London, 1860. Twenty one year old Cara Devon can fight, shoot and lose a tail. Skills necessary to survive Victorian high society and protect her heart - it’s going to be a killer season.
After the strange death of her father, Cara returns to London with a simple mission - sell off his damned collection of priceless artefacts. Her plan goes awry when she shoots two intruders, attracting the attention of a notorious crime lord. He wants to get his hands on the priceless objects d'art, and Cara.
Worse trouble erupts when aristocratic beauties start dying of broken hearts. Literally. An eight inch long brass key hammered through their chests and turned. 3,000 years ago Nefertiti turned an Egyptian man into a god. Now a killer stalks the ballrooms, searching for his own regal beauty and an ancient relic, rumoured to hold the key to immortality.
Self-preservation fuels Cara’s hunt for a particular artefact, somewhere in London her father hid Nefertiti’s Heart, if only she can find it before the killer turns his attention to her. Or has she already made a fatal mistake, by giving her heart to the number one suspect?
There was something cathartic about wielding a crowbar. Cara used one end to loosen the tacks, before ripping up the expensive patterned carpets. She tossed the strip in a growing pile by the wall. Pushing a deep auburn spike of hair from her forehead, she took a moment’s break from the dusty work. She flung open the second story window and took a large breath of London air. And coughed. Coal smoke and steam spiralled past her window, forced skywards by the combination of the narrow street and tall buildings. She blinked the stinging smog from her eyes and looked up. An airship glided by like a giant floating dodo, its tiny props spinning frantically to manoeuvre its bulk on the air currents.
Turning, Cara leaned on the casement, surveying her work. She had taken up most of the library carpet, the wooden floor boards dull in the morning light.