Free The Watchmage of Old New York (The Watchmage Chronicles Book 1) by C.A. Sanders

the house saw anything.  They don’t know, but the baby was apparated.”
    “You don’t think I’m involved, do you?  Because I would never do something like that.  Never.  I already have two sons, and they’re more than a handful.”
    “I don’t suspect you.  I hoped that you might know something.  You and your mageling smoking parties always seem to have some sort of gossip.”
    “The Hellfire Club, you mean?” He said, a slight grin on his face.  His hat flopped over again, and he adjusted it on his head.  “We mean no harm, just a fraternity of common interests.  We play cards and exchange books. You’re always welcome to join us.”
    “No, thank you, but please inquire of them.”
    “I’d love to.   I’ll be your deputy. Can I have a cane like yours? Not a real one, but one that shows that…never mind, I don’t need one.”
    Butterflies swarmed in my stomach.  A little authority can burn a lot of buildings.  Regardless, I thanked him and turned to go upstairs.
    “Wait!” He said.  “You have to see my new creation.”
    “Oh, I almost forgot,” I prepared myself for whatever foolishness he was leading me to.
    “Come, come.”  Tom rushed to the door, waving me over.  With unnecessary fanfare, he threw open the door.
    I stepped inside the well-lit room. My ears rang with high-pitched yipping.   A puppy jumped—no, flew—into my arms.  Flew, as in flapped white-feathered wings and took flight.
    “Tom,” I said, mouth agape. “What have you done?”  The puppy licked my beard as I stood with mouth open. 
    “I’m sure you know about Manhattan’s rat problem.  They’re everywhere. And Rats brought the plague in Europe, we can’t let that happen here.”
    “I…”
    He interrupted.  “And what hunts rats, you ask?”
    “I didn’t.”
    “Terriers.  They’re bred to kill them.  They even make sport of it in the Lower Wards.  You can bet on how many rats they kill.  I’ve taken what Nature made and made it better.  With wings, no rat can escape!  Everyone will want one.  New York will be rat-free forever!”
    “You’ve gone mad.”
    “I’m perfectly sane.  This is the cure we’ve all been waiting for.  No more rat bites.  No more fleas or rat droppings.  Think of how many diseases this will protect us from, and they make great pets, so friendly and playful,” he said, “and they can’t fly very far, so they won’t get loose.  The breeding pair is over there.”  He pointed to the side wall.
    I looked around the room.  There were four snowy white, winged puppies, and two adults. Large nests on stone shelves were built into the walls.  The male adult spread his magnificent wings as he yawned.  “How did you even do this?” I asked.  “I’ve never heard of anything like this outside of Greek myth.”
    Tom grinned like a fat cat.  “I borrowed a book from Chauncey.  Hermetic lore, Chimeras and the like.  There’re some very interesting spells in there.” 
    The puppy in my hand jumped and flew to its mother.  The mother wasn’t large, no more than fifteen pounds, with cottony fur and big brown eyes.  Its wings were white, with hints of brown at the tips.  She wagged her tail as Tom approached and then licked his hand. I struggled against the urge to pet one.
    “I can’t allow this,” I said.  “You can’t let them out.  You have to get rid of them.”
    “Why?”
    “Why?  Because they’re dogs with wings!”
    “I can say that they’re a new breed, from Africa.  They have horses with giant necks and tiny Negroes with bones through their noses.  The public’ll believe in flying terriers. They’ll believe in anything.” He adjusted his hat again. “I was thinking of calling them ‘Flerriers.’  What do you think?”
    “If the Star of Nine ever discovered them, they’d have our hearts roasting over a fire,” I said.  I didn’t know what to do.  I’ve never had to deal with such idiocy, and certainly not from