It will come, she said, seeming to know his thoughts. It’s already here.

You’re wrong. He had to believe that.

Reaching the foyer, a footman handed him his tricorn hat and cloak, then opened the door once he’d donned them. The carriage waited, ready to speed him off into the night and his ceaseless quest for pleasure.

Go then, she said coldly. Go and see.

Everything appeared exactly as it ought. Hundreds of expensive beeswax candles threw blazing light from atop massive crystal chandeliers. The parquet floors gleamed. Musicians stationed in the corner filled the chamber with the very latest from the Continent. Talk and jewels packed the room, both sharp and calculated to dazzle. Footmen circulated with trays bearing glasses of wine. Someone had organized a card game in an adjoining chamber, and shouts of the players mingled with the music and voices.

By most standards, the assembly at Lord Millom’s would be considered a success.

But something was wrong.

Standing in the doorway, with an invisible Livia beside him, Bram surveyed the chamber. He knew most of these men—aristocrats and nobly born gentlemen, and a handful of wealthy burghers who had bought their way into the ranks of the elite. And they knew him, offering him polite bows or nods as his gaze moved past them. Distracted, he barely returned the gesture.

Despite the smiles, the attempts at cheer and insistently ebullient music, a wrongness hovered over the assembly like an invisible pestilence.

Then he understood.

He snared the arm of the Marquess of Lapley, affecting a careless stroll past him.

“Where are the ladies?” Bram demanded.

Lapley grimaced. “Damned strange, ain’t it? Aside from Lady Millom”—he nodded toward the woman in question, a tense middle-aged lady laced tightly into yellow satin—“there ain’t another female here. No one’s dancing.”

The space normally occupied by dancers going through their intricate steps stood empty, a lacuna of parquetry. No bright silk or fluttering fans circled the chamber. The low drone of masculine voices was unrelieved by female chatter. Not a giggle or trill. Gallants awaited the arrival of fair maidens, eager to prove themselves by fetching glasses of negus or offer up sparkling compliments in the continuous ritual of courtship.

Every man at the assembly wore a baffled smile as false as pasteboard marble.

“It’s like someone’s blotted out the stars,” Bram muttered.

Lapley snorted. “Aye. What’s the use of coming to these bloody assemblies if there ain’t no ladies to flirt with?”

“Your wife isn’t here.” Bram looked pointedly at the empty space beside Lapley.

“Wouldn’t come. Said she felt nervous and out of sorts. With all the peculiarity going on around town, I was glad of her choice. Ain’t been safe after dark. Last night, five different gentlemen were almost shot in their own carriages. Covingham barely escaped with his life.”

All this was news to Bram, but without Whit and Leo to meet him at the coffee house for the day’s intelligence, he hadn’t gone and heard the latest reports.

“What of the other ladies?” Bram pressed. The Season was at its height. No woman of social standing missed an assembly. At the least, they needed to parade their daughters before eligible bachelors.

Lapley shrugged. “The same, I’d wager. Makes for a sodding dull assembly. Unless,” he added, brightening, “you brought some females with you.”

I don’t believe I count, Livia said, her voice wry in Bram’s mind.

“I’m alone,” Bram answered.

With a disappointed mutter about wasted opportunity, Lapley drifted away.

Bram continued to stand in the doorway, surveying the assembly that was not truly an assembly. The men in the chamber continued to circulate and affect conversation, but it felt like a sham. Or there had been a Biblical purge, and instead of slaying first born sons, the Angel of Death had killed every last woman, save one.

Citizens’ wives wouldn’t come out after dark, Livia said. They hid in their homes, cowering in corners with their arms around their children. Only female slaves forced to venture out of doors did so. I walked the streets disguised so no one knew my sex.

Powerful witch like you, he retorted. You’ve nothing to fear.

All women share the same fear, magic or no magic. And their fear is well-founded. I saw what happened when the mobs caught women out after sunset.

He felt her shudder, and his own blood iced.

It isn’t like that now.

You’ve looked out the window of your carriage. You’ve seen.

Maybe he hadn’t wanted to see, for, at the time, it made no impression on him. But thinking on it now, he remembered the protectively hunched forms of women scurrying inside. Only the women forced to earn their livings on the street remained—whores, orange sellers, beggars—and their eyes had been wide with fear.

In the span of a single night, the world had changed. He felt the whole of society, both high and low, clinging to a precipice, the rocks crumbling beneath their fingers. Soon the whole cliff would collapse. All that remained was the fall into darkness.

But his hands were strong, and he’d hold on for as long as he could. The darkness wouldn’t claim him just yet.

From the exterior, the building appeared like any other home in this fashionable part of town. Tidy and reserved, its modern brick façade looked out onto the street with perfect respectability, proportioned according to the most classical standards.

Bram ascended the short flight of steps, hearing the clatter of his carriage pulling discretely into the mews. Livia drifted behind him. Her curiosity was a flame at his back.

What’s at this place? Another gathering?

Without answering, he tapped at the door, and it opened immediately. They knew him here. Inside was just as tasteful as the exterior, done up in the latest style, with cream colored paneling, and paintings of serene landscapes upon the walls. A liveried footman took his hat and cloak.

“They are gathered in the drawing room, my lord,” the servant murmured. “Shall I show you in?”

“I know the way.” He strode down the corridor, Livia just behind him. Along the way, he passed a maid in cap and apron, and she curtsied, her eyes upon the ground.

Female voices drifted into the hallway from behind the drawing room’s closed doors.

Wherever we are, Livia mused, fear hasn’t kept the women away.

We’ll assuredly find women here, he answered.

He opened the doors of the drawing room. Settees and couches were arranged throughout the chamber. Upon them lounged young women in filmy gowns, and they all turned their gazes toward him as he entered the room. Some attempted to smile enticingly, but their attempts failed—the smiles withered like hothouse flowers.

“My lord, you are most warmly welcomed.” An older woman came forward, her hands outstretched to take his. She wore artful amounts of powder and rouge, a patch applied to just below the corner of her mouth.

“Mrs. Able.” Bram bowed, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “Like always, lovely as the evening star.”

“La,” trilled Mrs. Able, “pretty words from a pretty knave.”

“I save all my pretty words for you alone.”

“Then you must have a very short supply, my lord.”

“More than Dr. Johnson’s dictionary, ma’am.”

Mrs. Able laughed. “Such a charming rogue! ’Tis no wonder you’re the girls’ favorite.”

She says that to all the customers, Livia said, her voice sour. You might’ve told me you were going to a brothel.

And ruin the discovery?

He sensed her move away, straining against the bonds that tethered them together. Her presence left the chamber, and he couldn’t decide how he felt about that.