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Alcott whispers somewhere beneath me. A name, soft and reluctant. I taste it in the back of our mouth and smile.

“Mr. Haskell,” I say.

Edward’s face sharpens. “The customs clerk?”

“Former customs clerk. Current drunk, an occasional gambler. Frequent purchaser of very young company when his wife believes him at prayer.”

Lazarus’s eyes go flat. “Where?” he asks.

“Not with you.”

Edward steps in front of the door. “You are not going alone.”

“I am.”

“You are in my brother’s body,” Edward states angrily.

“Yes.”

“You do not get to use him as a weapon and vanish into the city.”

I move closer until we stand nearly chest to chest.

“Edward,” I say softly, “your beloved is on a ship because you were too busy breaking your hands on stone the past couple days to become anything useful.”

His face drains as Lazarus moves, swiftly. His hand closes around my throat and slams me back into the bookshelf hard enough to rattle the lamps. For one magnificent second, the room holds its breath. Laz's eyes are black with fury.

“Careful,” he says.

My pulse leaps, with delight.

“Hello, love,” I whisper.

Lazarus’s grip tightens.

Edward barks, “Let him go.”

Lazarus does not look away from me. I could cut him, even though I like him very much. The blade is already in my sleeve. One twist, one bright line, one gasp, and this interesting creature would bleed all over Alcott’s shirt. Instead, I smile.

“Do you want Olive back,” I ask him, “or do you want to waste more hours proving you can posture prettily?”

His nostrils flare, then he releases me. A pity. I did enjoy his hand there.

Edward now grabs my arm. “We go together.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Lazarus says.

I turn to him, he has stepped back, but the violence has not left his face.

“If you know where to find Haskell, we go together. If you are lying, I will know. If you attempt to vanish, I will follow. If you damage Alcott beyond what he can endure, I will open you from throat to navel and have a philosophical conversation with whatever spills out.”

Oh. I look him over slowly. “You do flirt beautifully.”

Edward makes a sound of pure disgust and Lazarus does not blink. I consider refusing again, then Alcott stirs beneath me. Not fear, but a small plea. Olive.

Yes, the name burns through the body like a match dropped into oil. Olive in the fog. Olive beyond the sea with the man who thinks ownership is a crown. The pleasure leaves me, and something colder replaces it.