Clockwork Kiss Read online

  Clockwork Kiss

  The Blackwell Legacy

  Nina S. Gooden

  Published 2012

  ISBN 978-1-59578-941-9

  Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2012, Nina S. Gooden. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Liquid Silver Books

  http://LSbooks.com

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Blurb

  In Victorian England it is whispered that the prestigious Blackwell family is touched with paranormal abilities. Eliza knows firsthand that those rumors are true, as she is plagued by wandering spirits, no matter how hard she works to ignore them. As a bastard of the family, she thought she'd succeeded in not only hiding her heritage but repressing the mystical call.

  Content with the life she has made for herself as a thief, her world is shattered when she is discovered by her long-lost sister. Desperate to escape the family and her “gift” she agrees to exchange a favor for her sister's silence: she sets out to steal an ornate box from the home of the rumored madman and brilliant inventor Lord Cyril Reeves.

  When her plan goes awry Eliza is held prisoner by the eccentric noble. The box is revealed to be the only clue to the disappearance of Cyril's late wife. Eliza is bent on escape but then the ghosts begin to link their deaths to the revolutionary automaton he is working on. She realizes that the only way for her to save him is with the help of the gift she wants no part of.

  Cyril awakens a passion within her that she never knew existed. With every inch he gains into her closed-off heart he pushes her toward a power that may blow her mind—literally and figuratively. The more she uses her abilities, the more danger of being lost to the spirit world. At the same time, if she doesn't take the risk she may end up losing Cyril to the madness the ghosts around him are creating.

  Dedication

  To my mother, who fed my belief in Narnia and taught me the meaning of personal strength. A woman who laid down foundation in my corner and never wavered when it was time to put on the boxing gloves. You stand as a perfect reflection of my own temperament and flaws (which is not always a good thing), but you also represent a number of my best qualities. You and I, madam, together we could take over the world … or burn the sucker to the ground. We’ll see how we feel after Yoga.

  Prologue

  Eliza’s throat was hoarse from crying and screaming. Her tiny frame was bruised and scraped but the waves of teeth-chattering pain had long since faded to numbness. Her body had stopped throbbing from her fall and she could even ignore the weird angle her leg was pointed in.

  She’d fled the safety of the camp hours ago. Angry and hurt, she’d run off without paying attention to where she’d been going, and no one had found her yet. Her young mind had decided that no one had come for her because they didn’t want her anymore.

  “I’m sorry I was bad, Llesenia.” The little girl tried to scream her apology, hoping that her adopted mother was hiding in the trees, but all that came out was a pitiable mewl.

  When nothing happened, she dropped back against the leaves and swallowed the salt that welled up in the back of her throat. If she hadn’t yelled at her Rommom she wouldn’t be here now. Instead of looking up at the orange tinted noon sky from a dirty, moss infested forest floor she could be watching Llesenia mix and crush the velvety black powder she loved so much.

  The elderly Gypsy woman would hug her with soot-covered hands and promise to teach her how to use the blasting powder when she was ready. But that wouldn’t happen now, Eliza had been too mean. The child frowned at the memory of her cruelty.

  “Why can’t I just go and watch now?” Eliza had botched a simple one-handed cartwheel, whining when she hit the ground hard enough to bruise. “I just want to see the zeppelins drop off the morning postage.”

  The familiar, patient voice of her Rommom—a term she had come up with all by herself to refer to the Romanian who had taken her in—had filled the clearing they had made between dozens of tents. “No slacking off, practice the tumbles Vetz taught you.” The older woman had waited for the younger one to attempt a back flip and land clumsily on her back, before sighing. “No, no. Spread your arms a little further. That way you’ll be able to stay up longer. I’m not seeing any improvement, young lady.”

  “That’s because I don’t want to learn to tumble. I want to … go to the country. And raise horses!”

  The woman sighed again. “You have to start with smaller goals to reach the ones you have in mind, my dear. Try again.”

  “Then can I go see the zeppelins?”

  “No.”

  Eliza had inelegantly rolled into a standing position. “That’s not fair!”

  The Gypsy reached up to tug on a thick lock of silver hair that was tucked behind her ear. It was an action the little girl had seen a thousand times while her Rommom was thinking. Usually, it ended with her getting what she wanted, so the girl smiled. That smile quickly died when the silver head began to shake.

  “But why?” Eliza all but exploded.

  “Because it’s outside the limits of the camp. Ah, ah, don’t think to argue with me. I know exactly where the postmaster is and what you’d have to cross to get there.”

  Eliza bristled at the reminder. To anyone who knew anything, London was separated into Five Quarters, a geometrical impossibility that didn’t escape her young mind.

  In the First and largest were the Blue Bloods. They kept all the wealth and land, looking down at everyone else. The Second Quarter was for their mules, the people they hired and commissioned for their expensive soft clothes and the other shiny things they supposedly needed. It was where they found “acceptable” house workers.

  The Third Quarter was primarily made up of people who labored. Not crafters like those in the Second Quarter, these people grew things, fished, or moved heavy objects for a living, which was ironic since they never seemed to live long. They weren’t so much respectable, as considered a necessary evil by the Blooded. After all, it wasn’t as if they were going to muck out their own stalls.

  The Fourth Quarter was filled with the unmentionables of society. Gamblers, prostitutes, murderers, drunks and thieves gathered in the dark alleys. Various bars, taverns and brothels littered the area like so much garbage and still, still they were considered better than the tiny and elusive Fifth Quarter.

  Comprised of a small settlement of Romanians, they’d been abandoned by an airship pirate fifty years back. Their grasp of chemistry had given them a small allotment of land so they could trek to the Second Quarter to sell wares that would be otherwise missed. Untouchables, they were sometimes called, shunned and ignored beyond basic transactions.

  For the most part, nobody cared. At least, none of the Gypsies cared. They were glad for the space and isolation. It allowed them to keep their secrets, for everyone knew that while the people of London had a firm grasp of all things steam and mecha, it was the Gypsies who understood the secrets of alchemy and chemistry.

  “You’re too curious for your own good, my girl.”

  Her mumbled response had gone ignored or unheard. “…one little peek couldn’t hurt.”

  Eliza had turned her back to Llesenia as she reflected on the confusing world of social status. She didn’t understand much of it but she did understand that the Roms were a lot like the Blooded, though they thought they weren’t. They were a mysterious group of people and even though she had lived with them as family for years they still held her at a distance. The secrets they kept from outsiders were kept from her as well. They were nice, even loving, but she knew as well as they did that she didn’t really belong.

  “The others travel through the Fourth all the time, so why not me?”

  She heard the softening in her mother’s voice and it made her even sicker than the irony of being part of a Quarter that wasn’t a quarter. “You know why, Elizabeth. You’re special.”

  “Special? Special?” In a rage she swung around, eyes wide. The messy veil of her hair, purposefully cut to hide her face, flew to the side as a curtain parting. Clear as day, the little girl saw the woman who claimed to love her, flinch. In those sad brown eyes, Eliza saw the reflection of her own, and hated herself for them. Startling neon-blue surrounded her pupils, intensified by her emotions. The blue glowed brilliantly as if there were some inner light behind them desperate to get out. “Don’t lie, Mom! You tell me every day that lying is bad. You just don’t want anyone to see me for what I am.”

  Llesenia took a step back, and Eliza would have sworn she had heard her heart breaking in that instant. When the Gypsy spoke, her voice quavered, betraying her fear. “That isn’t it. The post is in the Second Quarter. It’s too close to the Blooded. If one of them were to see you they would know you’re not Rom. They might try to take you away.”

  Blue flames leapt up Eliza’s arms as she stood before her mother, panting. The flames didn’t hurt, didn’t burn her, but she knew instantly that they weren’t of this world. They were something else entirely and if she didn’t get them under control something would
happen. She knew this in the back of her mind, in the place where adult thoughts and reasoning were beginning to form.

  But to her conscious self, all she saw was the fear and disgust coming from someone she loved. Someone she knew she’d deeply wronged who may be trying to punish her now by keeping her from something she wanted. She lashed out. “You’re just afraid that if they do, their ghosts will come to me!”

  The sound of skin connecting with skin registered in her mind before the sting of her cheek. Eliza lifted a hand in shock, her eyes settling on the crumpled expression her mother wore. Then she’d taken off.

  Sniffling, Eliza closed her mind to the memory. She knew what she’d said had been cruel. She would apologize to her Rommom and be forgiven later, but for now she had to find a way to get back home.

  Think. That was what Llesenia had always said was her best weapon. If she could be resourceful and quick she would find a way to do anything.

  Unfortunately she couldn’t think of anything. What she needed was help. Too bad she was all alone … the little girl closed her eyes and swallowed. Help, she whispered in her head. Please, someone. Come save me.

  She must have nodded off because once she opened her eyes again the sky had gone from the polluted orange of noon to the deep red of dusk. Heavy clouds the color of vile smoke were pasted to the unhealthy sky, threatening to unleash drops of murky rain all over her battered body. Eliza felt tears threaten her eyes again moments before a familiar sound roared into hearing distance. The flapping of metallic wings was to her as a banquet would be to the belly of a starving man. It filled her up, made her bursting with hope that she’d long since lost.

  Her voice, rested from her nap, wasn’t a hundred percent but it was functioning. “I’m here. I’m here, please help me.”

  The flying machine, frequently called a Flapper, kicked up more debris and leaves, forcing the girl on the ground to turn her head.

  The rider disembarked, and she expected to hear one of the Gypsies call out to her. The Flappers were a higher end product and they were frequently only readily available to the Blooded. Still, Eliza knew that sometimes the Rom worked on them so her rescue party may be using the mecha to look for her.

  “I finally found you,” gasped a tiny, cultured voice. “I finally found you, Elizabeth.”

  Before she could adjust to the shock of hearing her voice on strange lips, Eliza found herself surrounded by a soft golden light. The warmth settled onto her skin and sank down into her bones. Slowly, slowly, the unnatural numbness vanished, taking the pain with it. Disbelief warred with the unmistakable mobility of results. Eliza stood on shaky legs and stretched. “My leg. It’s all better.”

  “Yes.” Her rescuer stood up slowly, tossing back rivers of golden hair. Familiar blue eyes blinked back at her from a different face. “My name is Olyve and I am your sister.”

  Chapter One

  She was standing over a body. The icy chill of death hung in the air and sank into her pores like thick, sticky smoke.

  I loved him and he used me.

  Wide, sightless eyes turned to find her without tracking, the useless balls sloshing around in rotting sockets. Used me. The uncultured, harsh voice poured from the lifeless form and wrapped around the petite brunette. The corpse didn’t move for several moments, didn’t flinch, but those eyes continued to rove, desperately trying to make contact. Why? Why couldn’t he just love me?

  The broken figure stretched out before her with a jerk, a pitiable marionette searching for its strings. Find him!

  Eliza took a step backward, shaking her head roughly to clear the vision. Slowly, the misty apparition vanished, leaving her alone once again with the cobblestone walkways, looming dark alleys, and smog-painted gray night sky that was London at midnight.

  It was damp and the air was as filthy and stifling as it always was, but for a moment she felt a breeze as frigid and salty as the sea. Tears of the dead.

  Shuddering, Eliza adjusted the frames of her rose-tinted goggles. They were heavy, unsightly, and the most expensive thing she would buy in her entire lifetime, but they were also imperative. They protected her from being seen as what she really was. “Stay away,” she whispered into the wind, pleased to find her voice steady and clear. “I will never accept you, so stop appearing to me. All of you, leave me be!”

  Dismissing the ghost with a wave of her hand, she let out her frustration in a rough sigh. No one was around, and for that she was grateful. It seemed like even with the leaps and bounds technology had taken, people were still just as small-minded and suspicious as ever. Particularly when it came to the Blackwells.

  Maybe she was being paranoid but Eliza wasn’t taking any chances. She couldn’t be associated with the powerful family in any way. Even if it was just a softly muttered, “That girl is as crazy as a Blackwell.”

  All the money and titles in London couldn’t stop the talk of witchcraft and magic that surrounded the Blackwell family. It made them at once famous and infamous, like caged lions that the good nobles feared but couldn’t stop staring at.

  Not that the talk was unfounded.

  Adjusting the leather straps that crossed over her chest, Eliza double checked to make sure the hidden pockets on her black gear were still filled with the various powders she kept on her body.

  Perfect. She’d have to remember to thank Vetz later. Though he hadn’t stood up for her or anything after Llesenia died, and she’d been “relocated” out of the camp, he’d still been kind enough to provide her with a few tricks for her new trade. He’d even given her a few sources to use in order to gather information on her marks.

  “Which reminds me,” she whispered, bending over to press and hold the three buttons hidden by the buckles of her black leather shoes. Almost immediately, her face was warmed by the rush of steam that unleashed, revealing the compartment in her heel.

  Unfolding a few sheets of parchment she found there, she quickly scanned the details of her newest mission.

  Client: Olyve Blackwell.

  Mark: Cyril Reeves.

  Objective: Retrieve a small box from within the study of the mark from Grey Keep without being detected.

  Why Olyve wanted the box, Eliza didn’t know. She didn’t even know if Olyve’s husband, James Reeves, knew she was planning to steal from his little brother. What she did know was that ten years ago her sister had saved her life and then promised to keep her existence a secret from the rest of the Blackwells. Eliza didn’t want anything to do with the family or her powers, and the blonde bit of sass who had proven to be a good friend, respected that. Eliza would do anything to return the favor.

  She smiled down at the stack of parchment, shifting through the information her sister and various other sources had gathered. A quick sketch had been drawn to help her find the correct item. In addition, there was a little information about her mark. She paused, frowning at his name again.

  Cyril Reeves. The Cyril Reeves. He was a famous inventor; someone admired far and wide. He was also a bit of a recluse.

  There was speculation that a scandal regarding his father being taken in by the magistrates had broken his mind, leaving him damaged. As a boy, he hadn’t been very popular. Some even considered him weird—a mortal sin amongst the echelons of high society. The fact that his father had only been asked to answer a few questions about the last time he’d seen a missing young lady had been overlooked entirely in this little hypothesis.

  A huff of disgust slid past her lips, the ton and its vicious rumors.

  The intel also mentioned that he’d been married some years ago but did not elaborate. Eliza shrugged it off as unimportant and straightened, satisfied that she had memorized all she needed.

  She folded the parchment with a casual glance around to make sure no one was about before pressing it into the hollowed pocket watch case on her hip. One push of the dial and the soft hiss of scalding steam filled the air, evaporating the paper contents easily.

  The click of her boots was muffled by the grit in the air as she moved toward Grey Keep with sure speed. The Keep was one of the oldest and largest in all of London. It was apart from the other buildings, set in front of a backdrop of rare woods and fields. Taking up as much room as three of the other manors, it was the great expanse of fountains and gardens surrounding the charm of gray stone that lent the building its name. A black cast iron fence wrapped around the perimeter was no challenge to Eliza.