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the crow. Crow was the keeper of the sacred laws, a harbinger of both change and power. Jake had learned early on that when he saw crows, there were usually powerful changes headed his way.
    He pondered the yellow eyes of the crow and then considered the events of the previous evening. He saw Quinn’s ghost-white eyes looking back at him. He had to wonder where he was headed next. Did he stay home and wait for another attack from the Tong, or should he hop a zeppelin to San Fran and square off with a gang of Chinese assassins?
    The thought of facing down the entire Tong, with or without Cole, didn’t appeal to his sense of easy living. That many killers might just be able to get the drop on him. He nodded to the shrinking black wings and stared down to see Cole running towards Skeeter’s workshop with a bucket of water. Another screech of escaping steam erupted from inside the workshop. Jake sighed, wondering what he’d been thinking when he took Skeeter in as his charge.
    She was a feisty, headstrong sixteen-year-old prone to swearing, but she knew more than most tinkers four times her age. Skeeter had modified damn near everything in the house. They had hot water on tap, electricity ran the lights and stove, and the windows and closets were all steam driven.
    Jake pulled a lever attached to the windowsill. The window slowly slid upward, the small, steam-driven piston hissing quietly. Skeeter had run copper pipes all over the house, and a huge, aether-heated boiler in her workshop provided the pressure. She’d attached valves, fittings, brackets, and pistons to anything that might need moving.
    When the window thumped open, Jake leaned out into a warm, August morning. He stared at the open workshop doors for a bit, unable to understand the muffled voices coming from inside. A small puff of white smoke followed the black one rising into the sky. The voices went quiet, and Cole stepped out into the sunlight.
    “Everything okay, Cole?” Jake asked, a mildly worried tone edging in as he rubbed the sleep out of his good eye. Cole’s bright blue eyes fixed on Jake, and his mulatto skin went a little pale. He quickly closed the doors behind him.
    “Oh! Hey, Jake.” Cole tried to sound casual but failed miserably. His Free Territories accent came through loud and clear, a cross between the twang of Texas and smooth drawl of Colorado. There was also a hint of his time spent as a Buffalo Soldier riding both with and against the Apache, but there was no missing his nervousness. Cole’s glance darted back towards the closed doors then returned to Jake. This time he looked as innocent as a preacher on Sunday. “Everything’s fine. Why do you ask?”
    Jake cocked his head to the left and let his gaze follow the two clouds of smoke rising into the sky. He watched them drift for a few seconds as they dissipated on a light breeze. He tapped the brass fingers of his left hand patiently on the windowsill.
    Skeeter’s up to something again, Jake thought. And this time Cole’s in on it. Eyeing Cole he said, “Oh … no reason in particular, I s’pose.” He added a suspicious smile, wondering what they might be keeping from him. He’d just have to wait and see how this one played out. “Is there any coffee?” There was little point in forcing things before he got a cup of coffee down his neck.
    Cole pulled off his hat and ran a hand through long, dark hair, looking a bit embarrassed. “Naw … I didn’t make any yet. Been … preoccupied.”
    Jake nodded his head, certain now that something was up. They both knew damn well Cole needed coffee in the morning almost as much as Jake did. “You sure everything’s okay?” he asked again, smiling like he’d just beaten a full house with a straight flush.
    “Sure, Jake. Couldn’t be better.” Cole looked around the yard and scratched the back of his head. To Jake it looked like Cole was searching for gopher holes in a cobblestone street. Cole looked up and said, “Go on