Chasing the Green Fairy
Date: 2014-02-24 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Steampunk; Fantasy; Romance; Science Fiction; Paranormal; Adventure
Description: A sabotaged airship. A recovering opium addict. A messenger with life-shattering news. With the 1824 British airship qualifying race only weeks away, Lily Stargazer is at the top of her game. She’s racing like a pro, truly in love, and living clean. But on one ill-omened day, everything changes. Pulled head-long into the ancient secrets of the realm, Lily soon finds herself embroiled in Celtic mysteries and fairy lore. And she’s not quite sure how she got there, or even if she wants to be involved. But Lily soon finds herself chasing the spirit of the realm while putting her own ghosts to rest
Publisher: Clockpunk Press

Chasing Christmas Past

An Airship Racing Chronicles Short Story

Melanie Karsak

MelanieKarsak.com

Clockpunk Press 2014

Copyright © 2014 Melanie Karsak

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without permission from the author.

This is a work of fiction. References to historical people, organizations, events, places, and establishments are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

Dedication

For Elyse

Part 1

A light dusting of snow covered the bowsprit of the Stargazer. The wind blew gently, causing a cascade of fat snowflakes to gust across the deck of the airship. When the flurry hit the bulwark it became a whirlwind that drifted upward into the purple and blue twilight sky. I rubbed my hands together. It was Christmas Eve, and it was bitter cold. I sighed deeply, my breath fogging the air.  From the streets of London below the airship towers, I could hear the holiday revelers singing Hark! The Herald Angels Sing. The scent of roasted chestnuts perfumed the wind. My stomach growled hungrily, and I began dreaming of the mug of mulled wine waiting for me at my favorite haunt, Rose’s Hopper. Nothing sounded better than sitting in the corner of the tavern, drinking Christmas Eve away. Leave the roasted geese, plum pudding, and midnight mass to all the joyful mums and dads and fat-cheeked children. Tonight, I would drink. Tomorrow, I would race.

The balloon of the Stargazer shifted in the breeze. I’d already started strategizing. Cold air meant the balloon would get better lift which we could use to our advantage, but flying in snow was annoying as hell. Not that it mattered much. I knew what to do. I’d run in the Yuletide Airship Race since I was a girl. What made the 1820 race any different? I wasn’t going to let a little snow get between me and the fat stack of coins waiting in Calais. This year I would win for sure.

I pulled out my little bottle of laudanum. My fingerless gloves were good for more than just gripping the wheel of the Stargazer. The cap on the laudanum bottle was always annoyingly tricky. With shaking hands—the chill of the wind, of course—I undid the lid then took a drop. I stuffed the bottle back into the pocket of my wool trousers as Angus came out of the gear galley.

“Bloody hell! I think my balls are frozen,” Angus said with a laugh as he attempted to smooth down his kilt. “Are you done fussing, Lily? The ship is set to go. Let’s head to the Hopper. Jessup is probably half-drunk already.”

Grinning so hard the muscles in my face ached, I asked, “What possessed you to wear a kilt on this freezing night? And don’t tell me you’re commando.”

“What kind of Scotsman would I be if I wasn’t natural underneath? And didn’t you see my festive adornment?”

Instead of a sporran hanging from his waist, Angus had tied a bunch of mistletoe. “Christ, Angus. What…what the hell,” I choked out, laughing so hard I started to cough.

“All that opium smoke is burning your lungs, lass. Now, let’s go. If that buxom Rebecca isn’t at the Hopper tonight, I think I’ll cry,” he said with a grin, extending his arm to me.

“Well, you can always hope for a Christmas miracle,” I replied with a wink.

Angus and I headed to the lift that would lower us from the airship towers to the city street below. As we rode downward, I gazed out across the city. The rooftops were covered with a powdering of crystalline snow. The gaslamp light made everything sparkle. The waves on the Thames twinkled with golden light. While the revelers had moved off, I could still hear their dulcet tones from a distance. They were singing Silent Night. It really was Christmas Eve. I gazed up at the darkening sky. One shining star—was it the North Star?—glimmered. I wondered, just for a moment, about Byron. Where would the illustrious George Gordon, Lord Byron spend Christmas Eve? What shenanigans would he be up to? I hadn’t heard from him for more than a month. Who knew where in the world he was and what misadventures he was wrapped up in? I missed him.

“Happy Christmas,” Edwin, one of the tower guards, called cheerfully when Angus and I reached the bottom of the lift. “Here, Lily,” he said, tossing a package to me. The brown paper package was warm to the touch and smelled heavenly: honey roasted walnuts.

“Happy Christmas! And thank you. Want to come to the Hopper with us?”

Edwin shook his head. “Shift is about to start. Get some sleep tonight! You almost won it last year,” he reminded me encouragingly then headed to the lift.

I sighed deeply, looped my arm in Angus’, and we headed to the tavern. I clutched the small package of walnuts against my chest. Maybe the laudanum was already playing with my emotions, but Edwin’s small gesture moved me. It wasn’t like my foster fathers, such as they were, ever saw fit to give me a Christmas gift. I hated to admit how much I adored receiving even small things like Edwin’s gift. They felt like affirmations of love.

Angus and I crossed the snow-dusted cobblestone street to the tavern. The gaslamp outside flickered, casting blobs of orange light on the ground. Inside, someone was playing the piano loudly, over-striking the keys. Raucous voices sang Christmas carols. Over the crowd, I could hear Jessup, my teammate and balloonman, singing Here We Come a-Wassailing.

“Christ, sounds like someone is squeezing a cat,” Angus said as he pushed the door open.

“That’s Jessup,” I replied with a giggle.

Angus winked at me. “I know.”

“Stargazer!” Several of the tavern patrons erupted in cheer when Angus and I arrived.

“Just in time,” Ollie, the tapster, yelled. “Lily Stargazer, get over here! We were about to parade the Yule log! Come for a ride! It will bring you some luck tomorrow.”

They had just hauled in the Yule log from the back and were adorning it with holly boughs. Snow dripped from the bark onto the stone floor.

“Not me,” I called back. “Make Angus ride.”

“I can’t ride in a kilt. The bark will chafe,” Angus retorted with a laugh.

Without another word, Angus threw me over his shoulder and carried me across the tavern. The patrons cheered. I was hanging on haphazardly, but Angus set me down on the log gently. For all his brawny mischief, I knew Angus would be careful with me. He and Jessup were the only men I trusted—save Byron, in his own way—and I loved Angus like a brother.

“Okay, okay,” I said, situating myself on the log like it were a horse. I sat astride, Yankee style. I gripped the gritty, wet bark for dear life, seriously wishing I was already drunk.

“Got it, gents?” Ollie asked. “One, two, three!” They heaved the log into the air.

I clung to the log as they careened around the room. Once I felt stable, I waved to the patrons like a princess as I made the tour. All the usual faces were there, other airship jockeys looking worn down from running transports in the freezing wind, some travelers waiting to hop the next airship, and a handful of tinkers. I even spotted one of the new tinkers, an Italian, who had recently set up shop at Hungerford Market. His name was Salvatore something, but everyone just called him the Italian. He winked at me, lifting a mug of wine in toast as I paraded by. I smiled at him. Nice looking chap. I needed to find a reason to stop by and meet him.

I spotted Angus crossing the tavern toward Rebecca. The moment she saw the mistletoe hanging from his belt, she burst out laughing. A pretty girl with curly brown hair and red cheeks, she seemed like the kind of woman who could keep you warm for the night and make you a hearty breakfast the next morning. Maybe Angus would get his Christmas miracle after all.

When the Yule log tour finally stopped in front of the fireplace once more, they helped me off then broke into the traditional Yule log song. The men loaded the heavy log into the fire:

Old lady ash, you’ll burn so bright

And light the way for all the night

Mistress Yule, keep away the cold

And help us burn away the old

Mother forest, bring us luck

Cleanse away the mire and muck

This Christmastide let dreams come true

Make your wishes on the Yule

After that, the patrons threw small sprigs of herbs into the fire with the Yule log. I saw Mary, the ever-cheerful barmaid, kiss a sprig of parsley, close her eyes, then throw it into the flames. If I knew her right, she was wishing for a way out of the tavern—preferably via someone male dressed in velvet and silk. A basket of herbs and flowers was passed around. I took out a small purple flower. I wasn’t keen on superstition, but I pressed the flower into my palm and closed my eyes: let me win tomorrow…and let me see George soon. I tossed the flower into the fire. It crackled as it burned. I sighed heavily. Around me, everyone was smiling and feeling cheerful. They had even roped me into the merriment, but the feeling had been fleeting. In the end, I felt…detached. It was like the joy everyone else was feeling was always just out of my reach. I was always running after bliss. My whole life seemed to be filled with chasing, not catching. Sure, I’d had moments of passion or the thrill of an opium high, but I’d never known true contentment. That was something reserved for other people, better people.

Ollie pushed a mug of mulled wine, a Smoking Bishop, into my hands. “Happy Christmas, Lily,” he said, kissing me on the cheek. I watched as he made his way through the crowd, passing out more mugs filled with the steaming nectar. The scents of orange, cinnamon, and cloves wafted from my mug. I sipped the liquid, burning my tongue. The drink left a sharp aftertaste of spice behind. Tonight, the tavern smelled divine. The pine boughs decorating the fireplace mantle, the baking gingerbread, and the mulled wine fragranced the air. The scents delighted the senses, but my heart felt empty.

I cast a glance at Jessup, my teammate. He was still lingering by the piano.

“Lily, come sing!” he yelled to me.

I smiled fondly at him, shook my head, then headed for a table in the corner near the fireplace. I wiggled into a bench and propped my feet up on the chair closest to the fire. I pulled my gloves off then unwrapped the crinkly brown paper on Edwin’s package, popping a toasted walnut in my mouth. I savored the sweet flavor, chewed and swallowed, then washed it down with wine. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the wall. My whole body felt tired. Beside me, the fire roared. I could hear the wood popping and crackling. It was such a sweet, calming sound. The radiating heat warmed me; I had felt frozen deep into my core. When I opened my eyes again, I grabbed the mug, the wine now cool, and finished it. No absinthe for me tonight. It was Christmas Eve, after all. Even the green fairy needed a night off.

Ollie brought me another drink. The tavern patrons started dancing. They waved for me to join them, but I shook my head. I watched as the Italian rose, set a few coins on the bar, then headed back into the night with the rough-looking aircrew of the Mockingbird. Where was he off to with that motley troupe? Just as he was about to exit, he turned, smirked slyly at me, then left. Yeah, I definitely needed to find a way to introduce myself to him. Later. After the race.

I gazed across the tavern. Everyone was having so much fun. Angus’ mistletoe had done the trick. He and Rebecca were already lip-locked, and he was putting a firm squeeze on her backside. Jessup was surrounded by boozy revelers who sang song after song. I loved a good party, but tonight I felt…lonely. How could that be? I was surrounded by people I knew, whose company I enjoyed. And it was Christmas Eve. I smiled softly as I watched the revelry, but my chest ached. My mind kept rolling back to Christmas Eves past. Never, not once, had I enjoyed what others would consider a normal holiday. Certainly not with my foster fathers. And before that, we kids at the orphanage had never been given anything. As for my life with my mother and father, there were no memories, not good ones anyway. I had no reminiscence of feasting on roasted duck or receiving nicely bundled gifts. Not once had I ever felt the magical glow of love, something people talked a lot about, on Christmas. The holiday made me feel really alone. I pulled out my bottle of laudanum and took another drop…and then, on second thought, another. My head started to feel drowsy. The lonely feeling drifted away. Soon, I felt nothing…what better gift was there on Christmas Eve?

Part 2

“Lily, wake up,” Jessup said with panic in his voice as he shook my shoulder.

I opened my eyes slowly. Angus was asleep in a chair nearby, his head hanging back, his mouth wide open. I rubbed my eyes. I was still tired. We’d spent the last twenty-four hours working nonstop preparing for the race. No wonder I’d passed out…well, between exhaustion and the laudanum. I cast a tired glance out the frost-covered window. Was that the first glimpse of sunlight on the horizon?

“Oh no,” I gasped in alarm. “No, no, no!” I yelled, jumping up. “Angus! We’re late!”

Angus jumped up, tripping over a chair, nearly falling.

I glanced around the tavern. It was morning. Old Aunt Rose was behind the bar washing mugs and humming Christmas carols. The tavern was closed. The scent of gingerbread lingered in the air, but the place was empty. The Yule log crackled. I could tell I had been sweating in my sleep. My whole body felt sticky, the hair on my forehead wet. Suddenly, I was struck with a craving for opium so strong that my stomach churned. I held back the bile.

“Go, go, go. Let’s go,” Jessup yelled, rushing toward the door.

Angus, Jessup, and I raced out of the tavern.

“Happy Christmas,” I yelled to Aunt Rose as we dashed out the door. Lovely old thing, she probably didn’t have the heart to wake us. It wasn’t her fault I was such a mess. She nodded sweetly and waved us off.

Outside, the cold air hit me so hard I felt like I’d walked into the side of a building. The street was packed. Spectators rushed to the airship towers. I gazed up. The Yuletide Airship Race Marshals were already on the platform. The airships, including the Stargazer, were docked in the race bays. Airship crews crawled all over their ships as the beginning of the race neared. The Stargazer shifted in the breeze like a ghost ship.

“Dammit!” Jessup cursed in panic. “We aren’t going to make it. The sun is nearly up!”

“We’ll make it,” I said decisively, trying to sound a lot more confident than I felt. God, why did I have to botch everything up? Why did things always go wrong for me?

“And if we don’t?” Angus asked as he tossed away the limp bundle of mistletoe hanging from his belt.

I frowned. “We’ll make it,” I said again. But my hands were shaking. Even if we did make it, I was feeling like I was about to throw up every bit of wine I’d drunk the night before. Just what the Marshals needed, a shower of foul-smelling bile and spiced wine all over the race platform. My stomach heaved, but I held myself together. In that moment, I hated myself. I gritted my teeth. Once we were in the air, out of the streets, I would feel better. I would be able to breathe. I could nip some laudanum and feel like myself again. Right now, however, I had to focus for the sake of my team.

“Make way!” Angus yelled when we approached the lift. A line of race spectators had queued to ride the lift up for a better view of the race from the towers.

“That’s the Stargazer’s team,” I heard one woman whisper to her male companion.

One of the tower guards, Jamison, spotted us. “Move aside! Let them through!” he bellowed to the crowd, ushering a group of spectators out of the lift so we could get in.

“Lily! You’re going to miss the start,” Jamison said worriedly as he slapped the gate on the lift closed and yanked the lever, launching the lift upward with a heave. It rose quickly, the metal gears overhead turning.

“No, we’re going to make it,” I said.

“Lil, the Marshal is getting ready at the start,” Jessup said in panic.

Dammit! It didn’t matter how good we were, we would have to fight for the win if we started late. The wind whipped harshly. I turned my face toward the wind then closed my eyes. It was blowing in from the south. It would be in the face of the racers. Everyone would rise quickly then stall out, battling the wind all the way south. I gazed out at the Thames. Mist was rising off the water. I grinned. “Gents, we’re going to be okay,” I said as the lift lurched to a stop.

“Idea?” Jessup asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Let’s go,” I said, winking at Jessup. Angus, Jessup, Jamison, and I ran toward the Stargazer as the cannon boomed signaling the start of the race.

“Bloody hell!” Angus cursed.

“Go, go,” Jamison yelled at us. “I got the anchor.”

“Stargazer,” the Marshal chided, “you’re late!”

“Thanks for stating the obvious. We approved to race or not?” I shouted back as I scurried to the wheelstand.

The Marshal, a huge man who looked like he’d swallowed his Christmas goose whole, frowned at me then looked at his checklist. I glanced at the crowd. Ladies were snickering softly behind their fox fur muffs while men whispered to one another, frowning in disdain. Reporters shook their heads as they took notes. As usual, the Stargazer’s crew was an hour late and two bits short of being a winning race team.

“Approved. Move it, Lily! You’re already behind.”

I gazed overhead. The other ships had already set off and were headed south, into the strong sheer.

Angus scurried into the gear galley, and soon I heard the grinding of gears. Jessup scampered up the rope ladder to the balloon basket and fired the burner.

“Low, Jessup. Low. Don’t fire her hot.”

“You sure?”

“Clear!” Jamison yelled from the platform, tossing the anchor ropes onto the deck of the Stargazer. I grabbed the wheel. The brass spokes froze my fingers. “Come on, girl. We’ve got this,” I whispered to the ship.

The Stargazer moved slowly out of port. I gazed up at the sky. The clouds were thick and the southern wind was still gusting. I eyed the Thames once more. The river was warm, and the fog was thick. I turned the Stargazer toward the river. The propeller kicked over hard and soon we were over the Thames.

“Plan?” Jessup yelled down at me.

“Sheer from the south is too heavy. We’ll ride the warm wind over the Thames out to sea.”

“But that will take us east.”

“We’ll cross land above Canterbury then fly directly to Calais,” I told Jessup who was mulling it over. “We’ll gain time. I promise. It will work.”

Jessup grinned at me. “Sounds good. Run it, Lily!”

I turned the wheel of the Stargazer. Now we just had to navigate around the bridges. Jessup adjusted the balloon’s lift while I steadied the wheel so the bottom of the ship just lifted over Westminster Bridge. I glanced over the side and looked down at the river. I hated the water in general, and I really hated the Thames. She’d tried to kill me once. Today, she’d pay me back. I settled the Stargazer into a sweet spot in the air just above the river. Flying not so low that we had to worry about wind dancing off the waves and not so high as to fight the upper-level sheers, I found a warm, calm pocket of air that gave us a quick slide east. The other racers were already pushing south but moving slowly.

Below the ship, the mist on the Thames rose sluggishly. The tall grass and cattails at the edges of the river were frozen. They shimmered, crystalline, in the early morning sunlight. On both sides of the river, the water was trimmed by a filigree of blue and white ice. It was almost like someone had sewn a lace of ice trimming along the Thames’ shores. A single white swan swam amongst the reeds. I would have missed her if she hadn’t sounded as we passed overhead. She was like a ghost in the fog.

I inhaled deeply. As we moved away from London and the sooty stink of the city, the air began to feel cleaner, fresher. It was cold. The chilly fingers of winter ruffled my hair and nipped at my nose. I tugged my heavy wool cap over my ears then pulled on my goggles. The Stargazer moved quickly, gliding above the water, running east. The English countryside was covered in a blanket of soft white snow. Puffs of smoke spiraled out of cottage chimneys. The land was sleeping, but we were racing. The whole length of the Thames, I never spotted another airship. Before we knew it, we’d raced to the river’s end where it poured into the sea. If my guess was right, we had cut off half the time it would have taken to fight the southern winds. I hoped I was right.

“We’ll follow the coast toward Herne Bay,” I yelled up at Jessup. “Cross above Canterbury. Angus, how you doing?” I shouted down to the gear galley.

“Counting my coins already,” Angus called back.

I gripped the wheel and guided the ship along the coast, turning south when I spotted the sandy shoreline of Herne Bay. I then moved the Stargazer over land, catching sight of the Canterbury Cathedral in the distance. A single airship tower sat nearby. I saw the tower workers rush out as we sped by quickly. They waved as the Stargazer, recognizable by the three-legged triskelion on the balloon, pushed past.

As we moved past Canterbury Cathedral, I saw the red and green bedecked parishioners exiting the church, shaking hands and walking arm-in-arm to waiting sleighs. The cathedral bells began to peal, an avalanche of sound filling the sky. It was, after all, Christmas Day. Well, by all accounts, Angus got his Christmas miracle last night. Maybe I’d have mine this morning. I adjusted my goggles and set my eyes on the horizon. Now, I just needed to get across the Channel…and to find my laudanum. If I didn’t botch it—again—I might just win this thing.

Part 3

“Lily, look! Look!” Jessup bellowed as the airship towers in Calais appeared like phantom fingers poking out of the dark shape of land on the horizon. We had made it across the Channel without incident. In fact, we’d made it across the Channel in complete silence. There was no one and nothing else in the sky with us. That was either a very good thing or a very bad thing. On the one hand, we didn’t see airship pirates—that was always a plus. On the other hand, it could also mean the race was already over, and we were about to limp into port in an embarrassing last place.

“What? Where?” I yelled back.

“Astern!” Jessup pointed behind us. I lowered the binocular lenses on my goggles and scanned the horizon. There, in the distance, were at least a dozen specks in the sky: the other racers.

“Can you see any markings on the balloons?”

Jessup shook his head. “Maybe the Rose and Thistle. I can’t quite see.”

Grabbing a spyglass, I locked the wheel and ran to the bow. I couldn’t see anyone in front of us. There was some traffic around the tower. I couldn’t see if it was other racers or just air traffic. I scanned the racing platform. There was a ship docked there. A Marshal’s ship? I wasn’t sure, but it looked like a private vessel, not a racing ship.

“See anything?” Jessup called.

“I…I’m not sure. I don’t think so. Let’s finish this!” I called back then ran back to the wheelstand. For once, maybe I hadn’t botched it. I pulled the rope leading to the bell in the gear galley, calling for more speed. The gears lurched, and the propeller at the back of the Stargazer turned hard.

“They’re coming in fast from behind,” Jessup called.

“Not fast enough.”

I held the wheel and steered the Stargazer toward the platforms. The sky between me and Calais was clear. The Yuletide Airship Race, and that fat stack of coins, was ours.

* * *

“Congratulations, Mademoiselle Stargazer,” a French ground crew member called as he helped anchor in the Stargazer. “You are the first racer to arrive.”

Angus more leapt than crawled out of the gear galley to hug me and Jessup.

“We did it!” I screamed, wrapping my arms around the boys. I could barely believe it. I was a good pilot, and we were a good team, but we were never lucky. Today, however, was different.

“A Christmas miracle!” Angus exclaimed then kissed my forehead. “Good job, lass.”

“Love you, gents,” I replied, hugging them both.

A crowd was forming on the platform outside the Stargazer. Reporters were shouting questions at us while Marshals tried to control the crowd. Snow started to fall, dusting the honey-colored timbers of the Stargazer’s gondola.

“I…I don’t believe it,” Jessup stammered excitedly then wiped his hands across his cheeks.

“Are you crying, brother?” Angus asked with a laugh.

“No, of course not,” Jessup retorted hotly then turned from us to wipe his eyes, causing both me and Angus to laugh.

“Pardon! Pardon,” a Marshal called as the race judges and other important officials came down the platform to meet us. What a festive bunch. All dressed in bright hues of red and green, sporting holly on the brims of their top hats, a contingency of the fancy crowd boarded the Stargazer while the others stayed on the platform chatting with reporters. I heard peals of laughter coming from the crowd but couldn’t see what was so funny.

“Mademoiselle, congratulations,” a man wearing a sparkly red banner with the word Judge on it told me. He had on a long, red-velvet coat trimmed with fox fur and wore a black top hat. “We have a special guest to present your prize,” he added with a smirk. “Oh, Father Christmas? Do you have something for this beautiful young woman?” he shouted toward the crowd.

Just then, I was able to see what all the fuss was about. Someone had dressed in a Father Christmas costume. The full attire, including a long, fake white beard, a green hooded robe, and a tall staff trimmed with garlands of holly and mistletoe adorned the actor.

I had to laugh. The French always had a flair for the dramatic. Carefully, Father Christmas boarded the Stargazer, leaning heavily on his tall staff, his eyes downcast, as he moved to greet us.

“Father Christmas, this is our winning racer,” the judge told the actor, barely containing the glee in his voice. “Do you have anything special in your satchel for her?”

I cast an amused glance at Angus, who was smiling from ear to ear…in fact, he was smiling too much. “What?” I whispered harshly.

Angus laughed loudly but said nothing.

Behind me, Jessup started to giggle. I frowned. I was missing something.

“I have a very special Christmas gift!” Father Christmas boomed. “But first, this pretty girl must give me a kiss!”

Ugh. The French and all their kissing. It got tiresome. And also, what the hell? It wasn’t like they were going to force any of the male racers to kiss Father Christmas. Just then, however, Angus and Jessup broke into a fit of laugher, Angus burying his head on Jessup’s shoulder.

I glanced from them back to Father Christmas. I was not in any mood to kiss some old codger in a scratchy, fake wool beard. This time, however, I really looked at him. It was not an old man hiding under that costume. And come to think of it, his accent wasn’t French either. I took a step toward Father Christmas who, I realized, was avoiding my gaze.

“A kiss, eh?” I asked slyly. “Sorry, Father Christmas. I reserve those for someone special.”

At last, he looked at me. I could see his smirk behind that fake beard. And there was no mistaking those blue eyes. I would know them anywhere. Byron.

With a laugh, Byron pushed back the hood and pulled off the fake beard. Soft snowflakes fell on his curly black hair. In the cold air, his pale skin seemed to glow as if lit up from the inside. His pouty lips were sugar plum red and, no doubt, just as sweet to taste.

From the crowd, I heard people gasp. “Is that Lord Byron?” someone asked in a whisper.

“George?” I whispered softly, reaching up to touch his cheek.

“Yes, Lily Stargazer, there really is a Father Christmas,” Byron said, then picked me up and kissed me so hard it took my breath away. I dissolved into his sweet embrace. What a way to win.

* * *

The fireplace in the bed chamber of the small French chalet crackled. The room felt toasty. I stretched out on the soft bed, running my hands along the satiny sheets. The lingering smell of opium hung in the air, Byron and I having just finished a pipe. Byron stroked my bare back then kissed the nape of my neck.

There was a knock on the door. “My Lord?” a servant called.

“Come in,” Byron answered, pulling up the blankets to cover both our naked bodies.

The servant, a primly dressed man with down-cast eyes, entered the room. “My Lord, may I take away your plates?” he asked.

Byron yawned tiredly. “Anything else, my dear? Another bite of plum pudding?” he whispered, then nibbled my earlobe.

I giggled. “I’m more than satisfied.”

“Then I have done my job,” Byron told me, turning to the servant. “As you will,” he said with a wave of the hand, then pulled the blankets over both our heads.

I could hear the servant clearing away the trays. Roasted goose, mince pie, platters of roasted vegetables, freshly baked sweet breads, nut and currant pastries, puddings, and creamy berry trifle had loaded the table. It was more food than ten people could have eaten. Between the meal and the feast of flesh Byron and I had enjoyed, I was thoroughly sated.

Under the covers, Byron and I lay facing one another. He reached out and touched my lips.

“So sweet,” he whispered. “Sweeter than anything the finest chefs in France put on my table.”

“Father Christmas.” I grinned at him. Even hidden under the blankets, I could see the twinkle in his blue eyes. Nothing could hold in his mischievousness, and I adored him for it.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. His sweet scent of orange blossom and patchouli perfumed the sheets. I could still feel his touch on my body, the glow of our lovemaking just fading. The delicious mixture of opium, good food, and Byron was almost more than my senses could stand.

“I’ve left another bottle of champagne, My Lord. May I be of any further service?” we heard the servant call.

“Did you get a good look at him? Any services he can provide you?” Byron asked with a naughty wink, calling to mind the time a Spanish serving maid’s looks were too delicious for either of us to pass up.

“Not today,” I answered.

“No, my good man, we’re sinfully satisfied here,” Byron called.

Byron and I both chuckled.

The man said nothing. China and glass clattered as the man wheeled the serving tray from the room.

Rising, Byron stripped away the blanket and walked, naked, to the table, where he poured us both a glass of champagne. He handed me a flute made from Venetian glass. It sparkled in the dying light. The sun was sinking on a Christmas I would never forget. Byron then pulled a small wrapped bundle from a leather bag.

“Happy Christmas,” he said, handing it to me.

My heart fell to my feet. I felt miserably embarrassed. “I…I don’t have anything for you.”

“Your being here is my treat,” he said, then kissed me on the forehead.

My hands shaking, I removed the sparkly blue bow and silvery paper to find a soft suede cap inside. It was a satin-lined and shaped a bit like the caps some of the newsboys on the streets of London wore but more well-made. The suede was Italian and sewn together with fine stitching.

“The moment I saw it, I knew it would be adorable on you,” Byron said then tossed the cap on my head, wiggling the brim so it sat perfectly. He then pushed my hair behind my ears.

There was a large mirror across the room. I spotted my reflection. The cap was perfect.

“You see! Like it was made just for you,” Byron said, looking very pleased with himself.

“Thank you,” I said simply, but my heart was brimming. It was a true Christmas gift, and the first in my memory, coming from the most welcomed, unexpected, and beloved source.

“It’s nothing,” he said nonchalantly, but I could see he was happy.

Byron threw himself back down on the bed and pulled me close. I draped my arm across him, laying my head on his chest. I closed my eyes. The wafting scents of Christmas and Byron fragranced the air. All the lonely heartache that had plagued me earlier seemed to disappear. This was a Christmas I would remember for the rest of my life, my first real Christmas. The first Christmas I felt the love and magic of the season.

“Happy Christmas, George,” I whispered.

Byron lifted my hand and kissed it. “Happy Christmas, Lily Stargazer.”

Sneak Peek: Chasing the Star Garden

Chasing the Star Garden: Chapter 1

I was going to lose—again. I gripped the brass handles on the wheel and turned the airship sharply port. The tiller vibrated in protest making the wheel shake and my wrist bones ache. Bracing my knees against the spokes, I tore off my brown leather gloves to get a better feel. The metal handgrips were smooth and cold. My fingers tingled from the chill.

“Easy,” I whispered to the Stargazer. I looked up from my position at the wheelstand, past the ropes, burner basket, and balloon, toward the clouds. They were drifting slowly left in a periwinkle blue sky. There’d be an updraft as we passed over the green-brown waters of the canal near Buckingham House. I locked the wheel and jumped from the wheelstand onto the deck of the gondola and looked over the rail. The canal waters were a hundred feet away. I ran back to the wheel and steadied the ship. If I caught the updraft, it would propel me up and forward and give me an edge.

“Cutter caught it, Lily,” Jessup yelled down from the burner basket below the balloon opening. “Up he goes,” he added, looking out through his spyglass. The gold polish on the spyglass reflected the fire from the burner.

“Dammit!” I snapped down my binocular lense. I saw Hank Cutter’s red-and-white striped balloon rise upward. At the top, he pitched forward with great momentum, catching a horizontal wind. I could just make out Cutter at the wheel. His blond hair blew wildly around him. He turned and waved to me. Wanker.

I was not as lucky. Just as the bow of the Stargazer reached the water, a stray wind came in and blew us leeward. The balloon jiggled violently in the turbulent air. I missed the air pocket altogether.

“No! No, no, no!” I cursed and steadied the ship. I had chased Cutter from Edinburgh across the Scottish and English countryside. He had been off his game all day. I’d had him by half a mile the entire race. With the bottom feeders lingering somewhere in the distance behind us, I’d thought the London leg of the 1823 Airship Grand Prix would be mine. That was until St. Albans, where Cutter caught a random breeze that pushed him slightly in front of me. Cutter had a knack for catching favorable winds; it was not a talent I shared.

“We’re coming up on Westminster,” Jessup yelled down from the basket. “Lily, drop altitude. Cutter is too high. Come in low and fast, and you might overtake him.”

The airship towers sat at the pier near the Palace of Westminster along the Thames. A carnival atmosphere had overtaken the city as it always does on race day. Colorful tents were set up everywhere. Vendors hawked their wares to excited Londoners and international visitors. I could hear the merchants barking from their tents even from this far above. I fancied I could smell roasted peanuts in the wind.

I jumped down from the wheelstand, ran across the deck, and pulled the valve cord, opening the flap at the top of the balloon. Hot air released with a hiss. I kept one eye on the balloon and another eye on Tinkers’ Tower. At this time of day, the heat coming off of the Palace of Westminster and Tinkers’ Tower would give us a bump. I looked up. Cutter had started preparing his descent. It would be close.

I ran back to the wheel.

“Angus, I need more speed,” I yelled down to the gear galley, rapping on the wooden hatch that led to the rods, belts, and propeller parts below.

Angus slapped open the hatch and stuck out his bald head. His face was covered in grease, and his blue-lense monocle glimmered in the sunlight. He looked up at the clouds and back at me.

“Let’s giddyup,” I called to him.

“You trying the Tower sling?” he yelled back.

“You got it.”

He laughed wildly. “That’s my lassie,” he yelled and dropped back down, pulling the wood hatch closed with a clap. I heard the gears grind, and the propeller, which had been turning nice and steady, began to hum loudly. The ship pitched forward. Within moments, we were coming up on Tinkers’ Tower. The airship towers were just a stone’s throw away.

I aimed the ship directly toward Tinkers’ Tower. Just as the bowsprit neared the clock, I yanked the wheel. The warm air caught us.

“Whoa!” Jessup yelled as the balloon moved within arm’s length of the tower.

The sound of “Ohhs!” echoed from the crowd below.

A mix of warm air and propulsion gave us some go, and seconds later we were slingshotting around Tinkers’ Tower toward the airship platforms. Gliding in on warm air and momentum, we flew fast and low.

Cutter had kept it high, but now he was dropping like a stone toward his own tower. Damned American. I didn’t blame him; I would have used the same move. His balloon was releasing so much air that I wondered if he would be able to slow down in time, not that I would have minded seeing him smash to the ground in a million pieces.

“It’s going to be close,” Jessup yelled as he adjusted the heat pan.

I guided the helm. The Stargazer was temperamental, but we understood one another. A shake of the wheel warned me I was pushing too hard. “Almost there,” I whispered to the ship.

The Grand Prix Marshalls were standing on the platform. Cutter and I had the end towers. I was going to make it.

“Cut propulsion,” I yelled toward the gear galley. On the floor near the wheelstand, a rope led to a bell in the galley. I rang it twice. The propeller switched off.

A soft, sweet wind blew in from the port side. It ruffled my hair around my shoulders. I closed my eyes and turned the wheel slightly starboard, guiding the ship in. Moments later, I heard a jubilant cheer erupt from the American side and an explosion from the firework cannon signaling the winner had been declared. My eyes popped open. I tore off my goggles and looked starboard. Cutter’s balloon was docked. I threw the goggles onto the deck and set my forehead against the wheel.

The Stargazer settled into her dock. Jessup set the balloon on hover and, grabbing a rope, swung down to the deck. He then threw the lead lines and anchors onto the platform. The beautifully dressed crowd, gentlemen in suits and top hats and fancy ladies in a rainbow of satin gowns carrying parasols, rushed toward the American end of the platform to congratulate the winner.

I was, once again, a national disgrace. Lily the loser. Lily second place. Perhaps I would never be anything more than a ferrywoman, a cheap air jockey.

“Good job, Lily. Second place!” Jessup said joining me. He patted me on the shoulder.

I sighed deeply and unbuttoned my vest. The tension had me sweating; I could feel it dripping down from my neck, between my breasts, into my corset.

“You did great,” I told Jessup. “Sorry I let you down.”

“Ah, Lily,” he sighed.

Angus emerged from below wiping sweat from his head with a greasy rag. He pulled off his monocle. He frowned toward the American side. “Well, we beat the French,” he said with a shrug and kissed me on the cheek, smearing grease on me.

“Good job, Angus. Thank you,” I said, taking him by the chin and giving him a little shake as I wrinkled my nose and smiled at him.

Angus laughed and dropped his arm around Jessup’s shoulders. They grinned happily at one another.

“You stink, brother,” Jessup told him.

“It’s a wee bit toasty down there. Besides, I pedaled this ship across the entire fucking country while you were up here looking at the birds. That, my friend, is the smell of success.”

I laughed.

“You pedaled the ship?” Jessup asked mockingly. “Like Lil and I were just up here playing cards? If I didn’t keep the balloon aloft, your ass would be kissing the ground.”

“Now wait a minute. Are you saying your job is more important that mine?” Angus retorted.

I could see where this was going. “Gents.”

“More important? Now why would I say that? Just because I’m the one . . .” Jessup started and then his mouth ran.

“Gents.”

“…and another thing…” Jessup went on.

“Gentlemen! Our audience awaits,” I said cutting them both off, motioning to the well-shod crowd who waited for us on the loading platform outside the Stargazer.

I grinned at my crew. “Come on. Let’s go.”

I patted the rail of the Stargazer. “Thanks,” I whispered to her, and we exited onto the platform.

A reporter from the London Times and several race officials stood waiting for me.

“Well done, Lily! Well done!” the British race official congratulated me with a pat on the back. “Second place! King George will be so proud. One of these days you’ll have it, by God.”

I was pretty sure that the last thing I needed was the attention of George IV, the extravagant, unpopular lush. But I bit my tongue and smiled politely.

“Lily, how did Cutter beat you? You led the entire race,” the reporter asked. She was a round woman wearing a very thick black lace collar that looked like it was choking her. Her heavy purple walking dress looked hot under the late afternoon summer sun, and the brim of her black satin cap barely shaded her nose. I noticed, however, that she had a small clockwork fan pin attached to her chest. The fan wagged cool air toward her face.

I pulled off my cap, mopped my forehead, and thought about the question. “Luck,” I replied.

“Lily, that was some move around Tinkers’ Tower. How did you learn to do that?” another reporter asked.

“My father,” I lied.

“Make way, make way,” one of the race officials called, ushering a Marshall forward.

The Marshall looked like someone who lingered an hour too long at supper. The gold buttons on his satin, marigold colored vest would take an eye out if they popped. His overly tall top hat was adorned with a ring of flowers that matched his striking orange colored dress coat.

“Miss Stargazer, congratulations,” he said, shaking my hand. “The Spanish airship is coming in now. Will you please join Mr. Cutter at the winners’ podium?” he asked politely as he guided me forward by the hand.

From below there was a commotion. A man dressed in an unusual costume rushed up the stairs. The London constables, a full squadron of the Bow Street Runners, chased him. When he got to the loading platform, the man pushed through a crowd of well-dressed ladies and gentlemen, many of whom were gentry. It was then I could see he was dressed as a harlequin. He wore the traditional red and black checked outfit and a black mask. He scanned the towers until he caught sight of me. He jumped, landing on the tower railing, and ran toward me. A woman in the crowd screamed. Moments later the constables appeared on the platform. The race Marshalls pointed toward the harlequin who was making a beeline for me.

I let go of the Marshall’s hand and stepped back toward the ship.

“Lily,” Jessup warned, moving protectively toward me.

Angus reached over the deck of the Stargazer and grabbed a very large wrench.

Was it an assassin? Christ, would someone murder me for winning second place? I turned and ran toward the Stargazer. A moment later, the harlequin flipped from the rail, grabbed one of the Stargazer’s ropes, and swinging over the others, landed on the platform directly in front of me. Any second now, I would be dead.

He panted and muttered “Lily?” from behind the mask.

“Stop that man! Stop him!” a constable yelled.

“Get out of my way!” Angus roared at the crowd that had thronged in between us.

The masked man grabbed me, tugged on the front of my trousers, and leaned into my ear. The long nose of the mask tickled the side of my face. “Go to Venice,” he whispered as he stuffed something down the front of my pants.

“We got you now,” a constable said, grabbing him, raising his club.

The man shook him off, took two steps backward, and with a jump, leapt off the tower.

Several people in the crowd screamed.

I rushed to the side of the tower to see the harlequin lying at its base. His body was twisted, and his arms and legs bent oddly, contorted into three distinct points. Blood began pooling around him.

“Miss Stargazer, are you all right?” a constable asked.

“A man just killed himself in front of me. No, I am not all right.”

“I mean, are you harmed? Did he hurt you?”

I shook my head and looked down at the mangled body which lay in the shape of a three-sided triskelion. It was the same symbol that was painted on the balloon of the Stargazer.

Chasing the Star Garden: Chapter 2

“Absinthe,” I told Rheneas, setting my trophy on the bar.

He laughed. “Of course, Lily. Hey, you did good today.”

“Oh yeah, it was all great. Losing. Having a man kill himself in front of me. All good,” I replied.

“You’re getting to be a grouch in your old age, Lil,” he replied with an injured laugh, his face crumpling.

“Sorry, Rhe,” I said, feeling regretful for my sharp words.

“Well, nobody likes to lose to an American. Right, gents?” Rheneas called to the crowd who booed in reply. Rheneas set his hand on mine. He poured me a glass of the green fairy then slid me the iced water along with the plate of sugar cubes and a spoon. “That one is on me.”

I leaned across the counter and kissed Rheneas on top of his bald head. I popped a sugar cube into my mouth and sipped the drink. The spirit dissolved the sugar on contact. My mouth filled with the exploding taste of sweet and the sharp taste of alcohol. I could smell the anise, fennel, and other herbs in the absinthe. I closed my eyes and let it slide down my throat. Heaven. After two more glasses, I was feeling remarkably better.

“I’m headed to the back,” I told Rheneas.

“Why don’t you leave that with me?” he replied, looking at the trophy.

I gazed at the cup. It was shaped like a hot air balloon. The stem of the trophy was the basket. The top of the balloon was open at the pinnacle and suitable for drinking. It was a heavy piece with inlaid silver filigree. The trophy, once I’d sold it, would probably keep the Stargazer outfitted until the next race.

With the death of the harlequin, the trophy ceremony had been suspended. The Marshalls had given Cutter, me, and the Spanish airship racer, Alejandro Fernando, our awards behind the scenes as the constables ushered everyone away from the airship platforms. Just like that, after two solid months of preparation, it was all over. Cutter had invited me for dinner at some fancy place in Kensington, but I passed. The boys headed to Scarlette’s Hopper, a tavern near the towers, and I headed home to Covent Garden.

I looked at the cup and back at Rheneas. He was right.

“All right,” I said, pushing it toward him. “I’ll be back for it later. Either that, or I know where you live.”

Rheneas laughed. “You should stop by. My wife has been asking for you.”

Flying on absinthe, I wound my way back to the opium den. My head felt light and dizzy. The pent-up tension from the race finally started to leave my body. The green fairy had already led me to another plane. I was seeing stars by the time Miss O led me to my opium cot.

“Lily! You here to celebrate?” Miss O asked, her naked breasts hanging in my face as she set out the equipment for me, including my favorite pipe.

“Oh yes.”

“You need anything else, baby? Want me to bring you someone? We got a new girl. How about a nice tickle?” she asked, rubbing her hands over my breasts.

I laughed. “Miss O. Go away,” I replied, smacking her playfully on the ass as she headed out.

“Call if you need anything or if you change your mind,” she said, wiggling her tongue at me, then closed the curtain.

I picked up the engraved brass and wood pipe and lit the opium. I inhaled deeply, the smoke filling my mouth. The sweet scent of the burning herb filled the air around me. I closed my eyes and let the opium do its work. After a few hits, I felt like the world around me had begun to slow. The voices outside my cot seemed drawn out, Miss O’s laughter ringing like a slow gong. My head filled with a light haze. I felt deeply relaxed. Finally alone, I decided to find out what, exactly, the harlequin had passed to me.

No one had seen him stick the package in my pants. When the constables questioned me, I declined to offer more information than they needed. I told them the clown had asked me to marry him, and I’d said no. Then, he jumped. They didn’t need to know anything else.

The constables had bitched bitterly when they discovered the harlequin had nothing on him except his mask. Apparently he’d been making a ruckus across London all day. He had manhandled an undersecretary at a downtown office and made off with some papers, stolen something from a cathedral, beaten the priest who’d tried to stop him, and knocked out two of the Bow Street boys to get onto the tower.

They did, however, ask me to identify him.

When they removed his mask, we discovered he was young and very handsome. “I’ve never seen him before,” I told them truthfully, a lump rising in my throat all the same.

“Well, that’s it then. Just some loon. Probably was so depressed she rejected him that he killed himself. After all, no one goes around dressed like that,” the Captain told his underlings.

“Unless they are a harlequin,” I said.

“Well, yes, of course,” the Captain replied, irritated. With that, they closed the case.

I pulled the package out of my pants and unwrapped it. At first I thought it was a spyglass. It was long, gold polished, and had strange symbols engraved all over it. It looked very old. I lifted it, expecting to see magnification, but my eye was met instead by a waterfall of color. A kaleidoscope? Why had someone died to pass me a kaleidoscope?

I lay back, taking another hit of opium, and looked at the colors. They were exceptionally vivid. I had never seen a kaleidoscope so brightly hued. I turned the glass around and around. Inside the colors changed, at least in my imagination, from vistas of flower filled fields, to bouquets of lilies, to the floral pattern on my mother’s everyday housedress. I stopped. That was an image I had completely forgotten until that moment. Sighing, I turned the kaleidoscope again while my eyes drooped.

I was sweating. I could not move. I stared down at my foster father’s body lying on the cobblestone street, blood pouring from his mouth and ears. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t make a sound. I twisted and turned, unable to get away from the sight. It was so hot. I could not breathe.

“She’s in here,” Miss O’s voice broke in. “You want me to bring a couple of girls again?”

“No. Not this time.”

“Lily, visitor,” Miss O called.

My eyes popped open. I gasped for breath.

“Bad dream?” he asked.

“Lord Byron?” I said, surprised, as I tried to pull myself together. I mopped the sweat from my brow. As always, the fucking nightmares. Would it ever end? “Now, what brings you to this den of sin?”

“I looked for you after the race. I couldn’t find you anywhere. Naturally, then, I knew you would be here,” he said, sitting down on the cot beside me. He lifted the pipe and took a toke. How handsome he looked in the dim light, his chestnut colored hair curling around his ears, his skin, with its alabaster sheen, making him look otherworldly. His pouty red lips always seemed hungry. And then there were his eyes, as clear and blue as a spring sky.

“I’ve missed you, but why are you in London?” I asked him. He handed the pipe to me. I inhaled deeply. The opium made a haze of everything. I felt like I was experiencing the world from a forty foot distance.

“Some legal matters needed immediate and personal attention. And I came, of course, for the race. But I’m leaving for Athens at dawn,” he said, stroking my leg. He toked again then poured himself a glass of absinthe from the small decanter beside the cot. He popped a sugar cube and drank the absinthe in one long swallow.

“So soon?” I said with a sly grin as I grabbed hold of his belt, my fingers inside his pants.

“That’s time enough,” he replied, “unless, of course, my absence has cured your love for me,” Byron said with a smile.

“Love?”

“Of course. It is the duty of a lover to love. Ah, but I forget myself. I have a gift for you,” Byron replied.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wooden box. He handed it to me.

I took another toke then set the pipe down. “What is this for?”

“Your service to your country,” he replied.

“Ah yes, how the British love a loser.”

Byron leaned in and kissed my cheek and ear. “We are giants. That is the reason we cannot tolerate anything less than excellence. Open it,” he whispered.

I opened the lid to discover a small metal pin tinkered into the shape of a lily. “It’s beautiful.”

“Ah, but that’s not all. Watch,” he said and tapped one of the intricately designed carpels extending from the center of the lily. With that, the flower came to life. The petals flexed up and down as if they were in the breeze, the carpels waving in coordination. “A lily that never loses its fragrance. A delicacy that never wilts. It is common metal, yes, but strikingly beautiful in its complexity.”

I stared at it. It was amazing. I set the box down, and lying back, pulled Byron on top of me. I kissed him deeply, my tongue roving inside his mouth, my fingers twisting around his curly hair. I could taste the sugar and alcohol on his lips. His intoxicating scent of patchouli and orange blossom overwhelmed me.

He moved to unbuckle my corset. “No buttons?” he asked. Puzzled, he eyed the corset with great interest.

Guiding his hand, I set it on the small metal rosette at the center of the corset between my breasts. “Press down.”

When he did, the mechanism inside released and the corset fell open. At once, I was topless.

“Now, that is amazing,” he said, spreading his hands wide.

“A friend designed it for me. I think it will become fashionable.”

“If men have anything to say about it, indeed.” He lifted a sugar cube off the tray and licked it once, rubbing it on my nipples. He then nuzzled my breasts as he pulled off my belt.

I slid out of my pants and pulled the corset aside. I helped Byron unbutton his vest and pulled off the blousy white shirt that lay beneath. Moments later his boots and pants were off too.

Byron was an infamous lover, and I think many wondered at the relationship between us. It was not that I was so beautiful, so smart, or so alluring that enchanted him. What Byron liked best about me was that I knew what he wanted-it was the same thing I wanted.

I grabbed my belt and pushed Byron down on the cot. He smiled at me. With a wink, I grabbed his hands and belted them together, cinching the belt tightly to the post. I straddled his waist. Then I leaned in and kissed him deeply. I sat back up. We were locked into a deep stare; then, I hit him hard. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. He stuck his tongue out and tasted it.

“Again,” he whispered.

I did as he asked, again and again. When tears of pain finally came to his eyes, I stuck him inside me and rode him hard. After I untied him, he grabbed my breasts roughly, squeezing the nipples until I cried out. He was good, knowing just how and when to raise and lower his hips. The first moments were strikingly clear but then the rest became a blur of flesh and feeling. I remember untying him, being flipped on my stomach, and the sharp feel of a lash on my ass, but after that everything else was hazy.

I woke an hour or so later to find Byron lying beside me looking into the kaleidoscope. My post-opium head was already starting to ache.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, turning it.

“The harlequin passed it to me before he jumped.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. I sat up and opened the curtain. “Miss O?” I called.

I could see from the open skylight that it was dark outside. An airship passed over; it was a passenger transport.

“Baby, your lip is bleeding,” Miss O said when she came up to me. She handed me a handkerchief.

“Thanks. Can you bring some water?”

“Of course,” she replied and walked away.

I leaned back in and blotted the blood from my lip. Byron smiled apologetically, but I shrugged. I noticed he had a dark ring under his eye. I said nothing.

“Did the harlequin say anything?” Byron asked, rolling over.

I looked at his naked body. I loved making love to him, but there was something so endearing about seeing Byron naked and unaroused that moved me. It almost made the great Lord Byron seem vulnerable.

“He asked if I was Lily, told me to go to Venice, and stuck this in my trousers.”

Byron half laughed, half grunted. “When are you leaving?”

“I cannot afford a holiday to Venice, my Lord,” I said jokingly, taking the kaleidoscope from his hands.

I put it to my eye again. Once more, I was treated to the beautiful colors.

“What about your prize money?”

“Used immediately to settle my debts. I still have to hawk the trophy; the money from that will cover most of the Stargazer’s expenses with a few crowns left over to feed myself. But I need to take fares and get ready for the next race.”

Byron looked at the kaleidoscope. “No. You should go. It is, after all, Venice,” he said, looking wistful, “a place where dying glory smiles. It is the perfect place for an escape. I have people there who can help you. I will arrange a place for you.”

I shook my head. “You already do too much for me. Besides, I have fares lined up starting tomorrow.”

“My secretary will cancel them. Do this, Lily.”

“Why?”

“Because this was given to you—specifically.”

“By some crazed racing fan. It probably means nothing.”

But both Byron and I knew it meant something, even if we were not sure what.

He took the kaleidoscope from my hands again and looked at the engraved symbols on the side. “Take it to Venice, to the clockworks in St. Mark’s Square. Someone will know what it is.”

I looked deeply at him, studying his handsome face as he examined the kaleidoscope. Every time I was with Byron, I felt a rush of excitement. While my stomach filled with girlish butterflies, my body ached for his rough embrace. I set my chin on his shoulder and inhaled deeply, breathing in his sweet scent.

He smiled wistfully at me then lifted the handkerchief and blotted my lip. “Lily,” he whispered fondly.

I reached out and stroked his cheek.

“Water,” Miss O called and handed in a serving platter.

Taking the tray, Byron uttered a distracted “Thank you.”

Miss O nodded but said nothing. God knows what she had heard or what she was thinking. With a sigh, Byron started pulling on his clothes. I handed him a glass of water which he drank greedily. Then he pulled on his boots.

“Now,” he said, and I could see that this was his goodbye, “I insist. Just go. Here,” he said, handing me his coin pouch, “take this. My secretary will meet you in the morning with another sum and my contacts, and he’ll settle with your customers.”

“George…” I began, but I was not sure what to say. I wanted to go, but I did not want to take his money.

He rose then and came to stand outside of the cot. “Oh yes, this too,” he said and handed me a bottle of amber colored laudanum. “For the trip. It takes the edge off. Trelawny found a great supplier. It’s the best I’ve had,” he said and leaned in. “Besides you,” he added and kissed me. “Write and let me know what you discover. And Lily, have fun,” he said with a sly grin then walked away.

“My lord…my lord,” Byron was greeted by others in the den as he passed. Moments later, he was gone.

I lay back on the cot. Opening the bottle, I tasted just a small drop of the laudanum. It was good. I looked at the kaleidoscope again. When I looked inside this time, however, I thought I saw, for just a moment, a strikingly beautiful woman—all in gold gazing at me.

I lowered the kaleidoscope then looked again. This time, I saw only colored glass. It was probably just the laudanum playing tricks on me. I lay back. What the hell. I would go.

Thank you

Thank you for reading Chasing Christmas Past. If you enjoyed this brief prequel and look into the life of airship racer Lily Stargazer, the main character of The Airship Racing Chronicles, you can find her complete story in Chasing the Star Garden and Chasing the Green Fairy.

You can find more information about this series here: MelanieKarsak.com

If you enjoyed the story, please consider telling your friends or posting a review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend!

Thank you!

Acknowledgements

Thank you to Carrie Wells, Elyse Schramm, Margo Bond Collins, and Naomi Clewett for their assistance and support!

As always, thank you to my family for their endless encouragement.

About the Author

Melanie Karsak is the author of the bestselling series The Airship Racing Chronicles, The Harvesting Series, the Celtic Blood series, and numerous other works. She grew up in rural northwestern Pennsylvania and earned a Master's degree in English from Gannon University. A steampunk connoisseur, Shakespeare nerd, white elephant collector, and zombie whisperer, the author currently lives in Florida with her husband and two children. She is an Instructor of English at Eastern Florida State College.

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Table of Contents

- Clockpunk Press 2014Copyright © 2014 Melanie Karsak

- DedicationFor ElysePart 1
- Part 1
- Part 2
- Part 3
- Sneak Peek: Chasing the Star Garden
- Chasing the Star Garden: Chapter 1
- Chasing the Star Garden: Chapter 2
- Thank you
- About the Author