There's No Such Thing As Monsters: Gaslamp Faeries Series, Book 1 Read online

  There’s No Such Thing As Monsters

  Gaslamp Faeries Series

  Ren Ryder

  Illustrated by

  Tom Edwards

  Amazon Digital Services

  Copyright © 2019 by Ren Ryder

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  8. Chapter Eight

  9. Chapter Nine

  10. Chapter Ten

  11. Chapter Eleven

  12. Chapter Twelve

  13. Chapter Thirteen

  14. Chapter Fourteen

  15. Chapter Fifteen

  16. Chapter Sixteen

  17. Chapter Seventeen

  18. Chapter Eighteen

  19. Chapter Nineteen

  20. Chapter Twenty

  21. Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter One

  “Big brother! Big brother! There was a monster! I saw it!” Samantha’s high-pitched, shaky voice was muffled by the comforter she was hiding under.

  “Oh, is that so?” I chuckled and advanced with a zombie-like gait, hands held high and head cocked to one side. “Did the monster you saw look anything like this?!” I roared theatrically.

  Little Sammie screamed as I tore off the thin veil separating her from the darkness. Samantha’s face remained hidden behind her hands and long, wavy curls, so I scooped her up in my arms and spun her around until I was rewarded with happy giggles and glee.

  “I really did see one!” Sammie’s eyes shook, and her tiny body tensed in my arms.

  My eyes flickered and my smile slipped before I plastered on a grin so wide it hurt. “I’m sure you did,” I said mock-gravely before a few involuntary giggles escaped me. “What do you say we sleep together tonight, huh?” I poked Sammie’s little nose and watched her face dimple into an easy smile.

  “Yay! Sleep together, sleep together!” Sammie cheered, throwing up her thin arms.

  Reassured that things wouldn’t escalate, I stowed my ultra-secret-weapons, my tickle fingers, and smiled gently down at the innocent, trusting girl.

  Oh-so-carefully, I unfocused my eyes and tracked the pair of red, red eyes in my peripheral vision as I placed Sammie’s slight form on the top bunk near the wall, furthest from the window. My smile was as brittle as a thin pane of glass in the chill of deep winter, and my breathing was ragged. I forcefully channeled unnatural cheer and took deep, calming breaths as I stowed Sammie under the covers and tucked her in.

  Accompanied by the loud protestations of old floorboards, I skipped and hopped to the lantern hung on the wall near the door. I smothered the flame with self-assured movements before turning around with only the slightest bit of visible hesitation. I ignored the bright, feral grin on the other side of the windowpane and climbed into bed myself, yawning like a mountain troll and laughing unnaturally once more.

  A memory like an old photograph flashed through my mind along with tinkling, bell-like laughter and a children’s melody turned frightful by a lilting, deranged voice.

  “What’d I tell you? See, nothing to be afraid of. There’s no such thing as monsters.”

  No such thing as monsters. Right, who am I kidding? Not even myself.

  Cold. So cold.

  I let the coarse rope slip through my fingers and run out to the bottom of the well, listening to the wheel’s creaky protestations until I heard a soft plop.

  I lifted my arms, sniffed, then grimaced. “Once more under the bridge then,” I sighed.

  After a laborious struggle made pitiful by my shaking limbs, I succeeded in drawing an additional pail of water from the well. Leaving the wooden bucket on the crumbly old brick ledge for the moment, I picked up the sudsy sponge I’d set aside and wiped myself down thoroughly.

  Teeth chattering, I stared down my mortal enemy, the bucket. “Right then.” I upended the bucket over myself and the freezing water washed away the sudsy foam adorning my body.

  Quick as a snake, I nabbed my patchwork creation of discarded fabrics and toweled myself off roughly. The coarse material rubbed my skin raw, but absorbed water well enough… so long as I provided enough elbow grease to get the job done.

  I wiggled into my trousers and burrowed into my loose-fitting tunic before running my fingers through my hair and wiping my hands off on the towel. Rubbing my eyes tiredly, I yawned explosively and hunkered down into a sudden gust of wind before setting off towards the detached cottage behind the chapel.

  Crossing my arms, I rubbed heat into my cold-numbed limbs and cursed the approaching onset of Winter under my breath.

  Back inside, I roused Sammie from her fitful sleep and went about my morning routine, busying about the place without any real purpose until I was joined by Father Gregory. He was the priest of the aforementioned chapel and a pillar of the community around these parts. New London was a bustling city at the forefront of technological advancement in an era of prosperity, but it was my belief that it was people like the Father that made it possible for it to truly flourish.

  He’s good people. After all, he took in the two of us without a word.

  “Good morning, Kal. I see you’re already up and about.” The Father shot me a concerned look as he adjusted his holy vestments. “You slept well I hope?”

  The habitual action that bespoke our mutual discomfort with the well-worn topic made me grin despite myself. “A good mornin’ to you too, sir.” At least I managed to withhold a snort as I turned my head away. My gaze lingered on the kitchen’s solitary, hoarfrost-coated window.

  The leathery skin of Father Gregory’s scraggly face stretched out into a thin line as he pursed his lips, but he didn’t pursue the matter further. “And where might little miss Samantha be this fine morn’?”

  “‘Ere,” a little voice filtered in from the narrow hallway that connected the crowded kitchen to the rest of the cramped cottage. Sammie shambled into the kitchen adorned by a thick woolen blanket and while still in her nightgown: a simple white shift that stretched down past her knees.

  I released a long-suffering sigh. “How many times have I told you to change before breakfast? Father Gregory is nice enough to let us stay here, least we can do is mind our manners.”

  Proper manners or not, I scooped Sammie up into my arms and sat her on the bench at the high table. Her little head crested the top of the table, just barely. Father Gregory sat himself down as I dug through the cupboards. Producing a basket of four-day-old bread and thick sliced cheese, I set the haul in the middle of the table before taking a seat myself.

  Sammie climbed into my lap while rubbing the crusty remains of sleep from her eyes. “Mhmm, mmm— ‘ungry.”

  “Yeah yeah.” I tore a loaf of bread in half and half again with ravenous abandon and was about to hand Sammie her portion before I winced and set the whole lot back down into the basket. Looking up at the expressionless priest seated across from me, I said, “Sorry, sorry, old habit.”

  “Thank you for this fine food and company, oh Lord,” Father Gregory said grace simply, and we broke our fast with greedy abandon.

  “Amen,” I said.

  “‘Men,” Sammie echoed.


  Save for the chirping birds as they rose for the day along with the sun as its rays creeped over the horizon to greet the day, it was quiet as we tore into the— comparative— feast of hard bread and cheese.

  Father Gregory pierced me with a long stare, and I wriggled beneath it. “Will you be taking the little miss along with you today?”

  “Uhm, no?” I asked.

  “No?” The Father graced me with a gentle smile.

  I scratched at the two day’s worth of stubble on my neck before I gave a more measured reply. “That is, so long as it’s not too much of a bother having her underfoot?”

  Our eyes were drawn naturally to the subject of our conversation. Sammie kicked her feet beneath the table while she gnawed on a heel of bread. Both me and the Father smiled at the sight.

  Father Gregory’s characteristically gentle smile remained on his face. “No, it’s not a problem at all.”

  Silence settled over the room once more as we finished the remains of our meal in peace, the mood lightened considerably.

  Gotta hand it to her, she’s got a way about her.

  I smiled to myself as I folded a thick slice of cheese into a piece of fabric and stuffed it into one of the pockets of my trousers. Setting the listless little girl to one side, I rose to my feet, cinched my leather belt one notch tighter, and nodded to the Father. I felt his eyes track me across the five paces it took to reach the side door.

  Seated at the chair beside the door, I rummaged around inside my boots. I fished out my ratty pair of knee-high woolen socks and slipped them onto my feet one after the other before pulling on my soft leather boots and fixing the creases in my trousers. I shrugged into my thick winter jacket and threw my waxy black cloak over my shoulders before I approached the heavy oak door.

  “You take care out there. Just last Sunday, I heard that The Watch was whipping any panhandlers they could get their hands on.”

  I shot a glance over my shoulder at the sleepy-eyed girl and the suddenly stern-looking priest. “I will. And thanks—” I nodded my head respectfully to him as I fiddled with the door’s latch, “Thanks alone don’t seem enough with you going out of your way for us like this, Father.”

  Father Gregory’s benign smile pierced me. It made my heart throb with guilt. “Think nothing of it. We’re all the Lord’s children. Extending a helping hand to those in need is a prerogative of the faithful…” the Father trailed off into thoughtful silence as I shifted from foot to foot, “And we all deserved to be saved,” he finished.

  I nodded my head deeply— almost a bow, really— then lifted my leaden feet to make my way out the door and tackle a new day.

  My day would consist of a smattering of odd jobs and a not insignificant amount of begging.

  There wasn’t much of it, but a chubby baker with a soft spot allowed me to work for an hour or two in her bakery preparing bread for the oven. Only on the odd mornings her apprentice arrived late or was sick, though. Anna’s matronly figure always bustled about with a no-nonsense air, preparing the fancier confections for the front display.

  Bakery work was always my favorite, especially on cold days. The wall of heat emanating from the brick oven warmed me to the bones, and the work lulled me into a comfortable rhythm.

  With a deft hand, I scooped out the golden brown loaves of bread from the enormous opening of the brick oven. I smirked in a self-satisfied way and congratulated myself on my progress. It wasn’t too long ago that Anna would slap me silly for burning the shop’s morning offerings to a crisp. When that happened, I’d get relegated prep duty for the remainder of the morning.

  “Anna, ma’am, that was the last batch. Do you want me to prep more?”

  “Hmm? Hmmm,” Anna said with a distracted air as she applied a swirl of pink frosting to a row of doughnuts.

  After she completed her pass with the pink and before she picked up her next color from the rainbow array of frostings, she glanced at the neatly arranged loaves of bread. “Yes, yes, that’ll do for today. Why don’t you take a load off while I finish these? Unless you’re in a hurry. Then you can take your pay from the register.”

  I shivered at the thought. No, better I wait until the sun rose a few fingers into the sky before venturing outdoors once more. “Thank you, ma’am, I’m not in any hurry, and I’ve got no reason to rush. Bit nippy out there for my tastes.”

  Covering my mouth with my hand, I hid myself behind a great big yawn. I stretched out before seating myself on a stool opposite the brick oven. I let my eyes rest on the yawning opening and the dancing fire elementals— a sort of harmless sprite that was naturally drawn to its element.

  Half a dozen ditzy, grinning little balls of fire hopped to and fro within the tongues of flame. Through the grate I spied the lazy salamander that was always curled up among the burning logs and embers. You couldn’t pay me to poke and prod that guy.

  I leaned forward and stuck my finger near the opening. The skin of my hand took on a red sheen, but I persisted for awhile longer as I flared the cloak of spirit energy, mana, that collectively composed my aura.

  A greedy little fella with stubby arms and legs hopped from the flames and onto my outstretched finger. It gobbled up the bleed-off of mana with wild abandon, stared up at me with coal-black eyes, then hopped back into the oven to rejoin its fellows.

  Lesser elementals like these fire spirits were pretty much harmless. They collected around their natural affinities like, well, like moths to a flame. The more prevalent a given elemental affinity, the more elemental spirits you’d find flocking to a place.

  After much consternation and making myself look like a loon, I’d discovered the little critters were more of a natural phenomena than anything else. They weren’t possessed of an intelligence per se, but it was possible to interact with them… sort of. A story for another time maybe.

  Ugh, should I take things from the top while I’m at it?

  You see, ever since a long time ago, as long as I can remember, forever really, I’ve had what is called “the sight.” Pretty damn near useless talent if you ask me, unless you fancy having a talent for getting into more trouble than the average person.

  And get into trouble I did— do. One thing I wished I’d never discovered was the cost of paying attention to, and therefore garnering the attention of, the intelligent or downright predatory beasties from the Other Side.

  Being able to see beyond the veil ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. You see them, they see you is how it usually went. While there may have been a plethora of harmless and even benign magical creatures out there in the great wide world, I’d yet to meet them. Possessed of enough intelligence to be considered sentient or not, most everything, I’d found, wanted to take a bite out of me. For the most part, it paid not to pay attention to the things that would take notice of such things.

  You can’t really call that anything other than a raw deal.

  “Kal! Oh, Lord! What have you done?!” Anna said from beside me. She had yanked me out of the fire. “And just what did I tell you about playing with fire?! I leave you to your own devices for a moment and just look at the trouble you get yourself into!”

  I jerked back to reality. Seemed I’d been unwittingly treating my good arm like a roast on a spit. From the tips of my fingers and halfway to my elbow, my skin had taken on a lobster sheen. I’d always had a somewhat dysfunctional relationship with pain; there was often a communication breakdown of sorts that I’d never bothered to get to the bottom of.

  I laughed awkwardly, “Ahaha…” and trailed off while I took stock of the situation. “Whups.”

  “Let me see,” Anna’s pudgy fingers dug into my arm and shoulder as she held me in place, insistent. “Oh! Boy, your arm looks like an overripe cherry!”

  There were clear, ruddy imprints where she had grasped me. While Anna dug through the register I rolled out my shoulder and shook my hand.

  I smiled and shook my head to myself. “Sometimes my curiosity gets the best of me.”

 
“Boy, don’t you ever let me catch you trying to fry yourself in my oven again, you hear me?” Anna fixed me with a glare as she upended a half-dozen coppers into my hands.

  My smile weakened in the face of her good-natured ire. I stood and bobbed my head to her to show my sincerity. “Yes ma’am. I’ll be on my way now, ma’am.”

  “Take care now,” Anna said, and some of the hardness left the crinkles around her eyes.

  “I’ll be by again to check in,” I ducked out the door with the promise and a wave.

  “Mhmm. Give the Father my best!”

  The door to the bakery swung closed.

  Chapter Two

  I released a pent-up breath and pulled my cloak tight around me to combat the sudden shift from hot to cold.

  In a flash I deposited the coins into the coin purse that dangled from my right hip. “Now what?” I asked myself, wishing I’d had the forethought to bring my cap or scarf.

  At least the buildings did a good job of warding off the wind. Shivering, I crossed the cobbled street to the other sidewalk to avoid walking on the shadowed side of the road.

  “Wonder if there’s a place around here that needs help splitting wood for the fire— the gods know its cold enough— brr!” I stomped by heels into my boots to get my blood flowing.

  Eventually my body adjusted to the cold. My numb extremities tingled and my brisk pace heated up my core.

  The sound of horse-drawn carriages and the clamor of a gathered crowd filtered into my ears. I made a lefthand turn at the First and Main and mixed into the hustle and bustle of the morning. A few people bumped into and rubbed shoulders with me before I adjusted to the stuttering pace set by the relentless tide of people.