“You should have used your gift of magic,” John snapped. “Persuaded him to return to us.”

“Don’t you think I wanted to?” Bram fired back. “But I’d used it on him in Oxford, when he gave Leo that souvenir.”

Leo’s hand rubbed at his shoulder. The scar from the rapier blade had faded, but it would never disappear, nor the memory of the Hellraisers fighting Whit outside the Oxford tavern. The final break in their friendship, cauterized by the Gypsy girl’s fire and Whit’s steel. “You didn’t have to force him to fight us. He didn’t want to.”

“Whit either stands with us, or he’s our enemy. There’s no middle ground. No possibly, no perhaps. Not when it comes to being a Hellraiser, and the power we have.”

“Yet you didn’t use that power on Whit in Manchester,” John persisted. “It could have allied us once more.”

Tightening his jaw, Bram glared first at John, then the geminus. “I can only use my ability once on someone. A limitation of which I had not been informed.”

The geminus said, bland and mild, “The gifts my master has bestowed on each of you cannot be without boundary, else you may do yourselves a terrible injury.”

“Considerate of your master,” drawled Leo. His own magic had its particular constraints, but he learned them quickly and made the necessary adjustments. In truth, Leo could not be overly critical of Mr. Holliday, for though there were restrictions to Leo’s ability to see the future, the benefits far outweighed the limitations.

Leo knew one benefit: his wedding celebration happening at that very moment. He thought of Anne, his pretty, genteel bride, a woman he would never have had the temerity to talk to, let alone court and marry. Leo had grown up amidst the smell of leather and a single, smoky brazier filling a cramped little house. A saddler’s son. But Adam Bailey had possessed ambition, and his son had even more.

The Demon of the Exchange. Even before he had received the gift of foreknowledge, Leo had earned this name. Fearless, ferocious, and uncompromising in his investments.

He made the wealthy peers shake in their silver-buckled shoes. Just as he desired.

His bride was afraid of him, too. He saw it in her eyes, the look of a woman confronting an animal she wasn’t sure was tame.

He wasn’t certain he wanted a wife who feared him. It seemed a petty, mean way of conducting a marriage, the sort of thing a bully desired—exerting one’s might over a creature that constituted no threat.

Anne could not possibly hurt him. But there were others who could.

“How much danger does Whit pose?” he asked the geminus.

“If any of you gentlemen see Lord Whitney, do not engage with him. Summon me or any of my gemini brethren immediately, and we shall attend to the matter.”

It won’t tell us precisely how dangerous Whit is. Nor that we should come into direct contact with him. Which means it’s truly afraid.

“I’m keeping Rosalind,” said Edmund, fierce. “Whatever’s necessary, I’ll do it.”

“Whitehall is almost mine,” John said. “Almost. But if I can’t read others’ thoughts, it could all be lost, like that.” He snapped his fingers, the noise sharp in the quiet of the study. “I’ll be no closer to a ranking Cabinet position than a damned pig farmer. I cannot have him, or any of you, compromise that.”

Tension thickened in the room. Everyone glared at one another. Hell, they’d start scrapping with each other in a moment.

“When the time comes, all of us shall do what is needed to protect our magical gifts.” Leo smoothed the scowl from his expression, and made himself smile. “For now, lads, be at ease. This isn’t merely a counsel of war. It’s an offer of thanks. For with assistance”—he nodded in turn at Bram, Edmund, John, and the geminus—“I was able to speed the process of my nuptials along, and bring sooner this happy day.”

Bram’s ability to persuade anyone to do anything had enabled Leo to get a special license rather than go through the lengthier process of having the banns read. Edmund had used his wife’s distinguished connections to sufficiently pad the wedding feast with the wealthy and the powerful. John’s contribution had been the reading of Anne’s father’s thoughts, which, combined with Leo’s own intuitive ability to gauge people, enabled Leo to say precisely the right things to secure the hand of Lord Wansford’s daughter. And, of course, it had been the gift of magic from the geminus’s master that increased Leo’s fortune.

His wife knew none of this, naturally. She had no understanding of his double life, nor the world in which she had now stepped.

Recognizing the joint efforts to hasten Leo’s marriage, the hostility between the men slowly seeped away.

Though Edmund had not the ability to read minds, he seemed to know the train of Leo’s thoughts. “How will you explain your markings to your bride?”

Leo’s hand drifted to his back. “Markings?”

Bram snorted. “No need for coyness, Master Bailey. You know we all have them.” He tapped his chest, just over his heart.

Edmund absently rubbed at his hip, and John pressed his knuckles to his ribs. Each of them, it seemed, carried the mark in different places upon their bodies.

The Devil’s mark. Images of flame drawn upon his skin. They had appeared on Leo’s back the day after he and the other Hellraisers had received Mr. Holliday’s gifts. The mark had been much smaller then, confined to the area between his shoulder blades. Day by day, however, it had grown. Increased by an unseen hand. Fortunately, Leo’s valet knew not to ask questions. Spinner was the only person who ever saw the markings. Leo was at all times careful not to bathe in the presence of others.

But soon his wife would see him unclothed.

“What say your courtesans and opera dancers when they see your markings?” Leo asked Bram.

His friend offered a careless shrug. “Nothing, of course. They are too well paid to offer opinions. And those that do venture to speak believe the markings to be some vestige of my time amongst the Natives in America, a primitive means of adorning the body. I do not bother to correct them.”

“Your new wife may act as my Rosalind does,” said Edmund. “She has seen the markings on me, naturally, but is far too decorous to speak of them.”

Following Bram’s example, Leo shrugged. “In a way, Anne’s compliance has been purchased, like Bram’s opera dancers. If I give her no explanation at all, she must be content.”

“A sensible way to conduct a marriage,” said John approvingly.

“As though you would have any experience on the subject,” Edmund said with a shake of his head. He held his glass of brandy aloft. “As the only other married Hellraiser, I welcome Leo to the blessed state of matrimony.”

“Better you than I.” Yet John smiled, and also lifted his glass. “Felicitations.”

Bram did not raise his glass, however. “Does this mean you shall become as dull as Edmund?”

“The dullard in question is every bit a Hellraiser,” Edmund said, scowling. “Merely because I refrain from sticking my cock in every available quim doesn’t signify I am any less of a Hellraiser.”

“What’s the point of being a Hellraiser, then?”

“Freedom,” said Leo. “And from that freedom, power.”

“The groom speaks good sense,” John said. “And with that, I urge a truce between Bram and Edmund. We cannot afford any more dissention in our ranks.”

Leo and the other men murmured in agreement.

“Then lift your glass, Bram,” said John, “and wish Leo happy.”

With a grudging smile, Bram did so.

Leo turned to the geminus. “The other glass is for you.”

“You are all kindness.” It bowed. “But the gemini do not partake of mortal food or drink.”

“Just take the damned glass,” growled Bram, “and join us in a toast. Don’t have to drink a bloody drop.”

“Of course, my lord.” The creature was all solicitousness. “I am most eager to bestow my congratulations.” It took the remaining glass.