WOLVES AND DAGGERS
Steampunk Red Riding Hood, Book 1
Melanie Karsak
MelanieKarsak.com
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Wolves and Daggers
Steampunk Red Riding Hood
Copyright © 2018 Clockpunk Press
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. References to historical people, organizations, events, places, and establishments are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
Editing by Becky Stephens Editing
Proofreading by Rare Bird Editing
Cover art by Art by Karri
Table of Contents
WOLVES AND DAGGERS
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1: Ruby Red
Chapter 2: The Werewolves of London
Chapter 3: Curiouser and Curiouser
Chapter 4: Lionheart
Chapter 5: To Grandmother’s House
Chapter 6: Ales
Chapter 7: Ass
Chapter 8: Magnum Opus
Chapter 9: Boom Goes the Dynamite
Chapter 10: 0-0-Red
Chapter 11: The Knights Templar
Chapter 12: Missus Coleridge’s Globe House for Unmarried Girls
Chapter 13: What Caterpillar Knew
Chapter 14: The Enemy of my Enemy
Chapter 15: Meanwhile, in Twickenham
Chapter 16: Caped Crusaders
Chapter 17: Alpha and Omega
Chapter 18: An Eye for an Eye
Chapter 19: Who’s Afraid of the Big, Bad Wolf?
Thank you
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Sneak Peek: Curiouser and Curiouser: Steampunk Alice in Wonderland
Curiouser and Curiouser: Chapter 1: The Pocket Watch
WOLVES AND DAGGERS
Who’s afraid of the big, bad werewolf?
When London’s brightest tinkers and alchemists come up missing, Red Cape Society Agent Clemeny Louvel is on the case.
To help Clemeny get the problem in hand, Queen Victoria assigns her a temporary partner—a werewolf with a knightly history and a tendency to be far too flirtatious for either of their good. Can she trust him to help her chase down the monsters they’re hunting?
Wolves and Daggers is a retelling of the Little Red Riding Hood fairy tale set in Melanie Karsak’s bestselling steampunk universe.
Dedication
for Jen
Chapter 1: Ruby Red
Perched on the rooftop, I watched the exit of Guildhall through my spyglass. The meeting adjourned, the members of London’s most prominent guilds filed out to waiting carriages or steam- and coal-powered autos. Noisy contraptions. Clouds of soot surrounded the infernal machines. Why anyone would ever want to ride in such a contraption was beyond me.
“See anything?” Quinn, my partner, whispered.
He’d pulled out his rifle and was watching through the magnification scope.
“Not yet. Though—and just an observation—from this vantage point, they look like a flock of inebriated penguins,” I said, motioning to the guild members gathered below. With their top hats and walking sticks, smoking pipes and cigars, the assembled crowd looked like a bunch of waddling lushes. Were these really the most learned inventors in London?
Quinn chuckled lightly. “It’s a waddle of penguins, not a flock. On land, they’re called a waddle. In the water, they’re called a raft.”
“How do you know that?”
“Told you, I’m brilliant.”
I rolled my eyes then grinned at him. Quinn’s face was shadowed by his red hood, but I could make out his square jaw and Roman nose. I knew that the hood hid his ice-blue eyes, which seemed unkind to the average observer, but Quinn had the patience of a saint. After all, he’d managed to mentor me and serve as my partner in the Red Cape Society these last four years. Everything I knew was because of the man hiding in shadow. Which now included the fact that a group of penguins on land was called waddle, not a flock.
I smirked. “When was the last time you shaved?”
Quinn rubbed his chin. “You don’t like it? I was thinking of growing a beard.”
“And what does Jessica have to say on that matter?” I asked, referring to his wife.
“Well, there was some question as to whether or not I’d been bitten.”
I chuckled. “You’d have a lot more hair than just on your face.”
Quinn chuckled. “So I told her.”
I turned my attention back to the crowd. “Better shave it off anyway. If your lady doesn’t like it, what’s the point?”
“It’s bloody cold out here at night. Thought it might keep me warm.”
“You don’t see me complaining.”
“Your hair is all the way down to your… Well, you know. Hardly fair. Now, mind the job and leave me alone, or I’ll grow it out to look like Merlin just to vex you both.”
I snickered. “All right. I’m just making suggestions.”
“You’re always making suggestions, Clem. In fact, you’re starting to sound like your grand-mère,” he said with a grin.
“Pardon me?”
He grinned.
I winked at him—pleased to see an amused smile on his rugged and hairy face—then looked below once more. “Here come the clockmakers.”
The members of the Clockmaker’s Guild chatted noisily as they exited Guildhall. Each wore a watch pinned on their lapel, a telltale sign of their trade. The Motor Car Association members convened in another corner of the yard. Plumes of tobacco smoke, rough voices, and the distinct smell of brandy rose into the air.
I pressed the cold metal of my spyglass to my eye and scanned the building. Another group of guild members wearing distinctive plum-colored cravats started flowing out of the building.
“The League of Alchemists is coming now,” I whispered.
“I’ll keep my eyes on the ground. You watch the rooftops,” Quinn said.
I nodded then stepped back into the shadows. Quinn and I had hidden in the darkness beside a tall chimney on one of the buildings that sided Guildhall Square. The view was good, the opportunity for subterfuge better.
Quinn stayed crouched, his eyes on the assembled men and women in the courtyard. Pulling up my hood, I drew my pistol from my belt and scanned the rooftops.
An early spring breeze blew across the roof, sending a chill down my spine. Quinn was right. It was unusually cold. I eyed every dark corner, every shadow. Nothing was moving. The tip we’d received had come from a trusted source. Something was supposed to go down here tonight. But what?
“There’s Professor Delaney. Professor Andrews. I think… Yes, there she is. Professor Jamison,” Quinn said. “She stopped by the door, talking to that naturalist.”
Frowning, I scanned the rooftops.
Everything was so still.
Too still.
The nearly-full moon had given everything a hazy blue glow. I inhaled deeply then exhaled slowly. The palms of my hands and the bottom of my feet started to get a tingly feeling. I scanned the roofs as I squeezed my hand into a fist, fighting off the terrible prickling sensation.
“Quinn,” I whispered.
“What’s wrong, Clem?”
“I don’t know. Something
is about to—” My words were cut short by the sound of a loud explosion below. I looked back. Orange flames were shooting up to the sky from what was left of an auto. Burning pieces of coal shot out of the machine.
The assembled crowd below screamed.
I looked at Quinn, both of us thinking the same thing: that was no accident.
A moment later, another auto burst into flame.
And then, from the direction of the Thames, I heard a howl.
Below, the guild members ran from the fiery explosions. Some hurried out of the courtyard and back toward the city. Others raced back inside.
I watched as dark shapes began moving across the rooftops toward us. The shadowed forms silhouetted by the light of the moon were unmistakable. And if one couldn’t decide just by the shape, it was the eyes that told the tale. Red as rubies, the werewolves’ eyes glimmered in the moonlight.
“Hells bells,” I whispered.
Quinn’s informant had told him a wolf would be at Guildhall tonight and that Professor Jamison was the target.
“Not a wolf. A pack,” I said.
“Complications. Always complications,” Quinn said with a huff then set aside his rifle. “Professor Jamison went back inside.”
“Well, let’s go get her before someone murders her,” I said.
Quinn sighed. “And here I thought it was going to be an easy job.”
“When is it ever easy?”
He shook his head, pulled out his pistol, then we turned and raced across the rooftop.
One of the wolves closest to Guildhall howled loudly, hurrying the rest of the pack along.
“Dammit,” I cursed then pumped my legs hard, racing across the tiles to the ladder at the side of the building, Quinn right behind me.
I descended quickly then raced across the square toward the entrance of Guildhall. Behind me, people screamed, calling for the constables, for a surgeon. I looked back over my shoulder. At least two people lay injured on the ground. The distinguished guild members fled in panic.
Quinn and I raced to the door of Guildhall. The entire place was in a tizzy. From somewhere on an upper floor, I heard the sound of breaking glass.
“Where did she go?” I asked, looking around.
Quinn grabbed a guild member wearing a purple ascot. “Professor Jamison?”
“What? What’s happening?”
“Where is Professor Jamison?” Quinn asked again, giving the man a shake.
“I…I don’t know. I lost her in the crowd. Maybe in the Alchemist’s Hall?”
“Where?”
“Fifth door. Right.”
Turning, Quinn and I pushed through the crowd, searching for the alchemist as we went.
From outside, we heard another explosion followed by a series of howls.
And then, the first scream.
“Bloody bold,” Quinn said. “All this for one mark? What in the hell are they up to?”
“Good question.” He was right. The packs were getting more intrepid. This was the fourth attack in the last two months. The packs were snagging some of London’s most learned scholars, and even our most reliable informants were being tight-lipped. Only because of Quinn’s good connections with the Lolita pack had we known about tonight.
But we had never expected this.
A single wolf? Yes. A full force assault? No.
I pushed open the door to the Alchemist’s Hall. Inside, four members—including Professor Jamison—turned to stare, their eyes wide with fear.
“Professor Jamison, come with us. You’re in danger here—” The window exploded in a shower of glass.
“Clemeny, get her out of here,” Quinn yelled then pulled his pistols and took aim.
I grabbed the befuddled alchemist by the arm as Quinn fired.
“What’s happening?” the woman shrieked.
A werewolf bashed through the window. The monster, not fully man, not entirely wolf, stood on two feet. He had a maw full of long teeth. His body, a mass of muscle, covered in large patches of silvery fur, was a terrifying sight to behold.
Professor Jamison screamed. The other alchemists cowered in the corner.
The wolf looked from me to Quinn then laughed.
“Red Capes,” he snarled then dropped down on his front legs. Tensing his muscles, he leaped at Quinn.
My partner firmed his stance then took his shot.
The wolf yelped loudly then crashed to the ground.
Wolves. Strong, but not very bright. Especially not the newly minted pack members. For some reason, they thought the lupine infection made them invincible. It extended their lives, but no matter how old a werewolf was, silver was their enemy. Silver could end them.
From somewhere else in the building, I heard another window break. There was a commotion in the hallway outside. I heard the telltale sound of screams and the gruff sounds of wolves. I frowned at the door. No getting out in that direction.
“Professor Jamison, we need to go,” I said then pulled her toward the broken window.
The other guild members, blind to the danger, opened the door and fled in terror. Smoke billowed into the room.
“Quinn, they’ve set the bloody place on fire.”
“Dammit.”
My boots crunching on the glass, I guided the professor out of the broken window, and we headed into the alleyway behind Guildhall.
Quinn, both pistols at the ready, leaped from the window, his red cape billowing around him. He raced to catch up with us.
“What’s happening?” the professor asked.
“Do lower your voice. They have excellent hearing,” I warned.
“We had a tip someone might be coming for you tonight. It appears the informant was right,” Quinn added.
“Informant? What are you talking about? What was that creature?”
“You don’t want to know,” Quinn answered.
As we turned the corner, we head a series of howls coming from Guildhall. Apparently, they’d figured out we had gotten away with their quarry. We needed to get somewhere safe. Fast.
“Threadneedle?” I said, referring to the Red Cape Society meeting place below The Bank of England.
“No. They’ll expect us to go there. Saint Paul’s. Let’s get the professor on holy ground. We’ll take the tram from there.”
I nodded, and we turned and rushed in the direction of Saint Paul’s Cathedral.
“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Professor Jamison said as she hurried along with us as we raced down the street. “Why would anyone be after me? I’m just an alchemist.”
“I think you answered your own question,” Quinn said.
A series of barks and howls rose from behind us.
Again, the palms of my hands began to itch.
“They’re close,” I said.
Quinn and I stopped.
I turned and looked behind me. Two wolves, their eyes blazing red, loped down the street in our direction.
I pulled my pistol and took a shot. The beast leaped sideways, bouncing off the wall of a building then back onto the street again. I closed my right eye and took aim once more, aiming with the left eye which was always sharper.
I pulled the trigger.
This time, my shot hit home.
The wolf yelped then fell.
The other werewolf grabbed onto a lamppost and swung himself overhead, landing in front of us.
Quinn shot.
The bullet went wide.
Pulling out my dagger, I grabbed the professor, pushing her behind me.
I lunged at the werewolf. My silver blade connected with the wolf’s shoulder.
The monster shrieked and pulled away, grabbing his shoulder in pain. He glared at me. “Little Red,” he growled.
Little Red. I almost liked that the packs had a nickname for me. Given my petite size, they’d initially underestimated me, taunting me as “Little Red.” But they soon learned that my petite size only made me a faster, smaller target. Now, four years later and with mo
re than one pelt under my belt, the once-comical moniker was now one that evoked fear.
With the beast distracted, Quinn took his shot.
The monster yelped in agony when the silver bullet slammed into his chest.
He dropped.
“Lupercal pack,” Quinn said with a frown. “What’s got them all riled up?”
“I don’t know, but we need to go.”
Quinn nodded, and we hurried on our way.
“Last week it was Whitechapel,” Quinn said as we raced toward the cathedral.
“Whitechapel and Lupercal working together? That is a problem.”
“That is an understatement.”
We ran down the streets until the dome on Saint Paul’s was in sight. Moving through the shadows, we headed toward the back of the church until we reached the garden gate. I unlatched it and motioned for the professor to head inside.
But once more, a familiar tingle made the palms of my hands itch.
“Quinn,” I cautioned.
A moment later, a massive werewolf dropped off a rooftop and landed in front of us.
I suppressed a gasp. This was no pack grunt. Fenton was a beta, leader of the Lupercal pack, one of the oldest packs in London. There were few older or stronger werewolves in the realm. And this wasn’t the first time we’d tangled.
“Fenton,” Quinn said good-naturedly, training his pistols on the beast. “What can the Red Cape Society do for you this fine evening?”
“Give me the professor,” the wolf said with a snarl.
Quinn looked over his shoulder at me. “Get her inside.”
Werewolves could not cross onto holy ground, at least not while shifted into werewolf form, or even partially shifted as Fenton was tonight. As men, they could enter a sacred space, but it pained them greatly. I eyed the cathedral then the werewolf. Taking the professor by the arm, I moved us both toward the open garden gate.
Fenton took a step toward us, glaring at me.
Quinn clicked his tongue at the beast. “Not so fast. The guns are loaded, after all.”
“Give her here, Little Red,” Fenton growled at me.
Wolves and Daggers: A Steampunk Fairy Tale (Steampunk Red Riding Hood Book 1) Page 1