“I presume you are speaking to Lord Thomas’s ghost,” Nicolas calls to me. “And I presume he is confirming all your suspicions?”

“He is,” I say.

“Then continue. I do not mean to interfere.”

“There is only one question remaining,” I say. “The most important of all.”

“Oh,” Lord Thomas says. “You have an actual question, girl? You are not simply going to chatter on like a magpie, preening at your own cleverness.”

“Am I wrong? About any of it?”

“I do not need to answer to a girl.”

“You are correct, Lord Thomas. It’s not a question, but a statement.” I turn to Jenkins. “You have done so much more than kidnap and connive on your master’s behalf. You have killed for him. Killed a boy whose ghost I presume you have frightened off or otherwise suppressed from speaking to me.”

“I killed no one,” Jenkins growls under his breath, too low for Emily to hear. “The boy spied on a conversation he ought not to have overheard, and Lord Thomas needed to be sure he would not tell anyone.”

“By killing him.”

“I never killed—”

“You did something worse. You thought to keep your own hands clean, and so you locked him in the pantry and barred the door and let nature take her terrible course. Did you think that would save your soul? Oh no, sir. You are damned for what you did.”

I spit the words and have to rein in my rage before I can continue. “You are damned, and this old man has damned you. He made you do it so that he would not need to. He thinks that keeps his soul clean, but it does not, as he is about to discover.”

I turn to Lord Thomas. “Do you know what happens when I name you both as Andrés’s killers? The boy is free, and you are damned. Tell me that is all right. Tell me your conscience is clean enough that you do not mind me doing so.”

Lord Thomas lunges at me. I feel a sudden slap of cold dread, chilling me to my marrow. Darkness yawns before me. Endless darkness filled with grief and regret for everything I have done and have not had time to do.

I pull back, gasping and blinking. The darkness wants to fade, to disappear from my memory, leaving me only with overwhelming dread.

I leap up, yanking free from the bonds I have been working on while I talked.

“Yes,” I snarl at Lord Thomas. “That is exactly what you face. An eternity of grief and regret and emptiness, and I am pleased to be the one to send you—”

A movement. That is all I see. A movement that stops me short and sends my heart into my throat before I even comprehend what I have seen. I think it must be Lord Thomas and another of his ghostly tricks.

It is not. I am busy facing off against the ghost, and Nicolas has turned his attention back to Rodgers, and Jenkins takes advantage of our distraction, pulling a pistol from his jacket and spinning toward Nicolas.