“On my ... right hip,” Edmund whispered.

Leo examined his hip. “You are not wounded.”

“And the ... marks?”

He saw only pale flesh. “If they were there, they have gone now.” Edmund’s sacrifice had done that, restored his soul.

A small smile appeared on Edmund’s mouth. “She is ... free. Make certain ... she is ... cared for.”

“I swear it.”

“And I,” added Whit.

“Tell her I ...” Edmund’s words trailed off, and his chest went motionless. His hand fell away from Leo’s, lying on the blood-slick cobblestones, the wedding band on his finger gleaming dully.

Only when he had closed his friend’s sightless eyes did Leo surge to his feet. John stared back at him, his expression tight. Bram was a dark, motionless figure, his face wreathed in shadows.

“You damned coward,” snarled Leo. He hardly believed what had just happened. Only a few weeks ago, they had all sat around his table, taking a meal together. And now Edmund lay dead in the street, murdered by his friend.

“I take all threats seriously,” said John.

“He was no damned threat to you.” Leo’s hands were wet with Edmund’s blood.

“Everyone is a threat. Especially you.”

Leo dove for Edmund’s sword. He hadn’t training in the weapon, but the need for retaliation would make him a quick study. All that mattered was avenging Edmund.

Seeing the fury in Leo’s face, John edged backward. For the first time that night, John seemed uncertain, his gaze flicking between Leo and the others. All of them, even Anne, stood ready to fight.

Everyone jumped back when a thick column of smoke suddenly appeared in the middle of the road. Not smoke, Leo realized, but a concentration of darkness, drawing in all light as if consuming it. The shadows swirled, then collected into the form of a man.

The darkness dissipated. A figure stood between the Hellraisers and Leo. Though Leo had seen this man only once before, he recognized him immediately. Immaculately groomed, he wore a gentleman’s suit of ash gray satin, his dark red waistcoat covered in rich embroidery and gems. He wore a fashionable bag wig, tied with black silk. A ring, topped with a large, black stone, adorned one of his slim white hands. In every way, even in his upright posture, he looked an elegant, wealthy gentleman.

But he was no gentleman. He was not a man at all.

“My dear Hellraisers,” he drawled, his diamond white gaze glancing down at Edmund’s body, “this was not how I envisioned our reunion.”

The Devil had returned.

Anne had not yet recovered from the shock of seeing Sir Edmund Fawley-Smith murdered by the Honorable John Godfrey. The poor man had surrendered his life trying to protect his friends. He had been run through like meat upon a skewer. His blood was everywhere. And there had been nothing she could do to help.

Now his lifeless body sprawled upon the ground, and someone, something had appeared. Her every nerve tensed, and chill spread through her body. For she knew instinctively who stood before her, wearing the guise of a nobleman. She had seen too much to be astounded, and yet there was no way to prevent the shock that froze her in place. To have heard so many times about the Devil, and now, to see him made real ... If Anne lived to see the dawn, she doubted she would ever forget this sight, burned as it was into her mind.

She sidled closer to Leo, threading her fingers with his.

“Two of my Hellraisers gone in a single night.” The Devil shook his head, a disappointed tutor. “Edmund offered me little, but you, Leo, you could have been such a wonder.”

“I’ll live with the disappointment,” he answered flatly.

The Devil offered a chill smile. “Not for much longer.”

Anne stiffened. She did not care for those ominous words.

“I believe it was one of your natural philosophers who said, Actioni contrariam semper et æqualem esse reactionem. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. The loss of two Hellraisers, and their power, means that the two remaining Hellraisers shall have more power.” The Devil curled his fingers as he turned to face Bram and John. Black energy gathered in his hands, seemingly drawn from the night itself.

Both men drew upright, as though preparing themselves. John looked eager. Bram’s expression was opaque. He had not spoken since Edmund’s death, and continued to maintain his silence. Yet he did not turn away from the Devil’s offer.

Good God, Anne already felt Bram’s menace. She could not begin to fathom what he might become if further corrupted. And John had already proved himself a villain. With more power at his disposal, he would transform into a monster.

Sensing this, both Leo and Lord Whitney sprang forward, swords upraised as if they meant to strike down the Devil. Yet before either could land a blow, energy poured from the Devil’s hands, directed toward Bram and John. At that same moment, a flash of light streaked in front of Bram.

It was Livia, crying out, “Stop!”

Her cry cut off abruptly as the dark energy pierced her. The energy pulled her into a small, single point of light, shrinking to almost nothing. Momentum carried this tiny gleam back, and into Bram. It sank into his chest, then vanished. Bram staggered back, his hand pressed between his ribs, looking down with a bewildered glower.

Livia was gone.

But Anne could not wonder at the ghost’s disappearance. Though somehow Livia had managed to deflect the Devil’s magic from going into Bram, John had not the same protection. He would not want it, for he wore a rapturous expression as dark energy coursed into him. The Devil was imbuing him with greater power—and he gloried in it.

Leo cursed and started forward again, sword upraised. The Devil snapped his fingers, and the sword spun out of Leo’s hand.

Seeing this, Lord Whitney also moved to strike, but the Devil flung him back with a flick of his wrist. Zora cried out and ran to him, sprawled on the sidewalk nearly fifty yards away. Anne breathed out in relief when she saw him stagger to his feet, though he favored one leg as Zora helped him stand.

Shouts sounded down the street. As if coming out of a trance, the city finally roused. Men’s voices called out, and feet and hoofbeats pounded against the cobblestones.

The Devil lowered his hands, and gave an irritated growl. “Do what you must,” he barked at John. “See my work come to fruition. And you.” He turned to Bram. “I will see you again very soon. As I will all of you.”

With that, shadows engulfed him, and then he was gone.

The sounds of approaching men, and the rumbling of the wheels of fire wagons, drew closer.

“We must go,” Bram said on a growl to John.

Yet John seemed reluctant to leave. A sinister smile crossed his lean face. “I can take them. The things I can do now ...”

“Immediately, John.” The order in Bram’s voice could not be disobeyed, not even by John. Both men turned and hastened down the street, away from the oncoming commotion. Before he disappeared into the darkness, Bram turned and stared back at where Anne and Leo stood. His hand lingered on his chest, over his heart—the place into which Livia had seemingly disappeared. And then he sped off, melting into the shadows.

“Don’t want to be here, either,” Leo muttered, “when there are questions that demand answers. Come.” His hand clasping Anne’s, they hurried toward Lord Whitney and Zora. “Can you run?” he demanded of the other man.

“Aye.”

“Then we move.”

“What about Edmund?” Anne asked.

Leo looked grim. “He will be found, and ... tended to.”

The four of them ducked into the mews just as throngs of men crowded the street. Anne and the others ran down the dark streets, and time blurred as she forced her body to move through the night-shrouded city. Finally, they reached a weedy, overgrown burial ground. Some of the headstones tilted precariously, and a freshly dug grave awaited its occupant.