London Calling
Three Scintillating Victorian Steampunk Tales
Sorcha Mowbray
TL Reeve
Michele Ryan
Dena Garson
After Glows Publishing
Seducing the Assassin © Copyright 2017 Sorcha Mowbray
Darkness Rises © Copyright 2017 TL Reeve & Michele Ryan
Her Clockwork Heart © Copyright 2017 Dena Garson
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Published by After Glows Publishing
PO Box 224
Middleburg, FL 32050
AfterGlowsPublishing.com
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Cover by Syneca Featherstone
Formatting by AG Formatting
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All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
AfterGlowsPublishing.com
Contents
Introduction
Sorcha Mowbray
Seducing the Assassin
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
About the Author
TL Reeve & Michele Ryan
Darkness Rises
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
About the Authors
Dena Garson
Her Clockwork Heart
Acknowledgments
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
About the Author
Note from the Publisher
London Calling
Three Scintillating Victorian Steampunk Tales
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Journey to Victorian London where an assassin meets her match, zombies invade, and top scientists go missing.
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Four talented authors come together to bring you three BRAND NEW, full length Victorian steampunk novels of seduction, adventure, and mystery.
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A look inside…
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Seducing the Assassin (Book 1, The Ladies League) by Sorcha Mowbray
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Josephine Stanton, Madame and assassin, has another assignment to eliminate an enemy of the Queen. Too bad John Griffin, The Earl of Melton, has no intention of dying. Neither of the pair expects the heat that steams them up between the sheets and ultimately sets New Victorian London on its ear.
Darkness Rises by TL Reeve and Michele Ryan
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A zombie horde has invaded London, England. Jonah McRae and his band of ghoulish Dreadfuls are London’s only hope. However, when Annabelle Craig threatens his mission he doesn’t know whether to kill her or claim her as his. Can the hunter and the huntee team together to take down the horde? Or will London be lost forever?
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Her Clockwork Heart By Dena Garson
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During her search for her missing brother, Trixie is reunited with Nathaniel, the man she never stopped loving. Sensing that Trixie might be in danger, Nathaniel lends his skills as an investigator to her efforts. Their love is rekindled as they race across the country looking for clues to more than one mystery.
Seducing the Assassin
The Ladies League Book 1
Sorcha Mowbray
Seducing the Assassin
The Ladies League, Book 1
In New Victorian London, where steam and electricity vie for dominion, prostitution is now a legitimate profession. Assassination still is not. This complicates life somewhat for Jo Stanton in her double guise as Madame La Roux, proprietress of London’s most fashionable brothel, and the Clockwork Widow, assassin for the crown. But when she receives orders to eliminate the Earl of Melton, things get much more complicated indeed.
A former solider, recalled from a life he loved to take his father’s seat as a peer of the realm, John Griffin, now Earl of Melton, has secrets of his own. Engaged in covert steam experimentation and delicate political machinations, he’s carefully maintaining a balance that’s up-ended by the beautiful woman who’s been sent to kill him.
As their roles and identities unravel, Jo and Griff must work together to figure out who subverted Jo’s network. Packed with intrigue, brawls, kidnappings, and airship battles, things quickly get steamy between Jo and Griff in this exciting, alternate Steam Age erotic adventure.
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The actual act of killing someone had long ago ceased to bother Jo, but something about the man lumbering across the grand foyer of The Market caused a chill to slither across her skin. Despite her discomfort, she had a role to play and a brothel full of guests as her audience. After all, as Madame La Roux, the owner of one of the most exclusive houses of pleasure in all of London, Jo could never let them see her sweat, no matter how much society turned the steam up.
Jo tracked the incongruous gentleman from beneath lowered lashes. Her Crown-sponsored customers were not typically challenging to spot, especially for someone of her specific skill set. But this man stuck out like a cog without a wheel.
Regardless, his presence made it clear she would be required to kill again. Soon.
The Market had long provided guest coins to trusted members, in part to allow potential new members to sample their offerings. And in part as a way to cover her communications with her government handler. When her services were required, he sent an unsuspecting messenger with a specially designed coin. It was a safer low-tech solution in a high-tech world full of steam-powered vehicles, vocal amplifiers, and automatons.
Taking a deep breath in fortification, she glided down the steps to welcome her newest customer. He glanced up at the first rustle of her dress an
d waited for her to descend. Long ago, Jo learned an entrance was a calculated study in sensuality, every movement to be practiced with the express purpose of stoking a man’s desires. The short fringe of ruffles guarded the apex of her thighs but left every tantalizing inch of her hosiery-clad legs exposed until they disappeared into her calf boots. A purposeful—and practical—display, that by all accounts left the man’s frigid stare unmoved. Not a flicker of desire. She suspected the differences between this man and the usual oblivious messengers would only continue from there. Normally they stood there waiting for her, nervous and twitchy with excitement. She would arrive in front of them and they would stammer and stare as they presented her the token. Hands warm and clammy, the metal disc would transfer from their palm to hers.
Should she expect this cold man’s hands to be warm and clammy as he handed over the disc? Would the aura of excitement be palpable when he came into proximity? No, not this man. This time they sent her someone who knew what he was doing, knew that he was initiating a chain reaction that would result in a life being snuffed out, and he could not have been more indifferent to the whole situation.
Arriving in the foyer, Jo strode across the empty space, allowing her confidence to shine through. She would not allow him to sense her fear of him, or more correctly her fear of his indifference. “Good evening, sir, I understand you wished to speak with me?” She allowed her long lashes to dip and shield her eyes from his probing gaze.
“Madame La Roux, it is a pleasure to meet you. I was told upon presentation of this token I would be treated as a member of The Market for the evening.” He held out the coin pinched between two fingers.
Jo extended her palm, letting the metal disc drop into her hand while avoiding touching him in any way. Despite his frozen mien, the coin was warm, which startled her. Now, she would have to determine which of her girls could handle this man. Indifference was dangerous in a man seeking the company of a woman, she should choose a girl strong enough to manage him without getting herself into trouble. There was only one available girl she could trust, Katerina. Accomplished in both the sexual arts, and the more lethal arts of an assassin, Kat could deal with this man and extricate herself if required. “I believe I have the perfect lady for you, monsieur. Please follow me.” Her fake French accent laced her words.
“Of course, I defer to your expertise, Madame.” He bowed and held out his arm for her to take.
Placing her hand in the crook of his elbow, Jo suppressed the urge to shudder as she led him into the main salon. “La, you must tell me your name.”
“You may call me Mr. Xavier.”
Jo nodded, easily accepting what she knew to be a false name. Reading people was part of her daily business life, whether working as an assassin or arranging a client for one of her girls. The ladies of The Market were some of the most beautiful in London, and maybe even all of Europe, though that may have been her overweening pride. The gas lanterns sprinkled about the main salon cast a soft glow around the room, illuminating the ladies in the most artful way. Kat sat near the fire allowing the orange flames to catch the golden flecks of her blonde hair, highlighting the flattering fall of silk over one shoulder. Her blue eyes slanted up at the corners, not unlike Jo’s own, and were framed by kohl-smudged lashes that were the envy of every woman in London. Jo led Mr. Xavier over to Kat and made the introductions. Casually fluttering her fingers at her neck as she spoke, Jo let Kat know that this one was to be treated carefully. He was a wild card and not to be trusted.
The gentleman joined the blonde on the couch where they began to chat intimately. Jo departed quietly, letting the pair go about their business. With the heavy token searing her skin like a brand, she made her way upstairs to change her clothes for her emergent meeting.
Her services were required by Queen and Country.
Jo divested herself of her dress, corset, and dainty boots. The tweed trousers she preferred for riding encased her legs and she topped them with a simple cotton blouse, a leather holster that strapped over her shoulders and under her bust with slots for her assortment of knives, and a dark brown leather skirted coat. Miriam, her longtime maid, took her hair down from the fancy coiffeur and braided it back into a neat queue that was then folded up and tied off with two lengths of brown velvet ribbon. She completed her ensemble with her knee-high buckled boots and a newsboy’s cap. She much preferred the freedom of trousers to corsets and silk skirts, but she must look the part of the brothel owner when entertaining.
“Miriam, please tell John I will be going out on business tonight and to have my ride brought around.” She waved her fretting maid off, sending her downstairs. Miriam had a tendency to fuss and fidget in ways that made Jo crazy, but she was the best—and most discrete—hairdresser and ladies maid in London. And a woman of Jo’s chameleon nature needed the best to ensure she was turned out expertly no matter how eccentric her attire.
Miriam disappeared as Jo loaded her two favorite khukuri knives into her holster along with a series of smaller throwing knives. The khukuri was the weapon of choice of the Gurkhas, sporting a wicked seventeen-inch blade that hooked about midway along with two little notches at the base near the handle which allowed blood to drip off before reaching the rosewood handle. It was heralded for it’s all around utility, most notably as a hunting weapon good for chopping and slicing.
This might be just a meeting to discuss her target, but when you killed for a living you learned to be prepared for any and all eventualities. She did not leave home unarmed, not even when attending a ball, and certainly not when meeting her handler.
Everything in place, she slipped down the back stairs. It would be a disaster to run into any of her patrons dressed as she was. Having reached the rear of the house without any issues, she was pleased to see her steam-cycle waited at the backdoor. While she still enjoyed a thunderous ride across the park on horseback, the sleek power of her steam-cycle spoke to another side of her. The side that was drawn to danger, that fed off the adrenalin rush that came from pushing the boundaries of society, and ultimately that let her be an assassin.
The steam-cycle was a maze of black metal and brass elements with a condensed steam engine powering the two-wheeled contraption. The cog-like inner wheels had a rubber coating on the edges that allowed it to roll smoothly over the cobbled streets of London. A black cut-down saddle, less the stirrups, perched atop the tangled beauty. Sliding her goggles into place and tugging her cap low on her brow, she straddled the machine and revved its engine. Steam shot out the tail pipe as it reached full capacity. A gentle shift of gears and release of the brakes had her shooting forward into the night.
The wind rushed past her billowing the skirt of her coat out where it was not secured under her bottom on the saddle. She pressed on the accelerator and shifted gears, causing steam to shoot out the back in response to her demand for more power. The cycle jolted forward, barreling down the empty streets as she resisted the urge to yell out with the thrill of the speed.
Despite the lateness of the hour, London’s streets teemed with life. Prostitutes hocking their wares, men and women alike out drowning the drudgery of daily life. Steam tech had offered many improvements, but some things remained the same. The city’s cobblestone streets glistened with moisture as people came and went, heads down. Despite her cycle not being extremely common, most folks minded their business and ignored her as she flew past.
Outside of a dockside warehouse she tucked her machine in a dark alley next to the building. The heavy fog and constant lapping of the water against the wharf muffled almost all sounds, even the rumble of her steam-cycle as she’d pulled up. The side door off the alley sat ajar, revealing a sliver of light. She eased up to it and slipped inside to hide in the closest clump of shadows she could find. Two men stood in the middle of the open loading area under a gas light that dangled from the twenty-foot high warehouse ceilings.
The two well-dressed men seemed to be concerned that she wasn’t coming.
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How much longer must we wait?” The tall skinny one looked at his pocket watch.
“Until they come. We were told to wait until the Clockwork Widow came.” The shorter, stocky man paced back and forth, careful to stay within the circle of light.
Clockwork Widow indeed. These government types liked their fancy codenames and shadow games. If Jo could find a way out of government service she would take it in a second. But, fifteen years ago when she’d signed on for this, it seemed a better alternative to her uncle’s way of life—assassin for hire by the highest bidder. Now? The desire to retire someplace peaceful—maybe a cottage by the sea—grew with every moment she remained under the boulder of her job. However, one did not tell the Queen—or more aptly, her Bureau of Steam Technology (BST)—one’s services were no longer available, not without good cause.
And what happened to her usual contact, Holt? These two were new and that was never a good sign in her business.
Holt’s absence had her suspicious of the situation, so Jo hugged the dark depths of the stacks of goods and worked her way around the perimeter. Once she found the opening she sought, she stepped up to the edge of the circle of light. “Did yer mams not teach ye’ tis bad manners to discuss someone in their absence?” She strove for more gutter rat and less cultured lady since she had an unknown quantity in the mix.
London Calling Page 1
