Gilded Hearts

Book 1: The Shadow Guild Series

by Christine d'Abo

Genres: Fantasy Romance; Victorian Romance; Science Fiction Romance; Steampunk; Historical Fantasy

Synopsis

"Blew me away! Set within a dark, richly layered steampunk world, D'Abo pens a sweetly romantic yet steamy love story with a fresh, inventive spin on the Jack the Ripper tale that kept me guessing until the end. Loved it!" --Bestselling author, Kristen Callihan on GILDED HEARTS FIRST LOVE IS NEVER FORGOTTEN Piper Smith is an Archivist, one who extracts memories from the dead-and her first job is more difficult than she ever imagined. Not only is her subject the victim of murder, but the first man to arrive on the scene is the last man she ever expected to see again: handsome, tormented, and devilishly sexy Samuel Hawkins. Years ago, he fled the Archivists' Guild unceremoniously, leaving behind both unanswered questions . . . and Piper's aching heart. Sergeant Samuel Hawkins of the King's Sentry can hardly believe the strong, beautiful woman before him is the same shy girl he once knew. His instincts scream to hold her, to kiss her, and to make amends for disappearing from the Archives-and her life. Yet when Piper's extraction of the victim's memories reveals something unsettling, the line between ally and enemy suddenly begins to blur. And the question becomes whether their fragile love will blossom or fade like a distant memory. 100,000 words.

Release date: January 7, 2014

Publisher: Forever Yours

Print pages: 317

Sample

New London, September 1888

The cold bite of the late fall air against Samuel Hawkins’ cheek had long caused it to go numb. Frost covered the ground and crawled up the sides of the surrounding buildings, making New London’s Whitechapel district sparkle from the muted glow of the sulfur lamps lining the cobbled road. Samuel’s shadow stretched across the stones, reaching out like a dark sentry alone in the night. His men had wandered a short distance away to take shelter beside the vacant remains of a clockwerker’s factory, laughing quietly as they made plans to venture out to one of the local gambling hells afterward. He was the only holdout, standing guard over the corpse.

It had been hours since death had claimed the victim. The torn flesh and exposed organs, having crystallized, were now luminous upon inspection in the light. The body had bloated and twisted the gashed skin, making it impossible for Samuel to discern the identity of the victim. He’d given up trying to determine any distinguishing features almost immediately and instead took what comfort he could with his greatcoat fastened securely around him against the wind.

The damned archivists better hurry up before he joined this latest victim in death.

“Sergeant,” Constable Rory Timmons called out. “Care to join us?”

“Someone needs to follow protocol, seeing as you lazy bastards won’t.” The men laughed even as Samuel stamped his feet, willing some of the feeling to return. Truth was, he never liked being in a crowd, even one as small as this group. “As I’m doing your jobs for you, having something to fight off the chill wouldn’t go amiss right now.”

With his back turned to them, he focused on the lamp-lit road ahead. It was a breach of protocol to have alcohol on duty, but he wasn’t about to pass up the warming benefits of a drink.

A muted sloshing and clunk sounded behind him as a metal tin landed hard against the ground, quickly followed by the renewed chatter of the men. The flask was a pleasant weight in his hands as he fumbled with cold fingers to get it open. Shit, that was damned good. His body had reacted unfavorably the first few times he’d imbibed. Thankfully, he’d had five years of lonely nights to adjust to the alcohol’s effects.

Tucking the flask in his pocket, Samuel turned toward the road, where a distant mechanical thumping was getting louder. His wrist strap buzzed, confirming the identification of the approaching carriage. “About bloody time.”

The men rejoined him by the time the simple black carriage turned the street corner to begin its final leg of the journey. The glow of the horse’s red eyes cast two pools of light as it pulled alongside the walking path, increasing the demonic appearance of the automaton. No one spoke until the carriage came to rest opposite them. A burst of steam shot from the leg joints of the mechanical horse as it settled into a resting stance. Its massive black metal head turned, and for a moment it appeared to be staring directly at Samuel. Someone behind him gasped as several more shuffled their feet.

“Go to sleep now,” he whispered. The horse held his gaze a moment longer before another burst of steam blasted through its nose and it lowered its head.

His gift, the ability to manipulate machines with his will alone, was one few knew of. The Clockwerker Guild would have swallowed him whole had they known he could nudge and bend the metal to his desires. Still, being able to speak to the various automatons had been a comfort to him growing up, filling the void when he’d been alone.

“God, I hate this,” one of the men muttered. “Fucking zombies and their creepy faces.”

There was a time when the slur would have cut deep and Samuel would have grabbed the man by the throat in retribution. Thankfully, that time had long passed. The archivists weren’t his family anymore, not his concern. He’d begun to replace them over the years, swapping the shadows for the light.

“Shut it, man. They have their job to do, same as us.” Timmons’ sharp bark was enough to silence further comment. He was a bear of a man who stood a full head taller than Samuel and generally terrified the newer recruits to the King’s Sentry with his size, demeanor, and iron hand. “Sorry, sergeant.”

A rush of frustrated embarrassment rolled off Timmons and through Samuel. Timmons had become quite protective of him over the years since Samuel had joined the King’s Sentry. He’d been surprised by the steadfast relationship, but had few enough friends to question Timmons’ motives and welcomed the brotherhood. “It’s fine.”

He had to consciously stop himself from holding his breath when the carriage door hissed open. This wasn’t anything new; it shouldn’t still bother him. But every time he came face to face with the archivists, he once again became a scared nineteen-year-old wandering the streets of New London, driven forward by the need to rise from the ashes of his old life, instead of the twenty-four-year-old man who’d fought the odds to earn a post with the King’s Sentry.

And every time that carriage door opened, he was still looking for her.

Clenching his jaw, Samuel took his hands out of his pockets and straightened.

An old man emerged first, white head bobbing as he stepped down onto the stones. He was clad in typical archivist attire—black pants, waistcoat, and overcoat that highlighted a stark white dress shirt. The man was without a top hat, despite the chill in the air. His gaze roamed over the scene, pausing on Samuel.

Master Ryerson.

Blast it boy, again. Again! Until you get it correct you won’t leave this room.

Of course it would be him.

Ryerson’s gaze was as cold as the night air and cut as deep as the bitter wind. The old man’s lips turned up in a sneer even as his gaze roamed over Samuel, no doubt cataloguing his appearance for future reference. Another set of data gathered and stored in that cold, clockwerk mind. Hate coursed through Samuel, though for once he didn’t know if the emotion came from Ryerson or himself.

Empathic, that had been the term Ryerson spat at him when Samuel was barely old enough to understand the meaning. A curse Samuel was constantly punished for possessing, despite not being able to prevent it from happening. It took him years of practice, of shutting everyone out, before he’d been able to function in the Archives as a member. Not that Ryerson ever gave him credit for his accomplishments, instead radiating disgust as he beat Samuel for his faults.

Since joining the King’s Sentry four years ago, Samuel had managed to avoid seeing the Guild Master. The halls of the Tower were a safe haven for him, one where he could burrow deep, far away from the prying eyes of the Archives and the Masters who ran it. Of course now that he had risen to the rank of sergeant and was the lead investigator on many cases, a meeting had become inevitable.

You’ll never make apprentice if you don’t listen. Now stop crying, boy. Do it again. Properly this time.

Ryerson deserved no reaction from him. Samuel wasn’t a child to be bullied any longer.

He should have suspected that fate was working against him when Ryerson’s sneer turned into a smirk. With his gaze still fixed on Samuel, he stepped to the side and held out his hand. Samuel’s heart rate increased as Piper Smith slipped her fingers into Ryerson’s waiting grasp and gracefully stepped from the carriage. Looking up, Piper observed the scene, her gaze landing immediately on the corpse.

She’d grown even more beautiful than the last time he’d seen her. And this time she wasn’t crying.

Those tears were one of the few things he could clearly remember from that night five years ago. Her thick brown hair unbound and blowing around her, and tears that streaked her cheeks. Blinding panic had muted him of his words, robbed him of his reason and eventually sealed his memories away behind a silent chant of run, run, run.

“Pip.” He shouldn’t have spoken, it went against protocol, but he needed her to see him.

Sam, don’t leave me.

Her body stiffened and her lips parted as her gaze snapped up to his. Her surprise was easy for him to feel, the warmth of her shock and pleasure stretched out to fire every fiber within him. He’d missed that, the brush of her emotions against his mind. She’d been one of the few who’d always been able to soothe him, her kindness a balm against his battered soul.

His Piper.

But the forgotten warmth brought with it a pressure against the numb spot of his memories. The dark place he’d long given up trying to penetrate. The monster in the shadows, locked away in the box within his mind. Run, run, run!

No. That was the past. She was his past. Samuel hadn’t left everything he’d ever known, created a new life, begun to explore the potential to start a family, only to step back so willingly into the darkness.

Piper’s mouth had fallen open as she took a step forward, despite the way Ryerson held her back. A flash crossed her face, echoed by her emotions. Excitement bubbled inside her; the urge to leap appeared as a bright warmth in her mind.

Ryerson stepped past Piper and strode forward with a long, even gait. “Who is the sergeant in charge?”

“That would be me.” Samuel gave the customary bow stiffly, knowing his men would be watching the exchange with interest. “Sergeant Hawkins.” Adding his name was only a formality.

Ryerson stopped on the far side of the body across from Samuel. His eyes were pale, the irises nearly white with only an edge of blue rimming the outside. His skin stretched tight across his face, marred by only the occasional wrinkle.

“But, sir, see it’s better. The machine spoke to me and I listened.”

“You little fool. They aren’t alive.”

Samuel held up the tiny motor, allowing the cables to drape across his arms. “This one is. Look, I made its heart beat. And I can hear it talking to me when I plug it in. It’s lonely.”

The motor shattered as it landed on the floor, his cheek stinging from the slap he’d sustained.

Ryerson cleared his throat. Samuel had been staring too long. Shit. “The victim is female, but given the state of her body we cannot determine an age. Based on her attire I’d guess she is a prostitute. My men will ask our normal contacts to confirm this. We have collected what evidence we could and have taken a few photographs, though given the lack of light, I’m not sure we will get much detail from them. Obvious signs of a struggle. Her body was cut open and her face slashed. There is a distinct lack of blood on the scene, indicating that the body may have been moved.”

Ryerson nodded. “We will make a note in the Archives once we have processed the information.”

Piper stepped up beside the old man, but she wouldn’t meet Samuel’s gaze. He was hyperaware of every ripple of her emotions—hurt, excitement, relief. The scent clinging to her skin. How the warmth from her body seemed to beckon him closer. She’d managed to clamp down her impulsive urges to speak to him, to chat, and instead had slipped into a calmer space. Of course they would have drilled the one thing about her he’d always loved before they would have allowed her to become an archivist.

Dammit, this wasn’t how things were supposed to have gone for them.

She’d brought light to his life with her arrival at the Archives all those years earlier. He’d been relegated to the shadows, pushed aside and ground down until he was nothing. Piper saw him, forced friendship on him with her bubble and charm, and refused to let him fade further. She arrived as a child of five, but she’d somehow known how to save him.

Tonight her hair was pulled back into a simple bun. Errant strands curled across her cheeks, kissing the skin. Like Ryerson’s, her attire was standard issue for their guild, plain and serviceable with no ornament—full skirts, blouse, jacket, simple black boots. The lamp cast a glow across the fabric of her bodice, making it impossible to tell if it was green or blue.

“Sam. Please, don’t go.”

“Pip… I…”

Piper carried a large black box around her neck—the extractor. The shadows box. A thick leather strap was bolted to each side of the thing to support its bulk. Her muscles and skin pulled with the weight of the machine, and she fought to stay upright. Samuel had never held the contraption, but he knew it weighed more than thirty pounds. The Hudson’s Bay Company had designed the extractor to be rugged, capable of withstanding any climate or landscape from the damp of New London springs to bitter Canadian winters. It was far too heavy a burden for such a slip of a woman to carry.

Piper let out a soft huff. “I’m ready, sir.”

Christ, he’d missed that beautiful Welsh lilt. “You’re running the machine tonight, Miss Smith?”

Piper’s gaze finally returned to his. The dark brown of her eyes hadn’t yet faded. In fact, they hardly looked touched. Samuel swallowed his sorrow that one day her eyes would become a shallow reflection of their current state. White, lifeless in their gaze.

“I am.” A wave of regret flowed from her, a palpable press of emotion against Sam’s oversensitive mind. They both knew he didn’t want to watch what was about to happen. “Sergeant, am I clear to begin?” Piper’s face went blank and the flow of her emotions stemmed. She was the only one who could do that for him. The only one who’d ever cared enough to try.

Don’t do this to yourself, Pip. You deserve more. But he’d run and she’d stayed, and this was where they were now. “Yes, Miss Smith. Gentlemen, step back and give the lady room to work.”

Samuel waved his men away, and all but Timmons scurried back to the shelter of the clockwerk factory. The weight of their emotions lifted enough to help Samuel focus.

Coiled hate… it was the only description he had for the emotions emanating from Ryerson. The tendrils licked out at Samuel, courting his repressed anger, luring it out to the surface. He’d learned to deal with this years ago, keeping the impact of others’ emotions at bay. And yet here he stood, hands shaking and jaw clenched as Ryerson’s white gaze flicked up and away repeatedly. Goddammit, no.

Piper eased down to her knees beside the frozen body. She freed herself from the weighted box, setting it on the ground to her left. With a brief look at Ryerson, she set to work straightening the body.

“Set the extractor beside the body close to you and get her in position,” the Guild Master snapped. Piper hesitated, her fingers wrapping around the straps. “Quickly, Miss Smith.”

“Let me help.” Falling to his knees beside her, Samuel stretched out the dead woman’s limbs and pushed aside the tattered remains of her shirt. “You need the chest exposed, yes?”

Piper nodded, a quick grin curling her lips for a moment before disappearing. Her hands shook as she fiddled with the straps of the machine, shifting the box close to the body. “And flat on her back, if possible.”

Samuel bullied the corpse into the requested pose. He leaned against the body’s shoulders, shivering as the cold seeped into his hands. The body protested the change in position, but eventually stayed where he wanted it to.

“Make sure she’s flat. Push the organs back in if you need to, sergeant.” Ryerson couldn’t even bother to keep the disdain from his tone.

Samuel should have moved away then and rejoined his men. Instead, he rubbed his hands along the tops of his thighs and waited. Timmons frowned, but Samuel waved him off. There was no sense in both of them being face to face with the horrors to come. Not that Timmons listened. Stubborn bastard stayed put.

Piper cocked an eyebrow at him before turning her attention to the machine. The lid was locked, the key on a chain around her neck. He knew the metal would be warm when she pulled it from between her breasts. Unable to tear his gaze away, he watched as she did just that and leaned forward to release the lock. The hinges were silent as she carefully pushed the lid back, exposing the guts of the box.

This could have been his life.

Nothing but wires and bodies, stretching on forever and ever. Not that he’d remember any of the encounters. They’d take even the most basic of experiences from him, the sole purpose of being an archivist. Madness or memories—not much of a choice.

Piper pressed one of the leads into a small suction cup, then dipped the cup into a foul-smelling liquid kept in a pot she’d also brought with her. With the cups, she mapped out a path across the victim’s chest, securing each one to the dead flesh. The stomach and chest had been slashed, but enough skin and bone remained where it was needed to make the necessary connections. Samuel watched in morbid fascination as she repeated this action—one to each temple, across the jugular, over the left eye and several spots around the neck and torso where the killer hadn’t sliced. The free ends of the wires were then wrapped around contacts on the box. The moment Piper completed each circuit, a small light engaged on the control board. Soon, red, blue, and amber lights cast sparkling patterns up into the night.

Piper double checked her placements, muttering. “Base, solar plexus, heart, crown…”

“Check the ninth.” Ryerson stepped closer, nodding as she made the adjustment. “That’s good, child.”

Samuel watched as the old man pulled a large glass cathode from his inside coat pocket. It looked like a thin glass vial, but Samuel knew it was more than that. It had to be, considering what they were about to cram into it.

“You know what to do next,” the old man said with pride.

Piper full-out grinned and the sight took Samuel’s breath away even at such an inappropriate moment. She was no longer an impulsive child or even the crying girl he’d left behind. No, she’d matured into a woman of twenty-one years of age, one who possessed the knowledge and confidence to face the darkness of her trade.

She took the cathode with sure fingers. The glass slipped easily into the slot made specifically for the container. Several of the men shuffled behind him, but he was too engaged watching Piper to care if they were trying to get closer or run away.

Piper put on a pair of goggles and pressed the final wire into a small notch in the frame. The lenses were blackened so it would be impossible to see the images that would be shown to her through them. Not that Samuel had any desire to witness such horrors.

“Sergeant, you might wish to move back a bit,” she said in a hushed voice. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“Please. You’re here, I’m here,” he muttered. This was old ground for them. An argument that had a much different outcome the last time they had it. “Continue, Miss Smith.”

Samuel wasn’t sure if she sighed, or if it was a trick of the wind, but Piper leaned forward and pressed a small button along the top of the circuit board. He counted three heartbeats before the quiet of their surroundings erupted into chaos.

Piper gasped, back arching like a current was going through her. It took every bit of his self-control to stop from reaching out and holding her tight. Instead he watched as the corpse also jumped, mimicking her with a ghoulish gasp.

Then it began to speak.

“HolyGodwhat’shappeningtomepleasedon’tithurts.” The corpse’s voice lacked emotion or syntax. Simply one long mess of words, pulled from memory by the archivists’ bloody machine.

“Workstoomanyhours. Beautifulskinshitwanttofuckyou. PleaseMumcanIgoandplaynow.”

Somewhere along the way, Piper began to say the words half a beat behind the reanimated corpse. Samuel ignored it, watching the lower half of Piper’s face twist with emotions that weren’t hers. What feeling the corpse lacked, she more than made up for.

“IhatethatbastardsomuchIwanttokillhim.”

“I hate that bastard… soooo much I want to kill him.”

Ryerson stood over her shoulder, watching but doing nothing to stop her from twisting and turning, and scratching at her hair. The cathode in the box glowed red. As it filled with the too-bright liquid, the corpse began to lose its voice. Piper continued the litany, speaking words of the dead.

“I don’t like the dark. Why the hell am I here? Mum’s solstice pudding makes me sick, but that’s because she puts too much rum in it. If he’s not careful, they’re going to find out and then everything will go to shit.”

Time ticked on for God only knew how long, as she spewed forth string after string of information in no semblance of order. Finally, she let loose a long shuddering sigh. Her body slumped forward, as if someone had pulled a lever and shut off the steam. He barely had time to react, catching her before she landed across the bloody body.

“Are you all right?” He chanced a quick press of his lips to the shell of her ear, memorizing the smell and taste of her before setting her right.

Piper’s hands shook as she pulled the goggles from her face. “Not exactly what I was expecting.” Tears now streaked her cheeks as she stared at him wide-eyed. They were still brown in color.

Thank God.

And yet…

“Sam, you’re crying.” She reached out to touch him, but stopped herself short as someone cleared his throat.

Sam brushed away the wet trail and pulled back to glance at his damp fingertips. Strange, he hadn’t even realized.

“Did you gather all of the data, Miss Smith?”

Samuel jumped, having forgotten that Ryerson stood over them. “Give her a minute to catch her breath.”

“She knows her duty, even if you do not.” The words were bitten off, sharp and painful.

“I am well aware of my duty. I serve as a bastion of the law.” Samuel spat the words, no longer caring if everyone saw his disdain. “My life to protect and serve the citizens of New London.”

“I have no doubt you’ll betray them too. Run away when they need you most.”

The comment stung. “You never needed me.”

Piper cleared her throat. “Master Ryerson, Sergeant Hawkins, I have captured all of the data—”

“Memories, Piper. They’re her memories.” The cold couldn’t chill him as much as her words. With so little effort the archivists had begun to strip away her humanity.

“I’ve collected her memories,” she rephrased, but still not sounding like the girl he remembered. “We will review them.” She smiled at him, far from the professional detached manner that all the archivists used. “I’ll let you know if we learn anything that will help catch her killer, sergeant.”

“So it was premeditated murder?” Given the state of the body, he’d been nearly certain.

“I’m not…” She shook her head and snapped her mouth shut. He didn’t need to be able to sense emotions to know Piper was frustrated. She’d always struggled between doing what she wanted and what she knew others expected. “I’ll require the use of the equipment in the Archives to give you a full report, but I believe so.”

“God rest her soul.”

“There is no such thing. We collect only the shadow of who they were.” The old man’s voice was too loud in the silent evening. “I hadn’t realized you believed in that superstition, sergeant. Are you finished yet, Miss Smith?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come along then. We must return.” Ryerson turned on his heels and strode back to the carriage.

Not wanting it to end like this, Samuel helped Piper lift the machine, giving her room to pull the heavy strap around her neck. “Thank you,” she muttered.

“You’re welcome.” She started to turn away from him, but he caught her by the arm, stopping her. “It’s been far too long.”

Piper looked up, so close he could see the light dusting of freckles across her nose. “Then you shouldn’t have left.”

Sam, please don’t leave me.

“I had no choice. You know that.”

“I know, but—” She cast a quick glance at Ryerson before leaning in and whispering. “I… there’s…”

“What?” He squeezed her arm.

“I shouldn’t say.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “There is a procedure to follow.”

“Since when did you start worrying about proper procedure?”

“Since I turned sixteen and had no choice but to play the part of an adult.”

He was dancing too close with the past, but if there was something he needed to know about the victim, the sooner he uncovered the truth the better. Bending down, so his face was close to hers, Samuel rubbed his nose against her cheek. “Pip, this is me. Please.”

“Damn you.” He felt her shiver before she stepped back, once more meeting his gaze. “I think this murder is connected to the Archives.”

Crying in the dark.

“Sammy, where are you? I’m scared.”

“What? How—”

“She called the killer a zombie.”

“Come now, Miss Smith!”

Piper turned and waved to Ryerson, before giving Samuel one final small smile. “I miss you still, Sam. Even if I think you were wrong to leave.” She strode away without another look back.

He was forced to watch her disappear inside the carriage until the door closed. The mechanical horse roared back to life with a hissing cloud of steam, the sound drowning out the cries of a nearby child.

A killer from the Archives. Dear God.

“Are we ready to take her now, sergeant?” Timmons’ voice was its normal steady self, reminding Samuel that they still had a duty to perform here.

“Yes, let’s finish this up quickly and get inside where it’s warm.”

“You heard the sergeant, boys. Move your arses! I want to be in bed before morning.”

Samuel didn’t need to supervise his men, so he stepped closer to the road to give them room. The lamplight still burned bright and strong, aiding the men in their work. There were no shadows in the spot where Piper had stood. No way for the light to have fooled him into seeing something that wasn’t there.

No way had he imagined the thin rings of white around the center of Piper’s irises.

The moist heat of the surgery caused the prostitute’s body to decompose faster than Samuel cared for. Morning sunlight had lightened the sky by the time they’d been able to move the body back to the Tower, placing it unceremoniously onto the wood and iron table. The coroner had been pleasantly tucked in his bed and informed them in no uncertain terms that the dead were content to wait until dawn, even if Samuel’s investigation couldn’t. So, he’d been forced to drink weak tea and stare out into the bleak gray morning sky until Doctor Harris arrived.

Samuel had done his best to focus on the case, but memories of Piper and the extraction managed to force their way to the front. She’d looked small but strong as she’d carried the infernal archivist’s machine with her. Piper and her lilting voice, whispering to him to help her.

The corridor was damp, the steady clicking of steam rushing through the pipes echoed around him. It was easy to decipher the sound of Piper’s approaching soft footfall, preceded by the feel of her excitement. Samuel’s skin tingled as she got closer—an odd reaction to the girl.

The last thing Samuel wanted was to be seen as some sort of big brother to the little whelp. The first few weeks after she’d plopped down beside him that first time, he’d thought she was trying to build a replacement family like so many of the new recruits did. But Samuel soon realized that Piper had little family to speak of outside these walls. This wasn’t about replacing what she’d lost, but building something new.

“Here again?” Piper huffed before flopping to the ground beside him. “I’m not going to bother looking anywhere else from now on. You’re so borin’”

“I’m surprised you bothered at all.” He still couldn’t understand why she’d chosen to cling to him since her arrival. Samuel wasn’t a part of the inner circle of acolytes, nor would being with him curry her any favor with the Guild Masters.

“You’re the only one who isn’t a bloody wanker.” Her grin revealed a new gap in her teeth. Shit, she really was only a kid.

“Don’t let Master Ryerson hear you say that.” Samuel’s head still stung from where the Guild Master had hit him earlier. “It’s not behavior becoming of an archivist.. . .