To celebrate the start of an all-new series, I'm continuing to share a small portion from Chapter One today and the 21st. You can find Pt. 1 here. And if you're new to steampunk, which is an alt-historical timeline that celebrates steam-powered machinery and Victorian aesthetics, this is your chance to get a free taste!
Magic & Steam features action, adventure, a few explosions, plenty of the historical oddities C.S. Poe is known for, and of course—a healthy dose of romance along the way.
BLURB:
1881—Special Agent Gillian Hamilton is a magic caster with the Federal Bureau of Magic and Steam. He’s sent to Shallow Grave, Arizona, to arrest a madman engineer known as Tinkerer, who’s responsible for blowing up half of Baltimore. Gillian has handled some of the worst criminals in the Bureau’s history, so this assignment shouldn’t be a problem. But even he’s taken aback by a run-in with the country’s most infamous outlaw, Gunner the Deadly.
Gunner is also stalking Shallow Grave in search of Tinkerer, who will stop at nothing to take control of the town’s silver mines. Neither Gillian nor Gunner are willing to let Tinkerer hurt more innocent people, so they agree to a very temporary partnership.
If facing illegal magic, Gatling gun contraptions, and a wild engineer in America’s frontier wasn’t enough trouble for a city boy, Gillian must also come to terms with the reality that he’s rather fond of his partner. But even if they live through this adventure, Gillian fears there’s no chance for love between a special agent and outlaw.
EXCERPT:
I watched from underneath the wagon as a pair of black-clad legs—presumably the Waterbury owner—ran by like the hounds from Hell were giving chase. The man skidded to an abrupt stop in the middle of the dirt road, turned, and another shiver of manufactured magic creeped along my arms seconds before the Waterbury shot another triple round at a target somewhere out of sight to my left.
I scrambled to my hands and knees and moved into a crouch. Peering around the edge of the wagon, I raised a hand to shield my eyes from the setting sun and saw, standing against a fiery desert backdrop, a cowboy straight out of a dime novel. He was tall, like he could steal the stars from the sky at night. Not a big man—lithe was the word—but imposing nonetheless in head-to-toe black attire, including a Stetson hat hanging from his neck. He remained in a shooting pose and cocked the hammer on his Waterbury. But as the ammunition came to life for a third time, gunfire erupted from my left again and sent the cowboy running for cover.
Specifically, my wagon.
He slid across the ground, sent up a cloud of dirt, and rolled out of the way as several bullets ricocheted off the hall. I’d stumbled backward at his approach and been knocked flat on my backside when he’d all but fallen on top of me to save his own skin.
He pointed the Waterbury at me, I revealed the federal badge pinned to my waistcoat, and we both spoke at the same time.
“You’re under arrest,” I directed.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
A beat.
The cowboy didn’t break eye contact, didn’t flinch, didn’t seem to give a damn that I intended to read him his rights for gunfighting. But he did pull the black bandana down to reveal his face, and God save me, the man could have been divinity. Strong jawline, clean-shaven, surprisingly pale complexion, given the location, and blue, blue eyes that deserved a better, more beautiful adjective. Cobalt? Sapphire? Yes. His eyes glittered like dark gemstones.
Apollo himself would have taken inspiration from this man’s face.
My throat was parched. I coughed a few times and managed, “Special Agent Gillian Hamilton with the Federal Bureau of—”
“Special Agent Hamilton,” he interjected before beginning to rise, “I’m a little busy at the moment.” For a man who’d just been shot at, his tone was frighteningly calm.
I grabbed at his coat sleeve and yanked. “Federal Bureau of Magic and Steam,” I finished as if I hadn’t been interrupted. “And you’re under arrest for gunfighting and possession of an illegal magic firearm.”
