Frostbitten Fairy Tales

by Melanie Karsak

  With a nod to Pastor Clark, I exited quickly before it occurred to him to chaperone me around the building. I headed upstairs to the boys’ dormitory. There were twelve small beds, all neatly made, but the room was very stark. I went to the single window and looked out across the rooftops, keeping in mind what Charles said. He’d definitely heard something on the rooftop, and Edward had smelled peppermint. That one still had me puzzled. I climbed out the window onto the roof of the next building. Then, grabbing the ledge, I hoisted myself up on top of the roof of the charity school. The peak of the school had a good view of the Strand. I could see the roofs of the buildings at King’s College. Would Lionheart be there now?

  A cold wind whipped, blowing my cape around me and stirring up a light whirlwind of snow. I scanned the neighborhood. If the first abduction had happened at the Brown household, the second at the Orphanage, the third near Waterloo Bridge, then down to Mister Anderson’s address near the Lyceum, someone was working the Strand. And whoever was doing the lifting, they were doing it after the sun went down. That sounded very werewolf-like.

  Templar Pack ruled this part of town. Had one of his pack members gone astray? As quickly as the thought occurred to me, I dismissed it. The image of the Templars in their glittering armor outside the airship hangar the night we’d taken out Cyril flashed through my mind. The Templars were loyal. None of them had gone astray in hundreds of years.

  Rogue dog, maybe? Someone trying to encroach on Lionheart’s territory just to piss off the new alpha?

  I wasn’t sure.

  I briefly thought about stopping by King’s College and checking in with Lionheart, but my thoughts went to Bryony Paxton. I liked Professor Paxton. I honestly did. But no matter how much I liked her, it didn’t curb the jealousy I felt. I had no business getting involved with Lionheart, but I liked his attention. It made me feel special. The fact that he had found someone to love—someone who wasn’t me—made me hurt in a way I didn’t understand. I hadn’t found a way to squelch the feeling. Better to leave well enough alone.

  No, I wouldn’t bother Lionheart with this. Whoever was nabbing the children, they would have to tangle with me.

  Chapter 6: What the Dickens?

  I headed down the Strand toward Waterloo Bridge. I was about turn down Arundel Street when I noticed a bit of commotion ahead. The Bow Street Boys appeared to be talking—well, half-talking, half-roughing up—a group of kids. I approached the group, listening to the conversation as I drew near.

  I blew on my fingers once more. I didn’t remember it being this cold at Christmas last year, and it had already snowed much more than usual in London. I pulled a silver flask from my belt, took a quick sip of brandy to warm me, and then approached the crowd.

  “Honest, Officer. We found ‘em,” a boy was saying.

  “He’s telling the truth, mister. Maybe the river washed ‘em up,” a second lad added.

  “Yeah, maybe the Thames washed ‘em up,” a small girl chirped in.

  “You know what the punishment is for stealing,” one of the officers was saying as he grabbed the biggest boy by the collar on his shirt.

  The second officer grabbed the other two children by the arms and was about to haul them off to the paddy wagon parked nearby.

  “Officers? Problem?” I asked.

  “Not to worry, ma’am. We’ve got it settled,” one of the officers called without looking up.

  The children looked from the officers to me.

  I pulled up my hood and adjusted my cape so it draped about me in an obvious fashion. “That wasn’t what I asked, Officer,” I retorted.

  Exasperation filled the man’s voice. “Look, lady,” he began as he turned to me. But when his eyes took in the cape, he let the boy go.

  Pushing my cape aside to reveal the small emblem of the Red Cape Society on my belt, I raised a questioning eyebrow at the man.

  The officer nudged his partner, who frowned then looked over his shoulder. When he spotted me, he let go of the children he was holding.

  The kids, thinking it was their cue to run like hell, moved to take off. But I raised a finger, motioning to them, and they stilled like statues.

  “Let me ask once more. What is the issue here?” I said.

  “Um, well, nothing for you to be worried about, Agent. Just some pickpockets trying to fence their stolen goods.”

  “We didn’t steal anything,” the older boy protested.

  “And what is it that you didn’t steal?” I asked the boy, looking from him to the officers and back again.

  “These,” the other officer said, extending his hand. Therein lay five perfect golden bands.

  “Rings?”

  Both officers and the children nodded.

  I looked at the children. “Where did you find them?”

  “By the river,” the girl said.

  “Where? On a road? A walking path? Near the shore?”

  “They were lying in the mud not far from our camp by the bridge,” one the boys answered.

  “You see, they’re lying,” one of the officers told me.

  “Has anyone reported missing jewelry to your station?” I asked the officer.

  “Well, no. But—”

  “But they have reported missing children, haven’t they? Isn’t your station supposed to be looking into that matter, not bothering a bunch of street rats?”

  “Yeah, well, we were working on that case when these kids caused a ruckus.”

  “Ruckus? We ‘bout had these sold until you showed up,” the shorter boy protested. “No ruckus about it.”

  I pulled out my journal, jotted down Mister Anderson’s address, then tore out the page. “Mister Anderson, the gentleman who lives at this address, has been waiting on your department to call. His daughter is missing. I am sure your superiors are aware that my division is now on the case. I expect you to follow up on this lead immediately,” I said, handing the paper to the second officer while scooping the rings from his other hand. “And I’ll take care of these.”

  “We-we didn’t know that the Society was working the case,” the first officer said.

  “You do now. So scuttle off and do your job.”

  “Yes, Miss—”

  “Agent. Agent Louvel.”

  “Sorry. Yes, Agent,” the officer said, then he and his comrade crawled back onto their wagon and headed off in the direction of Mister Anderson’s home.

  I looked at the rings. They were identical, each made of high-quality gold. My brow furrowed as I thought it over.

  “You said more children went missing?” the young girl asked.

  Shaken from my thoughts, I looked up at her. “Yes. In fact, I was coming to find you to ask about another missing child.”

  “Bunny, Mags, Little Max, or Big Max?” the older boy asked.

  “Sorry? What? I was looking for Bunny. I believe she might know something about the disappearance of a boy from Saint Clement Danes. Lucas?”

  “Lucas is missing too?” the younger boy asked.

  I stared at them. “Are you saying Bunny is missing?”

  The three children nodded.

  “And Mags, Big Max, and Little Max,” the older boy added.

  “What? Four children? Did you tell the authorities?”

  They laughed.

  “You see how well they believe us,” the older boy said.

  I sighed. He was right about that.

  “When did these other children go missing?”

  “Let’s see…Mags, Little Max, and Big Max went missing last week. Bunny went missing last night. We didn’t want to say in front of the Bow Street clods, but we found these rings right near her cot at our spot down by the river.”

  “That’s very odd.”

  “We’re a bit scared, to be honest. Someone is snatching us off the street.”

  “How many are you?”

  “Us three and two more back at the bridge.”

  “I want you all to go to Saint Clement Danes. Ask for Pastor Clark.
Tell him Agent Louvel insists that you all be given shelter until this case is settled.”

  “But didn’t they snag Lucas and Tom from Saint Clement?”

  “Tom, yes. But it appears Lucas was grabbed somewhere between courting Miss Bunny and the orphanage.”

  “All the same to you, miss. We’re better off on the street.”

  “Clearly not. Four of you are missing! You will be safe at the orphanage. I…I believe the danger has passed there now, but not out here. You are still at risk if you are on the street at night.” If my initial estimate was right, whomever was working the Strand would not backtrack to pick up these children but would move on…but where and why?

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “I’m not staying though. We’ll go for a few days. Maybe through Christmas. That would be a good racket, something warm to eat on Christmas morning. What do you say?” the older boy said.

  The others looked more hesitant.

  “Tell Pastor Clark that I will sponsor your stay, if needed. But I want you off the streets. Today.”

  “But we aren’t staying for good,” the little girl confirmed.

  “No. Of course not. Just until the trouble has passed. And I do believe the orphanage provides a nice Christmas dinner. You must promise me you will go. I don’t want to ask the other officers in my agency to remove you,” I said, darkening my tone a bit.

  Once more, I saw that same awe—and a little fear—that my cloak always evoked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the older boy said with a nod.

  “The others—Mags, Little Max and Big Max—where did they disappear?”

  The older boy shrugged. “They were working the streets that night. You know, theatre crowd. Fancy dresses. Deep pockets. Lots of autos and carriages. Good hunting grounds. Everyone is out for the big holiday shows and the Lyceum and Adelphi.”

  I smirked but said nothing. Ripe for pickpocketing and panhandling. Of course. “And your camp. It’s by the bridge?”

  They nodded.

  “Good. Now, go to Saint Clement. Understood?”

  They nodded then turned and set off in a run. I only hoped they did what they were told. If I was right, they would be safe at the orphanage. But they were not safe on the street. That was certain. The case was out of hand. Nine children were missing. Nine, not four. Whatever was hunting the Strand, I needed to catch it and fast.

  Chapter 7: The Nutcracker

  After a quick investigation of the guttersnipe’s camp, finding nothing odd save a bevy of swans swimming in the chilly Thames, I headed back toward the Strand. It was almost dusk when I arrived at Mister Anderson’s flat on Burleigh Street. The apartment was in a finely appointed building; Mister Anderson’s lodgings were on an upper floor. A footman met me at the door and led me into the parlor that was festively decorated with evergreens and a Christmas tree. I stood, my hands behind my back, and looked out the window down the street toward the Lyceum. A flurry of activity was underway as the theatre hands prepared for that night’s show. From the window, I could see a sign advertising the event: The Red Slipper Ballet Academy presents The Nutcracker.

  “Miss—Agent Louvel,” Mister Anderson called, entering behind me. “Please, have a seat.”

  “I was just admiring the view,” I said then sat.

  “Ah, yes. The theatre. My daughter and I love the shows. We never miss one. We’d been hoping to see The Nutcracker. They say the ballerina playing Clara is the best dancer since Elyse Murray graced the stage. Perhaps…perhaps there will still be time. Tea? Or brandy, perhaps?”

  Given how cold it was outside and the fact that I was likely going to be up all night, I went for the brandy. Mister Anderson poured me a glass then handed me a snifter full of the amber-colored liquid. He then poured one for himself and took a seat opposite mine.

  “I must thank you. The constables were by not long ago and took a full report.”

  I smirked. Of course they were. “I’m sorry it took them so long. Now, what can you tell me about your daughter’s disappearance?”

  “I am a manager at the bank,” he said, pointing down the street. “I’d come home late, but Elizabeth’s nanny was here with her all day. She didn’t report anything unusual. Elizabeth and I had dinner, read a bit, then I tucked her in for bed. It was sometime around midnight when I heard the bird, as I mentioned to you earlier.”

  “Yes. The colly bird. And your nanny? Did she see anything unusual? Any disturbances during the day?”

  The man shook his head then took a drink. “No. Nothing. Agent Louvel, Elizabeth is my princess, my everything. Everyone told me to send her to a boarding school, someplace proper for a young lady, but I couldn’t let her go. If I had, this might never have happened. We…we need to find her.”

  “Mister Anderson, do you—and forgive me for asking—do you have any enemies? Anyone who might hold ill will against you?”

  “I don’t think so. Small grievances, perhaps. Loans I have declined. A certain lady whose intentions I rebuked. Nothing so serious to warrant something like this.”

  “May I see Elizabeth’s room?”

  He nodded then motioned for me to follow him. The small flat had beautiful, new furniture and lovely paintings on the walls. Mister Anderson was not a gentleman but certainly a man of some means. When he opened the door to young Elizabeth’s room, however, one might have thought themselves at Buckingham Palace. I was unable to suppress a gasp.

  Mister Anderson chuckled. “Even Princess Helena would be jealous, I suppose. I do spoil my Elizabeth a bit.”

  A bit was an understatement. The room looked like it had vomited pink lace, silk, dresses, dolls, hats, and every other manner of thing a young lady could want. Most of Mister Anderson’s wages must have gone to keeping his daughter in the latest fashion.

  “The window, there, was open,” Mister Anderson said. I went to the window and looked out. Unlike the other windows, this one did not lead to another rooftop. There was, however, a sturdy ledge that ran along the side of the building. The leap from there was not impossible. Difficult, but not impossible. Especially if you are a werewolf.

  I turned back and looked at the room once more. Miss Elizabeth had to be the most spoiled child in all of England. I wondered if Her Majesty’s children had so many beautiful dolls and gowns.

  “I will need the name and address for your nanny and any other household staff,” I told Mister Anderson, who had become teary-eyed once more. I handed him my notepad.

  “Of course,” he said, jotting down the names. “I…I don’t know how I can live with myself if she’s…harmed. My last words to her were harsh.”

  “Why so?”

  “Elizabeth is my princess. And some of her demands are a bit excessive. With the holidays at hand, her desire for extravagances was beginning to outweigh what this Santa Claus could afford. And she was not pleased when I asked her to scale back for the sake of Santa Claus’s reindeer.”

  “All children dream big,” I said.

  “Do they?” Mister Anderson replied. “In my effort to give her everything I didn’t have, to make up for her loss of her mother, I fear I have overdone what was needed.” He sighed then handed the notepad back to me.

  I slid the journal back into my bag. “You only did your best. It’s clear you love your daughter very much. I will do everything I can to find her and will send word as soon as I have news.”

  Mister Anderson nodded then led me back to the front of the flat. “Thank you, Agent Louvel.”

  With a nod, I headed back outside. The sun had set. It was time to find some high ground. When I exited the building, however, I caught the scents of roasted walnuts and crepes on the breeze. My stomach growled. A little detour wouldn’t hurt, right? I followed my nose back out the Strand where the theatres were lit up. A line had already formed outside the Lyceum for the evening performance of The Nutcracker. I eyed the crowd. An elderly woman with startling white hair, wearing a shimmering white gown and bright red
silk slippers, exited an auto that had just pulled up outside. The assembled crowd stopped to stare, clapping loudly when the woman emerged. She was accompanied by a distinguished-looking gentleman in a grey suit with a blue rose on the lapel. The woman waved to the crowd as she headed into the theatre. She must have been a famous actress, but I didn’t follow the fine arts. I did, however, follow my nose. The street vendor had to be around here somewhere.

  I headed away from the Lyceum and down toward the Adelphi. The marquee noted that they would be performing Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. A play about ghosts? Now, that was something I could enjoy. Better than the play, however, was the cart outside selling mulled wine.

  “One, please,” I told the man.

  He looked at my cape then handed the drink to me. When I tried to press my coins toward him, he waved them away. “On me,” he said with a wink.

  Sipping the hot wine, cinnamon, orange, and other spices heavy on my tongue, my thoughts drifted toward Agent Hunter once more. My mind twisted past the lusty thoughts of his spicy skin to the soft smile on his face, and his kind words of caution as I’d headed out that morning. In truth, I knew almost nothing about him. What manner of man was he? Did he like the theatre or did he prefer the pub? Did he spend the weekends in the city, out in the country on a hunt, or curled up by a fire reading books? A firm derriere and bulging biceps aside, these were the things that made up who the man really was. And despite my most ardent fantasies about him, I really didn’t know him at all. Sadly.

  I trailed down the street, stopping to purchase a crepe with hazelnut and cocoa spread, then headed down an alleyway. Polishing off the last of my wine and gobbling down the crepe with such lack of decorum that Grand-mère would have been scandalized, I grabbed a ladder and climbed up to the rooftop. From there, it would merely be a matter of leapfrogging from rooftop to rooftop until I found a good spot. I eyed the sky. A week until the full moon. Some of the wolves, especially the older ones, would already be drawn out by the moonlight.