Howls and Hallows: A Steampunk Fairy Tale (Steampunk Red Riding Hood Book 5)

by Melanie Karsak

  “And what about lore of druids?” Harper asked. She went to the next monolith, inspecting the markings thereon.

  “Old tales, that’s all,” he said then shrugged. “Where didn’t the old Celtic tribes and the druids roam once?”

  Frowning, Harper pulled out her journal and quickly jotted down some notes.

  “The ruins are just at the top of the rise,” Mister Aaron said. “May I suggest caution?” he added, motioning to his shotgun.

  I nodded, pulling my pistols.

  Harper took one last note then slipped her notepad back in her bag. She pulled her pistol from her shoulder holster.

  I inhaled deeply, blowing out my breath slow and steady. I joined Mister Aaron. It didn’t matter how good a huntsman he was if he wasn’t carrying silver bullets.

  We rounded the rise, passing more standing stones, then found ourselves standing at the entrance of a settlement. Two massive old oak trees stood sentinel at the entrance to the place. Their leaves held the last tints of autumn orange. The ground below my feet was covered in leaves and acorns. Glancing around the site, I noted there were nine small, stone structures there. Five of them were nothing more than walls. The other four, however, were overgrown with vines. One even looked like it might still have some timbers inside and seemed suitable for hiding.

  The three of us stood perfectly still as we listened for any sign.

  I cast a glace about, letting my mooneye do its work. There was something here. I could feel it, but I couldn’t see anything.

  “Look,” Harper whispered, motioning toward the center of the settlement. I spotted a bank of coals near the pyre. There was a light scent of smoke in the air, the coals glimmering orange and white.

  “Well, Lord Cabell is right. There is someone here,” Mister Aaron whispered.

  “Or was, very recently,” Harper said.

  “We need to check the structures,” I said, motioning to the buildings. “Harper, stay with Mister Aaron and take the buildings on the right.”

  She nodded, and they set off to examine the ruins.

  Slipping one of my pistols back into its holster, I pulled my blade and headed toward the first structure. Part of the wall had fallen down. Listening for any sound of movement, I slipped inside to find nothing more than leaves, spiders, and a forgotten hearth. Some pieces of furniture lay in ruins beside the old stone fireplace. Nothing here had been disturbed.

  I crawled back out, casting a glance toward Harper and Mister Aaron. Having completed their inspection, Harper reemerged from inside the dilapidated structure.

  I met her glance.

  Harper shook her head.

  I moved across the space toward the other building, which looked far more promising. As I went, my palms began to tingle. I checked my weapon once more and drew close.

  Clemeny…

  Clemeny…

  From somewhere beyond the building, somewhere below the rise and out in the fen, a soft, feminine voice called out to me.

  My stomach clenched.

  No. Not now. Not that.

  I forced myself to stay calm and moved toward the building. The ground in front of the entrance had been disturbed, the vines and leaves were broken and unsettled. Walking carefully, I stepped inside.

  There was a rustle in the back of the structure, and a moment later, something came hurtling toward me.

  “What the hell?” I said, blocking whatever was headed my way with my hands.

  Something small slammed into me, then pushed around me and back outside, making a terrible racket as it went.

  I turned to find a pheasant escaping.

  Harper looked from me to the bird. Mister Aaron lifted his shotgun. He took aim at the bird. But in the split second before he fired, something back inside the building rustled.

  “Hell’s bells.”

  Mister Aaron shot, the sound of the blast echoing across the moor.

  I turned and went back into the house. The ivy covering a hole in the wall at the very back of the structure was swishing back and forth. Moving quickly, I dashed across the room and looked out the gap in the back of the building. The mist beyond the hovel moved as if it had been disturbed by someone rushing through.

  Following quickly, I rushed through the mist, chasing something I could not see. The only evidence of their wake was the rolling fog and the tingling in my palms.

  Clemeny…

  Clemeny…

  I raced down the rise to the bog below. Watching my step, I followed the movement of the mist. Someone or something was just ahead of me. I rushed into the swamp. For just a brief moment, I saw the silhouette of someone, but they turned and ran off.

  “Clem? Clemeny, where are you?” Harper called from ruins above.

  I rushed forward, mindful of my steps, out into the fen. But soon, the fog settled. Everything around me became very still. There was no sign of the other person. I scanned around, looking, listening.

  But there was nothing.

  “Clemeny?” Harper called, her voice echoing through the mist.

  A soft wind blew, carrying with it the heavy scents of mud and peat.

  The breeze blew away the mist to reveal that I was standing in the middle of a ring of stones.

  Chapter 9: The Land of the Iceni

  “Clem? Clemeny?” Harper called, and this time I heard the worry in her voice.

  “I’m here. I’m coming back now,” I yelled back.

  My skin rose in gooseflesh. I scanned around, looking at the stones. There were nine pairs in all, capped like doorways, each carved with elaborate symbols. There was a sheen on the stones, dampness from the mist, which gave them an odd, bluish sparkle.

  My heart beating hard, I stepped toward the center of the ring where a stone altar had been erected.

  I could see a rudely carved basket sitting thereon.

  I approached slowly, feeling someone’s—or something’s—eyes on me. Pausing, I peered into the mist once more. I couldn’t see anything.

  “I know you’re there,” I said.

  I closed my good eye and panned all around. My mooneye was playing tricks on me, seeing fleeting shadows in the air around me. Balls of light, silhouettes, undefined shapes moved through the mist. But what did I expect? I was standing at the gateway of the shadowlands.

  Stepping close to the altar, I braced myself then looked into the basket.

  Within were a dead hare, some apples, and wild mushrooms.

  A sacrifice?

  An offering?

  Given the condition of the hare, it was clear that someone had been here not long ago. Was it the same person in the ruined building or someone different?

  I frowned.

  Clemeny, a feminine voice called, no lighter than the wind, rustling my hair as if someone had breathed my name onto the back of my neck.

  My skin rose to gooseflesh. “What do you want from me?”

  Soft laughter floated on the breeze.

  I turned around.

  There was no one there.

  I holstered my weapons. Glancing at the basket once more, I decided to leave it. The old, Celtic gods had once ruled the land. While I’d spent my childhood in Saint Clement Danes and had felt the presence of the divine on more than one occasion, I’d always had some doubts. How and why did the gods disappear? Can a god really disappear? If people stop believing, does that mean the gods never existed, or does that mean they are simply forgotten? There were a lot of things roaming about our realm that people didn’t believe in. But they were real. Real enough to plant a kiss on my lips. And if werewolves and vampires and goblins were real, what else was real? I looked at the basket once more. Real or not, I knew better than to touch an offering left to the gods.

  * * *

  Watching my step, I walked back toward the rise. To my surprise, I noticed a sloping path that lead back to the village. I followed the trail, noting the menhirs that dotted this side of the settlement just as they did the other. And once more, there were nine stones. I ret
urned to the ruins to find Mister Aaron collecting the pheasant and Harper staring at the hovel where I’d disappeared. She was frowning heavily.

  “Well?” I asked. “Scowl any answers out of it?”

  Harper breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Where did you go?”

  “Chasing someone…or something.”

  “Which was it—a someone or a something?”

  “Lines are blurry on that topic, aren’t they?”

  Harper rolled her eyes at me.

  “A someone, I think. But I didn’t get a good look. I did, however, find a miniature Stonehenge on the other side of that rise,” I said, pointing toward the mist.

  “There are a good number of standing stones hereabouts,” Mister Aaron said. “Most of them are overgrown or have fallen down, some half sunk into the fen. There are three more rings of stones on the Cabell estate, in fact.”

  “Does anyone attend to them?” Harper asked.

  “Lord Cabell’s father tried—put a fence around one of them, but it fell apart, and no one ever bothered to repair it. Every once in a while, someone will come down from Oxford or Cambridge to have a look. Otherwise, no one much bothers with them.”

  “I think your theory about the Iceni might hold some weight, Mister Aaron,” Harper said.

  He nodded. “Lots of evidence of early life on the fens, if you know where to look, and if the bog doesn’t swallow you whole first.”

  “Seems a good place to hide from the Romans,” Harper said.

  “Or from religious persecution,” I added under my breath.

  Harper flicked her eyes toward me but said nothing.

  “Indeed,” Mister Aaron said. “So, what did you kick up, Agent Louvel?” Mister Aaron asked.

  “Can’t say, exactly. Fox, maybe. Whatever it was, I lost it in the mist.”

  Mister Aaron stroked his ample mustache. “Tracks are a bit small for a fox. But the beast could have pinned the bird in there. All the better for us, I suppose,” he said, holding up the pheasant, gazing at it with pride.

  I smiled.

  “Shall we head back now?” Harper asked. Her question surprised me. I had expected Harper to want to examine every square inch of the place. As for me, I could feel that there were answers here. I looked over my shoulder toward the ring. The answers, however, were just beyond my grasp. But something told me if I wanted to know what was haunting Cabell Manor, I would need to come out at night.

  “Very good,” Mister Aaron said, then motioned for us to follow along behind him as he led us back toward the entrance of the ruins. “We should still have enough time to get some duck hunting in along the way.”

  Harper chuckled, and we turned to follow Mister Aaron.

  Harper fell back to join me. “I think it might be wise to come back here at night. Preferably alone,” she whispered.

  I smiled, feeling proud of my partner’s good instincts. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Really, Clemeny. A fox?” Harper scoffed.

  “Well, he almost believed me,” I said then tapped my temple. “Wiley like a fox, at least.”

  “What was it? A person?”

  “I think so.”

  “What about the stones?”

  “Someone has been there recently.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Well, first, I could feel their eyes on me. And then there was the offering they left on the altar.”

  Harper stopped. “An offering?”

  I nodded, took her by the arm, and moved forward.

  “Was it bad?” she asked, scrunching up her nose as if she was preparing herself for a tale of the macabre.

  I chuckled. “Egypt certainly did a number on your imagination. No mutilated corpses, just a basket with a hare, apples, and mushrooms. An offering for the gods, not entrails.”

  Harper sighed with relief. “I suddenly envisioned us chasing occultists through the mist, a prospect that didn’t sound appealing. Apples, however, I can handle. Who left it then? And why?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know, but Mister Aaron is right about one thing.”

  “That is?”

  “If a person wanted to hide, there would be no better place do it,” I said then looked behind me toward the ruins, which were now engulfed in the mist.

  Chapter 10: Missing Pieces

  When we returned to Cabell Manor, we headed to the small library and got to work. Harper began poring over her notes while I went through the Cabell family ledgers once more.

  “Well, as we suspected, witch seems to be a bit of a misnomer,” Harper said as she paged through her notes.

  I raised an eyebrow at her.

  “The stones,” she said, tapping her pen on her paper. “Maybe by the sixteenth century people were calling them witches, but that was a druid’s grove.”

  “Yes,” I said as I turned the yellowed pages of the family notes. “But that doesn’t explain what our six-toed friend is doing roaming about the moor, leaving sacrifices for the gods, and keeping the fire warm.”

  “Assuming it’s the same being up to all those things. I’m no expert on druids, but can they shapeshift?” Harper asked.

  I paused. “I don’t know. Maybe? Their connection to animals—like a familiar—is strong.”

  Harper frowned. “We’re missing something. Either that, or there is a shape-shifting immortal druid on the moor.”

  I frowned. Harper was right. The pieces weren’t coming together just yet. Whatever the answer was, it was still out in the bog.

  The door handle rattled, and Niles the footman opened the door. Lady Charlotte sauntered into the room, a picture of Victorian high fashion in her satin and bows.

  Harper and I both rose.

  “Agents, I was wondering if you would join my brother and me for dinner this evening? We’re both very interested to see what you’ve discovered.”

  “Thank you, Lady Charlotte,” Harper said. “We’d be delighted.”

  Maybe Harper would be delighted, but I had work to do, and Lady Charlotte irritated me.

  “Very well. You’ll hear the dressing gong around seven,” Lady Charlotte said then turned, her dress making an audible swish, as she left the room. Niles passed us a knowing glance the closed the door behind her.

  I frowned at Harper.

  “What? We need to eat. And if my suspicions are right, you need to get used to moving in better society, Louvel,” she said with a wink.

  “And that is better society? I’d rather have dinner in the Dark District,” I retorted then turned back to my papers, but now my mind was distracted. Edwin Hunter was a demon hunter and an agent. That was the Edwin I knew and cared about. Sir Edwin Hunter, the baronet, was someone else entirely. But Harper was right. As Edwin’s…whatever I was…I would need to learn the ropes of polite society. After all, Edwin was close with the Queen. And while I liked Her Majesty, something told me that Victoria’s knowing about our work, knowing what we faced, made her more sympathetic than someone like Lady Charlotte. I suspected Lady Charlotte would enjoy watching me struggle with the flatware. I’d hate to disappoint her, but Felice Louvel had taught her granddaughter the manners of a princess. I could even manage a waltz—if I was forced.

  I turned back to my notes. Lady Charlotte was nothing. Once I had whatever monster was lurking out there on a rope, she’d be sure to change her tune.

  “You need to go to bed early tonight,” I told Harper.

  “Why?”

  “Because we’ll need to be ready to chase down whatever is prowling at the witching hour.”

  “Wonderful. You know, we’re very likely to drown out there.”

  “Not at all. This time, we know where to look.”

  “The ruins at night. This is going to be fun.”

  “What’s the worst that can happen? It’s not like we’re going to find any mummies out there.”

  “Ha. Ha,” Harper said then shuddered once more.

  Harper and I stayed in the library a bit longer, st
udying over our notes. Harper asked the butler, Frances, to help her find a few more ledgers while I headed back to the garden. The answers we were seeking weren’t in the pages of a book. They were alive and well and on the fen.

  I retraced my steps, returning to the tree line where we’d found the paw print that morning. I bent low, studying the mark. I looked from the paw print toward the misty fen. Someone was out there. But who and why?

  Moving carefully, I walked out into the fen. But the trail quickly grew cold, swallowed by the muddy marsh. Tonight, I would find whatever was lurking. And if it had red eyes, I was going to give it a good talking to.

  The sun was low, casting hues of marigold and plum on the horizon. Pulling out my pocket watch, I noted the time, six-fifteen. Ugh. The sooner I was done with this case the better.

  I turned and headed back to the house in time to dress for dinner.

  Chapter 11: I’d Prefer A Mad Tea Party

  I never much liked the blue dress Phillip Phillips had the courtesy of ruining for me. The green dress I wore during the holiday season, however, still fit just as it did years past when Grand-mère dragged me from one social event or the other. It wasn’t exactly the right gown for the season, and I was sure Lady Charlotte would notice, but dinner fashion wasn’t on the forefront of my mind. The six-toed critter roaming the moors, however, was.

  I returned to my room to find Harper struggling to dress while a proper lady’s maid, who kept calling Harper “m’lady,” wrestled her for the task.

  “Let me finish the buttons, m’lady,” the girl told Harper as she helped my reluctant partner into a fashionable dark purple gown.

  “Clemeny. There you are. I was starting to worry. They rang the dressing gong not long ago. We should get ready,” Harper said, a tinge of nervous exasperation in her voice.

  “I set out both your gowns, m’lady,” the maid said, turning and dropping me a curtsey. “The red gown is for the ball?”

  “Yes,” I replied, eyeing the garment peeking at me from the wardrobe. The sight of it made a knot form in my stomach. My green gown lay on the bed.