Attie raises his chin, preparing himself for what will, no doubt, be a new battle, one he will be a large part of. His words are strong when he speaks, and I know that Neverland has no idea what’s in store for it, that the Daughters won’t quite know what they’re getting when they asked our world for help. “Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning, right?” He grins. “I guess someone better bring me my axe.”
It’s time to go to Never Never land. . . .
Acknowledgments
There are so many people I feel I need to thank for this final installment of the Sons of Wonderland. Most know that this isn’t the end, not completely, and because of everyone who has picked this up, that’s possible. When I first started this writing thing, I never expected to find so much support in the book community. As writers, we’re told writing is a solo endeavor, but I’ve found that’s hardly the case. Writing, especially in the indie community, takes a whole group of people to achieve your goals, from family, friends, beta readers, Editors, cover designers, Proofreaders, Formatters, ARC readers, and finally the readers, everyone is just as important as the other.
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To my family -- my husband, son, parents, and family that supports me every step of the way -- Your support means the world to me. Without your encouragement, I would never have pursued writing to begin with. Shout out to my mom for telling everyone she can that I write “weird shit”. You make my day every time you brag about me to someone.
* * *
To my friends -- Katie Knight, Poppy Woods, and Mallory Kent -- none of this would be possible without you. This year started off in the worst way possible, and only seemed to add more and more on top of it. Y’all kept me sane, and when my motivation lagged, you told me to get my ass in gear and write. Thank you for making me see what I was doing.
* * *
Thank you Ruxandra Tudorica for always making amazing covers for this series. You always seem to get my vision and then make it a million times better. Thank you to Michelle Hoffman for editing and Dani Black for Proofreading. You make sure to remind me to take out the million repetitive words I always include. Thanks to Nicole for always making the interior of my books so gorgeous. You’re awesome!
Large shout out to Maria Vela for writing the small poem used in A Very Mad Wedding. It worked perfectly and I’m so glad I got to meet you in person.
* * *
And finally, thank you to all the Readers who continue to pick up my books and support me along the way. Without you, none of this would be possible, and I wouldn’t be able to continue on to another adventure. I hope you like this one, and to make up for the two sad stories, I made sure to include two happy-ish ones. Sorry, but not really.
Next time we meet, we’ll be in Neverland.
About the Author
Kendra Moreno was born and raised in Texas where, if the locusts don’t drive you mad, the fire ants and sticker burrs will. Iced tea, or aptly called straight sugar, fuels her for battling the forces of evil and washing the never ending dishes her son dirties. She has one husband who listens to her spin tall tales constantly without fail. Although he doesn’t always know what she’s talking about, he supports her like a pair of expensive compression socks. Kendra has one son who will one day read her stories. For now she’s teaching him books are meant to be cherished and not destroyed. Her two Hellhounds keep her company while she writes. If she isn’t writing, you can usually find Kendra elbows deep in anything from paint to cookie dough.
Find out more on Kendra’s website or join her Facebook Reader Group to stay up to date on all things Kendra.
Also by Kendra Moreno
Sons of Wonderland:
Mad as a Hatter
Late as a Rabbit
Feral as a Cat
Cruel as a Queen: Sons of Wonderland Companion Book
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Anthologies:
Cupid’s Playthings:
Supernova
At World’s End: An Apocalypse Anthology:
Wings of Rage
Falling For Them Anthology Vol. 4:
Four Parts Super
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Steampunk Reverse Harem:
Clockwork Butterfly
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Dark Fantasy Reverse Harem:
Shipwrecked Souls
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Daughters of Neverland:
~Coming Soon~
Continue on for a preview of Clockwork Butterfly and a hint of Shipwrecked Souls…
Clockwork Butterfly
Available now on Kindle Unlimited
Chapter One
“That’s it, little machine. There you are.”
Vic stared at the tiny mechanical creature on the workbench in front of her, concentrating hard as she tinkered with the small gears. She had been working on the project for days, a distraction from her father’s anxiousness and her own excitement. Word still had not come of the news they have been waiting years to hear. Vic did not have the patience for such things.
Her cat, Gear, lay on the workbench beside her, watching with fascination as the butterfly wings flapped with the movement of the cogs. The soft grind of his own gears, those that made up his hind quarters, filled the small workroom. Vic had found him as a kitten, brutally beaten by some miscreants who had run the moment she had stormed into the alley. Steam had risen behind her, lending to the demon image they no doubt pegged her with. It added to the terrifying sight she had surely made, a woman dressed in trousers and a tunic, a pair of spectacle goggles on her head, grease smeared across her face. The puffs of steam that regularly came from her leg certainly helped. Vic was an odd woman for her time, raised around machines and preferring them to the boring social nuances of other human beings. Gear had become her companion after she had nursed him back to health. His hind legs had been mangled beyond repair, so she had built him new ones. The fact that they both had prosthetic limbs drew them closer, similarities and all that.
Gear purred when Vic reached over and scratched him under the chin, happy to steal some of her affection from the machine sitting under the magnifying glass. The newest tinker was a machine smaller than Vic had yet accomplished, a mechanical butterfly. As she wound the gears tight and leaned back, she held her breath expectantly. The tiny, stained glass wings began to flap, gently at first before speeding up as the apparatus began to run.
“We did it, Gear!” Vic exclaimed, lifting her goggles onto her forehead.
She pushed the magnifying glass out of the way and watched in excitement as the butterfly’s wings flapped faster before rising into the air, the wings mimicking those of the real insects. The wings had taken some ingenuity. At first, she tried a fine layer of silk but found they were too porous. Eventually, she had found her answer in a micro-thin layer of stained glass. The result was a dazzling display of multicolored beauty, closer to a butterfly than she could have ever hoped.
Gear sat up and watched, enraptured with the moving parts. The butterfly took off into the air, and Vic clapped happily. The tiny machine fluttered around the room, sending glittering colors around the walls when they caught the light. It moved closer to Gear, clicking, teasing. Gear’s tail whipped from side to side as he glared at the offending thing, agitated instantly at its incessant fluttering. Before Vic had enough time to truly celebrate the tinkering feat she had pulled off, Gear reached out his paw and batted the machine from the air. It immediately stopped fluttering and fell straight to the floor with a tiny clank.
“Oh no! Gear, what have you done?” Vic chided, squatting down and scooping up the butterfly. One wing tried to move again, but some of the pieces in the mechanisms were bent at wrong angles. She sighed, placing it back on the workbench. “Naughty Kitty.” Gear just meowed in pride before laying back down, keeping a close eye on the machine in case it took off again. “This is going to take ages to repair.”
Vic was just beginning to straighten out one of the cogs, the smell of grease and lubricant strong in her nose, when the
door to her workshop burst open, startling her and making her drop the tool she had been holding. Her father rushed into the shop, tension across his shoulders. At first, she thought he might be upset or angry with something she had done or forgotten to do, so she immediately attempted to smooth things over.
“Father, I haven’t been in here that long, I swear.”
He waved her words away, a bright smile crossing his face.
“Both you and I know that you have been in this workshop since the moment you rose this morning, but that is not why I am here.”
“It’s not?” Vic asked dubiously. Her father was constantly trying to convince her to mingle with other people. He thought it was good for her social skills, and though he was not adamant that she act like a lady, he wanted her to have every opportunity if she so chose. In reality, social events made her feel like a bumbling fool when the other ladies looked down their noses at her, commenting on the state of her hair or her lack of petticoat. Dresses were not a favorite of hers, and so each moment wearing one made her feel terribly uncomfortable. The men were worse, coming up and asking her to dance every five minutes. She wanted to have a conversation, not waltz and listen to the men drone on and on about their accomplishments or assets. She particularly did not like having her feet stepped on. A lot of men were terrible dancers. One day, Vic hoped she could tell a man about her accomplishments, and he would actually listen with interest. Alas, she seemed doomed to end up a spinster. She did not mind so much. She would always have her machines. But her father would think it his fault if she did not join society as their station dictated, being the child of Lady Jenica. He had felt guilty a lot since her mother died, as if he was failing to give her the opportunities their station afforded them.
“No, my dear! I have received a letter!”
“A letter from who?” she asked, her own excitement growing with the obvious emotion leaking from her father.
“The High Council of Sciences and Exploration!”
Vic jumped from her seat,
“Well? What does it say?” She held her breath.
Her father stood there for a moment, letting the anticipation grow before he finally spoke.
“We have been fully funded!”
“No!” Vic laughed. “You are jesting.”
“I swear it! Read for yourself.” Her father passed the letter into her hands, and she scanned the document.
“That is the Queen’s seal,” she whispered.
“That it is.”
“What does this all mean then? You are leaving?”
Vic was sad she would not get to see her father, but this had been his dream since she could remember. He had been fighting his entire life to get funding for an expedition to the Amazon rainforests where there were legends of a temple, the Temple of the Rising Sun. Those legends spoke of a great fire opal protected inside, potent enough to act as a power source capable of fueling dozens of cities at once. This was her father’s moment, his dream come true. She would not hold him back.
“This means we are both leaving.”
“Have you gone mad?” Vic asked, staring at him in confusion. “Would I not be in the way?”
“On the contrary, I have been tasked with picking the crew for the journey. I am in need of a Master Tinker, if you are interested.”
“If I am interested?” Vic wrinkled her brow. “Of course, I am interested! When do we leave? What do I need? How long is the trip?”
“Patience, my dear. All in due time. For now, let us celebrate!” Vic could not stop the excitement that coursed through her body. She jumped up and down as her father offered his elbow. Her leg hissed and clinked at the pressure, the shocks absorbing the impact. She scratched Gear under his chin one more time, dropped some food in his half empty bowl, and looped her arm through her father’s.
“Let us make haste,” her father told her. “I have a lot of work to do.”
Chapter Two
The next few weeks went by in a flurry of activity. Vic worked with her father to arrange for the letters to go out, requesting the service of certain renowned tradesmen. Vic was amazed that letters went to the Americas and, one in particular, to Germany. She had heard great things about Bram Schmitt, the up and coming German inventor. Letters had already begun to arrive with answers, and she was pleased when he was among those who had accepted.
Vic had her own preparations to make for the expedition. Three years ago, at sixteen, she’d garnered the attention of a local Master Tinker. He’d taken her under his wing, and at first, it had been something she was proud of. Until she began to work with him, that is. Master Frederick was a drunk, and a sordid one at that. He could be found most days passed out in his shop, a bottle of whiskey tucked under his arm with his snoring rattling the window panes.
An opportunity that started off as an honor turned into Vic running the entire machine shop. Master Frederick’s patrons came because they knew she could fix their machines. She did her job, and she did it well. While Master Frederick had never taught her the things she had expected, she had learned so much more. Running a tinker’s shop was the greatest experience, even if it took her a while before she was running it well. It helped that the Tinker Shop was a short ten-minute walk from her home.
Vic opened the door to Fred’s Tinkering and immediately wrinkled her nose. The smell of whiskey and stale musk were heavy on the air. The scent of urine also permeated the shop, a rather terrible habit of the Master Tinker. She had heard he had once been the greatest Tinker London had ever seen. She was not quite sure where that man went, but the lump of flesh currently dry heaving over a bucket certainly was not him.
“Master Frederick,” Vic spoke. “Are you well?”
“You’re late,” he groaned, waving his hand at the work table against the wall. There were various machines piled up: a typewriter, a steam-powered horn, and some other machine she had not seen before.
“That is what I am here to discuss with you,” Vic started, keeping far away from Master Frederick as he heaved again. She had been the target of his vomit one too many times. She had no desire to repeat the event.
“Just get to work, girl. The patrons do not pay you to talk.”
Vic frowned down at him, her anger getting the better of her. No, the patrons did not pay her to talk. In fact, they did not pay her at all. Master Frederick paid her a measly salary when he felt like it, and only if he did not piss it away on whiskey and the brothel. She straightened her spine and lifted her chin.
“No.”
Master Frederick stopped heaving long enough to look at Vic. His cheeks were ruddy, and sweat was coating his skin and soaking into his clothing. His hair hung in strings across his forehead, dirty and unkempt. She was not sure when the last time he had bathed himself was, but the smell told her it had been far too long.
“What do you mean ‘no’?” he growled. “I don’t pay you to stand around and look pathetic.”
“I am afraid I have to take my leave from my position, Master Frederick. My father’s expedition had been funded, and I have been signed on as the Master Tinker.” Vic shifted in annoyance, her leg giving off a small puff of steam at the movement. His eyes fell to the leg with a sneer.
“You’re a cripple and a woman. What in the devil would make them think you would make a good Tinker?”
Vic raised her chin impossibly high. Master Frederick was often rude when he had been drinking, and it seemed this time was no different. It was a wonder he was ever sober enough to sign her on as his apprentice. The old fool would have gone under long before if he had not done her that service.
“I believe I have proved my worth during my time here, Master Frederick. I am taking the opportunity presented to me. I thought it prudent to inform you I would no longer be coming into the shop to do your work.”
“Your job won’t be waiting when you come back,” he sneered before heaving into the bucket again. Once he caught his breath, he talked into the bucket, his voice a muffled echo. “I can
find any other incompetent fool to take your place.”
Vic nodded her head.
“It is a shame you feel that way, Master Frederick. I will take my leave now.” She turned towards the door, but her eyes fell on the steam-powered horn. “The bell is cracked,” she pointed out, a courtesy. The crack was miniscule, hardly apparent in the right light. With his eyes seeing double, it was doubtful he would find it. If it went unfixed, the horn would have a fuzzy sound when played.
“Good riddance.” He dropped the bucket and slouched down on the floor. He pulled the bottle of whiskey towards him and took a long swig. Vic sighed. Some things never changed. It was likely he would not remember the conversation tomorrow. She grabbed a paper and pen from the workbench and scratched out a note for when he was sober again. She included the fix of the horn. Then she pushed through the door and breathed in air that was blessedly free from the smell of human disappointment.
London was not the cleanest city, the smell of horse droppings and steam coating your tongue long before you ever got a breath of clean air, but it was home. And Vic would be leaving it for the better part of eight months. She was excited for the adventure, and at the same time, she would miss the Queen’s land dearly.
Since Vic would be leaving the city for so long, she thought it necessary to stock up on essentials she would need for the journey, including ordering a shipment of her favorite gear oil from the local shipyard. There were many vendors that sold the oil, but there was a rash of them adding water to the oil in an attempt to add to their coin. It never worked. Water and oil did not mix, and if one looked into the barrel, they would know instantly. Unfortunately, a lot of Tinkers did not think to look until the shipment arrived at their doorstep, and they found themselves in the possession of oil they could not use. Vic had stayed clear of anyone that was rumored to sell the tainted oil and instead went to the only man she trusted.
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