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already dead, no longer glittering in the sky of promise God intends for you. You must be spectacularly luminous. Burn far hotter than you’re able. Beam for your dear life, child. The world is nothing but shadow and dead ends. Only your own fire can light a way out of the maze.”
    “Amen,” Reverend Blessing murmured.
    The rest of our meal was spent mostly in silence, with a bit of small talk about art and a few amusing Washington anecdotes from Senator Bishop. He was savvy enough not to bring real political issues to the table. But all I could think about was what lay ahead and if Jonathon and I could remain the solid team we’d been thus far in trying times. I was a woman of faith who was full of doubt. What could a ragtag band of Spiritualists, a senator, exorcist, a British Lord, a museum curator, and whatever I was—some Lutheran magnet for nightmares and the fancies of demons—do against a wealthy, resourced secret society who distributed murder and mayhem like a calling card to calling hours? I wanted to see a way out of the maze, but for the life of me, and maybe yet the death of me, I couldn’t.
    As per tradition in fine dinner parties, the men went off to the dark wood and leather of the late Mr. Northe’s study to smoke cigars and talk about being masters of their domain or some such masculine chatter, and the ladies went off to the soft, lace-filled parlor to do the same. From Jonathon’s reports, that male-driven room had been immaculately maintained and kept nearly overstocked with all kinds of fine liquor and exquisite cigars. I wondered how often Mr. Bishop was over to partake of these treasures as well.
    Peter Northe had been gone for at least seven years if I remembered correctly, but it would seem his favorite supplies would be refilled in perpetuity. Perhaps his widow felt some part of him lingered on in the fine things enjoyed by the other interesting men who entertained at her home. I wondered if she heard his spirit speak, what he’d think of the growing closeness between my father and his widow, or just what the presence of Senator Bishop meant, as they too appeared far too familiar for mere friends. The energy between them seemed sibling in nature, but then again Mrs. Northe was a mystery. Just another question to add to my growing tally.
    “You’ve a lot on your mind, Natalie,” Mrs. Northe murmured over her shoulder as she led Lavinia ahead of her to the parlor where the maid had set out tea and aperitifs. Lavinia floated ahead as if she were a ghost, her thin frame alighting upon a divan, black layers splaying out, her eyes downcast, her expression lost in some reverie.
    I set my jaw, wishing I could better hide things from her, as this was not the time, in a stranger’s company, to unload all that gnawed at me. “That I do.”
    “Whatever you think I may have neglected, I hope you’ll do me some credit and believe that I have taken actions on all counts that require concern.”
    I looked into her steely eyes, bright and powerful, and somehow I was sure she was talking about Maggie. I hoped she’d elaborate at the appropriate time. She then leaned close and murmured, “I’m going to interview the madman Crenfall to see if I can get a hint from him about the root of Society operations in the city. I don’t expect much, but any lead is better than none. Care to come with me?”
    And in one swift rush, all my doubts and my frustrations were forgotten in the excitement that was being included in secret operations by this most compelling woman. I was under her thrall yet again.
    “Yes, I’d like that very much.”
    “No, you won’t like it at all. Asylums are horrid places, but—”
    “But I can’t bear being useless.”
    “Indeed, I figure you’d be less trouble if I took you with me. Tomorrow?”
    “No, we’re…” I looked up in her eyes, and I felt my cheeks color. I was not a good at lying if I was quite sure my lie would be discovered. It was so hard to be artful