Hellion’s Journey

Book Cover: Hellion's Journey
Part of the Hellion House series:
Editions:ePub
ISBN: 978-1-7382573-2-4
Kindle
ISBN: B0DL4V8WXH
Paperback
ISBN: 978-1-998655-02-1

When home is anything but a haven…

Detective Inspector Palmer yearns for a caseload of ordinary crimes—no monsters, no mages, and definitely no magic. Dark sorcery has left his city in bloody chaos, and Palmer is exhausted. But then Layla, one of the beauties from the notorious Hellion House, darkens his interrogation room door.

Lovely Layla is more welcome in Palmer’s daydreams, where her obsession for silver bullets and sharp knives can be safely ignored. But now she brings news about his most-wanted villain—the mechanic responsible for sabotaging the Leopard and sending most of the airship’s crew to a fiery death.

The evidence points to Palmer’s home town—a rough and ready hellhole he’d gratefully left behind. Now, with Layla at his side, he returns to his birthplace, and to the scene of a half-forgotten murder. All at once, his freedom, his mission, and Layla’s safety depend on solving the cold case. That’s no mean feat in a town full of crooks, drifters, and broken-down magicians, but DI Palmer always catches his culprit.

Until now. Uncovering one deadly secret is sure to reveal others—including his own.

 

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Publisher: Rowan & Ash Artistry
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Excerpt:

Detective Inspector Palmer was momentarily content. It was a sunny afternoon, warmer than it should have been for March, and for the first time in months, Londria’s criminals had run short on imagination. There were no buildings melting to puddles of slag and magefire, no exploding airships, and no armies of flesh-eating Unseen cavorting in the streets. After months of unrest, the city had settled into a new rhythm. Peace would not last, but he’d enjoy it while he could.

The promise of spring had brought out the crowds. Even Palmer had seized the opportunity to get out from behind his desk. There were plenty of half-forgotten cases needing some legwork, and the sunshine beckoned. With luck, he might be able to end his day with a quiet drink at the Mercury Café.

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But Palmer was not a lucky man. Just then, he spotted the young woman walking a dozen yards ahead of him. The milling crowd almost hid her slim back and the feathered hat perched atop her upswept strawberry-blond curls. He blinked, hoping he had seen a mirage, but alas. There was no mistaking the sway of her bustle and the flash of red leather boot heels beneath her black-and-white striped skirts.

Layla McHugh was a problem the way a craving for strong whisky was a problem—unhelpful, best avoided, and only reluctantly discussed. But she was intoxicating, even from a carefully maintained distance.

Palmer slowed his steps, his stomach tight with anxiety. Where was she bound and why? Layla was widely acknowledged as the reigning beauty of Hellion House, one of Londria’s more exclusive brothels. Both she and her employer, the infamous Mrs. Randall, were up to their beribboned garters in the city’s social and political intrigues. Complicated trouble followed Layla like the scent of her lemony perfume. She’d even got herself mixed up with the Anathema Club, a mob of vigilante monster-slayers, although he couldn’t quite picture her with a bloody sword in one hand.

He stopped to study the wares in the tobacconist’s shop window, letting the woman get ahead. Perhaps she’d go about her business and vanish out of his, taking her cloud of chaos with her. But then she took a right turn into the Wordsworth Jewelry and Fine Silver Emporium. Knowing Layla’s love of shiny, thievable trinkets, one might as well open the fishmonger’s door to an enterprising cat. Palmer followed, the afternoon warmth no longer a balm to his mood.

By the time he reached the jeweler’s door, Layla stood at the glass-topped counter inside, pointing to a necklace with one white-gloved finger. From the proprietor’s harried expression, this wasn’t her first request to inspect some bauble up close. She gave a guilty start when she saw Palmer’s reflection in the glass, then offered a disarming smile.

“Detective Inspector,” she said in a voice like warm honey. She had a way of gazing up at a man that made Palmer’s sober-hued waistcoat feel too tight.

“Miss McHugh,” Palmer said as he came to a stop at her side. “And Mr. Wordsworth, a pleasure as always.”

“Good day, Mr. Palmer,” replied Wordsworth, who watched Layla with pink-cheeked fascination. Whether his interest was down to a pretty face or the prospect of a sale, Palmer couldn’t tell. With Layla, either one was a bad bet.

A tray of rings already sat on the counter. With the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth, Layla reached for the top row of sparklies. Gently but firmly, Palmer caught her hand. For a tortured instant, she studied him from beneath her lashes, her gaze a well of chaos that threatened to drag him under. He released her fingers and stepped back.

“I apologize for interrupting your visit, Miss McHugh,” he said with studied politeness. “However, I have a question that requires an immediate response. Perhaps you could join me outside?”

“Of course.” A frown of confusion puckered her brow, convincing enough that he almost believed her innocence.

“Will that be everything for today, then, miss?” Wordsworth asked.

“Yes, thank you.” Layla picked up her drawstring silk handbag from where she’d set it on the counter and, with a last look around the store, made her exit. With an air of disappointment, Wordsworth returned the tray of rings to its secure spot under glass. Palmer hurried to catch up to Layla and hold the door so she could pass.

“Whatever is the matter, Detective?” she asked, her tone lightly teasing. Outside, the sun turned wisps of her hair to a fiery red. Her gloved fingers rested lightly on his sleeve. “Is this a social encounter, or am I the suspect in a crime?”

Palmer’s arm grew warm at her touch—his imagination, no doubt. “You have something I require.”

“What might that be?” Her smile promised everything and nothing.

“Come with me.” Palmer steered her down the street, out of sight of the jewelers and the flower shop next door.

Layla made no protest, following him as if they were out for an afternoon stroll. Inwardly, Palmer cursed. He had one of the loveliest women in Londria on his arm, one possessed of beauty, wit, and considerable intelligence—and he was in no position to enjoy the moment.

“I suppose you don’t get many afternoons to yourself,” she said a moment later, tilting her head to give him the whole of her attention.

“Is that what this is?”

She laughed. “We are two grown adults enjoying the fresh air. What would you like this to be?”

Palmer didn’t reply. They turned right at the next corner and crossed the busy thoroughfare. From there, he could see the police station at the end of the street. A statue of Athena stood to one side of the double doors, Hercules to the other. Wisdom and strength. Those were virtues Palmer strove for every minute of his working life, and he’d need a double helping with Layla in tow.

At the sight of the station, her steps flagged.

“Wait just one minute.” She cast him a sharp look. “You said you required something from me. You didn’t say anything about police business.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I thought—”

It was his turn to smile. “You thought I was off duty and ready for an afternoon of your professional attention.”

Her lips drew back, as if she were about to snarl. “As if I would—”

Palmer didn’t want to hear the end of that sentence. “It would be to your advantage to come quietly.”

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