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And they were careless, too, leaving a part of a fae wing, the little Theryn sigil—all things that identified the victim—but not the killers. Nothing had been disguised, nothing cleaned away. It all pointed to almost casual slaughter. Whoever was behind these atrocities had only one goal. Collecting specific body parts.

Hot water and the scrape of his razor woke up his brain as he prepared for the day, shaving carefully while staring at himself in the mirror and seeing only his thoughts tumbling over each other in his mind.

Wiping the shaving cream from his chin, he sighed. Every point he considered, every facet of this whole business could only be pointing in one direction and that was the harvesting of certain body parts.

Cyrus dressed in his habitual dark clothing, keeping his attire simple today. He had business in Gloamtide that didn’t require an elegant velvet jacket or thickly embroidered waistcoat.

The people he was going to talk to wouldn’t have been impressed with either.

His first stop would be the Gilded Lily. With that in mind, he tucked a small silk pouch into a hidden pocket within his jacket. The contents, a blend of herbs with a solid spoonful of salt, would offer a measure of protection, should he need it.

One could never tell when it came to dealing with witches.

Taking his own cabinet down to Gloamtide was efficient, but nowhere near as much fun without Mae. He wondered if she was awake yet, or still tucked up in bed, dreaming—he hoped—of him.

Soon, very soon, she wouldn’t have to dream, because he’d be there beside her, both limp from their loving, tucked up warmly together and drifting into sleep amidst soft rumpled sheets.

The cabinet bumped to a stop, and Cyrus pushed away the lascivious thoughts racing through his mind. It was time to focus on something a great deal less pleasant.

He hadn’t notified Bram of his arrival. This trip to Gloamtide was for conversations, fact-finding, and information gathering, none of which required the presence of his right-hand man. Besides, Bram wasn’t a morning person unless absolutely necessary, so taking all that into consideration, Cyrus had decided this expedition would be for him alone.

It would have been hard to tell the time of day from the streets, which looked pretty much the same no matter when he walked them. The Velvet Houses were still lit up, although there were few people outside them, and most of those were on their way somewhere, not lingering around the entrances.

He got a few nods and tips of hats as he made his way along the pavement, watching the reddish gloom lighten a little.

The air here settled, and stayed. The rifts that exposed the sky seldom allowed winds to scour out the old fogs and mists this far down, so although dawn had already broken over the Caelemar seas, there wouldn’t be much of a sunrise over Gloamtide.

However, a few more people passed him, glancing at the well-dressed man quietly walking in the opposite direction.

He found his destination after about a ten-minute walk.

The Gilded Lily, a Velvet House offering the very best in witches and witchcraft, had always struck Cyrus as being one of the most elegant houses on the street. Its design reminded him of pictures he’d seen of make-believe mansions, and it wasn’t a stretch to visualise Kings and Queens exiting the beautifully carved front doors and making their way down the impressive marble staircase to their aethercoaches.

No royalty appeared this morning, however, so he walked up the steps to the dark mahogany door and raised the brass doorknocker, shaped—to his amusement—like a cat.

The resounding clang seemed overloud in the early morning hush, but even so it was several minutes before he heard footsteps and the sounds of the door’s several bolts being drawn back.

Two eyes blinked at him from beneath a tousled mop of dark hair.

“Mornin’, sir. ’Tis a bit early for our lady witches...”

“I’m not here for that,” answered Cyrus, his lips curving. “And to be honest, it’s a bit early for me when it comes to that, as well.” He paused. “It’s Dame Primrose I’m looking for...”

“Ah, well then. C’mon in. I’ll wager she’s up.” The little maid grinned. “Counting the coin, she’ll be at this time o’day.”

She led Cyrus down a long corridor and then up a set of stairs, stopping in front of a closed door, and knocking.

“What? Can’t I get five fucking minutes to myself?”

The voice was strong, and irritated.

“T’is a gennelmun, Lady.” She shot a glance at Cyrus. “Fine lookin’ one, at that.”

“As if that matters...” The mumble came from behind the door and was accompanied by the sound of bolts being drawn back.

“Now who the Hellforge...” The woman stared. “Cyrus Drake. I’ll be damned.”

“Probably,” he grinned. “Can I come in for a few moments? I won’t take up too much of your time, I promise.”