corridor far from public view, glinted from the silver in her hair as she tilted her head.
