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psychical killer to conceal himself.”
    “A genuine talent hidden among the fakes.” Caleb sighed. “Very clever.”
    “It’s called hiding in plain sight,” Owen said. “The monsters are very good at that.”
    It seemed to Caleb that there was a new chill in the atmosphere. It was not coming from the river or the fog that shrouded the warehouse. It emanated from Owen Sweetwater’s aura. We are doing business with a very dangerous man, he thought.
    “It seems you were right, Caleb,” Gabe said. “But then, you generally are when it comes to this sort of thing.”
    Caleb did not respond. There was nothing to say. He was almost always right when it came to seeing patterns. He was especially skilled at noting the dark evidence that indicated crimes that had been committed by villains endowed with psychical talent. But no one was right one hundred percent of the time. Deep inside, he lived with the knowledge that someday he would miscalculate and innocents might die. It was the theme of his darkest dreams.
    He frowned at Owen. “How do you intend to proceed?”
    Owen shrugged, as if the question had an obvious answer.
    “I will identify the killer and remove him,” he said. “I will then, of course, send you a bill for services rendered.”
    Gabe leaned back against a large, empty wooden cask and folded his arms. “A simple plan.”
    “I have always found that they work best,” Owen said. “Now, then, I am rather busy at the moment. If there is nothing else, I trust you will excuse me.”
    He turned and walked away through the deep shadows at the back of the warehouse. In a moment he was gone.
    Gabe watched the darkness where Sweetwater had vanished. “I do not think that he told us everything he knows.”
    “You can place a wager on that assumption,” Caleb agreed.
    “He’s one of us, though, isn’t he?”
    “A hunter?” Caleb said. “Yes, I’m sure of it. But he is not like any hunter-talent I have ever met.”
    “How do you think he hunts?”
    “From what little I have learned about him, I suspect that he has the ability to discern what it is that compels the killer. Once he knows that, he can make some predictions.”
    “Such as the possible identity of the killer’s next victim?”
    “Yes.”
    “What if he’s wrong?”
    “Then I was wrong to employ him,” Caleb said. “If another innocent glass-reader dies, I will bear a good portion of the blame.”
    “No,” Gabe said. “You took the only step you could take to try to stop the person who is murdering the glass-readers. And as the Master of the Society, I authorized the hiring of Sweetwater for this venture. It was, I believe, a very logical move. We are sending a man who hunts monsters out to hunt his natural prey.”
    Caleb exhaled slowly. “What gives us the right to do such a thing?”
    “Damned if I know,” Gabe said. “But if J & J doesn’t go after the psychical villains, who will? It is not as if the police are equipped to track down killers who are endowed with paranormal talents.”
    “No.”
    “I would remind you this is not an act of pure altruism on our parts,” Gabe said. “Our survival and the survival of those like us may well be at stake. Arcane has a great interest in protecting the public from the monsters.”
    “I am aware of that.”
    At the moment, the press and the public were fascinated by the paranormal. But if it became common knowledge that there were those who could use their psychical abilities to commit murder, the popular interest would transmute instantly into panic.
    Gabe strode toward the door. “As long as I am Master, I will do everything in my power to ensure that we do not return to the days when those with even a scrap of paranormal talent were branded as witches and sorcerers. If that means occasionally hiring a psychical assassin, so be it.”
    Caleb fell into step beside him. “You have certainly become a good deal more obsessed with protecting the members of the Society and