Wolves and Daggers: A Steampunk Fairy Tale (Steampunk Red Riding Hood Book 1)

by Melanie Karsak

Lionheart raised an eyebrow at me.

  I looked once more at the tombs of the fallen Templars. “I am sorry for your many losses,” I said then inclined my head toward the knights.

  Lionheart was still for a moment. “And I am sorry to hear about Agents Reid and Briarwood,” he said then looked at me. “You are an unusual woman, Agent Louvel.”

  “Hmmm,” I said then smiled. “I thought I just smelled odd.”

  “I never said you smelled odd. In fact, I said you smell like—”

  “Roses. Yes, I know.”

  “Indeed. Who is your family, Agent?”

  I smirked at him then turned and headed to the chapel door. “One o’clock, Lionheart. You’re buying,” I said then pushed open the door and left.

  It unnerved me more than I wanted to show that Lionheart sensed something about me I didn’t know, didn’t understand.

  Who is your family?

  That was a very good question.

  Chapter 12: Missus Coleridge’s Globe House for Unmarried Girls

  With just a few hours remaining before I needed to meet Lionheart, I waved down a passing auto, much to my annoyance—but need outweighed disdain—and caught a ride across the Thames to South Bank. Wolves had notoriously good noses. Most agents lived outside the city or across the Thames. Passing the river, even by way of a boat or bridge, threw off our scents. Werewolves had been known to trail us from time to time. Thus far, they had not discovered—at least as far as I knew—my tiny flat at Missus Coleridge’s Globe Home for Unmarried Girls, so named because the building was located not far from where Master Shakespeare’s famous theatre once stood.

  Checking to make sure I had not been followed, I entered the small, three-story house and headed upstairs. I moved quickly and quietly. Missus Coleridge had, no doubt, heard some delicious gossip and would want to share—for hours. I, on the other hand, wanted to sleep.

  Pulling out my key slowly and quietly, I opened the door and stepped inside my tiny flat. As I entered, the board below my foot squeaked.

  The door to Missus Coleridge’s first floor flat opened.

  “Clemeny, is that you?”

  I cringed. Feeling terribly guilty, I pulled the door shut behind me, pulling the handle into the lock, wincing at the barely audible click. Missus Coleridge was a truly kind woman. I’d have to make a point of stopping by her flat and letting her gossip to me to make up for the nagging guilt I felt. That, and I needed to canvass the roof to see if I could get inside via the window rather than the front door.

  Closing and locking the door behind me, I turned and leaned against the doorframe.

  My small flat had none of the charm and feel of family that exuded from every inch of Grand-mère’s home. But visiting Grand-mère opened her up to discovery, a risk I hoped to minimize at every turn. An unmarried woman, I should live with my relative. I should have a respectable flat in the city. I wanted to live with my Grand-mère. But it wasn’t safe. My flat was small, dank, dark, and all around miserable. But it was better this way.

  For now.

  I scanned the room. You could see the entire place in one glance. Not even bothering to remove my cape, I crossed the room and lay down on my slim bed.

  Who is your family?

  Lionheart’s question had rattled around in my head ever since I’d left.

  The truth was, I had no idea.

  I was just a baby when Grand-mère discovered me on the steps of St Clement Danes. Unlike most fairy tale scenarios, I didn’t come with a letter, had no secret birthmarks, nor was there some mysterious amulet strapped around my neck. I wasn’t the heir to some mysterious lost kingdom. I was an unwanted baby left on the doorstep of a church. That deep feeling of being unwanted, if I was really honest with myself, had never left me. Being part of the Red Cape Society was actually the first time I had ever felt like I had a place where I belonged, where I was with others who needed me, wanted me. In a way, it filled the sore part of myself. Unwanted. Maybe there was a reason I couldn’t find the love of my life. There was something about me on a deep level that was just…unloveable.

  I sighed then rolled over.

  At least Grand-mère had not seen me like that. And even when it was time for me to leave home, to start my career, she hadn’t stopped me. She had loved me, wanted me, but still let me go. In fact, much to my surprise, she’d been extremely supportive.

  “Clemeny? Are you dressed, my girl?” Grand-mère had called from the kitchen the morning I was set to report to work at the Red Cape Society.

  Eliza Greystock’s chance notice of my sixth sense had actually worked out for the best. Having passed rigorous testing and physical training, I was given a beat in Agent Greystock’s division, assigned to shadow a man named Quinn Briarwood, whom Agent Greystock had called the best. The morning I was set to report to work, I expected Grand-mère to be in a fit of nerves. What I found instead, however, surprised me.

  “Yes, Grand-mère,” I said, opening the door to my broom closet-sized bedroom in our flat.

  Grand-mère looked over my clothes, sucking in her air through her teeth as she considered.

  A flush of self-consciousness wash over me. Trousers had never been Grand-mère’s taste—she always preferred me in dresses—but they were far more practical. And honestly, I felt comfortable in the snug garments. If my training was any indication, I’d be doing a lot of running on the job. Gowns weren’t going to work.

  “I know it’s not the most feminine—”

  “Oh no. You look perfect, my girl. It’s just that you’re missing something,” she said then handed me a box wrapped in lavender colored tissue paper.

  “What’s this?”

  Grand-mère grinned. “A gift, of course. Oh, oranges and lemons, I don’t know what to think. But I want you to be safe. Open it.”

  I tore off the paper of the long, slender box then lifted the lid. I was surprised to see a dagger lying inside.

  “Grand-mère…”

  “I had my sterling silver flatware melted down. I took it and your grandfather’s bayonet to the smith. He told me the dagger is mostly silver, but reinforced it so it would be more durable. Eliza said… Well, she told me just a little about the job you’ll be doing. If there is anything I know about what you’re up against, it’s that silver is the best weapon.”

  “Grand-mère, thank you. Grand-père’s sword… don’t know what to say,” I replied, feeling my eyes well with tears. I had never known Grand-mère’s husband. He had died long before I came into her life, but she spoke of him like a hero. The bayonet he’d used during the Napoleonic Wars had always hung on the wall of our parlor. I hadn’t even noticed it was missing.

  “Say nothing, my girl. Only be safe,” she said, taking out the weapon and hooking it to my belt. “Now, off you go. Be sure to eat something, Clemeny. And keep an eye out. You never know, you might see some handsome man. Eliza said there are many unattached gentleman working at the agency.”

  “Grand-mère.”

  “What? You never know.”

  Sighing, I pulled her into a hug.

  “Be careful,” she whispered in my ear.

  I kissed her on the cheek. “Of course,” I replied then grabbing my bag, I’d set out on my first day as an agent of the Red Cape Society. Little did I know, Grand-mère’s dagger would step in to save my hide on more than one occasion.

  I pulled the dagger off my belt and lay it on the bed beside me. The smith had shaped the hilt of the dagger like the branches of a tree. Usually there was an animal, flower, or symbol on the pommel. But a tree? I shook my head. Next time I saw Grand-mère, I’d have to remember to ask her why she—or the smith—had chosen this design. But even as I thought it, my eyes began to slowly close.

  Two hours. I just needed two hours of sleep. Two hours after being awake for the last thirty wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

  Before my brain could even bubble up with a reply, I fell asleep.

  Chapter 13: What Caterpillar Knew

&n
bsp; While I was usually less than grateful for the whistle at the factory beside Missus Coleridge’s Globe House for Unmarried Girls, the infernal device blasting every hour, today it kept me in check. I was awake—miserably—and back on the job before the fog had cleared from my mind. It wasn’t until I was standing outside The Mushroom that my wits began to sharpen.

  At precisely one o’clock, Lionheart arrived. Much to my surprise, he was driving a two-wheeled cycle. The strange device clicked and let off a hiss of steam when he turned it off. He parked the machine alongside the other autos outside the tavern then pulled off the leather skullcap and goggles he’d been wearing.

  His yellow hair, tousled in the effort, gave him a boyish charm entirely at odds with who he really was. Or did it? Who was he, really? Before the lupine affliction, who had Richard Spencer actually been? A knight loyal to his king. Thinking of him in that regard made me see him in an entirely new light. He might have been a wolf, but he was also a warrior and deserving of my respect. He smoothed down his locks and straightened his jacket then eyed me over.

  “Are you going to wear that inside?” he asked.

  Or maybe not. I glanced down at my leather pants, corset, and top. My clothing was not much different from that of an airship jockey.

  “The cape,” he said, clarifying. “The rest looks very good,” he added with a smirk.

  I rolled my eyes. “There are some places where it pays to be what you are. This is one of those places. For me, at least.”

  Lionheart raised a brow. “Really, Little Red?”

  “Yes. Really. Let’s go,” I said then turned and headed inside.

  The place was dark and smelled of alcohol, opium, and danger. There were small tables spread all around the room, the place dimly lit by colorful glass lamps, which sent blobs of jewel-colored light around the room. I motioned to Lionheart, and we took a seat in the corner.

  At the bar, I saw the henchman they called the Knave. He whispered something into the ear of a little albino boy who nodded then rushed off to the back of the room. There, silk curtains were closed around a meeting space. When the boy entered, I saw at least three other people inside, including, I assumed, the boss.

  “Drinks?” a pretty tart asked, leaning in such a manner that we had a clear view of her jiggly breasts.

  Lionheart sneered then averted his eyes.

  The tart hadn’t missed the expression. She leaned back then turned to me, a steely expression on her face.

  “MacCutcheon. Two glasses.”

  The girl nodded then went back to the bar. She stood close to the Knave, who lifted his drink. He spoke in a low tone to the girl. She eyed us over her shoulder then answered him. So far so good. I scanned the room. I saw gunrunners, opium dealers, airship pirates, and thieves. And they spied me. They eyed my red cape warily.

  “They’re talking about us in the back,” Lionheart said, easing back into his seat.

  “Good. Keep listening. How did your meeting with your pack go?”

  “I can hardly concentrate on them and talk to you at the same time. Let it suffice to say that we will do as Her Majesty asks.”

  “Good.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Here you are,” the tart said, returning once more. She set down glasses in front of Lionheart and me. “Compliments of the house, Agent.”

  “Thank you. If Caterpillar is available, a word?”

  The girl nodded but said nothing else.

  She returned to the bar where she spoke to the Knave, who polished off his drink then turned and went to the back. He gave Lionheart and me a passing glance. Devilishly handsome scoundrel. Why were all the rogues so desperately attractive?

  I sighed. I really needed to find myself a man.

  I lifted my drink. “God save the Queen.”

  “God save the Queen,” Lionheart replied, clicking his glass against mine. He took a long drink.

  I could sense Lionheart’s discomfort. I had, on many occasions, felt the same air coming off Quinn. It was as if Lionheart was reluctant to be bothered with this problem. Quinn had never meant any disrespect to me or the job, but of late, I had sensed a weariness in him. But Lionheart was more than seven hundred years old. He had a right to be weary. Yet, still, I could tell he’d rather be anywhere else, doing anything else, than sitting here.

  “Professor Paxton,” Lionheart said as he set down his drink. “I don’t suppose you’d tell me where she is. Since we are, as you said, brothers in arms.”

  “I’m afraid not. North. More than that, I can’t say.”

  “And she is safe where she is?” he asked, his voice cracking very slightly at the end.

  Did the werewolf have some genuine affection for the professor? I turned and looked at him, my eyes narrowing. There was something there, but I wasn’t sure what. Whatever it was, he’d hidden it quickly.

  Lionheart lifted his drink and sipped once more.

  “I swear that she is safe. Once the matter is in hand, I am sure she’ll be able to return to London.”

  He nodded. “And how is Agent Briarwood?”

  “Recovering.”

  “At our meeting today… My pack didn’t know about Doctor Marlowe. We didn’t know the nature of their research. In fact, there was some debate amongst the knights as to whether or not we should stop the work. Immunity to silver would help us continue our quest.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “But you’re here.”

  “In the end, we decided that God gave us this particular vulnerability for a reason. We shall not seek to meddle in his work.” Lionheart flicked his eyes toward the back. “He’s coming.”

  The Knave crossed the room. “All right. Come along,” he said, motioning for us to follow.

  Lionheart and I rose and followed the Knave to the back. Passing through the curtains, we found Caterpillar, one of London’s biggest crime bosses, waiting. He was sitting with his feet up reading over some papers. Behind him stood two guards. He picked up a glass of absinthe, took a sip, then eyed Lionheart and me.

  “Rather a bad day to show up here, Agent,” he said then tapped the papers he was holding. “Thanks to the Red Capes, seems I’m out quite a lot of money and some business partners to boot.”

  I smiled at him. He might be a wily criminal, but it was unlikely he had any idea his business partners were werewolves. We’d probably done him a favor, in the long run.

  “My apologies.”

  Caterpillar smirked in the most charming of fashions. “Agent Louvel, I’m told,” he said, casting a glance to the Knave.

  “Indeed.”

  “But you are unknown,” he said, looking at Lionheart. He lifted his drink and sipped once more.

  “My associate,” I said.

  Caterpillar shook his head and set his drink aside. “I don’t deal with unknowns, Agent. And, as I said, the Society has disrupted things around here today. Perhaps it’s best if we part ways before we even begin.”

  “But I’m here to buy, and you’re here to sell. I’m looking for someone who has gone to ground. You sell. I’ll buy. Don’t worry about my associate. He’s a silent partner.”

  Caterpillar eyed Lionheart. “Who are you looking for?” he asked, turning to me.

  “Cyril.”

  Caterpillar’s eyes narrowed. Cyril ran one of the biggest crime syndicates in London and often butted heads with other operators, including Caterpillar. From what I could tell, the two of them kept an uneasy peace. Yet if I were Caterpillar, I’d most certainly want Cyril out of the way.

  Caterpillar looked over his shoulder and waved for the little albino child to come to him. He whispered in the boy’s ear.

  I cast a glance up at Lionheart.

  His eyes flicked toward me, but he said nothing.

  The pair exchanged a few more whispered words then Caterpillar turned to me once more. “I apologize, Agent. We heard that there was some trouble downriver last night, but we don’t know where Cyril has gone. I wish I could be more help.”<
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  “And that’s your final answer?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  I frowned. “Very well. Thank you for your time.”

  “And for the drink,” Lionheart said, inclining his head to Caterpillar.

  The crime boss nodded to Lionheart then motioned for one of his henchmen to show us out.

  Lionheart and I headed outside and walked over to his cycle.

  “Did you know he wouldn’t talk?” Lionheart asked.

  “Maybe.”

  Lionheart chuckled. “But you guessed he would know where Cyril had gone.”

  “Of course.”

  “And you assumed with my good hearing, I would be able to pick up the information?”

  “Well, did you get the location?” I asked.

  He nodded. “A hangar in the yard near the airship towers,” he said then pulled on his cap, goggles, and gloves. “Well, are you going to climb on?” he said, motioning to the back.

  I stared at the infernal machine then groaned.

  Lionheart chuckled and handed me a pair of goggles. I pulled the goggles on, then, much against my will, I climbed on the back.

  “Hold on to me,” he said.

  I wrapped my arms around the werewolf. He was muscularly built. The feel of his body, the closeness of our embrace, felt entirely too familiar and stirred up a longing in me that made me blush.

  Lionheart laughed. “Careful, Little Red, or you might agree to that dinner yet,” he said then turned on the engine. The machine let out a hiss of steam.

  “I’m not sure Professor Paxton would appreciate me accepting that invitation.”

  Lionheart looked back over his shoulder at me. “Are you always so observant, Little Red?”

  “I try.”

  Lionheart grunted then turned the cycle onto the city street.

  Chapter 14: The Enemy of my Enemy

  The airship towers along the Thames were home to a busy international port. The towers loomed over the London skyline. The fabulous balloons and gondolas floated in and out of port headed to Ireland, Scotland, and back across the Channel to the European port of Calais and beyond. From here, other ships rigged for longer travel would make the treacherous trip from London to Ireland then to the Azores in a cross-sea voyage to the Americas.