Nick stood outside the church, watching from across the street for a time. The place wasn’t lacking in finery—the Heirs of Adam might be backward puritans, but they had money. No wonder men like Senator Pemberton so eagerly climbed into bed with them.

From what he could see, the church was deserted this time of day. No one went in or out of the large wooden doors, or rang the bells in the tower. But still he hesitated, until he was forced to admit that he simply didn’t want to go inside alone.

Stupidly, he wished Jamie were with him. But he wasn’t, and never could be again. Nick thrust the treacherous thought aside, squared his shoulders, and stomped across the street and up the stairs.

He slipped inside as quietly as he could, just in case. The nave was draped in shadow, illuminated only by a single candelabrum. It flung flickering shadows across the plain wooden cross dominating the wall behind the pulpit.

“Hello?” Nick called. His voice echoed.

“Here.” Simon was visible only as a shadow in a doorway to the side. He wore a bulky overcoat, as if chilled even inside the building.

No one else seemed to be with him. Nick cocked his head cautiously. “Where’s your brother?”

“Downstairs. The reverend has a…a room below the church. My brother is a dangerous familiar. He’s kept locked up, so he can’t hurt the rest of the congregation.”

Horror crept up Nick’s spine. “Fur and feathers.”

“Ingram thinks I’ve proved myself.” Simon glanced fearfully over his shoulder. “But my brother…I thought I knew where the key was, but it’s gone. I need your help. You’re strong—you might be able to break the chains.”

Nick wavered. There was no point in calling the coppers. Hell, given the Pemberton Act, the poor soul trapped in the basement might even be registered as under the church’s supervision. Nick didn’t want to go any deeper into the building, certainly not that far from a door, but he couldn’t very well leave a familiar to suffer when he had a chance to fix things.

“Lead the way,” Nick said.

Simon nodded and hurried back through the door. Nick followed, listening intently. But there was nothing. No sound of an ambush.

Maybe he was insane to have expected one. Ingram preached on the sidewalk and riled up the reform papers, but his congregation were the sort to write angry letters to their congressmen, not engage in violence themselves. That was for the coppers to do on their behalf.

The door led to a short hall, with stairs at the end. At the bottom of the stairs was a heavy steel door that would have been more at home in a prison than a church. The hairs on the back of Nick’s neck stood up.

Simon opened the door, barred from the outside. The smell of old blood spilled out to greet them.

What the hell was Ingram doing down here?

A lone gaslight illuminated what looked like an abattoir. Rusty restraints hung from the walls, and a steel table dominated the room. Dried blood spattered the gray stones of walls and floors.

A puma lay unmoving on the table. Nick swore and rushed to its side.

It was dead, and had been for some time. Nick frowned, recognition plucking at his thoughts. Too late, he realized it was the feral who had stayed in his cellar, before leaving with Conrad.

He spun to the door, even as it slammed shut behind him. Simon was still inside with him, though. Only he’d thrown off his overcoat, revealing black clothes and a frayed black cloak. Hex-marked bones hung across his chest, and he lifted a headdress crowned with ram’s horns.

The Wraith.

It took Jamie longer than it should have to reach the offices of the Dangerous Familiars Squad. He used a pain hex on his knee, but the cheap hex served only to blunt the discomfort to a dull ache. By the time Jamie arrived, the place looked nearly deserted. Maybe there’d been a second raid, or a new report of a familiar breaking the Pemberton Act.

The same aide as before sat outside Hurley’s office. “Your uncle is waiting for you,” he said with enough of a chill to his voice to let Jamie know his tardiness wasn’t appreciated. “Go right inside.”

Hurley sat behind his desk, puffing on a cigar. The standing ashtray at this elbow was heaped with ash, and a haze hung in the room, as if he’d been smoking relentlessly all morning. “Jamie,” he said, and for once it was no affectionate welcome. Rather, the tone was the one Hurley had taken when he and Muriel misbehaved as children.

Jamie’s spine stiffened. “Sir,” he said, carefully. “I’m sorry I’m late. But—”

“Not yet.” Hurley held up a hand. “I need to speak my piece first. I’m very disappointed in you, lad. Very disappointed indeed.”

“As I am in you,” Jamie snapped. “Your Captain O’Byrne came to arrest my familiar, and you didn’t even bother to warn me beforehand. That ain’t all—O’Byrne and your men wrecked Caballus and beat Nick.”

He’d expected the last to shake his uncle’s confidence. Instead, Hurley said, “If you’d told me exactly who you’d picked for your familiar to start with, I could have warned you off. I assumed you had the good sense to choose one of the unbonded familiars in the MWP. Instead, I had to hear the truth from Reverend Ingram. Came around asking if I knew my own nephew had bonded with the feral troublemaker from Caballus.” Hurley shook his head in disgust. “I’ve never been so embarrassed. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jamie stiffened. “For one thing, you never asked about him. Not even his name. You talked like you thought familiars are just, I don’t know, pets. Go pick one out from the newest litter, as if they don’t have any say in the matter. I tried to explain to you how it works, but you wouldn’t listen.”

Hurley’s face darkened. “They ain’t like us. But you’re right—I should have paid more attention, so I could have told you not to bond with the horse. Maybe this is all my fault.”

“Told me?” Jamie’s hands curled into fists. “I’m sick of people acting like I can’t think for myself. That losing a leg means I can’t make decisions like an adult.”

“And no wonder, given the decisions you’ve made!” Hurley surged to his feet. “You almost threw away your career for a lowlife feral who stirs up trouble at best, and abets fugitives from justice at the worst. That would have been bad enough, but he’s been whispering poison in your ear against me. Why else would you have ignored my advice to let the feral murders go and concentrate on the illegal hex campaign?”

“Because it was the right thing to do!” Saint Mary, how could Hurley not understand? “Did you expect I’d turn a blind eye for the sake of a promotion? Of gaining the notice of the right kind of people?” Jamie took a deep breath, fighting for calm. “Maybe you can look at the murders and just see dead criminals. Dead ferals no one cares about. But it’s part of something a lot bigger.”

Maybe he’d finally gotten through, because Hurley paled slightly. “What do you mean, something bigger?”

“A conspiracy. The kind that’s already ended in more death and mayhem than it had to.” Jamie took the letter from his coat and held it out. “This letter was written by Wyatt, the eagle I served with in Cuba. He and his witch were betrayed, his witch killed, and it has something to do with what’s happening now in New York.”

Hurley stared at the letter as though it could burn him. Jamie stepped closer, and he finally took it, though he didn’t open it. “I see. Who else knows about this letter?”

“No one. I thought you’d be in the best position to help out.”

Hurley nodded. “Good lad. I’ll read it when I have a moment, and we’ll meet later, once I’ve had some time to think.”

Jamie shifted nervously. “Uncle Hurley, I’d really rather you—”

“Jamie!” Nick’s voice shouted in his head. “I need—”

Jamie almost fell, grabbing the back of a chair for support. “Nick?” he said aloud. “Nick, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Only silence answered him.

Dread poured through Jamie’s veins. “Something’s wrong. Nick’s in danger. I have to go.” He turned to the door, only to find the aide blocking his way. “Excuse me.”

The aide glanced past him at Hurley, and didn’t move.

“Out of the way.” Jamie didn’t have time for patience. “My familiar’s in some kind of trouble, damn it. I have to get to him.”

“I’m sorry, Jamie lad,” Hurley said heavily behind him. “I can’t let you do that.”

Nick didn’t waste time denying what was before his very eyes. He charged across the room even as the headdress settled into place, fist cocked. He glimpsed an expression of surprise on the Wraith’s face, even as he buried his fist into Simon’s gut.

The Wraith hadn’t had time to activate any of his hexes, and crashed into the door. The room wasn’t near big enough, but Nick shifted into horse form anyway. If he had only a few seconds, best to use those to get what help he could.

Even if it was from the man whose heart he’d broken only a few hours ago.

“Jamie! I need—”

The electric shock of the hex forcing him into human form blazed through him, breaking the connection. He went to his knees, and all the pains from the earlier beating howled their protest. A metallic taste filled his mouth.

The Wraith gripped a new addition to his collection of bones. With a sick twist of his gut, Nick recognized it as the canine of some large cat. A lion.

They’d pulled Luther’s teeth.

The fang cracked as the hex carved into it activated. The Wraith seized Nick by the collar and back of his shirt, and hurled him into the wall. Bloodied restraints rang as Nick slid dazed to the floor.

He wouldn’t be the first feral to die here. Not by a long shot. The Wraith had been making his gruesome charms in this very space, amidst blood and death and screams.

Ingram knew. Somehow, the Heirs of Adam were a part of this mess. Ingram preached against magic, then allowed ferals to be butchered for their power in his own basement.

Rage burst through Nick, propelling him to his feet. He grabbed one of the chains and swung it, just as the Wraith reached him.

The heavy iron shackle on the end smashed into the Wraith’s face, splitting open his cheek and gouging his brow. Nick followed it up with a vicious kick to the shin, sending him staggering.

It wasn’t much of an opening, but it was enough. Nick ran for the door, and nearly sobbed with relief when it swung open at his touch. The hex the Wraith had used on him still clung to his skin; he wouldn’t be able to take horse form and call for help. Assuming Jamie would even answer.

Nick just had to stay alive for a little while longer. If he could reach the street, the Wraith would never dare attack him in broad daylight, in the midst of a host of witnesses.

Nick raced up the stairs, taking them two at once. As he burst out onto the upstairs landing, a dark figure stepped out from the shadows. He barely had the time to recognize Ingram, before a hex was pressed to his neck.

“Sleep!” Ingram ordered.

Nick staggered. But he was a big man; it would take more than an ordinary sleeping hex to put him down. Still, it made his legs clumsy, and the hallway seemed to stretch before him, unfairly adding distance between him and safety.

Ingram swore and snatched another hex from inside his coat. For a moment, he seemed to pause, concentrating on the square of paper.

Just as witches did when charging hexes.

“You…you fuckin’ hypo…hypocrite,” Nick managed through numb lips.

“Even the tools of the devil may serve the Lord’s purpose,” Ingram said. “Now, sleep, damn you.”

The second hex took effect. Nick found himself lying on the floor. Colors swirled in his vision as he fought to keep his eyes open.

He couldn’t fall asleep. If he succumbed, he was dead.

The last thing he saw was the shadow of the Wraith looming up behind Ingram.

“Jamie,” he mumbled. “I’m so sorry.”

Then the world swirled away and vanished into darkness.

Jamie turned slowly to face his uncle. Hurley still stood on the other side of the desk, looking as exhausted as Jamie had ever seen him. “What do you mean?” Jamie asked. “Never mind. I’m going, and you can’t stop me.”

The aide drew a revolver and leveled it silently at Jamie’s chest.

“Sit down, Jamie,” Hurley said. “Thanks to that damned familiar of yours, you’re in over your head. Just let me take care of things.”

Jamie’s heart thumped painfully against his ribs. Fear for Nick twined with slow building horror as he sank into the chair. “Take care of things?”

Hurley rubbed at his face tiredly. “I’ve always done my best to guide you. But I made a mistake, getting you in with Roosevelt. Sending you to Cuba. I thought…I thought you’d serve and come home, covered in glory, proud but unchanged. Instead, you almost died.”

Jamie’s fingers curled around the armrests of the chair, squeezing hard. “That don’t mean you have to look out for me now, like I’m a child.”

“I have to make things right for you.”

“Where is Nick?”

“I don’t know.” Hurley sat down at last. “I sent O’Byrne to arrest the horse this morning. Once he was out of the way, you would no longer be a detective. You wouldn’t have the authority to investigate things better left alone. But the damned familiar was one step ahead of us. Other measures had to be taken.” Hurley leaned back in his chair. “Don’t worry about the details. Just let it happen. Then you’ll be free.”

Horror swamped Jamie. Free.

They meant to kill Nick. Not only that—Hurley wanted Nick dead.

The man Jamie had looked up to his whole life. Who had roughhoused with him as a child, and taught him how to ride when he was older. Who had impressed the need for duty on Jamie, for sticking up for family and fellow coppers.

Just looking at him made Jamie ill. The weight of betrayal pressed down on his heart like a stone. “Holy Familiar of Christ. You’re in on it, ain’t you? You’ve been in on it all along.”

Irritation flickered across Hurley’s face. “Whatever I’ve done, it’s all been for you and Muriel.”

“Been for us!” Jamie started to rise, then stopped when the aide shifted his grip on the gun. “Killing innocent people? Murdering Wyatt? Threatening Nick?”

Hurley shook his head. “I ain’t killed anyone, lad. I told you, the day you came looking for the photograph, to leave things alone. I tried again when I learned our allies had failed to kill your familiar, warning you to leave off before it was too late.”

“You sent the threatening letter.” Jamie shook his head numbly. “You knew about the Wraith. You…oh God. The Wraith tried to kill Nick to get me off the case, didn’t he? As a favor to you?”

“If Nick died, you’d no longer be a detective. I didn’t like the idea of demoting you, but you had attracted the wrong sort of attention.” Hurley looked away. “If you’re going to catch the notice of powerful men, you’ve got to do it for the right reasons. Otherwise…let’s just say the men involved have the ability to crush simple Irish coppers like us without so much as a thought. The horse managed to escape, so I sent the anonymous note, warning you away.” He seemed to remember he held a different letter in his hand. “Speaking of notes.”

Jamie cried out as Hurley swung open the pot-bellied stove. He tried to grab for it, but the aide seized him by the shoulder and shoved him down into the chair. Hurley tossed the letter into the stove and watched it begin to curl into ashes, before closing the door again.

Wyatt’s letter. The only evidence Jamie had of a conspiracy. Gone.

His throat tightened. He’d failed Wyatt all over again. Taken the one thing Wyatt meant to entrust to him, and handed it over to the wrong man.

“I don’t know you,” he said in a low voice. “You ain’t the man who raised me. Who taught me to be proud of being a copper.”

“Don’t you see? This is the only way to keep you safe.” Hurley leaned forward, peering into Jamie’s face, as if willing him to understand. “These men don’t play games. At first, I agreed to go along with certain things because of the money. The promotion. The medals. But if I tried to get out now…well, they wouldn’t kill me, at least, not at first. They’d start with Muriel. Then you. Then the boys. Only after they’d made enough of an example would they come for me.” Hurley took a shaking breath. “I almost lost you once already. I can’t…I can’t go through that again.”

Sickness tightened Jamie’s throat. Bad enough Jamie had failed Wyatt one last time. He’d failed Nick as well. Now Nick would pay for it with his life.

He shouldn’t have walked out on Nick. He should have fought harder for what they had.

Beautiful, angry Nick who cut through the world like a meteor hurtling through space. Who hadn’t laid the burden of hero on Jamie’s shoulders, but who had never pitied him, either. Nick had accepted him for who he was, and that was that.

Nick wouldn’t just sit here and crumble. He’d kick and bite until his last breath, the kind of bronco no man could ever tame by force.

Time to be like Nick, then.

With a shout of rage, Jamie grabbed up the standing ashtray and swung it at the aide behind him.

The man didn’t have time to react before getting a face full of ashes. He shouted, scrabbling at his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision. Hurley cried out in protest, but Jamie swung the stand again, and caught the side of his uncle’s head. Hurley sagged, not unconscious but clearly dazed.

Before either could recover, he hurried out the door, pausing only long enough to jam the ashtray against the door latch. It wouldn’t hold them long, but Jamie only needed enough time to get out of the building.

He wouldn’t get far with his knee protesting every step. Jamie ducked out a side door, rather than the main one onto the street. As he’d hoped, it led to the small stables and courtyard where the squad kept their wagon. The wagon and two of the horses were gone, but a bay gelding raised its head when Jamie limped into the stable.

A few minutes later, the side door burst open, and Hurley and the aide ran out. But Jamie was already in the saddle. He set his heels and flew past them and onto the street at a gallop.

“All right, Nick,” he said grimly. “I’m coming for you. So don’t you dare give up before I get there.”