Alchemy of Desire

211 Pages·2011·0.93 MB·English

by  Crista McHugh

Alchemy of Desire By Crista McHugh After winning the Civil War against the
Confederate Wielders, the Union Machinists have outlawed magic to usher in a
new age of steam-powered technology. Diah, an alchemist and the only non-
wielder in his family, owes his brother for saving his life in the war; so when
Cager is blackmailed into procuring the magical hide of the White Buffalo, Diah
accompanies him to the Dakota territory.
Their guide is Oni, a half-Lakota woman with plenty of secrets to hide. She’s a
magic wielder with an illegal wand concealed in her knife—and she’s a coyote
shifter. To her people, killing the White Buffalo is not only sacrilege, it’s
dangerous. Oni has no intention of helping them actually achieve their mission—
until she falls in love with Diah…
83,340 words
Dear Reader,
A new year always brings with it a sense of expectation and promise (and maybe
a vague sense of guilt). Expectation because we don’t know what the year will
bring exactly, but promise because we always hope it will be good things. The
guilt is due to all of the New Year’s resolutions we make with such good
intentions.
This year, Carina Press is making a New Year’s resolution we know we won’t
have any reason to feel guilty about: we’re going to bring our readers a year of
fantastic editorial and diverse genre content. So far, our plans for 2011 include
staff and author appearances at reader-focused conferences such as the RT
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on panels, giving workshops and hosting a few fun activities for readers. We’re
also cooking up several genre-specific release weeks, during which we’ll
highlight individual genres. So far we have plans for steampunk week and
unusual fantasy week. Readers will have access to free reads, discounts, contests
and more as part of our week-long promotions!
But even when we’re not doing special promotions, we’re still offering
something special to our readers in the form of the stories authors are delivering
to Carina Press that we’re passing on to you. From sweet romance to sexy, and
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Dedication
To all those who pushed the boundaries of what’s considered acceptable in order
to achieve tolerance.
Acknowledgements
To my husband, who allowed me to hide in my basement office during NaNo
2008 to write this novel.
To my editor, Deb, who saw something good in the story and helped me make it
shine.
And to my beta readers who helped me rework this novel into something better.
Contents
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Author’s Note
About the Author
Chapter One
New Orleans
Late August, 1872
“Uh-oh,” the cab driver muttered. “You’d better stay inside for a moment,
mister, until Monsieur Lamont’s boys are finished.”
Diah Reynolds shuffled his packages of alchemical supplies and peeked out
the window. This visit just got far more interesting. Outside his brother’s Garden
District home, two men wrestled with a third, taking care to avoid the dim
gaslights and keep their identities bathed in shadows. “Should we break it up?”
The driver shook his head. “You can if you want. Me, I prefer to keep my toes
from being turned into gator bait.”
Before Diah jumped out to assist, the scuffle moved toward a waiting steam
carriage, and the light flashed on the face of the man dragged they dragged
inside. Diah’s gut clenched. It was Cager. As soon as the door closed, red smoke
belched from the boiler, and the horseless carriage sped off toward the French
Quarter.
Jean-Baptiste Lamont, the self-proclaimed King of New Orleans, ran the city
like a tyrant. If anyone crossed him, they were usually found floating facedown
in a bayou the next morning. What worried him more was how Cager knew
Lamont.
“Follow them.”
“Are you crazy, mister? Ol’ Sal here can’t keep up with one of them steam
carriages.”
“Do your best. That’s my brother they’re taking.”
The horse’s hooves clopped down the smoke-filled streets, their pace
matching Diah’s own galloping pulse. He reached into his pocket and wrapped
his hand around the vial of black fire inside. If worst came to worst, he could use
that to free his brother.
As they came closer to the river, a dense fog rolled in and mixed with the soot
and steam to cover the French Quarter in a thick blanket. When the Machinists
won the war, they’d promised to usher in a new age of steam-powered
technology. They kept their promise, but at a cost. The air now seemed choked
from the hundreds of coal fires that fueled the cities. Only the very rich could
afford the clean-burning murcarbonite, a rare ore discovered during the war that
held more than twenty times the heat energy of coal.
Diah covered his mouth with a handkerchief to keep from coughing on the
foul air as he leaned out the window to follow the taxi with his brother inside.
The pedestrians in the narrow streets behind St. Louis Cathedral flattened
themselves against the buildings covered with iron lace to keep from getting run
over by Lamont’s carriage. At last it came to a stop, and the three men exited it.
The driver pulled on the reins of his horse. “That’s Monsieur Lamont’s club,
mister. The good news is that your brother walked into it instead of being
carried.”
“If there’s anything good to be said about this situation.” Diah climbed out of
the cab and fished a few dollars from his pocket. “Drop the packages off with the
servants at my brother’s house.”
The driver’s grin widened when he counted the bills and calculated the
generous tip Diah had given him. “Yes, sir. Good luck in there. You got more
nerve than half this city.”
Leave it to Cager to get us both into trouble. Diah shoved past the doorman
and crossed the room in long strides, determined to retrieve his brother from the
room he’d seen him disappear into as quickly as possible. The cloying scent of
perfume hung so heavily in the air, it almost choked him. Mounds of café au lait
cleavage overflowed from the silk-and-lace corsets the octoroon courtesans wore
as they paraded around the room. But as soon as his hand touched the doorknob,
a blade pressed between his ribs.
He pulled his hand back and craned his neck to look at the brute standing
behind him. At a few inches over six feet, Diah towered over most men, but this
lout weighed a good hundred pounds more than he did, and he doubted most of it
was fat.
“I just need to tell my brother something.”
The brute smiled, revealing two rows of tobacco-stained teeth. The gaslights
flickered off the smooth steel of his knife. With a click, a jagged-edged blade
replaced it. He reached around and opened the door, shoving Diah into the small
parlor.
For being caught in the den of one of the most notorious crime bosses in the
country, Cager appeared to be relaxing over a glass of cognac with an old friend.
Every strand of his dark brown hair was combed into place, framing a smile the
ladies never seemed to get enough of. His immaculately tailored suit looked like
it cost more money than Diah saw in an entire year. Only the white tips of his
fingers revealed his edginess. He set his glass down and rose to his feet. “Diah,
what the hell are you doing here?”
“You know this man, Monsieur Reynolds?” Lamont asked in his nasal Cajun
twang. He was a wisp of man with black hair lacquered to his skull, someone
who obviously liked his pomade too much.
Diah sucked a breath in through his teeth as the brute nudged him forward
with the sinister knife.
A muscle rippled along Cager’s jaw, and the downward angle of his mouth
almost made him look apologetic. “He’s my brother.”
“Votre frère?” Lamont’s gaze traveled the length of Diah. “Impossible. He
barely resembles you.”
A truthful assessment. Cager was dark and fine-featured, whereas Diah was a
ginger, through and through. The only things he shared with his brother were the
dimple in his chin and the same dark blue eyes. Most people found it difficult to
believe they were even related.
“As much as I hate to break up your little meeting, my brother and I have
dinner reservations at Antoine’s, and I don’t think my stomach can bear waiting
much longer. If you’ll please excuse us, we’ll be one our way now.” Diah tried to
leave, but the crushing pain in his shoulder made him reconsider that decision.
Somehow, he’d gone from being his brother’s rescuer to needing to be rescued
himself.
The Cajun chuckled. “Ah, I can see the resemblance now. He has your wit,
Monsieur Reynolds.” He nodded, and the brute released him. “I would be
honored if you would join us.”
Diah’s eyes darted between their captors and he inched his hand closer to his
pocket. Perhaps the vial of black fire would provide a large enough explosion to
allow them to escape.
“Monsieur Reynolds, perhaps you should advise your brother to keep his
hands in front of him if he wants to leave this room alive.” A reed-thin wand
made of pure orichalcum dangled from the Cajun’s fingers like a long bronze
needle. A daring show of power, especially considering such wands had been
outlawed since the war ended. Only about two dozen Wielders in the country had
been given special licenses to carry wands, and they were under constant
surveillance by the government. Being caught with an unlicensed wand carried a
death sentence, but Lamont was the type who wouldn’t let a few laws stand in
his way. He didn’t even bother to disguise his wand as a practical object.
After a nod from his brother, Diah raised his hands and prayed he could move
quickly if given the opportunity. He took the chair next to Cager, his heart
beating way too fast for his liking.
Lamont continued to twirl his wand between his fingers. “We were just
discussing your brother’s acquisitions business.”
Diah snorted. Smuggling, bounty hunting, recovering lost treasure and