Bitches and Brawlers_A Steampunk Fairy Tale

by Melanie Karsak

  “Sir Geoffrey. Do you have everything you need?” Lionheart asked him.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lionheart looked at Bryony. Sir Geoffrey and I, both taking the cue, stepped away. But my curiosity tugged at me. I glanced at the pair out of the corner of my eye. There was tenderness between them. Bryony clearly loved him, but did he love her? I could see he cared for her. But did he love her? I just didn’t see the spark. Or maybe that was my jealousy talking.

  Sighing, I looked away. I scanned the complex. As I looked around, I noticed that the wolves here were very busy. Usually, the place was sedate. Tonight, the pack was on the move. What were they up to?

  With a few low words, Lionheart wished Bryony safe travels.

  No kiss.

  “Bye, Clemeny. Be safe,” she said with a smile as she and Sir Geoffrey passed. She set her hand on my shoulder and leaned into my ear. “Watch over him for me.”

  Grinning, I nodded to her. “Of course.” I cast a glance over my shoulder at Lionheart who was smirking. I winked at him.

  Bryony and Sir Geoffrey passed through the gates. A few moments later, a steamauto outside sparked to life, and the pair drove off.

  “You have a plan, I assume?” Lionheart said.

  “We need to track Alodie. The Templars should round up the stray dogs in the dark district. And when I say round up, let’s just go ahead and end their miserable lives, shall we? Seems like that might send a stronger message.”

  “That was my plan as well. As you see, the Templars are getting ready as we speak,” he said, motioning to the square. “Blackwood will lead the assault on the dark district.”

  “If you already had a plan, then why ask me?”

  “I wanted to see if we were in agreement.”

  “And how did you know I’d even come by?”

  Lionheart gave me that wolfy grin but said nothing.

  I frowned, not so much at him, but at the stupid butterflies swarming in my stomach. I envisioned taking out my pistol and shooting them all, but no matter what—even in my own imagination—I kept missing.

  “Well, shall we?” Lionheart asked.

  “I suppose you want to rattle me around on that bike of yours again.”

  “I wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to rattle you around for anything in the world, Agent Louvel.”

  “Your girlfriend just left. Stop flirting with me.”

  “Who’s flirting?”

  I shook my head. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 17: Absolutely Maybe

  “I also had eyes on Alodie. We saw she was stirring up trouble, but it was unclear of what nature besides recruiting Cyril’s old dogs. We spotted Antoinette and a henchman this morning and had them followed. I have a lead on where to look,” Lionheart said as he pulled on his cycle goggles. He handed a pair to me, pausing to look at me for a moment. “You stopped wearing the eyepatch.”

  “It was unbalancing me,” I said in something of a lie. The truth was, the mooneye’s sight was an unexpected gift. As it had in the Assyrian exhibit, it saw things my other eye could not see. Why or how was still beyond me, but I liked it.

  Lionheart nodded, but his expression told me he didn’t fully believe my words. Annoying, perceptive werewolf.

  I slipped on the goggles. “Who?”

  “Who?”

  “Whose eyes have you had on Alodie? I haven’t seen any Templars in the dark district.”

  “No. Alodie would have easily noted them. I employed the aid of a friendly witch.”

  “A witch?”

  “Yes.”

  “My, you have friends in the oddest places, don’t you?”

  “Oh, Agent Louvel, you have no idea. Hop on,” he said, motioning behind him.

  I slid onto the seat behind him and wrapped my arms around him. Every inch of my body was tingling. He was so warm. And he felt…more right than he should.

  “Why, Agent Louvel—”

  “Shut it.”

  “You want to drive?”

  “No.”

  “Why, can’t you drive?”

  “Of course I can drive. I just don’t want to. Can we go now, please?”

  Chuckling, Lionheart sparked the steamcycle to life with a hiss, and we set off on our way.

  To my surprise, Lionheart drove, not toward the dark district, but toward the docks.

  “Why are we going this way?”

  “Antoinette was seen talking to the harbormaster this morning. I sent someone around behind them with enough money to get people to talk. And they did.”

  “And what did they say?”

  “To expect a ship tonight. I just didn’t know who or what would be on that ship. I expected more werewolves, not Cyril’s boy.”

  “Well, let’s see if London’s prodigal son is making a return.”

  And if he was, things were about to get very complicated.

  We drove toward the busy Thames hub then made our way to the dock where the ship was expected to make port. The traffic at the London shipyard was hectic. Everywhere we went, sailors rushed back and forth. Carts were loaded with goods from ships. Even this late in the day, the shipyard was packed. The briny scent of the river and the stink of fish filled the air, making my nose wrinkle and my stomach protest.

  Lionheart pulled out his pocket watch. “We may have a wait, Agent Louvel.”

  “If the ship is coming from the Americas, there is no way they can know when it will arrive.”

  “It isn’t coming from the Americas. Alodie’s girl was inquiring about a ship coming in from Calais.”

  “Calais?”

  Lionheart nodded.

  I frowned, annoyed with myself. I had anticipated an airship from the Americas, not a schooner from Calais. Alodie was using the back door, of course.

  “Come on,” Lionheart said, motioning for me to follow as he headed in the direction of a trashy looking pub.

  “There?”

  “An ale to pass the time.”

  When we entered the pub, a few people looked up and inspected us. Given I was without my red cape—it was still at Missus Coleridge’s with Fenton—I didn’t bring undue attention. The place stunk of ale and fish. Lionheart and I headed to a table near a window through which we had a good view of the dock.

  We slipped into our seats, Lionheart waving to the tapster who sent a lad no more than nine years old over with two mugs of ale.

  “Want food?” the boy asked.

  I grinned at him, remembering the little street rats I’d encountered at Christmas.

  “No, lad,” Lionheart said, patting the boy on the head.

  My heart melted…just a little.

  The boy left the drinks then went back to work.

  Lionheart lifted his mug. “God save the Queen.”

  “God save the Queen,” I echoed, clicking my mug against his.

  I lifted the ale and glanced out the window. Reminding myself to drink slowly this time, not wanting a repeat of the shenanigans in Edinburgh, I took just a sip and set the tankard back down.

  I looked back at Lionheart whose eyes were still on the boy.

  “My son was about that age,” he said then took another drink of the brew.

  I stared at Lionheart. He was far more unsettled than I’d ever seen him before. Bryony’s influence had shaken the knight, reminded him of a past he’d buried. Now, the ghosts of the man he had been lingered around him. And it was unbalancing him just when he needed to be his sharpest.

  I looked back at the boy who was busy wiping down tables. The child, dressed in knee-length pants, a vest, oversized shirt, and boots with no laces, was a slim lad with dark hair and a face full of freckles.

  Part of me was dying with curiosity about Lionheart’s past. The other part of me wanted to shake him hard, snap him out of it, and force him to get his head on straight before he got himself killed. Curiosity won out. “What was his name?” I asked.

  Lionheart smiled softly. “Harry,” he said, but then his smile faded. He
shook his head. “It’s been so long, I can barely remember his face,” he said then took another drink.

  “I… I’m sorry.”

  Lionheart drank again then slid back into his seat and gazed at me. “And how was your outing?”

  “Interrupted by wolf hunting and demon vanquishing.”

  “Unfortunate. And you never did say with whom you went.”

  “No, I did not.”

  “Must be someone from the society.”

  “And why do you say that?”

  “It will be hard for you to find someone who can understand you. It would need to be another agent.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “Really? Are you an expert now that you’re in love?”

  “Who said I’m in love?”

  A sound like an alarm began wailing in my head. “I just assumed.”

  He drank again. “She loves me. I care for her, and I don’t want her to die just because she fell in love with me,” he said then looked out the window.

  A flurry of thoughts spun through my mind, most of them echoing sentiments of relief, which just made me angry at myself.

  “Sir Edwin Hunter,” I spat out.

  Lionheart raised an eyebrow at me. “Your boss?”

  “Yes.”

  He tapped his finger on his lips as he considered. Arching his eyebrows, he shrugged then polished off his mug.

  “What, no comment?” I said.

  “Yes. I need another drink.”

  “You’re not yourself, Sir Richard.”

  He winked at me. “Who else would I be?”

  He waved to the tapster who sent over another ale. I sat back in my seat and eyed the room. Drunken sailors, pickpockets, fishermen, and a few tarty girls filled the place, but there was no one out of the ordinary that I could detect.

  “Scanning for mermaids?” Lionheart asked.

  “There is no such thing as mermaids.”

  “Really, Louvel. I’d think you know better by now.”

  “Right then. I’m watching for mermaids riding unicorns.”

  “Now you're being ridiculous. Of course, there’s no such thing as unicorns.”

  I chuckled then glanced out the window.

  “Speaking of peculiarities, have you ever followed up with the druids?” Lionheart asked.

  “Peculiarities? Are you calling me peculiar, Sir Richard?”

  “I am indeed.”

  “No, I have not followed up with the druids.”

  He nodded slowly as he looked carefully at me, his eyes lingering on mine. My mooneye focusing on him, I saw the oddest shape around him, seeing him and the silhouette of the wolf all at once.

  He lifted his mug. “I have,” he said, taking a sip.

  I set my drink down. “You have what?”

  “I have made inquiries. You know, we Templars have many old texts. If one is curious, inclined to research, fat with coin, and determined, it isn’t hard to turn over a few stones, even if they are ring-shaped menhir. And I am, of course, a curious creature. Why does this slip of a woman I know have a spine of steel and smell like roses? It puzzled me. I don’t like being puzzled.”

  I stared at him. My heart pounded in my chest. “And?”

  Lionheart reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He slid it across the table toward me.

  I gazed at the paper, overcome with the distinct feeling that it might burn me.

  “A name and address. There are answers for you in the summer country. I couldn’t find exactly what I was looking for, and the Dís wouldn’t wake up. But this is a start.”

  “You went to the Dís? For me?”

  Lionheart shrugged.

  Willing my hand not to tremble, I pulled the paper toward me. Unfolding it, I found a name and address in Cornwall written in Lionheart’s eloquent hand. “Evelyn Dulac. Who is she?”

  “A druid priestess.”

  “I… Thank you.”

  He winked at me then sipped his ale again. His eyes went back to the boy who sat on a stool in the corner playing with a paddleball.

  I stared at Lionheart. He’d gone looking for an answer for me. His gesture moved me more than I cared to admit. And he didn’t love Bryony. Was it possible… Could he possibly… Could I… No. Not only was it impossible for a person like me to be attached to a person like Lionheart, but there was also Edwin. And the truth was, I was falling in love with Edwin.

  Turning, I looked back out the window. I had always fancied that the attraction between Lionheart and me was just physical, playful. Was it possible Lionheart actually cared for me? No. I couldn’t let whatever was trying to bloom between us to see the light of day.

  “Agent Louvel,” Lionheart began, his voice soft.

  As I stared at the window and tried not to feel anything for Lionheart, I noticed that a ship was slowly making its way toward the dock. It was the vessel from Calais.

  “Our ship has come in,” I said.

  Lionheart paused. “Sorry?”

  I pointed out the window then pulled some coins from my vest and set them on the table. I flicked my eyes toward Lionheart and for a moment, saw a tender expression on his face. In truth, that gaze terrified me. It called forth a pool of emotion I had no business swimming in.

  Hell’s bells. No way, Clemeny.

  “The vessel is here,” I said then polished off my drink. “Shall we go crack some skulls?”

  At that, Lionheart chuckled. “After you.”

  Chapter 18: The Prince

  Lionheart and I slipped out of the tavern and headed down the dock. As we moved, we stayed in the shadows. I scanned the deck of the ship. Thus far, I only spotted human passengers. But I could feel the energy of someone, or several someones, nearby.

  Casting a glance up at the moon, I clenched my jaw then checked my pistols once more. Hunting wolves during the day was one thing. Hunting them at night when they could shift form was something altogether different.

  Once the ship tied in, one of the sailors headed belowdecks. Not long after, two Lolitas, three of Cyril's old boys, and a young man about my age with a head of shaggy red hair emerged. The redhead was massive, towering over the others. The werewolves headed down the plank toward the dock.

  I cast a glance at Lionheart. “Sure you don’t want to get Blackwood?”

  “Why do I need Blackwood? I have you,” he said with a wink. Motioning to me, we headed in.

  The bylaws of the Red Cape Society suggest that we do our work in secret, that London’s residents don’t get an eyeful of anything strange, and that we avoid public mayhem. While I’m sure those bylaws work very well for the magical artifacts division, they don’t work for my beat.

  No sooner had Lionheart and I stepped out of the darkness than one of the Lolita’s caught wind of the alpha.

  “Trouble,” I heard her say as she pulled her pistol.

  But she was already too late.

  Jumping up on a stack of crates, I took aim and got off a shot, downing the werewolf before she had a chance to kick up a fuss. Her sister wolf looked in my direction.

  “Little Red,” she snarled.

  But no sooner had she spoken the word when Lionheart—in fully shifted form—blasted from behind the stack of boxes.

  Hesitating, I stared. He had shapeshifted when my back was turned. While it was not the first time I saw him like this, the sight took me aback. More wolf than man now, with a long maw full of sharp teeth, clawlike hands, and a massive muscular body, he jumped, crossing the dock in one powerful leap.

  Two of Cyril’s old dogs turned to face him while the other Lolita and one of the werewolves, a former member of Paddington pack, led Cyril’s pup away.

  Taking aim, I shot at the Paddington werewolf.

  “Kill her,” the Lolita yelled, pointing at me as she rushed away, Cole in tow.

  Shifting form, the werewolf leaped toward me.

  I pulled my knife and waited for him to get close.

  The wolf leaped up, trying to swipe me off t
he stack of boxes, but I jumped, leaving the wolf to tumble on the crates.

  Shaking his head, he struggled to right himself. As he did so, I rushed up from behind and plunged my knife into his back.

  Blood sprayed all over my chest.

  “Dammit!” I was going to need to buy more soap before the week was out.

  The wolf left out a half howl then dropped.

  The sailors and merchants on the docks, a hardened lot, did not flee in terror. Instead, they politely stepped out of the way. Passengers debarking the ships and other common folks, however, screamed and ran. In the distance, I heard a constable’s whistle.

  I looked back in time to see Lionheart loping toward me. On the dock lay two dead wolves.

  Lionheart’s eyes, now fiery red, met mine.

  With a nod, we raced after the others.

  They ran ahead of us. At the end of the dock, there was a car waiting. Antoinette, Alodie’s lead henchman, was waiting with one more of the Lolita girls. The Lolita girl who’d been on the ship pulled Cole toward the auto.

  “Hell’s bells, they have a getaway,” I warned Lionheart.

  Lionheart pushed past me, his speed startling me. He leaped once more, landing between them and the waiting auto.

  Lionheart grabbed the Lolita by the throat. I could hear the werewolf’s neck break under his grasp.

  Seeing the fray underway, Antoinette emerged from the auto. She pulled her pistol and aimed at Lionheart.

  “Richard,” I called in warning.

  I trained both my pistols on Antoinette and fired.

  Lionheart turned, looking behind him.

  My bullets hit Antoinette squarely in the chest. The werewolf dropped. Cole moved away from the others but didn’t shift form.

  The other Lolita who’d come with Antoinette, seeing her partners fall as Lionheart and I cut our way through them, shifted into wolf form and fled.

  I caught up to Lionheart. He grabbed Cole by the neck and leaned into the boy’s face, staring him down. Lionheart’s eyes flashed red. A low growl emanated from his chest.

  Cyril’s son looked from Lionheart, who had not stopped growling at him, to me. To my surprise, I saw fear in the boy’s eyes.