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little weight with Joseph. But, until he found a more suitable replacement, he had to make do with Vincent.
    Joseph admitted he’d underestimated both Abigail Bradford and Stephen, Lord Ashbury. They still had what he needed—the lunar meteorite—but he could only deal with one problem at a time. Besides, he held high hopes he could soon persuade them to bring the stone to him.
    It took patience on his part to convince the warder to let him in, but he finally approached the cell where Vincent was being held.
    “Simmons, the doctor’s here to visit you.” The guard who escorted him rattled the cell door.
    Vincent turned and stared for a long moment before recognizing Joseph and drawing near. “Good day to you, Doctor . Didn’t expect to see ye here.”
    “I came to inquire how you’re faring,” Joseph said.
    Vincent scowled as he watched the guard walk away. “I’m in prison. How well do ye think?”
    He’d been there only two weeks but already the affects could be seen. His frame appeared thinner. A bruise discolored his cheek.
    “Yer limpin’ worse than usual. Is the pain bad today?” Vincent asked.
    “It is always dreadful.” Joseph’s left side had taken the brunt of the electromagnetic blast. Between the broken bones from the debris and the burns, his body had never truly healed. It was a miracle he’d survived. In fact, the men who’d been assisting him—Stephen, Michael and Lucas—hadn’t found a pulse and presumed him dead. But they were wrong. His heart had slowed significantly for a time, a side effect of the electromagnetic jolt he supposed.
    Now he found relief from the endless pain where he could. His preference was absinthe, an anise-flavored spirit that contained alcohol and medicinal herbs, which colored it green. Vincent disliked the drink, but Joseph found it quite palatable.
    “Them two blokes, the viscounts, have already been here askin’ about ye.” The slyness of Vincent’s tone set Joseph’s teeth on edge. While he’d admired the trait previously, he found he didn’t care for it when it was directed at him.
    “Oh?” He’d known Stephen and Michael would try to obtain information from Vincent. He would’ve done the same in their shoes. “What did you tell them?”
    “Nothin’,” he said with a smirk, “despite their offer of money.”
    The greed in Vincent’s tone concerned Joseph. That was always the problem with hired help, even if they were related. Keeping their loyalty required constant payment. Yet Vincent had been with him a long time. Joseph hated for their association to end.
    “’Tis most unfortunate that you’re in prison again. How am I to continue my work with you in here?”
    “I’m sure ye can fix that just like ye did last time,” Vincent said. “Mayhap this time, it won’t take so bloody long.”
    Joseph sighed, still undecided if he should bother.
    Vincent drew closer and lowered his voice. “Were ye able to save the devices from the warehouse?”
    “Two of the three.” He cleared his throat, noting how the raspy sound made Vincent flinch. “I had some men dressed in police uniforms remove them.”
    “Snuck them out right under their noses! Damn me, but that was clever of ye. I look forward to hearin’ yer plan to free me.”
    “I’m in the midst of forming one.” He set the case down and retrieved a small silver flask from the dark interior. “Care for a drink?”
    Vincent eyed the flask warily. “Is it that green stuff you’re so fond of?”
    “No. This is something much more special. Have a sip while I advise you of my plan.”
    Vincent took the flask and sniffed the contents. Joseph had made sure he’d only smell the faint apple scent of fine brandy. With a smack of his lips, Vincent took a long sip, then another. “Nothing like that heat slidin’ down yer throat into yer belly.” He sighed with satisfaction as he passed the flask back to Joseph through the cell bars. “Now then, how are ye goin’ to free