Quicksilver Soul

by Christine d'Abo

  Panting, their skin cooling and her back aching, Nicola placed a final kiss on his cheek. “So, will you do it?”

  “Huh?”

  “Come with me? I’ll have Simon send the Guild Masters an official request. And by request I mean order. No one says no to Simon.”

  With his forehead pressed to her shoulder, he started laughing. “Does your brain ever shut off?”

  What an odd question. “I don’t believe so.”

  “Then I better get used to these non sequiturs if I’m to come with you.”

  She didn’t bother to try to hold back the grin. “Most definitely you will.”

  “I’ll endeavor to improve and keep up with your conversations. Oh, and Nikki?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you, too.”

  Epilogue

  Keegan stood in front of a large door of a house on Regent Street. This wasn’t a part of town he was familiar with. The Underlings didn’t work these parts and his family certainly wasn’t of means. The card with the address printed on the front with an elegant script was now damp as he crushed it in his grasp. Nerves. The man wouldn’t have given him the card in the first place if he hadn’t wanted him to come.

  That had been a strange visit itself. Not many nobs would come to see a sick street rat in the hospital. Not many would even pay attention enough to know he’d been sick. But he’d had a wide smile and eyes that danced when he spoke. It wasn’t as though Keegan had anything to lose. With Glyn back in charge of the Underlings, he’d made it clear that Keegan was no longer welcome. Not that there was any way he’d be able to return there after what had happened to him.

  The door knocker was a brass stag head, the antlers twisting up and embedding into the wood of the door. He’d never seen its like before. Before he lost his nerve, Keegan reached up and banged on the door twice before stepping away. If this turned out to be another thing like what Mr. Edison had pulled him into, Keegan intended to run as far and as fast as he could manage.

  He counted to five in his head before the door was jerked open by the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her long black hair was twisted up into a bun atop her head, with strands of hair having escaped to lay along the top of her shoulders. Her eyes were dark and her skin smooth and white. He’d seen plenty of Asian women before, but not one like her.

  She wore a black corset with red dragons embroidered across the fabric. Her skirts were also black, but pulled up at the front to reveal black riding boots. Keegan wasn’t sure how he knew, but this woman was dangerous.

  “Well, now. It took you long enough.” She put her hands on her waist and kicked her hips out to the side. “We’ve been in there watching you. You just cost me five pounds.”

  “Pardon, miss?” His voice was sore, and came out as an embarrassing croak. “I—I’m supposed te meet a man ’ear.”

  “Keegan, my boy!” The man with the dark hair and smiling eyes poked his head over her shoulder. “Aiko, you’re scaring the lad.”

  “He should be scared.” She lifted an elegant eyebrow. “Though of what is still up for debate.”

  “Oh, don’t mind her. She’s simply grouchy because Rory wouldn’t let her share his bed with her last night.” Aiko shoved her elbow into his stomach. “What, it’s true!”

  “And not for a child’s ears.”

  “That’s all right, miss. I’ve seen and heard plenty worse than that. Why there was that time when Glyn had two of them whores from down the road in his bed and they was—”

  Aiko growled and hauled him into the foyer and slammed the door closed behind him. “That will be enough of that.”

  The man rocked onto the balls of his feet, still grinning. “Aiko, darling. Would you be a dear and fetch us some tea and biscuits? I do love your biscuits, especially the chocolate ones.”

  She narrowed her gaze and lowered her chin. “What are you up to?”

  “Me? Not a thing.” He turned and stuck out his hand for Keegan to take. “I’m David, by the way. I don’t remember actually telling you my name when I saw you last.”

  He hadn’t, but the nurses had muttered about him once he’d gone. Quite handsome for a lunatic. “Nice te meet ya, sir.”

  “Let’s conduct our business in the study. I’ve always wanted to say that. Conduct business in the study.” David chuckled, turned and strode away.

  Keegan stared after him. “Is he always like that, miss?”

  “No. He’s not normally this well behaved.”

  Still, Keegan couldn’t bring himself to follow. Aiko placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and bent forward to look him in the eyes. “I’ve heard what you’ve been through. I know you have no reason to trust me, but please do. David is brilliant, a touch mad, and one of the most loyal men I know. If he went to the trouble of inviting you here, then you can believe what he says as truth.” She released him and left.

  Now alone in the hallway, Keegan had two options—to follow David and see what he had to say, or leave. He knew neither of them would follow him, nor would they come looking for him. Stay or go, the choice was his.

  The first step forward was the hardest, but a weight lifted with each continued one toward the study. The door had been left open and Keegan easily slipped inside. David sat on the desk, a glass of alcohol in his hand. He took a sip and waited to speak until Keegan was standing before him.

  “Good lad. I knew you had a will of iron in that body of yours.” He downed the glass in one large gulp. “Now, you’re wondering why I asked you here.”

  Keegan nodded. He was nervous, but no longer because he was scared of what David might do to him. No, he was nervous that he wouldn’t be able to live up to the expectations.

  “I saw what you did at the Clock Tower. You’d been wronged, were ill, and could have easily slipped away to care for your wounds. You didn’t owe any of those people a thing, and yet you put your life on the line to save others. An admirable trait in one so young.”

  His face flushed and he found he couldn’t meet David’s gaze any longer. “Ta.”

  “You see, I’m always on the lookout for people such as yourself. Boys with special abilities and the strength of character to know how best to use them.”

  “But I didn’t, sir.” He bit down on his lip, but the words had already escaped him. “I mean, I made Mary for Mr. Edison. I should have known he was up te no good.”

  “Pish posh, never mind him. Edison fell off our radar for a while, but that won’t happen again.”

  Keegan watched the happy-go-lucky man fade away and be slowly replaced by a different David. This man was as dangerous as Aiko, as strong and sure in his actions as Sergeant Hawkins. Keegan’s heart raced and he began to question if he had in fact made a mistake. “No, sir.”

  “You see, there are many people out there who want to disrupt the lives we have here and in the new country. They want to tear us down after we’ve clawed our way back from the brink of destruction after the war with France. Those people, friends of men like Mr. Edison, are the real villains in this game we play.”

  Oh. Keegan had heard whispers in the night about this. French and Spanish men turning up dead on the shores of the Thames. Fleets of airships flying off silently in the night, heading to destinations unknown. “And you stop them?”

  “Well, we play our games, back and forth. It can be quite entertaining when we’re not trying to kill each other.” David stood up and placed a hand on Keegan’s shoulder. “When you stepped in front of the automaton when men twice your age and experience went running away, I knew you were the exact sort I need to help me. You’re brave and smart. The perfect combination.”

  “I am?”

  “You are.” David let him go once more and filled his glass once again with alcohol, Scotch from the smell of it. He then filled a second glass, taking it up in his hand when done. “Keegan, my boy, how you would like to be a spy?”

  “For the king?” He didn’t even think there really were such things as spies. Only tales tol
d to keep the wee ones in line.

  “No, His Majesty isn’t exactly aware of our comings and goings. Though quite often our objectives line up.” Keegan took the second tumbler from him and watched as he rolled up his shirt sleeve, revealing a tattoo of a stag’s head.

  It was exactly like the door knocker. “Yer with the Company?”

  “Think of it more as a consortium. A brotherhood of spies, if you will.” He let the fabric fall and reclaimed his own drink. “So, what do you say? What to join up?”

  Keegan took a drink of the amber liquid, enjoying the way it burned on the way down. It was the furthest thing away from working for one of the Guilds, or being under the protection of the Underlings. Finishing his sip, Keegan stuck out his hand. “Aye.”

  David laughed and shook his hand in return. “Welcome to the Shadow Guild.”

  About the Author

  Christine d’Abo is hooked on romance and, as a novelist and short story writer with more than thirty publications, her imagination is always flowing. She loves to exercise and stops writing just long enough to keep in shape. When she’s not pretending to be a ninja in her basement, she’s most likely spending time with her husband, her daughters, and her dogs, Jack and Jill.

  Also in the Shadow Guild Series

  Gilded Hearts

  Please see the next page for an excerpt from Gilded Hearts, book one in the Shadow Guild series.

  Chapter One

  New London, September 1888

  The cold bite of the late fall air against Samuel Hawkins’ cheek had long since caused it to go numb. Frost covered the ground and crawled up the sides of the surrounding buildings, making New London’s Whitechapel district sparkle from the muted glow of the sulfur lamps lining the cobbled road. Samuel’s shadow stretched across the stones, reaching out like a dark sentry alone in the night. His men had wandered a short distance away to take shelter beside the vacant remains of a clockwerker’s factory, laughing quietly as they made plans to venture out to one of the local gambling hells afterward. He was the only holdout, standing guard over the corpse.

  It had been hours since death had claimed the victim. The torn flesh and exposed organs, having crystallized, were now luminous upon inspection in the light. The body had bloated and twisted the gashed skin, making it impossible for Samuel to discern the identity of the victim. He’d given up trying to determine any distinguishing features almost immediately and instead took what comfort he could with his greatcoat fastened securely around him against the wind.

  The damned archivists better hurry up before he joined this latest victim in death.

  “Sergeant,” Constable Rory Timmons called out. “Care to join us?”

  “Someone needs to follow protocol, seeing as you lazy bastards won’t.” The men laughed even as Samuel stamped his feet, willing some of the feeling to return. Truth was, he never liked being in a crowd, even one as small as this group. “As I’m doing your jobs for you, having something to fight off the chill wouldn’t go amiss right now.”

  With his back turned to them, he focused on the lamp-lit road ahead. It was a breach of protocol to have alcohol on duty, but he wasn’t about to pass up the warming benefits of a drink.

  A muted sloshing and clunk sounded behind him as a metal tin landed hard against the ground, quickly followed by the renewed chatter of the men. The flask was a pleasant weight in his hands as he fumbled with cold fingers to get it open. Shit, that was damned good. His body had reacted unfavorably the first few times he’d imbibed. Thankfully, he’d had five years of lonely nights to adjust to the alcohol’s effects.

  Tucking the flask in his pocket, Samuel turned toward the road, where a distant mechanical thumping was getting louder. His wrist strap buzzed, confirming the identification of the approaching carriage. “About bloody time.”

  The men rejoined him by the time the simple black carriage turned the street corner to begin its final leg of the journey. The glow of the horse’s red eyes cast two pools of light as it pulled alongside the walking path, increasing the demonic appearance of the automaton. No one spoke until the carriage came to rest opposite them. A burst of steam shot from the leg joints of the mechanical horse as it settled into a resting stance. Its massive black metal head turned, and for a moment it appeared to be staring directly at Samuel. Someone behind him gasped as several more shuffled their feet.

  “Go to sleep now,” he whispered. The horse held his gaze a moment longer before another burst of steam blasted through its nose and it lowered its head.

  His gift, the ability to manipulate machines with his will alone, was one few knew of. The Clockwerker Guild would have swallowed him whole had they known he could nudge and bend the metal to his desires. Still, being able to speak to the various automatons had been a comfort to him growing up, filling the void when he’d been alone.

  “God, I hate this,” one of the men muttered. “Fucking zombies and their creepy faces.”

  There was a time when the slur would have cut deep and Samuel would have grabbed the man by the throat in retribution. Thankfully, that time had long passed. The archivists weren’t his family anymore, not his concern. He’d begun to replace them over the years, swapping the shadows for the light.

  “Shut it, man. They have their job to do, same as us.” Timmons’ sharp bark was enough to silence further comment. He was a bear of a man who stood a full head taller than Samuel and generally terrified the newer recruits to the King’s Sentry with his size, demeanor, and iron hand. “Sorry, sergeant.”

  A rush of frustrated embarrassment rolled off Timmons and through Samuel. Timmons had become quite protective of him over the years since Samuel had joined the King’s Sentry. He’d been surprised by the steadfast relationship, but had few enough friends to question Timmons’ motives and welcomed the brotherhood. “It’s fine.”

  He had to consciously stop himself from holding his breath when the carriage door hissed open. This wasn’t anything new; it shouldn’t still bother him. But every time he came face to face with the archivists, he once again became a scared nineteen-year-old wandering the streets of New London, driven forward by the need to rise from the ashes of his old life, instead of the twenty-four-year-old man who’d fought the odds to earn a post with the King’s Sentry.

  And every time that carriage door opened, he was still looking for her.

  Clenching his jaw, Samuel took his hands out of his pockets and straightened.

  An old man emerged first, white head bobbing as he stepped down onto the stones. He was clad in typical archivist attire—black pants, waistcoat, and overcoat that highlighted a stark white dress shirt. The man was without a top hat, despite the chill in the air. His gaze roamed over the scene, pausing on Samuel.

  Master Ryerson.

  Blast it boy, again. Again! Until you get it correct you won’t leave this room.

  Of course it would be him.

  Ryerson’s gaze was as cold as the night air and cut as deep as the bitter wind. The old man’s lips turned up in a sneer even as his gaze roamed over Samuel, no doubt cataloguing his appearance for future reference. Another set of data gathered and stored in that cold, clockwerk mind. Hate coursed through Samuel, though for once he didn’t know if the emotion came from Ryerson or himself.

  Empathic, that had been the term Ryerson spat at him when Samuel was barely old enough to understand the meaning. A curse Samuel was constantly punished for possessing, despite not being able to prevent it from happening. It took him years of practice, of shutting everyone out, before he’d been able to function in the Archives as a member. Not that Ryerson ever gave him credit for his accomplishments, instead radiating disgust as he beat Samuel for his faults.

  Since joining the King’s Sentry four years ago, Samuel had managed to avoid seeing the Guild Master. The halls of the Tower were a safe haven for him, one where he could burrow deep, far away from the prying eyes of the Archives and the Masters who ran it. Of course now that he had risen to the rank of sergeant and
was the lead investigator on many cases, a meeting had become inevitable.

  You’ll never make apprentice if you don’t listen. Now stop crying, boy. Do it again. Properly this time.

  Ryerson deserved no reaction from him. Samuel wasn’t a child to be bullied any longer.

  He should have suspected that fate was working against him when Ryerson’s sneer turned into a smirk. With his gaze still fixed on Samuel, he stepped to the side and held out his hand. Samuel’s heart rate increased as Piper Smith slipped her fingers into Ryerson’s waiting grasp and gracefully stepped from the carriage. Looking up, Piper observed the scene, her gaze landing immediately on the corpse.

  She’d grown even more beautiful than the last time he’d seen her. And this time she wasn’t crying.

  Those tears were one of the few things he could clearly remember from that night five years ago. Her thick brown hair unbound and blowing around her, and tears that streaked her cheeks. Blinding panic had muted him of his words, robbed him of his reason and eventually sealed his memories away behind a silent chant of run, run, run.

  “Pip.” He shouldn’t have spoken, it went against protocol, but he needed her to see him.

  Sam, don’t leave me.

  Her body stiffened and her lips parted as her gaze snapped up to his. Her surprise was easy for him to feel, the warmth of her shock and pleasure stretched out to fire every fiber within him. He’d missed that, the brush of her emotions against his mind. She’d been one of the few who’d always been able to soothe him, her kindness a balm against his battered soul.

  His Piper.

  But the forgotten warmth brought with it a pressure against the numb spot of his memories. The dark place he’d long given up trying to penetrate. The monster in the shadows, locked away in the box within his mind. Run, run, run!

  No. That was the past. She was his past. Samuel hadn’t left everything he’d ever known, created a new life, begun to explore the potential to start a family, only to step back so willingly into the darkness.