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

by Melanie Karsak

  “Lady Charlotte strikes me as the kind of lady who doesn’t approve of anyone but herself. What about Lord Cabell? He seems nice enough.”

  “He’s too tall.”

  “Really, Harper.”

  “And he’s blond.”

  “What’s the problem with that?”

  “Nothing. It’s just… Well, you have a propensity for blond men. I don’t. I like men with dark hair.”

  “Really?”

  “Cabell Manor is gloomy.”

  “So you don’t like his enormous mansion?”

  “No, it’s just… Can we stop talking about this and go back to the case?”

  “I’m just checking. I mean, if you don’t like rich, handsome, and nice lords, I guess that’s your business.”

  “Clemeny, I swear to god, I’d punch you in the face if I didn’t have a headache. I’m not ready. Alan’s news…surprised me. Now, back to the six-finger business. It could be a coincidence, you know.”

  “Could be. But probably not. Sorry, Harper. Don’t punch me.”

  “I won’t. And thanks.”

  “So, we have a formally six-fingered lord and lady and a monster with six fingers on the moor,” I said.

  “Family connection?” Harper mused.

  “Lady Charlotte secretly going savage at night? Be a shame to have to put some silver irons on her.”

  “Oh, yes, I see you’re really broken up about the idea,” Harper said with a chuckle.

  I grinned. “The Cabell’s have old blood in them. A sixth finger is always a tell-tale sign of magic. We need to be watchful though. Something is happening just under the surface here.”

  “Isn’t it always?”

  My mind drifted to Lionheart once more. “Yes.”

  “Now what?”

  “Now,” I said, pulling out my pocket watch. “Now, it’s three o’clock, and I am headed back out onto the fen. You will pay Lord Cabell a visit. Go check out that interesting but creepy clockwork gargoyles he purchased to patrol the property.”

  “Wait, what do you mean you’re going back to the fen? I’m coming with you.”

  “No, you aren’t. Someone must stay here to keep the Cabells safe, a job the gargoyles can’t accomplish.”

  “But Clemeny, something could happen to you out there.”

  “Probably, but if I die, all that stands between Lord Cabell and the werewolf is you and a bunch of cogs and gears. So you stay here.”

  Harper sighed. “You have all the fun.”

  “Oh, yes. It will be so much fun chasing monsters in an enchanted mist. You hear voices, see shapes. Lot’s of fun. Still want to come?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good. You stay for dinner and small talk, and I’ll go talk to the lady made of water.”

  “And be reverent.”

  “Right, and be reverent.”

  “I don’t like it. You need to be careful.”

  “Of course,” I said then headed toward the door.

  “I mean it. Edwin would never forgive me if something happened to you. And I couldn’t live with myself either,” Harper called.

  “I’ll be fine, Harper.”

  “Lionheart wouldn’t forgive me either,” she added.

  I paused, my hand on the door handle. “Lionheart is gone.”

  Harper was silent for a moment. “He’ll be back.”

  I didn’t look at her. How in the name of God had she guessed?

  “We’ll see,” I said then headed outside.

  We’ll see.

  Chapter 19: Reverent

  Carrying nearly every weapon I owned, I sneaked through the garden, trying to avoid the clockwork gargoyles that were not, apparently, on patrol just yet and headed back onto the fen.

  I walked quickly, one eye on the sun. The fen was quiet save the call of birds, croaking frogs, and the distant sound of the windmills or hiss from steam stations. High overhead, an airship passed. It looked like it was headed toward the nearby town. As I walked, I tumbled all the pieces around in my mind. The vagrants. The witch. The stones. The wolf. The Cabell family with their six fingers. The woman in the moors. It was very possible that I was walking into a trap. The white witch had cautioned me. But why should I believe her over anyone else? But still, wasn’t I usually more careful than this?

  No.

  Not at all.

  I followed my instincts, which is why I usually got what I was after.

  A fleeting image of Lionheart passed through my mind, his wistful smile playing on his lips while he gazed at me from across that table at the pub, all the while reminiscing about his son.

  I usually got what I was after.

  But not always.

  The late afternoon sun was already sinking toward the horizon. I turned off the main road and walked toward the ruins. The autumn sky was lit up with soft colors. Dark amber and royal purple trimmed the skyline as the sun dipped out of sight. As I climbed the rise toward the village ruins, my mooneye spotted a soft blue glow around the standing stones. The otherworldly light outlined the ogham images carved on the menhirs. Something that looked like fireflies—except they were blue—darted all around the place. Every hair on my head rose, and my hands and feet tingled.

  What in the world?

  I took a deep breath, pulled my silver dagger, and cast a glance around. I could feel the energy of others not far away. I was definitely not alone. And there were more people here than just the woman. I felt many eyes on me.

  Stepping carefully, I passed the stones and headed up the slope. When I neared the ruins, I smelled the soft scent of smoke in the air. As I crested the rise, I saw that the fire at the village center had been reignited. I turned around and gazed across the horizon. Fog rolled across the fen. It slithered down the road from the ruins and moved across the land, blanketing it in thick mist. It moved and turned as if guided by hand. Soon, the fog enveloped the ground below the ruins.

  The enchantment had awoken, shielding the place from the Romans.

  Or whatever else might saunter by.

  As I stared in amazement, I caught the soft sound of singing.

  I looked about but didn’t see anyone.

  Pulling my pistol, I followed the sound.

  I knew where it was coming from.

  I walked slowly through the ruins, my senses alert for even the slightest of movements.

  I was very glad Mister Aaron had shot that damned pheasant. God knows if I didn’t keep my wits about me, I was going to shoot the very next thing I saw. I crossed the space to the far side. There, I found the road that led to the ring of stones in the fens.

  Taking a deep breath, I made my way slowly down the rise toward the stones.

  As I neared, I realized I was right.

  I wasn’t alone.

  Five figures stood inside the stones. All of them turned to look at me.

  And not one of them was human.

  I recognized the woman I had met in the mist. She wore the same robe, but in the dying light, I realized it was more blue than black. And the colors on her gown seemed to move. No. Not the colors. Her. She was vaguely translucent, as were the two other women and two men with her.

  “Welcome, Clemeny Louvel,” she called. I saw her mouth move, saw her say the words, but I realized I’d also heard her voice inside my head.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  The woman stepped toward me.

  I studied her and the others carefully. There was no red nor silver gleam in their eyes. They were not werewolves or vampires. But they were not human either. Narrowing my eyes, I studied each one, realizing their forms shivered, almost as if they were shifting in and out of this world.

  “You’re asking the wrong question,” the tall man in the back said.

  I gazed at him. He wore a heavy green robe. His face was shadowed by his hood. Like the woman, there was a translucence to him. But the energy that swirled around him, within him, was all green.

  “What are you?” I asked.

 
Another of the women smiled. She was petite, and her robe was red like mine. But unlike my red cape, her dark red robe sparkled along the hem. “Now you’re close to the right question. What were we is the better way to put it.”

  “We still are,” the second man, a tall, lanky creature in a dark brown robe, said, correcting the petite woman.

  “Yes, but barely,” she said with an exasperated sigh.

  “We are elementals, Clemeny Louvel. At least, that is how you will best understand us,” the woman I had met in the mist told me. “Once, we were more. I was Afwyn, of the spring waters of the fens,” she said then turned to the others. “Cad of the brambles, Elswyth of the marsh birds, Aife of the village hearth, Odgaddeau of the willows.”

  Reverent.

  Reverent.

  These were—are—gods. These were the gods of the Celts, nature spirits, local gods, gods who barely existed in our world as little more than elementals. No wonder they were translucent. They were fading from this world.

  My hands shook.

  Holstering my pistol, I knelt on one knee.

  Afwyn chuckled softly. “I told you,” she said to the others. “Can’t you see the blood inside her?”

  “But she knows nothing.”

  “For now.”

  “Rise, Clemeny Louvel.”

  I rose. Moving carefully, I entered the ring. Afwyn motioned for me to join her at the altar. It was laid with candles, fruits, autumn gourds, vegetables, and flowers.

  “The white witch and her coven have been here,” Afwyn said, admiring the altar. “They are good to remember the old ways, to honor us. Her daughter brings offerings sometimes, as do the other witches in the village.”

  “So there is a coven here? Not just the witch and her daughter.”

  “Yes.”

  “And Lady Charlotte, is she part of that coven?”

  Aife, the petite woman in the red robe, laughed. “No, Clemeny Louvel, she is a tourist and a burden.”

  She didn’t have to tell me that.

  But Aife was a goddess, so she could pretty much tell me anything she wanted.

  I looked at Afwyn. In the dying light, I saw her bright blue eyes swim and turn. Under the fading beams of sunlight, I saw the woman and saw through her all at once.

  “You told me that I didn’t really know what I was seeking. There is a werewolf on the moor. I was seeking the monster, and I found it. But I also found the five of you. I am…speechless to be in your presence, but what of the werewolf?”

  Afwyn turned to the others.

  They looked at one another. Elswyth, the eldest in appearance and wearing a pale pink robe, her head covered in a hood of feathers, stepped toward me.

  “What have you discovered about werewolves in the fen?”

  “I don’t know. There was a pack here. The records seem to indicate that a rogue pack lived in this area for several years then moved on.”

  “So they did. Chased from Lord Samson’s lands, the pack found a landowner who was sympathetic to and keenly interested in their plight. That landowner let them live amongst our ruins for a short space of time.”

  “Here? They lived here?” I said, looking back at the ruins. “The landowner—Lady Charlotte?”

  “Yes. For a time, the wolves found solace here. They were not welcomed by the coven, so our witches stayed away. The wolves stayed in the sacred space, hiding from mankind, the druid’s spell keeping others away, for a time,” Elswyth explained.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Lady Charlotte grew tired of her game—and its unexpected complications—and sent the pack away.”

  “But there is a wolf on the moor. Has the pack returned?”

  “No,” Afwyn said. She looked at the others. I could see the worry and apprehension in her face.

  “As we agreed,” Cad, the green-robed elemental, told her.

  “Very well,” she said then motioned Aife. The goddess exited the stones, moving deep into the fog. As she went, I realized she wasn’t really walking, she was floating.

  Reverent.

  Reverent.

  A few moments later, the woman returned holding the hand of a boy who looked to be about seven years of age. He was a sweet thing, all arms and legs, a tangle of soft yellow hair on his head…and glowing red eyes.

  “Agent Louvel, I’m pleased to introduce you to Jericho,” Afwyn said.

  I stared at the child—the werewolf child—who was fiddling nervously with the hem of his waistcoat. I sized the boy over from head to toe, from his pale blond hair to the six fingers on his right hand.

  “He’s…”

  “Jericho’s father was the alpha of the pack that passed through this place. And his mother—”

  “Lady Charlotte?”

  Afwyn inclined her head. “Yes, Lady Charlotte.”

  “But why is he out here?”

  “She abandoned the baby to the pack. The pack abandoned the boy to us.”

  “Hell’s bells.” A hard knot tied in my stomach.

  “Lady Charlotte’s motivations are, no doubt, obvious. The child is an unwanted burden, a scandal. The pack’s alpha—Lady Charlotte’s lover—was killed by his beta. The new alpha did not want to raise the old leader’s bastard child. The child is a lycan, Agent Louvel. Neither bitten nor born of pureblooded parents, he is neither human nor wolf. He was outcast as a wee thing by the pack. We intervened, made a case for the child’s life. The pack left the child to us when they departed. Lady Charlotte pretends to know nothing of the boy. We have hidden him from everyone. But now he is coming of age, and we must make a choice. He must go with us to the Otherworld and stay there, or he must find his way in the world of wolves.”

  Astonished, I stared at the child. The werewolves I knew were of the bitten or pureblood variety. I had heard of lycans, wolves born of mixed parents, but had never met one. The boy was the first true lycan I had ever seen.

  The child, who had been listening intently, suddenly said, “I’m not a lycan. I am a Cabell. I will make my mother see me,” he said and then huffed a dark and wolfy sound. The noise was entirely endearing.

  Afwyn sighed sadly. “We need your help, Clemeny Louvel.”

  “So I see,” I said then turned to the boy. “You may want your mother to see you, but growling at and frightening your uncle, Lord Cabell, half to death won’t help.”

  The boy puffed air through his lips and scowled at me.

  “Not to mention, you could have been killed,” I added, giving him a scolding look.

  “The other lady missed.”

  “Yes, but you got lucky. She doesn’t usually miss,” I said then turned back to Afwyn. “What do want me to do? Charlotte Cabell is not going to accept this child.”

  “We know. You must take Jericho to the alpha in London. We understand the Templars rule this land now. He will be safe among the holy brotherhood. They will guide him, train him, give him a life where we cannot.”

  I looked at the boy. He looked so much like his uncle. “Lord Cabell doesn’t know about Jericho?”

  The elemental shook her head. “No. He was absent during Charlotte’s pregnancy and for a long time afterward.”

  “I…” I looked at the child. A lycan. Half-wolf, half-human. All in all, he was just a little boy with a chip on his shoulder and a broken smile. He had been abandoned by his mother. It was only because of the benevolence of strangers that he was still alive. The child of a werewolf and woman, he was lost.

  One day, maybe, Edison Cabell would see him. Maybe. But not yet.

  “Jericho,” I said, slipping my silver knife into my belt. I stepped toward the boy who braced himself, not for my movements, but for my words. I knelt. “I‘m like you. I don’t know my parents. I was left behind. A kind woman took me in, raised me. I understand what you’re feeling. I can help you.”

  “Help me how?”

  “Lady Afwyn spoke of the Templars. We can go to them. They are wolves, like you, but they’re good. They will guide you, help
you to control your gift.”

  The boy stared at me. A flash of red crossed his eyes. “Gift? This is no gift. My mother abandoned me because of what I am!”

  His words rocked my soul. “Sometimes parents abandon their children because of what’s missing inside them, not because of something missing inside you. I can help you, and I will if you will let me.”

  The boy looked back at the elementals. “I want Lady Charlotte to see me. I want to see my mother.”

  “She will not see you, Jericho,” Cad told him.

  “Are we certain?” I asked Afwyn. “Has anyone pressed Lady Charlotte on the matter?”

  She nodded stoically, and for a moment, her eyes turned a dark, slate color. “I’m certain.”

  “But Agent Louvel can take you somewhere safe. We love you, but it is time,” Odgaddeau told the boy.

  Jericho crossed his arms and said nothing.

  Afwyn wrapped her arms around him, kissed his head, then looked at me. “I have raised him since he was small. We have all watched out for him. But we are… This is not something we can do anymore. This is beyond us.”

  I looked at the child. “You must make me a promise.”

  The boy clenched his jaw.

  “You must promise not to return to Cabell Manor. You could get hurt. You must not return there, not now. One day, perhaps, but not now.”

  “Fine,” he said stiffly.

  “I can meet you in the village tomorrow morning,” Afwyn told me.

  “Oh, Afwyn, are you sure?” Elswyth asked, worry marring her face. As the sun had continued to sink below the horizon, the elementals had grown increasingly translucent. Blue, silver, gold, and green light surrounded them.

  “It will tax me, but I will manage,” Afwyn said.

  I nodded to her. “I’ll send a message to Templar Square, and tell them to expect us.”

  She inclined her head toward me. “Thank you. But now it’s time to go, Agent,” she told me, motioning that we should return to the ruins.

  I looked at the others. “It has been an honor to meet you.”

  They inclined their heads to me.

  “We will whisper to the spirits. You will find your way back to Cabell Manor unscathed,” Cad told me.