Will empathized. “Regardless of my feelings, I will protect her with my life.” Will held Jack’s assessing stare for a long moment before sighing and running his fingers through his hair. “No more arguing. How did I get free? Do you have any idea?” “Someone helped you escape here.” “Tell me.” “Not much I can tell.” Jack shrugged. “The magnet works off electric power, which was always running. Then one night, it all went dark. I heard you roar.” The corners of Jack’s mouth lifted. “And I do mean roar. By the time I got down here, you were gone, and the doors were all wide open. There was no sign of forced entry, which isn’t a surpris.

And nothing else was touched.” “But I’d escaped before, you say?” “Yes. About a month before your final escap.

Mary and I tore through London looking for you, only to return home to find you standing in the front hall. You were covered in blood and babbling about something finally being ‘done.’ ” Jack studied Will as if waiting for an excus.

But Will didn’t have any. Blood. So much blood. He’d been swimming in it, so hot and viscous, licking it off his fingertips. When? Whose? “Messy of you, Thorn.

Draining her dry.” A flash of fangs, male hands touching the edges of a female’s throat torn-open. “Not to mention costly. Restitutions will have to be mad.

She was a favored donor.” He knew that man’s voic.

Who was he? A glimpse of speaking to someone who wore darkness like a cloak, of demanding something from the man. Or did the man demand something of him? Then the meaning of those distant words sunk in. Satan’s balls, Will had killed a woman. An innocent. Killing was one thing. But to attack and destroy a willing blood provider was the act of an animal. It made him no better than the fiends who writhed about in Hell. His fingers dug into his thighs as he fought the urge to double over and vomit. “After the first escape, we employed the magnet to keep you secure,” Jack said, oblivious to his inner torment. “You were oddly content with the idea, actually.” Taking a deep breath, Will walked over to the platform. He didn’t want to touch it. Associations of pain and endless hours of nothingness washed over him when he looked at it. But he laid his palms upon the cool surfac.

A shudder wracked through him. And then glimmers of a memory flashed through his mind in rapid bright succession like a zoetrop.

Of the magnet’s constant hum, and the pressure it caused, as if an invisible hand crushed down upon him. Of facing the ceiling, the familiar crosshatch pattern of the bricks, of tracking a spider as it crawled across one of them, and then a hooded figure leaning over him. “Evernight,” the figure hissed in his ear. Yes, Evernight. The name written upon his very soul. The source of all his pain. “Holly Evernight. She is the one you want.” A cloth pressed to his nose, the scent of a woman heavy upon it. He knew that scent. He’d craved that scent for what seemed like an eternity. It was sh.

The one who had made him into this thing of pain and madness. “She is alive and well in London, Thorn.

Follow the scent.” His name was William Thorn.

And he would kill Holly Evernight. “By the blade, be swift and true,” the figure whispered. And then the great force that held him down was gone, and he fled, going straight to her. The memory ended in a rush, and Will sucked in a sharp breath, his head spinning and his heart clicking at top speed. He sagged against the magnetic platform. Will cleared his throat and concentrated on what he knew. “Someone let me go and sent me to her.” Jack’s voice, calm and smooth, seemed to come at him from a great distanc.

“Did you recognize the one who set you free?” By the blade, be swift and tru.

Never hesitate, never doubt. He knew those words as if they were etched upon his soul. But had no notion of how he knew them. “No,” he said, as another memory solidified, “but I do know this. She was female, and she had purple eyes.” Thorne had been in her house for precisely nine hours and ten minutes. Hardly a significant amount of time spent in his company, especially given that she’d been asleep for six of those hours. And yet, now that he’d gone, she felt oddly altered. Which was ridiculous. He’d only been gone for… Holly glanced at the clock hanging from the wall. One hour and fourteen minutes. Sighing, she tossed her repelling pencil down and leaned back against her chair. In the hallowed silence of the West laboratory, the clock ticked on in an endless echo throughout the room. A moment later, Felix’s scratchy, disembodied voice drifted from the panel on the wall. “Mrs. Talent is her.

Shall I put her in the small library, mum?” Even though he could not see her, Holly nodded. “Very good.” Holly smoothed her sweaty hands down the sides of her worsted wool housedress. It was a plain serviceable affair of dark blu.

Certainly nothing that suggested any hint of a woman plagued by agoraphobia. Nevertheless, she felt as though she were about to be slipped under the microscope and be found out. “Do not be ridiculous,” she murmured. “She isn’t your enemy. Though let us not fool ourselves. She isn’t here for a social call.” And now she was talking to herself. Bloody brilliant. On that cheery thought, Holly calmly walked towards the library, cool shadows gliding over her and thick carpet muffling her steps. A pulse beat hard at the base of her throat as she came upon the library door and a waiting Felix opened it for her. Upon entering, her guest rose with a starchy rustle of crinolines. Like Holly, Mary Talent wore blue, but that was where the similarity in their dress ended. Mary’s blue wool gown had a gold and red paisley pattern and fit her frame like a second skin. The underskirt was pale gold worsted. The overskirt, in the same paisley blue wool as the bodice, draped with luxuriant folds then swept up to a massive bustle at the back before falling in an elegant train to the floor. Mary always did love her fashions. Her melodious voice broke the silenc.

“Holly, it is good to see you.” She smiled softly, but her golden eyes were shrewd, taking inventory of Holly’s every mov.

“Mary.” Holly gave her a quick, but heartfelt embrac.

Her friend smelled of rain and fog and spic.

A lump rose to sit at the back of Holly’s throat. Quickly, she stood back. “It is good to see you too.” They both sat, Mary arranging her voluminous skirts and bustle to the side as Holly plunked down in the nearest chair. As pretty of a picture as her dear friend made, Holly could never abide such a restrictive costum.

“Are you well, then?” she asked, before Mary could do the sam.

Mary’s lips curled as if she knew very well what Holly had don.

“Yes. Exceedingly.” “And Jack?” Mary’s husband, Jack Talent, was both a friend and an SOS regulator. A shard of guilt lanced through Holly’s chest. She ought to have had them over for dinner months ago. “Jack is well.” Mary’s smile grew cheeky. “He’s been made a director.” An extremely coveted position in the SOS, as there were very few seats, and the directors ran the entire organization. Life was passing Holly by. They went silent as Nan entered with a tea tray. She set it down on the table and then left, but not before Holly caught the pleased smile on her fac.

Holly supposed it was on account of having a visitor for onc.

She dragged her gaze away from the housekeeper’s retreating form and back to Mary. “Director James stepped down,” Mary explained. “Jack accepted on the condition that he still be permitted to work his own cases.” Amusement lit through Holly. “Field work always was his favorite part of the job.” A fond light came into Mary’s eyes. “Yes.” She cleared her throat and set her glowing gaze on Holly. “I too have been made a director. Director Wilde stepped down as well, you see.” She grinned then. “Actually Director Wilde and Director James eloped to Italy three months ago. They are taking the Grand Tour and then settling down in the Tuscan hills.” Holly couldn’t help but smile at that. “How very lovely. I did not realize they were so close.” “I saw a hint of it once.” Mary’s light brown curls trembled as she shook her head slightly. “And if it pleases them, I shall be pleased.” Holly poured and handed Mary her cup. “Cheers on your promotion, dear.” “Thank you.” Mary took a small sip before setting her cup down. Her expression was neutral. Carefully so. “I gather you realize that this is not entirely a social visit.” Perhaps Holly ought to be hurt by that, but she was not. Mary respected her too much to pry unless it was under the auspices of official SOS business. “I did.” Holly set her own cup down. “Out with it, old girl.” “We need you back.” Mary leaned in with a rustle of skirts. “Quite honestly, I do believe you need it too.” A strangled heat clogged Holly’s throat and grew thick in her chest. She willed herself not to fidget. “The SOS granted me a year’s sabbatical. The year is not yet up.” Dark gold eyes held hers. “Have you left this house in all that time?” “I fail to see why that matters.” She would not look away. She would not run out of this room. “My laboratory here is quite functional.” “And you can work just as well at headquarters. Surrounded by like-minded individuals, as opposed to being shut up in an empty house.” Holly hated the pity hiding behind Mary’s words. “The house isn’t empty. I have my staff.” “And do they challenge you?” Mary volleyed back. “Converse with you as equals?” Holly turned her head and studied the red marble mantle, featuring a stylized carving of Seshat, Egyptian goddess of wisdom, knowledge, and writing. “If it were anyone else but you, I might not argue,” Mary said gently, “but I consider you one of my dearest friends, thus I feel compelled to say that this isolation does you no good. You need to interact with people.” “I had a visitor. Last night, in fact.” Across from her Mary leaned forward, intruding into view. “Who?” She ought not have said anything, Holly thought crossly. For this would not go over well. “William Thorne.” Silence was a detonated bomb. “When was this?” Mary’s eyes began to glow in the way of the GIM. “Last night at approximately ten past twelve in the morning.” “What did he want?” Holly took a bracing sip of tea before continuing. “Revenge.” “What?” Mary launched to her feet, nearly upsetting the tea tray. Thunderclouds of anger marred her smooth brow. “It’s all right,” Holly said. “He was under the misconception that I intentionally tore his heart out to replace it with one of my clockwork hearts.” The cup only rattled a bit as she set it down on the saucer. “I managed to disabuse him of that notion.” “Dear God,” Mary murmured, looking pal.

“Jack and I have been searching for him. He’d been staying with us”—something close to guilt flitted over Mary’s features—“but he disappeared recently. We’ve been most concerned.” Holly could certainly understand why. They ought to have brought him to Holly from the start, she thought with a twinge of irritation. After all, she had created him in a roundabout way. She ought to have been given the opportunity to study him. Then again, she hadn’t been very communicative back then. She recalled staying hidden under her covers for a good month after being freed. “He was quite agitated,” Holly said sedately, “but we reached a truce.” To say anything more felt like a betrayal of Thorne’s trust. Nor was she keen to explain how Thorne found her. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that, should the SOS learn someone wanted her dead, they would insist on bringing her under their protection. And quite truthfully, she would rather die than admit why she could not leave her home, much less leave it to live in some strange SOS safe hous.

No, thank you. She’d take her chances with Thorne now. As she poured herself more tea—mainly to avoid looking up at her friend—she was aware of Mary’s hard glar.

“Just how did you ‘disabuse him’ of his belief?” Mary asked. “When last I saw Thorne, he was violent and not capable of rational thought.” “A lady has to have some trade secrets, dearest,” Holly hedged. With a sigh, she lifted her head. As expected, Mary appeared both doubtful and annoyed. “He is lucid,” now, “and he shall do me no harm. In this you can trust.” Holly hoped she did not have to eat her words. “Where is he?” Mary glanced towards the door as if Thorne might come charging in, fangs extended, at any moment. “I do not know.” Mary glared at her. “That is all you will tell me?” “For the moment.” Silence swelled and stretched between them, one in which Holly met Mary’s unforgiving glare, and then Mary sighed. “Very well, have your secrets with Thorn.

Only, should you see him again—” and her tone stated emphatically that she knew perfectly well Holly would—“do tell him that Jack and I are eager to contact him, if only to know that he is happy and well.” Guilt pricked at Holly’s spin.

“I do not know about happy, but I can tell you that he is grateful to have regained his wits.” Whether he maintained them was another matter. Oh, but she was mad, mad, mad. She stifled a cackl.

Holly Evernight, The Mad Scientist. To think her cousin Sin used to call her Doctor Frankenstein to get a rise out of her. “Unfortunately,” Mary reached for the leather satchel she carried with her, “I have an objective today that does not involve pestering you.” Her expression gentled then, which put Holly on alert. Mary pulled a small framed photograph out and handed it to her. “Do you know this woman?” Holly studied the portrait of a young, pretty woman with golden curls, doe eyes, and a pert nos.

Recognition punched her lower belly, as did a heavy sorrow. “This is Eliza May.” Tight-lipped, Mary nodded. “Yes.” Eliza’s eyes seemed to bore into Holly as she fingered the edge of the tooled leather fram.