I had become used to following the same comfortable routine for the past eight years of my life, and tonight—or this morning, rather—was no different. I unlocked the door of my flat just in time to hear the grandfather clock in the hall chime five o’clock. I stepped silently over the threshold, closing the door softly behind me. In spite of everything I was extremely careful not to make unnecessary noise.

I had no wish to run once again into a half-asleep and very cross Tom on his way to the bathroom. He might have been able to see in the dark, but having no such fortune myself I’d walked straight into him. Not an experience I wished to repeat.

Aside from that, however, ignoring my new flatmates was turning out to be even easier than I’d thought. I tiptoed down the hall, avoiding the one spot where the carpet hid a creaky floorboard. Misère fluttered quietly to the floor and walked behind me, sighing that he was hungry. “You’d better wait till morning,” I whispered. “I don’t want to risk waking everyone with the overwhelming stench of your kippers.” He replied that it was morning, and I had better be prepared to suppress my disdain for his favorite food if I were going to continue dragging him home at ungodly hours of the night like this. He didn’t think Vanessa Wiggins’ charms justified our short stay at her house.

“You mean her bedroom; I barely saw the rest of the house,” I said with a wry smile. “Now get in my room, and I’ll give you a kipper in a few hours.”

I shuttered us both up in my bedroom as usual, removing my evening jacket and tossing it somewhere in the wardrobe, followed by its accompanying waistcoat and shirt. My shoes I kicked under the bed before throwing myself atop my bedspread, still in trousers and undershirt. “Gracious, Misère, I’m exhausted,” I sighed.

Misère thought that if we’d come home directly after this evening’s ball, instead of cavorting about with womenfolk, maybe I’d not be so tired.

“What delicate wording you’ve used, Misère. I believe you’re finally taming your tongue. Nevertheless, I must disagree. Even if I’d not gone home with Miss Wiggins, I’d still be weary from all that dancing. I must have completed no less than thirty waltzes. My head’s still fairly spinning.” I reached for the bedside table and the hefty supply of sweets I kept hidden in its drawer. “Would you take saltwater taffy in lieu of a pickled herring? I don’t like the lemon ones.”

With a dirty look that was quite uncalled-for, Misère declined. He would rather wait.

“Butterscotch?”

Now that he could not resist. He swooped down from the footboard and walked across the bed toward me, pecking the bit of taffy from my fingers. I laughed and scratched his head as he nestled beside me. “Dear little fellow. You’re right, I am glad we’re home. Would you like me to read to you from your favorite Poe?”

We often spent the early morning hours in just this fashion, Misère and I. Often I did not leave the room till mid-afternoon, when I would commence preparations to go out. This meant that for the better part of the day, I saw neither Tom nor Helene, though I could hear them going about and speaking a great deal to each other. I was glad they were getting along. The more they kept each other occupied, the less either would say to me.

Of course, I was impatiently awaiting the day when both would be gone for good. Since Helene had no clue to the identity of her mysterious intended guardian, and Tom had to remain in hiding, we assumed that the man would eventually find her himself, and come to take her off our hands. As yet he hadn’t come, and it was nearly a month since we’d all formed this coven of convenience. I would have been anxious but for the fact that I was just so busy of late. I simply left Tom and Helene to their own devices, which surprisingly appeared to work rather well.

Every day I left in the evening for my parties, returning in the early morn from late engagements or ladies’ invites. I locked myself in my bedroom, emerging only for a cup of tea and some breakfast—Helene had proved to be quite a little genius in the kitchen, and whipped up many French delights that I could not turn down. Still, I spoke as little as possible to her. It was certainly enough that I was offering my home as a refuge from evil witches that wanted to kill her.

I don’t believe I’d exchanged one civil word with Tom since he’d moved in. I never entered my parlor except to obtain books now and then; I noted not surprisingly that he had raided the liquor cabinet. He could have the stuff. It wasn’t as though I ever used it.

All in all, I was managing to live quite free of Helene- and Tom-related harrassment. When I came out of my room in the afternoon, I passed immediately into the bathroom, where I busied myself for a few hours bathing and changing my clothes. By the time I was finished with my appearance, it was time to get a quick bite to eat and leave for that day’s social event.
Tom and Helene had not totally destroyed the flat yet. I was inclined to see that as a good sign.

I finished reading to Misère, wrote some, and flipped through a worn Scott novel until the newly risen sun filtered between the heavy drapes. I flung wide the curtains. “A beautiful day! But we are men of the night, Misère,” I said dramatically. “Emerging only cloaked in the gloom—now there’s a line,” and I was crossing to my writing desk when the unmistakeable scent of omelets reached my nose.

Misère said that this man of the night wished for some kippers about now. I slipped out of the room and jogged into the kitchen, intending to swindle for myself some of what Helene was cooking. To my surprise, both the girl and Tom were seated at the table, having breakfast.

I skidded a bit in my socks and bowed awkwardly. “Good morning,” I said, crossing to the icebox. I grabbed the jar of kippers, wondering briefly why there was only one fish left. “Helene, be sure to get some more pickled herrings next time you buy groceries,” I said absently, slipping a few notes under the biscuit jar on the countertop.

“Another bottle of brandy wouldn’t hurt either,” Tom added. He was feeding bits of cheese to Blarney off the end of his fork. “Maybe throw some whiskey in the mix, too. I’d like a wee bit more variety.”

Helene scowled. She was still in her white muslin nightdress, and Grimoire wore a tiny blue tasseled nightcap as he munched a chunk of egg. “I am not buying liquor for you. If you want it you must buy it yourself.” She stabbed a piece of omelet with her fork angrily, muttering, “Not that you really need it.”

I stood there a moment, carrying Misère’s kipper on a plate, considering how best to demand a piece of omelet. The food looked delicious, cooked nicely with some sort of cheese and a bit of onion and black pepper. It wasn’t long until Helene pushed a plate toward me.

“Are you not going to have any, Lucien?” She looked up at me amiably. “You could sit here, there is plenty of room.”

“I’d…love to sit here, but I’ve work to do in my room,” I lied. “However, I will take advantage of your first offer. I must say, you’re an excellent cook.” I took what I wanted and left the kitchen without another word.

Misère remarked that the omelet looked very good. “Doesn’t it though?” I said. “I ought to hire the child full-time.” I forked some of the tasty fare into my mouth and continued reading Scott.

I fell asleep over the book, a precious three hours that left me feeling amazingly well. Humming to myself, I smoothed the bed and wrote for several uninterrupted hours. My watch read two o’clock when I finally laid down my pen. It was time for a bath. Already I felt I’d had an extremely productive day.

I exited my room to find the house very quiet. The girl had tidied the kitchen and was likely in her attic room. I could hear the sorrowful wail of Tom’s violin from behind the closed parlor door, so he was out of my way. I turned to the bathroom and twisted the knob open.

At first my eyes were on the floor, so I didn’t see right away; I only heard a high-pitched little voice singing Une Souris Verte, and looked up to see Helene in the bathtub, hidden from the shoulders downwards in a copious amount of soap bubbles. She had Grimoire floating before her in a rat-sized red rowboat, a straw sailor’s hat on his head, trailing back and forth as Helene sang cheerfully.

“Trempez-la dans l’huile,
Trempez-la dans l’eau,
Ça fera un escargot,
Tout chaud!”

I started and was backing out silently when Helene caught sight of me in the mirror. Her head snapped towards me and she shrieked. “Eeeeek! Sortez, sortez!” She covered her shoulders with a splash, spattering white foam everywhere and capsizing Grimoire’s boat. The rat was tossed into the towering bubbles like a seaman upon the waves.

“Pardon! Excusez-moi!” I dashed out and slammed the door behind me, burning with embarrassment in spite of her being a little girl.

Misère, who had been perched on my shoulder the entire time, only said we were lucky it wasn’t Tom we’d walked in on. I retired to my room to wait my turn in the bath, more certain than ever that these living arrangements could not last.

When I finally did get into the bathroom, I took as much time as possible in order to make up for the delay. I got through fully half of a collection of Tennyson while in the tub, and read another quarter of the book while shaving. By this time Helene was banging on the bathroom door, squealing that she needed to use the facilities. I frowned and cut my chin by accident.

“I will let you in soon enough! Be patient, petit fille.”

“I have been patient! You have been in there two hours!”

I sighed. “It’s my flat, Helene, I’ve every right to take as long as I wish!”

Abruptly there was silence. I smiled, satisfied, and proceeded to brush my teeth as thoroughly as possible, fully intending to pass a third hour in the bathroom before I let Helene in. A moment later, however, I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye, a pale round object squeezing in under the door. I glanced around, noticing nothing amiss, and turned back to the mirror.

Misère suddenly gave a surprised squawk, just as I felt a sharp pain in my right foot, as though I’d stepped on a pin. I yelped and jumped back, to see Grimoire sitting threateningly on his haunches in the middle of the bathroom floor. I had never thought a rodent could have such a vindictive look on its face, but Grimoire looked fully ready to nip me again. “Get out of here, you awful little thing,” I snapped. “Tell Helene that childish tricks aren’t going to win her any points with me.”

The rat hissed and scampered towards me with a malice that was almost frightening. I leaped out of the way and balanced precariously atop the toilet, reaching out my hand and unlocking the door with magic. “Helene!” I called. “Get this damned rat out of here!”

Helene stormed in, scooped up Grimoire, and then came after me, smacking me hard in the arm. “Get off there! Get out! How dare you call Grimoire names? Get out!” I was shocked at this outburst and quite unable to do anything as she shoved me out the door, shooing Misère after me. I stared at the bathroom door as it was quickly slammed in my face.

“What a little hellion! Enfant terrible!” I cried so she could hear me.

Tom was standing at the entrance to the parlor, laughing. “Well, you were asking for it,” he said. “She’s no pushover. Then again, you don’t put up much of a fight.” He laughed again and turned back into the parlor, swigging from the last bottle of brandy. It occurred to me that he probably spent most of the day walking about the house drunkenly pestering Helene—it would explain the girl’s sour disposition. I decided I wouldn’t hold against her the fact that she’d turned me out of my own bathroom; it would be all mine again soon enough. Besides, I was finished using it for now.

Helene wouldn’t so much as look at me for the next few hours. I dressed leisurely and milled about the kitchen getting my tea; Helene was sitting at the table reading a large book with a pentacle carved in its leather cover. Curious, I peered over her shoulder as I stirred honey into my cup.

“Stop leaning over me, monsieur,” she said with chilling formality, her eyes still on her book. “You are breathing down my neck and you smell like butterscotch. Also, I do not like your cravat.”

Somehow, the child knew just the right things to say to completely unnerve me. I backed up, my hand over the offending cravat, then turned and dashed into my room. Within minutes I’d completely changed my outfit three times and soaked myself in cologne to get rid of the butterscotch scent.

Misère told me I now smelled like Madam Ruby.

I left the flat later than I would have liked and took a cab to the Collinses’ evening party, nervously sniffing my sleeve for butterscotch. I still wasn’t satisfied with myself when Misère and I entered the mansion, and prepared for work in a much discomforted state.

“Mr. Baptiste, you seem all out of sorts. Is everything all right?” Lydia Collins asked about an hour into the evening, peering up at me earnestly.

“Of course. Now, why don’t you join your friends up in the drawing room and wait for me? I’ve some new tricks to show you.” I smiled at her, but my gaze was traveling over her head to where I could see Lady Willoughby across the crowded hall. She was glancing at me and gesturing hello with her hand, all very inconspicuously as she was engaged in conversation with someone. “I will be up presently, Miss Collins.”

The girl flounced off and I made my way toward Anabelle. I felt quite uncouth for not having followed up with a visit after that awful night. The morning after I’d discovered Tom in Anabelle’s study, covered in blood after an awful ghostly beating, I’d sent Anabelle a telegram claiming that robbers had vandalized her study. I explained that my own disappearance was owing to an injury I sustained on the shattered looking-glass, and that I’d gone to find a doctor but was now set to rights. Hoping the note had put her fears to rest, I had gone about my business, and a whole month had passed thus. I was beginning to feel slightly guilty.

“Mr. Baptiste,” Anabelle said formally, giving a curtsy as I approached. “I haven’t had the fortune of your company for some time. Are you well?”

“As well as can be, madame,” I replied, bowing, and repeating the gesture coolly to the young man she’d been talking with. “Good evening to you, sir.”

Anabelle drew me forward with her hand, looking up at the man. “Mr. Fairfax, allow me to introduce Mr. Lucien Baptiste. Mr. Baptiste, this is the Honorable Mr. Stephen Fairfax, eldest son of the Earl of Maverly.”

What a mouthful. I was relieved that I never had to go through life with one of those overblown noble titles.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Mr. Fairfax said, bowing deeply.

“The same.”

“Mr. Fairfax was just telling me that he has just returned to London,” Anabelle said. “He and his brothers arrived yesterday.”

I nodded. “What brings you to town this season?” I asked evenly. “It’s not the most comfortable time of year.”

“Vienna was getting boring,” he replied with a smile. “That’s where we were this past summer. We travel a great deal, my brothers and I.”

“There are three of you, then?” I bit my tongue as soon as I’d said it, though I suspected very strongly that it was so.

Stephen Fairfax was exceedingly tall, well past my own height, possibly around my own age, with carefully styled dark hair and a trim mustache. He was the other sort of young man that the girls of my acquaintance adored—stalwart, manly and, above all, capable of crushing with one hand every bone in the body of anyone like myself. To me these types were uninteresting and usually unintelligent, but some of the ladies liked them.

And Anabelle was looking at this Fairfax fellow with nothing short of appreciation in her eyes. I’d never once thought she could be an admirer of his kind at all.

In spite of all this, however, I would have been content to ignore him and leave it at that. That is, if it weren’t for the sleek black fox that lay across his broad shoulders like a pelt, its tail waving slowly in the air and its green eyes watching me intently.

“As a matter of fact, there are three boys in the Fairfax family,” the man said, eyeing me as piercingly as did his familiar. “I, my brother Geoffrey, and the youngest, Allan. They’re here as well.” His green eyes sized me up, then passed over Misère, who ruffled his feathers uncomfortably. “What a striking bird. What’s his name?”

“Misère,” I answered.

He smiled. “I’m pleased to meet you both. This is my fox, Shadow. I’ll leave you to talk to Lady Willoughby now, but I trust you’ll allow me to introduce you to my brothers. Later, perhaps?”

I swallowed. “Certainly. Why not?”

Anabelle watched Stephen Fairfax walk away, and nodded her head. “A very handsome young man, Mr. Fairfax is, Lucien. Very handsome. And rich, too, although they say his father shows no sign of leaving the inheritance anytime soon. All of them, actually, are very handsome, all three. Very.”

“You might want to try investing in a few new adjectives besides ‘handsome’,” I said. “Like ‘boorish’. All these noblemen’s sons are the same. I’ll bet he’s never worked a day in his life.”

“Didn’t you like him?” Anabelle asked, looking at me in a way I could only call calculating. “I thought you’d get along quite well. You both seem to love animals and he did invite you to talk with him and his brothers.”

I scowled. “You know that I don’t get along well with his type, Anabelle.”

She put her hand to her forehead in mock drama. “You are right, uccellino! What if they do something horrible, like ask you to play cards? Or, worse…ask you to hunt with them? Or some other manly sport! What could be worse?”

“All right, you’re making fun of me now. If you like him so much, why don’t you go spend time with him?” I countered.

Anabelle’s tanned cheeks brightened to red. “Perhaps I shall.”

“Go right ahead. I shan’t care. So long as I don’t have to speak with him.”

“As I said, maybe I will. It is about time I found a new companion, anyway, since you seem to care little how I feel. Last month, for example—leaving my house in the middle of the night without any explanation. I wake to find the study destroyed and covered in blood! Mia madre!” Anabelle’s cheeks were still red, and her eyes were flashing fire. I rather drew back in surprise. “Were you hacked to pieces? I didn’t know! Stabbed in the heart? I didn’t know! And what do I get in return? A damned telegram. I quote—‘Sorry about last night. Robbers got away. Cut myself on glass and went for doctor. Am all right now, see you soon.’”

“For God’s sake, what did you do, memorize it?” I demanded.

“How is that good manners?” she hissed, lowering her voice and pulling me aside behind a pillar. “I didn’t even know what to tell the police when I told them I’d been robbed.”

“What’s that got to do with me, darling?” I was confused. Truth be told, I had no clue what she was so cross about. Of course I couldn’t tell her what had really happened that night, but I thought my alibi was quite good enough and she was making a scene out of it. “Forgive me for worrying you, but if you don’t mind my saying so, I am not accountable to you or anyone else.”

“What you did was very irresponsible, Lucien. You don’t know how I felt…about discovering the study splattered with blood...not knowing what happened….” Anabelle closed her eyes and shuddered.

“You worry too much,” I laughed. “Nothing happened. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go upstairs and see to my little audience. But I’ll come home with you later, if you’d like,” I offered, tracing her shoulder with my fingertips.

She still looked upset, and pulled away from my touch. “That…does not solve everything, Lucien,” she murmured, crossing her arms stoically.

“Doesn’t it, though?” I leaned in and closed my lips over hers, but her mouth was hard and unrelenting under mine. Very well, I thought, kissing her neck instead.

“Lucien! Stop it!” Anabelle angrily shoved me back with both hands, looking at me with revulsion in her eyes. “Just go the hell away!” She turned and ran off into the crowd, leaving me alone and completely puzzled.

“That is the second time today that a female has assaulted me,” I said to Misère as I headed up to the drawing room. “It must be a bad day for women all around.”

The girls upstairs had waited patiently and were the best audience one could ask for. I pulled a lot of paisley kerchiefs out of my empty top hat for them, and finished with a grand finale of chocolate rabbits that sprung out of my breast pocket and into the girls’ laps. One of the girls’ older sisters caught me on my way downstairs and we kissed behind the stairwell curtains for a while. Needless to say, I was feeling very pleased with myself by the time I got back to ground level. I was even considering making peace with Anabelle so I could enjoy her company that evening, when Stephen Fairfax met me in the hall and negated all my evening plans.

“Mr. Baptiste! Pray tell, where are you headed? My brothers are anxious to meet you.”

I forced a laugh. “I can’t imagine why. My company is anything but compelling, let me assure you.”

“Nonsense. I hear you’re quite popular on the London social scene.”

They were everywhere, these witches. I had not a single doubt in my mind that these Fairfax brothers were a coven. Whether they were enemies or not, I couldn’t say, but after being attacked in a dark alley by an angry, unreasonable coven of murderous warlocks, I was a little cynical. Besides, I was only popular with the young women of London society. The men all ignored me, ridiculed me, or detested me. I couldn’t think of anything the Fairfaxes could want with me, aside from my connection with the whole Helene dilemma. I shrugged noncommitally. “Actually, I was just on my way to go speak to Lady Willoughby about…about something.”

Fairfax grabbed my shoulder as I started to walk away; it was a friendly gesture, but a little tighter than was comfortable. I stopped short.

“I’m afraid Lady Willoughby has already left. She seemed in poor spirits, so Mrs. Collins bade her go home and rest. And the young girls you entertain are all past their curfews.” Fairfax turned toward the billiards room off the hall, guiding me along by the shoulder. “Let’s have a smoke and talk some, just us men.”

That sounded horrid, but I didn’t say so. I simply allowed myself to be pushed into the smoky billiards room, far from my natural element—the flocks of elegantly dressed females who adored me. In here were nothing but brash, rude, self-important noblemen who took great pride in mocking me.

The Collinses’ billiards room was quite large, as Mr. Collins the son was a great lover of the sport. He had a lot of young friends who were scattered about, giving me odd looks as Stephen Fairfax forced me into the room.

Misère tried to look severe as we were led past the first two tables to a back section where stood a third. This area was even smokier than the entryway, due to the fact that one stout, mustachioed young man was puffing away on a thick cigar. “Is this our famed Mr. Baptiste, Stephen?” he asked. When Stephen nodded, the stout one put out his hand. “Geoffrey Fairfax, Stephen’s brother.”

I shook his hand, my own feeling quite breakable all of a sudden. “Lucien Baptiste.”

“Jolly good meeting you. Have a cigar, won’t you?” he said, offering me the box.

“Thank you, I prefer cigarettes.”

“Good man,” said another young man, whom I presumed to be the third brother, straightening up from where he was leaning over the billiards table. He switched the cue to his left hand as he held out his right to me. “Geoff’s got some real stinkers in that box of his. I’m Allan, by the way.” This one was almost as tall as Stephen, with ginger hair and a husky voice.

Yes, they were a coven. Geoffrey’s familiar was unmistakeable: a large, glittering black toad perched ominously on his shoulder. I couldn’t see Allan’s anywhere, but I was certain he’d introduce it at some point. Witches seemed to consider that part of their etiquette.

Misère told me he was quite all right with being ignored; he didn’t like these men one bit. But he couldn’t hide from Geoffrey, who peered up at my familiar curiously. “He’s a fine fellow. Misère, is it?” He gestured to the hideous amphibian on his shoulder. “This is Wyrd.”

Wyrd didn’t look any more impressed by Misère and me than we were by him. His only response was to puff out his throat and croak boredly.

Allan pointed a cue at me, nearly taking out my eye. “Do you play, sir? Mind if I call you Lucien?”

I smiled slightly. “As long as you continue to pronounce it correctly.” I accepted the cue, though I knew I didn’t play well.

Stephen walked around the table, nursing a snifter of brandy. “Watch it with Allan. He’s hustled a good many men out of their wallets.”

“Guilty as charged,” Allan said, grinning, as he rubbed chalk on the tip of his cue. “But I won’t do that to this fellow, Steve. He’d see through me in a moment.”

“You’re welcome to play as well as you are able,” I said. “I wouldn’t bet on me in any case.” Misère fluttered off onto the sidelines as I leaned over the billiards table and aimed at the red ball.

The red one spun off when I hit it and immediately struck a dullish black ball that was couched against the edge. To my surprise, a coat of tiny spines sprang out of the black ball, which then unrolled to reveal that it was not a ball at all, but a little black hedgehog.

Allan burst out laughing as though it were the funniest thing he’d ever seen. “That’s Azrael. Granted, he’s contributed much to my hustling career.” He picked up the hedgehog and briefly snuggled it against his cheek. I suppose his beard protected his face somewhat from Azrael’s spines.

I set down my cue just as Stephen appeared at my elbow with a liquor glass. “Have a drop, Lucien?” he offered.

“I don’t drink brandy, but thanks anyway,” I said, slipping a cigarette out of my case and lighting it. I took a long, nervous drag. My mind was running in circles, trying to read these strange warlocks’ intentions, but their innocent attitudes were contradicting how I thought they should be acting.

“So…you and Lady Willoughby, eh?” Allan ventured, winking roguishly. “She’s a piece, isn’t she?”

“Indeed. What’s that like?” Stephen asked, settling into a nearby couch and looking at me expectantly.

I tapped the ashes off my cigarette and smirked. “As a gentleman you can hardly expect me to own it, sir. But you’re mistaken in assuming we are any sort of item, Mr. Allan. Lady Willoughby and I are close friends.”

“I see. Bedroom friends. Have a few of those myself,” Stephen informed me. “Doesn’t she get jealous? I hear you get around.”

“I have my share of lovers,” I said, as delicately as possible.

“Who doesn’t?” Allan said amicably.

“Don’t listen to Al, he’s a one-woman man,” Geoffrey interjected. “He’s nearly an old married geezer already.”

Allan smirked at his brother. “At least I have a woman, Geoff, which is more than I can say for you.”

“You don’t know anything. Shut up.” Geoffrey puffed crossly on his cigar.

“I know you haven’t seen a woman since—”

“Al, I had women before you were even—”

“Gentlemen,” Stephen said, a warning tone in his voice. “Don’t disturb our new friend with your gross personal details. Lucien is obviously a man of delicate tastes—aren’t you, Mr. Baptiste?” Shadow made his way gracefully into Stephen’s lap, where he settled into a velvety black ball.

I frowned slightly. “Well, I spend a great deal of time interacting with young women, and I’ve found that most of them appreciate a certain sensitivity, which I try to cultivate. And it pays off rather well, as I’m sure you’ve deduced from my…reputation,” I said, somewhat defensively.

“Oh, I definitely see the benefits,” Stephen said, nodding.

“Kind of makes you seem like a pansy, though,” Geoffrey added.

“Geoffrey. Please.”

“I don’t care one way or the other,” I said. “My purpose in life is not to impress those who measure worth by brawn or bravado.”

“What do you do, besides chase birds?” Allan asked, leaning his elbows on the billiards table. “I hear you’re something of a magician.”

“That is correct.”

“Such as what? Pulling rabbits from hats?” Geoffrey prodded, one eyebrow raised. “Sawing your young admirers in half?”

I laughed. “Nothing half so dramatic. I make things flit about, I make candy appear in their pockets. I read their fortunes. I show them card tricks.”

Stephen tossed a box of playing cards at me; I caught it neatly. “Are they tricks just for little girls? Sleight-of-hand? Or do you put some real power to use there?”

I opened the pack and shuffled it expertly. “See for yourself. Is this your deck, Mr. Fairfax?”

“It is.” He looked as though he’d be hard to impress. Plus, he was probably a hundred times more skilled in magic then I was.

“Oh. Well, then, you’d know what it looked like.”

“They’re ordinary playing cards.”

“Indeed.” I laid them out on the billiards table, facedown in a Tarot-style circle. “Pick one up, Mr. Allan, if you please.” Allan did so, choosing the one in the center of the circle. I closed my eyes for a moment, then said, “The number on top of that card is the age you were, Mr. Allan, when you first realized you were one with her, and the picture is the first thing you saw together that evening.”

I didn’t know what card he held, but Allan’s face turned pale, then flushed violently. “Well, dash it,” he said.

“What on earth does that even mean?” Geoffrey demanded. Stephen stood up and peered at the cards curiously.

I shrugged. “I don’t rightly know. I only told him what the card feels like.”

“These are Tarot,” Stephen said, “but the backs are that of my playing deck. You magicked the images onto them, didn’t you?”

“Is that what you call it?”

“It’s Number Nineteen—the Sun,” Allan said, still staring at the card. “What he said was…well, it fits, anyway.” He dropped the card on the table and looked at me oddly.

Stephen nodded, looking over the cards, which now all bore the signs of the Tarot instead of the usual four suits. “Not bad, Lucien. Who taught you to simulate psychic abilities?”

“Simulate?” Allan murmured. “Steve, he had it right….”

“No one,” I said. “It’s as I told you…I say only what the cards feel like. I know of no better way to describe it.”

“Well, who taught you the basics—levitation, potions, divination…?” Geoffrey counted off.

I blinked. “I don’t know anything about potions, but I learned to do all those other things when Misère found me. That was about ten years ago.”

“You’re nineteen then,” Stephen concluded.

“No…nearly twenty-six.”

“You were fifteen when your familiar found you?” Allan asked incredulously. “And you can already sense Tarot auras?”

I shook my head, crushing my cigarette into a nearby ashtray. “I don’t understand half of what you’re saying, much less why you are asking so many questions.”

The Fairfax brothers, who had all circled around me like vultures, immediately backed off. Geoffrey walked around the table, hands crammed in his pockets, while Allan thoughtfully returned to his billiards. Stephen, however, remained by me, watching me with interest.

“How about the rest of your coven?” he asked presently, lighting a cigarette. “Do they possess similar abilities?”

“I have no coven,” I said. “I work alone.”

He paused, surprised. “Do you now? How is that possible?”

I was lying, of course; I did have a coven, of sorts, that was currently overstaying its welcome in my house. But I had lived many years without one. “I don’t know many people who are…like us,” I replied.

“But do you know anyone at all?” Stephen was peering at me so intently that I doubted I was imagining things—these Fairfaxes were being curiously interrogative.

“Not until I had the pleasure of meeting your family,” I said politely.

“Have you no family yourself?”

“I haven’t been so blessed, no.”

“Then you live alone?”

“Save Misère. What is your purpose, sir, in questioning me so? I feel as though I’m being tried for some crime,” I said lightly.

Stephen smoked his cigarette in silence a moment; his brothers in the background appeared to be listening hard. “I apologize if we’ve made you uncomfortable,” he said finally. He placed a hand on my shoulder, which only served to further decrease my comfort. “We Fairfaxes tend to be quite particular with our friends. I simply wanted to see if we were on the same page, as it were.”

“You meet all our standards,” Allan announced, as if I were being awarded a prize. “Which leaves us only one last question—do you shoot?”

“We’ve excellent hunting grounds on our estate,” Geoffrey added.

“I’m afraid I don’t hunt, either,” I said.

The Fairfax brothers exchanged a three-way look that was not lost on me; I was quite used to other men regarding me in this way. It had been like this since I was a child in school. If a boy chose to read books rather than play cricket in the mud, virtually all the other boys eyed him critically. It was the way of the world.

Allan tried again. “Well, then, do you bet? On horses, I mean. We’re going to the races Monday; you’re welcome to accompany us if you wish.”

“And no one will be more delighted than Al, apparently,” Geoffrey muttered.

“It is called being courteous, dolt.”

“Ass.”

“Desist immediately, please,” Stephen said, sounding a bit more tense than the last time he’d scolded them. “Allan, that’s a capital idea. I’m sure Lucien would be more than glad to.”

I balked. “I don’t know if I have the time….”

“Of course you do, sir. You said just a moment ago that you live alone. I’m sure you’re starved for company.”

“Daytime company, anyhow,” Geoffrey said. “What say you?”

“You’d better come,” Allan said, amiably enough, but the way he brandished his billiards cue seemed to me rather threatening.

“The women who attend are quite charming,” Stephen added. “I can’t think of a single thing you’d like better. You’ll be there, won’t you?”

“It doesn’t sound as if I have much choice.”

“Good. We’ll meet you in London Square at ten o’clock,” Allan said, satisfied. “It’s bound to be a gorgeous day. Be sure to listen to our tips and you won’t bet on any duds.”

Geoffrey, who I was beginning to suspect did not get along with his younger brother, rolled his eyes. “Except for Allan. He’s nearly lost the entire Maverly estate at the derby several times.”

“We’re great horserace enthusiasts,” Stephen said, before Allan could snap at Geoffrey again. His smile was looking forced, as though he longed to give both his brothers a good pummeling as punishment for their bickering. “Monday morning, then. And shall we see you at the Millingtons’ on Friday?”

“Certainly,” I replied, hoping I’d be able to find a suitable excuse not to attend that particular party. It was bad enough I’d managed to get myself invited to a horserace. Of all the most pointless, boring, dreadful things in the world, sporting events were to me the worst.

I bowed and said my farewells, leaving the billiards room to discover that my chances of going home with any young ladies were down to nothing. Mostly everyone had left, save a few elderly widows who were chatting by the door, waiting for their carriages. I nodded my head to them as I walked out—they were talking about me, of course, and quieted in scandalized silence when I smiled at them over my shoulder. Ugh, I hated society people.

Damn these Fairfaxes. What did they want from me? If they weren’t obviously warlocks I would not have given them any more consideration than I would a couple of mad vagrants in the street, but the fact remained that their sudden appearance in society unnerved me. It was simply too much of a coincidence that they were here, now, and showing unprecedented interest in every area of my life. Were they only testing me?

Misère thought they were. He reminded me how curious Stephen Fairfax had been about my coven and living arrangements. Perhaps he’d wanted to find out information about Helene.

“Well, maybe he’s her long-lost guardian,” I muttered. “A tall, dark-haired noble, eh? If he’s looking for her, I won’t be the one to stop him. In fact, I should just ask him about it Monday, if that’s what it takes to get the Fairfaxes to leave me alone.”

Reminding me of how easily that plan could backfire, Misère strongly suggested we say nothing whatsoever about Helene Prideux unless it became wholly clear that the Fairfaxes were the ones looking for her. There were others also seeking the girl, witches that seemed as though they would stop at nothing until she was dead. She, and anyone they suspected was trying to protect her.

I arrived home earlier than usual, about two in the morning, irritated and hungry.

“Yes, yes, I know what you want, Misère,” I said crossly. “I apologize if pickled herrings aren’t a priority when annoying strangers have made me talk with them and robbed me of my chances with Anabelle, then forced upon me an invitation to a horserace.” I dragged my feet down the hall into the kitchen, where I immediately flung open the icebox.

In former days, if I’d come home in such a mood, it would have been compounded by the fact that there was nothing whatsoever to eat. Yet as much as I resented housing Helene Prideux, there was a silver lining. I didn’t think the icebox had ever been so full of food.

Sweets were in order tonight. I finally gave Misère his stupid kippers and cut myself a large piece of the vanilla buttercream cake sitting temptingly in the icebox. Helene must have just made it that evening. It looked delicious.

“Watch the tea-kettle I’ve just set boiling, while I go get my Dickens,” I said to Misère. “I have no greater desire tonight than to sit and read a good novel while tasting every sweet in that icebox.”

Tom was sleeping in the parlor as usual. I opened the door silently and slipped through the dark room, straining to see where I was going. The light from the streetlamps outside normally would have helped, but Tom had somehow suspended the parlor rug from the curtain rods, presumably to keep the sun out of the room in the morning. The whole room had been rearranged, as well, so that I couldn’t tell what was where. Exasperated, I flicked on the kerosene lamp, glancing warily over at Tom.

He didn’t wake, exactly, only snorted and turned onto his stomach, one arm wrapped around a sleeping Blarney, the other dangling down to the floor. His fingers were still loosely closed around the neck of a brandy bottle that he’d nearly drained. Tom had drunk himself to sleep. How pathetic.

I reached for the blue-bound book on the highest shelf, trying to be courteously quiet, when a deafening noise made me jump and knock down several encyclopedic volumes at my elbow. It took me a moment to realize it was just Tom’s extremely loud snoring, a habit I’d become acquainted with every time I entered the parlor. It had frightened me the first time, and it frightened me still. I hurried out as quickly as I could, leaving the fallen books on the floor.

It was lucky I had as many rooms as I did. I would never be able to stand Tom’s snoring, and he’d probably never be able to stand my habit of leaving the lights on and strewing cake and biscuit crumbs about my room.

Glossary:
Enfant terrible - (French) Terrible child
Madame - (French) Madam
Mia madre - (Italian) My mother
Monsieur - (French) Mister
Pardon! Excusez moi - (French) Forgive me! Excuse me
Petit fille - (French) Little girl
Soutez - (French) Leave
Uccellino - (Italian) Little bird

"Une Souris Verte" - (French children's song) "A Green Mouse"
Trempez-la dans l’huile, - Dip it in oil,
Trempez-la dans l’eau, - Dip it in water,
Ça fera un escargot, - It will become a snail,
Tout chaud! - Nice and warm!

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