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workshop is up in the attic?”
    “It is.” Peterson gave the smug nod of a man proud of his craft. “Care for a look?”
    “Don’t mind if I do.” Looking around up there was exactly what Kendall wanted.
    “Come along then.” Both men stubbed out their cigars and returned their beer mugs to the kitchen. Then Kendall followed Peterson up an exterior staircase to a small but neat workshop under the eaves.
    Nothing. Kendall neither spotted nor sensed anything awry in the workroom. There was no trace of magick in the attic, nor on any of the tools or toys. The only thing, in fact, to give off any trace of power was the man’s mechanical hand, and having a spell or two set on a prosthesis wasn’t uncommon if you could find someone to cast it.
    Finally, Kendall said goodnight and made his way down to his own room. Lost in thought, he didn’t register the woman curled up in the single armchair by the window until after he’d closed and locked the door.
    “Amy? Is something wrong?” Her light brown hair fell to her waist in a single thick braid and she wore a soft velvet dressing gown over a high-necked white nightdress. Kendall immediately imagined her stripped of her prim nightwear and sprawled across his sheets. Hopefully the bed didn’t squeak too badly. He shook his head in an attempt to clear that image from his brain. “What brings you here at…” he checked the small clock beside the bed, “…quarter past midnight?”
    “I wanted to talk to you,” she said in a whisper. “Though my room would be better. Clarence Milton—you know, the bookseller—has the room right next to yours, and his hearing is keen. Mine is beside the Stapleton sisters, who can’t hear a thing once they remove their amplification buds.”
    Kendall nodded. He’d noticed the small devices in the ears of both the elderly sisters, so he gestured back toward the door, but Amy shook her head.
    “This way,” she whispered, and then unlatched his window. “Peterson insisted on having an outdoor staircase, as he’s apparently afraid of fire. Your room and mine both open onto it.”
    He got a lovely view of her dressing gown stretched tightly across her rounded derriere as she nimbly climbed out the window. His cock pointed the way as he followed her, only slightly discouraged by the cool midnight breeze while he descended the wooden stairs and clambered into her room behind her.
    Her room was essentially a feminine version of his. Modestly sized bed, a desk and a single comfortable chair, though her wardrobe and bureau were larger, probably to accommodate a woman’s more extensive clothing needs. It also had the personal touches his borrowed quarters did not—brushes, a small porcelain dog and a jewelry chest on the bureau, photos on the walls that had to be of her family, and a silver filigree inkwell on the desk. The gas lamps had been turned down low, and a single oil lamp burned softly on the bedside table.
    Amy pulled out the desk chair and sat, gesturing toward the armchair. She kept her fingers tightly twisted in her lap, her lower lip caught between her teeth as Kendall eased himself down into the armchair. “What can I do for you, Amy?”
    Her shoulders straightened and she drew in a deep breath before looking up, into his eyes. “Are you married, Kendall?”
    Ah. This afternoon had unnerved her too. He could understand that. “No. Nor engaged, nor even walking out with someone. That doesn’t make my actions this afternoon appropriate, but you needn’t worry that we were betraying anybody.” No one but Amy herself, at least.
    “Thank you. That is a relief.” Still, her nervous posture didn’t relax. “Kendall, can you tell me? Why did you kiss me? Surely if you were simply in need of a woman, you could find someone to…sate your appetites.”
    Now he was the one squirming in his chair. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, knowing the posture would hide his body’s reaction to this line of discussion. This