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    Cinder and the Smoke
    Cinder and the Smoke
    Cinder and the Smoke
    Ebook265 pages3 hours

    Cinder and the Smoke

    By Geonn Cannon

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    About this ebook

    In nineteenth century New York, safes aren’t living up to their name. A thief so wily, so impossible to capture the police call her “the Smoke,” has been targeting the wealthy. In reality, the Smoke is a woman named Kezia Cyr, a woman born in prison, stolen from her mother, and raised by runaways and pickpockets. When her emotions cause a job to blow up in her face, Kezia’s adoptive family scatters, and she is left to avenge those she’s lost.

    The Smoke may finally meet her match in Pinkerton Agent Shelby Button, who earned the moniker “Cinder” for running into a burning building to capture a criminal. Button finds Kezia’s trail and refuses to let her prey go without a fight.

    With a decade-old murder to avenge, Kezia will stop at nothing to correct her past mistakes, and Agent Button is willing to trek across the country to bring the phantom Smoke to justice once and for all.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSupposed Crimes, LLC
    Release dateMar 1, 2015
    ISBN9781938108389
    Cinder and the Smoke
    Author

    Geonn Cannon

    Geonn Cannon was born in a barn and raised to know better than that. He was born and raised in Oklahoma where he’s been enslaved by a series of cats, dogs, two birds and one unexpected turtle. He’s spent his entire life creating stories but only became serious about it when he realized it was a talent that could impress girls. Learning to write well was easier than learning to juggle, so a career was underway. His high school years were spent writing stories among a small group of friends and reading whatever books he could get his hands on.Geonn was inspired to create the fictional Squire’s Isle after a 2004 trip to San Juan Island in Washington State. His first novel set on the island, On the Air, was written almost as a side project to another story he wanted to tell. Reception to the story was so strong that the original story was put on the back burner to deal with the world created in On the Air. His second novel set in the same universe, Gemini, was also very well received and went on to win the Golden Crown Literary Society Award for Best Novel, Dramatic/General Fiction. Geonn was the first male author to receive the honor.While some of his novels haven’t focused as heavily on Squire’s Isle, the vast majority of Geonn’s works take place in the same universe and have connections back to the island and its cast of characters (the exception being the Riley Parra series). In addition to writing more novels based on the inhabitants of Squire’s Isle, Geonn hopes to one day move to the real-life equivalent to inspire further stories.Geonn is currently working on a tie-in novel to the television series Stargate SG-1, and a script for a webseries version of Riley Parra.

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      Book preview

      Cinder and the Smoke - Geonn Cannon

      Cinder and the Smoke

      Geonn Cannon

      Supposed Crimes LLC, Matthews, North Carolina

      Smashwords Edition

      All Rights Reserved

      Copyright 2015 Geonn Cannon

      Published in the United States

      ISBN: 978-1-938108-38-9

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      June 6, 1889

      The smoke fills the room, and Kezia Cyr cradles her arm against her side as she limps in the direction of the door. Her eyes sting from the smoke and coughs rack her body as she strives forward. The heat has made her face slick with a sheen of sweat, and her hand drips with warm blood that leaves a meandering trail behind her. She impacts the wall with her shoulder and uses her unbloodied hand to try twisting the knob. She coughs, which makes the wound in her side howl in protest, and her fingers refuse to cooperate.

      She hears footsteps behind her and turns to see Agent Shelby Button lurching toward her. Kezia bares her teeth, her loose hair hanging down in her face like seaweed as she fumbles the revolver from her belt and finds the strength to bring it up with her weak hand. She cocks the hammer as Shelby raises her gun as well, and they aim the long black barrels at each other through the swirling smoke.

      Blood trickles from a wound on Shelby's forehead to darken one of her blond eyebrows, forming a line like mascara across her eyelid before it follows the curve of her cheekbone. Her vest is ripped open and the collar of her shirt stands open as well. Both women are drenched with sweat and water and spilling their blood on the floor, and both are breathing hard despite the fact the room is more smoke than oxygen.

      Looks like it ends here, Shelby says.

      Despite the pain and the fire inside of her, Kezia smiles. That seems pretty definitely true, Agent.

      Outside the window, Seattle burns.

      Chapter One

      Before

      On Kezia Cyr's first birthday, she also celebrated her twenty-first month in jail. Her mother was arrested the night she was conceived, a miracle of coincidence and timing that may have had something to do with the sheriff's reputation for making up his own 'anything-goes' rulebook. Whether her father was the sheriff himself or one of his good-time deputies was uncertain. It didn't matter one way or the other to Miriam Cyr, so long as she got to keep her baby with her. Kezia learned to crawl through the cells, squishing her baby fat rolls between the bars to get from one cell to the next. The deputies observed this behavior with amusement.

      Uh oh. Got ourselves a jailbreak. Better sound the alarm, Elias!

      When she was old enough to walk, one of the town schoolmarms came every morning at eight to take Kezia out so she could get some sunlight and fresh air. The teacher was named Miss Thatcher, and when Kezia was old enough she started going to Miss Thatcher's house to learn how to read and write. A lot of men don't think we ladies need to know anything like this, Miss Thatcher said, so it'll just be our little secret. Okay?

      Our secret, Kezia said, just like when townspeople complimented Miss Thatcher on her beautiful daughter and the teacher never corrected them. It was easier than explaining Miriam's current situation to everyone in the world.

      One day not long before Kezia turned five, Miss Thatcher put her in the wagon and started out. Kezia squirmed on the bench and looked back every few minutes, watching as the buildings got smaller and smaller. She couldn't imagine where they were going, or why Miss Thatcher had so many boxes in the back of her wagon.

      Finally when she sensed they'd been gone much longer than usual, Kezia said, Mama wants me back for dinner. She enjoyed the prison, with its iron bars and the funny men who sometimes spent time in her mother's cell. Her mother was always quiet and tired but she always found time to ask Kezia about her day. Kezia hated the idea of being late, but Miss Thatcher just patted her on the head and made her face forward.

      We'll get you some dinner. Don't you fret, sweet girl.

      They stopped after the sun was down. Kezia was confused and thought maybe they'd gone in a circle without her knowing it. She expected to find her mother somewhere in the unfamiliar house Miss Thatcher said was their new home. Kezia went through every dark room calling for her mother until her voice was a panicked shriek. The man who had been waiting for them at the house, the one who seemed awfully sore at Miss Thatcher when they showed up, demanded she shut that brat up or I'll do it for you. Miss Thatcher tried to silence her but Kezia kept shouting. The man crossed the room in two steps, turned Kezia to face him, and slapped her hard across her face.

      That night she crawled out of bed to inspect her reflection in the window glass. She had a big red mark that took up the entire right side of her face. It made her look like she was wearing a mask. She got off the little stool that let her look into the bathroom mirror and walked down the hall to wear the mean man was sleeping. She opened the door quietly and watched him for a long time while he slept just to make sure he hadn't woken up. She tiptoed over the floor and saw that Miss Thatcher was curled on her side next to the man. She was curled up like she was trying to get away but couldn't.

      Kezia picked up the lantern next to the bed. The wick was still fluttering and flapping like it was searching for air. The knob squeaked as Kezia fed it some more wick, the wide strip of cloth rising out of the fluid reservoir with more fuel so that the burny (which is what she called it then) rose higher and became more alive. It filled the room with golden light as she took off the bell-shaped glass cover and then dropped the lamp on the man's covers.

      Miss Thatcher got out of the fire, scooped Kezia up under her arm, and ran out of the house crying. Kezia never saw the man again, but she heard him. He screamed when he burned to death, and she clapped her hands over her ears as Miss Thatcher threw their things into the man's wagon - it was nicer than theirs - and whipped the horses until the flames couldn't even be seen on the horizon anymore.

      That was a very bad thing you did, Miss Thatcher said once they were far enough away for her to breathe easier. Very, very bad.

      He hurt me. And you didn't like him, either!

      No. She reached over and patted Kezia's leg. But sometimes we have to put up with people we don't like, people that hurt us, because there's no other way.

      Kezia didn't think that made sense. She was afraid and tired and she missed her mother, but by now she had accepted they weren't going back to see her again.

      They finally arrived at the biggest city Kezia had ever seen. Miss Thatcher got a one-room apartment for them, told Kezia to stay put in the bedroom while she went downstairs to talk to men about jobs. She said one man hired her for her hands, and another for her mouth, and one part that was so popular that she often couldn't sit down to eat dinner. But she crouched carefully next to Kezia's chair and helped her cut up her food. She stroked Kezia's long black hair, often crying for no reason, and Kezia would often tell her just how good the food was. She was sure that Miss Thatcher was crying because she didn't like the food.

      They left that apartment a few weeks later because one man Miss Thatcher brought home kept talking about how pretty Kezia was. He said she was so pretty, and so little, and he said that she was innocent, and Kezia smiled and thanked him. He reached out to touch her hair and Miss Thatcher got so mad that she waved a knife at him and told him to get the bad word out of her bad word house before she cut his thingie off. Kezia was mad; the man was just being nice to her and she didn't understand why Miss Thatcher had to be so mean all the time. Their new apartment was even smaller than the first one and Kezia hated it.

      One night Kezia asked when she would go back to her mother. Miss Thatcher stretched out next to her in bed and stroked her hair.

      Baby, you're not going back there. That was a bad place. Ya understand? Your mama was a bad woman, and I had to save you. I had to get you out of there 'fore you went down the same path.

      Did she not want me anymore?

      Miss Thatcher watched her for a long time and then finally nodded slowly. That's it, baby. I'm sorry, but she just didn't want you anymore.

      Kezia cried herself to sleep that night and every night after. Sometimes in between the tears, she heard Miss Thatcher crying on her side of the bedroom and that only made her cry harder. A few days later Miss Thatcher asked if she wanted to change her name for something called enrollment, but Kezia said no never. She was Kezia Cyr and she always would be.

      But baby, you know that wasn't really your mama's name. It was just a name she made up. It was just a lie she told.

      It's my name.

      Miss Thatcher looked tired and sad all at the same time. Yes, I suppose it is. Okay... we'll leave it.

      She was put in school under that name. Kezia wanted Miss Thatcher to be her teacher, but she kept saying it wasn't possible. One morning they walked together to a tall brick building, and Miss Thatcher let a tall woman in a black dress take her hand. When she looked back Miss Thatcher was walking away, and Kezia understood she had been given away again. She sobbed all through her first day of classes until she was taken to the principal, and then Miss Thatcher arrived.

      She was just having a little anxiety is all, the principal said. Kezia heard, We don't want this child, she's a bad girl.

      I'm so sorry. I don't think I explained what was happening very well. I don't want her either. Please take her from me. She crouched and put her hands on Kezia's cheeks. Sweetie? What's wrong?

      Kezia turned her head and bit Miss Thatcher's hand hard enough to draw blood. Miss Thatcher shrieked and pulled back. She said a bad word and slapped Kezia hard enough that she toppled off the chair and landed flat on the floor. Miss Thatcher instantly gathered the fallen girl to her chest and began to rock her back and forth, apologizing in a soft voice and crying softly. The principal said maybe it ought be best to take the girl home.

      Yes, maybe it would be.

      The school nurse treated Miss Thatcher's hand, then Kezia took it and walked her outside. Their home was two blocks from the school and they spent most of the trip in silence. Finally Kezia looked up at Miss Thatcher and smiled beatifically.

      Now you have to be my teacher, huh?

      Miss Thatcher kept her eyes forward and her face like stone. Yes, I suppose I do.

      Kezia couldn't understand why she didn't sound happier about it.

      The principal's office was the first place Miss Thatcher hit her, but not the last. She didn't do it a lot, and almost every time she put her head in her hands at the kitchen table and her whole body shook with the force of her crying. Sometimes she held a cigarette between two fingers and Kezia always watched to see if she would set her hair on fire. Sometimes Miss Thatcher would look up and stare at her with red eyes, like she was some mysterious stain and she was trying to figure out how to clean it. Those times Kezia went and hid under her bed until Miss Thatcher's sleeping potion - the one in the shiny bottle that Kezia was neverever to touch - made her sleepy enough to pass out on the couch.

      Years passed and Kezia grew up to be a quiet teenager. Miss Thatcher even seemed happier, more relaxed now that the beast she'd brought into her life had matured. They did lessons at the kitchen table, and then Kezia would go out onto the fire escape when Miss Thatcher brought home her clients. Sometimes she could hear them through the wall and, even though she knew she wasn't supposed to, she would scoot closer to that edge of the fire escape so she could listen to what they were doing.

      Kezia was fifteen when Miss Thatcher brought home Mr. Cope. She was nervously fiddling with the button of her dress when she explained that he was a nice man who was willing to give them a lot of money to spend some time with them both. Kezia let Miss Thatcher and the man take her into the bedroom and, even though it was unusual, she liked being able to see what she had eavesdropped on so many times. She didn't much like Mr. Cope, even though he was nice enough and gentle when she told him it hurt, but she liked being with Miss Thatcher in such a weird new way.

      Afterward from time to time during their lessons, Kezia would try to kiss Miss Thatcher. She always got angry and flustered, and moved away from her.

      That's dirty. Don't do that.

      But you said it--

      It was for the money. That was all.

      Kezia's ears burned and she focused on her arithmetic. After that, Miss Thatcher made sure the men she brought home didn't see Kezia. Sometimes when Miss Thatcher was overtired or exasperated she would mutter to herself. Don't know why they'd bother with me. Losing all my color, sagging... She would look at her face in the mirror and touch the lines that had formed in the past few years, and she'd trace the silver streaks in her hair with her fingers.

      One night Kezia waited until Miss Thatcher went to bed, then tiptoed to the stove that doubled as their heater. She covered her hands with soot from the inside and eased quietly into Miss Thatcher's bedroom. She sat on top of her and began to rub the soot into her hair so that it wouldn't be gray anymore. Miss Thatcher woke up, discovered Kezia on top of her and running her hands through her hair, and thought apparently abhorrent thoughts.

      "You nasty thing! She threw Kezia to the floor and knelt down next to her. She bent down and began to hit her with both fists. Never! Never do that, do you understand me? Don't be dirty! She punched Kezia until her nose and lip were bleeding, the tears mixing with the blood as it dripped off her chin. Nasty, dirty girl," Miss Thatcher sobbed in between slaps and punches.

      Kezia twisted out from under her and hit Miss Thatcher hard between the eyes, knocking her back and stopping the assault long enough to get her feet under her. She sobbed as she ran out of the apartment, wiping at the blood and tears with hands still coated with soot. By the time she reached the corner she looked as if she'd just climbed out of a coal chute. She was lost, hurt, frightened, and she was still barefoot and wearing her nightgown. She didn't know where she was and she had nowhere to go, so she just started walking north. She figured she would have a plan when she ran out of island, when she was forced by water to turn around and go the other way.

      The boys found her before that happened. Her soot-blackened face and dark hair blended into the darkness of the night, plus her wailing and the rippling material of her white nightgown, made the first boys think they were seeing an honest-to-heaven specter. The littlest ones ran off but the bravest of the group tracked her meandering path through the city. They eventually decided she was a real girl and that her crying was caused by some real pain, so the leader - a tough by the name of Desmond Laraby - ran to catch up and ask her what was wrong. She couldn't form the words, so Des put his arm around her shoulders and guided her back to their home away from homes.

      There was an adult man there and Kezia figured she was being inducted into Miss Thatcher's line of work. He surprised her by being warm and compassionate, clucking his tongue when Des explained how the boys had found her. He gave her a bowl of warm soup and a glass of milk, sitting silently with her until she was finished eating and able to speak. He took her bowl to the sink and came back with a sponge which he used to clean away the soot from her cheeks.

      Why, there's a girl under here! he said with mock surprise, and Kezia couldn't stop herself from smiling.

      His name was Bashir the Statue. He earned his name by being the most invisible man in all of Syria. I stand by the wall, never move. Not a twitch of my eye, not a sneeze, not a twitch of my lips. He demonstrated all three, which only made Kezia relax more. Soon people just swoop by me, brush by me, no one notices Bashir the Statue. No one sees when his hand whoop! Dart it out, take their purse, tuck it into pocket. If they notice later, no one looks at Bashir the Statue because he is no longer there.

      He took a cloth napkin, put some coins into it, and then tied the corners together with a string from his pocket. He held it out to her and winked.

      You keep this for twenty-four hours, every coin, you can have it.

      Kezia's eyes widened as she took it. She had counted the amount of money going into the napkin and it seemed like a fortune. He told her that she could stay with them until morning and he assured her the boys would be gentlemen. He gathered her dishes, then paused as if something had just occurred to him. He shook his head, clucked his tongue, and said, I bet you could have used that money.

      She looked at his back in confusion, then reached for the bag. She had put it on her lap, but now it was gone.

      Hey! she said.

      He shrugged as if to say it wasn't his fault. You're more than welcome to try stealing it back. Goodnight, Kizzy.

      She stared down at the empty lap of her nightgown, determined she wouldn't leave until she either got the money back or figured out how to steal it as seamlessly as the Statue just had.

      #

      She was the only girl at the Statue's home, which was called by various unofficial names. The most frequent identifier was Little Serious. It started as Little Syria in homage to the Statue's birthplace, but Des said that was too highfalutin and gave it his own twist. Soon the other kids were following his lead, as they did with everything else.

      For the first few days she was worried about how the others would react to her presence, if they would be like Mr. Cope and try to do naughty things when she wasn't paying close enough attention. To her relief they seemed to follow the Statue's lead and treated her like an honored guest. Before long she was even more than that; the boys began to defend her at the drop of the hat. If one boy mentioned a certain part of her body, the others would pounce on him until he apologized. If someone on the street acted rude, they would descend like a flock of pigeons and peck at the interloper until they ran off.

      Des liked doing that most, because they could pick the guy's pocket, and then he would run away from them. He started calling it the Shoe Leather Saver.

      The Statue didn't have any clothes for a girl, so she just wore what the other boys did. He seemed uncomfortable doing that, but she didn't know what the big deal was. Pants and shirts covered nakedness just fine. Who cared if it buttoned one way or t'other, and it was easier to run without a skirt to get all tripped up in. She liked the way she felt when she put on a pair of trousers and hooked the red suspenders up over her shoulders. She didn't get quite as many catcalls from the street, so they couldn't do the Shoe Leather Saver as often, but they had other tricks that made up for it.

      One night Kezia was alone at Little Serious, bored and looking for something to occupy her time. She remembered the bag of coins the Statue had stolen from her on the first night and decided the time had come to even the score. She slipped into his office and went to the safe he kept in the floor under his desk. She had to crouch down, her knees next to her ears, and she used the acoustics of the space to listen for the clicks.

      A-one.

      A-two.

      Three!

      She pulled the lever and the door swung up and open. Inside she found documents and stacks of paper money, bonds, promissory notes, jewelry, but she dug through all of that until she found the box of gold and silver. She counted out exactly how much she'd seen in the napkin and put the rest back, closed the safe, spun the dials, and then left the Statue's office. Twenty-four hours later she knocked

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