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at the door. Three streets over a dog started barking. Blade smiled. He could smell Will trailing him over the rooftops as he’d strictly forbidden him to do. Rip and Will were like a pair of bleedin’ nursemaids. The lad was good, almost invisible, in fact, but sometimes he forgot that Blade’s senses were as finely tuned as his own.
    Footsteps sounded from within. And a faint mutter as someone tripped over something. He leaned his palm against the doorjamb as the three locks were slipped.
    The door cracked open an inch. A pair of liquid-dark eyes stared out then widened.
    Blade examined his watch with exaggerated theater. “I coulda sworn I said ten.”
    Honoria clapped a hand to her mouth. Dark circles swam under her eyes, and the shawl around her shoulders barely disguised the indentation of her collarbone. She opened the door just enough to slip out, shutting it behind her. “I’m so sorry. I completely forgot.”
    Blade didn’t back away. Honoria was forced to look up at him, her back pressed against the door, with just an inch between them. She cleared her throat a little and tugged the shawl tighter. The movement drew attention to her slim hands. It softened what he’d been about to say.
    “You forgot?”
    “My brother isn’t well. We’ve had the doctor in. My visit with you completely slipped my mind.”
    He couldn’t take his eyes off her wrists. Or the fine bones of her face and the gauntness of her cheeks. Honoria was slowly starving herself. He’d seen enough of it to think himself unaffected. But somehow he found himself stepping back, giving her space. “Come. Walk with me.”
    Her face paled. “I can’t.”
    “That weren’t an invitation.”
    “I can’t leave my sister alone.”
    Blade rapped on the door—with the pair of crossed daggers carved into it that morning. The mark of the Reapers gang and a sign of his protection. “Ain’t nobody crossin’ this threshold.”
    That was the benefit of his protection for those who accepted his price. Slasher gangs, murderers, thieves, or just the odd drunken lout, it didn’t matter. He had a reputation to uphold. Cross him, or his, and Blade would come knocking.
    Because of Blade, some said Whitechapel was as safe as the city proper these days.
    Honoria chewed on her bottom lip. “I’ll just tell Lena where I’m going.” She had a hand on the door when she paused. “Where are we going? What time will I be back?”
    “For a walk,” he replied, reining in his frustration. Honoria had been gently reared. A brief stint in the rookery hadn’t yet taught her that he was master here. He could afford to be patient. “’Bout an hour. Mebbe.”
    She slipped inside and shut the door in his face. Blade splayed a hand over the coarse bricks of the doorjamb. Bloody woman, shutting the door on him. Anyone would think she was ashamed of having him here at her home. With his eyes narrowing, he leaned closer to listen.
    “…where? Walking out with whom?” a young girl hissed.
    “No one. Just…a man,” Honoria replied. “I’ve locked Charlie’s door. Don’t open it. I’ll be back as soon as I can get rid of…as soon as I can.”
    “I see. Well, at least make sure he pays for it.”
    Silence descended. Then the familiar, icy-cold whiplash of Honoria’s voice. “Don’t you ever speak to me like that again.” A chair squealed. “I’ll be back.”
    Blade jerked back as he heard Honoria’s footsteps stalk toward him. He caught a glimpse of the room beyond as she opened the door: a table with three mismatched chairs, a pair of hideous brown curtains at the kitchen window, and a young girl with a pile of mending in front of her. She looked up, and he immediately saw the resemblance. Their dark eyes were the same, though the girl was marginally prettier, with plumper cheeks. Maybe eighteen. He couldn’t tell with her small frame.
    Honoria shut the door firmly. “Don’t even think about it. You go anywhere near her and I’ll kill you. I