The policemen took me as far as the corner of Belgrave Square and warned me not to return to Lord Preston's house or they'd arrest me. I thanked them and followed Jacob into the night.

"We need to go now, before Blunt escapes," he said.

Perhaps he already had.

But it would take time to get to the school, time we couldn't afford to waste. "You go ahead," I said, pulling my cloak tighter at my throat. It brought back the memory of when Finch had clasped it, right before he'd stolen the amulet. Without it, we had no way of sending the demon back to the Otherworld. "Stop Blunt leaving if necessary. I'll catch up."

Jacob shook his head. He'd calmed down considerably since the confrontation with his father. He could look at me now at least, although his gaze didn't quite meet mine. "You're not walking alone at night."

"There's no other way." I gave him a reassuring smile. I wasn't angry with him. Concerned, yes because I could sense something was very wrong, but not angry.

He lifted a hand to my face and brushed his knuckles down my cheek in a gesture that sent my heart flipping in my chest and filled my eyes with tears once more. He gave me the saddest smile I'd ever seen and whispered my name, as if speaking it aloud would hurt.

It was amazing the sound of my heart cracking didn't fill the night.

"Jacob," I murmured. There was so much to say but I didn't know where to start or how.

He touched a finger to my lips. "Shhh, my sweet." His finger dipped down to my chin and he kissed me, a fleeting, feathery kiss that was over too soon. But despite the tenderness, tension continued to ripple through him. He was still fuming.

Was he furious at himself for hesitating?

I hadn't a clue. I blinked back the tears but one escaped anyway. He kissed it away, his mouth so soft I wanted to sink into it. He licked his lips, tasting my tear.

"Jacob," I tried again.

"Don't," he said, voice shuddering. He stepped back, all business again. I tried to be the same, to shut down my feelings, but it wasn't easy.

"I have another idea," he said. "Let's wake up George and ask to borrow his carriage. He won't want to miss the fun anyway."

I wasn't so sure about that but I smiled an agreement. It was a surface smile. Inside me everything ached.

Hand in hand we ran the short distance to Wilton Crescent. "I'll go in and wake him," Jacob said when we reached number fifty-two.

"But how will he know it's you and that you want him to come with us?"

"There should be pen and ink somewhere in the house." He was gone before I could say anything else.

Hardly five minutes passed before a sleepy footman holding a candelabra opened the front door, his green jacket unbuttoned, his hair unpowdered. "Mr. Culvert wishes you to wait inside, Miss Chambers." He yawned and waved me through to the drawing room with the candelabra.

I wasn't surprised to see Jacob already there. We didn't speak as the footman lit the candles on the mantelpiece then bowed out of the room, yawning.

"Culvert snores," Jacob said when we were alone.

"What did he say when you woke him?"

"Well, he didn't scream."

"You thought he might?"

"I thought it likely." He gave me his devilishly crooked smile but there was no humor in it. Sadness still invaded everything—his words, his face, even the way he stood with his shoulders slightly stooped. He stared into the cold ashes of the fireplace and said nothing further.

I sat and waited in the awkward silence, trying to decide if I wanted to broach the subject of his hesitation in Belgrave Square. George saved me when he appeared, tugging on his crisp white cuffs. He was fully dressed right down to a black overcoat but his hair was in desperate need of taming. It stuck out on one side and was entirely flat on the other.

"My coach and driver will be around shortly," he said, holding out his hands to me. I clasped them and he squeezed gently. "Are you all right, Emily?"

Jacob frowned at our linked hands. I let go. "Well enough," I said. "Sorry to wake you, George, but we do so need your carriage."

"Of course. Think nothing of it. Glad I can be of service. Is Beaufort still here?"

I nodded and waved towards the fireplace where Jacob stood watching us beneath his lowered lids, an unreadable expression on his icy face.

"I'll go on ahead," he said, coming towards me. "I'll unlock the school's front door for you." The ice seemed to melt before my eyes, the tension slip away from his mouth, his brow. The pale candlelight barely illuminated the blue of his eyes but I didn't need to see their color to recognize the worry in them as they searched my face. He lifted a hand to my cloak's collar and straightened it. His thumb brushed along the underside of my jaw. "Will you be all right?"

I nodded. I couldn't speak. I just wanted to hold him, kiss him, but I was no longer entirely sure if that's what he wanted. He might be behaving tenderly towards me now, but what about later? I desperately wanted to ask him what he was thinking, and why he'd hesitated back at his parents' house, but I couldn't, not with George around.

Besides, I had a feeling I wouldn't like the answer.

He disappeared and I watched the space where he'd been for a long time until George's polite cough drew my attention.

He held out his arm. "Shall we wait outside?"

* * *

During the carriage ride to Clerkenwell, I told George everything that had transpired that night. From the light cast by the lamps mounted outside the windows I could just see the grave set of his face and the frown settling above his spectacles.

"So now we must speak to Blunt to find out once and for all how he is involved," I said. "And to find out where Finch lives."

He reached under the seat and removed a box. I recognized it as the one he'd brought with him the last time we visited Blunt. The one with the pistol inside.

We arrived at the school shortly after that. George took one of the carriage lamps and left the other for the driver. Together we tried the front door. It was unlocked, as Jacob had promised. I hesitated and glanced at George. He looked pale in the gaslight, a trickle of sweat trailing down his temple despite the coolness of the air. "I think it best if Jacob deals with Blunt first," I said. "If his methods fail then you should use that." We both looked down at the pistol. He tucked it beneath his cloak and nodded. A slight color returned to his cheeks. Whatever he was, he was not a coward. Fear did not make someone cowardly; allowing that fear to stop them taking appropriate action, did.

He followed me into the school, down the corridor, towards a sliver of light peeping out from underneath the door next to Blunt's office. Noises came from the other side—wood splintering, glass shattering, objects landing with thuds. Blunt's voice over them all, pleading.

"Stop! Please, stop. Don't hurt me. Please."

Jacob had started without us.

I ran to the door but George overtook me. "Wait," I hissed. "Wait out here." He looked like he wanted to disagree. "Just give me a moment," I said. "I'll try to calm Jacob first. You wait here to—."

"But Emily—."

"I'll be fine, George. Jacob will protect me and we need you as our surprise. If Blunt doesn't confess then you can come in and use whatever means at your disposal. I couldn't bear it if that pistol went off by accident."

I didn't wait for his answer but entered the room and was surprised to see it wasn't another office but a bedroom. Two candles flickering on the mantelpiece provided a little light, illuminating a mess. Someone sat in the big bed, the covers pulled over their head. Blunt. Jacob stood near the window, the broken leg of a stool in his hand. The rest of the stool lay on the floor in pieces along with torn sheets, clumps of wool from a pillow, shards of a mirror and various other oddments.

"Careful of your step," Jacob said to me.

Slowly, the bedcovers lowered to reveal the disheveled head of Blunt. "Thank God you're here," he said. "Tell it to stop. I haven't gone to the girls dormitory, I haven't! Not since that first haunting. Tell it, tell it!"

"The spirit knows," I said. "But he's still not happy." I nodded at Jacob. He nodded back. "He's here because of the deaths you caused, Mr. Blunt. You and Tommy Finch."

"I, I..." He swallowed so hard I could hear his throat working from across the room. "I had nothing to do with that, I already told you."

"Don't lie to me," I said with a sigh. "I'm tired. I want to go home. The sooner you confess and give us Finch's address, the sooner Jacob will leave you be."

Blunt's gaze shifted to the door as if he knew someone was out there even though no sounds came from the corridor. "Why do you want me to confess? What good will it do?"

"It'll bring peace to the souls of the dead." It wasn't exactly a lie. I felt as if the spirits of the demon's victims were listening, waiting.

Blunt's lips pinched tightly together. "You won't hurt me."

"We are out of patience, Mr. Blunt. If we need to hurt you to extract information then we'll do it. Come now, give in," I said when he didn't answer. "Your little scheme to rob the houses of your victims has been exposed."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"We know everything, Mr. Blunt, and so do the police." It was a lie but a necessary one. Jacob nodded his approval. "I wouldn't be surprised if Finch lets you take all the blame either"

Why didn't Blunt already know about our encounter with Tommy? He may not have stayed to witness the end of events at Lord Preston's house but surely he saw enough to not be entirely surprised. He certainly seemed shocked by the information. His mouth slackened. He hesitated.

It was too much for Jacob. "This has gone on long enough." He picked up a knife from among the litter scattered on the bare floor.

Blunt scampered back against the bed's headboard. He tried to bat the blade away but Jacob was fast and dodged every move.

"Call George in," Jacob said to me. "I want him to witness Blunt's death so that it's known you're not to blame."

"Jacob, no!" I shouted.

He ignored me and stabbed the knife into Blunt's nightshirt, right over the heart.

Blunt screamed as the blade tore through the gray linen and pierced his skin. Blood stained his nightshirt and the sight of it only made him scream harder. He tried to scramble away but Jacob knelt on Blunt's feet and shoved him back up against the headboard. "All right!" Blunt shouted. "I did it. Now get it away from me!" His breathing came in ragged gasps, fluttering the wisps of his moustache. "Call your ghost off!"

Jacob kept the knife at Blunt's chest. George rushed in, pistol poised, but I held up a hand to stay him. His eyes widened at the sight of the blood.

"What did you do?" I asked Blunt. "Did you order those people killed?"

"No!" Blunt shook his head very fast, sending his beard into a frenzy. "I helped Finch summon the demon, that's all. I told Maree to steal the book from your friend Culvert there, then I gave it to Tommy Finch. He's the one directing the demon. Not me, him! I swear, it's the truth."

"But you knew about the murders and burglaries."

Blunt hesitated and Jacob shifted his weight onto the knife. Blunt ground his teeth together and nodded.

"I think his role was more than he's admitting to," Jacob said.

"You helped Finch decide who to attack next, didn't you?" I asked Blunt. "You chose the victims. They all worked in grand houses where you had recently placed a servant." As soon as I said it, I knew it must be true. It made sense. Blunt knew which upper servant to attack because he'd questioned the lower servant he'd placed in the household. They'd been his spies—perhaps reluctant ones—informing him of the potential victim's movements.

Again Blunt hesitated and again Jacob pressed on the knife. The bloodstain on Blunt's nightshirt bloomed.

"Yes!" Blunt said, squeezing his eyes shut. "Satisfied?"

Jacob eased back just as Mrs. White entered the room carrying a candle. She clutched a shawl over her nightgown and looked, well, white. "Oh my," she muttered. "Oh my, oh my, Mr. Blunt..." Her gaze fixed on the knife that Jacob still held and she promptly keeled over in a dead faint. I managed to catch her and lower her gently to the floor. The candle fared worse but extinguished itself on impact.

Jacob dropped the knife. George steadied his pistol and aimed it at Blunt's head. "Now what?"

"Now we find out where Finch is keeping the demon," Jacob said without taking his eyes off Blunt.

"Where can we find Tommy Finch?" I asked.

Blunt swallowed. George cocked the gun. The click sounded terribly loud. "There'll be records here somewhere," George said. "Records with Maree's last known address. I suspect we'll find her brother there or if we can't, we'll find someone who can tell us for the price of a few coins."

Well done, George! I raised an eyebrow at Blunt. He swallowed again then groaned. He fell back against the pillows, deflated. "Very well. You can find him in the eastern shadows of St. Mary's in Dwindling Lane." He started to laugh, a thin, high-pitched laugh that sent a shiver down my spine. "You'll need more than one of those in Dwindling Lane, Miss Chambers," he said, nodding at George's pistol. "And more than your pet ghost too."

Jacob picked up a broken chair leg and Blunt threw his hands over his head. He slunk down into the covers. "Call him off!" he shouted.

Jacob waved the piece of wood at Blunt's head. "Tell him he'd better leave London before sunrise or I'll haunt him until he does."

I repeated the order to Blunt adding, "And don't think you can intimidate or harm any of your charges again. I have contact with every ghost up there and they don't like people like you. They'll find you wherever you are, I can promise you that."

Blunt nodded quickly.

"Well done," Jacob said.

George pulled me aside. "Aren't we going to call the police?" he whispered. "We can't just leave him here, unpunished."

"No," I whispered back. "It's likely I'll be arrested, not him. Besides, I think the warning is punishment enough for his involvement, don't you? I doubt he'll try anything like this again."

George, his gaze on Blunt cowering on the bed, nodded.

Mrs. White moaned at our feet. Her eyelids fluttered and opened. George and I helped her into the kitchen where we explained everything. All of it. She needed a cup of tea before she could make a coherent sentence but she appeared to understand what we were saying, and, more importantly, accept it.

Jacob hadn't joined us. I had no idea if he was still at the school, in the Waiting Area or if he'd gone to find Finch. I prayed he hadn't. I didn't want to think about what could happen if the demon attacked him again. He might have held it off in Belgrave Square but could he do so again? The thought of the demon removing his soul...it made my bones cold and my heart sore.

When I finished telling Mrs. White all I could, I asked her the question I needed to ask. "Did you have anything to do with this business?"

She lowered her cup. It tilted too far and tea spilled over the side. She didn't seem to notice. She was too busy looking offended. "No, I did not. Miss Chambers, I've been here for five years now, longer than Blunt, longer than most of the children. I came here after my husband died and I've not regretted a day since. I have no children of my own, no family that need me. This school has been my life, my sanctuary those five years." Her eyes filled with unshed tears and she carefully put the cup down in the saucer. "I'm never idle here and I've always been valued, by the children as well as the other staff. I'd never risk what I've found at this school, not for anything."

I breathed a sigh. "I'm very glad to hear it, Mrs. White. I'm sorry but I had to ask." The woman who'd sold Celia the amulet remained a mystery. Perhaps I would never learn her identity.

George cleared his throat and jerked his head toward the door. I didn't need to be told twice. With Mrs. White settled and promising to call the police if Mr. Blunt hadn't gone by the morning, George and I left.

Outside, he hopped up beside the driver. "Get in," he said to me. "I'm going to ride up here, keep watch." A glint of steel shone in the wan light. The pistol. It was our protection from whatever we might come up against in Whitechapel, both human and demonic.

I clamped down on my fear and climbed inside only to find Jacob seated on the far side, his arms crossed over his chest, his face in shadow. It wasn't a pose to invite me to sit close so I sat opposite. The separation didn't make me want him any less. He could have the most forbidding expression and I'd still want to be near him.

"Where did you go?" I asked, jolting as the carriage rolled forward.

"To Dwindling Lane to see if Finch is still there."

"And is he?"

He nodded.

"Good," I said. "We'll sort—."

"There's no 'we'. You're going home."

Jacob certainly had a lot more to learn about me if he thought I'd leave he and George to go on alone. "It would seem the carriage is heading towards Whitechapel, not Chelsea."

"Tell George to take you home."

I crossed my arms. "No. I know you think it's the best thing for me—."

"It is the best thing for you, Emily, I don't even need to think about it. Go home. It's too dangerous for you."

"It's just as dangerous for you, Jacob," I said quietly.

He leaned forward and stared at my mouth as if he wanted to kiss it, or bite it. It was hard to tell what mood he was in. "I'm already dead." His words hummed across my skin like a caress. If he was trying to addle my wits in an attempt to gain some sort of control then it was working. Almost.

"But you still have a soul worth losing," I said.

He made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. "Are you sure about that?"

I switched sides to sit next to him. I felt rather than saw him stiffen. "Jacob, what happened tonight? At your parents' place? Tell me what was going through your mind."

He tilted his head back and blinked rapidly up at the padded ceiling. "I can't," he choked out. "God, Emily, stop being so stubborn for once and listen to me. Go home. Stay away."

"From you or from Finch?" I snapped.

"Both of us! Damn it, don't you see?" He rubbed both his hands through his hair then drew them together at his chest, as if he were praying, or pleading. "What happened at my parents' house should have warned you that you need to stay away. It was dangerous for you there and Whitechapel will be ten times worse. Finch will be expecting us now and I...." He swallowed hard. It was dim in the cabin but the shadows around his eyes were darker than they should have been on a ghost. "I can't...be sure how I'll react."

I felt the heaviness of his words on my shoulders, my limbs, my heart. They dragged me down until I thought I'd fall through the floor onto the road below. "I'm going with you, Jacob," I said through my tight throat.

His body shuddered and he wrapped his arms around himself. "Please, Emily," he whispered, "I need you to stay away. Don't put me through that again."

"Through what?" I slipped closer along the seat and reached for him but he shrank back as if my touch would burn. I clasped my hands together to stop them shaking and tried to look as if his rejection hadn't shattered me. "I have to come, Jacob." The steadiness of my voice surprised me. I thought it would be as broken as I felt inside. "I'm the only one who knows the curse to send the demon back. You'll be too busy fighting the demon to snatch the amulet from Finch and George...well, I'm afraid George may not be all that helpful when the crucial moment arrives."

He turned to the window and stared out to the darkness beyond. He seemed calm, still, his shoulders relaxed, his profile smooth.

But then he let out a loud roar. The muscles in his cheek and jaw knotted, his hands clenched and he slammed a fist into the cushioned seat between us. If it had been made of wood or glass, he would have shattered it. I jumped and shrank back.

And then he disappeared.

I pressed a hand to my racing heart and sank into the seat. At least he'd given up trying to make me go home.

I was still thinking about Jacob's outburst when the carriage rolled to a stop. It tilted as George jumped down and opened the door for me. He juggled the pistol and lamp in one hand and helped me out with the other.

"All right, Weston?" he said to the driver.

Weston nodded grimly from his position on the box. Metal gleamed on his lap. Another pistol.

George lifted the lamp high. The opening to a narrow lane yawned between two crumbling brick buildings nearby. Of course it would have to be a narrow lane. A thief with a demon at his disposal would hardly live anywhere else, like a well-lit, broad street for example.

"Perhaps you should remain here with the carriage," George said. He let go of me so he could hold the lamp in one hand and the pistol in the other.

"I'm not sure the carriage is any safer," I said, glancing around. It was too foggy to see very far ahead but I had the feeling we were being watched by dozens of pairs of eyes. "Let's go."

Just as I said it, a loud crash came from the lane. Someone shouted, another scream followed it, and four small people ran out of the lane. They were children, barefoot and dressed in little more than rags that hung from their thin bodies. They took one look at George and his pistol, screamed again, and ran off.

"I think the demon's still here," George said without moving.

"And Jacob has already found it. Come on." I wanted to run but the lack of light meant I had to keep near George and his lamp. But he was so slow, and Jacob could be...

The stench at the mouth of the lane made me recoil. The stink of urine, excrement and degradation cloyed at my throat. I coughed into my hand. George retched and buried the lower half of his face in his arm.

"God," he said, "how can anyone live here?"

Another crash had me moving again. The fog hung in misty tendrils but through the veil I could just make out the shape of two people fighting. "Jacob," I said to George. "Come on."

But he caught my arm and pulled me back. "Where's Finch?"

I squinted into the farthest shadows and could just make out the figure of someone sitting on a crate, his back against one of the high brick walls looming up on either side of the lane. "There. Chanting probably."

"Giving the demon the advantage in the fight," he murmured. "Fascinating."

"This is not the time to be scholarly, George."

"Right. Of course. So..."

I took the lamp off him and turned down the gas. "Follow me."

I counted on the fog and darkness covering us, and Finch having his attention on the fight and not the entrance to the lane so that we could sneak up and knock him out. I didn't want to use the pistol. Taking a life was not something I ever wanted to do. Although I knew the dead still existed elsewhere, I’d spoken to enough souls troubled by their death to know I didn’t want to send one to the Waiting Area. The pistol would be a last resort.

My plan of stealth would have worked if the demon hadn't landed a punch to Jacob's stomach, sending him careening into the brick wall. I gasped. Finch spun round, spotted us, but didn't stop his mutterings, merely intensified them. The demon responded. It leapt onto Jacob while he was still down and slammed its big fist against his chest. Jacob grunted in pain.

"Get him, George!" I shouted. "Stop Finch!"

George didn't move. Jacob roared again and I could just make out his hands clutching the demon's fist, trying to push it away from him. But the demon was so much bigger, a giant in comparison, and Jacob was in an awkward position to defend himself from such an attack. Oh God, no! No!

I turned to George. Even in the darkness I could see he'd turned white. A light sheen of sweat slicked his forehead. He pointed the pistol at Finch but his hand shook so violently the bullet could have gone anywhere.

"Forget the gun," I urged him. My voice sounded shrill. "Good Lord, George, attack Finch with your fists."

"My...um..."

There was no time to convince him to be manly and fight. I ran at Finch myself, the lamp raised to use as a weapon to knock him out. If I could only get him to stop chanting, Jacob might be in with a chance against the demon. A scream tore from him and I dared not look lest I see my worst fears realized—Jacob gone, his existence extinguished forever.

I no longer cared how I was going to stop Finch, I only knew I had to do it NOW. "Stop!" I shouted at him. I raised the lamp.

He suddenly stood and thrust something at me. The glint of steel was visible in the small circle of light cast by my lamp. A knife. "Back," he said. It was all he said. His chant came fast, the strange words tumbling out of his mouth. He glanced between the fight and me.

But it wasn't a fight anymore. Jacob was still holding the demon's human hand, stopping it from digging into his chest but only just. Now that I was closer I could see his face distorted with pain and exertion, his teeth bared as he used all his strength.

He couldn't last.

"No closer," Finch said to me.

I backed back to George. He still held the pistol but it wasn't even pointed at Finch anymore, but down at the ground.

"Give up," I shouted at Finch. "It's over. Blunt told us everything and the police have him now." It was an outright lie but if it was enough to get him wondering, pausing in his chants, it was worth it.

The news seemed to have little effect on him. "Blunt?" he said, barely breaking his rhythm. "You think he...?" He never finished the sentence but laughed as he continued controlling the demon.

There was only one option left. "Fire!" I yelled at George.

"I can't," he whispered. "It's murder."

"The demon's going to take Jacob's soul if we don't."

George swiped at his sweaty brow and pushed his glasses back up his nose. "He's already dead."

I stared at him in horror. "He may not be alive but he exists. He has thoughts and feelings just as if he were alive. If the demon extracts his soul he'll be nothing."

He shook his head. "There must be another way."

Jacob shouted again. Then he became silent. His mouth fell open in an empty scream and even in the darkness I could see him writhing on the ground, the demon's hand buried inside his chest. Everything around me went still. My mind cleared. I felt like I was floating in a bubble, not quite part of the world anymore but still able to see it, feel it. I had the most startling, amazing clarity all of a sudden.

I knew what I had to do.

I grabbed the pistol, aimed and fired. Finch fell down. Dead.

"Jesus," George muttered. He crossed himself.

The demon sat back on its haunches and looked around, its hand still buried in Jacob's chest. Jacob kicked out, toppling the demon. He got to his feet but his shoulders sagged. He rubbed his chest.

"The amulet," he rasped as the demon righted itself. "Hurry."

I ran to Finch's body and rummaged through his pockets, trying to concentrate on my task and not look at the blood pooling around him. I pulled out a few coins but nothing else. I rolled the body over and tucked my hand inside his shirt. My fingers touched sticky, warm blood and the cool metal of the amulet. The brass felt heavy and solid, reassuring.

"Anytime soon," Jacob said then grunted as the demon slammed its fist into his stomach. He doubled over, clutching his middle.

I pulled the amulet out but didn't remove it from Finch's neck. There was no time. I began to chant the curse Celia had taught me. As if I'd struck it, the demon stopped fighting. A strangled growl bubbled up from its throat. Then it ran towards me.

I paused.

"Don't stop!" Jacob shouted.

The demon kept running, straight at me. I could just make out the dark swirls of shadow where it should have had a face. It still wore the servant's livery but the clothes were ripped, the torn fabric flapping uselessly. I kept chanting.

The demon ran right past me and I groaned in frustration. If it got away the curse wouldn't work. It needed to be close. How close, I didn't know.

Jacob swore and began to run but he was either in pain or exhausted and couldn't catch it.

The demon passed George and I just hoped he would shout a warning to his driver to get out of the beast's way. He didn't. He dove at the creature and together they tumbled to the ground. George grunted a loud oomph as his shoulder connected with the stones.

I uttered the rest of the curse and prayed I had it right, prayed the demon was near enough for it to be effective.

A strong breeze whipped at my skirts and monetarily separated the thin curtain of fog only for it to re-settle around us when the wind died. George sat up, blinked. His glasses had come off and his eyes were huge. He was alone.

"Is it gone?" I asked.

Jacob came up beside me. "Yes." He looked worse than the last time he'd fought the demon but again his clothing quickly returned to the way it had been before and his skin healed, erasing all evidence of the fight. He grasped my shoulders and turned me to face him. "Are you all right, Emily?" He looked down at me with an intensity I was now used to.

I nodded. "You?"

"Of course." He let me go and strolled over to George, still sitting on the ground. He looked dazed, the poor thing. I suppose reading about demons is quite different to encountering one.

Jacob searched the immediate vicinity then found what he was looking for—George's hat and glasses. He held them out. George stared for a moment then accepted them.

"Thank you," he said. He stood and brushed himself off then slapped his hat on his head. "Shall we go?"

"Gladly." I glanced back at Finch's body. "What shall we do about him?" I didn't want to leave him there for the rats to eat. Ugh.

"I'll have my butler contact the police when I get home," George said. "They'll take care of it."

"Good idea but have him do it anonymously," I said. "None of this is your fault and there's no need for you to become involved any more than you are."

"You'll get no argument from me," he said on a heavy sigh.

The three of us made our way back down the lane to the carriage. The driver still sat on the box, the pistol in his hand. He looked immensely relieved that his master was alive. No doubt Mrs. Culvert would have dismissed him if George had wound up dead from this adventure. He hopped lightly down to the ground and opened the door.

George took my hand to help me in but I removed it and turned to Jacob.

He wasn't there.

The most awful feeling of dread swamped me. The demon was banished which meant Jacob had finished his assignment. There was no need for him to see me anymore.

It might even have led to his finally being able to cross over.

No, Jacob, please. Not yet. Don't leave me.

Somehow I didn't cry as I climbed into the carriage. It was as if my body couldn't make any tears. It was too empty. It felt like I'd just lost a part of myself. A big part. The best part. The most vital part.

And I hadn't even said goodbye.