Lady Crispell and the Dread Magician

By Ani Bolton

Never trust a dread magician...

Or so it was said. But Lady Verity Crispell needed to do just that. As the proprietor of Crispell & Crispell, Private Protections for the Genteel, her line of work unfortunately put in her in harm’s way with tedious regularity. The only solution to a troublesome mess involving an ancient Egyptian cult was to hire a dread magician to murder her. Preferably before teatime.

A faked murder needed a subtle touch and precision timing. The dread magician Silas Fyrelight possessed none of those qualities. He did, however, know his business when it came to the nefarious arts. His kiss was also quite devastating. He’s set his sights on seducing Verity, and worst of all, she’s finding it nearly impossible to say no.

Verity made it a rule never to mix business with pleasure. But Silas wasn’t good at obeying the rules. With her heart on the line and her life in his hands, can she trust the dread magician at all?

Please note: this sexy steampunk romance contains scenes of passionate entanglements and haywire magic. It is recommended for adult audiences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ani Bolton
• Release date: Jun 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311122544

Ani Bolton

Ani Bolton’s love of storytelling started when she was a kid, ignited by Laura Ingalls and Nellie Olsen’s epic smackdown, which stole her sleep on a school night. She’s been scribbling stories ever since. Her novels blend her love of history and adventure with romance, magic, and the occasional foray into the weird. And hot guys. Always, hot guys. Ani is a transplanted So Cal girl who now lives in upstate New York with an incredibly patient family and a tolerant cat overlord.

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Lady Crispell and the Dread Magician

Copyright © 2014 by Ani Bolton

ISBN: 9781311122544

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

Copy editing provided by Carol Davis, A Better Look Editing Services.

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Never trust a dread magician…

Or so it was said. But Lady Verity Crispell needed to do just that to extricate herself from a troublesome mess involving an ancient Egyptian cult. The dread magician Silas Fyrelight, however, has set his sights on seducing Verity. Worst of all, she’s finding it nearly impossible to resist. With her heart on the line and her life in his hands, can she trust the dread magician at all?

Lady Verity Crispell had no time for this bullshit. No, really, she did not.

I’ll repeat myself only once, she said with equanimity as she pulled out a handkerchief and an electro-revolver with the mercury chamber clearly loaded. Which one of you Freebooter louts is the worst shot among you?

The mercenary cutthroats exchanged glances while Verity pressed the scented kerchief to her nose. The smell suffusing the iniquitous den she found herself in was appalling. Spilled rum, cheap cigars and the irregular hygiene of the inhabitants made for a noisome brew. If her brother wasn’t such a tedious pinch-purse, they would have had their latest case neatly sewn up and she’d be sipping her one allowed tumbler of cherry cordial by her own cozy fire, reading a good book. But Hugh had bungled again, this time badly, and as usual she had to clean up his mess. Come, come, she said sternly to the assembled, cocking the revolver suggestively.

Begging pardon, ma’am, ventured a ruffian with a multitude of skulls tattooed across his forehead. But we are paid to be efficient, ruthless killers. That is, you know, our trade. We don’t miss shots.

Customers can be assured of clean, quick kills, no muss, no fuss, said another, a hulking brute with a gnawed-off ear, to the general agreement of the other assembled mercenaries. We Freebooters take our tradecraft of murder and thieving very serious, ma’am. Very serious indeed.

But I’ve heard stories of one among you who is truly inept, she replied impatiently. A Freebooter who can’t hit the broad side of the Queen’s dimpled arse, as the saying goes.

Enlightenment dawned on the murderers’ faces.

Ah, you must mean Silas Fyrelight, the tattooed ruffian said. If you wanted a dread magician, why didn’t you say so?

Because I’m not in the market for spells or poison, I need a bad shot, Verity snapped. Really, the rum served at the Seven Hangmen Tavern must be this shy of rotgut to diminish the pirates’ cognitive abilities so deeply.

Well, if it’s a complete cock-up of an assassin you are looking for, you’ve found your man, the earless one said. He’s in the back.

Thank you. Verity uncocked her revolver before putting it back in her reticule. She made her way through the mercenaries’ drinking, smoking and whoring, careful not to brush her skirts against any of them lest they stain a perfectly good worsted wool, to the scarred door as indicated.

Here, the barkeep said as she passed by an extremely uninspired selection of gins, rums and whiskies. He proffered a pair of green-lensed goggles. You’ll need these.

Verity wrinkled her nose as she gingerly took the ugly and rather greasy spectacles from the fellow, thankful she had kept her gloves on. Hugh owed her so, so much. Thank you, sir.

The barkeep regarded her mournfully over his muttonchop whiskers. Good-bye, ma’am.

Verity chose to ignore the frisson of disquiet as she pushed open the door.

A bolt of white light shot out of the murk, singeing the hair on her right temple on