Chapter 22: Under the Mistletoe
“Oranges and lemons, you scared me half to death,” Grand-mère said as she unbolted the door. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Almost four, I think. I’m very sorry. I’ve just finished a case,” I said with a yawn as I entered.
“A case. The children?”
I nodded.
“Everyone okay?”
“They are now.”
“Do you want tea? Let me fix you something to eat.”
I shook my head. “Sleep. Want sleep,” I said groggily.
Grand-mère laughed. “Clemeny,” she said with a shake of the head. “Why I ever let Eliza talk me into letting you go is beyond me. Your bed is made, my girl. I was expecting you.”
Yawning once more, I kissed her on the cheek. I was about to head to bed but paused first. Stopping at the hearth, I pulled a sprig of mistletoe from my pocket and lay it on the mantelpiece.
“What is that leaf?”
“Mistletoe.”
“And why do we have that there?”
“Because Queen Victoria said so.”
Grand-mère chuckled.
“Make sure you don’t move it,” I said. “Promise. No cleaning it up.”
“I promise. Now go sleep. We’ll have a big breakfast in the morning then get ready for Christmas dinner. Is your gentleman caller still coming?”
Gentleman caller. “Yes,” I said, this time answering honestly.
“Very good. Goodnight, my love,” she chirped happily, waving me off to bed.
I ambled to my small room and slumped into my bed. I heard Grand-mère’s bed creak as she slipped into her own bed once more as well. Soon, everything fell silent. Just before my eyes closed, I looked out the window. Fat snowflakes were falling. They shimmered in the glow of the moonlight. Now, all was calm. Now, all was bright. Not a creature was stirring. And I fell fast asleep for the night knowing that Krampus was back in the Otherworld where he belonged. And that Edwin Hunter was coming to dinner.
The flat smelled of roasted ham with spiced apples, turnips, and freshly baked bread. A beautifully decorated Bûche de Noël sat on the middle of the table. The thick dark chocolate frosting and black cherries seemed to call out my name. If Edwin didn’t come soon, I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to resist.
Grand-mère was about to ask me for the hundredth time when my guest would arrive when there was a knock on the door.
“I will answer,” Grand-mère said then rose. A second later, she shook her head. “No. You must answer. Be all feminine politeness. Curtsey like this,” she said, inclining her head so her neck appeared long, her profile gentled.
I rolled my eyes at her. She had already talked me into wearing a green holiday gown, my hair tied up with a sprig of holly. I felt like I’d gone back to my younger years before I’d swapped the confines of a corset for my trousers and vambraces.
“Fine,” I said, rising. “But I’m not doing that.”
Grand-mère rolled her eyes then muttered in French.
“I can hear you. And it’s Christmas.”
“Yes, yes,” she said, shooing me off.
I went to the door and took a deep breath. Opening the door, I found Edwin standing there with a light dusting of snow on his shoulders.
“Happy Christmas,” I said.
He stared at me.
“Edwin?”
“Sorry. It’s just…Happy Christmas,” he said then smiled gently at me. “You look beautiful.”
A flash of heat rose in my cheeks. “Thank you.”
I stepped back so he could enter and helped him shrug out of his coat which I hung on the coat stand.
“Come in, come in, come in,” Grand-mère called. Apparently, she’d held herself back to give us a moment, but could wait no longer.
I held my breath.
“So, you are Agent Hunter. Oh, oranges and lemons, a fine cut of a gentleman. Eliza was right. Do come in. How about a wassail? It’s very cold outside. Come, come. Clemeny, sit Agent Hunter down by the hearth so he can warm up. Dinner will be served within the hour. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Felice Louvel, Clemeny’s grand-mère. I have heard so much about you. Now, let me bring you some wine. Sit, sit.”
I nodded to Edwin, who followed me to the small parlor. While the flat was tiny, Grand-mère had decorated it nicely for the holiday. The fire burned cheerfully, filling the room with an orange glow.
Edwin walked over to the fireplace. Chuckling, he lifted the spring of mistletoe. “From the palace?”
I nodded then joined him. “It seemed prudent. How are the children?”
“Remarkably resilient and recovering very well. Mister Anderson and the Browns asked me to send my thanks.”
I smiled. “And Her Majesty and the princess?”
“Well, the princess’s manners are in check, for now. Perhaps we should have let Krampus stay a bit longer just to be sure.”
I grinned. “Be careful. Wicked talk might just summon him back.”
Edwin twirled the sprig of mistletoe between his fingers. “I think I’m safe. As will everyone else be once the kissing fashion takes hold.”
A heavy silence fell between us.
After a moment, Edwin stepped closer to me. He studied my face carefully. Reaching out, he gently removed the black silk eye patch I was wearing. He set it on the mantel then turned and smiled gently at me.
“Clemeny, I…I’m not sure I can be your reporting director anymore,” he said.
Well, that was unexpected. “Why not?”
“Because there is a new law.”
“A new law?”
“You see, I may request a kiss from the girl I fancy in the presence of mistletoe. It would be improper for me to kiss a subordinate. But…but I can kiss the girl I favor.”
“Then kiss me, Edwin.”
He leaned in and set the most gentle of kisses on my lips. And, as I had long imagined, his soft, warm kiss tasted slightly salty and of spicy-sweet cinnamon. And in that moment, I realized I had never, ever, had a merrier Christmas.
* * *
Continue Clemeny’s Adventures in Bitches and Brawlers
Just when things start going well for Agent Clemeny Louvel, a bitch has to make trouble.
Since Cyril’s death, an uneasy peace has existed between Alodie and Lionheart. Her brothel closed, her rank in the werewolf pecking order obliterated, and shunned by the Templars, Alodie has been living on the fringes of the dark district. But you can’t keep a bitch down. Determined to get vengeance on Lionheart and Clemeny, Alodie hatches a monstrous plan. Just in time to ruin Clemeny and Edwin’s first date.
Alodie will do anything to see a new alpha will rise.
Unless Clemeny can stop her first.
Badassery and steampunk unite in New York Times bestselling author Melanie Karsak's retelling of the classic Red Riding Hood fairy tale set in gaslamp London. Bitches and Brawlers is book 4 in the Steampunk Red Riding Hood series.
About the Author
Melanie Karsak is the author of The Airship Racing Chronicles, The Harvesting Series, The Burnt Earth Series, The Celtic Blood Series, and the Steampunk Fairy Tales Series. A steampunk connoisseur, zombie whisperer, and heir to the iron throne, the author currently lives in Florida with her husband and two children. She is an Instructor of English at Eastern Florida State College.
Keep in touch with Melanie online.
Blog
Twitter
Facebook
Pinterest
Ready for more Steampunk Red Riding Hood? Follow Clemeny here:
Wolves and Daggers, Book 1
Alphas and Airships, Book 2
Peppermint and Pentacles, Book 3
Bitches and Brawlers, Book 4
Check out all of Melanie’s Steampunk Fairy Tales
Beauty and Beastly: Steampunk Beauty and the Beast
Ice and Embers: Steampunk Snow Queen
Curiouser and Curiouser: Steampunk Alice in Wonde
rland
Ready to go airship racing? Meet Lily Stargazer and her crew in The Airship Racing Chronicles (this series contains mature content)
Chasing the Star Garden
Chasing the Green Fairy
Join Melanie’s Newsletter
Join my Newsletter and get TWO FREE BOOKS and an EXCLUSIVE downloadable Steampunk Alice in Wonderland Adult Coloring Book!
Sneak Peek of Beauty and Beastly: Steampunk Beauty and the Beast
In this tale as old as time, Isabelle Hawking must tinker a solution to a heartbreaking mystery.
When Isabelle Hawking and her papa set out from London on a sea voyage, Isabelle is thrilled. Visiting foreign courts, learning from master tinkers, and studying mechanicals is her dream. And it doesn't hurt that the trip also offers Isabelle an escape from her overbearing and unwanted suitor, Gerard LeBoeuf.
But Isabelle never arrives. Swept up in a tempest, her ship is lost.
Isabelle survives the storm only to be shipwrecked on a seemingly-deserted island. The magical place, dotted with standing stones, faerie mounds, and a crumbling castle, hints of an ancient past. Isabelle may be an unwilling guest, but her arrival marks a new beginning for the beastly residents of this forgotten land.
See how NY Times bestselling author Melanie Karsak puts a steampunk spin on the classic Beauty and the Beast fairy tale.
Beauty and Beastly Chapter 1: Bonjour
“Isabelle, are you coming?”
My heels clicking on the cobblestone, I hurried behind Papa as I made the last few notes in my journal. The London streets were packed. A group of young airship jockeys, each jostling the other around, bumped into me as they passed. My fountain pen went skidding across the page, blotting ink on my sketch.
“Blast,” I cursed, glaring.
“So sorry, miss,” a young airship captain said. “Are you headed to the market? May I buy you a new journal?”
I frowned at him, suddenly wondering if it had been an accident.
“No. No, thank you,” I said. I slipped my pen into its holder hidden amongst the flowers and feathers on my tiny lady’s top hat and tucked my book into my basket. Grabbing the skirt of my blue gown, I hurried to catch up to Papa as he made his way through the massive arch at the entrance of the Hungerford Market.
I found my father reading over his shopping list and dodging oncoming shoppers as we entered the busy market.
“Know what you’re after?” he asked distractedly as he ran his finger down his list.
“Yes, Papa. The trick is not finding too many things.”
He chuckled. “Indeed. Indeed. At Hungerford Market, that is always a problem. I’m headed to Tinker’s Hall. You?”
“Mister Denick first. I need some new reading materials for the trip. I’ll join you in the hall afterward. Keep an eye out for a glass cylinder for me? Two centimeters or so in length, smallest in circumference that you see?”
“Of course,” Papa said, pinching my cheek.
The market was bustling. Everywhere I looked I saw mechanics, tinkers, chemists, and airship crews. Aside from them were common folk hunting consumables and textiles. I gazed down the aisles. On this end of the market were the fishmongers, fruit and flower vendors, and butchers. On the far end of the market was Tinker’s Hall. While the hall sold all manner of wares for someone in our trade, it was also part social club for the London Tinkers Society of which Papa was a leading member. No doubt he would be lost for an hour or more hobnobbing with his peers. Waving to Papa, I turned and headed in the other direction to Antiquarians’ Hall where Mister Denick kept his bookshop.
But first…
“Good morning, Isabelle,” the baker called when he saw me. He was holding out a freshly-baked egg custard tart wrapped in parchment.
I had to smile. Had I become so predictable? I suppose every Wednesday morning was the same as the Wednesday morning the week before. Papa and I left our workshop along the Thames at precisely eight thirty. We arrived at the Hungerford Market at 9:15. Papa always went to Tinker’s Hall. I always went to Mister Denick’s bookstore, stopping at the baker’s stall first for an egg custard tart. I’d peruse his wares, but like always, he had the same old things, and I bought the same tart. Every Wednesday it was the same routine. It was 9:17, and I was there for my egg custard.
“Thank you, sir,” I said, pressing a coin into his hand in exchange. “Good day.”
“And to you.”
As I walked, I munched the tiny confection. The sweet taste of the buttery crust. The egg custard baked with a firm surface but soft, smooth, filling. The tart still warm from the baker’s oven. Perfection. This was why I never tried anything new. Why change what worked?
“Hello, Isabelle,” Miss Ting called from her stall.
I waved to her. “Good morning, Miss Ting.”
“Need silk string today?” she asked.
I shook my head. “All stocked up!”
She waved happily.
“Isabelle the beauty,” Mister White called then waved. The tobacco vendor, a massive pipe hanging from his mouth, was all smiles.
I nodded politely then waved. Mister White was still under the impression that I should let his son woo me. I had decided it wasn’t my place to inform him that his son had eyes for Master Johnson’s apprentice, Tom. I turned the corner to Antiquarian’s Hall.
Here, the place was less crowded. Well-dressed ladies and gentlemen perused fine artwork from early masters, estate furniture in need of a home, and other beautiful goods from years past.
As I passed two well-dressed women, one of them whispered to her companion. They both looked at me then started giggling.
I looked down at my dress only to see that my bodice was utterly covered in crumbles. When I went to wipe the custard crust mess off, I discovered my fingertips were stained black with ink. I really was quite the sight. I carefully brushed off the crumbs, working gingerly, so I didn’t get ink on my gown, then hurried to Mister Denick’s stall.
A sign reading “The Great Library of Alexandria” hung above the door to his stall. Grinning happily, I went inside.
“Ah, Isabelle,” Mister Denick said. “Come, come. Have a look,” he said, lifting a crate of books and setting it on the counter.
I gasped. “All new? Wherever did you get them?” I asked as I unpacked the two books I had borrowed from Mister Denick last week.
“A gentleman was auctioning off some books from the estate of Horace Walpole, the gentleman who owned Strawberry Hill out in Twickenham.”
“The same gentleman who wrote The Castle of Otranto?”
“The very same!” Mister Denick said, clapping his hands together excitedly. “I got this lot for a bargain. They went quickly, but there are some gems in here. Have a look.”
I picked up each book carefully. Many of the books were written in Greek or Latin. There were a few obscure reads, one on Sumerian religions, another on Russian folklore, but then I spotted two that piqued my curiosity. “These,” I said, setting aside a book about goblins and another on mythical artifacts. “May I borrow them?”
Mister Denick nodded. “Of course, of course. And, I found this for you at an auction on Monday,” he said, setting down a book with a blue leather spine. “It’s in Latin, but it chronicles the inventions of Hero of Alexandria.”
Gasping, I picked up the book and flipped open the pages, my eyes resting on the description of a device called an aeolipile. “Oh, isn’t this amazing?” I gushed. Hero of Alexandria described a device unlike anything I had ever seen before. I hugged the book to my chest. “Thank you so much.”
Master Denick laughed. “Of course, of course.”
“I must keep this volume,” I said, gazing down at the book once more. “What are you asking for this gem?”
“Nothing, my dear. But, if you have a few moments, my clock isn’t keeping the correct time again. And my lamp started flickering.”
Grinning happily, I set my basket on the counter and pulled out the small to
olkit from inside. “Lead the way.”
Will Isabelle find her love? Join the adventure in Beauty and Beastly: Steampunk Beauty and the Beast
Peppermint and Pentacles Page 10
