Lycans and Legends

Chapter 1: Isadora

Sitting in the sunny parlor of the Briarwood home, I watched the flurry of activity around me with equal amounts of excitement and heart-stopping paralysis. Jessica attempted to soothe the squalling baby lying in the cradle. Quinn, who was as pale as milk, spun in circles.

“A bowl of fresh water and a towel,” Jessica told Quinn patiently—for the third time.

“But she’s bleeding,” Quinn said, a tone of panic in his voice the likes of which I’d only ever heard when Fenton’s entire pack was chasing us down an alley.

“No need to worry, dear Quinlan. It’s just a little scratch. She needs her fingernails trimmed, that’s all,” Renee, Jessica’s cousin who’d come to help with the baby, told him.

Quinn quickly poured some water, shooting me a frantic glance as he did so. “Clem, do something.”

“Like what, Quinlan?”

In the bassinet, Baby Briarwood lay crying, a bleeding red scratch across her cheek. Poor, tiny thing. I knew well enough that a scratch on the face hurt like a bugger.

I rose, snatched a pile of clean towels, then followed Quinn.

Chuckling, Jessica took the bowl of water from Quinn and set it aside. She then turned to me, taking the towels. “You two. Seriously? After everything you have seen? It’s just a little scratch. Clem, take Quinn outside for some air.”

I didn’t protest. Quinn’s panic was making me feel panicked.

“But Isadora,” Quinn protested, staring down at the baby who kicked her legs with such fervor that it looked like she wanted to run away from all the commotion but couldn’t get traction. She squirmed with annoyance and frustration. Big tears rolled down her cheeks.

Renee dipped one of the towels in some water then gently wiped the blood away from the baby’s cheek.

“She’ll be all right,” Jessica reassured him. “We’ll clean the scratch, get her nails trimmed, and everything will be fine.”

I bent over the cradle. Little Isadora Briarwood really was beautiful. With a mop of dark hair that curled around her ears and bright blue eyes, she was a ball of perfection.

A ball of screaming, red-faced perfection.

Jessica set her hand on my shoulder.

When I met her glance, she tilted her head toward the front door.

“Goodbye, Isadora. I’ll be back again soon,” I told her.

She cried in reply, her bottom lip trembling.

“Right, then. Come on, Quinn. I want to show you something,” I said, motioning for the nervous father to follow me.

Jessica patted my arm, then Quinn and I headed toward the front of the house. I couldn’t help but notice that both of us had a little extra spring in our steps. Snatching my red cape, I pulled it on then headed out, Quinn following behind me.

London’s fiercest werewolf hunters running from a five-month-old baby. What a fine sight.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” Quinn said as he approached the steamauto sitting on the Twickenham street just outside his house. The gorgeous machine, all chrome, metal, and silver paint shimmered in the morning sunlight. “Doesn’t it bother your stomach?”

“A bit. Harper drives it more than I do.”

“Hmm,” Quinn mused as he ran his finger along the fender of the machine. “A gift from the Cabells, you said?”

I nodded.

“Where is Harper?”

“Working. Her Majesty is attending the opening of the Boatswain museum this afternoon. Edwin has Harper busy with advance detail.”

“Her Majesty should stay in Buckingham. What in the hell is she thinking of making a public appearance?”

“I guess she’s trying to show she’s not afraid.”

Over the last two months, there had been two attempts on Her Majesty’s life. At first, the matter was handled by the Queen’s non-preternatural wing of intelligence operatives. But as details unfolded, the Red Capes were drawn in. Someone—or something—was gunning for Her Majesty. It wouldn’t be the first time a preternatural tried to take out a monarch.

“Do they have any leads yet?”

“Edwin’s been handling the case. I haven’t been let in on the details.”

Because I broke it off with him. Now that we weren’t together, Edwin didn’t tell me anything I didn’t need to know. In fact, Edwin hardly told me anything at all. I never saw him.

“Well, I suppose that makes sense. If it’s not a werewolf issue…” Quinn said with a shrug. He lifted the bonnet on the auto to have a look.

“I’ve been occupied anyway,” I said, sounding far more dismissive than I felt. I really didn’t like the idea that someone was after Victoria, and I didn’t know who or why. I hadn’t been assigned to the case, but I’d already had my feelers out. Surely someone in the Dark District would know what was going on.

“Occupied with what?” Quinn asked.

“What’s left of the Conklin pack is misbehaving. They have a new beta, Acwellen. At best, he despises Lionheart. At worst, I think he’d like to murder the alpha. But…I don’t know. Something is off. Word in the Dark District is that someone in Conklin murdered a witch. And all of the pack members have gone to ground. They’re up to something. I don’t know what.”

“You think they’re involved with the attacks on the Queen?” Quinn asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“And what do Little Red’s instincts tell her?” Quinn asked with a grin.

“That they know something.”

Quinn nodded. “Agreed. Have you told Edwin?”

“No. Not until I know for sure. Besides, Edwin is busy.”

“Is that so?” Quinn asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

I wasn’t making excuses. Edwin was busy. In fact, he was so busy that I almost never saw him, a fact about which I was extremely grateful. “Yes.”

Naturally, things had been awkward since I’d broken off with Edwin. I’d gone back to strictly working the night shift, only stopping by headquarters when absolutely necessary—which was usually in the middle of the night when Edwin was most definitely not going to be there. Any new cases we’d been asked to track down had been given to Harper, who didn’t have to hide from our boss.

“Funny how both you and Edwin are so preoccupied. Why is Edwin so busy?” Quinn asked.

“Well, aside from the fact that—potentially—a preternatural is trying to murder the Queen, there was an incident in India. A number of field agents were killed. Artifacts and Archives were involved.”

“Artifacts and Archives… Is Greystock all right?” Quinn asked as he closed the bonnet. Rounding the side of the auto, he slipped into the driver’s seat.

I got in on the passenger side.

“Bloody chilly for spring,” I grumbled as I slammed the door shut. “Greystock is fine. She was in Ireland when the incident happened. Whatever happened has that whole division scurrying. No one is sharing details.”

Quinn nodded thoughtfully as he gripped the wheel of the auto. “So you have werewolves up to their usual nonsense, a preternatural trying to take out Her Majesty, a mess involving Artifacts and Archives in a field outpost in India, and no one is talking. Sounds like a storm is brewing.”

“That it does.”

“So explain to me again why Her Majesty is attending a museum opening?”

“I’m guessing the name Boatswain is the reason. Rude Mechanicals business. By the by, I should get going. Harper asked me to work the opening, just in case.”

Quinn huffed. “I don’t like it. You need to be careful, partner.”

“I will.”

Quinn stroked his beard. “Well, at least I know Lionheart is keeping tabs on you. And how is Sir Richard?”

Breaking the news to Quinn that I’d thrown over Edwin for Lionheart had not been easy. I knew Quinn didn’t entirely agree with my choice. I hoped he’d come around, in time. “Quinn, I…”

Quinn patted me on the shoulder. “I only want you to be happy, Clem. I really do. But poor Grand-mère.”

“She took it worse than Edwin, I think. I suspect it was more the idea of losing Willowbrook Park than Edwin that actually bothered her.”

He laughed. “Just be careful, partner. Lionheart has stayed alive this long for a reason.”

“I trust Richard.”

Quinn nodded slowly. “I should go back inside.”

“I’ll be back to see my Izzy again.”

“Izzy?”

“Izzy. Short for Isadora, right? She looks like an Izzy.”

“If you say so, Auntie Clem.”

I chuckled.

Quinn opened the door and got out.

I slid into the driver’s seat.

Quinn hung on my door a moment longer. “Watch your back. This jumble of a mess stinks. God knows what they are up to now,” he said then closed the auto door.

I waved to him.

Quinn walked to the door of his house, giving me one last wave before heading inside. Pulling a lever, I activated the engine of the auto then pulled out onto the Twickenham street. As I drove off, I mulled over the details of the case once more. Quinn was right. Something was wrong here. I only hoped I figured out what it was before it was too late.