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

by Melanie Karsak

  I tried not to frown. Whoever Lady Charlotte was, I didn’t like her already.

  “Once I finish up some work here, I’ll join you at Cabell Manor,” Edwin said.

  “The curse,“ Harper said with a shake of the head as she flipped through the brief. “Something feels missing here. I’ll check our records. I want to do a search for any information we might have on the coven.”

  Feeling annoyed with Edwin, the posh Lord Cabell, and whomever this tart Lady Charlotte was, I rose. “Good idea. Why don’t I join you? There is some info in our files about some stray wolves who left the city a few centuries back. Vagabonds, really. We never had any trouble with them, so no one ever followed up. Let me see where they went.”

  “Clem—Agent Louvel, may I have a moment first?” Edwin asked.

  Agent Harper rose and went to the door. “I’ll go get started. Join me when you’re done?”

  I nodded.

  With a wave, Harper left Edwin and me alone.

  Sucking in my petty jealousies, I turned back to Edwin. Who was I to be jealous of—

  well, I didn’t even know what. A smile? An avoided glance? Who was I to worry about Edwin’s past, especially when I hadn’t stopped thinking about Lionheart every other moment since he’d left?

  “I’m sorry to send you out of the city,” Edwin said. He rose and came around the desk to join me.

  “I’m sorry to go.”

  “I’m sure the Templars will keep things quiet while you’re gone.”

  I nodded. “I’ll send word to Sir Blackwood.”

  Edwin laced his fingers behind his back then coughed lightly. “Any news of Sir Richard?”

  I felt like a rock dropped into the pit of my stomach. “No.”

  “Clemeny, I… I wanted to ask something.”

  Oh. No. This can’t be good. “Of course.”

  “I generally attend the All Hallows Ball as a guest. I’m invited this year as well. I was hoping, assuming the case doesn’t get out of hand and spoil the event, that you would stay on and attend as my date.”

  “Your date. For a ball?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “I… Of course.” Oh, thank god.

  Edwin smiled happily, his hands relaxing to his sides once more. “I’m sorry to force you to armor up and procure a ballgown.”

  I chuckled. “It’s all right. A true lady should be ready for both smiting and waltzing.”

  “Was there ever a more perfect woman?”

  I grinned, flattered by the compliment but feeling that strange sting of guilt once more. Perfect women didn’t go around kissing werewolves while they were attached to someone else. I was far from perfect. “Thank you, Edwin. I’m honored you asked.”

  Edwin smiled then set his fingers gently on my chin. “I’m honored you said yes.”

  Edwin leaned in and set a gentle kiss on my lips. I caught his delightful cinnamon scent. My heart pattered quickly, yearning for more. Edwin was still so measured, so careful. Maybe he was right to be so. Maybe my instincts were the ones that were off-kilter. It wouldn’t be proper to just scoop someone up and press a passionate kiss on their lips. Right?

  When Edwin stepped back, he smiled gently at me, his blue eyes meeting mine.

  “I don’t know what you’re going to find out there. Something has Edison rattled. Be careful.”

  I blew air through my lips. “Nothing to worry about. I have Harper now.”

  Edwin chuckled.

  “You could tell Victoria I’m going to a ball. That necklace would look very nice with my gown,” I said.

  Edwin tapped the box sitting on his desk. “I’ll mention it.”

  Passing Edwin a knowing wink, I turned and headed to join Harper.

  Chapter 3: Vesta’s Grotto

  After a thorough check of the Agency’s records, I set off back across town to the grotto. It was just after dawn when I arrived. Unlocking the gate, I walked the steambike inside. I’d grown accustomed to driving the bike after Lionheart left. When he returned, he’d have a hard time getting it back.

  If he came back.

  When he came back.

  Beams of early morning sunlight filtered through the trees and down onto Grand-mère who was working in the garden. I smiled at the sight. It had taken some doing, including a few well-contrived lies, to convince Grand-mère to leave her flat and move here. I had somehow managed to make her believe I had saved up enough money to buy the place, and that through my agency connections, I’d found a place on holy ground where we could be together and safe.

  It was clear to me that Grand-mère did not entirely believe my story, but when she saw the little house, and its pretty garden, she decided not to pay attention to her nagging suspicions, much to my relief.

  Twisting the truth to Edwin had felt harder. Edwin trusted me. If there was something to tell, he trusted me to say it. But there was nothing to tell. Not really. Lionheart was broken by Bryony’s death, that was all. That night, Lionheart had been confused, not himself. The house was just a gift. That’s all. When Lionheart came back—if he came back—everything would go back to normal. Everything would be fine. Next time, I would do a better job at keeping my distance.

  When he came back.

  If he came back.

  When was he coming back, exactly?

  I smothered the confused feelings that started bubbling up. I could already feel my face contorting into weird and ugly shapes. I didn’t want Grand-mère asking questions I couldn’t answer. Shaking the thoughts of that smirking werewolf from my mind, I crossed the lawn toward her.

  “Look, my Clemeny, how pretty my chrysanthemums are,” she said, gently touching the rust-colored blossom with the tips of her fingers. “But the rest of the flowers are fading,” she said with a sigh. She rose, clapping the dirt off her hands onto her apron.

  “The whole garden is beautiful, Grand-mère.”

  “It will be, in the spring. Now the earth is going to sleep. Look at those colors,” she said, pointing to the oak growing along the wall of the garden. The leaves on the tree had turned a vibrant orange color.

  I looked up at the leaves, feeling the sunlight on my face. A brisk wind whipped across the lawn. Winter was coming.

  “By next summer, I’ll have this garden full of blossoms and smelling like a perfumery. Let’s go inside. You’ll be hungry. And how was your evening?”

  “I saved the crown jewels.”

  Grand-mère laughed. “Oh, my Clemeny. Of course, you did. Of course.”

  I set my hands on my hips. “You know, Grand-mère, I really did.”

  She chuckled. “I’m sure the Queen will be very grateful. Now, let’s go inside,” she said, taking my arm and leading me toward the small house. “I have been going through the attic. Such a mess. But there are some interesting books up there, church records left behind. I’m going to clean everything up, catalog them properly. And on the old Roman wall, I found some strange markings. This house is such a treasure.”

  “I’m glad you’re happy here, Grand-mère.”

  “Such a good find. So peaceful. So quiet. My good girl, how did you find this house again?”

  “Through the agency.”

  “But how?”

  “Someone knew about the place.”

  “Yes, but who?”

  “I forget. I do have some news you’re going to want to hear,” I said, trying desperately to change the subject.

  “And that is?”

  “I’ve been invited to a ball.”

  Grand-mère gasped. “A ball? Where? At Willowbrook Park?”

  I grinned. “No, Grand-mère. Another place in the country. But Edwin invited me to be his date.”

  “Oh, my Clemeny! Oranges and lemons. Very good. Such a fine man. Maybe he’ll propose.”

  “Let’s not be hasty.”

  “You never know, my girl. Sir Edwin is certainly sweet on you.”

  My cheeks burned red. “How did Grand-père propose to you?”

 
Grand-mère laughed. “In an apple orchard. He bent to propose to me, and a bee stung his knee. He didn’t tell me. He proposed to me with tears streaming down his cheeks. I was so moved by his emotion, I said yes. Only afterward did he tell me about the bee.”

  We both laughed.

  “No, no, a ball will do very well. No more apple orchards. Love can sting sometimes,” she said with a chuckle.

  Love can sting sometimes.

  My insides felt like they were melting. I could feel the blood leaching from my face. Good god, what if Edwin did propose?

  Grand-mère pinched my cheek. “Peaky. You need breakfast.”

  “Yes, I do. And lots of it.”

  Grand-mère chuckled. “I hope you’ll be back in time to see Quinn’s baby.”

  “Well, I’m pretty sure it’s not going anywhere even if I miss the birth.”

  Grand-mère sighed with exasperation. “Even so, Quinn will need you there to pluck up his courage.”

  “Right. You’re right.”

  “But Clemeny, a ball! How wonderful. But my dear, what will you wear? The blue dress was ruined by all that…goo.”

  “You mean Phillip Phillips.”

  Grand-mère clicked her tongue at me. “What? Nevermind. You do have that old green frock. You should take it just in case, but it’s not suitable for a ball. Do you have time to get something?”

  I cast a glance up at the window of my bedchamber. “Don’t worry, Grand-mère. I have a dress.”

  * * *

  Grand-mère sent me upstairs to freshen up while she rattled around the kitchen to make some breakfast. She was happily singing in French, no doubt imagining me like Cinderella at the ball.

  Her words rattled around in my head. Edwin surely wasn’t planning to propose, was he? I mean, that seemed rash. No. He just wanted me to meet his old friends in a social setting—even this Lady Charlotte. It would be good to see him in that world. I needed to see what he was really like.

  I pulled off my armor, slipped on a robe, and went to my wardrobe. Pushing aside my everyday items, I snagged the garment hanging in the very back of the wardrobe. Hooking the hanger on the closet door, I unzipped the garment bag. Red silk blossomed out of the bag like a rose opening under the sun. I stared at the dress. Yes. This would be perfect for the ball.

  Perfect.

  Except…

  Except this dress was for someone else.

  No. It was just a gift. Just a dress. It didn’t mean anything. Lionheart was just confused. Everything was going to be fine. None of that was going to matter once he got back, if he came back. I zipped the bag up. This dress would work just fine for the ball. It was the right fashion and color. And it wasn’t like I had the time or money to run around the city hunting something else to wear.

  I pulled a trunk down from the top of the wardrobe then laid the dress inside. I snagged my old green gown, laying it in as well. If I remembered right, it was torn on the hem and had a burn on the sleeve where I’d gotten too close to a candle. I’d have to keep that in mind. Shaking my head, I loaded the case with my trousers, corsets, tops, armor, and a few extra weapons. I closed the lid.

  Weapons and dresses stowed, I was ready to go to the ball.

  Chapter 4: Not Exactly a Pumpkin Carriage

  I met Harper at the airship platform in the early afternoon.

  “Have your ginger?” she asked.

  “Well, you’re here,” I replied.

  Harper rolled her eyes. “I thought you said no puns.”

  I winked at her. Harper and I handed our trunks to a crewman then boarded the airship. Harper went to talk to the captain, and I found a spot to settle in. It wasn’t long thereafter that the agency airship, sporting its signature red balloon, lifted off. The airship headed northeast toward the Fenlands. A marshy place, efforts to tame the land, which sat below sea level, had been ongoing since the Roman invasion.

  “My digging turned up a few things,” Harper said, settling in beside me. She flipped open her leather binder.

  I glanced at the brief. My stomach rolled, reminding me that I really shouldn’t read while I was in motion. I dipped into my pocket and pulled out a candied ginger.

  Harper chuckled but said nothing.

  “Well?” I asked between chews. I was suddenly missing my—well, Lionheart’s—steambike. There had to be a more comfortable, less vomit-inducing, way to get around besides airship.

  “All right. Well. The intel we have on the old ruins near Cabell Manor indicates that there is something out there, but I’m not sure it’s witches. I found a record of an encounter between the Romans and druids back when the Romans were attempting to build a road through the Fens. The Roman records briefly describe a small, religious community deep in the bog. The Roman records are really vague, but they called the inhabitants druids, not witches.”

  Druids.

  “And what happened to our druid friends?”

  “There is no mention of the druids or their religious settlement again. The Roman road was built quite a distance away from the Cabell estate. Could be the Romans decided on a better path, so they never bothered with the druids again.”

  “Or the druids frightened them off.”

  “Maybe. But you know the Romans. If they were frightened, they’d just slaughter everyone.”

  “Easy way to get over a fear.”

  “Nice and bloody, just how the Romans liked things.”

  “So, nothing else?”

  “No. Nothing. Nothing about the estate, the ruins, or the nearby village.”

  “We’re really doing a poor job of keeping an eye on happenings outside London. I need to bring that to Edwin’s attention. We need agents deeper out in the field. The records I found were just as vague. I found three reports on the beta pack that left London in 1666: one in 1673, another in 1792, and the last in 1814. Otherwise, nothing. But the wolves were in eastern England in 1814.”

  “It is possible that whomever the Cabells irked back in the sixteenth century and the druids the Romans encountered are one in the same.”

  “A lot of time between the Romans and the sixteenth century. If the Roman records are even accurate. I’m sure every weird thing the Romans saw they attributed to the druids.”

  “True,” Harper said. “The fens are a dodgy place. Lots of ruins, forgotten roads, and even villages that have been half-swallowed by the groundwater. It’s a good place to hide.”

  Harper’s brief was open to the sketch of Cabell Manor.

  “Why build such an elaborate house in the middle of a swamp?” I asked.

  “Good hunting and lots of farmland once the fen is drained. The manor sits on a rise. Lord Cabell’s family raised the land. Lord Edison Cabell’s great-grandfather employed Archibald Boatswain in the construction of a steam-powered drainage station near the mansion. Edison Cabell has expanded the number of stations on the property.”

  “Nice place for an All Hallows ball,” I said.

  Harper chuckled. “I brought a dress just in case we have to stay on. You?”

  “Yeah.” A dress. The dress.

  “I’m sure Edwin will want you to stay.”

  I grunted.

  “Wow, that was very wolf-like. Lionheart is rubbing off on you.”

  Was he ever. “Very funny.”

  “What, you don’t want to attend a society ball?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Not even with Edwin?”

  “Can we change the subject please?”

  “All right, all right. Any hunches about the case?” Harper asked, tapping the image of the mansion.

  “Let’s see…hellhounds, werewolves, ghosts, or pissed off druids? Hard to say until we talk to Lord Cabell. But howling and wolves pair well.”

  “At least it’s not mummies,” Harper said with a shudder.

  “Mummies?”

  Harper nodded then shuddered once more.

  “One of these days, you’re going to have to tell what, exactly, you did on rotation.
”

  “You’re going to need something stronger than a ginger chew.”

  At that, I laughed then leaned back into my seat. I was really glad Harper was back.

  Chapter 5: Cabell Manor

  It took most of the afternoon for the agency airship to make its way to the Cabell estate. My life was so firmly entrenched in the city that I was surprised to see that the countryside was ablaze with autumn colors. The trees made a palette of deep oranges, vibrant yellows, and blazing reds. The meadows were dotted with goldenrods and purple asters. The loamy smell of the earth even reached us aloft. Farmers toiled in the fields, loading bundles of golden wheat shafts into wagons.

  As we’d traveled, I also got a good look at the fens. A vast, marshy region not far from the eastern coast, the land was picturesque in its natural beauty. The sun glimmered sweetly on the pools of water below, making the entire place look as if someone had tossed handfuls of silver coins across the landscape. The ponds shimmered with silvery light. But also evident were signs of human intervention. Windmills dotted the land, the wind providing power to pump the water away in order to make the land suitable for farming. A few steam-powered stations, their stacks rising high in the sky, also interrupted the charming view. The fens were being tamed, the water pushed into narrow channels, rows of farmland carved out of the natural landscape.

  The trip took most of the afternoon. The sun was setting when the gables of Cabell Manor came into view. A thick fog had rolled in, occluding the land below. Even the massive mansion was hidden by the fog. The spires on the roof, the only part of the house still visible, looked like bony fingers pointing toward the sky. On the highest pinnacle was a statue of the Archangel Michael.

  The agency airship slowed as it made its descent toward the estate. As we carefully descended into the mist, the jagged, gothic design of the place came more clearly into view. Cabell Manor looked more like an abbey than a stately mansion. There was an eerie silence to the place. Only the sorrowful sound of the waterfowl calling across the moor and the soft hiss of the nearby steam station whose stack was nearly as high as the manor’s highest peak marked the place.