“Whistler Green.”

“Ah! Yep, Giddy was quite the comrade in those days. We joined the agency at about the same time. He was the only man who ever knocked me out with one punch. Also … he stole the only woman I ever really loved. Rebecca Houghton. Now there was a woman! Old Giddy!” Hudson shook his head and smiled at a memory. “I’ll have to look him up sometime.”

“You’re not seriously thinking of going to Italy, are you?”

“No longer thinking. It’s decided.”

“Don’t you have better things to do in New York?”

“No,” said Hudson.

“This seems to have become a repeating refrain, but I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can!” Hudson reached for his own mug of ale and downed a swig. “No doubt about that! But … dealing with demons … that might be something you’ll need help with.”

“It’s ridiculous!” Matthew scoffed. “Fell must be half-crazy and fully desperate! To go all that way searching for a mirror? Insanity!”

Hudson took another drink before he replied. “What if it’s real?”

Matthew stopped with a spoonful of corn at his mouth. “I’m sorry, but I thought I heard an utterance of lunacy from somewhere near.”

“No. Think on it. What if it’s real? Now don’t speak and don’t roll your eyes like that. You and I both know there’s plenty out there that can’t be put into little boxes and tied up with neat little bows. You yourself have experienced some uncommon—and unsettling—things, have you not?”

Matthew knew Hudson was referring to an incident in which a wealthy dying man had hired Matthew to hold Death at bay until he could make amends with his estranged daughter. “Some things I can’t explain, I grant that,” he said.

“I’ve experienced some things I can’t explain, as well. So … before we both go off talking about insanities and impossibilities, we should consider the very real fact that we don’t know as much as we think we do about this world and … yes, and the world beyond. No one does, until they die. Demons coming up from Hell through an enchanted mirror? You can believe what you please, or not believe, but I swear I wouldn’t bet my life that such a thing doesn’t—”

“Matthew?”

The timorous voice had come from someone standing to Matthew’s right side. He looked up into the face of a small, slim man nervous in appearance, dressed in a white blouse, black suit and waistcoat, all that seemed a bit grimy and in need of cleaning. He had gray hair tied back in a queue with a red ribbon, thin gray brows and the sharp blade of a nose.

“Matthew!” He grasped the younger man’s shoulder as if seizing hope itself. “Thank the saints! Alla fine! You’ve come to get us out!”