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

by Melanie Karsak

  That night, a maid led Harper and me to a quiet room in a quiet corner of the house. It was a modestly appointed bedchamber, fit for the working class. Not quite a maid’s chamber, but certainly not the sort of room in which one would house a fancy Lord or Lady.

  “Comfy,” Agent Harper said with a yawn as she settled into bed. She fluffed her pillow once or twice then lay down.

  I went to the window and had a look out. The moon was nearly full, a complication, which would prove problematic if there was a pack of werewolves out there. What moonlight there was turned the landscape into dark shadows occluded by a bluish mist.

  I closed my good eye and scanned the horizon. I couldn’t see a damned thing. But I felt…something.

  “Well?” Harper asked.

  “Well, what?”

  “What do you think?”

  “There’s something out there.”

  “Figured as much. The place has my hackles risen too.”

  “And the moon is almost full.”

  “I noticed that too.”

  “If there’s a pack out here, they’ll be lawless, not beholden to the realm’s alpha.”

  “Wild and wooly. That will be fun. Speaking of alphas, have you heard anything about when Lionheart will be back?”

  A tight knot formed in my stomach. “No.”

  “He went all the way to the Holy Land?”

  “That’s what they told me.”

  “I’m surprised.”

  “Surprised why?”

  “I’m surprised he took it so hard. Bryony Paxton was pretty and bright and such a nice person, and I was so sorry to learn what had happened, but she and Lionheart just didn’t fit.”

  “Ah. Well. Who knows?” And who does he fit with?

  I turned from the window and sat down on the bed.

  “What do you think we’ll find out there tomorrow?” Harper asked.

  “Not sure, but I do know one thing.”

  “Oh?”

  “It won’t be mummies.”

  “Thanks, Louvel. Now I’m going to have nightmares,” Harper said with a laugh.

  “Sorry.” I lay down and closed my eyes. Lionheart appeared in my mind’s eye once more. I saw him clearly in my memory, looking up at me from under that lock of hair, his face a mess of tangled emotions in the moment before he’d kissed me. I sighed. Maybe I’d given Harper a theme for her dreams, but her words had also infected mine.

  Lionheart, come back.

  * * *

  I woke from a dead sleep in the middle of the night. I had been dreaming that I was standing on Glastonbury Tor—which I had only seen drawings of before. The land all around the Tor was covered in dense fog. From somewhere in the mist, a voice called my name.

  I’d shuddered, feeling scared—not of the voice per se, but of what I’d find out there.

  “Don’t be afraid. I’m here,” someone whispered, slipping their hand into mine.

  I sighed with relief, my nerves calming. When I looked back, I found Lionheart there, his ruby red eyes shimmering.

  The dream shook me, making me sit bolt upright in bed.

  “Richard,” I whispered into the night air.

  Then, I heard it.

  A long, low howl sounded outside. I could barely make it out over the sound of Harper’s snoring.

  Shaking the dream off, I slipped out of bed and shook Harper’s shoulder.

  “Wake up,” I whispered. “Elaine, wake up.”

  Harper snorted hard, waking herself. Her eyes opened slowly. “Clemeny? What’s wrong?”

  “Listen,” I said, lifting a finger.

  We both stilled, and a moment later, I heard the howl once more.

  “Not good,” Harper said, getting out of bed. I turned and grabbed a dressing robe, goggles, knife, and my pistols. Slipping on my boots, I headed down the hallway toward the main stairwell, Harper right behind me.

  There was a grandfather clock in the hall. I noted the time as we passed: three o’clock.

  “Witching hour,” I told Harper.

  We hurried down the steps, pausing when we got to the main foyer, so we could listen once more.

  Again, the howl sounded.

  “Back of the house,” Harper said.

  I scanned around, trying to figure out which hallway led to the back garden.

  “Agents,” Lord Cabell called as he rushed down the stairs. Looking bedraggled, his hair a tousled mess, he’d thrown on a velvet dressing robe. I saw him glance at our weapons, but he didn’t say anything. “This way,” he added, motioning us to follow him.

  We all rushed down a back hallway, Lord Cabell stopping to push open a set of double doors. On the other side was the ballroom.

  The place was festively decorated. There were cornstalks tied in bunches, gourds and jack-o-lanterns, autumn flowers, scarecrows, and paper-mâché ravens. Witches’ caps had been suspended from the ceiling. I had to applaud Lady Charlotte’s ingenuity. The place looked downright haunting.

  Lord Cabell led us to a set of wide doors at the side of the ballroom that led out to a terrace at the back of the house that overlooked the garden.

  The three of us stood staring into the mist. Statues of angels, their marble heads dimly lit by the moonlight, stood like silent soldiers watching stony-eyed across the garden.

  Everything was so still.

  I scanned the horizon, looking for anything, any sign of movement.

  “Clemeny?” Harper whispered.

  I closed my good eye once more, hunting for any shape in the darkness.

  A howl sounded again. It was closer to the house.

  “Damn mist,” I whispered, pulling on my night array goggles. “Stay with Lord Cabell,” I told Harper then moved down the steps into the terraced garden.

  I hadn’t gone ten feet when the fog swallowed me. The night optics pierced the darkness better than the naked eye, enhancing the vision of my mooneye.

  My pistol in front of me, a knife in my hand, I moved slowly down the steps. Passing a winged angel, I came to a reflecting pool. I scanned all around, looking for any sign of…anything.

  The palms of my hands and bottoms of my feet felt prickly.

  “Come on, I know you’re out here,” I said, looking all around.

  Not far from me, a howl sounded once more. It was a strange sound. Something about it seemed odd, different. I couldn’t put my finger on how or why, but I did know it was something preternatural.

  Stepping carefully, I moved toward the sound.

  The mist around me rolled, moving like it was alive, confusing my optics. As I headed deeper into the mist, the fog briefly congealed into apparitions. Shapes took form. Ghosts danced through the mists. One after the other, the spirits floated by, coming in for a closer look, then dissipating almost as quickly as they appeared.

  When I reached the edge of the garden, coming up on a tree line at the garden’s edge, I stopped.

  Somewhere beyond the trees, I heard a low, menacing growl. The sound was followed by the crunching of underbrush. Whatever it was retreated away from the house. I stood there and watched, listening to the creature escape back into the fen.

  “Clemeny?” Harper called from the house.

  She sounded so far away.

  I stared out into the mist. There was something here, but what? The howl had been wolf-like, but I hadn’t seen the tell-tale red eyes.

  The fog rolled. A figure formed in the mist amongst the trees. It took on the shadowy shape of a woman. Her features were indistinct, but she wore long, flowing robes and her hair moved around her as if she was standing in the breeze.

  I pulled off the night optic.

  I could still make out the shadowed form, a silhouette of white. But with my mooneye, I saw the opalescent glow of the otherworld surrounding the spirit.

  Clemeny, a soft female voice called. Clemeny.

  The figure reached out toward me, her hand extended.

  My skin rose in gooseflesh.

  “Clemeny?” Harpe
r called once more.

  A gentle wind blew, disturbing the fog. The mist around the spirit stirred and then she dissipated, blowing back into the night air.

  Right. Okay. I stared at the spot where the spirit had hovered and then I looked beyond into the fen. So, Lord Cabell most definitely had a problem. Something preternatural was keen on getting close to the house. Add to that, Cabell Manor was definitely haunted. But whatever spirits lurked, they didn’t appear to be after Lord Cabell.

  But they might be after me.

  Chapter 8: The Fen

  The next morning, Harper and I dressed and headed to the small library. The servants brought us a quick bite to eat as we waited for Mister Aaron, the groundskeeper, who arrived shortly thereafter.

  “And you didn’t see red eyes?” Harper asked for the hundredth time.

  “No.”

  “That howl. It wasn’t exactly wolf-like.”

  “It was odd.”

  “Hellhound?” Harper asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “Don’t devils have glowing eyes too?”

  “Yes,” I said, remembering Phillip Phillips. “What else howls?”

  “Banshees wail. Could be some other weird bogey, something we don’t see much of in the city,” Harper said then shook her head. “I’m not sure.”

  Neither was I. I hadn’t told Harper about the ethereal spirit that had called my name. Whatever it had been, it didn’t appear to be connected to the case. Something had been calling me for months. I had yet to discover why.

  I needed to go to the summer country.

  Maybe when Lionheart got back.

  The door opened, and a tall gentleman entered. “Good morning, Agents. I’m Mister Aaron. I hear we’re for the moor this morning.” Mister Aaron was a tall man with an impressive handlebar mustache. He smiled good-naturedly at us, giving us a small bow. I couldn’t help but notice that he had a shotgun resting on his shoulder.

  “Yes, sir,” Harper replied.

  “Very well. And I presume you are armed?”

  I looked at Harper. “We are. And we should be?”

  “Well, I’m not sure what you’re looking for out there, Agents. But Lady Charlotte asked me to bring back some duck for dinner. In your line of work, I figured the two of you would be good shots,” he said with a laugh.

  Harper chuckled. “That we are.”

  “Very well,” he said then motioned for us to follow.

  “Lady Charlotte is quickly getting on my last nerve,” I whispered to Harper.

  She chuckled. “Don’t worry. They’re always haughty and skeptical until some monster is breathing down their throats. Then it’s all screaming, ‘Help me, Harper. Help! The mummy is going to eat my eyes,’” she said then shuddered.

  “Good god, Elaine. Where in the hell did they send you?”

  “Never, ever agree to go to Egypt.”

  Mister Aaron led us out the back of the manor into the garden. Mist swirled around the statues. Stoney-eyed stone angels peered across the landscape, looking into the unknown beyond. I scanned the garden, realizing it was mainly planted with shrubbery and trees. Not enough sunlight for blossoms. If it weren’t for the howling, this seemed like a good spot for Agent Rose’s friends. But the garden was remarkably calm that morning. There was no sign of spirit nor yowling beasts.

  “Does the sun ever shine here?” Harper asked, frowning at the fog.

  “Oh, yes. At least ten percent of the time we see sunlight,” Mister Aaron said with a good-natured smile.

  “We saw something outside last night. I spotted movement there,” I said, pointing to the tree line. “Let’s have a look. Are you a good tracker, Mister Aaron?”

  “That I am.”

  “Well, let’s go see what’s been sniffing around,” I said.

  We went to the tree line and inspected the ground for any sign. It wasn’t long before Mister Aaron found something.

  “Here,” he called, waving to Harper and me.

  We joined him.

  “Right there, as bold as brass,” Mister Arron said, pointing to a paw print in the dirt. “Looks like a wolf, Agents.”

  Frowning, I knelt and had a closer look, as did Harper.

  “Definitely an animal,” I said, but the print wasn’t large enough for a werewolf. Whatever it was, it had very long claws.

  “A cat, maybe?” Harper asked.

  “There aren’t any big cats in the fens, unless you count the phantom lucifee that’s been spotted from time to time.”

  “What’s a lucifee?” Harper asked.

  “A big, black cat. Like a puma or panther. Every now and then a legend pops up about it. Someone claims they spotted it. Just a local myth.”

  “Kind of like the Cabell family curse?” I said.

  Mister Aaron chuckled lightly. “Exactly. Wolves, however, are a problem out here.”

  I studied the print closer. It was definitely a paw print, but of what? But then, I noticed something odd. “Six toes,” I said, motioning to the print once more. “Did you see that? Six toes.”

  Harper and Mister Aaron both had a closer look. Harper frowned then looked up at me, both of us thinking the same thing. Six-toed animals were rare, but there was one species of preternatural that always had six toes: a witch’s familiar.

  Mister Aaron took a few steps out into the fen. “It’s all mire from there out,” he said, pointing. “The brush is crushed down, but you can see the direction it was headed. We can’t follow it that way, but whatever it was, it’s headed the same direction we are. But let’s take the dry path. This way, Agents,” he said, hoisting his weapon onto his shoulder once more.

  Mister Aaron led us across the gardens, passing through a gate on the far side. The wrought iron squeaked as we exited.

  Walking down a rise, we found a narrow footpath that led into the misty fen.

  “Where does this trail go?” Harper asked.

  “Well, when it's not raining, you can follow it all the way to the ruins of Castle Acre. Though it might take a full day to get there. But we’ll be making a turn long before,” he said.

  As Harper and I followed along, I scanned the landscape around me. Frogs croaked and loons called from the marsh. I wasn’t sure if the trees nearby had lost their leaves because it was autumn or if they were waterlogged and dead, but what trees dotted the bog appeared lifeless. I heard the sound of a windmill and could just make out its shape in the distance. Turning back to the manor, I spotted Archangel Michael on the roof, but already everything was lost to the mist. If I hadn’t known it was morning, it would be hard to tell.

  We walked for quite a while when Mister Aaron stopped. “This way, and follow my steps,” Mister Aaron said, turning from the path into the bog. “Be sure to step on the center of the peat. A squish one way or the other will have you in the water.”

  We followed Mister Aaron into the moor.

  “Mister Aaron, what do you make of the family legend? Is there any truth to it?” Harper asked.

  “Well,” he said, drawing out the word as if in thought. “I’ve heard the stories about the witches and the burning. And it wouldn’t surprise me a bit that such a thing happened back in those days. As for the curse…” He shrugged. “I suppose it depends on if you believe in witchcraft or not. I do not. But Lord Cabell found something. I suspect he kicked up someone squatting in the old village. In which case, all three of us being armed is a very good thing.”

  “Indeed,” Harper agreed.

  “And what about wolves,” I asked. “You said they are known to be in the area.”

  “Oh, about six or seven years ago our neighbors over at Granfield Place—Lord Samson’s lands—were troubled by a wolf pack hunting their lands. Wouldn’t have minded them except they kept getting into the sheep. Samson’s game warden chased the devils off. Haven’t had any problems with wolves since then.”

  I frowned. I needed to remind myself that in the country, wolves could be just that, wolves. I was so used to walking, talk
ing, smirking, devilishly handsome beasts that I could hardly conceive of a regular canine.

  “Were you with Lord Cabell when he discovered evidence that someone had been at the ruins?” Harper asked.

  “No, I was not. Lord Cabell knows the land as well as I do. He was out on his own. Though I dare say, if I were him, I wouldn’t have tempted fate.”

  “Didn’t you just say you don’t believe in witchcraft?” I asked.

  “I don’t. But ruffians I know well,” he said, patting his gun.

  Ruffians made sense, but that still didn’t explain the howls or the paw print. There may very well be ruffians on the property, but not the kind he thought.

  * * *

  It took two hours before we finally came to a rise in the landscape, the ground sloping upward around a bank in the earth. I didn’t need to see the rise to know we were there. The palms of my hands and the bottoms of my feet hand been tingling for the last ten minutes. The boggy path suddenly gave way to a clear, albeit overgrown, road that led toward the rise.

  “Look,” Harper said, motioning to the path that led up to the ruins. Alongside the path, about the same height as a man, were standing stones. Harper went ahead to investigate. Brushing some lichen away, she inspected the stone. “Ogham…and Celtic symbols,” she said. “Very old.” She looked up the hill, counting. “There are nine stones.”

  I tried to ignore the fact that my skin had risen to gooseflesh and the hair on my head felt like it had been struck by lightning.

  “How long has the settlement been here?” I asked Mister Aaron.

  “You are in the land of the Iceni, ladies. There have been tribes here for centuries. Some say that when the Romans finally crushed the Iceni after Boudica’s raid, many of her tribe members retreated into the fens where the Romans couldn’t find them. But who knows. There has always been lore about the old Celts in these parts.”