"That's what Mouse thought. He said you are very loyal."

Poppy eyed the creature. It stood on its hind legs and looked up at her, whiskers tickling her thumb. "You're cheeky," Poppy said. "But I'm glad you're going to help."

"But you may need to be more than loyal, Miss Roth. You might need to be brave."

"Why?"

"If I open a door, things may begin to happen. You might need to guard that door."

"How can I? I'm not magical."

"Magic doesn't always happen with spells. And you may need to get reinforcements."

Poppy was growing nervous and a little impatient. "Whatever needs to be done, I'll do it."

"Good. Then I think it's best we get started," Miss Barnes said briskly.

Poppy wondered what would happen next, but held her tongue. She could hear doors slamming and people moving around, and she locked the bedroom door just to be safe. The last thing they needed was Lady Bancroft sailing in while the infamous Madam Thala.s.sa was conjuring a pa.s.sage to a magic land.

With an efficiency that suggested Miss Barnes was in fact a real nurse, she began clearing s.p.a.ce on the dressing table, dislodging the bottles of perfume, necklaces, and powder boxes no one could bring themselves to put away. In danger of being tidied, Bird flew over to where Poppy stood and landed on her arm, digging sharp claws clear through her sleeve. The creature was much more ornate than Mouse, though it had been patched in a few places by a clumsier hand. It chirped and picked at the lace of her cuff, c.o.c.king its head as if waiting to see what she would do.

"Don't be a pest," Poppy scolded.

Bird opened its beak wide, waggling a bright red tongue. Poppy was sure that was the same as a rude noise.

"Bring them over here," Miss Barnes directed.

Much had happened while Poppy had been distracted. The dressing table was bare except for a circle drawn in a very fine white powder, and a small candle burned at every point of the compa.s.s.

"What is all this for?" Poppy asked.

"The candles provide a beacon. It's hard to navigate the spirit realms."

"What's the white dust?"

"Quartz. It contains the properties of both light and earth, and they will need both illumination and stability."

Mouse jumped from Poppy's hand to the dressing table, then Bird. They hunkered down in the middle of the circle, suddenly looking worried. "Are they going to be safe?" Poppy asked.

"Safer than your sister," Miss Barnes said in a voice that made Poppy twice as uneasy. "Now we need to anchor them to you. That way you'll be able to help them find their way home."

"What do I need to do?"

And then they froze again while someone with a heavier tread walked down the hall. Poppy thought she recognized her father's footsteps, and she looked at the dressing table in panic, her pulse so violent that she could feel it in her mouth. How quickly could they snuff out the candles and hide the evidence of the spell? But Miss Barnes looked much calmer. "Hold out your hand."

Poppy did, and to her horror Miss Barnes picked up a tiny white-handled knife. "I'm going to p.r.i.c.k your finger. Is that all right?"

Poppy caught her breath, but nodded. This sort of thing happened in fairy tales all the time. The only proper response was to be brave. And she was, although she felt a little sick when Miss Barnes held her finger first over Mouse and then over Bird, letting the bright drops fall onto their sleek metal backs.

Then Miss Barnes began to chant in a hushed voice: Blood of faith and blood of fire, Hear the cry of danger dire; Fly to realms unseen or heard With the power of my word; Seek the one who there is lost And bring her home at any cost.

As Miss Barnes spoke, a feeling grew inside the room that Poppy couldn't quite describe. It felt like the pressure right before a sneeze or a yawn, tingling behind her eyes. And then it seemed to pop. A clean smell like peppermint wafted through the air. It made Poppy slightly dizzy.

"Aether," Miss Barnes said, taking her shoulder. "It will pa.s.s in a moment."

But Poppy was staring at the dressing table in consternation. Mouse and Bird sat very still, but they were right where they had been a moment ago. "What went wrong? They didn't go anyplace."

"Oh, but they did," Miss Barnes smiled. "These are just toys. The devas inside them are gone." She gave Bird a slight push. The tiny metal statue fell over with a clunk, making Poppy wince. "They will go do their part. What you need to do is watch you sister closely for any signs of change. And trust your instincts. You'll know what to do when the time comes."

Poppy wasn't so sure about that. "Like what?"

"Every case is different. Imagine being lost far away from home. Your guides might find you, and you come straight back, or there might be some adventures before the end. It's impossible to know. All you can do is be ready, and try to antic.i.p.ate your sister's needs."

Poppy was always game for an adventure, but this was her sister's life. "Isn't there supposed to be a knight or a hero involved in these situations? Someone qualified?"

Miss Barnes shrugged. "Not necessarily. A hero is never a bad thing, but they're not the only option." Then the woman made a shooing gesture. "I need to clean up, and you had best go back to your room."

"Will Mouse and Bird come back?"

"That's up to them."

That was too vague for Poppy's comfort. She cast a last look at her sister's smooth, serene profile, thanked Miss Barnes-Madam Thala.s.sa-and left. She scampered back to her own room, closed her door as silently as she could, and let out a huge breath. And then wondered what was going to happen. She was almost as worried for the two little toys as for her sister, because whether they volunteered or not, they hadn't looked at all happy about being sent to who-knew-where.

She crouched by the doorway, listening until she heard Imogen's door close again. Then she ran to her window and watched until she saw Miss Barnes's straight-backed form leave through the side gate the servants used and march down the street, disappearing quickly into the falling darkness. Relief robbed Poppy's limbs of strength, and she slumped onto her window seat. She did a spell right under the Gold King's nose and got away with it. Even Poppy knew that was insanely risky-and she was more grateful than she could say. She'd make sure everything went right from here. She would do it anyway for her sister, but it was also the best way to honor the medium's kindness.

And then a movement caught Poppy's attention. She saw another form leave through the servants' entrance, wrapped in a billowing coat and carrying a satchel. Tobias! She hadn't known that he was actually in the house. She'd a.s.sumed he'd gone to his own place.

A lump caught in Poppy's throat. That bag was the one he used whenever he packed in a hurry. He was leaving without saying good-bye. He'd never done that before. This has to be worse than I thought.

Foreboding stilled her thoughts, as if she couldn't bear to keep going. She raised her hands to the gla.s.s, blotting out the image of her brother walking away and leaving her without a word of explanation.

Then Poppy heard a woman crying, and realized it had to be Alice.

Unknown IMOGEN SAT HIGH in the workings of the clock, balanced on the metal rail that formed part of the wheel of the zodiac. Her feet dangled over a lot of nothingness and a cushion would have been nice, but it had rapidly become her favorite spot. She had a good view of everything and there were no moving parts that required her to duck.

She squinted, sure she saw a glimmer of yellowish light slipping between the gears. One hand on a crossbar above her, she leaned over, straining for a better view. And then it was gone-except a strange minty smell drifted her way. That's odd.

Below, the clock bonged, shaking her teeth in her head. If she went deaf in the spirit world, would her physical body lose hearing, too? Of course, that was a.s.suming she got back into her physical body before her twin. And that was a sufficiently revolting thought to guarantee she would fight until the end of days. Anger flamed through her at the thought of Anna getting anywhere near her family. Near Bucky.

Imogen s.n.a.t.c.hed her thoughts back from him. Whenever she thought about Bucky, she started to cry, and she wasn't naive enough to think that Anna wouldn't turn her weakness into a weapon. She hitched herself higher onto her perch, refusing to let her emotions show. There was every chance Anna was spying on her. After all, she had delighted in it as a child.

A squawking noise rose suddenly, ricocheting around the cavernous, gear-filled s.p.a.ce. Imogen scrambled to her feet. She was so used to the monotonous grind and tick of clockwork, the discordant noise seemed to boom through the s.p.a.ce. Then came a scrabbling noise and a screech. Imogen crawled along the rail, trying to see past the knot of workings that blocked her sight.

She had almost reached the end of the path when a gigantic steel mouse-at least as big as a cat-bounded into view, black velvet paws clinging to the rail. Imogen stopped and stared, mesmerized by the many-jointed tail snaking to and fro in an agitated sweep. Long wire whiskers quivered, giving off a faint hum as they moved.

Imogen's heart pattered with excitement, for she recognized this extraordinary creature. "You're Evelina's Mouse!"

I am.

She nearly fell off the rail. "I can hear you!" It wasn't with her ears, but with her mind. "How can I hear you?"

We are more alike here. It scampered forward a few steps until it was touchably close, though it was across one of those heart-stopping gaps that dropped down the length of the pendulum. She reached out, brushing her fingers to the cool, sleek tip of Mouse's ear.

"I'm so happy to see a friend," she said, her throat filling with emotion. Suddenly everything seemed different. Mouse wasn't just a friend, it was a creature made for this sort of bizarre world.

We have a problem.

The bubble of hope Imogen had been nursing burst, leaving her empty. She nearly broke into tears. "What is that?"

The creature sat up, black eyes glittering in the dim light. Your sister caught Bird.

London, October 2, 1889.

HILLIARD HOUSE.

7:45 p.m. Wednesday.

"THE BEST THING FOR THE BOY IS TO LEAVE." BANCROFT filled his voice with a confidence he wasn't sure he believed. "Keating will handle the fuss, the police will go through the motions, and after a decent interval Tobias will come home. There are too many other things to worry about. The Blue King is acting up. Cholera's broken out again. The Stock Exchange is down."

His wife was sitting in the same chair she'd occupied when Alice had first arrived. Her hands were clasped in her lap, squashing the dainty square of lace that she'd been using to dab her eyes. "I can't believe my boy shot and killed a man! How did this happen?"

Presumably with a gun. But sarcasm would be less than kind when applied to his wife, especially where the children were concerned.

"Adele," he said softly, "he did what was necessary."

He had no idea what had actually occurred, but he knew Tobias. His son was not violent, and everyone knew that William Reading had been overdue for murder. Something had provoked that shot. Bancroft could see it clearly, even if his wife could not.

"Necessary? How is any of this necessary?" Adele stood so suddenly, Bancroft fell back. "What is happening to my children?"

His stomach twisted like a basket of snakes. One child was dead, one unconscious, and now a third was on the run. The fourth-Poppy-was so different that he barely understood her. Bancroft closed his eyes to his home life for a perfectly sound reason-there was too much he couldn't fix, and his attempts in the past had nearly d.a.m.ned them all. It was better to look forward, praying that his future success would bring enough money and prestige to redeem all losses. "I'm sorry, Adele."

She looked so lost, Bancroft's heart wavered. She was still beautiful, carrying herself with grace despite her distress. He took her hands in his, gently cupping the delicate fingers. "Look forward. That's all we can do. Alice and Jeremy will need you to watch over them until Tobias returns."

His wife regarded him with tear-starred eyes. "Poor Alice. She was so distraught, her father had to take her home."

That's because the little red-haired vixen is smart. He still hadn't forgiven the chit for snooping through his private papers, but he gave credit where it was due. She was clever enough to know Reading's death meant war-and whether Tobias would be hailed as a hero or a villain depended on the tale the public chose to believe.

By killing the Scarlet King, Tobias had upset the balance in the Steam Council. If Bancroft guessed right, the remaining members would scramble for supremacy. That meant war, with privation, death, and woe-and Tobias would go down as a devil. But that moment of confusion also represented the Baskervilles' best chance, which could bring a new world order s.n.a.t.c.hing prosperity from the jaws of chaos-enter Tobias the Initiator, with harp and halo. It was all a matter of adjusting history once the dust had settled.

"We will get through this," he said in his best comforting tone. "We always do."

But rather than accept his words, she gave him a scathing look. "Do you expect me to be content with that?"

He dropped her hands, now wary. "What would you have me say?"

"Do you realize that he would never have been at risk if he had not been working for the Gold King?"

"There is hardly a direct line of cause and effect between the two," he said somewhat defensively. He walked to the sideboard to pour a whisky, and then remembered he no longer drank. d.a.m.n.

"But there is," she said in a calm, quiet voice she rarely used but he knew better than to challenge. She only ever used it in private, but it had been coming out more often since the debacle that had ended with their thankfully short-lived Disconnection.

He turned to face his wife with his most dignified expression in place. "How so, my dear? I did not arrange for Tobias's job with the Gold King."

"But it's your fault he's there." In the dim lamplight, with her back straight and eyes flashing, she might have been twenty years younger. "You are far too clever to need me to recount every step down into this pit of folly, and I would not sully my tongue with the retelling of it. Suffice it to say that where your ambition leads, we are all forced to follow."

"You enjoy the fruits of that ambition." He made a gesture that encompa.s.sed Hilliard House. "Your father is an earl, and it was my responsibility to keep you in style."

"Don't lay this at my door. I was happy to be an amba.s.sador's wife," she said in that same dangerous tone. "I played the gracious hostess, even when it required that I welcome killers and madmen at my table. I smiled pleasantly while men I knew kept torture rooms pressed their s...o...b..ring lips to my hand. I even looked the other way while you conducted diplomacy of a different kind in your private bedchambers."

Bancroft flinched at that. How had she known?

"But leave my babies out of your machinations. I only have one left to me, and Poppy is too innocent for your games." Her voice cracked with a sound so painful that Bancroft felt it in his gut.

He felt a tingling anger rise through his body, as if he were surrounded by a magnetic coil. When he spoke, each word came out crisp and exact. "This is not my fault!"

And yet she went on. "You allowed Tobias to bear the brunt of your useless animosity toward Keating, and now see what has happened. If you do anything to jeopardize Poppy or Jeremy, I will strangle you in your sleep!"

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped.

But she had gathered steam. "Can you honestly tell me that you wouldn't sell either of them to a slave trader if it got you a position that had the prime minister's ear?"

"That fool?" The queen's ear, perhaps.

"Don't be coy." She sounded weary, as if her last outburst had taken the remainder of her strength. "I'm going to my room."

"Adele!" The note of resignation in her voice stung like vitriol. It was like her cool recital of his failings-hard to wrestle with because of its complete lack of pa.s.sion. That rather describes our entire marriage. But the cynical voice inside him faltered. "I'm worried about Tobias, too."

She paused, her body angled slightly away from him, shutting him out. "I thought you said there was no need for concern."

"That doesn't mean I don't feel it. I'm his father. He's too"-Bancroft searched for the right word-"good. No, a purist. He refuses to play the game."

That brought her gray-eyed gaze to his face. "I know. He drives me to distraction. But that's not what he was made for."

And then she turned and left, leaving him standing alone in the room, fidgeting with the coins in his pockets. The argument had left him shaken. I shouldn't have told her I was worried. That wasn't the sort of thing the man of the house was supposed to say-but it was true. I can't think about this. There's too much at stake to take my eyes off the mark.

Bancroft left the drawing room and went up to his study. He opened the door, allowing the scent of tobacco and old leather to waft over him as he walked in. Not so long ago, he'd done the same thing to find Tobias sitting at his desk. The memory of his son wrenched him unexpectedly. He'd d.a.m.ned well better be fine!

Bancroft shut the door behind him, taking a deep breath and letting it out a bit at a time. Solitude and silence settled over him, slowing the pounding of his heart. The privacy of the room held half its value to him. The other half was the memory of all the plots, feints, and victories he'd orchestrated from behind his desk. There had been failures, too-his investment in Harter Engine Company, for starters-but he'd won his share of hands. Here, in this room, he was in control.

Calmer, he sat down at the desk and shuffled a stack of papers to one side, squaring the edges with an authoritative thump. The volatile state of the Empire screamed for prudent diversification, and over the last few days, he'd been transferring a.s.sets out of London banks and into accounts he held in France and the United States. He knew it was a smart move, and that certainty released the tense knot forming at the back of his neck.

But relief didn't last. Beneath the financial papers was the note he'd received at Duquesne's. Annoyed, Bancroft picked it up, tempted to toss it into the dustbin. Nothing more had come of it, and he had enough complications to wrangle without cryptic threats.