Sherlock Holmes: Time to Die: Steampunk Holmes

By Michael John Light

The've haunted him for a long time. Threatening him. Wanting him to die.

Harry Houdini and Sherlock Holmes must be very, very clever indeed to thwart the devilish plan of this person.

Will they be able to turn the game around on this killer?

Or will Harry Houdini, the Wizard and Magician die?

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Pirillo
• Release date: Jul 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386950974

Book preview

Request for Review

If you found some pleasure in reading my work, please take the time to leave a review for it. Authors can thrive or die for the lack of reviews.

Thanking you in advance for your kindness.

John

Trick or Treat

H arry, one of the best tricks you can play on your audience or foe is to misdirect their attention.

What do you mean? Harry asked, his young face frowning with confusion.

Observe, Merlin asked.

Fire enveloped the fallen tree facing Harry and in moments it became so intensely hot that Harry had to drop back several yards from the hat of it. As he watched it collapsed into a smoldering heap of ashes with fluttering pieces of ash floating in drifts of smoke.

There! said Merlin.

Harry eyed the destruction warily a moment, then strode to the smoldering heap. He kicked it hard, and then dropped back. The heap scattered into the air, revealing fresh and alive grass where the ashes had been.

He looked at Merlin, who leaned on his magical, living tree staff, a smirk on his face. It leaf on top tickled his nose, but he ignored it, smiling patiently for Harry to respond. How did you do that?

Merlin grinned. A twist of magic. What you see. What you don’t.

Ashes

Myrtle Hightower backed against the door of her flat, her hands in the air, as if fending off someone.

Please. I’m just Harry’s maid, is all.

Darkness leered from the staircase at her, but nothing more.

The flat door next to her own opened up and a neighbor peered out. Myrtle, you all right?

Please, Myrtle pleaded again to the air.

Myrtle screamed and began twisting about as if in a tornado of some kind, her arms flinging wildly, legs flying into the air. She lifted up slowly several feet and then exploded into a burst of flaming embers that fluttered to the flat landing floor and scattered about, smoldering with red fumes and smoke.

The neighbor slammed their door against the fearful event. They didn’t see the man who stepped out of the dark staircase and to the pile of smoldering ashes on the floor that had once been Myrtle.

Soon all who knew and loved Harry shall be gone and I will have my revenge, he said, and then he turned quickly and vanished in a cloud of smoke.

Death Stroke

Henry Cadmiller swiped at the sweat on his brow as he worked the bellows of his smithy. The fire roared high and higher, causing his sweat to intensify. He didn’t care. He was used to it. He swiped again at his forehead, then let go the bellows and stuck the long shaped metal into the forge fires. The metal glowed red hot in moments. He plucked it out and slammed it down hard against a large anvil, grabbed a heavy mallet and began shaping the metal. As he pounded the metal began taking on the shape of a sword. He was making it for his friend Harry Houdini’s magical act.

For no particular reason he stopped pounding and let go the sword and dropped his mallet. He turned about, squinting into the darkness. He had no light in his tool shed besides that of the forge, which cast deep shadows against the walls about him.

Hello?

Then a tiny cat, black as night during MidBells, sprinted cross the smith’s