O.M. Grey's Blog, page 7

Shhhhhh! It’s a Steampunk Spotlight Secret!

For the next week, just super duper special friends and followers are able to get the audio book version of my Avalon Revisited  for just $5.99 BEFORE it’s released to the public.

You have to use **this super secret link** in order to take advantage of the special offer (and listen to the first chapter for FREE!)

For those of you who have been following my work and my blog for awhile, you know that Avalon Revisited is my Amazon-bestselling Gothic Romance novel. If you haven’t had a chance to read it in the past three years, now you can have someone read it to you on your way to work or while you relax in the tub.

Michael Ray Davis did a magnificent job performing the book. I couldn’t be more pleased!

The official release date for this audio version is 7/23. It will be priced at industry standards on Audible (around $20) and for $9.99 on Audio Realms’ The Audiobook Shop. LIKE their brand new Facebook page for more special offers and announcements. Tell them I sent you. xo

But YOU, dear readers, can get it for just $5.99 if you act quickly! You have a week!

-_Q

Filed under: Events & Contests, News & Reviews, Steampunk Spotlight Tagged: audio realms, audiobook, author, avalon, avalon revisited, bdsm, book, love, michael ray davis, o.m. grey, olivia grey, paranormal romance, passion, sex, steampunk, vampires, victorian

The Ghosts of Southwark Cover Revealed

Set to release early this fall, The Ghosts of Southwark will continue with the adventures of Nickie Nick, Vampire Hunter. Here is the cover. Illustration by J. R. Fleming. Hope you like it as much as I do.

Filed under: News & Reviews, Steampunk Spotlight Tagged: author, nickie nick, o.m. grey, olivia grey, romance, steampunk, teen romance, the ghosts of southwark, the zombies of mesmer, vampire, vampire hunter

ZM_CH8: In Which Nickie Nick Meets Some Zombies

Continuing in the Victorian tradition, enjoy today’s installment of The Zombies of Mesmer: A Nickie Nick Vampire Hunter Novel.  Every Friday a new installment of this YA Steampunk ParaRomance is published free for your enjoyment. Leave a comment and be entered to win an author-signed copy of the sequel, released Summer 2013. The more you comment, the more times your name is entered.

Follow Nicole Knickerbocker Hawthorn (Nickie Nick) as she discovers her destiny as The Protector, a powerful vampire hunter. Ashe, a dark and mysterious stranger, helps Nickie and her friends solve the mystery behind several bizarre disappearances. Suitable for teens, enjoyed by adults, the story is full of interesting steampunk gadgets, mad scientists, bloodthirsty vampires, and mesmerized zombies. This paranormal adventure is sure to appeal to fans of Boneshaker, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and The Vampire Diaries.

The Zombies of Mesmer is a Gothic Young Adult Paranormal Romance novel set in Victorian London. Appropriate for teens.

Get your very own copy of The Zombies of Mesmer in paperback or for your Kindle (FREE for Prime Members)! Don’t have a Kindle? Kindle apps are available for smart phones, PCs, and tablets. Have another eReader? Email me about other formats.

-_Q

Chapter 8: In Which Nickie Nick Meets Some Zombies

Turns out Wilfred gave me a gift of his own as well. While I was out last night, he and Fanny were busy at work themselves. Fanny not only had Judith get me some larger corsets and day dresses for training, but she and Wilfred had made me my own secret weapons hideaway. Beneath the carpet in my bedchamber, they had cut out part of the floor boards and hinged it. All my new hunting clothes, my staking boots, and the weapons were hidden safely for no one to find. Just the three of us knew it was there.

All this without my parents knowing a thing.

It was all rather fun, this secret, vampire hunter identity.

Fanny led me in about an hour of training, picking up where we had left off yesterday. She commented on how quickly I was learning, but then, I was The Protector. It was all innate, it seemed. All the moves and kicks and such came to me as if I was remembering them rather than learning them. My body knew exactly what to do, and my mind was not far behind.

It was nearing two when my parents returned with their packages, so Fanny dressed me in a nice new skirt and blouse for the day. As I came downstairs, my parents were in the library, just adjacent to the foyer.

“Happy Christmas, Mother, Father.”

Father turned around with his pipe clamped tightly between his teeth and looked over his newspaper at me. “Happy Christmas, my dear!” He dropped one side of the newspaper to open his arms, inviting me into an embrace.

“Have you been sneaking apple tarts again?” my mother sneered.

“No mother, I assure you.” I sat on the settee next to her. She patted my skirts with a white gloved hand and turned back to her glass of wine.

“What did you find at the shops, mother?” I asked.

“Oh some very lovely things, indeed. I found a new hat. It is from Paris–all the rage there. I shall be wearing it tomorrow afternoon when our visitor comes.”

“Visitor?” I asked.

“Of course, visitor. Are you daft, girl? Visitor! Have you forgotten? Lord Godwyn is coming to call on you tomorrow afternoon!”

I had forgotten, and I so wished the image of Lord Godwyn had stayed buried deep, for the thought of spending Christmas with that fop, listening to him prattle on, was not a pleasant one. No, I would much rather spend it out on the streets. Perhaps I could run into Ashe again. This time, dressed as a woman. Of course, mother would never approve, as he was likely an orphan at best or a chimney sweep at worst. But I didn’t care. In fact, it may have made him that much more desirable. It was my life, after all.

“Have you a gift for Lord Godwyn?” my mother asked.

“No. Do I need a gift for him? He is the one calling on me.”

“It is only proper! It is Christmas after all!”

I sat with my hands folded properly in my lap and looked at my mother blankly.

“Very well,” she said. “Get your wrap. We are going to the shops. Benedict.” She snapped her fingers to draw his attention away from the newspaper he had begun reading again. “Have Lucian bring the carriage around.”

“We just got home, Greta. Give a man a break.”

Father was speaking about himself, not Lucian.

“There will be time for lethargy after Christmas. Benedict. Now, please,” my mother said in her softly demanding way.

Father closed his newspaper with a rustle and dropped it on the floor next to his comfy chair. The headlines read “Dozens of Factory Workers Missing” across the top of the paper. Down the side column was a picture of the Rickett Carriage I had seen last night, or at least, one very similar to it. The caption read “The Future is Here.”

“Go get your wrap,” my mother repeated, tearing me away from the newspaper.

“Is everything all right at the factory, mum?” I asked, indicating the headlines.

She sighed. She didn’t care to talk about the business with me. She said it was not my concern, but I refused to move until she answered.

“There have been a few men gone missing, yes,” she admitted.

“What do the police think?” I asked.

“That’s neither my nor your concern, child. Go get your wrap.” This time, the demand was not quite as soft, so I did as I was told.

 ***

“What do you think of this,” my mother asked, holding up a pair of handsome leather gloves.

“Rather posh, Mother. And quite pricey, too.” We were truly all right, financially, but there was no sense in being wasteful. Especially when others had so very little.

“This is Lord Godwyn, Nicole. LORD Godwyn. He is the most eligible bachelor in all of London for a family such as ours, and for some reason he has set his eyes on you. Let us keep it that way, shall we?”

“But Mother, he is a complete bore.”

If we had not been in a public place, she likely would have slapped me for my cheek. Instead, she roughly grabbed my arm, smiled sweetly at the shopkeeper, and led me back outside into the cold, December air.

“How dare you embarrass me like that in public, young lady!” she huffed.

“Sorry, Mother. It shan’t happen again. I still must not be feeling all that well,” I said, knowing arguing with her was pointless.

“You are an ungrateful wretch, you are. There,” she said, pointing across the street. “Your father is over there at the baker’s. Go to him, and I shall buy something for Lord Godwyn from you.”

“Very well, Mother,” I mumbled and then added under my breath, “You should marry him, too.”

“And no apple tarts for you,” she added.

With a scowl, I started off across the street but was immediately overtaken by a group of marching men. They looked very similar in countenance as those from last night. The same blank stares paralyzed their faces. Their mouths were hanging slightly open, and they all marched in step with one another. I pulled back just in time from being run over by them.

“How very curious,” I said aloud to myself.

Just past me on the sidewalk, other shoppers were not so lucky. The marching men ran straight into one woman, sending all her packages flying onto the cobblestones. Another couple were thrown back against the shop window.

“Now see here,” I heard the man say, and his wife chimed in with a “I beg your pardon!”

“Nicole!” My mother rushed out of the shop. “Are you all right? Who were those men?”

“I don’t know, Mum.”

“The one looked very much like Mr. Whitewood from the factory, but he has not been to work in quite some time.” She looked down the street after the marching men, annoyed. “Your father will not be pleased when he hears about this, and I’m afraid Mr. Whitewood will not have a job when he decides to return.” She turned in a temper back into the store one last time, picked up her purchase, which was now wrapped in fanciful paper and tied in a red bow, grabbed my arm again and started off across the street to collect my father.

“Benedict! You will never guess who I just saw. Mr. Whitewood! He was walking along with that band of…thugs. Knocked that poor woman right into the street.” She pointed her fur muff at the woman brushing snow from her skirts. Several well-dressed men had come to her aid, but the group of marching men had turned a corner somewhere and could no longer be seen.

“Is that so?” was all that father said. He puffed on his pipe and put the white bakery box under his arm. He signaled Lucian, who was waiting in our brougham just up the street, and the carriage came clattering down.

“Is that all you have to say, Benedict?” My mother’s face was all flushed with the excitement.

A small group of street urchins who had been peering in the bakery window gathered at my father’s feet.

“Please sir,” the tallest one said. “We haven’t eaten in days. Could you spare some bread? Or anything? Please?”

My heart went out to them. They couldn’t have been older than Edwin, all small ones, likely sent to beg by their drunkard father, or worse, just living on the streets. It was such a common sight in London, but I never got used to it. Especially ones this young.

“Have you no manners?” my mother snapped at them just as the carriage pulled up.

“Lucian,” my father said to the driver, ignoring mother and the young boys altogether, “take us to the factory.”

“Yes, sir.”

The young orphans bowed their head and moved back to the bakery window, dreaming of something to eat.

“Sorry,” I offered, but before I could say more, my mother yanked me around and pushed me toward the carriage.

My father held my elbow as I stepped into the cab and then did the same for my mother before joining us inside.

I didn’t say anything on the ride to the factory, and I tried to block out the rantings of my mother, first on the gall of those children and then on the gall of Mr. Whitewood. From the look on my father’s face, so was he. Mother’s life was quite good, so she truly should not complain. Still, she usually did.

We crossed Westminster Bridge, and I was quite happy to do so, as it was my favorite bridge in all of London. I was fortunate to be on the side of the carriage where I could see the Houses of Parliament on the way across, even luckier that the hour struck. The full, rich sounds of Big Ben filled the air and my mind, taking it off the hungry children momentarily. We could rarely hear the bells from our house, so it was truly a treat to hear them chime. The black waters of the Thames contrasted the banks, covered in snow and ice. The streets and tree limbs were also dusted in white. This year, a huge wreath was hung just beneath the east-, west-, and north-facing clock faces. Smaller wreaths decorated the gaslights along each side of the bridge. It all looked perfect set against the hazy grey-blue winter sky, with a fine mist hanging in the air. It was a truly magical time to be in London.

I watched the gaslights and holiday decorations reflecting in the Thames as we rattled along Victoria Embankment on the way to the factory. Mum prattled about business to father nearly the entire way there, but my mind was by then far away. Resting my cheek in my hand, I thought again of Ashe. Mad, really, that I was so taken with him. He could be anyone, and he was most certainly not of a station of which my parents would approve. He was likely an orphan like Conrad and Franklin and the others, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to look into his dark eyes again.

Ashe had been so brave last night, fighting the vampire alongside me, although he had also been rather rude. Had it been any other man, I would have given him a what for, but I was most definitely stuck by this gentleman. And he might just be a gentleman, for he was dressed well enough. As for the soot, if anyone knew about dirt on the face it was me with all my nighttime adventures. Dirt and soot washes away. Perhaps it is a disguise of sorts as well.

When we arrived at the factory, one of the largest buildings in all of London, Father took my mother’s hand, assisting her descent from the carriage, and then my own. The factory dominated a full city block and employed over two thousand workers.

Inside the eight-storey-high Hawthorn Textile Mill was a storm of sound and movement. We came in on the street level and stood on a long, wooden boardwalk that led to stairs going both up and down. The first four stories consisted of one room, starting at the cellar level. This was where the main manufacturing took place. On one side of the warehouse, huge steam-powered machines run by hundreds of workers wove thread into cloth. The arms of the weaving machines went to and fro, never missing a beat as if they were the tinny tempo of a grand march. Workers monitored the thread going into the machine, and had to detangle any tangles between the movement of the arms. Interlocking gears, each half the size of a man, spun along the edges of the imposing machine, all driven by a belt-powered steam engine. It was in one of those machines that Conrad’s father got hurt. The other boys, too. Unfortunately, accidents like that were all too common, and it left orphans just like my band of boys. At least they had each other, and Conrad to look after them.

Big brass vats of colored, boiling water to dye the textiles lined the back wall. Workers stood over the vats with long wooden poles stirring the fabric to get an even dye throughout. Their clothes had been stained a mishmash of colors from the rising steam and the splashing water. From dye, the fabric then went into steam-powered driers, which took up the second half of this massive first story. The drying machines would not only dry the fabric, but also measure, cut, and wrap it into bolts for transport or sale.

A portion of the fabric stayed in house. The second part of the Hawthorn Textile Mill was upstairs, where hundreds of women sat at sewing machines making clothes. This is where Conrad’s mother had worked. The specialty of this factory were short trousers, or knickers. But they also made shirts, skirts, and the like, mostly for the masses. For anyone of good birth or monied would have all their clothes tailor-made specifically for them.

It was easy for me to get new clothes for the boys when they needed it and to get boy’s clothes for myself. Fanny, after being with the family for so long, got some special perquisites. One of those was getting clothes for her nephews and other family members when they needed something new, although she didn’t actually have any nephews or living relatives. It was through this guise that we were able to help the boys and clothe me for my adventures without extra expense.

“Happy Chris’mas, Govna,” a snaggle-toothed, leathery man said. This was Mr. Brock, father’s factory manager. Mr. Brock looked rather like a weasel in a waistcoat. A downright creepy man, he was.

“Good Day, Mr. Brock. Update?” They were shouting to each other to be heard over the cacophony of clanking machines.

“A’course, sir.” Mr. Brock stood a little straighter and tipped his hat to me and my mother. “Ladies,” he said. He looked straight at me and smiled.

My stomach turned.

I gave a quick curtsey, and my mother just ignored him and looked out over the machinery.

“Nufink new t’report, Gov. Everyfinks workin’ fine.” He took his hat off and scratched his head for a moment before replacing it. “Oh. Mr. Jarry got caught up th’machine, few days back. But all’s well. Just lost a few fingas, is all. Didn’t stop work for long, and ’e’s at ’ome recoverin’. A good Christmas ’e’ll ’ave, m’lord. At least ’e’s not workin’ on Chris’mas Eve like the rest of us.” He laughed and massaged his scraggly jaw, but my father didn’t return the smile.

“His position filled yet?” father said. Nothing mattered to father but profits.

“Yeah. The very same day, Gov. Work is ’ard to come by these days, sir. So there’s always more willin’ t’work.”

“Very well, Mr. Brock. Good work.”

“Fank you, sir.”

“Any word on Mr. Whitewood?”

“No sir. None whatsoevah. Strange that,” Mr. Brock said. “Wif everone needin’ work an’all. Why would someone just stop comin’?”

“That’s a good question.”

“Yes, sir. Fank you, sir.” He tipped his hat.

“Anyone else go missing, Mr. Brock?”

“No, sir.”

“And upstairs? All well there, ol’ chap?”

“Yes, sir. Oh. Come to fink of it, Mrs. Fellmer went into labor last week. Made a mess of finks upstairs, but it was cleaned up fast enough. And yeah,” Mr. Brock said before my father could ask, “’er position’s been filled already, Gov.”

“Good man.” Father took out his pocket watch from its waistcoat pocket and opened it. He snapped it shut again and looked out over his workforce. “Let everyone off an hour early today, Mr. Brock. For Christmas.”

“Oh! Fank you, sir. That’s very generous of you, sir.” He tipped his hat again.

“Carry on.”

Father led us back out to the carriage.

-_Q

Thank you for reading this week’s installment of The Zombies of Mesmer: A Nickie Nick Vampire Hunter Novel. Join me every Friday for a new installment of this YA Steampunk ParaRomance. Don’t forget to leave a comment for a chance to win an author-signed copy of the sequel, released Summer 2013. The more comments you leave, week after week, the more times you’ll be entered!

Filed under: Serialized Fiction Tagged: author, book, buffy, buffy the vampire slayer, love, nickie nick, o.m. grey, olivia grey, paranormal romance, passion, serialized fiction, serialized novel, steampunk, teen, teen romance, the zombies of mesmer, vampire hunter, vampires, victorian, ya, zombies, zombies of mesmer

Short Story: Zeppelin Dreams

“Zeppelin Dreams” was the second short story I ever wrote as O. M. Grey. Written back in the late autumn of 2010, this poignant piece shows how fantasies can give us hope but ultimately destroy us.

This story, as well as eleven other short stories, angsty poetry, and relationship essays can be found in my collection Caught in the Cogs: An Eclectic Collection.

It does contain adult content.

I hope you enjoy it.

-_Q

She lay on the floor, a zeppelin between her legs. That was what the ladies called it at tea parties, an inside joke, as in “My last zeppelin ride was quite the adventure.” It was code for sex, mostly, but it also referred to the machines doctors used to relieve a lady’s hysteria. Ever since a psychiatrist had first helped her ease her own hysteria with a zeppelin, she kept one around. They had greatly improved over the past twenty-years; the clockwork driven machine now lasted much longer. Lilah’s was the latest style of zeppelin, shaped more or less like its namesake. It was not for insertion, after all, just clitoral stimulation. Handy little gadgets, they were. Especially when one did not want to go through all the trouble of coitus. After twenty-five years of marriage, it was mostly just a mess to clean up. Her husband showed even less interested in sex than she did, if that was possible. And it must be, for if they ever made love, she went to him.

But she tired of that.

She wanted to be taken, dominated. She wanted to be longed for, desired.

She had rarely used her zeppelin of late. Her interest in such carnal delights had waned considerably over the past few years. That is, until she met him.

“Joshua.” His name passed through her lips in an after sigh as her hips rested back against the floor and her muscles relaxed. She could already feel a soreness in the back of her throat where she had screamed his name, moments earlier, into her handkerchief. She looked around, eyes wide, ensuring she was still alone in the darkened attic. Her husband had gone for his daily walk, so it had been the perfect opportunity to ride her zeppelin. Still, a servant could hear her, so she was careful not to be too loud, just in case.

The iron vibrator, cool against her heated thighs, slid out of her hands. As she lay there catching her breath, images of him on that night invaded her thoughts. She tried to push them out, but he haunted her. All these weeks later, she could still feel his nearness. The single kiss he had placed on her neck had kept her heated for days. His warm breath, body pressed close, the volumes left unsaid had sustained her, allowed her to go on, counting every moment until she could see him again. Longing to see his lips, wet with Scotch, and aching to taste them.

She had held on to every detail and used the lingering ardor when she pleasured herself. The unrequited desire between them to fueled her fantasies.

“Stop it.” She chided herself, knowing it was wrong. She pushed him from her thoughts once again, but he returned. Her every thought was consumed with him, perhaps because it was wrong.

She wanted more. More of him.

More. More. More.

More than he could give. More than she could give. The more attention he showed her, the more she wanted. The less attention he showed her, the more she wanted. It would never be enough. Not until their desire destroyed them both.

Her passion had become an obsession.

She sat up and pulled her skirts down over her knees in shame. From desire to shame. Back and forth. Neither was ever far behind.

The silence of the early morning echoed her own emptiness. Middle-aged and aging further everyday. This entire business was far beneath her. She smoothed her skirts with trembling hands and sat up straight, feigning dignity for a moment before those hands covered her face. She wept. Her tears wet her cheeks and her palms, and she shook with her silent sobs. She longed to wilt into obscurity, fade from this world. Dissolve into a thin mist. Be as invisible as she felt.

She shrank back against the wall and hugged her knees close, willing herself to disappear into nothingness. Willing the pain to stop. Willing the desire to end. It had to end. She knew this in her fractured soul. Her very sanity was at stake.

What if her husband discovered her in such a position? Or the housekeeper?

Fear replaced the pain, as she pictured the look on her husband’s face. His astonishment confirming her pathos. His disappointment illuminating her worthlessness. She would be mortified beyond repair.

Yet her lust for Joshua engulfed her, again and again. She tried to keep it at bay. She tried to busy herself with needlepoint or reading or anything else, but the all-consuming need would not die. It overpowered her. Then she would return to the dark attic to take care of her needs. Alone.

She quite literally could not control herself.

The morning light, now well past dawn, filtered in from the solitary attic window at the opposite side of the room. After her eyes adjusted to the light, they caught sight of her hands resting on her knees. They were not the smooth, pale hands of her youth. They were her mother’s hands, perhaps even her grandmother’s. Thin skin hung too loosely over her fragile bones, and she swore even its brightness had faded over the years. Just as the rosiness in her cheeks had waned, except when she blushed from her own foolishness. Her shame colored her cheeks like that a rosy maid. It was less becoming on a woman her age.

Her thoughts retuned to Joshua, and she ran her withering hands down her body, trying to remember what it was like to be cherished by a lover, imagining him touching her. Her breasts, thought still full and relatively firm, were not what they had once been. They never would be again. Her hips and thighs, shapely, supple, and still quaking slightly from her phantom lover, were not those of a young woman. But they were not those of an old woman yet either.

By the time she caught her wits, her hands were again traveling up her inner thighs.

Back and forth.

“Stop it!” Her words sounded hollow in the empty room. After pulling her skirts down again, she tried to stand, but when she had risen halfway, the grief overcame her again and she collapsed back into herself against the wall. She muffled her agony by clamping her hands over her mouth. Reality, unforgiving and harsh, revealed her cell. The limbo of middle-age imprisoned her, for she would never be what she had once been. She would just continue to age, continue to become less and less appealing.  A past full of promise and unrealized dreams haunted her. Her future…mediocrity, then death.

As images of Joshua returned, Lilah forcibly pushed them out, replacing them with that of her loving husband. She had been married at eighteen to a man twelve years her senior. She had been a maid, of course, and her husband was a good man. He had been a good father and provider, too. After three children and nearly twenty-five years of marriage, she certainly had thought the days of anyone yearning to touch her were long past.

Then Joshua came into her life, and now his lips haunted her every waking thought. They had only met a few times, but they had an indescribable connection between them that extended past basic lust. It was intellectual and soulful in addition to sexual desire, quite the dangerous mix. During the last soiree, he had found a way to get her alone. They had just been talking, enjoying the other’s company as they had in the past. Innocent. Just conversation. A meeting of minds and wits.

Until that night.

He had led her to a remote garden and embraced her there to say goodnight. Nothing else was spoken. No words of longing or love, just an embrace and a single kiss on her cheek.

Then another on her neck.

They said farewell and parted. Simple. Brief. Yet it was this restrained embrace that changed everything between them.

His kiss on her neck still burned her skin. She still felt the building heat between them on that cold evening, even all those long nights later.

“Joshua,” she breathed. His face once again filled her thoughts, replacing everything else in her world. She caressed every angle of it with her mind. Dark eyes. Dark hair extending down into long sideburns along a strong jaw. His bottom lip fuller than the top, begging to be tasted and licked and sucked between her own.

This was the last time she would ever feel desired, and the realization of that weighed heavy on her. At forty-three, she knew society would soon consider her an old crone. No one would see her anymore, not even Joshua. She would fade. Disappear. A single drop of rain in a storm. Invisible.

Only the faintest hint of her former beauty remained. But Joshua had seen it that night. She desperately held onto that, knowing he did feel something for her. Then her slipping mind went invariably back to his fevered kiss, to the torment of hope. Madness.

She looked to the light coming through the window and wiped the tears away and vowed that she would indulge in just a few more moments of the fantasy. When she thought of him, she felt like a young woman again. She felt beautiful and appealing for the first time in so very many years. She took far too much pleasure in getting lost in that feeling, slipping into the memory of ecstasy, bathing in the rain of desire. Even though it was only her fancy, just a fantasy, she held on to it as if it were her last breath of life.

“Joshua,” she whispered again, this time through her shameful tears, which were as unrelenting as her memory of that night. If he knew she was so distraught over a few shared moments, he would surely be done with her, as well he should be. Silly old woman.

“Enough foolishness for one morning,” she said to the empty attic, determined to pull herself together.

She set herself to rights, standing up and straightening her skirts. After tending to her mussed hair, she hid her zeppelin among some old boxes and left her secret behind.

The brightness of her bedchamber hurt her eyes, and she already longed for the darkness when she could be with him, if only in her delusions. She picked up her needlepoint and sat, like she did every day, on the settee near the front window across from the old grandfather clock. If someone came in, she would look busy with the needlepoint in her hands, like she had something else to do. Something other than just pining away.

She watched out the window, looking for any sign of his next communication. Searching the streets for just a glimpse of his face. Rushing below to see if a letter had come at every knock on the door.

She watched the grandfather clock’s pendulum swing back and forth. Back and forth.

She went from a rush of desire to feeling embarrassed and foolish in the span of a few moments. Then back again to desire. Back and forth. Her memory of the sensation of his closeness chased every other thought away. She could still feel his hands on her hips, his lips on her neck. Brushed. Just once.

Then goodbye.

She knew he was her last chance before age overcame her, so she clung to him too tightly. The few words of longing he had spoken in his letters she translated into volumes.

But that was just the beginning of her feelings. If she had not known better, she would call it love. But she was too old to be quite that foolish. This was not love. This was far more intense and dangerous than love.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

Would the next message ever come?

He had claimed to feel a deep connection between them as well. He had told her in the letters that had followed that night, frequently at first. But the frequency of the letters decreased as the days passed. The few messages he did send lately were only in response to her own, and they were without words of longing. She feared she had already lost him. More than anything, even more than her husband finding out, she feared that Joshua’s passion for her had cooled. This terrified her.

By the end of the second week, his letters had lessened to the point of becoming nonexistent. She tried desperately not to contact him. Not to seek him out. But she failed every time.

She was a fool.

She had been too fervent. Too suffocating. Too obvious. It was not becoming of a lady, especially one of her age. and he had grown tired of her.

Yet, she could not let go.

“Ow!” She pulled her pricked finger to her lips and tasted the blood there. Her silly daydreams had once again injured her. A red dot of blood marred the floral pattern on which she had been working. She threw the needlepoint down in disgust and rose, pacing the floor. Back and forth in front of the window. Looking out every time she passed it to see if he was coming down the street, just seconds after the last look. Those seconds lasted lifetimes.

As she sucked on her injured finger, she thought of how every contact with him gave her a few more minutes of sanity. When she could talk with him or when she received a new letter or when they met briefly on the street and exchanged a secret glance, she believed again. She believed in the romance. She believed in the desire. After so long of feeling unseen, how could she not believe?

She drank in the attention and reveled in his seduction, imagining most of his desire for her, no doubt. Transferring her intense feelings for him, to him. Believing that he felt the same. But he was not free to do so. And neither was she.

“Foolish old woman.” Her breath fogged the window as she breathed the words, shocked to find herself absently gazing out of the window. How long had she been there? And so foolish to remain there. She knew he would not come. She had given him too much of herself, as always.

He had given too little…but then, it could never be enough to satiate her need for him. Plus, they could never be together. He was a decade younger if he was a day, and his young, bonny wife surely kept him most satisfied.

Intellectually she knew this, but she could not help dancing in front of the looking glass, in nothing more than her corset and pantaloons. Sometimes even without the pantaloons, when the house was dark and her husband asleep. Just the light of a nearby gaslight cast a soft glow across the room, softening the lines on her skin that had become too harsh with age. At least too harsh in her eyes.

Still she waited every day for the slightest communication or acknowledgment from him, and when she got it, however small the morsel, it was wonderful for a few moments. She felt satiated again, briefly, and she danced in front of the looking glass once more. But the hunger for more soon crept back in, more voracious than before.

Still, she thought of his lips.

Still, she thought of his hands on her waist.

Still, she thought of the embrace, full of unspoken desire.

But it had to end. Back to innocence. The way they had been before.

She had to be strong. She had to back off and wait, which, for her, meant that she had to forget him. It was never possible for her to linger in limbo for long.

Still, she waited. Still, she dreamed.

All the rest of the day and deep into the night she waited for him. She hardly ate. She hardly slept. She just waited.

The sound of her heart thumped, hollow and cold beneath her corset. The tick-tock tick-tock of the grandfather clock echoed her heart in a chaotic rhythm. The chaos began to work its way into her nerves and mix with the growing madness therein.

Just before dawn, she went to the looking glass to reprimand herself for being such a fool, just like she did every morning. She studied the lines on her face in her reflection.

At least it was still dark, for the dim glow of the candle light softened the lines on her face if she turned just right. With a little stretch of her imagination, she could look as young as she felt when she thought of him. And at the thought of him, the embarrassment was once again replaced with desire.

And so it was thus.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

Shame and lust.

The torment of true passion.

Nothing could satiate such intense desire except giving into it, she decided at last. She must have him or go mad. She would risk everything for one night with him, just a few hours. She would give up her marriage, her life, her very soul.

She would go to him tonight. He would likely think her the fool she was, but she prayed that he did not see that truth. She prayed that he would only see her desire.

That evening, she donned her cloak and slipped out into the darkness. Three weeks to the day from the brief moments they shared on that moonlight night in the garden. Three tormented, wondrous weeks.

But tonight it would end. Either her fears would be confirmed and she would be broken, or he would take her in his arms and she would finally taste his lips.

She pulled the hood of her velvet cloak far over her face as she stepped into the night, hiding her shame in its shadows. She hailed a hansom once she was far enough from her place, for she did not want to be recognized. Social ridicule on top of this most certain humiliation she could not bear.

“Kensington,” she said to the driver and climbed inside.

The journey, but just a few miles, seemed to take an eternity. And she fought with herself the entire way, vacillating back and forth, back and forth in her nervous anticipation.

Upon arrival just a block from Joshua’s home, she asked the driver to wait. She stepped out onto the cobblestone street and looked around beneath the shadow of her hood until she caught sight of a young boy cuddled up in an alley.

“Boy,” Lilah said, but the child was asleep. She placed her black-gloved hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. “Boy. Wake up!” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

The boy awoke and sleepy-eyed looked up at her.

“All-righ’, gov?” he said.

“Would you like to earn a shilling, young man?” The question did more to wake the child than her shaking had. In an instant, his eyes were bright and she had his full attention.

“Yes, mum. Please, mum!”

“Very well.” She took a coin from her reticule and placed it along with a note in his small hand. “You see that door there? The red one?”

“Yes, mum.”

“Go knock on that door. When the butler answers, give this letter to him and tell him that it is to be placed directly into Mr. Godfrey’s hand. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mum. I’ll be quick, mum!”

“Wait. Repeat that, please.”

“This letter is for Mr. Godfrey and is to be placed in his hands directly.”

“Good boy. Now run along.”

As she watched the boy dash toward Joshua’s house, her stomach became heavy with fear. It was done. There was no turning back now.

The door opened, and she pulled her hood more tightly around her face, peering out from a small hole near the top. Silly, really. As she would never be recognized from this distance. When she saw the butler nod and the boy skip off with his easy earnings, she climbed back in the carriage to wait.

She would give Joshua ten minutes, she told herself, determined to save some dignity. But she knew the truth. She would wait all night if she must, just to be sure. But he came in just over five.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as he climbed into the hansom and sat opposite her, sounding rather cross.

“I had to see you, Joshua.” She swallowed hard, knowing this entire business was too bold. Knowing she had crossed a line with this stunt, but part of her did not care. Seeing him again, this close, was worth it all.

His face twisted, as if his inner struggle matched her own.

She held her breath, waiting for the words that would save her or destroy her.

“Oh, Lilah. Curse you! I had been trying to put you out of my mind for the sake of my sanity and my marriage, but I could not.”

Lilah caught her breath. A rush of joy and fear and excitement swept through her very core. She felt nauseous and wondrous at the same time. Then her stomach felt suddenly light, because all the weight that had been filling her with dread, actually all the weight of her body, had settled most determinately between her hips. She felt herself swell for him, moisten for him.

“I have been consumed by you.” Lilah’s breath started coming fast and shallow, constrained by her corset. Her eyes fixed on his lips. Those lips. She had memorized every curve. She had imagined tasting them a thousand times, running her tongue along the fullness of his bottom lip. Now she was so close.

“Driver, Hyde Park,” Joshua called out of the window.

The carriage started to move.

“What about your wife?”

“She is asleep.”

“That is not what I meant.” The words sounded more like whispers, gasping whispers as her breath came faster and faster. Her eyes fixed on his lips, watching them form the words.

Joshua slid into the seat next to her.

“I know. What about your husband?” He did not speak the words, but rather breathed them.

His closeness robbed her of the ability to answer the question or to speak at all. The world fell away, and the only thing she saw in that darkened carriage was the passing gaslights reflect against the moistness of his lips.

The carriage swayed back and forth, back and forth as it clattered over the cobblestones. The rocking of the carriage further served to heighten her desire for him.

She must kiss him or die.

Joshua quickly closed the distance between them, but it was not fast enough for Lilah.

She met him halfway.

Their mouths came together and she tasted him at last. He tasted of honey and wildflowers, of desire incarnate. She drank him in and sucked on his lower lip, taking it between her teeth for but a moment before devouring him again. It was never soft or tender or caressing. It was ravenous from the start.

His hand moved to cradle her jaw.

A flood of desire washed over them both. His lips tasted of it.

His hand burned her face.

She took a desperate breath and kissed him even more deeply. Their eager tongues twisted together, eager for more, more, more. She had not been kissed like this in so long, so it felt completely new. His desire for her filled her nagging emptiness, but then the void just got bigger, needing more, more, more.

The heat of his mouth did nothing to satiate her need. It heightened it. All her blood rushed southward, making her pelvis feel heavier and her head light. Her hips responded by tilting, causing an arch in her back. This small movement sent Joshua into a fever, for he threw his arms around her and pressed pressed his body tightly against hers.

Weeks of building hunger would be satiated, finally. Tonight.

She tugged at his ascot, gasping for breath and cursing the need to breath. She could not bear even one moment apart from his earnest lips.

After assisting her with the removal of his ascot, Joshua put one hand on her side while the other, placed firmly in the small of her back, held her pressed tightly to him. She felt as if they would devour each other body and soul, and she did not care. For they could not be close enough without becoming one. She longed to crawl inside his skin, be consumed by him.

Then he slowed down, pulling his mouth away from hers.

A soft cry from the depth of her soul escaped her empty lips, suddenly cold without his to warm them. She looked into his eyes searching for a reason, and they smiled back at her.

“I want to savor this,” he whispered into her ear then kissed her softly, barely brushing his lips across hers. It brought back the memory of his lips brushing her neck on that night. She had replayed every moment of that night in her mind so often that it was impossible to ever chase it from her thoughts completely.

His hand moved up her bodice and cupped her full, surging breast. He kissed her neck again, much in the way he did on their night, as if he had replayed every move as well. But tonight, that same kiss burned even hotter on her flesh, and she hungered desperately for more, more, more.

And he did not stop there. He kissed the length of her collarbone. Tiny, soft kisses. Each one drove her to madness. Each one made her catch her breath and sent quivers down her body. When his lips reached the top of her breasts, an ample amount pressed up out of her corset, her gasps turned to a soft moan.

Embarrassed, she blushed. But he smiled wide, looking up at her for a moment before meeting her lips once again, hungrier than before. With his body against hers again, he eased her back against the hansom seat in a partially reclined position. Now she felt his firm excitement pressing through her skirts and it drove her mad.

His kisses once again found their way down her decolletage and continued to the swell of her breasts. She helped him pull down one side of her dress, enabling him access to her hardened nipple. She gasped as his tongue swirled around it. He took it gently between his teeth and then sucked slowly as he withdrew, then rimmed it once again with his tongue.

Her hands, trembling, began unbuttoning his shirt. He pulled its tail out of his trousers and started unbuttoning it from the bottom up, helping her. When he met her quaking hands, he took them in his own and brought them up to his lips. His eyes locked with hers, as the carriage clattered down the cobblestone streets in the darkened carriage, rocking back and forth, back and forth.

Then something broke. They collided simultaneously into each other. Mouth, tongues, arms intertwined. She felt the heat inside spread throughout her pelvis again, moistening her lower lips. She felt them swell between her legs, ready for him. Hungry for him.

And he was ready for her. Without breaking from the passionate kiss, he parted her legs with his body then reached one hand up under her skirts and found the wetness within.

His cheeks pulled back from their kiss in his delight for a just a moment before enveloping her mouth again in a deeper kiss.

He slid his finger up into her wet darkness then withdrew to encircle her clitoris, applying slight pressure. She squirmed and moaned into his open mouth, which just made him smile again. This time, he did not come back in for another kiss, instead he pulled back from her and disappeared beneath her skirts. As his finger, then two, found her hungry opening, his tongue tasted her swollen clitoris. Round and round. In and out. Her hips swayed in time, back and forth, back and forth.

She writhed in pleasure, trying to push him away, as the intensity was so great. She had not felt such pleasure before, but it was him. It was her Joshua, so she let herself go and gave into it. His tongue licked and flicked and swirled around her clitoris as his fingers slid in and out of her more and more rapidly, curling up as he withdrew to stimulate that special place inside. She grabbed a fistful of hair as she cried out in her pleasure.

Her orgasm exploded from her, drenching his chin and hands. Yet he did not stop. His tongue moved faster and faster, alternating pressure. His fingers slowed, but did not stop. He ran his other hand down her thigh, raking it gently with his fingernails, pulling the stockings down. He abandoned her clitoris to nibble down the inside of her thighs, which proved to be even more effective than the clitoral stimulation, for she came again when his teeth reached the back of her knee.

His mouth, wet with her joy, covered hers. The taste of her own excitement made her climax again. She arched her body against his and held him desperately to her as she cried out in her ecstasy. Her entire body was on fire.

He pulled back from her, and the look on his face was one of pure delight.

She breathlessly grappled towards him with flailing hands, ripping off her gloves as she sat up, then reached for his trousers. She unbuttoned them and took his engorged penis in her bare hands. She stroked its shaft while she looked deeply into his dark eyes, reveling in the sensation of the silky soft skin of his manhood in her grasp. Then leaning forward, she took his erection into her mouth, encircling it with her swirling tongue.

Joshua moaned deep in his throat.

Lilah licked all the way down and around it, ensuring that it was well lubricated, and then hungrily stroked his cock with her wet, warm mouth. She clasped her hands around his shaft while she worked it with her mouth so that every part of it was covered in her heat and motion.

Joshua moaned again, and she had to be careful that her teeth did not nick him as she smiled. She wanted to bring him just as he had brought her to orgasm. She wanted to feel his hot semen exploding into her mouth, filling her with his delicious agony.

But he had other plans.

“Come here,” he said, lifting her up and placing her back on the rocking carriage seat.

She lifted her skirts and spread her legs, welcoming him inside.

He knelt in front of her and brushed the tip of himself up and down her wet vulva, teasing her. Lilah moaned and reached for him, trying to pull him inside of her. She had waited so long; she could not wait another moment. Yet he teased until she begged him.

“Please,” she whined. “Please, my love.”

With this, he plunged inside her, filling her up. The ecstasy of their union shot up her torso and filled her, mind and body, with pleasure. He pumped into her, the rocking of the carriage back and forth, back and forth, heightening her stimulation. As he continued to thrust deeper and deeper into her, his mouth again closed over hers, swallowing her cries of pleasure. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, vowing to never let him go. As her excitement mounted, her narrow walls tightened around him. She felt his ridged head glide across the special spot inside, moving in and out, in and out and over it at a perfect pace. She clasped to him more tightly, pressing into him as he drove into her.

Tormented desire washed over her in waves, and when she could no longer contain herself, she cried out, screaming in delight and digging her nails into his shoulders. Still he did not stop, but he slowed down as her orgasm waned. Exaggerated slow movements enabled her to feel every delicious inch of him. She relaxed for a moment, catching her breath and enjoying the delightful sensation of him, swollen inside her.

Slowly, the pressure built again, and she opened herself to him even more, if that were possible. She kissed him hungrily, pressing herself against him, bathing in his desire. Meeting each slow, deliberate thrust with the rhythm of her hips. Their kisses stopped, but their love mounted. As he moved inside her, he looked into her very soul and she looked into his. Never before had she shared such a moment of truth with anyone.

The scent of sex and sweat mingled with the dank carriage interior. His musk filled her nostrils as his tongue filled her mouth and his undulating passion filled the rest of her. The only sound was the clattering of the carriage wheels upon the cobblestones and the beating of their hearts.

Without taking his eyes off of her, he began moving faster and faster again. He grabbed onto her hips and crashed into her. Each thrust more determined, striving to go deeper than the last.

Waves of their mingled passion washed over Lilah. She held onto the carriage seat to steady herself, and he held onto her. Together their passion turned to anguish and then back to passion again. Back and forth, back and forth with the sway of the carriage. The pressure rose and her eyes saw her salvation in his. Together, their desire erupted as one.

He collapsed against her, spent. She squeezed him to her with her arms and her legs, encircling him with her love.

And the carriage rocked back and forth, back and forth.

She closed her eyes and nuzzled her face against his neck, kissing it as he had kissed hers. For that moment, she lay against him. Warm. Content. Fulfilled. The rocking of the carriage back and forth, back and forth soothed her.

Then she was cold as if the London night forced its way between their hot bodies. When she opened her eyes, she was alone in her darkened attic.

The zeppelin fell from her forgotten hands and slid down her thigh as a tear slid down her blushing cheek.

-_Q

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed “Zeppelin Dreams.” It, along with many other stories, articles, and poetry, is available in my collection Caught in the Cogs: An Eclectic Collection.

Plus, every Friday, look for new FREE fiction as I serialize my teen Steampunk romance The Zombies of Mesmer. Find more of my work on this blog, in several publications, and on Amazon.

Filed under: Short Fiction & Poetry Tagged: author, broken heart, free fiction, grief, heartbroken, love, o.m. grey, olivia grey, passion, relationships, romance, sex, shattered, short fiction, short story, steampunk, victorian, zeppelin dreams

ZM_CH7: In Which Nickie Nick Gets Some Gadgets

Continuing in the Victorian tradition, enjoy today’s installment of The Zombies of Mesmer: A Nickie Nick Vampire Hunter Novel.  Every Friday a new installment of this YA Steampunk ParaRomance is published free for your enjoyment. Leave a comment and be entered to win an author-signed copy of the sequel, released Summer 2013. The more you comment, the more times your name is entered.

Follow Nicole Knickerbocker Hawthorn (Nickie Nick) as she discovers her destiny as The Protector, a powerful vampire hunter. Ashe, a dark and mysterious stranger, helps Nickie and her friends solve the mystery behind several bizarre disappearances. Suitable for teens, enjoyed by adults, the story is full of interesting steampunk gadgets, mad scientists, bloodthirsty vampires, and mesmerized zombies. This paranormal adventure is sure to appeal to fans of Boneshaker, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and The Vampire Diaries.

The Zombies of Mesmer is a Gothic Young Adult Paranormal Romance novel set in Victorian London. Appropriate for teens.

Get your very own copy of The Zombies of Mesmer in paperback or for your Kindle (FREE for Prime Members)! Don’t have a Kindle? Kindle apps are available for smart phones, PCs, and tablets. Have another eReader? Email me about other formats.

-_Q

Chapter 7: In Which Nickie Nick Gets Some Gadgets

I arrived home shortly after dawn, and Fanny was waiting for me in the garden.

“Oh thank goodness,” she said, and she gathered me up in her arms. “I feared the worst.” She kissed the top of my cap several times, and then holding me at arm’s length she added, “but I should have had more faith in you, my turtledove. Quick, get inside. The house is not yet stirring. Thankfully, your parents had a late night at their festivities.”

It was Christmas Eve.

“Well,” Fanny said, prompting me to speak as we entered my chamber. “How did it go last night? Did you get one?”

“I did.” I took off my overcoat.

Fanny gasped when she saw my shredded shirt and waistcoat.

“I’m fine,” I assured her. “I shall tell you all about it after I get some rest later this morning. Believe it or not, my corset saved me.” I removed the ruined clothes down to my corset and camisole. The lace was snagged, but the boning held true. “Remind me of this the next time I complain about wearing one. I do like this larger size, though Fanny. Added protection and comfort. I had completely forgotten I still had it on.”

“I have to speak with Judith my dear. Get into bed and rest for a few hours. I can cover for you until at least noon.” She grabbed me in a big embrace and covered my forehead in a rapid succession of tiny kisses again. “Get some rest,” she repeated.

I looked at myself in the looking glass, and I was a sight. Half-undressed, wearing just a chemise, corset, and boys dungarees. Long strands of hair were falling out from beneath my cap, and I hoped beyond hope I had not looked thus when speaking with Ashe last night. Something better must be done with my hair. Perhaps I could get Fanny to plait it tonight before heading out, then it will be less likely to fall out. After kicking off those horrid clodhopper boots and removing my trousers, I crawled into bed and fell asleep almost immediately. What seemed like only a few moments later, Fanny was shaking me awake.

“Wake up, Nicole. Your parents have gone out shopping, and your friend Conrad stopped by. He left you this.” She placed a poorly wrapped package in front of me. “He said he moved the boys and that they were all safely in a new place now. The poor lad looked quite weak, so I sent him off with some food and a loaf of bread to share with the others.”

“Thank you, Fanny. Yes. He got hurt last night. Vampire attack, but I dusted it.”

“Good gracious!” she exclaimed. “Poor boy!”

“Did he say where their new place was?” I asked, then yawned. I really wanted to be still asleep. So much for needing less rest.

“He didn’t, but he did say he would come back this evening,” she said, and then added as I was about to protest, “before dusk, he said.”

“How did I get them all mixed up into this, Fanny? How did I get mixed up into this?”

“Enough about that now. Open your gifts. This one from the boys, and this one”–she  pulled a rather large package up from beneath the bed, better wrapped–“is from me. Something I had Janice make special for you this morning while you slept, along with the few things I had her get yesterday. Happy Christmas, Nicole. I know it is a bit early, but you will need them tonight.”

I smiled at her and opened her gift. Inside, there were several pieces of clothing that looked quite similar to an airship cadet’s uniform, just like I had read about and seen drawn in the newspaper. Only these were black instead of brown. First, I removed a black lace blouse and a pair of black trousers, but they were not nearly as baggy or clumsy as my boy’s trousers had been. They looked almost like Mrs. Bloomers cycling trousers, which I had seen only in drawings. Frivolous things, but these were much less baggy. They looked to come down to about mid-calf. Since they were made for the active lives of female cadets, I would most certainly be able to fight in them.

Next in the box was a corset, but it was unlike any corset I had ever seen. It was made of black leather. Like a normal corset, it had busk fasteners on the front and laced down the back, but there also was a leather loop sewn into the side of it and a small pocket near the front of it, rather like the pocket of a waistcoat. Then a series of smaller loops lined the bottom right side of it. Quite a strange looking thing, and I couldn’t imagine how one would wear such a contraption.

Next were the regulation mini-bustle and knee-high spats. It all looked exactly like the drawing in the paper along with the article about how the RAN introduced the mini-bustle for their female cadets. It was even sillier and more frivolous than actual bustles, but at least my derriere would be covered. The spats laced up the front and would do quite well to cover my ankles.

There at the bottom of the box was a new coat. It, too, was black, made from a very heavy, oilcloth, and as I took it out of the box, it just kept coming. I couldn’t believe just how long it was, and it was lovely. Styled after a slender evening coat, but it was heavier somehow. This was not part of the RAN standard uniform, but it was quite glorious just the same.

I looked up at Fanny, not sure what to say. This was all quite generous, and they were exactly what I needed.

“They are for the night, my dear. Black, so you shan’t easily be seen. Go on, try them on. They are patterned after a woman’s airship uniform, so you will not stand out. Too much,” she added. “I had the idea after I saw you reading that book yesterday. You would have to have something you could both fight in as well as mask your identity. You will see. Go on, then. What are you waiting for?”

I got up and began to dress, starting with the black lace blouse. It had a proper high collar, but upon closer inspection, the collar was lined with some sort of metal, so that when I fastened it, it had a metal collar to protect my neck.

These were vampire slaying clothes.

More excited now, I put on the trousers next, and then Fanny helped me get into the unique corset. It was stiff yet bendable, if that makes sense. The boning felt quite different.

Fanny saw me running my hand up the boned seams and said, “Military grade steel boning. Strong and flexible.”

I rapped on the side of the corset with my fist and it almost felt and sounded solid. But I bent around in ever direction and even tried a kick or two. The thing didn’t hinder my movement at all, not even a little bit. Then I examined the strange loops sticking out from different places and pushed my finger down inside the tiny pocket.

“I’ll show you what those are for in in a moment, my dear. First, try on your coat.” She helped me on with the coat, and it fit perfectly. “You are to try and remain unnoticed, of course, but if someone does happen to notice you, they will just think you some garish American airship cadet, That’s all.” She smiled and then winked at me. “And they would be half right.”

I playfully swatted at her before turning my attention back to my gorgeous new coat. The inside had several pockets and loops. The outer edge looked as though it buttoned all the way down the front, but when I tried to button it, I noticed that they were on the wrong side and there were no button holes.

“It fastens like this.” Fanny took the edges of the coat and overlapped them with the button side on top. Then she closed it with eye and hook fasteners spaced about every five inches reaching down to my thighs. “For quick removal,” she said, and smiling did a quick motion with her hands and unfastened all of them at once.

“Now into your new corset.” She helped me off with the coat and into the corset, which strangely was worn on the outside. Then without another word, she left the room. While waiting for her return, I regarded myself in the looking glass and, aside from the messy sleep hair, I did look considerably better than I had in the clothes from the previous night.

Fanny returned carrying the weapons kit she kept hidden beneath the floor boards. She took the stake out from under my pillow first and slipped it in the large loop on the left side of the corset. It was in the perfect position. I practiced by drawing it out a few times and replacing it. Ingenious, really.

Next she pulled five vials out of her kit. They were about the length of my thumb, and just about as wide. She placed one in each of the smaller loops along the bottom right side.

“Holy water,” she said. “If you need a distraction just long enough to get away, this is your best bet. It will burn them, but it will really make them angry as well. So ensure you can get away after using one. Then there is this…”

She handed me what looked like a pocket watch. After clipping the chain to the top of my corset, she placed it in the little pocket on the right side.

“A pocket watch,” I said, smiling. “Afraid I will forget the time?”

“This is no ordinary pocket watch, my dear. Actually, it is not a pocket watch at all. It is a compass that I have bewitched for added protection. As long as you have it on your person, you are impervious to magic done against you.”

“Even yours?” I reminded myself of how she calmed me down yesterday.

“Alas, even mine.” Her jovial face beamed with pride as she beheld me in my strange slaying outfit.

“So it works along with the amulet?”

“Yes. This will not only protect your mind, as the amulet does, but it will also protect your entire person from magical spells. And this special compass does not point north, my lamb. If a vampire is near, it will point toward the beast.”

“You made it do that?”

“It is a special spell I have been working on. When your friend Conrad gave this to me to give to you, I thought it the perfect time to use it, since the compass was broken anyway.”

“This is Conrad’s compass?” A lump quickly grew in my throat, and I tried to keep from crying. I didn’t succeed. Pulling the compass out of its little pocket, I looked for the inscription carved in the brass lid. It read, “To Find Your Way Back To Me.” My tears blurred the words, so I wiped them away. The tarnished metal felt cold against my palm. It was nothing special, really, aside from the inscription. Just a plain, old compass, but I knew what it meant to Conrad. It was only thing he had left of his father. His mother had gifted it to his father during their last Christmas together. It was a rather expensive gift for the poor family, but they did have a lot of love between them.

His father died just a few weeks later.

Conrad had told me the heartbreaking story shortly after it happened, then he had never spoken of it again. His mother’s mind had broken when she learned of her husband’s accident at the factory. He had gotten caught up in the machinery and died from the loss of blood. She had heard the screams above the noise of the machines, for she had worked in the sewing room on the second level. Her supervisor had told all the women to keep working, that it was not of their concern. When she returned home that night, his affects were waiting for her along with an explanation. She sat in a chair and just stared at nothing for days on end. Echoes of his screams had kept her awake at night, so she was unable to sleep. She was unable to work or care for Conrad.

After they had fallen behind in their rent, the authorities had come for Conrad and his mother. When he had heard the pounding on the door, he had grabbed the compass and a pocket watch, as they had been laying out on the dresser, trying to hold onto anything from his father and the way life had been. Conrad had tried to hide in the closet behind some boxes. But once they came in, they found him and dragged him out of there. Conrad had been able to push the compass down into his pocket while in the closet, but the pocket watch had still been in his hands. They took it from him, saying something about how that would help because they were not get paid enough for having to deal with mad people.

Conrad was sent to the workhouse and his mother to the asylum. He had been able to keep the compass hidden and away until after he had escaped that awful place. Now, he always kept it close to him, next to his bed. Tarnished, but it was his nonetheless.

Now it was mine.

“Why are you crying, my dear?” Fanny asked.

“This was very special to Conrad. I cannot believe he gave it to me.”

“You must be very special to him, my lamb.”

I remembered how Conrad looked at me last night and now knew beyond any doubt that he loved me. He would not give me something so precious otherwise, but I didn’t love him. I couldn’t. He was my best friend in the world, but I just didn’t love him in that way. Up until the night of my party, romance and marriage were the last things I wanted in my life, but then I saw Ashe. My heart changed so drastically in that one moment.

After placing the compass back in its little pocket, I wiped away my tears, trying not to think about how complicated things had become in just a few days.

“Are you all right, Nicole?” Fanny asked, concerned at my melancholy.

I covered by looking down at my bare feet on the hardwood floor and wiggled my toes. “Just rather chilled is all,” I lied.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” She led me over to the poorly wrapped package on the bed. “This one is from the boys. “When Conrad told me what it was, I was so relieved, as I didn’t know what I was going to do about your feet. You certainly couldn’t wear those clunky boots with this outfit. It just would not be seemly.”

It had been wrapped in crumpled up newspapers that had been somewhat flattened and tied with twine. Inside the box were a pair of black boots. They looked rather worn, but they were indeed women’s boots. Fanny got a pair of dark stockings from my bureau, and I put them on before trying them on. They laced up to just over my ankle, and they fit quite well. I tried them out, walking around my chamber. The wooden heels tapped on the ground with every step.

Fanny had me step into the spats, then she laced them up the front. They reached up just high enough to cover the bottom of my new trousers.

“There, now you look like a proper airship cadet.” She beamed with pride. “Perhaps the spats can hold an extra stake or two while out hunting,” she added. “Now for the finishing touch.”

“There is more?” I asked incredulously. I had never gotten so many gifts at once. It was all rather overwhelming. But my face fell when I saw what Fanny held in her hands.

“As I mentioned, you cannot be recognized, besides, they complete the uniform.” She held out the airship goggles and bade me put them on.

“No,” I protested. “I’m not wearing those things, Fanny. You said I should not draw attention to myself.”

“Indeed, I did, my lamb. But look at yourself. Your face must be covered. What if you run into one of your parents’ many acquaintances?”

She had a point. At least no one would recognize me. Even I didn’t recognize myself as I looked in the mirror. The round airship goggles rather limited my peripheral vision, which might cause a problem.

“I shall braid your hair before you go out tonight, that way you will not need to worry about it falling from you cap.” She moved me to the center of the room and then stepped back. “So, give them a try.”

“What?”

“Just be careful of the furniture,” Fanny said, “and give us a back kick.”

“I beg your pardon?” Surely she was joking, but she just stood there waiting with her arms crossed. “Here? In my chamber?”

“Yes, Nicole, just be careful of the furniture.”

“All right.” I got in my prepared stance. With a quick turn I kicked my right leg out in a back kick and then turned around to face Fanny, who was very nearly hopping up and down and clapping her hands in glee.

“What is it, Fanny?”

“Do it again! Do it again!” she exclaimed. “Only this time, hold the kick. That’s, keep your leg extended.”

I did as she said and was shocked to see that the wooden heel of the boot had extended out two inches to a sharp point. I lowered my leg and stood on the heel again, but it didn’t feel any longer than the other one. I sat down and looked at the bottom of the right boot. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that the sharpened heel was nestled up inside the basic heel of the boot. Then, there near the toe, was a button of sorts.

“How very curious.”

“It is from your friend, Franklin,” Fanny said.

I did the kick again, and the stake did exactly the same thing. It came out and then went back in as I stepped down on it.

“How did he do that?” I asked rhetorically.

“Don’t ask me. You always told me that lad was a genius.”

“No doubt,” I responded, still marveling at my gadget. “Fascinating chap, that Franklin.”

-_Q

Thank you for reading this week’s installment of The Zombies of Mesmer: A Nickie Nick Vampire Hunter Novel. Join me every Friday for a new installment of this YA Steampunk ParaRomance. Don’t forget to leave a comment for a chance to win an author-signed copy of the sequel, released Summer 2013. The more comments you leave, week after week, the more times you’ll be entered!

Filed under: Serialized Fiction Tagged: author, book, buffy, buffy the vampire slayer, love, nickie nick, o.m. grey, olivia grey, paranormal romance, passion, serialized fiction, serialized novel, steampunk, teen, teen romance, the zombies of mesmer, vampire hunter, vampires, victorian, ya, zombies, zombies of mesmer

The Order of the White Feather

It’s been in the works for months. Thanks to the support of a specific gentleman on the other side of the pond, The Order of the White Feather was created: a community within the steampunk community who vows to believe.

It’s as simple as that. Together, we will reverse the normal response of questioning the victim of sexualized violence and believing the accused.

We vow to believe the victim, support her, create a safe place for her to speak out.

We vow to turn any questions to the accused, turning the burden of proof on him.

It’s still a work in progress. I’ll be filling in content over the coming days/weeks, so please be patient with me. We’ve got a good start, though. Today our first blog post went live: “More than a Meat Market,” written by Jenny Choate.

Please show your support by leaving respectful comments for her.

Filed under: Lost in the Aether, Romance & Relationships, Trauma & Recovery Tagged: author. o. m. grey, jenny choate, meat market, misogyny, olivia grey, order of the white feather, rape culture, sexism, steampunk

Flash Fiction: Missed Connections

At only 566 words, “Missed Connections” is another one of my early stories. Again, experimental. It’s an attempt to tell a story using modern methods of communication. I hope you enjoy it.

-_Q

Starbucks w4m 36 (North Austin)

Yesterday. 3:15.

You were sitting at an outside table when I arrived. Very cute.

When you came inside, I was waiting for my drink. It took everything I had not to look over at you. But I still chanced a glance a few times. You were working on a laptop and talking on the phone. Yes. Very cute.

You had dark wavy hair. Short. Nicely dressed, but casual.

Buy me a mocha?

Reply with “Starbucks” in the subject line to prove you’re human.

.

To: vielsn-vme390-30390@craigslist.org

From: RHK

Subject: Starbucks

Hi…I might be the guy you saw at Starbucks on Monday. How random! You said it was 3:15, and I was there at 3:15. You said I was sitting outside talking on the phone, and I was doing that a couple of times. You said I was working on a laptop, and I was working on my laptop. You said I was very cute, and….well, I don’t think I’m ugly….

I was wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. Let me know if you think I’m the guy…..maybe I chanced a glance at you too.

.

To: RHK

From: SbksGirl

Subject: Re: Starbucks

You might just be. What shoes were you wearing & what do you remember about me?

Sent from my iPhone

.

To: SbksGirl

From: RHK

Subject: Re: Re: Starbucks

I was wearing my black Converse shoes.

You were cute, too. Long brown hair, pulled back into a ponytail. Classic Vans. Jeans and a long sleeve black shirt. Is that you?

Sent from my iPad

.

To: RHK

From: SbksGirl

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Starbucks

OMG! That is me! How funny. Well, now what do we do? I never post things like this, and I thought it was such a long shot, but here you are. So…buy me a mocha?

Ginger

Sent from my iPhone

.

To: SbksGirl

From: RHK

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Starbucks

See you at 3:15.

Rick

Sent from my iPad

.

.

Google Voice

Text from +15125559890:

Had a great time. Looking forward to seeing you again.

.

Rick

Me, too. Miss you already.

.

Google Voice

Text from +15125559890:

Really? I miss you, too. Can’t think of anything else. What have you done to me?

.

Rick

Cast a spell, I hope.

.

Google Voice

Text from +15125559890:

I just caught my breath. Seriously.

.

Rick

Get used to catching your breath.

.

Google Voice

Text from +15125559890:

Oh my, sir. When can I see you again? I’m having serious withdrawals.

.

Rick

Perhaps I could come, er, fill you up?

.

Google Voice

Text from +15125559890:

Tonight?

.

Rick

Sadly, no. If I had known I’d meet you, I would’ve canceled plans. Tomorrow afternoon?

.

Google Voice

Text from +15125559890:

Afternoon delight? Meet at Starbucks?

.

Rick

See you then. 3:15.

.

Google Voice

Text from +15125559890:

I keep thinking about you lapping scotch off my body.

.

Rick

Text not secure. But I like the thought.

.

Google Voice

Text from +15125559890:

Not secure? WTF?

.

Rick 

I’ll explain later. TTFN.

.

Google Voice

Text from +15125559890:

Fuck! Are you married?

.

.

Google Voice

Text from +15125559890:

Rick? WTF. Answer me.

.

.

Google Voice

Text from +15125552143:

Found your secret Google Voice #. Nice try. Taking the kids. Want a divorce.

-_Q

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed “Missed Connections.” Every Friday, look for new FREE fiction as I serialize my teen Steampunk romance The Zombies of Mesmer. Find more of my work on this blog, in several publications, and on Amazon.

Filed under: Short Fiction & Poetry Tagged: affair, author, betrayal, broken heart, craigslist, deception, heartbroken, honesty, infidelity, love, misogyny, missed connections, non-monogamy, o.m. grey, olivia grey, romance, unfaithful douchebag

ZM_CH6: In Which Nickie Nick Sees A Rickett

Continuing in the Victorian tradition, enjoy today’s installment of The Zombies of Mesmer: A Nickie Nick Vampire Hunter Novel.  Every Friday a new installment of this YA Steampunk ParaRomance is published free for your enjoyment. Leave a comment and be entered to win an author-signed copy of the sequel, released Summer 2013. The more you comment, the more times your name is entered.

Follow Nicole Knickerbocker Hawthorn (Nickie Nick) as she discovers her destiny as The Protector, a powerful vampire hunter. Ashe, a dark and mysterious stranger, helps Nickie and her friends solve the mystery behind several bizarre disappearances. Suitable for teens, enjoyed by adults, the story is full of interesting steampunk gadgets, mad scientists, bloodthirsty vampires, and mesmerized zombies. This paranormal adventure is sure to appeal to fans of Boneshaker, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and The Vampire Diaries.

The Zombies of Mesmer is a Gothic Young Adult Paranormal Romance novel set in Victorian London. Appropriate for teens.

Get your very own copy of The Zombies of Mesmer in paperback or for your Kindle (FREE for Prime Members)! Don’t have a Kindle? Kindle apps are available for smart phones, PCs, and tablets. Have another eReader? Email me about other formats.

-_Q

Chapter 6: In Which Nickie Nick Sees A Rickett

The two younger boys looked up from their card game as Conrad and I entered the room. Their fear-filled eyes wide at the sight of the blood. Edwin started to cry silently.

“He will be all right.” I helped Conrad over to his bedroll. “It is just a scratch from a fight. Really, Edwin, it is not as bad as it looks.” I tried to be reassuring, but I turned to see three very uncomforted boys. “Really,” I said again. “He shall be just fine.”

They had all gathered rather close behind me to watch. I pulled up the beautiful stranger’s ascot and looked. The blood had stopped flowing. At the moment it was just a light ooze.

“Rufus, I need you to hold this tight on Conrad’s neck, all right?”

“No,” Conrad interrupted. “I can do it myself.” He smiled despite the pain and looked up at me with a softness I had not seen before. He looked at me the same way I had felt when I looked at that beautiful stranger.

Flustered, I got up quickly and stumbled on my oversized boots again. “Curse these boots!” I said, kicking them off. I can hardly walk in these clodhoppers let alone fight.

Franklin went back to his corner, picked up a piece of coal and started sketching something on the wall. The entire corner of the room was covered with his coal-sketched drawings, the first manifestation of his creations. Each of those drawings someday would be made into some amazing gadget pieced together with scavenged items from the streets.

“Are you all right, Nickie?” Edwin wiped away his tears. He saw the blood on my shirt collar, but I convinced him I was fine by taking off my coat and showing him my neck. Looking down, I noticed my waistcoat was shredded over my stomach, so I unbuttoned it and discovered that the shirt beneath it was shredded as well. The vampire must have lashed out at me just before he dusted. Fanny had said they had rather claw-like fingernails.

I felt beneath the shirt to see if my chemise was also ripped, but my hand touched something hard. The corset. In my rush to get dressed I had forgotten to take it off. Never did I think that I would forget about a corset. Good thing, too, as it likely saved my life tonight, or at least kept me from being slashed and wounded.

“Listen boys,” I started, still marveling at my luck two nights in a row. If I had had any doubt about the importance of training, that doubt was all gone. “Get some rest for a few hours and then gather your things. You are moving in the morning.”

“Moving? Where?” Rufus said. “Don’t you remember how long it took for us to find this place?”

“I know, and I’m sorry, Rufus. It just is not safe here anymore.”

“It is safer in here than on the streets,” he protested.

“You will not be on the streets. We shall think of something,” I reassured.

“I found another place earlier today,” Conrad said weakly from his corner. “It’s smaller than this, but it’s safe. They won’t know we’re there. Unless, of course, you lead them to us again, Nickie.”

Nausea. And it was not that vampire-is-near feeling, this was true nausea. It had been my carelessness that put them in this situation, but how was I to know? “I must get back out there, all right? We will move in the morning, after the sun comes up. That will be the safest time.”

I turned to leave, but Conrad stopped me.

“Here.” He grabbed a handful of carved stakes with his free hand, the other still held the ascot in place. He tossed the stakes to me and they all fell just at my feet on the earthen floor. Stooping to pick them up, I smiled. He had made all these for me.

When I looked back up at him to thank him, his eyes were once again full of love, so I turned away towards the others, not knowing what to do. Perhaps it was just because he was injured and afraid to die, but Conrad and I had been friends our whole lives. This just would not do.

“I shall keep watch tonight,” I said, looking around at the four boys. “Then in the morning, I will go home to change and get some food. All right? Then move you to Conrad’s new place.”

Rufus grabbed one of the stakes from Conrad’s bedside. “I’m coming with you.”

“Oh no you are not,” I replied in a tone that should have indicated there was to be no argument.

“I can fight.” He puffed his chest out.

“No, Rufus. Not tonight. Not without any training, and even then. It is just too dangerous.” His face fell and he turned, throwing the stake against the floor. He went to his own bed mat and plopped down, arms crossed.

“Let us all just get through the night, shall we? We will talk more about fighting and strategy tomorrow. Just get some rest, and take care of Conrad.”

After tucking all the new stakes into my belt and any free pocket (I even put one down my corset), I grabbed my overcoat and headed back outside.

The alley was quiet this time when I emerged, and the smell of the blood was fading in the freshly falling snow. I went up to the mouth of the alley and stood just out of the light from the nearby gaslamp. The night had barely begun and the streets were rather busy with carriages and full of the sounds of clopping hoofbeats. My mind went back to the beautiful stranger. Where had he come from? Where had he gone to? One hears stories about how something very bad could be happening in an alleyway just adjacent a very busy street, but no one comes to help. I found that hard to believe before tonight.

Yet he had come to help. He had probably saved Conrad’s life.

And he knew vampires existed, that was a definite benefit.

Then the strangest contraption caught my eye. It was a carriage without a horse, clattering down the street with the rest of the carriages. Being the daughter of industrialists, I certainly was not ignorant of modern machinery. After all, mother and father had some quite impressive steam machines that facilitated production in their textile factory. Even Franklin himself came up with truly ingenious inventions just from assembling junk and such, but this was like nothing I had ever seen up close. It looked every bit like a carriage, only instead of four wheels, it only had three, two large ones in back and a smaller one in front. From the large back wheels, chains ran from gears on the wheels to other gears extending from an axle beneath the carriage’s floor. A man sat on the right, fully dressed for the evening in a top hat and fine overcoat, holding onto the steering rod with his left hand and another lever with his right. A woman wrapped in a fur stole and earmuffs sat beside him.

Stepping up to get a closer look as the thing puttered by, I saw that there was a mechanism beneath the carriage floor that turned the gears, which in turn, turned the wheels. I stooped down to get a look of the thing from beneath, but it had already passed. There on the back sat the engine. It looked like a coal boiler and a long pipe extending up from it belched out steam.

“Interesting, no? A far cry from a penny-farthing,” a smooth voice above me said. I stood up quickly to find that it was none other than my beautiful stranger.

“Yes. It is a Rickett Carriage. I read about them, but I have never seen one before. Simply amazing,” I responded calmly, although some rather large fluttery things had taken up residence in my stomach.

“You read, do you? Also interesting. This evening is just full of surprises, is it not, Nick?”

“How do you know my name.” It came out as a whisper, for I was breathless. He filled my world. It was as if all of London fell away from my vision, and there was only him. Black eyes twinkling in the gaslight. One side of his cinnamon lips curled up in a half-smile. Pale skin covered in soot and jaw-hugging sideburns. I shivered, and it was not the cold December night that caused it.

“Your friend said it before. It is beneficial to pay attention to the details in life, don’t you find? I am called Ashe.” He offered a gloved hand. “We were not properly introduced before.”

I took his hand and gave it a manly shake, which was not too difficult with my new strength.

“Strong, too, for such a young lad,” he said, putting his hand back in his pocket.

I felt my brows furrow at this. He thought me a boy, and a kid at that. I was no kid. I was The Protector, after all.

“I’m not all that young.” I deepened my voice perhaps a little too much. My cheeks suddenly felt very hot and flushed, so I turned my face into the cold wind and let the snowflakes cool my no-doubt-rosy-cheeks down. “Bet I’m as old as you.”

Great. That sounded quite mature, Nicole.

“Do you now?” he said. “Thought I told you to stay safe and inside. This is no place for children. Where is your friend. Is he all right?”

I bit my lip to stop from scolding this infuriating man, and I turned back to him, ready to do so anyway. As soon as I caught his eyes again, however, I was unable to speak. Literally. The ability to form words completely escaped me.

“He is all right, isn’t he?” He sounded concerned.

I couldn’t even manage a simple ‘yes,’ so I nodded instead.

“So, tell me more about this Rickett Carriage, Nick.” Ashe leaned casually against the stone wall of the building but kept his dark eyes scanning the streets.

“Um.” I tried to force my eyes off of him so I could at least speak again. Imitating him, I, too, leaned against the building and looked out at the passing carriages. “It was first built something like twenty years ago by this man named Thomas Rickett, an inventor of sorts, but it didn’t go far. Now that technology has caught up with his vision, his original design has been taken by a new inventor and redesigned. It was just released last week.” I felt his eyes boring into me. My face flushed again, and I tried to focus on my breath as Fanny had taught me.

“Impressive, Nick.” His eyes shifted back to the street, and I breathed easier.

“He will be fine,” I said, finally able to talk properly. “Conrad, the boy who was hurt. He will be just fine. The bleeding stopped and the others are caring for him below.”

“And you?” he asked.

“Quite well,” I answered a little too quickly.

“Your first vampire was it?” he asked.

“No. Last night was the first.” Then I wondered why I was telling him anything. He was a stranger after all.

“You certainly knew what to do.” He sounded rather impressed. “How does such a young boy know how to slay a vampire?”

There was that word again. I was not young. I mean, I was not old either, but the condescending way he said ‘young’ really irked me.

“I have been around” was my only response.

He made a noise that sounded like a stifled laugh, and I look up fiercely at him, ready to give it to him this time, but the words were once again caught in my throat. He was smiling, which should have only made me more furious, but it was the sweetest smile I had ever seen. It was like it was suddenly morning, as everything seemed brighter. A few snowflakes had gotten caught in his sideburns, and there, one fell on his lip.

“Well, Nick,” he said, still smiling. “You seem to have everything under control here. Have a good night.” He tipped his cap, showing me the momentary black curls beneath, and then he was gone.

I watched him walk away down the street, until a group of awkwardly marching men blocked Ashe from my view. I found myself hoping I would see him again.

-_Q

Thank you for reading this week’s installment of The Zombies of Mesmer: A Nickie Nick Vampire Hunter Novel. Join me every Friday for a new installment of this YA Steampunk ParaRomance. Don’t forget to leave a comment for a chance to win an author-signed copy of the sequel, released Summer 2013. The more comments you leave, week after week, the more times you’ll be entered!

Filed under: Serialized Fiction Tagged: author, book, buffy, buffy the vampire slayer, love, nickie nick, o.m. grey, olivia grey, paranormal romance, passion, serialized fiction, serialized novel, steampunk, teen, teen romance, the zombies of mesmer, vampire hunter, vampires, victorian, ya, zombies, zombies of mesmer

Short Story: A Tall Order

This was the third short story I wrote, after “Of Aether and Aeon” and “Zeppelin Dreams” back in late 2010/early 2011. Experimental and inspired by Hemingway’s “Hills Like White Elephants,” where the story is told in mostly dialogue, leaving more unsaid than said.

I hope you like it.

-_Q

The whirring sounds of grinding espresso beans and of baristas foaming milk filled the darkened room. People sat in comfy chairs and at cafe tables sipping lattes and cappuccinos. Most were alone. Some read a book or the newspaper. Others worked on laptops. The only couple spoke in hushed tones over their cardboard-cradled cups.

The woman popped off the white plastic lid and lined up the drink opening with the green, circular logo on the front of the white paperboard cup before snapping the lid back in place. Then she turned the cardboard sleeve until its logo lined up with the logo on the cup. She took a sip and moaned in delight.

“That good?” The man smiled at her euphoric reaction, but something extra shone in his eyes as he looked at her. He had watched her little ritual with great joy, while tapping the side of his own smaller cup.

“Mmmm. Always. This is ambrosia to me. Almost orgasmic.”

“That was quite a tall order.”

“Venti decaf non-fat no-whip mocha with foam,” she rattled off before taking another sip. The smile in her eyes never faltered, and neither did the gaze she held with him. “And you,” she continued. “Just a tall black coffee?”

“With two Sweet’n Lows.”

“How do they ever keep that straight?”

The man sipped his coffee, the joy of her company radiated from his every pore. But something in his countenance changed as he placed the cup back onto the table. His eyes shot downward. It was the first time he looked away from her. His smile faded and a look of sadness shrouded his face.

Her cheeks relaxed as well.

“This would be too easy.”

“It’s anything but easy,” she sighed, betraying a slight catch in her throat.

“Of course, I mean with you. It’s so natural.”

“I know.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Just one minute everything changed.”

“Sure felt that way.”

“Can’t we just go back?”

“We have to, I suppose.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Neither do I.”

“Look. They’ve got their Christmas Blend in. Two for one, the lady said.”

“Really? And they have decaf. Sometimes they don’t have decaf in the special blends.”

“You only drink decaf?”

“Yep.”

“That’s just not human.”

“I go rather nuts with caffeine. Literally. It’s a thing.”

“And non-fat, you said. Are you on a diet?”

“Always.”

“You don’t need to be. You look amazing.” His eyes again held the heat from before.

“Kevin,” she breathed.

“Right. Sorry.” For the next few moments, he looked around the cafe. His eyes fell on one person typing away on their laptop, then another reading a book, before they came back to his companion. But he did not look at her for long, just momentarily meeting her gaze before looking down again.

“But what about last week? Do I just put your seduction out of my mind. Wipe it from my memory?”

“We didn’t…” His words slipped across the table so silently they almost did not exist.

“I know we didn’t. I was there. But it was close enough.”

He took a sip of his coffee and watched the laptop guy put his computer in his brown satchel and fasten it.

“What? That didn’t count? Don’t kid yourself.” She crossed her arms and fixed her eyes on the tiers of pastries behind the glass.

“Their coffee is really rich.”

“It is. I have to get it watered down when I get just regular decaf. I tell them to fill it three-quarters and then the rest with hot water. When I get it iced, the hot coffee melting over the ice makes it perfect. Then the best part is watching the half and half swirl down between the ice cubes. I always try to take a picture of it, but it never comes out just right.”

“My god, you’re adorable.”

A blush flashed across her cheek and she tried not to smile. But she glowed with love, and it seemed to meet with the joy emanating from him. Their eyes locked, and for a moment they were the brightest spot in the dark cafe. But the sadness quickly returned.

“I can’t do this dishonestly.” His voice was barely audible over the recorded music and whirring machines. “Those are the rules, right?”

“Yes, so you said last week, too. Then…”

After looking around as if he expected a PI to be taking photos, he leaned in closer across the small cafe table, lowering his voice even further, his words desperate. “What do you want from me?”

“Something you are unwilling to give, or even try for.”

“I asked you to please have patience. It’s going to take a long time.”

“So you keep saying, and I can be patient, too. These feelings just don’t go away, after all. But are you even trying? Does she even know I exist?”

“Of course she does. It’s just…delicate.”

“Why did you do this to us? We were fine before. Perfect as friends. Colleagues. Now you haunt me. Every minute. Every fucking minute, Kevin.”

“It can’t be like that.”

“Well it is like that! It’s not something I can control or I would. Believe me. I would.” The tip of the woman’s nose started turning red and her eyes became glassy. She bit her lip and looked anywhere but at him. Her eyes fell on the rows of reusable cups along the wall and flicked from one to the next down the row, counting them. Red ones dominated the bulk of the display, as it was close to the holidays. Everything was either red or green or blue or white.

The man was silent for a moment. His face held a look of confusion, as if he was trying to think of just the right words. Tears formed in his eyes as well, but the sadness quickly turned to shame. He covered his face with his hands, slowly drawing them down his cheeks, then picked up his coffee for another sip.

She visibly softened, then broke the silence. Yet her voice was cold. “Still no word from my agent. It’s been months. I think she’s forgotten about me.”

“I’m sure that’s not the case.” He forced a smile.

“When will we run lines together again? I miss that.”

“I do, too.”

“Then we should start doing that again. Supporting each other in our work. That seemed to work well for us both last time. We can do this. We can go back.”

“I don’t want to lose you from my life,” he said softly. “I don’t know what to do.”

She reached out to his face but stopped just as her hand was about to touch his square jaw. She pulled back and crossed her arms again, looking away.

“I don’t want to lose you from my life either. And I know we can’t do this dishonestly. It was my rule from the beginning, remember? This just all sideswiped me and now my heart is overpowering my reason. Thank you for the reminder.”

“You saved my marriage. I’m just trying to return the favor.”

“My marriage is fine. My husband knows, remember? We have an agreement.”

“My marriage isn’t.”

“Yes. I know.”

“I love my wife.”

“Yes. I know. I love my husband, and I…” Her thumb worked the drops of mocha into the lipstick on the lid, smearing it. “Don’t you see, love breeds more love. Desire, more desire. There is no loss here, as long as it’s honest.”

“She’ll never go for it.”

“You can’t know that unless you try.”

“I know my wife.”

“Then what are we doing?”

“I don’t know.”

The woman put both hands around her coffee cup, as if to warm them. She looked down intently at the lipstick stained plastic lid before taking another long sip, then continued smearing the lipstick stain into a blurry mess across the plastic top.

The man watched her for a moment, the look in his eyes evolving from pain to love back to pain again.

“Friends, then,” she finally said after taking a deep breath and a deeper swig of her mocha.

“Of course. Always.”

“Just deny this.”

“We either betray ourselves or we betray them, so we betray ourselves.”

“Agreed.”

Tears filled the woman’s eyes. For several seconds, she squeezed her eyes tightly as if willing the tears to stop from flowing.

“What is it, my darling?”

“Darling. You are the only man to ever call me that. And when you say it, I catch my breath.”

“You are my darling, my love. But this situation, it’s impossible.”

“Do I just keep fantasizing then? That’s all this relationship has been, one fantasy after another. You did this to me.”

“I know. I’m so sorry.”

“You started something you couldn’t finish.”

“I know.”

“Look at me, Kevin. I’m getting older by the day. And you, your career is on the verge of taking off. Film after film, and I can’t even get a commercial. You become more influential and more powerful and just better every day.”

“I wouldn’t have any of it without your help. Without what you have been to me. My friend. My confidant. My muse. I found an agent thanks to you. And nonsense about you getting older. You’re beautiful.”

“I have a decade on you.”

“But you look younger than I do.”

“I’m just so afraid you’re leaving me behind. You’ll forget about me.”

“You should know better than that.”

“Should I?” She dabbed the brown napkin to the corner of her eye, catching the tear before it streaked her black eyeliner down her face. “Look at me. Fucking school girl. I’m just a fool.”

“Julie.”

“Just stop. Just stop talking for a minute.”

The sound of a bell, a single dong, clipped the air.

The man picked up his iPhone and looked.

“They need me back on the set.”

“Of course.”

“You know I don’t want this. Not this way.”

“I know.”

“But I just…. There’s just…. There’s just no other option.”

“I know.”

“I don’t really know what else to say.”

“Say whatever you like, just as long as it’s not goodbye.”

“Until later, then.”

“Of course. Later.”

She watched him leave, never blinking until he was out of sight.

-_Q

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed “A Tall Order.” Every Friday, look for new FREE fiction as I serialize my teen Steampunk romance The Zombies of Mesmer. Find more of my work on this blog, in several publications, and on Amazon.

Filed under: Short Fiction & Poetry Tagged: a tall order, author, broken heart, heartbroken, honesty, intimacy, love, non-monogamy, o.m. grey, olivia grey, open, open marriage, passion, relationships, romance, short story, starbucks

ZM_CH5: In Which Nickie Nick Meets Him

Continuing in the Victorian tradition, enjoy today’s installment of The Zombies of Mesmer: A Nickie Nick Vampire Hunter Novel.  Every Friday a new installment of this YA Steampunk ParaRomance is published free for your enjoyment. Leave a comment and be entered to win an author-signed copy of the sequel, released Summer 2013. The more you comment, the more times your name is entered.

Follow Nicole Knickerbocker Hawthorn (Nickie Nick) as she discovers her destiny as The Protector, a powerful vampire hunter. Ashe, a dark and mysterious stranger, helps Nickie and her friends solve the mystery behind several bizarre disappearances. Suitable for teens, enjoyed by adults, the story is full of interesting steampunk gadgets, mad scientists, bloodthirsty vampires, and mesmerized zombies. This paranormal adventure is sure to appeal to fans of Boneshaker, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and The Vampire Diaries.

The Zombies of Mesmer is a Gothic Young Adult Paranormal Romance novel set in Victorian London. Appropriate for teens.

Get your very own copy of The Zombies of Mesmer in paperback or for your Kindle (FREE for Prime Members)! Don’t have a Kindle? Kindle apps are available for smart phones, PCs, and tablets. Have another eReader? Email me about other formats.

-_Q

Chapter 5: In Which Nickie Nick Meets Him

The crackling fire both illuminated my book and warmed my skirts. I sat curled up on my father’s favorite comfy reading chair with a book. It was an adventure story about a woman cadet in the Royal Air Navy, and I dreamed I was her. Just last week the Times had a drawing of such a woman, dressed smartly with spats and trousers. Her waist was cinched with a utility corset and she had on a tiny bustle, as that was the uniform for women, but she was powerful. Her strong stance in the drawing showed that. She looked proudly out from under her flight cap, goggles perched on her forehead. As I read, I dreamed of joining the RAN instead of living this frivolous life. If mother forced me to marry Lord Fouffypants Godwyn, I would.

But for now, it was enough just to dream of grand adventures while reading about them in front of the fire. It was the best way to spend a cold December evening, especially when my parents were out, as they were tonight. They went to another Christmas dinner, then a party afterwards. Fortunately for me, Fanny convinced them I was unwell, so I got to stay home. No doubt His Most Insolent and Annoying would be there, and I was in no mood for talking marriage with him or any other beau. Reginald Godwyn would do well to find himself a wife who would obey and serve him, and I would do well to be left alone.

My legs were rather sore from the day of training. Fanny had really surprised me with her knowledge of hand-to-hand combat. She not only taught me how to focus and center myself, but she also showed me some amazing moves. However, every time I had kicked the pillow-padded dummy, my skirt would get all tangled up around my legs. And that skirt had been a simple one. How would I ever fight vampires efficiently in a proper skirt, not to mention bustle and petticoats as well.

“What are you doing?” Fanny queried from behind me as she entered the library. The top of her skirt was balled up in her fists, and she rushed over to me, heels clunking on the hardwood floor. A few stray red hairs framed her rosy cheeks.

I held up my book. “Reading.”

“You don’t have the luxury of reading anymore, girl. You need to be out there, especially now they know you exist. And, with your blunder last night, they think The Protector is an inept and foolish girl.”

“Tonight? But it is the day before Christmas Eve, and I have trained all day. Surely the vampires can wait until after Christmas.”

“The vampires will not wait, and neither shall you. You must find and kill a vampire tonight, dear girl. If you don’t, there is no telling what kind of Christmas it will be. Up! Up with you. Go change. You are going out. Why do you think I lied to your parents for you? The Protector does not get a night off, my dear. Go up and change.”

I slammed the book shut and dropped it on the floor with a thud. “This is so unfair! I didn’t ask for this!” I shouted, standing up with balled, angry fists at my side. I knew I sounded childish, and at the moment, I just didn’t care.

Fanny picked up the book from the floor and patted my bustle with it. “Upstairs with you to change. It is your duty now.”

“Fine.” I stormed out of the room and up the stairs. There in my chamber my boy’s clothes were laid out, clean for a change. The clumpy boots lay next to my bed. I dressed quickly, trading my blouse and skirt for a shirt, waistcoat, and trousers. I twisted my hair up into my cap, put on the boots and overcoat, and stomped back out of the room just as Fanny was coming in.

“Forgetting something?” she asked, picking up the wooden stake from my bed. “You would not want to be caught without that tonight,” she said, softer now.

I rolled my eyes and snatched the stake from her, but Fanny had some speed of her own. She caught my arm before I could pull it away. There was strength in her as well. She looked at me with fierce, but kind, eyes. I immediately felt more calm.

“I know this is all rather new and quite the change in your life, my dear.” Her words soothed me. I felt inexplicably serene. “You see,” she continued, noticing my change in countenance, “I have some power of my own.”

“But the necklace…I thought…”

“It does protect you against mind control, my lamb, but I’m appealing to your emotions. To your heart.”

“What else can you do?”

With a wave of her hand, she mended the bedpost. The broom handle floated off to the side and the broken post that had been shoved under the bed rose up to take its place. Purple steam swirled around it, and it was like new. She flicked her hand toward the broken doorknob, and repaired it, too.

“You really are a witch!” I gaped at her. My sweet, Scottish nanny. She had hid all this power from me and worked as a servant all these years.

“We must work together as a team, my dear. You must go out there tonight with a clear head, focused. Otherwise, it could be the end of you. As I told you, that vampire normally would not have let you go last night. You had the element of surprise on your side, but you no longer have that. Tonight, they might be hunting you.” She paused for a moment and her eyes turned sad. “And your friends.”

“What? But they are just children. They have nothing to do with any of this.”

“Do you think vampires care about that? Get out there. Stay hidden. Move fast, Nick.”

Before she even finished her thought, I had pulled out of her grasp and was halfway down the back stairs. Once in the street, I pulled my scarf and gloves out of the pockets of my brown overcoat. The cold bit into my cheeks and stung my nose, but I moved so quickly that I warmed up soon enough. I had to get to the boys. They had to move. Tonight.

Nothing happened on the trip to the boys’ shelter. I went in the secret passage way behind the crates and made my way into their cellar chamber. All but Conrad were there.

“Where is Conrad?” I asked, startling the three younger boys who had not seen me enter. “He is usually not out this late, is he? It is dangerous out there, doesn’t he know that?”

“He’ll be back soon,” Rufus answered. “He said he wouldn’t be long.”

“Where did he go, Rufus?”

“I dunno. To find some food for us,” he responded with a shrug, and I cursed myself for forgetting to bring them food again.

Franklin was in the corner, working on something with metal. I looked over at Conrad’s bedroll, and there were about a dozen or so wooden stakes.

“Did he go to hunt vampires?” I pointed to the stakes on the floor.

“No.” Edwin had been quiet until now, and looking at him, I could see why. My tales of vampires yesterday mixed with my current agitated state had frightened the poor boy. He was sitting against the wall with his arms tightly wrapped around his legs. “He made those for you.”

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to relax. “Come here.”

Edwin got up and walked over to me, never taking his eyes off the dirt floor. I stooped down to his height and lifted his chin. “It is all right, dear boy. I’m here now, and I shan’t let anything happen to you.” My reassurances did little to convince myself of my supposed ability to keep them safe, but Edwin seemed to believe me. He threw his arms around my neck and hugged me.

I thought it best to change the subject away from vampires until Conrad returned. No need to scare these boys into thinking he was in danger, although he likely was. The call deep within my core swelled, telling me to get outside and guard the perimeter of the building, but I had to soothe them first, especially since my heated entrance had just done more to upset them.

Franklin worked feverishly in the corner, so I went over to him with Edwin under my arm. Rufus followed and sat down near Franklin. “What are you working on today?”

“It’s something for you, too,” he said. “Conrad and I decided last night after you left, that we were gonna help you. We all will help, however we can.”

My heart warmed at this, but something else crept up my throat. Fear. I had put all these boys in danger. Now I must deter them from this task without alarming them, but I didn’t know how.

“What is it?” I tried to think of what else to say, knowing that I had to get upstairs and keep watch. The call in my gut pulled at me to leave, but I remained.

“It is a surprise, a birthday surprise,” he said with a smile. I looked over a Rufus who was now sitting with his hand around Edwin.

“Rufus, get out your cards and deal a game for you and Edwin. I’m going to go up and wait for Conrad for a bit. You two play a game, and when I get back, I shall play, too. Deal?” I smiled, and hoped they couldn’t sense the growing dread in my belly.

“Deal!” Edwin loved when I played cards with them, so perhaps that will keep their mind off things while I go upstairs. “Franklin, you all right?”

Franklin didn’t answer with words. He just nodded and continued working away. He didn’t like to be disturbed from his work.

When I was out of their sight, I broke into a run up the stairs, my belly screaming at me now. As soon as I poked my head through the secret passageway opening, I heard it. A scuffle. Right here in the alley. I jumped out, grabbing the stake out of my belt, and I saw Conrad fighting with one vampire and someone else fighting with another. Conrad reared back and clocked the vampire on the jaw with the fist grasping one of his stakes. I heard Conrad’s sharp intake of breath at the pain, then smelled the blood at the same moment the vampire did. It was an awful, strong and sickly copper smell that undesirably mixed with my growing nauseous Protector senses, and I suppressed a retch.

The vampire had the opposite reaction. Its face became feral and he lunged at Conrad.

I moved, but my feet got tripped up on my oversized boy’s boots. Recovering quickly, I rushed forward, stake at the ready and tackled the vampire, who already had Conrad pinned to the ground. Its teeth sunk into his skin just before I reached them. Rolling the vampire off Conrad, I miraculously ended up on top after the tumble and, without hesitation, thrust the stake right through the heart. It was if my body acted on its own again. My conscious mind had not caught up until all that was beneath me was a body-shaped pile of brown dust. I looked up at Conrad who was against the stone wall, holding his neck. Blood was oozing between his fingers and the look on his face was one of sheer terror.

The other man was still fighting the other vampire. It was mostly a blur, but after one rather fierce kick to the chest that sent the vampire flying back against the opposite alley wall, the man looked at me with his hand out and said, “Stake, please?”

For a moment, I was caught by his dark eyes, which looked familiar somehow, and couldn’t move, but fortunately my body reacted again where my mind couldn’t. My arm tossed him the stake. Not a moment after he caught it, he rammed it into the chest of the charging vampire.

Dust.

The young man looked at me crossly and tossed the stake aside. It stuck in the snow piled in the corner of the alley, making it look as if a large wooden-nosed snowman had wilted there. What a curious thought.

“Are you all right,” the man said to Conrad, kneeling beside the both of us.

Conrad tried to speak, but only gurgling noises came out. He was getting paler by the moment.

The man ripped off the ascot from around his neck and put it over Conrad’s throat wound. I could see (and smell) that the blood had already started to slow. There were two perfectly round puncture wounds.

“Keep pressure on it,” the man commanded. His eyes were dark, like coal, and it matched his black hair. Long black sideburns came down and barely touched his strong jaw. Soot was smeared over his face, but even so, he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. He was the man from the window last night. The excitement mounting in my stomach confirmed it.

I reached out to hold the ascot in place, and as I touched his hand a thrill went through my core and I literally caught my breath. He pulled his hand from mine and backed away, wiping his mouth and smearing some of the soot away from his lips. They were the color of cinnamon, and the surrounding flesh was fair. I couldn’t take my eyes from him.

“What are you playing at?” He looked down at me.

I blinked, rather taken aback from his tone.

“Look, boy, this is no place for children,” he scolded. “Get your friend and get inside. Don’t come out again at night.” He pointed his finger at me as if he was my father and I a petulant child. Anger replaced the dreamy desire quite quickly. Who was he to call me ‘boy’? He couldn’t be but a year or so older than I was.

“No you look, sir. I held my own.” I pointed to the body-shaped pile of dust.

“You got lucky.”

“Lucky! I’m The–.” I almost said Protector, but Fanny’s words came back to me how no one else could know.

“Nick.” Conrad’s voice sounded so weak. “Are they gone?”

My attention turned back to Conrad. “Yes. Gone.” When I turned back to face my handsome stranger, he was gone. “Let’s get you inside.”

Conrad got up with my help. He must have lost more blood than I thought, as his shirt was soaked with it and he leaned heavily on me in his weakness. The smell was horrible. No doubt due to my new super power senses, I suppose. After all, I had been around blood before, but it never smelled like this. Perhaps it was to facilitate the recognition of danger or the presence of vampires feeding. The thought made me shudder. Seeing Conrad pinned beneath that vampire had been truly frightening, and rather disgusting. These creatures were repulsive parasites, and I suddenly felt quite proud that I was chosen to help rid the world of them. They deserved to die, and I looked forward to dusting as many of them as I could.

-_Q

Thank you for reading this week’s installment of The Zombies of Mesmer: A Nickie Nick Vampire Hunter Novel. Join me every Friday for a new installment of this YA Steampunk ParaRomance. Don’t forget to leave a comment for a chance to win an author-signed copy of the sequel, released Summer 2013. The more comments you leave, week after week, the more times you’ll be entered!

Filed under: Serialized Fiction Tagged: author, book, buffy, buffy the vampire slayer, love, nickie nick, o.m. grey, olivia grey, paranormal romance, passion, serialized fiction, serialized novel, steampunk, teen, teen romance, the zombies of mesmer, vampire hunter, vampires, victorian, ya, zombies, zombies of mesmer