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hallway, the walls bereft of adornment, the floors barren
    of carpet, more of the same red tile, the color reminiscent of dried blood. Again, Beth had
    the impression that Burndale Academy was chill and forbidding, and she felt a momentary
    pang of homesickness. A deep breath and a silent admonition chased those feelings into a
    corner. There was no sense wishing for what was no more.
    Her home was gone. The little house with its sun-dappled garden was lost to her family,
    and the small, dingy flat they had been forced to was no more a home than this unfriendly
    place. Except that her family was there in that flat, their good society creating a home as it
    always had, regardless of how stained the plaster walls or how threadbare the carpet.
    Pressing her lips together, Beth reminded herself that she—and her annual income—
    were now their best hope for survival. She thrust aside her sad musings and hastened her
    steps to catch up with Alice, who moved like smoke through the shadowy hall.
    There came a loud clap of thunder that made Beth gasp, followed by an oppressive
    quiet, undisturbed by echoes of children's voices or squeals of laughter. That quiet
    weighed upon her, and she walked a little faster, following the maid down the dim
    passage.
    The only sound was the tap-tap-tap of Alice's shoes on the wood, and Beth's a heartbeat
    behind.

    * * *
Always, he cherished them.
    Flipping open the lid of his ornately carved pocket watch, he looked at his keepsakes,
    his treasures. Pretty golden locks of hair. They were his. His to touch. His to fondle. Soft
    and silky and smooth.
    He had long ago torn out the workings of the watch to make room for these things of far
    greater import. The watch was quite full. Soon, he would add another trophy, and the time
    would come to remove some of the older ones and put them in the special box on the
    shelf. The box with the little bones. Such tiny bones.
    Fat drops of rain touched his cheeks and brow as he turned his face to the wind. With a
    grunt, he lifted the reins and set the horses to a fast pace. He had no wish to be caught in a
    downpour with cold, wet rivulets snaking along his back, his neck, wending into his boots.
    Rain had been his mother's weather. The rumble of thunder had set her on edge, tensed
    HIS WICKED SINS
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    her shoulders, frayed her temper. She would tug strands of her long, curling blond hair
    from the knot at her nape, and her lips would move in silent recitation. Those had been the
    days he kept quiet as could be, hushing his brother, hiding them both away in an unused
    bedchamber or the attic. Sometimes they hid in the shed by the woods. Sometimes they
    found a small cupboard to wedge their bodies into, or a chest.
    Invariably, his mother found them, and then she would fetch the strap, a belt, a wooden
    paddle. Once, she had used the leather bellows from the fireplace simply because it was
    handy. The leather had been dotted with iron studs.
    She was dead now. They were all dead. His mother. His father. His brother. And so
    many pretty girls.
    But not Sarah. Trusting Sarah, who had been bought with a handful of trinkets.
    The rain was good for something. It would wash away the sticky mess she had put in
    her hair. Sadly, that would wash away her curls.
    No matter. No matter. Her hair was straight, but silky smooth and a nice, shiny gold.
    He smiled as he thought of touching it. Cutting away another lock for his collection.
    Cutting away parts of her and listening to her muffled screams.
    Anticipation ratcheted through him as he thought of touching her. Stroking her. Hurting
    her.
    He took a deep breath, and another, dragging his excitement under control, pulling back
    the urge to go to her now, to do the deed quickly and feel the rush of power, of lust, of
    aching, luscious release.
    Slowly, slowly.
    Long ago, he had possessed no finesse, killing them too quickly. There had been that
    time in Stepney, the tavern just off Ratcliffe Highway … and