Jack turned and walked away, a bit lighter and a bit shaken.

“Jack.”

He halted to find Ian standing in front of his chair, his eyes burning and bright. “I’m here for you,” Ian said. “Always. You understand that?”

Jack’s chest constricted, dull pain giving way to sharp. He might never see Ian again. Not like this. Not if fate played its current hand. It was his turn to clear his throat. “That’s why I came.”

A woman was in the parlor chair, sitting by the empty hearth and waiting. Mary sighted her the moment she entered her flat. In the next breath, she had her baton in hand.

“I heard that,” said the woman, her voice crystal-clear in the darkness. “You needn’t bother with weapons. I have no interest in hurting you.”

Mary kept a light hold on her baton as she moved farther into the room. “All the same, I’ll be leaving it in hand.” Keeping her eyes on her guest, Mary lit the lamp by the door. Soft golden light illuminated the small space.

The woman blinked once at the sudden glow. She was beautiful, in a sharp sort of way: narrow face, cold amber eyes, black hair. Her dress was highly fashionable, an indigo taffeta trimmed with crimson piping. Pale, elegant hands rested calmly in her lap.

Just as Mary inspected her guest, she was treated to the same once-over. The woman’s full lips curved in a satisfied smile. “You know, they said you were lovely. I do not think they did you justice. You have the face of an angel.”

“And the temper of the devil,” Mary warned lightly, as if her insides weren’t still trembling.

A soft laugh. “Don’t we all?”

Mary took a step closer. She let her senses expand, scanning for hidden threats while keeping her eyes on the woman. “Who are ‘they’?”

“My associates.” The woman inclined her head, a graceful nod toward the small settee before her. “Do sit down.”

“How gracious of you to play hostess in my own home.” Mary made her way over to the next lamp and turned it up. The corners of the woman’s eyes crinkled.

“Sanguis?” Mary asked her. Sanguis demons were notorious for their dislike of bright light.

The woman’s eyes narrowed further. “Clever girl.”

“The girl grew up long ago.” Mary stopped and regarded her visitor. “State your business.” She needed this woman out of her home before she completely lost her composure. She’d told Jack they were finished. It had hurt to hurt him. You might as well ask me to cut off a limb. That was precisely what it felt like. When had he become an essential part of her?

The woman shifted forward, a deliberate and calm movement designed to invite trust, and Mary set herself back on guard.

“Since we know each other’s intimate makeup,” the woman said, “ought we not exchange names?” Pale lips curled again. “I am Miss Ada Moore.”

Mary leaned a hip against the arm of her settee, just as deliberately stating that she did not trust Miss Moore an inch. “I shall assume you know my name, Miss Moore. Your business, please.”

Moore rested her hands back in her lap, as proper as any governess. “I am here to make you an offer, and give a warning.” Her tone was soft yet clipped. “I work for the Nex.” She smiled a little. “I see by your expression that you have a decidedly prejudicial view of my organization.”

Decidedly. Mary worked day and night to run them to ground. “You can’t have expected otherwise.” Against the folds of her skirts, Mary eased her grip on her weapon, getting more comfortable with it.

Cool amber eyes turned hard and pure black. “It would be a mistake to attack me, Miss Chase.”

“And it would be a mistake to underestimate me.”

“Understood. Sit. We can talk.”

Mary remained standing. “What is your offer?”

“You have a traitor in your midst,” she said. “Your amiable partner to be exact.”

“Talent?” Mary’s blood stilled. “I do not believe you.” True, Jack had just admitted to seeking revenge on demons. He’d even admitted to belonging to the Nex when he was younger. But had he ever truly left? She thought of Poppy’s concern, and rather feared it would be quite easy to accuse Jack Talent of the ultimate betrayal now. Jack. Another spear of pain went through her.

“Such loyalty.” Moore snorted. “For a man who has been notoriously scornful of you?” Moore’s head tilted, sending the small curls of her fringe slanting over her brow. “How interesting.”

Mary forced herself not to react. “You have proof?”

A gleeful light glowed in Ada Moore’s eyes. “That is a given. You do realize that he is the Bishop of Charing Cross.”

“Yes.”

It was almost amusing to witness the shock running over Moore’s face.

“Well, that is enlightening,” Moore murmured at last.

“If the Nex has known, why haven’t you killed him?” The question coated her tongue with bitterness and turned her stomach, but she need to understand. “Why come to me now?”

“The situation is delicate. He is killing our agents, and he must be made accountable.” Moore’s expression grew pinched, and her hands clenched in her lap. “However, he is also under the protection of one of our top counselors. This counselor is not under Nex control. He does what he wants. And, at the moment, he wants Talent alive, regardless of our concerns. They are working together for their own selfish ends.”

“And you cannot go over this man’s head?” Mary asked incredulously.

Moore grimaced. “He is not one we want to upset.”

“So you want me to take Talent out of the equation? And thus spare you the trouble of gaining this man’s wrath?” Mary laughed. “Pardon me if I don’t jump at the opportunity.”

“We do not want you to kill him. We want you to talk him out of his present course of action.”

Again Mary laughed. “Why on earth do you believe I would do such a thing? Or that he would even listen? He might just as well kill me for what I know, if you are telling the truth.”

Moore smiled like the toad that had snared the fly. “Because you love him. Just as he loves you.”

Love? Jack’s taste was still in her mouth, his touch, his tender words, all of it was a ghost in Mary’s head, haunting her. For one precious moment, Mary had begun to believe in love. Then Jack Talent had pulled the rug out from beneath her feet.

“Come now, Miss Chase, it is written all over your skin.”

Mary focused on her present predicament. “You are grasping at straws. You have picked the wrong one. I have wanted to bring Talent down for four years. In fact, the way I feel about him right now, you’d do better asking me to kill him for you.”

Moore shrugged. “Then you get to play the part of good little regulator and turn him in. Or kill him. It matters not to me.”

“If Mr. Talent loves me as you say,” and how it hurt to utter those words, “you could achieve the same result by simply threatening my life.” Mary didn’t want to give them ideas, but they had to have contemplated as much. She needed further information.

“That approach would only serve to exacerbate the situation,” said Moore. “This is quite simple. You shall either agree and talk him out of it.” Because if Mary was lying and she did love Jack, she would do anything to save him from ruin. And Moore’s smug expression said as much. “Or,” she continued, “you solve our problem for us. Regardless, we get what we want without any culpability.”

There were threads here going far beyond Mary’s ken. Her mind raced forward. “There is still the matter that you offer no proof of Mr. Talent’s wrongdoing. You understand, I have no reason to trust your word.”

Moore rose and swept her trailing skirts out of the way. “Come with me and you shall see your proof.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Deep in the darkest part of the shadows, Mary stood. A light rain had begun an hour ago, only to turn into a downpour. Now, despite her thick black cloak, her skin was damp and cold. No matter. She did not move, but watched and waited. Concentrating on her breathing kept her still, and, every few minutes, lifting one and then the other foot just a fraction kept her circulation flowing and her muscles alert. She feared it would be a long wait this night. Sensible humans were tucked up in taverns, sitting out the rain by drinking and carousing. And because their prey was inside, the scum that fed on them were tucked up as well. Waiting.

It seemed everyone waited.

Water ran along her icy cheeks, beaded in her lashes, and clung to her lips. She did not move. He would not come. She knew it in her bones. It was only a matter of time and patience to prove Moore mistaken. Before her lay Trafalgar Square, abandoned save for a few industrious rats, picking away at refuse that was scattered about. Residual light from the city cast an eerie blue-green glow along the glistening pavers and against wet brick buildings.

“Soon,” whispered Moore at her side. “Soon he will come.”

Mary quelled the urge to flee. She’d spied on Jack once before and had vowed never to do it again. Yet here she was. A twinge went through her body, and she almost turned away when she felt him. Not in a touch, but in the way the energy in the air shifted. Few would ever understand that the world was filled with frequencies of energy. Constant vibrations buffeted her spirit, and each being had a unique feel. Jack Talent’s was now more familiar to her than any.

He approached from the east, his movements slow but steady. Darkness cloaked him, and she was too far away and too hidden to see his expression. Everything in her froze as he drew nearer. Would he sense her as she did him? Scent her? However he did not look left or right, but simply moved toward Nelson’s Column.

Cold metal touched Mary’s clenched fingers, and she flinched before she realized that Moore was trying to hand her something. A small pair of binoculars. Moore’s voice was but a breath at her ear. “Watch.”

Heart cranking so slowly that her veins hurt, Mary eased the binoculars to her eyes. Talent’s face loomed large and clear. Pain and weariness lined his features. His once bright eyes were dead hollows.

Another figure moved out of the shadows and headed toward Talent. Talent’s entire frame stiffened, his expression wiped clean. The man stopped too close, his body leaning in.

Mary’s stomach clenched, her grip on the binoculars bruising. No words were exchanged, the man merely waited, the whole of his attention on Talent. Talent hesitated, his shoulders lifting on a deep breath; then he pulled back his undone collar, exposing the tender column of his throat.

A dizzying wave of nausea hit Mary so hard that she swallowed convulsively. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He’d die before giving up his blood. But he stood still, his gaze burning into the other man. A low laugh rolled over the square, evil and smug all at once, and then the man leaned in, blocking Mary’s view of Talent’s face. But not enough for her to miss the way Talent’s body seized, or how his head fell to the side, his fist clenched and bone-white against his black topcoat.

Or the way the man embraced him, pulling him closer. Like a lover.

The Nex had held him, used and stolen that which ought to be his right to give. Why would he give more? Because he would do anything to get revenge.

The pain in Mary’s heart grew unbearable as she watched the men separate. The stranger staggered back, his eyes glassy with gluttonous satisfaction. Then he glanced down at his hands and grinned. Words were exchanged, the man’s delivered with a satisfied smile and Jack’s with an angry scowl. And then Jack walked away, his head bent as he lurched out of the square. Both men soon faded from sight. An icy wind swept over her a second later, so cutting it burned her eyes.

“Poor girl, how you shiver.” A gentle hand stroked the back of her head and warm br**sts pushed against Mary’s arm. “And for a man so undeserving.”

Moore’s breath limned her skin, her taunt burning as she whispered into Mary’s ear. “No better than a whore, really.” A soft laugh left her. “Not that I can truly condemn our man for taking what is offered. Talent’s blood is so very delicious.” Cool lips brushed Mary’s temple. “Hot from his flesh.”

Tears gathered in Mary’s eyes, distorting the shapes of the square. Later she would let them fall. But not now. “And did you take it?” She turned, and Moore’s lips were so close to her that she breathed in each exhalation. Mary did not back away. “Fresh from his flesh?”

The woman’s lashes lowered as she studied Mary’s lips. “Oh, yes. Many times.” Her mouth curled into a smile, and their bottom lips touched. “In many ways—”

Mary’s move was swift. A strangled gurgle left Moore’s lips as she jerked and lashed like a fish on a hook. Mary held her close, not letting her get away, clutching tight to the wooden stake she’d thrust under the woman’s chin. Blood bubbled from Moore’s mouth, hot splashes hitting Mary’s face. She did not let go but stared into Moore’s eyes as the light in them began to fade.

“It is too bad, really,” Mary whispered against Moore’s cheek, “that you will not be able to tell them how I shall do the same to anyone else who has touched him.” And then she punched the stake straight through the woman’s brain and let the body fall. Because Jack could not live in a world where they existed, and now, neither could she.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Mary was still shaking as she made her way across the square. The National Gallery held the closest secret entrance to SOS headquarters that her muddled brain could remember.