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“And if either of you attempts to decide what is best for me, I will poison you both and send your hands to The Collector in a velvet box.” Silence falls after my last statement.

Then Lazarus exhales dreamily.

Alcott glances at him. “Do not say it.”

“I think I am in love.” His words tighten around the coils in my lower abdomen, and I am having a hard time controlling my blush.

“I told you not to say it,” Alcott sighs heavily.

I should leave. I should walk out of the pavilion, return to Le Havre, and resume the life I had before color, lunatics, severed heads, and Edward Afton’s careful voice.

Instead, I look down at Lord Mire.

“What did you use?” I inquire about their method.

Alcott blinks. “Pardon?”

“To kill him.” I gesture with my hands at the body before me.

“Oh.” He perks up. “A rather lovely compound that was fast-acting. Minimal convulsions – Though, I will admit, Lazarus startled him prematurely.”

“I did no such thing! He startled himself!” Lazarus remarks defensively.

“You appeared behind him holding a sickle, how was he to react?” Alcott narrows his gaze at his counterpart.

“A man of conscience would have taken that as an opportunity for reflection,” Lazarus counters.

I press my fingers to the bridge of my nose. God help me. I have found the only men in England capable of making murder inconvenient. Still, when I lower my hand, the world remains bright. The roses are red. The lanterns are gold. Alcott’s hair is pale as moonlight. Lazarus’s rings gleam like wicked stars. And Edward, though absent, lingers between us like an unfinished sentence. I gather the papers and tuck them into my bodice.

“Fine,” I say. “Bring the body.”

Lazarus smiles. “Where are we taking him?”

“To my carriage,” I instruct.

Alcott looks down at Lord Mire’s limp form. “Excellent, shall we try to not drop him this time?”

Lazarus grips the corpse beneath the arms. “No promises.”

Lord Mire’s leg slips from Alcott’s grasp almost immediately. The body hits the floor again. I stare at them. Both men stare back. For reasons I cannot explain, laughter presses against my ribs. I refuse to release it. Absolutely refuse.

Alcott clears his throat. “A minor setback.”

Lazarus nods solemnly, “very minor.”

I turn toward the curtain before they can see my smile, “pick up my mark, gentlemen.”

Behind me, they scramble to obey and despite every sensible instinct I possess, I begin to think that perhaps taking down The Collector’s empire may be far more entertaining with company.

15. Running Out of Distance - Edward

Limits

Alcott returns home smiling. That is my first warning.

My brother possesses many smiles. Polite ones. Cruel ones. Amused ones. Smiles worn for nobles, murderers, shopkeepers, and men he intends to bleed upon a table. This one is worse. This one is delighted. I look up from the ledger spread across the kitchen table and immediately feel my stomach twist.

“No,” I say.