Wolves and Daggers: A Steampunk Fairy Tale (Steampunk Red Riding Hood Book 1)

by Melanie Karsak

  Seeking to blend in with the other travelers, Lionheart parked his cycle outside Rose’s Hopper, the popular pub located near the towers. I pulled off my red cape and stashed it in my satchel. Wordlessly, Lionheart motioned to me, and we headed through the crowd, around the back of the towers to the hangars and garages in the shipyard where tinkers and mechanics built new ships, made repairs, or showcased the latest in airship designs. The place was busy enough that no one paid any attention to us.

  As we walked, we noticed a crowd had gathered around to see a master tinker unveil a new airship about to come up for auction.

  Taking me gently by the arm, Lionheart guided me into the crowd.

  “The others will mask my scent,” he whispered. “There,” he said motioning with his chin to the next hangar down.

  I followed his gaze. Sitting outside the hangar were two autos that I recognized from the warehouse night before.

  “Ladies and gentleman, you have never seen an airship quite like this one before. Faster than the Stargazer, lighter weight than any ship of Spanish design, and equipped with the latest engineering designed in Bavaria, meet the newest creation in our fleet,” the man at the front of the crowd said.

  The crowd oohed and ahhed as the doors to the hangar opened to reveal an impressive airship. The crowd moved forward, taking Lionheart and me along with it.

  As we entered the hangar, Lionheart steered me to the left. He deftly lifted two mechanics’ overcoats from the wall. Pulling one on, he handed the other to me. We slipped on the coats then moved out a side door. Blending in with the busy crowd, we made our way toward the second hangar.

  “Guards in the windows,” I said. “Two guards on the door.”

  Lionheart inhaled then exhaled deeply. “Fenton. But no Cyril. And no mage. But I—” He paused. He turned and looked all around him. “This way,” he said, motioning for me to follow him to the airship repair tower not far away. Here, airships were anchored aloft as they were being re-outfitted with new gear pieces, getting repairs on broken propellers, or making other changes.

  Keeping our heads down, Lionheart and I headed up the steps of the tower.

  I could tell from his movements that Lionheart was tracking someone.

  We walked up the stairs to the second level then down a row that led to an empty berth.

  “Cyril, the mage, and two others recently came this way,” he said then looked toward the skyline.

  “Are the others still inside the hangar? The tinkers? Fenton?”

  Lionheart nodded.

  I looked around. No one seemed to be on the airship docked nearby. Moving quickly, I slipped onto the ship and went to the prow. Settling in, I pulled out my spyglass. Lionheart moved in behind me.

  I scanned the hangar. From this vantage point, I could just see through the windows. Inside, I spotted a few new workbenches.

  “Professor Jamison,” I said. “And Master Winston. Looks like…Whitechapel and Paddington.”

  “A runner came to Temple Square just after you left. Noah has been arrested, and most of his pack along with him.”

  Noah was the beta of Conklin pack. I was very, very glad to hear he’d been taken off the streets. “Good.”

  Lionheart said nothing.

  I looked back at him.

  “And just what does Her Majesty plan to do with the packs once she’s taken them into custody? She can hardly keep them chained forever.”

  Something told me Her Majesty could and would keep them chained forever, if the mood struck her to do so. “I don’t know.”

  Lionheart cleared his throat.

  “What is it?”

  “Templar will face ramifications for helping the crown.”

  “Ramifications, meaning revenge?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I guess you’d better just become alpha.”

  “There is nothing I could want less, Little Red.”

  “I’m sure another solution will come to you.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  I sat back. “I’ll send word to the Red Capes. We’ll round them up now and get the alchemists out of there.”

  Lionheart shook his head. “If Her Majesty wants this threat eliminated, then it must be eliminated. Her knights will return tonight. We’ll wait until Cyril and the mage return and take the situation in hand.”

  “Good. Where should I meet you?

  “I was referring to the Templars and only the Templars.”

  “Last night I found my partner half dead because of Cyril, Fenton, and that mage. Not to mention what happened to Agent Reid. I’m coming, whether you want me there or not.”

  “I won’t be able to protect you.”

  “I don’t need you to protect me.”

  Lionheart frowned at me. “I need to go and ready my brothers. Do you want a ride back to your headquarters?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “It’s really not an inconven—”

  “I’ve had enough of that infernal machine,” I said with a smirk.

  Lionheart nodded. “Very well,” he said then rose. “Tonight… Be careful, Agent Louvel.”

  “You too, Sir Richard.”

  He grinned, bowed in the most courtly of manners, then turned and debarked the airship.

  I leaned back once more and gazed through my spyglass. Rather than spying the building, I turned and watched Lionheart as he made his way through the crowd.

  So, he and Byrony Paxton had…something.

  I sighed.

  That something was a whole lot more than the nothing I had. I loved my job, but it would be nice to have someone. I rose and closed my spyglass. Maybe I didn’t have someone I loved like that, but I did care about the people in my life. I pulled out my pocket watch.

  I had enough time.

  Chapter 15: Meanwhile, in Twickenham

  After Lionheart had gone, I headed back into the city. My first stop was at one of the oldest millineries in London, The Palatine Crown. The hat shop, which boasted an excellent array of gentlemen’s top hats and petite ladies’ top hats, sat along a quiet street. When I entered, I found the milliner sizing an aged gentleman for a new hat.

  The hatter cast a glance up at me. I tapped the tiny badge on my waist.

  The man nodded then turned back to his customer.

  Going to the back room, I went to the side wall where a stack of crates rose to the ceiling. The wooden crates, marked as silk, leather, manikins, or cloth, took up most of the wall. I slid my fingers along the edge of the tallest crate marked red velvet. There, I found a tiny lever. I switched it to the side. A door built into the crate swung open. I slipped inside, closing the crate door behind me, then headed to the hidden door along the rear wall. On the other side, I found a flight of stairs that led downward.

  I followed the stairs down under the city to a tunnel. Two metal trams sat waiting. I slipped inside. This time I set my controls to take me to the outskirts of London. Strapping in once more, I activated the lever, waited for the clicks, then held on with all my might.

  * * *

  The tunnel let out southwest of London in a nondescript building under Twickenham station. I exited the building, mindful to cover my tracks, and headed toward the small village square. I passed through the quaint town to a small cottage on the outskirts. The little Tudor-style home with its charming garden exuded all the sweetness one might expect of a sedate country family. I doubted any of Quinn’s neighbors realized he was one of the most skilled killers in all the realm.

  As always, I scanned around me for signs of, well, anything. But there was no one nearby.

  I went to the door and knocked.

  Quinn’s footman cast a suspicious gaze out the window.

  I waved to him.

  A moment later, the door opened.

  “Agent Louvel,” he said, motioning for me to enter.

  “I’m here to see Quinn.”

  He motioned for me to follow as he headed upstairs. I had been inside Quinn’s house on a
number of occasions, but never in the family areas of the home. The house, as I understood it, had once belonged to a relative of Jessica’s and had been passed down to her. Quinn had grown up in the city, a wild creature like myself. But he’d always seemed content, at peace, at home with his wife.

  The footman motioned for me to wait as he went into one of the rooms.

  Inside, I could hear Jessica and Quinn.

  A moment later, the footman reappeared, Jessica along with him. Jessica’s curly black hair was a tangled mess. The dark rings under her eyes told me she hadn’t slept.

  “Clemeny,” she said, pulling me into an embrace. “Thank God.”

  “How is he?”

  “Recovering. The Society brought him home by airship this morning. Doctor Murray, such a kindly gentleman, accompanied him. The doctor said Quinn had been injured but would recover. Quinn isn’t saying much about what happened. The doctor gave him laudanum. He’s in pain. Thank God, he’s mostly been sleeping. What happened?”

  I exhaled deeply. Quinn never liked Jessica to worry. If she really knew everything we saw, everything we did…well, Quinn kept that from her. It was not my place to change that. “Bad men, doing bad things.”

  She frowned but nodded. “Why don’t you go inside? I’m sure you have a lot to talk about. Let me go downstairs and have Mary make you something to eat.”

  “Thank you,” I said, squeezing her arm.

  I entered the bedroom. Quinn lay on a large bed, half dozing as he looked out the window. There were several amber-colored bottles at his bedside.

  “Quinn,” I said softly then went and sat down in the chair by his bed.

  “Sorry, partner. I messed up,” he said then frowned.

  “Messed up? Hardly.”

  “Well, I’m here, and you’re there. And now you’ve got no one backing you up.”

  “On the contrary, Her Majesty has seen fit to force me into a new, albeit temporary, alliance.”

  “With whom?”

  “Lionheart.”

  Quinn tried to laugh, but I could see it pained him. “Clemeny, I’m sorry. Cyril’s pack jumped me. I woke up on a table with someone cutting me open. I don’t even remember what happened after that.”

  “Well, it seems the wolves are in league with a mage who’s been living in exile. I believe Queen Elizabeth banished him, if that gives you an indication of how long he’s been plotting revenge. Apparently, he’s been trying to develop an immunity to silver.”

  “A mage?”

  “A werewolf mage. Doubling down on annoying, aren’t they?”

  Quinn smiled, but his grin was not as bright as usual. “How did I end up at the doctor’s flat? I don’t remember anything.”

  “Constantine.”

  Quinn stared at me then narrowed his gaze. “I think… I do remember him being there. I remember the wolves cutting him. Constantine,” he said, his voice full of disbelief. “The wolves must have lost their minds. But why did he help me?”

  “I think it was a combination of my setting him free, his desire for revenge, and something odd between him and Agent Rose.”

  “Agent Rose? That’s surprising.”

  “Isn’t it? But you don’t need to worry about that. By the time me and my temporary partner are done, we’ll have most of the wolves rounded up and jailed. If Lionheart becomes alpha, maybe things will quiet down by the time you return. Hell, maybe it will become so quiet we can switch to magical artifacts. Or should we join the Pellinores?”

  “The Pellinores? Track down dragons?” Quinn said with an amused grin.

  “Why not?” I replied with a smirk.

  “Bloody waste of time, that’s why not. Lionheart will never want to become alpha.”

  “Makes him the best man for the job then, doesn’t it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, you can ask him yourself when you’re feeling better.”

  “No. No, Clem. I don’t think so.”

  “What? I don’t think Lionheart minds you too much. He’s really not that bad. Actually, I think he—”

  “No,” Quinn said then shook his head. “Not that. I…talked to Jessica. I’m tired, Clem. This was the end of the line for me.”

  My breath caught in my throat. “What?”

  “I’m going to turn in my cape.”

  “But Quinn…”

  Quinn sighed. “The doctor said it will take time to recover—months. I don’t want to waste my life worrying about wolves. When I am well enough, Jessica and I want to have a family of our own. There’s still time for us, but not if I keep working like this. I’m tired of being cold, in danger, always hunting some monster.”

  “But that’s the life.”

  “Yes, it is. And I’m done with it.”

  A million emotions tried to bubble to the surface. I wanted to tell him no. I wanted to tell him he couldn’t leave me like that. But I had no right. He was my partner, and he’d been a damned good one. And the truth was, I understood. I reached out and took his hand. “I’ll miss you.”

  “No. You’ll come to dinner every night. And one day, when you’re settled down, our children will play together. We’ll impress them with true stories of things they won’t believe and think we made up. Werewolves, vampires, and goblins living in London? Who could ever believe such nonsense? They’ll think we’re senile, but we’ll know better.”

  I smiled. “That’s a nice vision.” Nice, but far from the future I saw for myself.

  Quinn squeezed my hand. “I know you,” he said. “You want to go down in a blaze of gun smoke. One day, you’ll change your mind.”

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Have I ever been wrong before?”

  “Remember the time you were going to shake down that vagrant, but he turned out to be a ghoul? You nearly lost your hand.”

  “Yeah, okay, but just that once.”

  “What about when you forced me to drink that Chinese absinthe so we wouldn’t offend our informant? You said we would we be fine. We both retched for three days straight.”

  Quinn laughed but then winced. “Yeah. Sorry about that one. Okay, okay. Maybe I have been wrong once or twice.”

  I smiled at him. “Have you told Greystock?”

  “Not yet.”

  I nodded.

  “At least now I’ll be able to grow out my beard in peace.”

  “Retiring is no excuse for growing out a beard,” Jessica said as she entered the room carrying a tray. She set it on a table near the window. “Eat,” she told me. “I know you’re going to give me some excuse about needing to leave or being busy, but eat first. Grandmother Louvel would never forgive me if I didn’t feed you.”

  I smiled at her then rose and went to the table. My mouth watered to see the freshly baked scones, clotted cream, and jam. I tore into the food at once.

  “Just like Quinn. Your stomach is upside down. You don’t know if it’s night or day.”

  “At least my stomach isn’t literally upside down,” I said through a mouthful of scone. I winked at Quinn.

  “Very funny,” he said then shook his head.

  “Agent humor,” Jessica said with a roll of her eyes. She turned her attention back to her husband. Sitting on the bed beside him, she slipped his hand into hers. Quinn gave her a long, loving look. She leaned in and set a kiss on his forehead. The power of their love was tangible.

  My cheeks full of scone, I sighed enviously.

  I really needed to find a man.

  “Hey, Quinn, how is your brother, Robert?”

  Chapter 16: Caped Crusaders

  I left Quinn’s house just as dusk approached. Apparently, I’d nodded off at some point because I’d awoken at the table with scone crumbles on my shirt listening to Quinn snore as Jessica sat quietly in the corner sewing. In a hurry, I made my way back to the tram and to the city.

  The worst thing about my beat was the fact that I hardly ever got any sleep.

  Well, that and the werewolves.

 
; And the fact that my partner, who I relied upon to keep me alive, had decided to call it quits.

  That meant I’d either get landed with someone I didn’t particularly like or have to train someone new. Neither option sounded appealing. Quinn was like an overbearing older brother. I was going to miss him terribly, but I could hardly blame him. Not everyone could do what we did. You’d have to be half mad to want to.

  Barking mad, in fact.

  I laughed at my own joke. Yeah, it was going to be hard to find a partner who was a good match for me.

  As soon as I returned to the heart of the city, I headed to the airship towers and took the lift up. The towers were divided into multiple platforms; the third platform at the top of the towers housed the big airships that traveled abroad. On the platforms below were the smaller transports and the occasional pleasure cruiser. A floating brothel, such vessels had been widely popular twenty years before. Since Victoria came to reign, however, they’d come under tighter restrictions and were far less common. Nothing, however, stopped the scoundrel airship pirates from docking in London. They always had some excuse, permit, or reason to be there—none of them lawful. That happened to work out very well for me this particular evening.

  I headed down the platform on the second level on the airship tower. Spotting a vessel that looked like it was about ready to debark, I went to the side of the ship and whistled to the captain.

  I cast a quick glance at the name of the vessel: Elven Rue. Odd name.

  “Oui, mademoiselle?” one of the crew members said.

  Having been raised by a French grandmother, I was suddenly very glad that I was fluent in both French and English.

  “Mind making a small detour? I need a lift,” I said in French.

  The man frowned then relayed my question to the captain.

  “Non,” the captain said. “We’re in a hurry. I won’t be stopping at any other ports. I want to get across the Channel before dawn.”