Beauties of the Beast (The Yellow Hoods, #4): Steampunk meets Fairy Tale Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Eorthe

  Chapter One - Hounding of the Gingerbread Man

  Chapter Two - Cat's Bel

  Chapter Three - Lost Wolf

  Chapter Four - Da Boss

  Chapter Five - Death of the Hound

  Chapter Six - Pieces of the Pieman

  Chapter Seven - One for the Road

  Chapter Eight - Watt Shines Brightly

  Chapter Nine - Dragon and Fox

  Chapter Ten - Lost Beauties

  Chapter Eleven - You Can Never Go Home

  Chapter Twelve - Max'ed Out

  Chapter Thirteen - Without Regret

  Chapter Fourteen - The Rocket and the Pack

  Chapter Fifteen - Emotional Chasm

  Chapter Sixteen - An Order of Redemption

  Chapter Seventeen - A Benjamin, Tee'd Up

  Chapter Eighteen - Unconventional Moment

  Chapter Nineteen - Scout's Honor

  Chapter Twenty - Thinking What I'm Thinking

  Chapter Twenty-One - Family Matters

  Chapter Twenty-Two - Red Hooded Plans

  Chapter Twenty-Three - The Unexpected

  Chapter Twenty-Four - Signaling the End

  Chapter Twenty-Five - On Track

  Chapter Twenty-Six - Kar'm'ic Trappings

  Chapter Twenty-Seven - Up for the Fight

  Chapter Twenty-Eight - To Air is Human

  Chapter Twenty-Nine - Journeys Ahead

  Chapter Thirty - Trained on the Morale Horizon

  Chapter Thirty-One - Before the Dawn

  Chapter Thirty-Two - The World, with a Wink

  Thank You

  About the Author

  Other books in this series

  The Wizard Killer

  The Man of Cloud 9

  Beauties of the Beast

  The Yellow Hoods

  Book 4

  by Adam Dreece

  ADZO Publishing Inc.

  Calgary, Canada

  Copyright © 2015 by Adam Dreece.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator” at [email protected].

  ADZO Publishing Inc.

  Calgary, Alberta, Canada

  www.adzopublishing.com

  Printed in Canada, United States, and China

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Dreece, Adam, 1972-, author

  Beauties of the beast / by Adam Dreece.

  (Book 4 of the Yellow Hoods : an emergent steampunk series)

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-0-9948184-0-9 (paperback).--ISBN 978-0-9948184-1-6 (pdf)

  I. Title. II. Series: Dreece, Adam, 1972- . Yellow Hoods ; bk. 4.

  PS8607.R39B43 2015

  jC813'.6

  C2015-905074-X

  C2015-905075-8

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 5/2/16 61,653

  DEDICATION

  To my wife, who holds me together when I start to rattle apart,

  To my daughter, who always looks at me with hope and pride,

  To my older son, whose questions and way of looking at the world is inspiring,

  To my little guy, who reminds me that victory comes

  with bumps, scratches,

  and sometimes tears,

  And to my unbelievable friends

  and fans,

  you are still, and forever will be

  “All the Awesome.”

  EORTHE

  Cartographer: Driss of Zouak, 1793

  Created at the behest of the Council of Southern Kingdoms

  CHAPTER ONE

  Hounding of the Gingerbread Man

  In the blink of an eye, the Hound had been robbed of all the confidence and purpose he’d built up in recent months. One moment he’d been reveling in the power of the shock-gloves given him by Simon St. Malo, and the next he was sent screaming as he was struck by the rocket-cart, and splashed by the acid from the shock-gloves’ battery.

  When Hans, Saul and Gretel had found him the next day, lying there, unable to move, he’d expected they would kill him. Something in Gretel’s light brown eyes had motivated him to gather every ounce of strength he had left and whisper to her for help. To his surprise, she said she would take care of him, and then she did.

  She’d tended to his wounds for weeks while he laid there, wallowing in self-pity and despair. She spoke to him for hours, and in recent days, he’d started to listen. She was struggling with nightmares, and her own questions of self-worth. Then yesterday, he’d decided to make his awareness of her known. He thanked her, and rolled over, unsure what else to do or say. He’d never had anyone be so unconditionally kind to him.

  Gretel’s soul-splitting scream traveled down the forest path, into the burning cabin, and into the soul of the Hound. His eyes snapped open. He roared in pain as he tried to sit up and failed. His body was a scarred and listless stranger to him, not yet willing to obey. After a second attempt, he rolled himself onto the wood plank floor.

  He coughed violently as the thick smoke filling the cabin introduced itself to his lungs. All four walls of the small cabin were ablaze, with flames licking at the ceiling’s beams. Scanning about, he noticed something out of place and crawled forward to get a better look. It was Saul’s booted foot, sticking out from behind a toppled table. He vaguely remembered hearing Hans argue with Saul, and realized that Gretel’s psychopathic twin brother had set the fire after knocking Saul out.

  “Saul,” he whispered, his voice raspy. After a long few seconds, he slapped the boot hard and yelled, “Saul!” With no reply, he wiggled his way up to Saul’s chest. He put his hand over Saul’s mouth, hoping to feel his breath, but he couldn’t feel anything. He rubbed his fingers together, unsure whether or not he could feel much anymore. Saul might very well be alive for all he knew.

  He laid his weary head on the floor, trying to think. His lungs and body burned, and a voice inside him wanted him to just accept the fate he’d asked for so long, but Gretel’s scream still rang in his ears.

  He glanced up at the burning ceiling. He knew he didn’t have much time. Trying to save Saul could mean both of them losing their lives, leaving Gretel to fall victim to whatever horrors were after her.

  Finding the door, the Hound forced his body over to it, moving slowly on his hands and knees. He stared at the knob, so tempting and dangerous. He could hear the voice of Sister Mia from his childhood orphanage scolding him for even thinking of it. Laying on his back, he kicked the lower center of the door as hard as he could. Nothing happened.

  He tried two more times without success, and finally lowered his legs in exhaustion. He felt dizzy, and gazed about, hoping for some inspiration. As if solely for that purpose, he heard Gretel scream again. With a roar, he kicked the door handle, breaking the door loc
k and then rolled out of the way as the door swung inwards. Grabbing Saul, he stood and staggered clear of the burning cabin.

  Dropping Saul on the grass by a tree, the Hound fell back on all fours, coughing. His ears were filled with the sound of his blood rushing, but his mind was filled with thoughts of Gretel. “Where are you?” he whispered on the wind. Then, as the first notes of a fresh scream arrived, he was off in a dead run.

  Hans laughed maniacally as Gretel stumbled, the fog in her mind growing as the effects of the Ginger-laced cookie he’d given her took hold. He wondered how Mother had come up with it, and if she’d found there any irony when he’d turned the tables on her. The concoction’s sweet smell hid its effects, which went from mild paralysis to outright blackouts and memory loss. He’d become a master of it, and had been supplementing Gretel’s regular mealtime dose with gingerbread cookies for years.

  Telling Gretel that he was the man from her nightmares, that they had been real, was even more freeing than burning down Mother’s house. He felt like there was nothing he couldn’t do, no one that he couldn’t own.

  “Come on, Gretel! Run! Run! As fast as you can, but you can’t outrun me, I’m the Gingerbread man!” He helped her up once again and then a moment later, shoved her over. “You can’t run from the Gingerbread Man? So sad. Twenty years of practice, and still not any good at it, are you?”

  “Why are you doing this?” asked Gretel, terrified. Her hands and feet had already gone numb, and the ground seemed to tilt every time she tried to take a step.

  Hans grabbed her by her long, platinum-blond hair. “Oh, that look, that doe-eyed fear, it’s really something. All those nightmares of yours, they were delightful moments, at least for me,” he said, his devilish light brown eyes preying on her. He let her go and gazed about at the silent forest.

  Gretel tried to get up. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Why? Well, one reason I recall,” he said crouching down to look at her, “you sided against me. Me, your own flesh and blood!” He took a moment to dust off his clothes and calm down.

  Gretel tried to take a swing at him, but missed terribly.

  “Oh, please,” he said, walking around her. “I can’t believe that you chose a broken animal of a man, one that we should have put down, over me. And where is he now?” Hans gestured to the empty forest around them. “Did you expect that you could nurse your broken beast back to health and he’d whisk you away? A lost dog turned secret prince?” Hans pointed at her and laughed hard. He wiped a fake tear. “Wouldn’t that be rich? The poor little forest girl, who has done horrible wrongs, washes away her sins and is made royal through her solitary noble act. Well, I’m sure sillier tales have been written.” He kicked her over.

  “You’re a monster,” said Gretel, on all fours, clutching the ground. The world was spinning, and she felt increasingly nauseous.

  Hans grinned from ear to ear. “Monster? No, I’m the Gingerbread Man. Maybe I’ll be known for creeping into the homes of little boys and girls and robbing them of their innocence. Yet again, maybe I’ll just steal cookies. Who knows? I’m free, so very, very free.” He crouched down and stroked Gretel’s hair, loving her inability to resist. “It could have been us taking on the world. Maybe it still will. Maybe you’ll join in the second act, after you come back to being the real Gretel, and not this pathetic, broken girl.”

  Gretel fell flat, unable to feel her arms and legs anymore. “Please, stop!”

  “Ah, the begging. Are we here already?” he looked skyward, as if the sun would answer his question. “Can you feel the moment coming? I can. It’s exciting.” He rolled her over on her back. “I’ll tell you what. If you don’t want to be a part of this, just get up and walk off. I won’t chase after you. Come on, just walk a yard and you’ll be out of my reach. My Gretel would have it in her, she’d stop at nothing. She was ruthless. Come on… prove to me you don’t want this!”

  Gretel tried to talk, but her mouth was no longer willing to do her bidding.

  “Need a hand? Well, I am a gentleman, after all,” he sneered, picking up her limp body. “I’ll even give you the first two steps for free.” He moved her and then let her go. He crouched down beside the crumpled heap on the ground. “Just one foot, Gretel. Crawl it, walk it, I don’t care.” He poked her with his finger. “What’s that? You want to stay?”

  Gretel mumbled.

  Hans stood and raised his arms in victory, breathing deeply. “I love the air here! It’s so… inspiring. Now, why don’t I show you where those wonderful little dreams you have of me come from, hmm?” he said, a vicious grin shining from his dark soul. “I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

  “Glad to hear it!” yelled the Hound, tackling him to the ground.

  Gretel sighed with relief as she passed out.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Cat's Bel

  The Lady in Red was quite pleased with herself. She’d been able to pick up Abeland’s trail quickly, and after Simon St. Malo’s failure, she’d decided to tend to it personally. She’d only needed to wait a day for Abeland to put himself somewhere that would be easy to surround and secure. The small two story inn had provided little hope that he and his companions would escape, but still, she knew better than to underestimate him. He was famous for getting out of difficult situations with little more than a smile or a clever word. She’d been watching him from a distance for years.

  “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure,” said Abeland, brushing himself off and handing over the pistol to the soldier stepping forward for it. He glanced over his shoulder at the inn as the fire consumed it. Richy, Bakon and Egelina-Marie all had rifles trained on them from some of the dozen mounted soldiers.

  “Oh, we have, actually,” said the red hooded woman. “Mind you, it doesn’t matter. I really should thank you, on behalf of your father and all your collective work, for laying all the groundwork for our grand return.”

  Abeland furrowed his eyebrows. There was something distinct and familiar about her voice. He studied the gold embroidery on the edges of her cloak. “Fair enough, I suppose?”

  “Hmm, funny,” she replied with sharp disdain. “You know, I was prepared for your antics, though to be honest, I’m surprised you’re still doing them at your age. Now, to the business of shooting your friends and bringing you for a very public trial. See, I remember how you like an audience.”

  Audience? thought Abeland. Now he was certain. He waved for her to stop talking, surprising everyone with his audacity. “They’re not my friends, and, to be more specific, you wouldn’t want to shoot the one you’re pointing at.”

  The woman cocked her head to the side. “Now why would that be?”

  Abeland smiled. “Because, Cat, he’s your son.”

  She stared at him in disbelief, she could feel herself losing focus. She glanced at the unshaven man and was ready to give the order to have him shot, when she found she couldn’t. “Give me a lantern,” she commanded as she dismounted. With lantern in hand, she pushed the night back and studied Bakon’s face in detail. After staring at the ground in thought for a while, she turned to Abeland. “I don’t believe you.”

  Chewing on his lip to hide his satisfaction at confirming her identity, Abeland shrugged. He wondered how she could possibly be alive, and if somehow his brother Lennart was also alive. It seemed like only yesterday that the message had arrived with news of Lennart, Catherine and their three boys’ deaths. “Then shoot him. Go on, shoot your long lost son Beldon and be done with it,” he said, forcing himself to stand straight. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the ripple of confusion spread from one soldier to the next. The whispers of rumor quickly followed.

  She stared at Bakon, looking at his build as much as his face.

  “By the way, do you go by the Lady in Red, Duchess Catherine or Caterina Maurice? So many options, and to be honest, I like to be really clear about people’s names. I’m a bit obsessive about it,” said Abeland. He hoped that after all the years, he
r ruthless father’s decision to change her name when married was still a sore point. Gaston Maurice had been a particularly cold and scheming man.

  “Given we’re old friends and you’ll hang soon, Regent Caterina,” she answered sharply.

  Abeland blinked in surprise. Regent?

  Caterina pulled back her hood, revealing her blotchy, heart-shaped face, and a scar that went from her left eye to her chin.

  “Oh, you've changed,” said Abeland. “More menacing. It’s like all your anger and disappointment is trying to break free through that scar.”

  She struck him in the mouth.

  He rubbed his jaw. “Fair enough.”

  Staring at Bakon, Caterina asked him, “What’s your name?”

  Bakon swallowed uncomfortably, not sure exactly what games were being played or how the Lady in Red and Abeland knew each other. He glanced at Abeland, wondering how he intended for all of this to play out, or if he had any plan at all. He looked back at the woman. There was something vaguely familiar about her face and her name. With a steady breath, he squeezed Egelina-Marie’s hand and answered, “Bakon Cochon.”

  Caterina raised the lantern again. This time illuminating the grey streaks in her otherwise dark hair. Her green eyes were menacing and feline.

  Richy’s eyes went wide as he saw the family resemblance. “Woo… you are his mother, aren’t you?”

  Egelina-Marie squeezed Bakon’s sweaty hand.

  Caterina turned to Egelina-Marie. The intensity of the woman’s gaze was nothing like Eg had felt before. “Are you his wife?”

  “I’m… I’m his girlfriend,” she replied, nervously.