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Jack for an age, personal-like
. Her hand glided over his chest and headed down.
Such a fine
cocky
fella, ye are. Shall we see if it’s all just tall tales, then, me lad
?
    “Tottie,” Mary snapped as Talent gave a violent start.
    The little Irish imp stopped, blinking back with wide, round eyes.
Aye
? She let her hand fall upon Talent’s lap.
    “Bloody GIM,” Talent burst out. “I felt that!” He turned his ire on Mary. “What the hell is she doing?”
    “Nothing.” Mary kept her expression neutral by sheer will. “Why are you here, Tot?”
    The GIM sighed, her small mouth pouting as her diaphanous hand drifted off Talent.
You are no fun at all, Mary Chase
.
    “So I’ve been told.”
    Talent’s gaze snapped between her and a spot above Tottie’s head.
    “She’s a few inches lower,” Mary said. “And a bit touchy.”
    “Hell.” Talent practically snarled as he glowered blindly at the spot occupied by Tottie. “Just remember, I can hunt your body down, Mistress O’Brien.”
    Looking forward to it, Master Talent
. Tottie’s cheeks plumped before she sobered.
The Bishop’s struck again
.
    “At Trafalgar Square?” Mary held up her hand to Talent when he made to speak.
    Bit of a difference with this one. The man was found in his home, one Mr. Arthur Pierce. He’s got the brand upon his chest, an’ all the usual hallmarks of the Bishop’s work. Wilde’s directed the cozzers to secure the scene for your study.
    “Lovely.” The idea of seeing that horror turned Mary’s stomach.
    “Damn it, Chase—”
    “There’s been another murder,” Mary said to Talent, lest he keep shouting.
    The house is two blocks over
, Tottie said, and Mary relayed it directly to Talent as the GIM continued.
Wilde wants you two there now
.

Chapter Four

    M r. Pierce had lived in the center of a respectable middle-class suburb of London. Well-clipped lawns led to smart black doors, each graced with the same simple brass door knocker. White lace hung across every shining window.
    Talent was ahead of her, his brusque stride so confident that it implied the very air ought to part for him. The rakish tilt of his hat had her longing to knock it off, if only to ruffle his composure and force him to acknowledge her presence.
    As if feeling her displeasure, he stopped and turned. “Right then,” he said. “You wait here.… What the devil are you doing?”
    Mary brushed a gloved hand over his lapel once more. “Clearing a disturbing number of crumbs off your coat. Is that egg?” She flicked a dried crust of his morning meal from his tie. “My, but you look a fright.”
    Talent swatted her away. “Good God, woman, stop mothering me.”
    She scoffed. “I am trying to maintain the dignity of our office. You’re stomping about as unkempt as a vagabond.” In truth his gold SOS pin, depicting the goddess Isis, was the only part of his attire that he appeared to care for. Pinned neatly on his overcoat lapel, it gleamed bright against the dull, unbrushed wool. “The Talent I know and detest would never let his appearance fall into such disrepair.”
    He showed his teeth in a reaper’s grin. “And the Chase I know and detest would not care.”
    “Of course I care. You represent the SOS, which, by extension, includes me. At the very least, do keep your hat on. Your hair looks as though you’ve let a goat have a go at it.”
    Talent’s brows nearly met in the center with the ferocity of his scowl. “Are you quite finished?”
    Mary looked him over and smoothed one last wrinkle along his shoulder, biting back a smile when a growl rumbled low in his throat. “There.”
    His cheeks went dull red. “As I was saying, take a look around the grounds. Perhaps you can discover something useful while you wait outside for me.”
    Mary drew up tight. “Now just a moment, you. I am not waiting out here. I’m your partner, not some lackey.” Nor was she letting him out of her sight while they were on this case.
    Talent’s mouth