The Flight of the Zeppelin Read online

  THE SAGA OF THE STEAMPUNK WITCHES

  BOOK 1:

  FLIGHT OF THE ZEPPELIN

  by

  Melanie Thompson

  TORRID BOOKS

  www.torridbooks.com

  Published by

  TORRID BOOKS

  www.torridbooks.com

  An Imprint of Whiskey Creek Press LLC

  Copyright © 2014 by Melanie Thompson

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-61160-762-8

  Credits

  Cover Artist: Gemini Judson

  Editor: Fran Mathieson

  Printed in the United States of America

  Other Books by Melanie Thompson Available at Torrid Books:

  www.torridbooks.com

  Erotic Flights of Fantasy I

  Erotic Flights of Fantasy II

  To my daughter, my writing partner, and my best friend, Melanie Fraser

  Chapter 1

  Bryn Sahir, witch extraordinaire, jewel thief and shape shifter, examined the Maison de Ville from an alcove between two buildings. Her hiding place was across the street from the hotel and provided excellent cover. The hotel’s second story balcony was empty. Residents had long since taken to their beds.

  “What room is she in?” Bryn’s sister, Fenix, also a witch, whispered from her position snugged close to Bryn’s back.

  “Hush. She’s taken up residence in the carriage house. They’ve turned it into a suite.”

  Fenix put her lips close to Bryn’s ear. “You will have to pass through the courtyard.”

  Bryn didn’t answer. She knew they had to scale the outer walls to the balcony, descend the stairs, cross the courtyard and then break into the carriage house. The Flaming Heart Emerald, the Couer de Flamme, was rumored to be kept in a silk bag which hung from a gold chain around Marie LeVeque’s café au laite neck. They had to possess it. Fenix was a mere two months from her thirtieth birthday when she would, once again, die. The stakes could not be higher.

  After glancing up Toulouse Street and down, Bryn stole across the cobbles with Fenix behind. She removed a short crossbow from a wide leather belt clasping her tiny waist and fired a bolt affixed with a grappling hook over the balcony railing above. When the hook was secure, she wrapped her leg, encased in black thigh-high boots, around the cord dangling from the railing and easily pulled herself up and onto the balcony. Fenix did not follow. Her job was to remain here and guard Bryn’s escape route. Bryn never allowed her to go into danger this close to the end of her cycle. Her life was too precious.

  Bryn was the cat burglar. Her soft-spoken sister could not deal with the stress and danger so she stayed behind. At least that was the excuse Bryn gave herself for wrapping Fenix in cotton wool. Centuries of raising her from an infant to adulthood over and over again had made Bryn protective, which was completely natural.

  Once on the balcony, Bryn stole down the circular, wrought-iron stairway to the ground floor. Inside the courtyard, she skirted the cast-iron fountain spraying water into the muggy New Orleans’ night, and turned toward the renovated carriage house. Across the courtyard were more guest apartments in what was called the garconniers, the bachelors’ quarters. Gas lamps illuminated the white-washed building with a soft yellow glow. Gardenias planted in clay pots filled the courtyard with their sweet scent. Bryn inhaled it as she stole across the brick pavers to the carriage house wall.

  Above, the wrought-iron rail of the second floor balcony beckoned. She stopped, closed her eyes and tried to read the thoughts of those sleeping inside. Her tentative touch sent her deep into a terrible dream. She saw the dead walk, commanded by a horrible voodoo queen dressed in red lace, her face covered with a red lace mantilla.

  It took all her mental strength to break the tether to the dream and return to awareness. Marie LeVeque must be in the bedroom above deep in sleep. She fired another of her bolts over the railing and clambered up the stout cord. Bless Samantha and her fabulous inventions. French doors on the balcony stood ajar to admit fresh air. Bryn slowly pushed one open and peered into the room.

  A huge bed made of twisted wrought iron stood in the middle of the room. White silk hung from the wrought iron canopy cloaking the bed. The silk fluttered in the breeze from the open door and the sleeper stirred, mumbling incoherently. Bryn held her hands out flat and murmured a sleeping spell. The woman on the bed stopped moving and breathed deeply.

  Bryn stole silently across the room to the bedside and pulled the white down quilt away from the sleeper. The woman on the bed was a beautiful quadroon wearing a lace nightgown buttoned to her throat. The silk bag Bryn searched for lay snuggly between full breasts. Bryn took a deep breath and reached for it. The Coeur de Flamme was within her grasp. She could feel the presence of the stone. When she touched the silk bag a small flame flickered inside, glowing red through the fabric.

  This unique emerald born in the fires of Mt. Kilimanjaro would cure her sister. It must. If the curse was not ended soon, Fenix would burst into flames and die, only to be reborn a baby with no memory of her previous life or her sister. It had happened in an endless cycle for so long Bryn could not remember how many times she had watched Fenix die. The power inside the emerald was rumored to be unlimited. Bryn was positive it would end the curse.

  When her fingers touched the silk bag, the voodoo queen on the bed stirred, slapped at her hand, but did not awaken. Bryn held her breath while Marie LeVeque once again settled into sleep. As she slipped her poniard out of its sheath to cut the gold chain, a large gloved hand wrapped around her mouth from behind and she froze. A warm body pressed against her back. Large thighs fitted themselves to her buttocks. “Don’t utter a word,” was hissed into her ear.

  She was lifted and carried back through the French doors. As soon as she was out of LeVeque’s room she kicked out and grabbed for the crotch of the man carrying her. He swore and dodged the kick but her hand connected with his privates and drew an agonized groan from him. She smiled and tried to repeat the punch but her hand was snatched and twisted brutally. “Stop fighting me, witch.”

  “Never!” She snarled as she tried to turn in his arms to face him. He hefted her kicking violently. She felt for his mind and gasped. It was Quinn. “You!”

  “Yes, me alive and in the flesh. Did you think you had killed me in London?”

  “I had hoped.” He flipped her easily, as though she were a child, gagged her as she fought like a tigress and tossed her over broad shoulders like a sack of potatoes.

  As he dropped lightly off the balcony, she turned her head and examined him. What was he doing here? The last time she’d seen him he was lying in the gutter on the side of a disgusting alley in Soho. She’d just stolen the Stuart Sapphire and he was hot on her trail. She’d led him to Soho where he’d been jumped by a group of bully boys. Part of her heart had wanted to give him aid, the other knew there was no time. Fenix was in too dire of a predicament. Her time was upon her and the sapphire was to be the key. Alas,
it had proved too weak. She needed the Coeur de Flamme.

  He carried her to a dark corner deep in the hotel gardens and set her down. Ridiculously handsome, his broad shoulders tapered into a narrow waist and long legs encased in form-fitting buckskins. Thick blond hair flowed from a widow’s peak on his wide white brow. His smiling eyes, under finely arched brows, were a steely gray with flecks of green. She’d caught herself staring into them on more than one occasion. On top of these glorious attributes, his mouth always seemed drawn into a sardonic smile and he possessed a dimple in each cheek.

  She made smothered noises and he laughed showing the dimples. “I bet you have plenty to say, witch, but it will have to wait.” He tossed her back over his shoulder, left the thick shrubbery and jogged across the courtyard. Once on the other side, he opened a wrought-iron garden gate and passed down a narrow alley to Toulouse Street where Fenix waited.

  “I tried to stop him,” Fenix said. “He took my wand.”

  He held it high so Bryn could see. “Oh, did you need this?”

  Fenix made a grab for it and he held it away. “Not so fast, little sister.”

  She sighed and gave up, which did not surprise Bryn. Fenix was not a fighter. She had other ways of getting people to do her bidding that did not involve violence. She would let him overpower her every time. Quinn set her on her feet, removed her gag, and grabbed her shoulders. “Where is it, Bryn? How could you steal the Stuart Sapphire? You must know I had to follow.”

  She jerked out of his grasp and lifted her hand to turn him to ice. “I was so close, you interfering jackass. I need that stone.”

  “No, my good girl. I know that look.” Quinn understood her and knew some of her powers. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her against his powerful chest. “None of your tricks, my girl. What have you done with the sapphire?”

  When his body was this close, Bryn could barely think. She had not allowed herself the pleasure of sex with a man for a long time. If she cared at all about her partner, he died a horrible death when she experienced culmination. She inhaled his masculine odor and the scent of horse and machine oil she associated with Quinn. It would be so easy to rid herself of him. She had only to acquiesce to his persistent demands for her body. She sagged against him, momentarily overcome with desire, then steeling herself, she pulled out of his embrace and turned away. “It’s in the safe at the store on Chartres Street. I had hoped it would help Fenix, but its power was too insignificant.”

  Fenix took her hand. “Come, dear sister, we must away from this place before the watch catches us.”

  “I would have that sapphire,” Quinn snarled. “Don’t think you can keep it. You should be locked up. You’re nothing but a common jewel thief. I’ll have you know I have the authority to take you back to England to stand trial.”

  Bryn laughed. “If you dare.”

  She turned her back on him and stole across the street and into an alley. The gig driven by Samantha Kennis waited for them on St. Louis Street. Quinn and Fenix followed her. “You can’t come with me, Quinn; the gig only holds the three of us.”

  He grinned displaying even white teeth inside the framework of his neatly-trimmed blond goatee. “Do not fall into despair, my dear, I rode.”

  She stopped at the gig where Samantha leaped down to help Fenix into the vehicle. Samantha absorbed Quinn’s presence and rolled her eyes. “Him again?”

  Bryn’s touch on Sam’s cheek was feather light. “Don’t worry, my love, he will be leaving immediately.”

  “No, I will not leave. I will have an explanation and that sapphire.”

  Bryn mounted into the gig and Samantha took up the reins. “Then I suppose you must follow us back to Chartres Street. Our lodgings are over the shop.”

  “Did you get the emerald?” Sam asked as she clucked to the stout mule between the shafts.

  “I had my hand on it when Quinn stopped me. I was so close.”

  Fenix patted her thigh. “Don’t worry, dear sister, you will get it and save me. I know you will.”

  Since Fenix had no memory of any of their time together but the most recent twenty-nine years, it was hard for her to feel the fear that assailed Bryn. Her sister was protected from it by ignorance. But Bryn well knew the horror of her suffering when she ignited into a flaming torch and would do whatever it took to save her from that pain. She was so close. The legends surrounding the Couer de Flamme told of a stone so powerful it could raise the dead which must be what LeVeque planned to use it to do. The dream Bryn had briefly entered spoke of that desire. She’d seen the dead walking to the command of the woman in red lace.

  Sam drove to Chartres Street, number 332, where Bryn and Fenix climbed down to open the store. Quinn rode up behind them, dismounted and stood holding his horse expectantly. Bryn waved her hand. “Take your horse around to the mews. Fingle will stable it for you.”

  “Will you let me in when I return?”

  He stepped close, his breath warming her neck. She shivered and nodded. “Of course. If I say I will do a thing, then I will do it. You shall have your sapphire.”

  “And what if I want more?”

  “Stable your horse,” was all Bryn would say. She opened the store and sent Fenix upstairs to bed. It was late and her sister tired easily at the end of her thirty-year cycle. It was as though all her energy was needed to keep living.

  When Bryn had tucked Fenix into bed with a hot brick to warm her feet, she returned to the small parlor in the back of the house where Samantha was busy making a heated rum punch. The smell of lemons and spices filled the cozy room. Quinn, reposing in a chair beside the small fire, looked up when she entered. The intensity of his desire made her dizzy for a moment. She paused to catch her breath and then took a seat on the other side of the fire where Sam waited to hand her a filled cup.

  “Is Fenix asleep?” Sam asked.

  “She’s very tired.”

  Quinn accepted a filled cup from Sam and sipped the steaming brew. “Why?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Why is your sister tired? She seems like a young healthy woman.”

  Bryn glanced at Sam who shrugged. “She’s suffering from a curse,” Bryn said over the top of her cup. “As am I. It is why I seek the emerald. To end the curse.”

  Quinn grinned. “You’re jesting,”

  Bryn shook her head and took her first sip of Sam’s potent brew. “I do not jest. In less than two months, Fenix will burst into flames and die. I’ve lost count of how many times she’s had to suffer this torment while I stood helplessly by and watched.”

  Quinn shook his head. “I find your story entertaining but a little hard to swallow.”

  “Maybe you should hear the whole of it.”

  Sam sat across from her on the settee and Bryn sighed. Telling anyone her history like this always made her feel vulnerable. It was better if no one knew. She preferred to bear her torment alone.

  “I’d appreciate hearing the whole tale since I think I’m a little more than slightly involved.”

  Bryn cleared her throat. “It started centuries ago around three hundred A.D. My mother was Celtic. Her name was Radha. Romans kidnapped her and carried her south where she was sold to an Egyptian priest named Chenzira, who was my father. Chenzira was brother to Pharaoh. He fell in love with Radha and we were born, twins, Fenix and I. I am the older by an hour.

  “But all was not well. Radha was very beautiful and Pharaoh became obsessed with having her. He tried to take her away from Chenzira with blandishments and cajoling. She refused. Her love was only for Chenzira. Pharaoh’s desire to possess her for his own soon grew beyond his ability to control and he devised a plan to steal her from Chenzira. His wife discovered his intention and tried to kill Radha. Chenzira gathered his wife and children and ran. Pharaoh was so angry. He followed them into the desert to an oasis where he caught them, burned them at the stake and had an evil witch curse the twins.

  The sky went dark as she cast her terrible spell. We were only six ye
ars old but I remember the terror of that moment. I remember seeing my mother and father burning, each one crying for the other, their love strong until death took them.

  As the witch chanted in front of me and Fenix, the wind howled and a djinn rose out of the water of the oasis. The evil creature took Pharaoh and ate him. But that did not end our curse. Fenix lives for only thirty years, dies and is reborn with no memory of anything that has passed before.”

  “And you?” Quinn asked. “You said you were cursed as well.”

  “My curse is very personal.” Bryn slammed her cup down on a marquetry table and beckoned to Sam. “It’s time we went to bed.”

  Quinn leaped to his feet and pulled Bryn into a powerful embrace. “I came home with you because I want you and I believe you desire me as well. Long have we danced this dance, you and I. When will you give yourself to me?”

  When he kissed her, Bryn’s heart leapt and desire raced through veins heated with strong drink and abstinence. She returned his kiss, allowing him to crush her against his chest while he ravaged her mouth with demanding lips. But reality intruded and she pushed him away. They stood staring at each other, panting.

  “All men who love me die,” she cried. “That is my curse.”

  “I refuse to believe,” Quinn said in a soft voice. “You are only saying it to push me away. I will risk your curse, for I think I do love you. Take me to your bed.”

  Chapter 2

  Draak Priest ducked his tonsured gray head to enter the confessional at St. Louis Cathedral. He swept the rough fabric of his brown robe out of the way and took a seat. On the other side of the wooden screen, a young man began his confession. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”

  Priest gave the answers required of this ridiculous ritual and tuned out the young man’s litany of minor sins, murmuring encouragement with only a corner of his awareness. His thoughts were totally concerned with her, Bryn Sahir and her accursed sister, Fenix. She was here in New Orleans and Priest was positive she didn’t have the emerald as yet. He would know.