They made short work of the ground floor and then climbed the stairs, listening for the thump and clank of a clockwork guard. This time there were no deadly surprises.

Virginia looked through the open doorway of one of the bedrooms. “I wonder why he did not leave a device behind at this house.”

“He has concluded the experiment,” Owen said.

“What an unpleasant thought.”

He pushed open another door and heightened his talent. The mercury light indicating death by paranormal means shimmered in the atmosphere.

“This is where he killed her,” he said.

Virginia walked into the bedroom. He felt energy suffuse the atmosphere and knew that she had raised her senses.

“Mrs. Hackett was at her dressing table, just like Mrs. Ratford,” Virginia said. “She is looking toward the bed, aware that whatever she sees is killing her and there is nothing she can do about it.”

“In these two murders, at least, Hollister appears to have established a pattern.”

“He requires a mirror, and he kills at night, because that is when glasslight is strongest.”

“Do you perceive flames in that mirror?”

“Yes.” Virginia contemplated the dressing-table glass again. “The fire is weak, but I can sense it. A small amount of raw energy somehow locked in stasis. It is very strange.”

“At least we now have a sense of his motive for killing the glass-readers in their bedrooms in front of their mirrors.” Owen surveyed the space. “But to accomplish his goal he had to gain access to the most private room in the house in order to set up the murder machines. I wonder if he took both women by surprise or if they invited him into their bedrooms.”

Virginia turned away from the mirror. “I know what you are thinking. I am well aware that some women who claim to channel spirits have a certain reputation that attracts male clients. While that may have been the case with Mrs. Ratford, I am certain it was not true of Mrs. Hackett. She was a middle-aged woman who took her work quite seriously. I doubt very much that she would have invited a client upstairs.”

Owen nodded, accepting her verdict. “You are certain that both women possessed some genuine talent?”

“Yes.”

“Which means that out of all the charlatans and frauds in the psychical practitioner business, the killer managed to identify two true glass-readers.”

“If he is a talent himself, as we suspect, it is not surprising that he could discern others with real talent,” Virginia said.

“The other thing the victims had in common is that they were both affiliated with the Leybrook Institute.”

“Yes, but what is the connection to Hollister?” Virginia asked. “Neither Lord nor Lady Hollister were clients of the Institute until Lady Hollister commissioned a reading from me.”

“You were not chosen at random. Someone arranged to have you sent to the mansion. Who booked the appointment?”

“Mr. Welch or his assistant, Mrs. Fordham,” Virginia said. “I’m not sure which one actually accepted the booking. The note came from Mrs. Fordham. She maintains the master appointment journal.”

“Where does she keep the journal?”

“In her office.”

“I believe I’ll have a look at her files tonight.”

“I’ll come with you,” Virginia said.

“No.”

“You’ll need me to show you exactly where to look,” Virginia insisted.

“No. There is always a chance of getting caught when one engages in this sort of thing.”

“Nonsense. I’m sure you won’t let that happen.”

There really was not that much risk involved, Owen assured himself an hour later. The Institute was deserted at night. Even if someone were to enter the premises, there was a number of exits that he could employ to remove Virginia in a timely manner.

“I don’t understand,” Virginia said. “There is no record of my appointment with Lady Hollister.”

Owen struck another light and studied the appointment journal that was open on the assistant’s desk. It showed no booking for Virginia on the night she had been sent to the mansion.

“How did you receive word that you had been requested for a reading?”

“The usual way. I got a message from Mrs. Fordham. It was a lastminute booking. Mrs. Fordham explained in her note that Gilmore Leybrook himself was eager for me to accept the commission. Leybrook is very keen on attracting high-quality clients to the Institute.”

“What do you know of Gilmore Leybrook?” Owen asked.

“Very little, to be honest,” Virginia said. “No one does. He is a talent of some kind, but I’ve never been certain of the exact nature of his ability. He arrived on the London scene about a year ago and established the Institute. He was successful right from the start.”

“He must have money, in that case. The Institute is an expensive operation.”

“One of Leybrook’s many talents is his ability to attract funding for the Institute,” Virginia said dryly. “He is charming and persuasive. There is something about him that draws people to him.”

“A side effect of his talent, perhaps, whatever it is.”

They were back on the street, walking toward the park, where Owen hoped that they would find a cab. That prospect was dimming rapidly. The streets around the Institute were empty. It was nearly midnight, and the fog had thickened to the point where the gas lamps appeared only as glary orbs in the mist, the light they cast all but useless.

Part of him was attuned to the currents of the night, listening for the sound of footsteps that might signal the approach of a footpad. But they had the street to themselves. Normal people, not even normal street thieves, went abroad at night in such an impenetrable atmosphere, he thought. But he and Virginia were not what most people would call normal.

It felt good to share the night and the hunt with this woman at his side. It felt right.

“If we are correct in our initial conclusions, you were the killer’s intended victim the night you read the looking glass for Lady Hollister,” Owen said. “But things went wrong. Hollister ended up dead, and you and one of Hollister’s other intended victims, Becky, escaped. I am quite certain the second killer did not plan that ending to the affair.”

“What was Becky doing there that night?” Virginia asked. “Why would she have been needed if I was the intended subject of the experiment?”

“Good question. I asked one of my aunts to stop by the Elm Street charity house today to inquire about Becky.”

“You did?” Virginia turned her head quickly to look at him. “Was there any news of her?”

“My Aunt Ethel reports that Mrs. Mallory was able to persuade Becky to attend the charity school.”

“I’m so glad,” Virginia said. “If she learns typing or telegraphy she will have a chance to forge a respectable career for herself. She will be able to escape the streets. I still find it hard to believe that Arcane has taken over responsibility for the school.”

“A sign of a change in the organization, perhaps,” Owen said.

“I’m far from convinced that Arcane is truly changing, but I suppose I must allow for that possibility.”

They walked in silence for a time, their footsteps echoing eerily in the fog.

“There is something else besides my talent and my association with the Institute that I have in common with Ratford and Hackett, now that I think about it,” Virginia said after a while.

He glanced at her, but in the darkness she was all but invisible to the eye. But not to his other senses, he thought. He would always know when she was anywhere in the vicinity. Her energy would always thrill him.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Ratford and Hackett were both spinsters with no immediate family. So am I. The deaths of women like us, those who are alone in the world, are almost certain to go unnoticed by the authorities.”