In the Shadows

“Let’s kill them and have done with it,” the bearded man

grumbled. “What’s an article in a paper?”

Constance put a hand on his shoulder, preventing him from

walking forward. “Yes, but think this through. Certainly no last-

ing harm will come from it, but it will draw eyes to our secrets.

We’ll have to lie low for a while. Years, maybe decades.”

Decades. It spun in Arthur’s head, impossible but true.

“So? We’ve done it before.”

“We have some rather large plans in the works in Europe right

now, if you’ll recall.” Her gaze on the bearded man was sharp, and

he winced under it. “I, for one, would hate to let things slip out of

our hands when we have been building this for so long.”

“What about the boy?” Alden asked, nodding toward Charles,

who had managed to sit up. “We still need a blood sacrifice for our

friend. And Wolcott owes us his debt.”

Constance glanced at the brothers. “You do understand now

what happened?”

“Our father,” Thomas spat, “made some sort of deal with you,

and Charles was the sacrifice. But I won’t let you touch him.”

“I think that settles our account with Mr. Wolcott. The price

was one son, and he’s now effectively lost

both. We can find the

blood we need elsewhere, in a less . . . complicated manner.”

“And they get away free and clear,” Alden said, matching the

intensity of Arthur’s glare. Arthur trembled with his desire, his

need to hurt this man. To kill him.

“Hardly. They’ll spend the rest of their lives looking over their

shoulders and having nightmares.” Constance paused as though

pretending to be in thought, then clucked disapprovingly. “Oh, I

forgot. You wanted the girl for a new plaything. Well, we all must