Now very curious, Hyacinth began drifting through the house, aiming for the intimate sitting room where she'd met with the Violet Queen. That led her down a short hallway punctuated by portraits of reclining nudes, perhaps the chief attractions of the establishment. One might have been a younger version of the proprietress herself.

Hyacinth felt the tickle on her neck that said someone was watching her. Turning slowly, she saw nothing, but heard an eerie clicking. Nerves brought gooseflesh to her arms and she suddenly wished she'd brought a gun. There was a hideous, slavering, huffing sound that made her stiffen.

And then the Pomeranian trotted into view, a menacing puff of cinnamon fur. Hyacinth heaved an irritated breath. It gave a single yap in response. Brilliant. If there was anyone in the house, this creature would give her away.

"Hush!" She crouched and it skittered aside on ridiculously tiny paws. "Oh, don't be like that." Hyacinth generally liked dogs better than people, but she didn't have the patience to deal with this now. She grabbed the thing, gloves sinking deep into the silky coat, and shoved it back into the room it had come from, shutting the door. There was a whine and a scratch, but then it was quiet.

She kept on, and in another few steps she heard voices-a man and a woman. Instinctively, she shrank against the wainscoting, inching toward the sitting room. The paneled doors were shut, but she could hear just enough to recognize that the female was the Violet Queen, speaking quickly. The male voice gave one-word replies-not enough to decide if it was familiar.

Tight with antic.i.p.ation, she bent close to the door, her ear pressed to the crack.

"You can't win this, Keating. No one is with you after what you did."

Finally, the man gave a complete sentence. "That's quite a different tune than the one you sang a week ago."

Jasper Keating? So that was the mystery man! And that explained why the servants must have been banished to another part of the house. The Gold King wouldn't risk having his business overheard.

Hyacinth reached for the doork.n.o.b and turned it all the way, making sure there was nothing to catch as she pushed the door open a crack. All of a sudden, the voices were much more distinct.

"You hadn't blasted half of London then." The Violet Queen's voice was harsh. "If you want allies, leave them a bit of ground to stand on. You make enemies when you destroy their livelihoods."

Hyacinth put one eye to the crack in the door. The pair was standing at an angle, the Violet Queen almost with her back to Hyacinth. Mrs. Cutter was wearing a deep indigo costume, the short jacket st.i.tched heavily with gla.s.s beads that glittered with every motion. Keating was close to the mantelpiece, one hand on its pale marble shelf, the other in a sling. His features, usually the picture of distinguished elegance, looked hollow with shadows.

"I didn't hurt anything of yours," snapped Keating.

"Of course you did. I live here."

"Men will always come to your door, Mrs. Cutter."

She made a disgusted noise. "Courtesans require more than a back alley s.h.a.g. We are the demimonde, and that relies on prosperity. You are the great financier. What do you think happens when you block the roads, stop trade, and crush half the banks?"

"I hold all the cards."

"You hold the cards to Armageddon. Enjoy your hand."

Bristling with anger, Keating took two steps toward Mrs. Cutter. "I'll take Green's territory just as I did Scarlet's."

"No, you won't."

"You plan to stop me? You barely have territory. You don't have an army. You don't even have a maker."

Hyacinth bit her lip, utterly enthralled. There has to be something here I can use to my advantage.

The Violet Queen raised her chin, the picture of hauteur. "I may be a wh.o.r.e, but there are only so many ways I will agree to be f.u.c.ked, Mr. Keating." And she reached beneath the short jacket of her costume and pulled a pearl-handled Derringer from the small of her back.

It was small, hopelessly old-fashioned after seeing so many of the makers' fancy guns. Still, the sight of it caught Hyacinth by surprise, and she gasped. It wasn't loud, but it was enough to distract the woman for a fraction of time. With his uninjured hand, Keating pulled out a slender rod-more of a wand than a proper gun-and fired. A ball of blue light crackled through the air, but the Violet Queen was quick. She ducked out of the way in time for the shot to sizzle against the door Hyacinth still held. The next instant, a chunk of the heavy paneled wood exploded into splinters, raining sharp points down on Hyacinth's head. She shoved the door away, accidentally catching the other woman in the face as she turned to run. Mrs. Cutter's eyes flew wide as she saw Hyacinth standing there, clearly seeing another enemy. It was that look in her eyes, guilty and afraid, that startled Hyacinth. She's done something that she knows has turned me against her.

By then, Keating had caught up. He thrust his strange weapon against the Violet Queen's temple. "How dare you!"

The woman swore and spun around, clawing at his face. Red lines sprang up on Keating's cheek, but he barely flinched. Instead, he fired. The Violet Queen flew backward, over the back of the sofa, and slammed into the wall. She fell to the floor, her neck twisted almost completely around. The room filled with the stench of burning cloth and flesh.

Appalled, Hyacinth staggered back into the corridor, trembling starting in her knees and working upward through the rest of her. "b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l."

Keating noticed her, giving her a sharp look. "Who are you?"

"Miss Hyacinth," she said automatically. "Governess of one of her houses."

"I hope you found this instructive," he said with a curl of his lip.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. She was still shaking, her skin in a slick, cold sweat-but she knew how to play this game. She'd been the tyrant of the Wollaston Academy for Young Ladies, and head-hunting savages didn't hold a candle to a crowd of bored debutantes. "I found it liberating," she said in her best boarding-school drawl. "Madam had been poaching my clients for herself. I'd come to settle accounts, but you've done so admirably, sir." Though really, this was rather more than I'd planned. She swallowed hard, hoping she wouldn't vomit.

He was studying her now, cradling his injured arm as if the sudden activity had hurt him. "You have admirable nerve."

"A professional a.s.set." Her gloves were damp, clinging unpleasantly to her palms, but she forced herself to look him in the eye. "And I only saw as much as you say I saw."

He put the strange-looking gun away. "I'd rather that wasn't a necessary consideration. It's always unpleasant when a friend lets one down."

And it gives your enemies ideas. She knew that from the schoolyard, too. If the popular girls turned on one of their own, it was only a matter of minutes before the unfortunate victim became the school pariah. And this is where she saw her opportunity. "You are the ally of the Violet Queen. There is nothing to say that position needs to be held by Mrs. Cutter. Her network of informants, her houses and clients, are all still there."

"What are you saying?" Now he looked almost amused.

Hyacinth edged up to the body, attempting to look more steady than she felt. Her mind whirred frantically, calculating odds, reading every nuance of his expression. She knew how to survive, and much of that depended on reading her marks. "I'm educated and I understand this business. I can help you. I can even cover this up for a few days."

"I don't know you."

Oh, but you do, now that I think about it. It was your judge and jury that murdered my family and made me a wh.o.r.e. But the smile she gave him was conspiratorial. "A few days, Mr. Keating. Check on me as often as you like, but I will keep the information flowing for you. And I saw what you did to someone who crossed you. I may be a tart, but I'm not a fool."

"All other considerations aside," he said coldly, "there will be fierce compet.i.tion to fill this sudden vacancy at the top. If I grant you this position, how do you propose to keep it?"

That almost made her smile. "Your support will of course be an important factor, but I also have my own means, and my own staff. Not to mention my own tools of the trade. I know how to maintain discipline." She lingered slightly-just slightly-on the last words.

He caught his breath, the pupils of his eyes expanding, and she knew she had him. It's always the dominating ones that secretly want it.

"I'll be back tomorrow," he said. "I don't want to hear a word that anything here is different. Not a whisper about Mrs. Cutter. I'll send Yellowbacks to watch you."

And she had no illusions that he'd let her live one second longer than it suited him. She gave a low curtsy. "I'll be waiting."

Keating left.

I'll be waiting and we'll see what sort of a reception we can arrange, Yellowbacks or no. Hyacinth rose and waited a moment, looking around the room but avoiding the sight of the dead woman on the floor. The place still wasn't as lush as the home she'd grown up in, but it was a sight better than Whitechapel. A step in the right direction, at least.

She went to the door and called in Tigress and Gareth, then gave them a series of orders beginning with the quiet removal of the body. Such things weren't unheard of in their line of work, although thankfully not all that common.

Then she found an unopened bottle of wine, uncorked it, and poured herself a gla.s.s. She bet the Violet Queen had a nice bedchamber, and nice clothes, and perhaps a nice little safe with lots of jewels. She could see herself holding court in the demimonde, young and beautiful, courted by rich men, pretty men, and t.i.tled men. But she would keep her heart for the Pomeranian. The dog at least would be likely to love her back.

Hyacinth finished the gla.s.s of wine, wondering if she should reclaim her real name of Violet, or if that would just be too confusing.

And then she went to the back of the house, opening doors until she found the one she wanted. As expected, there was a plump, pale body strapped to a chevalet much nicer than the one in her old house. "h.e.l.lo, Mr. Tunbridge. You were quite a naughty boy, sneaking out to come here instead of to our usual appointment."

The man strapped to the table made an inarticulate sound-that special mix of antic.i.p.ation and fear-as she opened the doors to a very lovely mahogany cabinet. Floggers of all kinds hung on gleaming bra.s.s hooks. She picked one out, testing its flexibility.

"I believe we shall have to clear the air between us, don't you?"

Over Bath, October 14, 1889.

ABOARD THE ATHENA.

3:30 p.m. Monday.

"WHAT WENT ON DOWN THERE?" STRIKER DEMANDED, catching Nick's arm as he tried to walk past him in the Athena's narrow corridor. Striker's dusky skin was sc.r.a.ped off in some patches and bruising in others, and it looked like it hurt.

"I found Evelina and I brought her back," Nick replied tersely.

"I'd expect more celebration," Striker said dryly. "She hasn't stirred from your quarters. Normally, I'd say that was a good thing when a pirate catches a wench, but this isn't like that."

"She needs time."

Striker's eyes narrowed. "I saw the body. You didn't do that. Did she?"

Nick grabbed the front of Striker's jacket, pulling him close. "And what of it?"

The man held up his palms. "I had your back, remember? I just want to know what I'm dealing with. This big ship could get small enough if there's danger on board."

Nick swore and let him go. "Evelina's no danger to us."

Striker folded his arms, his bulk nearly filling the corridor. "Your wench was with the sorcerer and it doesn't look like it went well for him."

"I wouldn't call her a wench to her face. Or mine."

"Then what is she, Captain?"

"She has the Blood like me." Nick scrubbed his hands over his face. He had slept a few hours after they'd got back to the Athena, but it had been the collapse of exhaustion and not true rest. "She's my responsibility."

Striker's silence was eloquent.

"Get used to her," Nick growled. "We'll need her talents before this is over."

Striker grunted. "If she wants to fight for us, then that's all right."

"Good," Nick said with finality.

Striker shot him a look that bordered on amus.e.m.e.nt. "We're an hour outside of Bath. Maybe this time we'll actually get to dock." With that he turned and limped toward the navigation room.

Nick stood in the corridor, the narrow doors of the crew quarters looking clean and neat in a way that still surprised him. The Red Jack had been a fine ship, but old. This had the scrubbed look of a debutante.

The thought catapulted him into a memory of seeing Evie before her first ball, her dress white as whipped cream and just as tempting. Of course, he'd been gawping at her through the iron bars of a gate. He'd wanted her with all his flesh and soul. He still did. Nick strode to the last door, a shade larger than the rest, and went into his quarters.

Evelina was on the bed, curled into the corner of the room with her knees tucked under her chin. It was dim, the only light coming from a modest porthole above the side of the bed. A tray of food sat on the desk, untouched. Nick's gaze swept the tiny room and concluded she hadn't stirred from that spot since he'd left her. Sadness, tinged with a pinch of frustration, stiffened his shoulders.

Something in the way she held herself reminded him of a spooked horse. He didn't know exactly what had gone on at Magnus's castle, but it had shattered any ideas Evie'd had about a benign universe. Rebuilding them would be long and hard, and he would have to be patient. And yet, he couldn't help a surge of pleasure at seeing her there, in his room and on his ship. He was on the right side of the gate this time.

"You should come out and see the rest of the Athena," he suggested mildly.

"I saw it coming in. It's lovely." Her voice was soft, as if made from the subdued light. It was also just as gray.

With an inward sigh, he crossed the room and sat down beside her, his back to the wall. He put an arm around her and pulled her close. "I'm sorry, Evie girl."

She let out a shuddering breath, leaning into him like a tired child. "I was foolish not to tell you about the laboratories, but I wanted you to find your ship."

He kissed the top of her head. "Stop making choices for me. It never ends well." Twice she'd even parted from him, thinking it would be for his own good. But they always ended up back together, where they belonged.

"I'm a soul-eating monster," she said dismally.

"With cold feet."

He felt her mood shift, resisting his attempt at levity. "You say you can stop me from turning into another Magnus, or worse."

"All in a day's work." He wasn't sure how, but it wasn't the kind of thing one could plan in detail, anyway.

"He'd lived for thousands of years, stealing the life from others," she murmured. "And it makes sense. If there was a way to stay alive, how could he stop himself from taking it?"

"Do you want to stay alive forever?" Nick asked, working to keep his voice calm. "It's the sort of thing we all think we want."

"No," she said flatly. "The worst thing about Magnus is that I think he might have been a decent man once. Maybe even great. There were traces of who he'd been, relics like the arrowheads in a farmer's fields, but the rest had been eaten away. And he was utterly alone."

Nick thought about what he had seen of Magnus's home in London. He'd been impressed by the huge library, the experimental equipment, and most of all the wealth. But there hadn't been a single servant. "Why didn't he have minions or lackeys or even a butler?"

"He had some at the castle, but not many. He had too many secrets, I think. Or maybe one of his pets drained them dry and they died."

She was shaking, a fine tremor that wouldn't stop. He pulled her closer, warming her with his body. "I won't let you do that."

She lifted her head. "Promise me."

"I promise."

But that wasn't good enough. She pulled herself up to sit facing him, one hand on his chest. "If it looks like I'm going to start killing people just to keep on living, you have to stop me, even if it's the last thing you want to do." She caught his gaze and held it, keeping him pinned with the fear in her eyes.

"I can't imagine you doing that," he said, and that was true. Still, cold was creeping through him, solidifying like frost in his veins. By the Dark Mother, she's asking me to kill her. It was more than he had bargained for, but she needed to know he could make that hard choice if she lost her way. Love wasn't just about flowers and kisses.

She shook her head, leaning forward in her urgency. "Not now. But in ten years or twenty."

"It won't come to that. Not with me here. I won't let you go that far."