The Clockwork Scarab: A Stoker & Holmes Novel by Gleason Colleen

Author:Gleason, Colleen [Gleason, Colleen]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Chronicle Books LLC
Published: 2013-09-17T04:00:00+00:00

Miss Stoker

Miss Stoker Is Paid with a False Coin

Congratulations, both genuine and jeering, abounded. Many hands reached out to grab their winnings, and a small pile was thrust in my direction.

I looked up and saw Pix shoving another healthy gathering of the loot: coins, small metal pieces, a slender gold chain, and a watch toward me. His gaze glinted with self-deprecating humor—an acknowledgment that I was the true winner.

That was the most fun I’d had in a long time. I grinned back and picked up the pouch to scoop in my winnings. I wasn’t paying attention until I felt one of the coins. It was an odd shape, with a raised texture, and I looked down.

It was an Egyptian scarab.

Blooming fish! I snatched it up before anyone else noticed and turned it over. On the bottom was an etching; it was too dim for me to see the details, but I was certain it was a drawing of Sekhmet. Shoving it in my pocket, I stood, and Pix rose as well.

“An’ ’ow about a word, there, boyo,” he said. He reached out and closed his fingers around my arm as if expecting me to bolt. “Two ales over ’ere, Bilbo!” He made a gesture to a table in the shadows. “The lad ’ere’s payin’!”

“Let go,” I said as we made our way between the last few people of the crowd.

To my surprise, he released me, and we settled at a table in the quietest corner of the place. My medievaler heart appreciated the simple bare-flamed candle sitting on a saucer, but the warrior in me recognized the danger of an open flame in a place such as this. Its flickering circle of light illuminated the very center of the table, and from below, up onto Pix’s chin, jaw, and mouth. I still didn’t know what color his eyes were. Although this was the third time I’d met him, I’d be hard-pressed to pick his face from a crowd. That was probably the way he wanted it.

We settled in our seats as the man behind the counter brought over two tankards and slapped them onto the table. I caught the strong, bitter scent of ale as its foam sloshed over the top of my mug and wondered if Pix expected me to drink it.

Bilbo glared down at me. “Thought you was lookin’ fer Cap Mago.”

“I was,” I replied in my gruff male voice. “But not anymore.”

“Awright, sonny, then pay up. Five shillings.”

I fumbled through my pouch and produced the money. When Bilbo left us alone, I looked over to find my companion watching me from behind his mug of ale. The expression in his eyes sent a sharp bolt of heat through me. I tore my gaze away as warmth colored my cheeks.

“So ye couldna stay away from me, aye, luv? ’Ad to come searchin’ me out down in th’ stews.” He’d settled his elbows on the table, which brought his face closer to mine. “Were ye lookin’ t’do a bit

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