Read BreadCrumb Trail (The Yellow Hoods, #2): Steampunk meets Fairy Tale for Free Online

breathing.”
    “Are you sure?” said Tee. She took off a mitt and put her hand over his mouth. “I don’t feel anything.”
    Elly and Tee worked together to pump water out of Pierre’s lungs, but his eyes remained a blank stare.
    “We did our best, Lala,” said Richy to Tee. “He’s gone.”
    Elly stopped and looked down at the lake.
    Tee was shaking, and her eyes welled up with tears. “We’ve got to do something. He can’t be dead. He can’t! There has to be something else we can do. Come on— think! ” yelled Tee, more to herself than to her friends.
    “His body just doesn’t remember it needs to breathe,” said Richy, putting a hand on Tee’s yellow-cloaked shoulder.
    Tee snapped her fingers as she thought of how they’d taken down the dire lynx. “Shock-sticks!” she said, and grabbed the shock-sticks from her cloak’s special pockets. She handed one to Elly, and then started winding up the other.
    “Lala? What do you think you’re doing?” said Richy, standing back. “You could kill him!”
    “He’s already dead, Richy!” replied Elly. “Let her try.” Elly vigorously wound the other shock-stick and then handed it back to Tee.
    Tee looked at Elly and Richy. Each nodded support as they backed up. Tee pressed the activation buttons and struck Pierre in the chest. Sparks flew, and Pierre convulsed wildly—and then, after a second, he coughed and blinked.
    “It worked!” yelled Richy, punching and kicking wildly in the air with joy. “I can’t believe it!”
    Tee stared in disbelief at Pierre. “He’s—he’s breathing. We did it—”
    Elly gave Tee a huge hug. “You saved him!”

CHAPTER FIVE

Hounding the Watts
     
    The only sounds in the town home were of two leather boots still being broken in as they walked about the hardwood floor. Though the Hound had hired the best men available, he personally wanted to check everything.
    Unlike his predecessor, Andre LeLoup, he wasn’t going to fail Simon St. Malo. The man had power and influence and had granted the Hound the opportunity to move from unimportant henchman to someone whose name sent chills down spines of more and more people every day.
    Simon St. Malo had been generous. The more he did for St. Malo, the more the twisted inventor did for him. The Hound was very much his namesake, a loyal dog who found what was needed and brought it home—no excuses. Every now and then, Simon would psychologically dig into the Hound to remind him of who worked for whom, but the relationship remained a productive one.
    The Hound leaned against the open front door and stared into the crackling fire, trying to think like the man who lived there.
    Before the Hound heard the voice of one his hired hands, he heard the crunching snow beneath the man’s feet. It reminded him that before they left, they would need to brush the path between the doorway and the coach to erase any footprints.
    “Sir,” whispered the voice behind him, “we’ve secured Watt and his daughter.”
    “Excuse me?” said the Hound, peering over his shoulder with a glare that made the hired thug’s blood turn cold.
    The thug stammered, “By—by—by secured the daughter, I mean we’ve delivered her to her mother’s house, as you asked, and all is fine.”
    “Did she wake?” asked the Hound, his gravelly voice needing little volume to be heard clearly.
    “No, she didn’t.”
    The Hound nodded approval, looking back at the enchanting fire. “And the mother?”
    “She appreciates your assistance in dealing with her ex,” replied the thug. “She’s got everything she needs to make her side of the story work.”
    “When everyone wins, there’s no mystery to be solved,” the Hound said wistfully.
    “There was, ah, an odd remark from the mother I thought I should mention,” said the thug.
    The Hound stiffened and turned. He wasn’t especially tall, nor large, but he was broad and muscular, and had an intensity about him that could wilt a tree. “ And?