Supernatural Devices (A Steampunk Scarlett Novel: Book 1)

by Kailin Gow

  “You are looking for the girl, Cecilia?” The woman demanded.

  Scarlett nodded. “But I will warn you now. You’ll get nothing from me until I see proof that you know where she is.”

  “Proof?” The old woman smiled for a moment, and it was not a pleasant smile. “Yes, I will give you proof. Come here.”

  “I am close enough,” Scarlett said, still wary enough to want to keep her distance. After all, why should the woman want her any closer than she was? Whatever she had to say, she could say without them being any closer.

  The woman nodded, and for a moment her eyes flashed. “Yes, you are.”

  She lunged forward. Scarlett moved to defend herself, but she misjudged how quickly the other woman would move. She sprang forward with the vigor and speed of a young man. A strong young man. When her fingers clamped around Scarlett’s wrist, Scarlett thought that she could feel the bones grinding. Her other arm went around Scarlett’s waist, gripping her tightly.

  “You should not fight,” the woman warned. “You would not want to fall.”

  “Fall?” Scarlett asked, but almost as soon as she did so, she had an answer. They were moving, and moving quickly. More than that, they seemed to be moving several feet above the ground, rising like a hot air balloon.

  No, Scarlett realized, rising like mist. They floated impossibly above the ground like a part of the mist around them, rising until they were higher than the level of the rooftops, looking down on the streets below where people were still making their way home by the light of the street lamps. Would those people see them, or would they be swallowed by the darkness and the mist? Scarlett doubted that there would be any help from that quarter, even if they did notice.

  They travelled faster then, catching the breeze as the city gave way beneath them. The journey only lasted minutes, but quickly, there were the shadowy forms of trees beneath them, and the only trees Scarlett could think of in such quantities near London were those in Epping Forest. Which meant they had travelled miles at speeds Scarlett found hard to comprehend.

  There were lights below, and as they got closer, Scarlett saw that they were the lights of campfires. Those campfires sat in front of colorful wagons, elaborately carved and painted, with people sitting outside wearing clothes that were brightly patterned and a long way from the usual fashions of the city.

  Scarlett felt her feet touch the earth, and the grip on her vanished. She stepped away, turning around to confront the woman who had stolen her away like that, but she was gone. Or at least, she was changed so dramatically that it amounted to the same thing. Where there had been an elderly unattractive woman before, there now stood a young man not much older than her.

  He was very handsome. Handsome in a wild untamed way with the tanned skin of someone who had either worked outside or lived in a warmer climate than England. His hair fell in waves down past his shoulders, while his features had a quiet strength to them that reminded Scarlett briefly of Cruces. Or maybe it was just that both young men were quite exceptionally handsome. Scarlett would have judged, if pressed, that Cruces marginally had the edge on this newcomer, but it was close. Particularly since the young man in front of her had the deepest green eyes she had seen, outlined, quite unusually for a man, with the deep black of kohl.

  Those eyes were the only spark of color anywhere on him. The shirt he wore was open necked and loose, as dark as the night around him. So were the pants below it, and the boots that came almost to his knees. The young man stood there quite impassively while Scarlett stared at him.

  “Who are you?” she demanded. “What do you want from me? And how dare you snatch me from the street without so much as a by your leave? More to the point, how did you do it?”

  There was one difference between the new young man and Cruces, at least. Cruces would have flashed a smile and come out with some answer designed to make Scarlett feel uncomfortable. This man did not answer, and his expression did not flicker. Instead, he simply pointed towards the camp.

  So this gorgeous young man was the tall, handsome, and silent type. “What?” Scarlett demanded. “What’s there?”

  She did not get an answer to that. Instead the young man just kept pointing. Scarlett sighed and gave up. Apparently, all she could do was go along with what her abductor wanted. Perhaps that would give her more answers. There was clearly something supernatural going on. Flying there had been something of a clue in that respect. Yet Scarlett had learned often enough that ‘supernatural’ was not an explanation in itself. The things that she had always seen with her gift still needed to be thought about and examined, questioned and pieced together. She just hoped that there would be answers further into the camp.

  There were plenty of people in the gypsy encampment, mostly gathered about the fires. The men wore loose outfits similar to the one worn by the young man who had brought her there, though theirs were generally more colorful. The women were even brighter, dressed in layers of flamboyant cloth offset with jewelry that gleamed golden in the firelight. There were a few children about too, running among the fires even though Scarlett suspected that they should have been in bed by that time. In a wave of tiredness that probably stemmed from trying to do too much so soon after travelling across a whole continent, Scarlett knew that she certainly should have been.

  She knew too that gypsies sometimes stopped in the forest near to London, but she wondered what had brought this particular band there. Had they been staying long, or were they simply there to take advantage of things like the market. Scarlett knew that many bands were better at trading with the things beyond the normal than most city folk, so perhaps that was it, though it did nothing to explain what she was doing there.

  As Scarlett moved through the fires, she attempted to start a conversation or two with the people there. They were polite enough, but Scarlett could sense their wariness at the presence of an outsider, and she was not sure what she should ask them. All she could do was stand there and try to think. Why would the young man have brought her here?

  Then she looked over to another of the fires, and saw why. Cecilia sat there, as bright as any of the women there, tending something by the flames. Scarlett briefly wondered how she had gotten there so quickly, but then laughed to herself. If she could get a ride out there on supernatural wings, presumably Cecilia could too.

  Scarlett walked over. By that time, Cecilia had clearly seen Scarlett, but she made no move to run away or even rise. Instead, she just watched Scarlett approach, putting aside the sewing she was working on by the firelight and looking up at her with undisguised enmity.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Chapter 8

  Scarlett tried to decide how to answer that, and as she did so, she took a closer look at Cecilia. She was every bit as beautiful as Cruces’ sketch of her, and she projected a quiet confidence that was at odds with the frightened young woman who had run from Scarlett so recently before. She sat with her red and yellow dress folded demurely beneath her, though there was something about her gaze that was less demure. It was challenging, with no give to it. Under other circumstances Scarlett might even have thought it a look of pure jealousy.

  “Why were you…” Cecilia tailed off, looking to the side as though searching her head for the word. Her accent had a strong Eastern European trace to it, and she quickly called out a few words in a language Scarlett did not know.

  The young man who had brought Scarlett there walked over. Cecilia smiled as he approached, and Scarlett had to admit it suited her far better than scowling. She could see why Cruces would have wanted to paint her then.

  “Tavian.”

  Was that the young man’s name? Scarlett guessed that it must be. Cecilia said a few more words in that language, Romanian, presumably, and the dark haired young man nodded.

  “My sister wants to know,” Tavian said, in a voice that carried almost as strong an accent, and which seemed to roll through Scarlett, “why you were following her. I would like to know that too.”
>
  Scarlett thought about pointing out that she would like to know why he had grabbed her and brought her here with no warning, and exactly why he could fly through the London mist like that, but she did not. He had brought her to Cecilia, and that was what mattered. Scarlett was not going to risk asking questions that would only make it less likely to get the answers she wanted. It would be far better to focus on what she needed to know, and leave the rest for now.

  “My name is Miss Seely,” she said. “Scarlett. I am here about the time Cecilia worked for Lord Darthmoor.” Scarlett looked from the girl to her brother. How much would Cecilia understand? Ordinarily, Scarlett was good with languages, but she had never had a reason to learn Romanian.

  “Lord Darthmoor?” Cecilia stiffened as she repeated the words, her expression hardening once more in a way that made it clear Scarlett had said the wrong thing.

  “Please,” Scarlett said, looking at Tavian, “I just want to know what happened. I am not here to cause trouble for your sister.”

  Tavian and Cecilia spoke for a moment or two, and Cecilia stood, gesturing sharply as she spoke. Tavian translated.

  “What happened is that Lord Darthmoor tried to push his attentions on my sister, and she had to leave before things went any further. She wanted no part of him.”

  That did not match with what Cruces had said, but it did match Holmes’ assessment of what had happened. Right then, Scarlett could easily imagine Cruces lying to her, trying to seduce his servants, but she had to be sure.

  “So you didn’t feel anything for him?” Scarlett asked Cecilia, speaking to her directly. “I know he’s a very handsome man. Very dashing. I know how it feels when he is near you. How it feels like you want to…”

  “You?” Cecilia’s eyes flashed. When she spoke again, it was in perfect English. “You think he would want you? Maybe he does. Maybe he prefers blonde English gentlewomen to dark haired gypsy girls.”

  Scarlett wondered at the ruse briefly, but only briefly. Presumably, it had been to give Cecilia an excuse not to say more than she wanted, and to keep her brother close. Right then though, Scarlett had more immediate problems. If she did not placate Cecilia quickly, she doubted that she would ever see Cruces’ ring. After the last outburst, she had no doubt that Cecilia had feelings for Cruces, so being seen as the woman who had replaced her in his affections would only harm her chances. It was just as well it was not true.

  “You think that Lord Darthmoor and I…” Scarlet forced herself to laugh. “Not if he were the last man on Earth.”

  “You don’t like men with exotic looks?” Tavian interjected, with a questioning glance at Scarlett. Wonderful. Apparently, placating one sibling would only insult the other, unless she was very careful.

  “It isn’t that,” Scarlett said. “If anything, he is very handsome.” That earned her another look of hatred from Cecilia. “It is simply that he is far too forward. Too unrestrained. The man has no sense of decorum at all.”

  “So he made an advance to you,” Cecilia guessed, in a tone that made it clear she did not think Scarlett was worth her former employer’s attention. Her brother, on the other hand, seemed faintly amused.

  “Could you blame him Cecilia?” Tavian demanded. “Miss Seely is a very beautiful woman.”

  Scarlett squirmed with embarrassment while Cecilia took a break from staring at her with hatred to shoot the same look her brother’s way. That solved one question at least. Had Cecilia truly left to try to avoid Cruces, she would not have cared about Scarlett and any relationship she believed the two had. Cecilia’s jealousy fit far better with the story Cruces had told than the one Tavian had given her. Scarlett decided to press it.

  “Tell me the truth, Cecilia,” she said. “You wanted more from Lord Darthmoor than he was willing to give you, didn’t you?”

  “It was not like that,” Cecilia insisted hotly. “You do not understand.”

  “Then help me understand,” Scarlett suggested. “Why don’t you start by telling me why you took his ring? Was it jealousy? A way to get back at him? Or did you simply want a keepsake of him?”

  “No!”

  “Really?” Scarlett asked. “So would you still have taken the ring if he had cared about you the way you wanted him to? Are you just a thief?”

  Cecilia said something to her brother that Scarlett did not understand. Tavian nodded, and then took Scarlett’s hand, bending low to kiss it. Scarlett found herself reminded of the gesture Cruces had used on meeting her.

  “I hope, Miss Seely, that I will eventually have the chance to show you that my people are more civilized than the impression you must have formed of us.”

  “I never believed otherwise.”

  “For now though, my sister wishes to speak to you in private.”

  “It was a pleasure meeting you,” Scarlett managed to say, and in truth she suspected that it was. After all, without Tavian, she would not have found his sister. And Scarlett had to admit he was a most pleasant young man. Tavian left them then, beaming as he went, leaving Cecilia behind to look at Scarlett with suspicion. Even so, Scarlett hoped that this need for privacy meant that the other young woman might be ready to open up to her and tell her what she needed to know.

  “Will you tell me more about Lord Darthmoor’s ring?” Scarlett asked. “It must be very important for you to take it like that.”

  “It is not his ring.” Cecilia sat down by the fire, folding her arms. Because it seemed that she was unlikely to get answers standing over the girl, Scarlett sat down too. After all her travelling dress had been through recently, a little dirt would not hurt it.

  “He says that it is.”

  Cecilia shook her head sharply. “He is a liar then, and a thief. And you…”

  “I am just here to find out what is going on,” Scarlett promised. “What I said before is true. I really have no interest in Lord Darthmoor.”

  Cecilia snorted. “If that were true, why would you even be here?”

  “I am here because that is what I do,” Scarlett explained. “I am a detective.”

  “You are with the police?”

  Scarlett shook her head. “No, nothing like that. But I like to investigate things, and Cruces… Lord Darthmoor, is paying me to investigate the ring.”

  “I thought women in London stayed inside drinking tea,” Cecilia said. “Not going around investigating things.”

  Scarlett smiled just a little. “Sometimes we manage to do both. Although I might not get many more chances if I do not find out what happened to the ring, you understand?”

  “And you will give it back to him,” Cecilia said.

  Scarlett considered lying, but thought better of it. Instead, she nodded. “Unless there is a good reason not to.”

  “There is a reason,” Cecilia insisted. “The ring is not his.”

  “It was in his collection,” Scarlett pointed out, “and you took it from him.”

  “Just because he paid for it, that does not make it his.” Cecilia looked momentarily angry again. “He is a plunderer. A thief. That ring belongs to my people. It has been ours for many years. It is the property of royalty, not of some… collector.”

  Scarlett had heard that argument occasionally. Some people argued that even what her parents did was wrong, because they took treasures from far off places, removing them from where they belonged. But Scarlett suspected that this was different. Not least because of the nature of the artifact involved. Could it really open doors to other realities?

  “May I see the ring?” Scarlett asked.

  “You will try to steal it.”

  Scarlett shook her head. “No. You have my word. For now, I just wish to see it.”

  Cecilia hesitated for a second or two, but finally, she nodded and reached into the folds of her dress. She drew out a purple velvet bag closed with a draw string that was currently tied in a complex knot.

  “My knot,” Cecilia explained, “so that I will know if anyone else tries to open it.”

&n
bsp; The girl sounded quite proud of the idea, though Scarlett was not sure what would stop someone from simply taking the whole bag. Still she did not voice that thought as Cecilia carefully unpicked the knots. She tipped the contents out into the center of her palm, holding her hand flat but obviously ready to snatch it back should Scarlett try to go back on her word.

  In her hand sat a golden ring formed from a double braid of the metal, just as Scarlett had been told to expect. The word Thura, for opening, was on the inside. Why there should be Ancient Greek on something supposedly of Eastern European origin, Scarlett did not know. Was Cecilia lying? After all, it seemed to make as much sense that the ring was rightfully Cruces. He had said himself that he was not English. Could he be Greek?

  Scarlett did not get chance to make that point to Cecilia, however, because at that moment, a hand clamped over her mouth. She saw the same happen to Cecilia, while at the same time, Scarlett found herself dragged to her feet. Behind her, someone started to chant in a low, sonorous tone. Scarlett tried to turn and see what was happening, but the grip on her held her fast. While the chanting… the chanting was so soothing… so very…

  Scarlett found herself quite grateful in that moment for the presence of whoever was holding her. At least that way, it meant that, as she fell into sleep, she did not topple to the floor. She just collapsed into strong arms, already too deeply asleep to care why.

  Chapter 9

  “Scarlett, wake up.”

  At the sound of Cruces’ voice, Scarlett roused herself. It was far from easy. It felt like she was dragging herself upwards from a great depth, and it took an effort to open her eyes. When she did so, she saw that she was no longer in the gypsies’ camp, but was instead in a high ceilinged building with posters on the walls advertising everything from the tailors of Saville Row to devices designed to invigorate the constitution. She also appeared to be laying on a bench. It took her a moment to place the details of the location, but when she did, she sat up to find Cruces sitting beside her.