Tales from the Skies Read online

  Candace’s nose wrinkled on instinct. The Morlocks had the worst sort of reputation, one she could back up from her experience at the Copper Rose. Most of their visits ended with her cleaning blood off the floor. Those mercenaries had no moral code, no honor, and a penchant for torching ships, leaving them to plummet from the sky and ruin wherever they landed.

  If she hadn’t been returning to the Copper Rose before, this confirmed her decision. She’d be adrift again, but in no time she’d find another bar to slum at—maybe the Emerald Mistress or the Shady Maven. The prospect didn’t thrill her, but not much did these days.

  “How about I do you one better than this hostage business, Blackwind?” She leaned with her back to the railing. Even though adrenaline pumped through her system from the shake-up, the sunlight on her skin was going a far way in soothing her nerves.

  Blackwind’s eyes met hers with interest. If they hadn’t gotten off on the wrong foot, she’d consider him the sort of handsome that made her pulse stutter.

  “Call me Morgan,” he demurred, tapping his fingers along the railing. “I’m listening.”

  “And I’m Candace.” She lifted her chin. Was she doing this? Before she could quibble over it any more, she continued talking. “Once night falls—since we both know Whitmore won’t show at sunset—I can lead you to his private residence. If your bronze owl is still in the area, it’ll be located there. All I want in return is for you to uphold your own promises to let me go, free of harm.”

  The whole afternoon had scrambled her brains.

  Morgan blinked before he flashed her a blinder of a smile, this one more raw and real than any of the slick sort he’d delivered before. He extended his palm, and she placed her hand against his warm, callused one.

  “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  Chapter Two

  In a few short hours, the afternoon faded and sunset arrived.

  Whitmore did not.

  Candace stood at the railing, watching the dock as the gaslights flickered on, casting their soft glow along the length of the rickety wooden boards. Blackwind’s heavy footsteps announced his arrival before he did. Since she’d agreed to help, the other crew members had sidled over to introduce themselves, approaching with a quick word, a slap on the back, or a handshake.

  “I hate to say I told you so,” she announced as he came to a halt beside her.

  “Don’t think I’m blind to the smile on your lips,” Morgan murmured, clutching the rail. “I’m well aware you predicted this outcome. However, that also means it’s time to descend on Whitmore’s house.”

  Candace straightened from her perch and rolled her shoulders. “I’ll be happy to show you the way.” Truly, she was. Whitmore had been more of an absentee boss than any sort of criminal mastermind, but she’d made her call the moment she discovered his ties with the Morlocks.

  Morgan shrugged, a move as fluid as his other gestures. He possessed the grace of one of the sleeker airships that sliced through the sky. “If you’d rather give us an address, you’re free to go on your way. I don’t want to make any more trouble for you than we already have.”

  Her heart stuttered at the kindness, something she’d forgotten people to possess. Since she’d been on board this ship, the crew had joked and made an effort to chat, offering a warmth she’d seen less and less over the years. And after the accident, Candace had witnessed the worst sorts of scum and violence that New Boston could offer. What Morgan didn’t realize was she had nowhere to go and no one to return to.

  “After working for this cad the past six months?” Candace placed her hands on her hips and forced the bravado. “I want to be there when karma kicks his ass.”

  “Well then.” Morgan pulled one of his pistols from its holster with an elegant barrel and polished mahogany grip, and he presented it to her. “What sort of shot are you?”

  Candace snorted. “A terrible one. Don’t worry about protection,” she said, sliding one of her knives from the slim sheathes she kept tucked into her waist cincher. “I wouldn’t have survived working at a place like the Copper Rose without knowing a thing or two about self-defense.”

  Morgan lifted a brow. “Ever the surprise. What other mysteries are you hiding?”

  Candace grinned in response. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  A smirk curled his lips, turning those dark eyes molten. She grew more aware of his proximity, of the scent of gunpowder and leather drifting in the air. And the truth she’d known from the start re-emerged, that Morgan Blackwind was a powerfully attractive man.

  Before either of them could respond, Niles sauntered over, his big, burly shadow announcing his presence. “Boss, time to head out?”

  Morgan flashed her one more scorching look before he pivoted to face his crew. “Time to nab our merchandise back from the thief.”

  Rose, the lanky woman from earlier, stepped into view, and Gully walked with her, a rounder man with glasses who wore enough metal strapped to his person to form an arsenal.

  “Let’s head out,” Blackwind said, gesturing towards the rope ladder. “Time’s wasting like dropped coppers, and Candace here has offered to show us the way.”

  “Lead on, lassie,” Rose announced, even as she stepped ahead to pop down the ladder first.

  Candace sucked in a shallow breath to steady her nerves. With this motley crew, she would thrust herself into more danger—and this was after a year of trying to keep her head low. To wallow in her misery. For the first time since she’d lost her job, her purpose, and had been permanently banned from any medical practice, Candace tasted hope in the breeze. It was a quick swallow of ozone and salt, maybe tricks in the wind from the seaside air, but she couldn’t deny the way it settled inside her.

  Time to pay Whitmore a visit.

  ***

  Candace preferred to avoid this part of New Boston. All she could afford was a room the size of a thimble on the outskirts of town, but it kept her away from the South side. Here, you could find a game of Faro to gamble your credits away, painted ladies on every corner, and the promise of gunfire.

  Morgan Blackwind strode beside her, his quiet presence a surprising comfort. She’d witnessed firsthand how fast he could draw a pistol, so any curs around here who took it upon themselves to threaten this crew would be dealt with swiftly.

  She twirled one of her knives in her hands, not bothering to hide the flash of open steel around here. Screeches came from a couple of streets down, ones they ignored as they tromped along the chipped and splintered cobblestones.

  A familiar line of red-bricked row houses came into view at the end of the street. She had to make a credits delivery for him a few times from the Copper Rose’s coffer, which should’ve been a tip-off of shady business. The lights glowed from dozens of windows gaping back from the proud building with its granite crown molding.

  “Looks like the boss is ignoring your request from the comfort of his own home,” Candace murmured.

  “The picture of consideration,” Morgan responded with a smirk. His palm slid to the pistol on his right as they strode closer and closer. “We should pay him the same by sneaking in through the back.”

  Her heart thudded, adrenaline coursing through her like a river. Every footstep, every distant shout, and every screech of an off-kilter autocart sent her nerves spiking. Their shadows elongated under the tremulous lamplight as they approached. Any moment, Whitmore could peer out his window and spot them coming. Some ruffian in the street could shove into them, pistols out. In the span of a day, she’d gone from pulling drafts of beer to pulling knives en route to steal from her former boss.

  The scents of smoke, decayed leaves, and rust traveled with the breeze, the cool winds prickling her skin. As they closed in on Whitmore’s house, she led them on the far side of the street to give his place a wide berth. Candace circled around to where the alley spilled into the back of his place. The casual chatter that bounced around the crew died in the wake of the quiet shadows devouring the alley. A grim tension buzzed through the air in its place.

  Her boots stuck to the cobblestones in the alley from whatever oozed between the gaps. Candace sucked in another breath, pretending she didn’t smell the ripe, copper scent. Up ahead, steps from the back porches led up to several shades of decrepit row houses, but few sounds could be heard from inside them even though they lay feet away. Morgan strode ahead of her, towards the set of steps that no doubt belonged to her boss.

  If she had been in denial about his involvement in shady business, this would’ve confirmed it. Those splatters staining his deck couldn’t be anything other than bloodstains. Not like the coppers bothered investigating around this part of town. With his black coat and dark attire, Morgan Blackwind melted into the shadows, just another one shifting in this empty night. He slipped up the steps without a creak.

  Candace followed suit, her heart hammering in her chest and her pulse in her throat. What insanity gripped her? He’d given her the out, and yet, her gut tugged with some instinct to see this through.

  Morgan hadn’t been at the door for more than five seconds when the lock clicked under his quick work with a lockpick. He opened the door a crack before flashing a glance to her and the rest of the crew, then tilting his head to follow.

  Sweat pricked her palms as she gripped her knife tighter before plunging into the darkness behind him.

  As she crept down a hallway, dim lights from the main rooms ahead sent her alarm bells ringing—that is, if the soft murmurs of deep voices hadn’t already. Whitmore was home—she could guarantee that—and worse, he had company.

  Candace crept beside Morgan, lifting to her tiptoes to whisper by his ear. “What’s your plan here?”

  Morgan’s mouth tilted with his smile. “March in and start firing,” he
mouthed back. “Dead men won’t care what we nab.”

  This close, she could see the glint in his eyes, the edge of danger she’d seen clear as daylight in the bar. She’d allied herself with a band of crazies. Pure and simple. The other crewmembers brandished their pistols and knives, because they’d caught the memo without needing to ask. Apparently their appearance at the Copper Rose wasn’t the first time they’d rampaged in and dealt with the consequences later.

  As they inched closer and closer to the open room with amber light pouring in from table lamps and the stench of cigars floating through the air, Candace’s stomach did a feeble flip. If Morgan Blackwind was going to go charging in guns a’blazing, she would use him as a body shield. How leading them to the residence turned into helping them break in with her knife brandished, Candace hadn’t a clue. In the span of a day, she’d gotten swept up by this crew like the tide rolling back to the sea.

  Closer. Closer. The voices grew louder, her boss’s reedy, wheedling tone standing out amidst a mix of rougher, sharper ones.

  Morgan stopped at the end of the corridor, leaning in to view the scene before him. Candace’s curiosity got the better of her as she squeezed in, catching sight of Whitmore amongst four other men. They lounged on the beaten leather couches, their cigar smoke hanging in darkened clouds around the ceiling. One glimpse of them verified Morgan’s story. Between the fur pelts dangling from their holsters and the visible tattoos on their biceps of an M with a cog around it, her boss’s friends were undeniably Morlocks.

  One moment, Morgan Blackwind stood in front of her, peering into the open room ahead of them, making nary a sound. The next, his pistol flashed out as he charged in.

  Absolute silence descended as the denizens of the room digested the intruder. That was when Blackwind let loose his first shot, the sound ringing through the air. Chaos followed.

  Morlocks pulled out pistols, and Whitmore let out a loud shout, jumping from his seat. Rose jostled past Candace to launch into the fray, followed by Niles. Candace’s grip on her knives hadn’t faltered, but her legs did. Even Gully raced past her as the bark of bullets filled the air, and the scent of gunpowder tingled her nose.

  Move. Move. Move.

  Morgan struck like lightning, each shot exploding forward with quick and deadly precision. He’d become a furious thing, fearless in the wake of the bullets that zoomed past him to bite into the drywall. Chunks flew through the air, the room turning into a hotbox. Candace forced herself to take a pace forward, and then another. This quick, terrible violence was something she’d been witness, not participant to.

  However, she could do something better.

  Candace had delivered credits here before—she’d been in this house and walked with the merchandise to the room where Whitmore kept his goods. If he hid the owl for a swap and if it was still in his possession, she had a strong feeling it’d be there.

  Her gaze rested on the door at the far side of the room.

  No time like the present.

  With a goal in mind, Candace ducked, scurrying behind Morgan and the others as they faced off against Whitmore and the Morlocks. She kept out of sight and crouched to avoid the bullets that whizzed by. Her heartbeat hammered so loud it mingled with the bark of the pistols as she raced behind the crew of the Fireswamp. Candace hurtled for the door on the opposite side of the room.

  A copper stench filled the air, followed by a thump as one of the Morlocks sprouted blood in the center of his neck, wobbled, and crashed down. Rose let out a low curse when one of the bullets grazed her thigh, ripping through her trousers. Yet she didn’t falter as she lifted her pistol and fired off a shot in return.

  Candace reached out, gripping the doorframe before she vaulted past the room. Not pausing to look back, she raced down the corridor at a breakneck speed. She might’ve been here once or twice in the past, but she’d remembered every second of walking to the South side by her lonesome, of stepping into this den and not trusting this man. Even in the inky darkness, she caught the outline of a doorframe to the left.

  That was where she’d waited while he hid away his credits.

  Candace grabbed the handle and pushed the door open with a creak. The place smelled like dust and metal. She reached to her right and flipped on an aether lamp. The greenish light cascaded over the room, enough to give her visibility. She traveled past the plush chairs by the door over to a large mahogany desk. Shelving stretched out behind it, covered with statues and a few old dusty tomes.

  She peeked beneath the desk, but it lay empty. Candace sucked in a shaky breath. Think. If he were keeping a safe here, it’d be accessible and out of the way. She reached down to tug the right desk drawer open, and then the left. Both were filled with stacks of papers, a couple of old powered-down holos, and enough dust to choke on. Out in the living room, gunfire caused the walls to reverberate, and the screams and shouts weren’t signaling the scuffle would end anytime soon.

  Candace’s gaze rested on the shelving. The dusty tomes were lined up in order, the spines hanging over the edge of the shelf. Her brows knitted together, and she reached out to pluck one of the books. Behind it lay a bronze surface. She cleared the other books away to reveal a safe locked by one of those multi-chambered contraptions filled with cogs to be turned the precise way for entry.

  If she had a magnet, she could get it open. Candace whirled around towards the desk.

  “Step away from the safe.” Whitmore stood in the doorframe of the room, his pistol aimed in her direction.

  For the second time today, she had a gun pointed at her, and if that wasn’t a sign about life choices, she wasn’t sure what was.

  Her survival instinct kicked into high gear. She lifted her hands in the air and stepped away from the safe.

  “Really, Candace? You’d bring wanted criminals to my home?” Whitmore accused, his brows furrowed and his gray eyes flashing in anger. The aether lamp cast him in an alien glow, highlighting the tension in his stance, the stress lines around his eyes, and his pinched mouth.

  “You should’ve considered making the swap for my safety if you wanted loyalty.” She couldn’t help the raw scrape of her nerves. “Letting your workers take lumps for your mistakes doesn’t breed a healthy workplace environment.”

  Whitmore’s eyes clouded over with a desperation she’d learned the hard way, one which leeched any remaining strength from her bones.

  He would shoot. She was sure of it.

  “I’m your problem tonight, Whitmore.” A silken smooth voice came from behind him. Morgan Blackwind towered over him like a shadowy wraith.

  Before Whitmore could respond, Blackwind whipped his pistol against the man’s jaw with a resounding crack. Whitmore’s face snapped to the side, and his arms flew out to catch his balance as he careened. Blackwind plucked the pistol from Whitmore’s hands before driving his elbow straight into his solar plexus.

  “Where’s the bronze owl?” Blackwind growled.

  Whitmore staggered back, wheezing out a couple of breaths before he spat, “Gone.”

  Candace opened the top drawer of the desk to rummage around. Her fingers landed on something cold and metallic—a magnetic clip. Bingo. She whirled around to the safe, magnet in hand. Focusing on the mechanism, she pressed the magnet to the first compartment, waiting until she felt the subtle click of the ball inside. She lifted it using the magnet and began to trace the pattern through the cogs.

  “You’re lying,” Blackwind countered.

  A wet thump sounded behind her. Candace didn’t turn around, even though her instincts screamed ‘run.’ She focused on tracing the magnet across the surface of the lock, dragging the ball through the cogs. A couple more shouts came from down the hallway where the rest of the crew fought off the Morlocks.

  Candace sucked in a deep breath, trying to pull her focus, to reach the distant headspace she’d sunk into when performing surgery. One cog through, another, another, and the ball traveled to the final compartment. She reached the end and dropped the ball before pulling the clip away from the safe. A second later, the click of the lock echoed through the room.