The royal coach merely brought a note from the Prince of Wales requesting our presence at two PM at the palace. Lady Vickers insisted I change into my most fashionable outfit, an off-white day dress with two rows of black bows on the bodice that came together in a V at my waist.

"The queen may prefer dark clothes herself," Lady Vickers told me, "but she likes to see young people in lighter colors." She indicated I should twirl and I obliged. "Excellent. Now, pinch your cheeks." She pinched them for me. "Lift your chin." She lifted it for me. "And smile demurely."

I attempted a demure smile. She wrinkled her nose. "That will have to do. Remind me to have Seth teach you the art of smiling. He's quite good at it. It's why women adore him."

Perhaps too many women, but I didn't remind her of that.

"Are you an expert?" I asked her. "Does Cook like your demure smiles?"

She blushed fiercely and looked away. "We were going to have that talk about your wedding night."

"Not now." I picked up my skirts and hurried from the room. "We have to go."

---

The palace footmen led us through grand and ornate rooms where the royals conducted formal business. We were met by the Prince of Wales in an office.

I curtseyed and Lincoln offered a shallow bow as his father welcomed us. The prince didn't take his gaze off Lincoln. He seemed fascinated by his illegitimate son. I wondered if, like me, he saw the similarity in their regal bearing and strong brow. They shared few other characteristics that I could see.

"I'll take you to Her Majesty directly," the prince said. "I simply wanted to take these few minutes to speak with you alone." He nodded at the footman who fell well behind as we walked.

"Is something the matter?" Lincoln asked, his hands at his back as we strolled through a room of intimate proportions compared to the state reception rooms.

"Not at all. Miss Holloway, I hope you're well."

"I am, thank you, sir. And you?"

"In excellent health." The prince placed his hands at his back the same as Lincoln. Lincoln immediately moved his hands to his sides. He caught me smirking at him and his eyes narrowed.

"And your moth— the queen?" I asked. "Is she well?"

"Well enough for her age. Her Majesty will be heading up to Balmoral soon for the rest of the summer. She prefers it there. The city gets far too stifling. My sister and her family will travel with her, of course, and I'll go up later in the summer."

"And His Royal Highness, the Duke of Edinburgh?" Lincoln asked.

"One never knows what my brother is doing from one week to the next." The Prince of Wales gave us a flat-lipped smile. "He's waiting with Her Majesty now. I must warn you, they both have a bee in their bonnet over some recent events that I'm sure I don't need to detail for you."

"Thank you for the warning," I said. "We're glad you called this meeting as we have some points of discussion to raise with you too."

"Oh?"

A stiff footman opened a door to the queen's private sitting room, cutting off our conversation. We'd been in this room before. I'd spoken to the spirit of the queen's late husband here. She'd been welcoming then, but she now looked unhappy to see us, her thick brow and pendulous jowls forming a severe frown. The Duke of Edinburgh greeted us with a flaring of his nostrils. We didn't even warrant a nod.

I curtseyed and Lincoln bowed. The queen indicated we should sit at the round table where both her sons now sat. She occupied the sofa, her black skirts spread around her like a storm cloud.

"You will have read the papers," Her Majesty began.

"Yes, ma'am," Lincoln said. "We've confronted the journalist who wrote the article for The Star."

"The one who mentioned werewolves? What an irresponsible thing to do! I hope you told him so."

"We certainly did," I said. "We asked him why he concluded that the attacks had been carried out by werewolves, but he wouldn't give a clear answer. He seemed to be guessing."

"An accurate guess?" the duke asked.

"In my opinion, yes," Lincoln said.

The prince sat back in the chair and rubbed his hand over his mouth and beard. "Good God," he muttered.

"And how will you stop them, Mr. Fitzroy?" the queen asked.

"When I find out who it is—"

"It's obvious," the duke said. "There's a pack of shape shifting wolves in the East End. Look there for your murderer, Fitzroy."

"How do you know about this pack?" the prince asked his brother.

"You know how."

And so did we—Swinburn or Ballantine had told him.

"I am not convinced it's them," Lincoln said. "We have—"

"Not convinced!" The duke scoffed. "It must be them. Slum dwellers are a lawless rabble, always making trouble, and the mauling deaths occurred in their very neighborhood. I knew you'd try to defend them, Fitzroy, but where's the evidence? Do you have any?"

"Only my instincts. The pack leader is not violent, and a member of their pack is known to us. We trust her."

"A friend, eh?" The duke snorted. "That explains it."

Lincoln stiffened. "We need more time to—"

"More time! And how many more murders will occur while you take time?"

The queen put up her hand, saving us from a prickly stand-off. "Enough, Affie. I'm sure Mr. Fitzroy and Miss Holloway are doing their best."

"I am not quite as convinced."

"Why?" Lincoln asked. Oh lord. This had the potential to deteriorate very quickly.

The duke blanched. "I beg your pardon?"

"Are you suggesting I am not impartial?"

"No one is suggesting that," the prince said with a sharp glare for his brother.

"I am merely playing devil's advocate," the duke said, sounding miffed. "There are some who would shut down the ministry."

"Who?" Lincoln said, his tone steely.

The duke straightened. "People."

"Affie," the prince warned.

"Would this be the same people who informed The Star's journalist about the ministry?" Lincoln pressed. "The same people who suggested to the reporter that a werewolf may be responsible for these recent deaths?"

"I wouldn't know about that." The duke stood and headed for the door.

"Affie," the queen bit off. "Sit down. We haven't finished."

The duke did as his mother bade. She was clearly still in command, despite her advanced years. Her sons dared not oppose her.

"The Ministry of Curiosities is a necessary organization," the prince said. "They will not be shut down."

"You would say that," the duke grumbled.

The prince gave his head a slight shake then his gaze flicked to the queen. So she still didn't know that he'd fathered Lincoln. If he hadn't informed her by now, he probably never would.

"If you attempt to abolish the ministry," Lincoln said, "then it will simply go underground. It has existed for centuries and will continue to exist, long after we're all gone."

"You think you're above authority?" the duke demanded. "Above the monarch, parliament, the will of the people? God, man, that is arrogant."

Lincoln didn't bother to answer him, which only made the duke's nostrils flare more. He looked as if he would storm off again and this time not heed his mother's summons to return.

"You mentioned that you were going to request an audience with us," the prince said quickly. "Why?"

"Have you spoken to my husband's spirit again, Miss Holloway?" The queen's voice sounded young, hopeful, and not at all like it belonged to the dour woman planted on the sofa.

"No, ma'am," I said.

"Oh." Her shoulders slumped and she fell into silence.

I appealed to Lincoln to get to the point before she requested I summon the prince consort's ghost now.

"Have you met with Sir Ignatius Swinburn since we foiled his plot to marry Lord Ballantine's daughter to His Royal Highness Prince Albert Victor?" Lincoln asked.

"That is none of your affair," the duke said.

"We have," the prince said, ignoring his brother's glare. "He is our friend and confidant. We trust him. He was not involved in Ballantine's plot."

"He was," Lincoln pressed.

"Look here," the duke said, sitting up straighter. "How dare you suggest our friends are conspiring against us!"

"He denied involvement," the queen said. "My sons chose to believe him and therefore so do I. They are very good judges of character."

"He's a shape shifting wolf."

"So you've already told us," the prince said. "That changes nothing. Even if he is, he's not involved in these latest deaths."

"He has far too much sense to wander into the Old Nichol, for goodness’ sake," the duke scoffed.

I sighed and didn't bother to correct him. Neither did Lincoln. We had no evidence of Swinburn's wrongdoing, and until we did, there was no point accusing him in the presence of people who defended him. Swinburn was a trusted adviser to the royal family and until that trust was broken, they would choose his side.

The clock on the mantel chimed and the queen put out her hand. "Help me up, Affie."

The duke assisted his mother. Lincoln and I both rose and bowed as she exited the room. The duke followed her. I let out a breath once they'd gone, glad that the queen had not asked me to speak to her dead husband again.

"Forgive my brother," the prince said, walking with us out of the room. "He's a loyal friend to Sir Ignatius."

"Too loyal?" I suggested.

"Sir Ignatius isn't the sort of person you think he is. He may enjoy the odd party or two, but he's not a murderer, swindler or liar. He gives generously to a number of charities and is fiercely loyal. He has defended us in private and in public when others we called friends did not. He wouldn't harm a soul, nor condone anyone who does. I believe he has shed Ballantine as a friend and distances himself from the other members of his pack who were involved in the Hyde Park death."

"He may have distanced himself socially," I said, "but he still runs with them when in wolf form."

"How do you know? Has he told you that?"

I bit the inside of my lip. I didn't have an answer and I suspected any further attempt to tell him the truth about Swinburn would only raise his ire.

"We have a different experience of Swinburn," Lincoln said. At the prince's protest, Lincoln raised a hand for silence. To my utter shock, the prince closed his mouth. "But I see you'll need proof, sir. Hopefully I can give you that proof soon."

"Part of me hopes you do, if only so that I will have the pleasure of your company again. Yours too, Miss Holloway. Perhaps you'll be Mrs. Fitzroy the next time we meet." He smiled, and I forgave him his defense of Swinburn. There was no fault in being loyal to a friend, and it was only fair that he required proof before casting him out. I would agree to nothing less if I were in his position.

"His Royal Highness the duke seems intent on closing the ministry," Lincoln hedged.

The prince waved off the suggestion. "It was just a passing comment, said in the heat of the moment. My brother wouldn't do it."

"He can't anyway," I said. "He has no authority. Has he?"

"We may not sit in parliament, Miss Holloway, but we have influence with the nation's decision makers. If we wanted to shut down the ministry it would be within our power to do so."

I swallowed heavily and took Lincoln's offered arm. I suddenly needed something solid to hold on to.

---

"I expected better from two princes," Lincoln said as we drove home from the palace. I wouldn't quite say he seethed, but he certainly wasn't in a good mood. "I expected them to be more particular in their choice of friends. They ought to be, in their position."

"Politics and diplomacy are messy affairs," I said. "I suppose it's not easy to find true friends, so when one displays loyalty, they like to keep him close."

"They're naive."

"They merely want proof before they condemn a friend. What really concerns me is the duke's suggestion that the ministry could be shut down. If Swinburn is in his ear, he might just do it."

"Swinburn is definitely in his ear. Make no mistake about that."

I nibbled my lower lip and studied Lincoln's severe brow and the hard planes of his jaw.

"You're angry with the duke," I said.

He considered this a moment then shook his head. "Getting angry with an ill-informed fool is pointless. He'll change his tune when he learns the truth."

Perhaps I ought to take a leaf out of Lincoln's book. The duke made my blood boil. I couldn't wait to see him eat his words. "You said we'd go into hiding if anyone tried to shut down the ministry. Will I need to pass myself off as a boy again?"

"This isn't a joke, Charlie."

"I'm not joking. Not really. What does it mean to go underground? Will we lose Lichfield Towers?" A lump formed in my throat and tears burned my eyes. The old fear of losing my home, my friends, came unbidden and unexpectedly.

Lincoln leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He took my hands in both of his and kissed my gloved fingers. "Lichfield belongs to me, not the ministry. If the authorities closed the ministry, we'll be forced to destroy our records and publicly state that we will no longer pursue paranormal matters. That's all. Nothing will happen to us or our home. This is the nineteenth century, not thirteenth."

I blinked back my tears and smiled to show him that I appreciated the reassurance. "But of course we won't actually destroy the files, will we?"

He merely smiled against my fingers.

---

Lincoln spent the rest of the day and into the night talking to his contacts in the Old Nichol. He had a strong spy network consisting of people from various walks of life who gathered information for him. He paid them handsomely and got good results. This time, however, he insisted on staying in the East End himself to keep watch on Gawler's pack's movements. He returned before breakfast with Seth and Gus.

I'd woken at dawn and waited up for them. At the sound of footsteps outside my door, I threw a wrap around my shoulders and joined them in the corridor.

"Well?" I prompted. "How did it go?"

Seth dragged his hand through his hair. He looked ragged and disheveled, partly to blend in with the other East Enders, and partly because he'd spent all night outdoors. Of course he still looked handsome, perhaps even more so. I ought to wake Alice…

"I'm getting too old for this," he said. "Staying out all night is for young men."

"Lincoln looks fine," I teased.

"And I stink." Seth sniffed his armpit and pulled a face. "I don't know how you can stand it, Gus."

"I'm used to you," Gus said around a yawn. "I'm going to get an hour or two sleep." He trudged up the corridor, Seth not far behind.

I appealed to Lincoln. "You didn't see any wolves, did you?"

He shook his head and his hair fell across his eyes making him look devilishly broody. "We did learn that Gawler's pack are doing some spying of their own. Gus followed one of the pack members to Swinburn's house. He did nothing, just watched for a few hours before being relieved by another."

"Why are they doing that?"

"Gawler is adamant that Swinburn is setting his pack up to take the blame for these murders."

"He may be right. Did Swinburn or his pack go for a run?"

Another shake of his head. "There were also extra constables on patrol and I saw some men with clubs roaming the streets."

"Vigilantes," I murmured. "So it has begun."

"It'll be hard for either pack to run now."

"Hard but not impossible."

He touched my chin and planted a light kiss on my lips. "Go back to bed, my love," he whispered.

I clasped my arms around his waist and held him to me. "Care to join me?"

"You are wicked. No wonder I adore you." He plucked my arms off and kissed my forehead. "Go back to bed alone and I'll see you for breakfast in two hours."

I pouted playfully. "You really are going to make me wait until our wedding night, aren't you?"

"I'm certainly going to try," he muttered as he walked off.

---

A message came for Lincoln over breakfast that made him groan. Considering he rarely showed emotion, I knew it must be particularly awful. I asked to see it as I returned to my chair with a plate of bacon, toast and a boiled egg.

"It's from Andrew Buchanan," I told Alice and Lady Vickers, who'd joined us in the dining room. Seth and Gus still slept. I read further and groaned too. "He has called a committee meeting here in an hour."

"So soon after the last one?" Alice asked. "Why?"

"He doesn't say."

"It had better be for a good reason," Lincoln growled. "Or I'll make his life miserable."

"I think it already is. His lover is getting married, he has no home, no money and no prospects of earning any. Plus he's a turd."

Lady Vickers clicked her tongue. I thought she didn't like my language, but it turned out to be because she didn't like Buchanan. "The man's a fool and a wastrel. He always was, and age hasn't improved him. He still acts like a petulant child. Look at the way he behaves over Julia! Quite pathetic."

"She does encourage it," I said. "Or she has in the past. That will probably stop, now that she's marrying." I pulled my toast apart but didn't eat. "Joining the committee might distract him, at least."

Alice lowered her fork to her plate. "Do you think it will give him some sorely needed purpose?"

"I do hope so," Lady Vickers said. "There's nothing more invigorating for the mind and spirit than a purpose. Don't you agree, Charlie?"

"I do," I said.

"My newfound purpose is to see that my son marries well and gets back on his feet."

I didn't think that a very sound purpose considering Seth already seemed to be well and truly on his feet. But I didn't say so.

"Good luck," Alice quipped as she got up to pour more tea into her cup.

Lady Vickers narrowed her gaze as if she were trying to work out if Alice meant something else by her comment. I detected nothing insincere, however.

The hour passed quickly and the three coaches arrived on time. Lords Marchbank and Gillingham drove up in their private coaches whereas Buchanan stepped out of a hansom that he then sent on its way.

"Good morning, everyone," he said as Doyle took his hat in the entrance hall. "Shall we adjourn to the library?"

"What's this about?" Gillingham asked before we'd all settled. Seth and Gus hadn't joined us since they were still asleep. Lincoln didn't look any worse for getting a mere two hours rest before breakfast. I'd once called him a machine—sometimes it didn't seem far from the truth.

Buchanan lifted a hand to ward off Gillingham's question, but it was me he addressed. "Charlotte, should you be here? You're not part of the committee—"

"She stays," Lincoln said.

"Get to the point, Buchanan," Gillingham snapped. "I've got things to do."

Buchanan snorted. "Like keep an eye on your wife?"

Gillingham had been about to take his seat, but he now rounded on Buchanan. "What are you implying?"

Buchanan hiked up his trouser legs and sat in an armchair. "Sit down, Gilly. You're not frightening anyone."

Gillingham's hand tightened around the head of his walking stick. "I should thrash you, you imbecile."

"Wait until after you hear what I have to say." Buchanan's laconic manner had me wanting to thrash him.

"What do you mean about keeping an eye on Harriet?" I asked, knowing I was playing into his hands.

Buchanan waved at the brandy on the sideboard. "Pour me a glass, Fitzroy."

"No," Lincoln said flatly.

"It's ten in the morning!" Marchbank said. "Get on with the meeting. Why did you call us here? What's happened?"

"Very well." Buchanan gave the brandy decanter a longing look then tore his gaze away. "I wanted to take Fitzroy to task. He hasn't reported in yet."

"There's nothing to report," I said.

Buchanan held up a finger. "The meeting with the journalist." He held up another finger. "The summons to the palace."

"The palace!" Gillingham spat. "Why haven't you mentioned it, Fitzroy? Buchanan's right, you need to report in on such important meetings immediately."

"No, I do not," Lincoln said. "There's nothing to report. I learned nothing at the palace. Her Majesty simply wanted to discuss the possibility that werewolves are roaming the city. She wanted reassurance that we will find them and stop them from killing again."

"And was she reassured?" Marchbank asked.

"I believe so."

"She was," I added. I waited to see if Lincoln would mention the discussion surrounding Swinburn and the duke's threat to close the ministry, but he didn't.

"You went too?" Buchanan said to me. "Was that necessary?"

Lincoln merely glared at him.

"You don't think I should have gone?" I asked sweetly. "Why not?"

"Because of what you are."

"You mean a necromancer? It's all right, Mr. Buchanan, you can say the word. I won't bring back your father and have him put you over his knee. Well, I may, if you really annoy me."

Buchanan's lips twitched and twisted with indignation. "You little—"

"Don't." Lincoln's low growl sent a shiver down my spine.

Buchanan paled. "I'm merely pointing out that Her Majesty might not like having a necromancer in her midst."

"She knows," I lied. The queen did not know. She thought me a medium, a more acceptable supernatural than one who raised the dead.

"Very well then, but be sure to keep the committee informed of all your meetings, Fitzroy, not just the ones you choose to tell us about."

"I'll inform you when you need to know," Lincoln said. "Is that clear?"

"It's clear," Marchbank said before Buchanan tumbled into even bigger trouble. "Is that all, Buchanan?"

"No. There's another matter," Buchanan said, smugly.

Gillingham sighed. "This had better be worth my time."

"It's about you, as it happens. Or rather, your wife."

Gillingham stamped the end of his walking stick into the floor. "Harriet is not a matter that requires discussion. No one is interested in your gossip."

"She is a matter for discussion within the ministry. Just as Charlotte is. Anyone of an unnatural nature must be discussed, cataloged and monitored." Buchanan touched a finger to his lips then pointed at Gillingham. His theatricality made a mockery of Gillingham and his protest. "Indeed, didn't you say something similar once when it came to Charlotte's whereabouts?"

"How do you know about that?" Gillingham spluttered. "You weren't on the committee then."

"Julia," Lord Marchbank said with a shake of his head. "She told you everything that went on in our meetings, didn't she, Buchanan?"

Buchanan lifted one shoulder in elegant nonchalance.

"If you reciprocate and tell her what is said here, you will find yourself off the committee," Marchbank said.

"Or worse," Lincoln added.

"Right. Well." Buchanan cleared his throat. "Getting back to my point about the lovely Lady Gillingham. We all know what she is and the scum she associates with."

"She does not associate with scum." Gillingham's voice rose to a shout.

"She runs with Gawler's pack."

"That is different. Nobody knows about that but us, so it doesn't count."

Buchanan snorted. "Given that the attacks have occurred in their jurisdiction, she is a suspect and must be treated as such."

Gillingham stamped his walking stick into the floor over and over. "Enough! Enough of this rubbish, Buchanan! My wife is above suspicion. She's a countess, for God's sake."

"She's a werewolf. She thinks and acts like a…an animal. They're wild creatures, Gilly, and cannot be controlled. Their superior strength, speed and senses make them even more difficult to manage. You know that." Buchanan bared his teeth in a twisted smile. "Indeed, I'd wager you know how strong your wife is better than anyone."

Gillingham shot to his feet, his face redder than his hair. "I won't listen to this."

"You need to listen to it," Buchanan shot back. "She's a suspect just as much as anyone in Gawler's pack is. You are the best person to follow and observe—"

"I will not spy on my wife!"

"Why not? If she is innocent, it's in your power to prove it."

Gillingham sat down again and shook his head.

"You're afraid, aren't you?" Buchanan goaded. "Afraid of what she'll do to you if she finds out."

"That's enough," Marchbank snapped. "Buchanan, be quiet. Harriet is not a suspect."

"I agree," I said. "A person's character is not suppressed when he or she shifts into their other form. Someone with murderous tendencies in human shape retains that in their wolf shape, and I can say with utmost confidence that Harriet is not a murderer. You know it, too, Andrew. You might be a turd but you're a good judge of character."

Buchanan made a miffed sound through his nose but, to my surprise, didn't challenge me. Perhaps because Lincoln stood close enough to throttle him.

"Charlie's right," Marchbank said. "Harriet is no murderess. That doesn't exonerate her pack, however."

We all agreed on that score, but Lincoln did say he believed Gawler himself was innocent.

"Even so," Marchbank said, "it might be wise for Harriet to stay away from them for now so she doesn't get caught up in this mess. That newspaper article has stirred up unrest."

Lincoln nodded. "There were vigilantes and extra constables in the East End overnight."

Gillingham groaned and rubbed his forehead.

"Harriet claimed she's not running with her pack until after the baby is born," I said. "She'll be safe."

"She still associates with them," Gillingham said heavily.

"Then forbid it," Buchanan said with a flourishing wave of his hand. "Oh, that's right, you can't tell her what to do anymore."

"This coming from a man who has had so much luck controlling his woman," Gillingham spat. "You couldn't forbid Julia to associate with other men while she was with you, and then you lost her altogether to another. Tell me, does she even let you in her bed anymore?"

Buchanan leapt from his chair and flew at Gillingham. Gillingham must have assumed Lincoln would stop him, so didn't try to defend himself. His misguided confidence meant that Buchanan smashed his fist into Gillingham's jaw, sending the earl's head slamming into the armchair's backrest. He cried out and put his hands up, his walking stick flailing aimlessly and in danger of hitting the books on the shelf behind him. Buchanan pulled his fist back and went to strike again, but Lincoln finally stepped in and caught his arm.

Buchanan stood down but glared daggers at Gillingham. Since Gillingham had closed his eyes, he didn't notice.

"This meeting is adjourned," Marchbank said, rising. "Buchanan, come with me. I'll take you home."

Buchanan tugged on his jacket cuffs and strode out of the library. He flung open the door and almost walked into Seth, who was about to enter. Seth took one look at Buchanan then Gillingham, rubbing his jaw, and grinned.

"I missed all the fun," he said.

Buchanan slipped past him, deliberately bumping his shoulder against Seth's and snatched his hat off Doyle.

Seth rolled his eyes. "Charlie? What happened?"

I led him to the parlor on the other side of the entrance hall and told him about the meeting. He chuckled through most of it.

---

Lincoln, Seth and Gus went out for the rest of the day. Alice and I occupied ourselves in the attic, but I left her there when Whistler informed me Lincoln had returned and wished to see me. I looked forward to sneaking in some kisses in the privacy of his rooms, but he wasn't alone. Seth and Gus were with him in his office.

"Why are you pouting?" Gus asked me.

"No reason," I said on a sigh.

"Where's Alice?" Seth asked.

"In the attic."

"What's she doing in the attic?"

"Practicing her penmanship. How did you go this afternoon?"

"We spoke with all of the men and women in Gawler's pack," Lincoln said. "We asked them whether they were involved in the recent murders. They all denied it. Two definitely told the truth."

"And the others?"

"My seer's senses weren't strong enough to know for certain."

I perched on the edge of his desk. A pile of newspapers sat on the corner, all ironed by Doyle and ready for Lincoln's perusal. He liked to keep up with the news, but it was no more important than now. I picked up the pile and went through them. The Star was not among them. I glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was an evening paper so ought to arrive soon.

"I asked Doyle to bring me The Star as soon as it's delivered," Lincoln said, reading my thoughts. "No ironing necessary."

"He won't like that," Seth said. "He lives to iron newspapers."

The knock on the door couldn't have been more timely. Gus answered it and accepted the newspaper from Doyle. He closed the door again and handed the paper to Lincoln. It was The Star's latest edition.

Lincoln moved the inkstand, books and notebooks to the edges of his desk and spread out the newspaper. He tapped his finger on the main article on the front page.

"Damn," he muttered.

Seth, Gus and I crowded around his chair and read over his shoulder. No. Oh no. Once again, Mr. Salter's article mentioned werewolves being responsible for the attacks, but that wasn't the worst of it. He wrote about the Ministry of Curiosities and our role in controlling supernaturals. As if that revelation weren't enough, he then went on to claim we were an inept, corrupt, and biased organization.

"Fuck," Gus said. "This is bad. Really bad."