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  The Wolf’s Pewter Priestess

  By

  TL Reeve and Michele Ryan

  Copyright Page

  2018 Copyright All Rights Reserved TL Reeve and Michele Ryan

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.

  Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in, or encourage, the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Dedication:

  To you, dear reader, we hope you enjoy the book. Thank you for being patient with us while we sorted everything out.

  To Michele, thank you for being patient with me while we tried to figure out what do next. What a crazy situation to be thrust into, right?

  To our families, thank you. For everything.

  Character Glossary

  The Ancient: Omer Cause – Leader and founder of the Dreadfuls. No one is exactly sure how old he is or when he took up the mantel. He finds those who have good souls, but have been placed into horrible situations. Once a “monster” enters his fold, they sign a contract and form a psychic link with Omer so he always knows where they are.

  The Reanimated Man: Emmitt Enright – He is exactly what his name denotes. He was created from seven men. He doesn’t know who they were, and Omer and he believe it is for the best. Emmitt is educated man and spends most of his time in the library of the manor. His brain powered by a Tesla coil and a clockwork heart.

  The Immortal: Jonah McRae – He has walked the earth for three hundred years and will continue to do so until he meets the sun or is staked. Jonah is the de facto leader of the Dreadfuls. His beloved is Annabelle Craig founding member of the Misfits. (Those that fight the things who go bump in the night.)

  The Beast: Ezra Blakely – Former Pinkerton for the United States government. He came to London to follow a lead and find a suspect wanted in the murder of a Sheriff and robbery of a bank. Instead, he was bitten. Ezra has never returned home.

  The Mad Scientist/The Deranged: Dr. Jerome Brew/Mr. Tinnin – An experiment that went horribly wrong. Now both beings live together in the body of Dr. Jerome Brew. So far, there is no cure for this experiment. But, Dr. Brew spends his days, when not working with the Dreadfuls, trying to reverse the potion that created these two halves of himself.

  The Unseen Man: Lawson Nealy – Grew up near the theater. During the great fire of 1865, Lawson ran into the theater to rescue those who were trapped, he too became disfigured, and was shunned from society. He now hides within the shadows of the manor, unwilling to let anyone see his face or his body for fear of what they might do to him. He is, for all intents and purposes, a true monster.

  The Spector: Jack O’Keefe – Bank robber by day, philanderer by night, Jack never took life too seriously. He had plenty of women and plenty of money, but his greed got to him. After hearing about an experiment that could make him invisible to the naked eye, he stole the elixir and took it, not realizing the effects were permanent. He cannot be cured of his invisibility.

  The Fiend: Andres Dunn – He was a simple, shy boy until he attended a party. There, the Absinthe flowed freely as did inhibitions. There was also a witch at this party who called forth a sexual demon. Andres had been the prime person for this demon to enter. He has been called an incubus, hedonist, sexual deviant, but Andres prefers the moniker of fiend, because his sexual appetite is never sated.

  Annabelle Craig: Grew up in London. Leader of the Misfits. Her parents are deceased. They were bitten by vampires and died slowly from exsanguination. She met a man, Elijah Dapp, who protected her and taught her everything she knew, but quickly learned nothing would ever be black and white in the world she now lived in. (She is the beloved of Jonah McRae)

  Clara Fitzpatrick: Doesn’t talk about where she comes from, only that she moved to France when she was ten. While there, she met a doctor by the name of Olen McDermott, who specialized in deformities like hers and steam technology. He created her pewter arm, and nursed her back to health after her transformation was complete. She is a powerful caster of magic. She met Annabelle at a young age, and they have been best friends ever since. She is also the reason Annabelle no longer sees the world in black and white, but in shades of grey.

  Charlie: An Automaton. A robotic member of the Misfits. Annabelle found him in a tavern working as a barkeep. It wasn’t until she brought him home that she figured out he was more than she assumed. His programing through powered by cogs and wheels and tesla coils, is astounding. He helps every member of the Misfits when needed. However, there is something about him that is...odd.

  Hoyt Sharpton: Inspector for Scotland Yard. Has been sent to the Dreadfuls to assist in the case. He is a sharp dressed man, who has a keen eye for evidence and doesn’t have a weak constitution when it comes to blood and gore. This is his first mission with the Dreadfuls and Misfits and will continue to be featured in the series.

  Dr. Victor Cantrel: Inventor, scientist. He invents all the little trinkets the Dreadfuls and Misfits use on each of their missions. He newest creations include a portable recording device he likes to call Madam Butterfly.

  Chapter One

  London 1887, six months after the horde invasion...

  Ezra Blakely stared out over the mansion garden as Miss Jemmy and Mr. Nealy clipped fresh blooming flowers from the blossoming orchard while the sun began to set along the horizon. The full moon would rise in less than a week’s time. The thought of going back to the pack had a knot forming in the pit of his stomach. If he wanted to go anywhere, it was upstairs to where the little witch, Miss Fitzpatrick—Clara, lay napping in her bed.

  Her scent was everywhere. Coconut oil and something decadent. Sweet like summer heat kissed by honeysuckle and night blooming jasmine. It drove him to the brink. Most days, he stayed away from the house, but Omer asked for him to be there at nightfall, after spending more time with his wolf pack than when his team needed him. Ezra assured Omer, after the horde had been destroyed, he’d be there. Every time, however lately, it seemed more taxing, than a reprieve. Miss Fitzpatrick consumed his every waking thought most days. When he stayed at the mansion with the team, it took sheer will-power to keep himself in check and not pounce on the woman. It’d gotten so bad; his mouth watered every time he caught the hint of honeysuckle or consumed a confection containing coconut.

  Ezra raised the dainty tea cup to his lips and grumbled. What he wouldn’t give for his Army issued tin cup right about now. Every inch of the kitchen along with the library had small touches of Clara. She, along with the other women of the house, plus the fiend, found joy in drinking from their fine china. He figured it had to be a class thing. They were refined. Ezra was a bit rougher around the edges. American through and through.

  Thirteen years ago, he hadn’t thought he’d be in London long. The dreary atmosphere settled over his adventurous disposition like a dirty, wet rag, suffocating him. Unfortunately, a bitch of a werewolf, bit him, changing his life forever. No way he could return home to his old life with his old acquaintances. How could one explain lycanthropy to men who dealt in science and evidence? If he even uttered the word werewolf, he’d be committed to one of the asylums near Los Angeles, or worse—Bellevue Hospital.

  So, he stuck around and h
ad been given a second chance at life, even though, in the beginning, he didn’t deserve it.

  He lived in the mansion with Jonah and the aptly named Dreadfuls, which also included the Misfits—Annabelle’s ragtag gang of supernatural hunters. Kind of ironic them working together. However, after the zombie horde raised by a man named Lucian Wright, better known as the Summoner—man who could manipulate things undead, dead and magical, it only seemed appropriate, they did. Without his quest for power and destruction, Ezra would’ve never met the enchanting Miss Clara.

  Omer called her a mate. Ezra snorted at the idea. The wolf physiology demanded his mate smell like him, wore a mark showing she’d been claimed by him, yet Ezra couldn’t ever mark Clara—the downside to his personal contract with the immortal being. They all had one, each one specifically tailored to the individual. So, he sat back and waited. He watched Miss Clara like a hawk sometimes, especially after the stupid stuff she’d done to help Jonah.

  When they returned to the manor after destroying the horde, all of them a bit battered and broken, he curled up on the bed beside Clara and slept. The thought of her being hurt after everything she provided for the company of dreadful misfits, he couldn’t leave her alone. Ezra worried about her. And, yet, even though he did what he could to protect her most days, since her arrival, she still rebuffed him.

  Ezra finished his coffee, then stepped away from the window overlooking the garden. The newest friendship between Miss Jemmy and Mr. Nealy, he wouldn’t call it a relationship yet, developed like the flowers in the garden. With time, nurturing, and attention on all their parts, he could see Miss Jemmy being quite happy with Mr. Nealy.

  “Good evening, Mr. Blakely,” Miss Jemmy murmured, stepping into the kitchen. “Did you have a good day?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He nodded. “Evenin’, Mr. Nealy.”

  “Ezra,” the man rasped. “I will speak with you later, Miss Jemmy.” Lawson Nealy gave a quick bow before exiting the space.

  Ezra and Miss Jemmy had an interesting relationship. He gave her plenty of room and never broached the subject of her mother. She also didn’t talk about her mother while around him nor did she treat him like a horrible monster. It worked, for now, he supposed.

  “If you like Miss Clara, you should bring her flowers.” Miss Jemmy handed him the small bouquet she’d made while outside with Lawson. “It’s customary after all.” She gave him a small smile.

  Little imp.

  “Thank you kindly, Miss Jemmy. I appreciate it. However, I don’t believe the little witch wants an old mutt like me.” He winked.

  She laughed. “You’re not so old.”

  “So, I’m a mutt, then?”

  Miss Jemmy laughed hard. “Not even close.”

  “Well, what is all this chatter?” Clara’s scent smacked him square in the chest and groin. His trousers grew uncomfortably tight. Damn the vixen for tempting him to madness.

  Tonight, she wore a yellow and brown pinstripe corset over a white billowy shirt which clung to her shoulders and a floor length skirt. Her pewter arm gleamed in the rapidly dwindling light. She’d also pulled back her hair in a red cotton wrap, allowing some of the springy curls to frame her face. All the hard edges of her skirt were softened by her pert nose, full lips and doe eyes. Seeing so much of her soft mocha-colored flesh, drove his wolf insane. The hound dog had an itch Ezra couldn’t scratch without a willing partner like Miss Clara.

  Miss Jemmy curtsied. “Good evening, Miss. We were speaking about the gardens and how well the flowers are growing. So nice to see after all the snow of the winter.”

  Miss Clara nodded. “I agree.” She rubbed her mechanical arm taking care not to hit the cogs and pressure relief gears as they spun, and steam released from the control vent. “It brings a unique chill to the bones.”

  “Aye, it does,” Miss Jemmy agreed. “If you’ll excuse me.” She exited the kitchen leaving Ezra to stare after her.

  “These are for you.” He shoved the bundle of wild flowers into Miss Clara’s good hand, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Miss Jemmy thought you could use them.”

  She smiled. “They actually perfect. I can use these. I’ll have to thank her later.” Miss Clara took a step toward Ezra. “Thank you as well, for delivering them.” She touched his hand.

  “You’re welcome.” A bit of him warmed at her appreciation. “Would you like to accompany me to—”

  “Good evening everyone,” Annabelle stated as she glided into the kitchen followed by Jonah, who appeared a bit uncomfortable. His shirt tails were untucked in front and his tie sat askew. He also had a hint of pink in his cheeks. What had his Beloved done to him before entering the kitchen? “Did you all have a productive day?” She gave Clara a pointed look before settling at the table.

  “Yes, very much so,” Miss Clara answered, placing the kettle onto the stove to heat. “I believe I have figured out why Lucian Wright affected me so.”

  “Can we not speak of him?” Ezra growled. “He almost cost all of us everything.” Just the thought of the man made his blood boil and his hackles rise.

  “Agreed,” Jonah said. “I believe these two have been dreaming of the whys and hows of a situation even we don’t comprehend.”

  Ezra scrubbed his chin. “He is dead, and dead he should stay.”

  “Oh, come now, he was too pretty to die,” Mr. Andres Dunn said, entering the kitchen. He ran his fingertip along Miss Clara’s arm. “Kitten.”

  Ezra fisted his hands at his side. If the asshole touched her again, he’d kill Andres. “Don’t push me.”

  “Down puppy,” Mr. Dunn teased. “I meant no harm. Besides, I’ve set my sights on another.”

  Annabelle rolled her eyes. “Who is your latest victim?”

  “We should take pity on them,” Ezra added.

  The man gave them a coy smile. “A lover doesn’t kiss and tell.”

  “Can we not talk about our intimate proclivities, please.” Emmitt lumbered in and joined Miss Clara at the stove totally oblivious to the way Andres stared after the reanimated man.

  “I’m sorry, should we talk about yours?” Andres propped his chin on his hand resting on the back of his chair.

  Emmitt shook his head. “No. Let’s not. There are ladies present and it’s not proper.”

  Annabelle giggled. “Surely, you’ve heard us, Mr. Enright.”

  He huffed a breath. “Can we not?”

  “I say we do,” Mr. Dunn replied, standing. “Tell me, Mr. Enright, have you found the spot yet?” He came up behind Emmitt. “I’m dying to know.”

  “Mr. Dunn, I expect more from you,” Mr. Omer Cause said, apparating into the room.

  “Well at least one of us does.” The dandy man nodded at the ancient being. “So, what is this case you have for us?”

  “This is better suited for two of you. Mr. Blakely and Miss Fitzpatrick.” Omer glanced between them.

  When Omer had called upon him the night before, it’d been a momentary whisper through his mind. A trick Omer had told them about when he saved them. Part of the pact Omer made with them to be sure they’d stay in line and they could find him if something should happen.

  “Would you like us to leave?” Jonah glanced at the exit.

  Omer shook his head. “I think it best you all be here while I explain the situation.”

  “Good thing I’ve been here,” Mr. Jack O’Keefe, better known as The Spector, stated from some corner of the room.

  “For God sakes man, put some clothes on,” Ezra grumbled. “Do you enjoy being naked because we can’t see you?”

  The disembodied voice laughed. “Yes. I hear everything this way. Including Jonah and Miss Craig’s dalliances. Good show, ‘ol man.”

  Jonah rolled his eyes. “Can we stay on task?”

  “Yes,” Omer muttered. “Miss Clara, the rest of your team?”

  “Miss Norah, Mr. Donovan and Dr. Cantrel are out for the evening doing what is required of them,” Miss Clara stated.

  “Ve
ry good and the machination, Charlie?”

  “Here, sir.” Charlie ambled forward. “How may I be of service?”

  “In good time, automaton. First, this issue.” Omer snapped his fingers and a map appeared on the table. “Two nights ago, strange energy moved through the area of Hyde Park.”

  The hairs on Ezra’s neck stood on end. “What?”

  “It’s nothing like Mr. Wright,” Omer assured them. “This is darker. Far darker than I have experienced in many a century, which disturbs me more.”

  Clara stepped forward. “What is it?”

  “I’d like you and Ezra to find out.” Omer pointed to the map once more and a circle appeared around the area where the disturbance occurred.

  “My pack lands?” How had Ezra not known?

  Omer inclined his chin. “I’m sorry, friend. I hadn’t realized keeping you here with us would cause such turmoil within your ranks. Someone there is being a bit reckless.”

  He knew of a few females who’d be stupid enough to be heedless. Ezra clenched his fists. “It’s not your fault. Things have been a little discombobulated.” He’d been falling for the little witch living down the hall from him. The one who stood beside him now, hanging on every word Omer said. “What do you make of it, Miss Clara?”

  She scrubbed her forehead. “I won’t know until I am in the area. See the markings. Smell the magick used.”

  Ezra placed a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll do it together then. You won’t be alone.”

  She gave him a small smile. “I’d be grateful.”

  “This won’t be easy,” Omer stated. “I fear it might be quite treacherous.”

  “Well, at least we’re used to it around here,” Ezra answered.

  A tap at the window drew his attention. Mr. Tinnin stood there, staring at them. A cigar hung out of the corner of his mouth. The usual white shirt he wore had been discarded, exposing his massive form to the women in the room. Healed stab wounds and puckered bullet scars marred his flesh. The man though deranged didn’t deserve the pain he endured more often than not.