Ashes & Alchemy
Ashes & Alchemy
By Cindy Spencer Pape
A Gaslight Chronicles novella
London, 1860
Police inspector Sebastian Brown served Queen and country in India before returning to England to investigate supernatural crimes alongside the Order of the Round Table. If his wifeless, childless life feels a little empty sometimes, that’s not too great a price to pay in the name of duty.
Minerva Shaw is desperately seeking a doctor when she mistakenly lands on Sebastian’s doorstep. Her daughter, Ivy, has fallen gravely ill with a mysterious illness—the same illness, it seems, that’s responsible for taking the lives of many of Ivy’s classmates.
Seb sniffs a case, and taking in Minnie and Ivy seems the only way to protect them while he solves it. But as mother and daughter work their way into his heart and Seb uses every magickal and technological resource he can muster to uncover the source of the deadly plague, it’s he who will need protecting—from emotions he’d thought buried long ago.
30,000 words
Dear Reader,
Happy 2014! You know, I love futuristic romance, and I swear it wasn’t that long ago that I was reading books in the genre that used years like 2014 and 2015 to indicate a time that seemed really far out. Of course, I suppose I’ll be saying something similar twenty years from now, when it’s 2035. (And isn’t that a weird thought?) As it happens, in the lineup this month we have both a futuristic romance and a hero who travels from the future, and both give a unique look into a future that’s actually a little further out.
I love the premise of Libby Drew’s time-travel male/male romance, Paradox Lost, in which a time-travel guide who takes clients to “whenever” must travel back to 2020 and enlist the aid of a PI to find a missing client. And in PJ Schnyder’s Fighting Kat, Kat and Rygard go deep undercover, posing as gladiators. In the interstellar arena, it’s all about who’s the strongest predator...
I mentioned futuristic romance, but how about a trip to the past in Jeannie Ruesch’s historical romantic suspense, Cloaked in Danger. Aria Whitney’s life has taken her from the sands of Egypt to the ballrooms of London, but when her father goes missing, can the handsome earl with a dark secret help her find him, or will a dangerous scandal threaten both their lives?
In Mistress by Magick, Laura Navarre concludes her fallen angel Magick Trilogy, a riveting historical fantasy romance trilogy set in Tudor times. Also wrapping up a trilogy this month is Fiona Lowe. In Runaway Groom, the third book in the Wedding Fever trilogy, can a Harley-riding Aussie guy on the road trip of his life allow an uptight and disgraced lawyer to steal his heart? The first two books, Saved by the Bride and Picture Perfect Wedding, are now available, as well.
Debut author Anna Richland delivers First to Burn, the first book in her Immortal Vikings series with a hero straight from the time of Beowulf. Wulf Wardsen is an elite soldier whose very existence breaks all the rules—and he’s deep in the military zone of Afghanistan with an army doctor determined to do everything by the book. Meanwhile, Cindy Spencer Pape brings back her very popular steampunk romance series, The Gaslight Chronicles, with the latest installment, Ashes & Alchemy.
This January, Heather Long delivers the start of a new series of contemporary romances. If you like your romance a little on the crazy, cracktastic side, this book is sure to please. Cinderella had her fairy godmother and Princess Mia had her grandmother, but Alyx—she gets a software magnate who knows that in his world, Some Like It Royal. And speaking of cracktastic, Kelsey Browning has another installment in her steamy Texas Nights series. Roxanne Eberly wants nothing more than to make her lingerie store a success. Enter up-and-coming attorney Jamie Wright, who’s all tangled up in Roxanne’s life...and her lingerie...in Running the Red Light. If you want to start from the beginning, pick up Personal Assets!
Mystery fans will be glad to welcome another installment from Jean Harrington in her Murders by Design series. In Rooms to Die For, when interior designer Deva Dunne finds a body hanging from a balcony in the gorgeous Naples Design Mall, she soon learns she’s caught up in a mall drug bust gone viral.
We’re thrilled to offer a large lineup of debut authors this month, in addition to Anna Richland. Joining us with books in the new-adult, erotic romance and contemporary genres are a new group of incredibly talented authors we’re proud to welcome to Carina Press. Elia Winters debuts with erotic romance Purely Professional. When a journalist explores the submissive side of her sexuality with her Dominant neighbor, she must confront what these encounters mean for her own sexual identity, her career and her budding relationship.
Three debut authors bring new-adult offerings to Carina Press. Danube Adele proves the new-adult genre is more than just contemporary romance in Quicksilver Dreams. One moment Taylor was just a regular girl working two jobs to pay her bills, and the next, she was reading minds, dreamwalking and being saved from bad guys by her sexy neighbor, Ryder Langston. In Tell Me When by Stina Lindenblatt, college freshman Amber Scott begrudgingly lets Marcus Reid into her life, but she didn’t expect the king of hookups would share his painful past. And Kristine Wyllys brings us the first of two steamy, dark-edged stories full of action, vivid storytelling and emotional intensity. Don’t miss Wild Ones.
Our last debut author, Rhonda Shaw, caught me by surprise with her book, The Changeup. People who know my sports tastes know I don’t normally go in for baseball. And those who know my reading tastes know I don’t usually go for an older heroine/younger man set-up. But Rhonda’s story hooked me from the start and I’m pleased to be releasing her first book this month. I hope you enjoy this contemporary sports romance as much as I did, and perhaps find a new book boyfriend in sweet and sexy pitching phenom Chase Patton!
I’m not one for making New Year’s resolutions, but I will make one—we’ll continue to strive to bring you a variety of fantastic books from authors who deliver stories that you’ll want to talk about. Thank you for joining us for another year of publishing at Carina Press—we’ll do our absolute best to make it an amazing one!
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to generalinquiries@carinapress.com. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
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Dedication
To the newest member of my family, my first grandchild, Persephone. I wish you the chance to fulfill all your dreams and to live your own life, always knowing that you are loved.
Acknowledgments
As always, I have to thank the usual suspects: my long-suffering husband, who actually took vacation time to watch the granddaughter, so I could finish this book; my sons, who understand the words “deadline” and “edits” and therefore actually leave me alone for the most part; and my father, who at eighty-nine, still runs circles around me. Finally, thanks to my granddaughter for making me smile.
On the professional front, I couldn’t do this without Anny Cook, the Untitled Writers’ Group, my editor Melissa Johnson, the Carina Press team and my agent Evan Gregory. The Detroit steampunk community has been a huge inspiration and a whole lot of fun as I dig deeper into the culture of the Victorian era and realize my own version of it. Most of all, I need to thank the readers and reviewers who keep the Gaslight Chronicles a viable venture. Your support and encouragement astounds and thrills me.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five<
br />
Chapter Six
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright
Chapter One
London, January 1860
Icy fingers of wet winter fog lanced through Minerva Shaw’s thin cloak and pierced her chilblained cheeks. She’d forgotten her breathing mask but she couldn’t let that stop her from her task. Coughing soot from her lungs, she ducked her face into her ragged muffler and pushed forward, into the wind. Strong as it was, she fought to even hold her ground. Finally, she allowed it to take her back at an angle, until she was out of the street and up against a storefront. In the dark, she couldn’t tell what kind of store, but it didn’t really matter. In the distance, she heard a steam engine clank, but no lights burned on this street of modest shops, and no carriages or steam cars ventured out in the wind and fog in this unexceptional part of London. Somewhere a train whistle sounded and a church bell tolled two. Eight hours, then. She’d spent eight hours going from doctor to doctor, trying to find one who would help.
“Ivy,” she said, though the wind carried her voice away and there wasn’t another soul in sight to hear anyway. The name moved her forward. Little Ivy, the light of her otherwise miserable life, was desperately ill. It didn’t matter how cold, how tired she was. Minnie trudged on. Lying in the street to die wasn’t an option. Ivy needed her. But this was her last hope. A kindly beggar had told her that Dr. Grant was a caring man who would treat a poor child fairly and he’d given her the man’s direction. Just two more blocks, by her reckoning, and she’d reach his house. She prayed he’d be home, even more, that he’d open his door, hear her out, not just shove her away from his steps and slam the portal in her face—which was what the last doctor she’d tried had done. Constantly looking over her shoulder for cutthroats, or even worse, vampyres, she soldiered on. Despite the smoke that choked the city, those two elements continued to thrive. Under normal circumstances, Minnie wouldn’t have considered roaming about alone after dark. So far, though, her luck had held in that respect. Perhaps even the undead avoided this kind of miserable weather. She’d been that foolish at seventeen and had almost died for it. Now, at thirty-four years old, she was being careless again, but this time it was for a good purpose. Her daughter.
Using the buildings as a windbreak, Minnie reached the corner and turned onto a residential street. She could barely make out the individual houses, but she’d been here before. It was a modest neighborhood, exalted by her standards, but not frequented by the highest of the high. Narrow, well-kept homes were shrouded by the smoke-laden fog and the darkness, but she knew what they looked like. The dressmaker she worked for had customers here, and Minnie delivered packages to the back entrances often enough. At a lull in the wind, she crossed the street and struggled on to the next corner. She wasn’t taking the mews this time. She didn’t think she’d manage there, with dust bins and empty milk jugs to trip over. Finding her way up the curb was difficult enough.
“Just a few more yards,” she said aloud. “You can do it, Minnie.” Fourth house on the left, she’d been told. One, two, this was three. One more, then she could rest. She felt her way along the wrought-iron fence until she found a gate, then made her way to the steps—one, two, up to the door. Another gust of wind slammed her bodily into it, but she pounded at the door with her fist anyway. One, two, with all her strength, the numbers a cruel refrain, echoing in her mind. When the door didn’t open, she tried again. This time, her strength failed her. The black and cold swamped her vision and she slid into a heap on the cold stone stoop.
* * *
Police Inspector Sebastian Brown stirred the coals in his study’s small iron grate. The clock on the wall chimed quarter past two. Another night with no sleep, then. Bloody hell, this insomnia was getting to be a habit. Perhaps he should ask his superior to move him to the graveyard shift. If he was going to be awake all night, maybe he’d be able to rest during the day. It was better than what he was doing now, getting no sleep at all. At forty, he was too old to keep that up indefinitely. He eyed the half-empty decanter of brandy on his desk but shook his head. He’d tried that for the last couple of nights, and all it had earned him was a headache to go along with his fatigue. That, he could do without. It was bad enough that the British winter made his hip hurt like hell—except he knew from experience that hell was hot and dry, not frigid and damp.
An odd thump at the front door, only a couple of yards from his study window, caught his attention. There were disadvantages to having excellent hearing—most would likely have not noticed the small disturbance over the crackling of the fire, the ticking of the clock and all the other sounds of a house at night. Outside, the wind howled mightily. Most likely some debris had been flung up onto his stoop. Still, he had nothing better with which to occupy himself than to go clear it off. His housekeeper and majordomo were away for the weekend, leaving Seb to his own devices. He tightened the belt on his dressing gown and limped his way through the foyer to the front entrance.
A gust of wind nearly ripped the heavy wooden door from his hands as he opened it. Seb looked down to the stoop and confirmed his assumption. A large, dark bundle of something had been deposited against the door.
“Doctor?” The bundle stirred and murmured the word so softly, Seb nearly didn’t hear—and his hearing was above and beyond that of most humans. He reached down to help the woman to her feet. Before his brain even registered the action, he’d drawn her slight, shivering form into the house, out of the wind and fog. Wide blue eyes blinked up at him, their lashes crusted with frost. Her face was thin, and too drawn with cold to tell if she was fifteen or forty. Tendrils of wet brown hair had escaped her sodden hat.
“Are you insane?” She didn’t even wear a breathing mask. With the coal smoke polluting the London air, that was tantamount to a death sentence, if the vampyres or criminals didn’t get to her first. “What are you doing out on a night like this? It’s suicide.”
She stiffened under his hands and glared up at him. “Doctor,” she gritted through chattering teeth. “Are you Dr. Grant?”
Seb cursed himself mentally. Of course it was a medical emergency—the one rational reason for being out in the frigid pea-souper. He grabbed his own cloak off the hall tree where he’d left it. “Next door. Come on, I’ll walk you over.”
She narrowed her eyes, likely trying to see if he was trustworthy. Then she sighed and turned back toward the door. “Th-thank you.”
He nodded curtly at the back of her head. Once out in the elements, he did his best to keep her smaller body sheltered by his. About halfway to the next doorstep, he realized he was still in his house slippers. Fortunately there wasn’t much ice on the ground yet, so he managed to avoid falling on his face. He shepherded her up to the doctor’s door and rang the bell without incident. He hadn’t bothered with a mask, so he held his breath as best he could.
Moments later, Mrs. Parrish, the doctor’s housekeeper, answered the door. The usually immaculate woman was mussed. Blood and filth streaked her white apron. “Mr. Brown. Come in. Did the Yard send you for something?” Behind her, a variety of voices sounded, some stern, some moaning. Rapid footsteps and the normal clinks and clacks of a working clinic seemed more hurried than usual.
“No. What’s the matter?” He gently shoved the mystery woman in ahead of him and closed the door behind them.
“Steam car accident, two streets over. They brought all three young men here. Two just need sewing up, but the third will be lucky to make it through the night.” Mrs. Parrish caught her breath and eyed the shivering woman still leaning on Seb. “Who have we here, Mr. Brown?”
Seb sighed. “Another patient, I’m afraid. She landed on my doorstep in the fog. Will the doctor be able to spare a moment?”
Mrs. Parrish shrugged. “You know him. He’ll find a way.” She cast a concerned eye over the patient. “Meanwhile, dearie, I can at least help you get warm and dry.”
The woman shook her head and swallowed a sob. “No. I
t’s not me who’s sick. It’s my daughter. She’s only four and she has an awful fever. I’ve tried half a dozen different doctors and none of them will come see her, not on a night like this.”
“Son of a—” Seb broke off the curse at a sharp glance from the housekeeper. “There’s no way he’ll be free for a house call, is there?” The idea of a helpless child lying ill—it was the kind of thing Seb would never be able to forget about Lucknow—the hellhole in India that still haunted his nightmares.
Mrs. Parrish took the younger woman’s hands and rubbed them between hers. “No. I’m sorry. If we could get the little one here...”
The woman sniffled and sagged into Seb. Now that they stood in the light, he could tell she was younger than he, but a woman, not a girl. Tiny lines bracketed her eyes, while her cheeks were smooth. Her face would be attractive when she smiled, although she looked in need of a hearty meal and a long night’s sleep. “Is there any other doctor who might come? I don’t have money for a cab and she’s too big for me to carry all this way.”
“Where’s the girl’s father?” Seb growled at the idea of any man who let his woman out in this weather.
“Dead,” she said with a sniffle, though she lifted her chin. “It’s just me and Ivy. There’s no one else. Now, is there another doctor—one who will take a patient on credit?”
Seb felt like a cad for barking at a destitute young widow.
“Well, there’s Doc Witherspoon, around the corner, but he isn’t much for house calls.” Mrs. Parrish curled her lip. “And he’s not known for generosity either, like dear Dr. Grant.”
“Never mind.” Seb cleared his throat. “I’m hale enough to carry a little girl, and I have a steam car. If we go slowly, the roads should be safe enough.” He looked down the hall, hearing more groaning from the surgery rooms.
Mrs. Parrish snorted. “Especially since you’re not three sheets to the wind, like those idiots.” She gave the other woman a bracing smile. “Never you worry, dear. Mr. Brown will have you and your little one back here before you know it. Though he might want his boots and hat first.”