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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 future generations of talents since Venetia delivered your firstborn last month.”
    Gabe opened the door and moved out into the fog-shrouded night. “It is astonishing how becoming a father focuses one’s priorities.”

SIX
     
    O wen went up the steps of the modest town house in Garnet Lane, keenly aware of the sense of anticipation that had been whispering through him all morning. The prospect of seeing Virginia again energized him in ways that probably should have been deeply disturbing or at least mildly concerning. It was invariably a mistake to allow himself to give free rein to any strong emotion when he was on the hunt. The Sweetwaters were a notoriously passionate lot. A side effect of their talents, some said. But indulging in strong passions while hunting violated all of the family rules.
    Virginia Dean was proving to be the exception to every rule he had lived by for all of his life.
    The door at the top of the steps opened before he could knock more than twice. Mrs. Crofton, the housekeeper, stood before him. She was a tall woman in her late thirties, garbed in a gray housedress trimmed with a white, crisply starched apron. A neatly pleated white cap covered most of her tightly pinned blond hair. There was a mix of curiosity and veiled assessment in her blue eyes. He knew from their initial encounter that she was not accustomed to finding a man on her employer’s front steps. The knowledge that Virginia did not, apparently, receive a lot of gentlemen callers pleased him more than he wanted to admit.
    “You’re back, then, Mr. Sweetwater,” Mrs. Crofton said.
    Her voice was laced with the cool, professional accents of a woman who at one time or another had served in a far more exclusive household. He wondered how she had come to work for an employer who was obliged to go out into the world to earn a living. Housekeepers and others in service were as concerned with their social status as everyone else. The social standing of one’s employer mattered.
    “I believe I am expected.” He gave her his card.
    “Yes, sir. Miss Dean said you would be calling today, sir. She will see you.” Mrs. Crofton stepped back and held out a hand for his hat and gloves. “I’ll show you into her study.”
    When she closed the door, a heavy gloom descended on the front hall. It took him a moment to realize that there was no mirror on the wall over the console as was commonplace in many homes, to add the illusion of light and space.
    He followed Mrs. Crofton down a narrow corridor and into a snug,