There was nothing that would have been more welcome at that moment than a swift and painless death. I jumped away from Jacqueline until I almost reached the other side of the room. Yet, the distance between us made the whole situation more awkward, but I couldn’t find it in myself to stay next to her when Jacqueline’s own damn father had witnessed my hands creeping suspiciously close to her bosom. 

Luckily, neither Jacqueline nor her father were paying me any attention. They continued to stare at each other, rooted in place like anchors had been strapped to their feet. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved. I glanced between them, searching for the opportune moment to bolt to the door before whatever trance the two were in faded. But all I could think of was how strange it was to see two people together who looked so similar to Étienne. 

Monsieur Chaffee was much older and much paler, but they shared the same delicate cast to their features and the same rounded eyes. If Étienne, Jacqueline, and their father were all to stand next to each other, there would be no doubt they were related. And something about that sparked a twinge of jealousy in me. 

How many times had Étienne and I explained our relationship? How many times had the both of us been laughed at, like our claim to be brothers was all an amusing jest? Étienne’s father had left him for fifteen years. He didn’t know Étienne preferred to spend his days outside staring up at the wind flitting through the trees. He hadn’t seen the great stacks of books in our library Étienne had read about astronomy and plants and birds. He hadn’t been there all the times Étienne had saved my life. 

Now, his father was here and Jacqueline was here and both of them barely knew my brother and it wasn’t fair. 

Monsieur Chaffee broke the trance then, taking a step closer to Jacqueline, one tentative hand outstretched. But a moment later, Jacqueline retrieved her fallen dagger from the floor and pointed it out in front of her. 

“Don’t come any closer,” she said. Her words were whispered and broken, wetness glittering in the corners of her eyes.

Her father stopped. “Jacqueline, I—” 

“You left me,” she said. The dagger in her hand shook. “You took my brother away, never contacted me, and left me waiting for you to come back. I didn’t even know if you were alive. Don’t you dare try to act as if I will come running into your arms now.” 

“That was never my intention, Jacqueline, I swear it. You must believe me.” 

I stepped away from the wall, inching my way closer to the door. “As exciting as this all is, I feel odd being here since neither of you are related to me, and we’re in someone else’s house.” 

“Olivier, wait,” Jacqueline called out at the same time Monsieur Chaffee said, “You kissed my daughter.” 

I paused, one foot hovering in the air. “Yes, indeed that happened, yes. I had gone from overwhelming horror to simple mortification over the whole ordeal, but, yes, thank you for reminding me you saw.” 

“I asked him to kiss me to create a distraction,” Jacqueline said. “It wasn’t real.” 

It wasn’t real. 

I knew that, but why did it feel as if something had stung me directly in the chest? 

“And exactly who are you?” her father asked. I could tell he was trying to keep his gaze fixed on me, but his eyes kept straying to Jacqueline. 

I continued walking to the door, hoping my urgency to escape would overshadow my desire to melt into the walls. “I would love to discuss my mortification in more detail with you, monsieur, I truly would. But perhaps now isn’t the best time seeing as your daughter and I both snuck in here to take something, and if we’re caught, we will, in fact, be arrested, so—” 

“He’s Étienne’s younger brother,” Jacqueline cut in. 

Jacqueline’s father stared at me with enough intensity to make sweat prickle on the back of my neck. “His younger brother?” 

“Again,” I said, clasping my hand around the brass doorknob, “I would love to explain, but now is not the best time.” 

“My God,” Monsieur Chaffee whispered, studying me over the top of his spectacles. “You’re Olivier d’Aumont, are you not? You were a skinny, sickly little boy, but you’ve grown up to be quite the handsome young man.” I was about to swell with pride at this, but then he added, “And quite the scoundrel.” 

“I’ll have you know that was my first kiss.” I’d intended the words to help my case, but the second they tumbled from my lips, I realized they made me sound like a snake and a social leper. “This week,” I amended. “I mean, that was my first kiss this week.” 

 “Olivier,” Jacqueline said through her teeth. “You aren’t helping.” 

“I’m not surprised,” her father went on. “Antoine was a good-looking young man as well, and he shared your apparent penchant for kissing girls you should not be kissing.”

I froze at the mention of my father’s name. “How do you know—”

Before I could finish my sentence, Jacqueline stepped forward, dagger still outstretched, and said, “None of this matters. Explain what you’re doing here, Father.” A single tear spilled from her eye and slipped down her cheek. “Now.”  

Monsieur Chaffee seemed to wilt into himself, like a pastry left out in the rain. “I had hoped not to bring you or your brother into this.” 

“Into what?” she asked. “Is this—” she inclined to the rows upon rows of clocks with the tip of her dagger “—your doing?”   

He looked to the clocks, then quickly away. His eyes were wide, his hands gripping and releasing the hem of his coat. “It is, yes, but—” 

“These clocks are killing people!” Jacqueline slammed her hands down on the table, displacing a cloud of wood dust. “Why would you make them, Father? And for the de Colignys, no less.” 

“I had no choice,” he said, voice quiet. “I was taken here and forced into this. I was told this was the only way I could finally have you two back.”  

The dagger in Jacqueline’s hand wavered. Her father came forward and rested his weight against the work-table, as if he no longer had the strength to keep himself upright. His hands landed in a pile of loose clock cogs, but he didn’t pay them any mind. Above us, whoever was playing the harpsichord began a new song with off-key gusto. 

“That is what you told me fifteen years ago,” Jacqueline said. She dropped her dagger on the table but kept her hand rested on its gleaming hilt. “When you left me at Duvaux’s shop, you said you would be coming back. You promised. I waited and waited and waited, but you never came. Do you have any idea what being abandoned does to someone?” Her father didn’t answer, and Jacqueline yelled, “Do you?”

He opened his mouth then closed it again, looking away to the clocks along the wall. A muscle in his jaw twitched. 

“You gave Étienne a family,” Jacqueline whispered. “Why did he get a family when I was left alone?” 

“A family was not what I had planned.” Monsieur Chaffee directed his attention to me. “When I left Étienne at your house, I hoped perhaps you two would grow to be friends. I never imagined—” 

“We are friends. He’s my best friend, in fact.” I set my jaw. “But he’s also my brother.” 

“Why did you leave Étienne with the d’Aumonts, then, if your intention wasn’t for him to have a family?” Jacqueline asked. “They took him in as their ward. He was given a life of comfort and love and companionship. I was given nothing.” 

“No, no!” Jacqueline’s father shook his head. His spectacles slipped down his nose, but he didn’t adjust them. “You were always so smart and eager to learn, Jacqueline. Even as a child, you hovered around your mother and me, always asking questions and yearning to know more. You were fascinated by clocks, and there were many nights I had to scold you for sneaking out of bed to play with my designs.” 

Jacqueline’s mouth twitched up. “I remember.” 

“Étienne was different. He was so delicate and fragile and had those awful night terrors. I knew he wouldn’t be all right left somewhere without children his age, but you would be. I told Duvaux as much when I handed you over to him. I told him you would work hard and make him proud.” 

I furrowed my brow. There it was again—that night terror nonsense. But like the previous times Jacqueline mentioned how Étienne was as a child, it didn’t make the slightest bit of sense. I searched my mind as far back as I could, trying to pick out bits and pieces of what I remembered about Étienne throughout the years. Though no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t dig up a single instance where he seemed weak or scared or anything but a solid rock for Renée and me.

He was the strong one—the one who held us and comforted us no matter what. The one to always assure us everything would be all right. After I nearly drowned, Étienne had slept next to me for months. And whenever I awoke, screaming and crying from dreams where my lungs were full of water and I couldn’t breathe, he would take my hand and whisper, “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”  

No, there wasn’t a fragile bone in Étienne’s body, and for his father or Jacqueline to even think that proved they knew absolutely nothing about my brother. 

“You left me alone because I didn’t seem scared?” Jacqueline’s words were short and quiet, like she was using every muscle in her body to keep herself under control. “You just assumed everything was all right with me and never bothered to ask? I was a young girl—a young, dark skinned girl—and you thought leaving me alone to fend for myself in a world run by white men would be fine?” 

Jacqueline’s father paled. “I didn’t know—”

“Never mind!” she snapped. “That doesn’t explain why you left Étienne with the d’Aumonts. And why you never came back.”

“I knew—know—the d’Aumonts,” Jacqueline’s father responded. 

“What?” I stepped forward. “You know my parents?” 

“Yes. I’ve known them for many years. Your father and I have been friends since we were your age.” 

“But my father never mentioned you. He never said a word.” I paused. “God, I didn’t know anyone actually liked him.” 

“We met during the War of the Grand Alliance,” he explained. “In the Austrian Netherlands. We fought in the Battle of Neerwinden together, and I saved his life. He swore for years he would repay me for what I had done, so when I needed somewhere safe to leave Étienne, your family seemed like the obvious choice.”

I glanced over at Jacqueline like somehow she could explain what was happening. But she looked just as perplexed as I felt. I didn’t know how to process any of this information. Not that my father and Étienne’s father had known each other for years. Not that my father was a war veteran. Not that he’d decided neither of those things were worth telling me about. 

“And your mother lost all those children, of course,” Jacqueline’s father continued, “so I thought giving her another child to take care of would bring comfort to her as well.” 

This stopped me cold. I curled my hand around the worktable, hoping the bite of the sharp wood against my palm would make all of this feel somehow more real. “What are you on about?” 

“Your mother’s miscarriages and her son who died as an infant. I—” He hesitated, stark realization washing over his pale features. “You didn’t know.” 

“No.” I swallowed. The world spun around me like fragments from a dream. “I didn’t.”

Miscarriages? A dead son? Both things were common enough, but why wouldn’t Mother have said anything about them? Didn’t Renée and I deserve to know we had another brother? Wasn’t it customary to inform your children about things like their own siblings? I swallowed again, forcing down the sharp acid building in the base of my throat. Mother had miscarriages, had lost a child, and still she stood by and watched me nearly choke to death. Still, she refused to help save Étienne from hanging.

“I didn’t mean to tell you in this manner,” Monsieur Chaffee said quickly. “I assumed you already knew.” He quieted for a moment, peering at me through his thick spectacles. “Are you unwell?” 

It was only then that I realized my breaths were coming out short and labored, my nails digging into the worktable. I tried to suck in a lungful of air, but it lodged in my throat like a lump of burnt sugar, acrid and hot. I doubled over, coughing. My cheeks burned with shame. 

Étienne was fragile and had night terrors. His father and my father had known each other for years. Father fought in the war. Mother lost a child before I was born. None of it was right. None of it made sense. 

It was all too damn much. 

“Olivier.” A hand fell on my shoulder. “It’s all right.” 

Half of me wished to flinch away from Jacqueline’s touch, but half of me reveled in the warmth of her fingertips. Étienne wasn’t here, and nothing was as I believed it to be. But at least knowing Jacquline understood what was happening to me made me feel as if I wasn’t alone.

“Sorry,” I managed to gasp out, frantically trying to control my panic. “I’m sorry.” 

“There isn’t a thing to be sorry for.” Her voice was soft. 

“Right.” I straightened up and smoothed my rumpled cravat. Panic still rolled over me in waves of ice, but thinking about how strong Jacqueline was when faced with her fears made me want to be stronger, too. “Monsieur,” I said, turning to Jacqueline’s father. His expression was wary, but I ignored it. “This family history is not what we came here for. You are building mind-altering clocks, and since your daughter and I are working together with the King of France to put a stop to such clocks, I demand you tell us why.”

He gave Jacqueline a worried glance. “The king?” 

“It’s true, Father. We were ordered by the king to retrieve your journals from my apartment, but when we went to fetch them, Duvaux told us they were already taken here. Your design is causing havoc around the city. It’s killed one man and almost killed three more, and the king fears the deaths will only increase. You must make them stop, Father. Étienne was arrested for the murder of one of those men, and the only way he will be released from the Bastille is if this stops.” 

Monsieur Chaffee removed his spectacles and set them on the table, rubbing his eyes with vigor. “I know he was arrested. I know. That’s why I’m here.” 

“You know, and you didn’t do anything about it?” I burst out. I knew the Bible condemned choking people, but at that moment, I was ready to take my chances.  

“I am doing something. All of these clocks, all of this work I’ve been doing.” He threaded his hands through his hair. “Comte de Coligny promised to save Étienne’s life, but only if I made him an army.”