by M J Moores
Shadow Phoenix
Episode III: Oubliette
MJ Moores
Shadow Phoenix Volume 1, Episode 3: Oubliette
Copyright © Melissa J. Moores, 2019
Published by Infinite Pathways Press 2019
P.O. Box 4, Caledon Village, ON Canada L7K 3L3
eISBN 978-1-988044-15-6
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilisation of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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TABLE of CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright
Blurb
Author’s Note
Chapter 1 ~ Between a Brick and a Hard Place
Chapter 2 ~ Sobrie-Tea
Chapter 3 ~ Hens and Chicken
Chapter 4 ~ Broken Promises
Chapter 5 ~ Fall down Seven Times, Get up Eight
Chapter 6 ~ The Devil’s Road Crew
Chapter 7 ~ Monday Bloody Monday
Books
Shadow Phoenix Volume 1
Episode III
Oubliette
With the rise of a new syndicate, crime has gone from petty thievery to organized corruption. While Louisa has earned a position as an inventor’s assistant and solidified her status as the city’s guardian it’s not exactly as she expected.
When Phoenix next faces-off against Scythe and Bug, they’re not alone. Bug has a new toy, and the thieves are on a mission of mayhem threatening to destroy Louisa and everything she’s fought for.
In the shadows of life’s oubliette only one thing keeps Louisa from succumbing to her worst fears—a dark secret threatening the Crown. But, without proof Louisa is hard-pressed to convince anyone of the truth as she balances on her own precipice.
A New Steampunk Serial
This is the third installment of eight short-story-length episodes that link together to form a complete novel or volume. As Charles Dickens once wrote in batches of chapters for the local paper, this story will be revealed similarly via electronic episodes.
Each “short read” is intended to have both a general conclusion to the immediate story line, and a through-story that links to a larger, over-arching, plot.
It is my hope that readers who prefer shorter pieces, or who only have a limited time to read, will feel satisfied with each separate episode while looking forward to the next installment.
Happy reading.
Sincerely,
MJ Moores
SHADOW PHOENIX
Vol. 1
EPISODE III
Oubliette
Between a Brick and a Hard Place
N ight wrapped its inky cloak around Louisa. She pressed her back against the wall; it didn’t make her any warmer, though. She drew together her soft, leather driving duster. Her breath frosted in the air as she checked around the corner of another warehouse. The quiet disturbed her.
She heard no footsteps and saw no movement of any kind. Surely a bobby would have come through by now? This wasn’t the first time the warehouse district went unsupervised—yet another piece in a growing puzzle of which she didn’t have the full picture.
It was up to her, now, to watch over the city. She swelled with pride at the title that reporter had given her. Her bubble burst as a streak of orange flame lit the sky. Louisa’s chest tightened and her internal rhythms switched to high alert. It’s three buildings down!
Clinging to the shadows, she slipped from one structure to the next until two familiar voices floated to her on the crisp air—Bug and Scythe. Their words remained garbled until Louisa crept to the warehouse across from them and flattened her body against the clapboard siding.
Still no whistles and no constables.
“Do that again and I’ll cut your finger off,” Scythe, the Filipino warrior, threatened. She reached for one of two thin short swords hanging crossed over her hip.
Bug shrugged and snarled at her as she towered over his three-foot frame before he adjusted something on the side of a large gun. It attached to an equally bulky tank on his back.
“Not used to the settings yet. Besides, no one’s around. I’ve got it now.” He enveloped the wood siding in flames—smaller than before but no less deadly. Scythe’s dark silhouette contrasted against the dancing fire.
“All right, that’s enough,” she barked over the roar.
Bug’s face gleamed in the dying light. Glowing embers outlined the panel. Scythe raised a knee to her chest and kicked the smoldering board, crashing through to the other side.
Louisa blinked. An after-image of the flames burned her eyes and blinded her in the sudden dark. Her driving goggles weren’t coated the same way a welder’s were. They concealed her features, helping hide her identity, but did nothing more.
“Wait here,” Scythe called, but Bug followed her in anyway.
Louisa had no idea what the thieves might be after. She couldn’t search for or find a bobby until she knew how long the cutpurses would be there and how difficult it would be to either leave with their haul or destroy it. No horse and carriage waited this time. The airship engineer who owned the warehouse was a bit of a rising star but clearly not well off enough to place sufficient security around his property. Padlocks and storm shutters might deter the average sot or nosy reporter, but not these gobermouches.
Bug re-emerged, slinging the flame launcher over his shoulder.
“I’ll get the barrow,” he said, not nearly loud enough to carry inside. Likely, the dwarf just repeated Scythe’s instruction in disgust over having to be her lackey.
Now’s my chance.
Louisa had been bested trying to take on both thieves at once last time; she’d not make the same mistake twice. After waiting a moment to be sure Scythe wasn’t ready to leave, Louisa sprinted across the street and folded into the shadows of the building. Gooseflesh shot over her exposed legs as the duster parted, revealing her shortened lace skirts. She would need to add heavy stockings or stove-pipe pants to her Shadow Phoenix attire to get through the coming winter.
A shuffle of feet echoed along the alley between the buildings. Bug walked backward, towing a large garden barrow, his new weapon still slung over one shoulder. Louisa pulled out a specially made sphere from her tool belt and palmed it.
Gotta be careful here. That tank is full of something flammable. If I hit it … She shook off her unease and aimed for the siding instead of between his feet. Her heart beat wildly. She swallowed great gulps of air to calm her nerves, then stepped out of the shadows and hurled the sphere.
Sparks ignited inside the china-thin ball. Bug raised his head just before the orb crashed. Streaks of electricity exploded, forcing Bug into the side of the building. Louisa’s heart soared. Got him!
A thick, fleshy noose tightened around Louisa’s neck. She gasped and clawed at giant fingers lifting her off the ground. Stars flashed behind her eyes and her chest burned for air. The giant flung her at the warehouse. Her head cracked against the siding and she crumpled into a heap on the cobblestones. Louisa gasped and fumbled for another sphere.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. If it isn’t the little birdy,” Scythe said, a darkness behind her thin, blade-like form blocking the moonlight and star shine.
Something wet trickled down the side of Louisa’s head. An ache and me
ntal fog kept her from focusing, but she managed to grab hold of an orb and hide it in the folds of her coat.
Scythe kicked Louisa repeatedly. Air evacuated from her lungs. She curled into a ball bracing for the next attack. Become a smaller target, her mother’s voice rasped through her. Louisa obeyed.
“Watch her,” Scythe said and went to check on Bug—no, she ignored him and righted the barrow.
Now’s your chance, her mother’s voice pushed.
Louisa staggered to her feet. Lightning-sharp pain flashed through her body as she ran for the opening back to the street. She collided with a brick wall and fell, biting her tongue when her teeth snapped shut. Louisa blinked and looked up. Two logs folded themselves like arms across the largest chest on the tallest and broadest man she’d ever seen.
Scythe cackled and bumped the barrow over the uneven road. “Finish her off already,” she said.
Louisa whispered a prayer and whipped the sphere at the ground between the giant’s feet.
He didn’t move—just grunted.
Scythe pushed the barrow past both of them and around to the front of the building as a whistle pierced the night. Two others echoed in response.
“Forget her. Grab the git and let’s go,” Scythe yelled.
The giant brick lumbered past Louisa, snatched the dwarf up from the ground, and followed the human blade off into the night.
The whistles blasted louder. Fear battled with the agony in Louisa’s chest. Can’t … let them … find me …
She groaned, uncoiled, and crawled toward the rear alley, pain piercing her chest at every breath. Still, she dragged herself to the cross-lane where the rear of four warehouses met.
As she forced her aching body around the corner, her hand landed on a boot. She snatched it back and looked up. Yet another dark shadow loomed.
Sobrie-Tea
T entacles of fear gripped Louisa’s muscles, freezing her entire body. No—no, I won’t let it end like this. A blast of hot energy screamed through her veins. She drew her knees closer and sprang up with a grunt, colliding with the hulking shadow—knocking it back.
He staggered into a pool of moonlight, scrambling to stay upright, and reach for Louisa’s arms.
“Whoa, there. I’m here to help.”
Louisa’s breath zapped her lungs. She doubled over and lost feeling in her legs, clinging to the man with the sandy hair. Her eyes glazed over from pain and she trembled.
“Dear God. Look at you. Come on, let’s get you out of here.”
A whistle fractured the air just around the corner. It bleated repeatedly, calling other bobbies to the scene.
“I—I know you.” Louisa gripped his arms tight.
“Do you?” Surprise edged his whisper. He drew her arm across his shoulders to bear her weight.
“You—you named me.” She gasped and trembled when his hand gripped her side to help her stand. He shifted lower, grabbing the belt of her leather apron instead.
“Shh, now. Come on. One step at a time.”
Louisa bit her lip to keep from calling out as the reporter half carried her away from the commotion, back into the shadows, and along unfamiliar streets. She blacked out, coming to for only a moment when he shifted her over his shoulder. He carried her through a side door and down a set of stairs toward music that wrapped around her soul and cradled the pain like an old friend … one with teasing dark eyes and sandy hair.
#
Louisa jolted upright in the sudden quiet. She groaned and folded in on herself. A thin blanket fell to the ground. Stuttered breaths ignited sparks of pain in her side and head. The skin along her cheek pulled taut and the metallic taint of blood coated her tongue. She squinted into the dim light, trying to identify the foreign shadows.
Her breath drew shallow, rasping as she gripped the edge of the cot beneath her. The door opened.
“Vazey,” she cursed and regretted speaking when the invisible knife plunged into her side.
The man who’d rescued her walked in, eyebrow raised, a teacup in one hand and a large bowl in the other. He gave her a thin smile, set both objects on a small card table by the head of the cot, and grabbed the wooden chair from beside a tall bureau. The young man sat down before her, arms straight, hands on knees.
“How are you feeling?” His deep voice rumbled through his chest.
How can that tone come out of that body? He wasn’t exactly a small man, stockier and a bit taller than Bennett, but still … just a man.
“H—how long have—have I been out?” she asked, still short of breath but taking stock that no new injuries had arisen in his company. Louisa wished she could quell her mother’s warnings about never being alone with men, but all she could do was hug herself. The added pressure eased the knifing pain in her side.
“Only a few minutes. You blacked out when I picked you up. From your wounds, likely.” He stared at the side of her face, his gaze scanning from her hairline down to her jaw. Louisa shifted her pursed lips. Something on her skin cracked and pain spiked into her left temple. She touched the side of her head, groaning. Her fingers came back red.
“I’m bleeding?” Her voice faded in disbelief.
“You are. Here”—he handed her the cup of tea—“drink this. It’s chamomile with honey and lemon.”
Louisa accepted the saucerless cup and stared at him over the rim as she took a sip. The heat soothed her, but an unfamiliar bite made her cough and cringe. Her head exploded again.
“And a splash of bourbon,” he amended.
Louisa closed her eyes a moment to let the blast of pain pass, then handed the cup back.
“Finish it. It’ll help.”
“I don’t imbibe,” she said.
“I don’t care. I saw what that giant did to you—I can read agony like gospel. Drink it.”
She stared at him, neither of them blinking. This was how her mother had coped with her circumstances—had been able to “entertain” gentlemen callers. Louisa couldn’t afford to let that happen to her. She set the cup on the little table and folded her hands over her exposed knees. She did not tug at the short layers of black lace, but she remained well-aware of how revealing her outfit was.
He sighed. “Fine. Will you at least allow me to wash your face and examine your head?”
She narrowed her eyes and gave a slight nod. He returned the nod and fished a cloth from the bowl of water, wringing it out.
“I’m—”
“That reporter,” she cut him off. “Tweed. Morrison Tweed. You’ve been writing about me.” Her soft voice held an accusatory tone. She hadn’t intended to sound that way, but she didn’t know what to make of being alone with a strange man in a small basement room, God-knew-where in the city.
“Call me Morrie. I’m surprised you know I’m the writer.”
Louisa bit the inside of her cheek. Her head might hurt, but she knew better than to reveal anything to this man. He was the only reporter at Bennett’s test launch truly interested in the work. The article in the paper had clearly favored Bennett over Stirling, and he’d mentioned the Shadow Phoenix too. Only one reporter wrote about her in such a familiar way.
He set the cloth on the edge of the bowl and reached for Louisa’s goggles. She shifted back and grabbed his wrist.
“You’re covered in blood. I need to take them off—”
“No, you don’t. I’ll clean myself up when I get home if that’s the case.” She released him.
“Unless you plan on walking, no one will give you a lift looking like this.” His gaze flitted to her exposed throat before meeting her eyes again.
Louisa’s hands shook. The quake traveled up through her body until even the feathers on her headband quivered, sending waves of motion through her matted curls.
“Then work around them. I’ll not be revealing my identity. And if I must walk home, I will.” Louisa stood up. Pain sliced through her, and her vision darkened as she looked toward a door no longer visible.
A warm, gentle hand re
sted on her shoulder, easing her back to the cot. The teacup slipped back between her fingers, warming them. She blinked. Pale spots brightened and cleared.
Morrie squinted at her and tilted his head. His own loose curls bobbed slightly before he shifted his lips to one side and nodded. He picked up the cloth again and leaned toward Louisa, close enough she could smell his breath—detecting a hint of roses from his skin but no alcohol. He daubed the side her face, starting at her lower jaw and slowly easing up toward her cheekbone and ear. Every so often he’d rinse the cloth and resume his ministrations.
He carefully lifted a few stray locks of her dark hair and cleaned around the band and edges of her goggles. When he touched the side of her temple, she jolted. An array of colored fireworks flashed before her eyes. A spike of fire seared through her head and down her neck. She clenched her teeth and waited for her sight to clear.
A hand raised the bottom of her cup until the rim touched her lips. The heat thawed her facial muscles, and the aroma of lemon and honey calmed her nerves.
Louisa took a sip and remembered why she’d set it aside in the first place. Soothing heat rolled down her aching throat and blossomed in her chest. With her gaze now clear, she sought to set the cup down, but Morrie was back from rinsing the cloth, his chin and mouth only inches from her nose as he dripped warm water onto her abrasion. Her gaze locked onto a length of knotted flesh spanning his profile from temple to jaw along the right side of his face. An old scar, now pale. She gripped the china in her hand, not risking a move to place the tea on the table—not if she wanted to avoid making contact with his lips. Her gaze lingered there, and she held the cup on her lap, willing her heart to stop its incessant hammering.
“You have quite the gouge here. That oaf really did a number on you.”
“Oaf? The man was a walking brick wall. My lightning sphere didn’t even faze him …” she let her voice trail off, recalling the impact.