Fog & Feathers

 

Prologue

The cold fog lingered along the dark damp cobblestone trail. The coppery smell of fresh blood filled the air. Excruciating pain was radiating my body in crashes of white-hot lightening. My eyes were riveted to the man standing over me. His caramel colored eyes were illuminated beneath his half mask in the gaslight lanterns that marked the garden path.

A cold smile bloomed on his full lips. “You’ll be the best one yet little sparrow,” he promised seductively. He shifted his weight and the light reflected off the hand ax that was dripping with my blood.

How had I gotten here? My mind racked trying to recall. Catherine Princeton, daughter of the current governor Robert Princeton, had called a gala in response to the serial killings that had been plaguing the capitol city of Wind Rose. I was obligated to attend and being unattached I was passed from one vulgar man to another the majority of the night. Being passed into his arms, I felt dizzy instantly and he offered to walk me out for some air. He drugged me somehow. My brain could not connect the dots just yet but it was no doubt him, the serial killer of Wind Rose.

“Butcher Bird,” I groaned and he chuckled.

“Such a silly name but then again given the journalists pension for dramatics, I guess I can’t blame them for bestowing it upon me.” He knelt down pulling my left arm further away from my body. “It really is like clipping a bird’s wing in a way.” My eyes followed the move with horror watching the disembodied limb.

His eyes came back to mine with that same damnable cold smile. “You are the strongest one yet, twenty two women have howled in pain as I cleaved away their pretty wings but you,” he continued when I didn’t speak, “not a scream…not even a whimper. I guess that should be expected from the legendary daughter of the late elite guardian Anton Montoya. The name alone carries such power.” He chuckled again and my eyes narrowed.

“So your name is powerless then,” I surmised exhaling hard past another wave of pain.

“No Kitami it’s not,” he growled squatting down at the top of my head blinking those empty eyes at me. “My name means victory of the people, Nicodemus, and in the end little sparrow I will be victorious.”

“He’ll kill you for harming me,” I promised flatly gritting my teeth.

“Ah yes you did mention that,” he chuckled. “Whom I wonder do you believe will come to rescue little sparrow? Your family is long dead, supporters of the fallen Monarch. It’s a new era now.”

“Kitami,” Joseph’s bellowing roar echoed over the courtyard and all noises of the Princeton Manor gala stopped.

“Him,” I breathed seeing the fury explode in his eyes. My lips lifted into their own cold smile. Waves of darkness stole my sight away from his retreating body.

 Chapter One:

 The sound of metal grinding and scent of motor oil woke me groggily. Blinking my heavy eyes, I tried to focus. Joseph’s strong jaw was silhouetted in the dim light of the strange space. He had me wrapped in a cloak and was carrying me deftly in his left arm. Joseph had been my guardian since I was a baby. He was my father’s apprentice and second bodyguard to the Monarch Allor, until the second siege overran the capitol taking Allor’s life and a democratic rule was instated under President Bencroft’s stead.

I remember standing at Joseph’s side, my hand in his as my parents walked out the front door of our home. My mother’s pale blue eyes sparkling with tears as she glanced back at me telling me to obey Joseph and be good. I never saw them again. Joseph never spoke of what happened. He was nineteen that day, barely a grown man and had a ten-year-old ward but he never hesitated or made it seem like it was a burden.

“Joseph,” I breathed. His slate gray eyes came down to mine gently. “Where are we?”

“Getting aid mistress,” he soothed.

“In a hospital?”

“No, not quite,” he corrected smiling. “Trust me mistress this is for the best.”

“I always trust you,” I promised closing my eyes from a wave of nausea doing a quick assessment. “I’ve lost a lot a blood.”

“I know mistress.” He shifted me opening a door. The noise and scent got stronger.

“Who in the hell sent you,” a voice bellowed over the metal grinding.

“Murkowski,” Joseph answered in a short clipped response. A loud crash assaulted my ears.

“Shit,” the muffled curse followed.

“What was that?”

Joseph looked down at me. “It appeared to be the engine from the new Aston Mist.”

“You’ve got a good eye,” the mechanic admitted stepping out from the back room. I tilted my head watching the petite woman with curiosity as she wiped her hands on her gray coveralls. Her short black hair was spiked in all directions. She blinked her bright blue eyes at us as she pushed the goggles up into her hair. “It needs a refit along the compression hoses to handle the steam levels at high acceleration.” She paused looking catching my gaze. “Looks like you need a refit too huh Lady?”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she shrugged absently. “Come on Guard Dog bring the lady back this way.”

Joseph bristled against me angrily. “My name is . . .”

“I don’t care what your name is son,” she interjected coolly. “Plausible deniability, you are Guard Dog and she is Lady, that’s all I need to know. Now come on before Lady passes out again.”

She walked away and I felt Joseph’s hesitance before he followed her into the back. “What should we call you then?” Joseph rumbled while I looked around at the chaotic space. Parts and mech-tech was lying around everywhere.

“Folks call me Tinker, what with the name of the place being Tinker Toys I figure even an ex-elite guard could solve that one,” she replied with a smirk at Joseph’s bristling. She moved to a center table running her arm down it scattering massive chunks of metal effortlessly.

I stared in awe as she glanced back at me flexing her left arm. “Don’t look so shocked Lady. I make things a hell of a lot better than a broken wing. Now lay her down here and let me take a look at what Butcher did.”

“How much will this cost?” Joseph questioned setting me down on the table so my wound was available for her inspection.

“We’ll hash price later after I see how much works need to be done,” she said pulling her goggles down and tugging a rolling light closer. “This is going to hurt Lady.” She removed the cloak and I saw the impressed look flare in her deep gaze as she inspected Joseph’s bindings.

Joseph rounded the other edge of the table taking my hand in his as she systematically cut away the cloth. “Holy Mother,” she gasped. Joseph’s firm hand came to my chin forcing my inquisitive gaze into his gentle stare.

“Not this time mistress, you don’t need to see this,” he insisted.

Tinker stood up moving around the workspace gathering tools, parts, and sterile cleanser. Her moves were precise and meticulous as she worked cleaning out the wound. Flares of white-hot pain kept exploding through me. “He must have really liked you,” Tinker breathed grabbing forceps.

“He seemed to,” I admitted closing my eyes to Joseph’s fierce look.

“He taunted you didn’t he lady?”

“Yes,” I exhaled past another wave of pain as she began connecting metal to bone. “Did he taunt you?”

“Nope,” she muttered. “Of course I was his first known attack and he wasn’t nearly as efficient as he’s gotten in the later years.”

“How did you survive? The papers say there have been no known survivors,” Joseph queried.

“I didn’t,” she admitted darkly. I tilted my head catching her steadfast stare. “He got both of my ‘wings’ as he calls them. Murkowski found me bleeding out and took me to the Old Tinker, my predecessor who taught me the mech-tech arts down here in Mech Alley. Tinker fixed me up but I died on the table. He jolted me with an engine battery, the crazy old coot. Murkowski thought it would be best at the time not to admit to surviving the attack. As the years went on Old Tinker passed away. I just took up the slack.”

“How many years ago was that?”

“Ten little lady,” she answered returning her gaze to the work. “That Butcher isn’t new just because he only started attacking Wind Rose this last year. He’s been a torment on almost all the continents of Genoa and there’s nothing anyone has been able to do to find him, let alone catch him.”

She turned on a drill and anything else I would have said went to oblivion as the pain seared blackness over my mind.

“Not even a whimper,” she whistled, “he’s going to be very angry he lost you.”