“I did, but collectors are a very demanding clientele.” Gwendolyn untied her leather apron and slipped it off over her head. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. Stay down here. Serious collectors get nervous around people they don’t know well.”

“So do I, these days.” Eloisa glanced at the clockwork nurse. “The syringe is empty. I’ll refill it for you.”

“Thanks.” Gwendolyn started toward the stairs. “There’s a vial on the top shelf in the vault. That’s the last dose. I’ve been going through a lot of it lately.”

“I’ll make up another batch as soon as I get back to my lab.”

Cold satisfaction tingled through Gwendolyn. “If we get Aurora’s last logbook I won’t need any more of the drug and you won’t be returning to the lab. We’re going to disappear to someplace where it doesn’t rain all the time.”

“If we get the logbook.”

“Think positive.”

Gwendolyn hurried up the stairs. When she reached the top she unlocked the door, stepped into the back room of the shop, relocked the door to the basement and hurried across the sales floor.

She twitched the window shade aside and peeked out into the alley. It was raining. Again. It wasn’t just the rain that got to her these days. It was the seemingly endless cloud cover. It was late spring, but you’d never know it by the dull, gray skies.

She stifled a groan when she saw the figure in the doorway, let the shade fall back into place and opened the door.

“Come in, but hurry,” she said. “I’m supposed to be closed.”

Jake Spode moved into the shop, rain dripping off his parka. Her first thought was that he looked even more ill than he had the first time she had met with him. That had been a few weeks ago. It was obvious that he had once been tall and broad-shouldered, but now he was thin to the point of being gaunt. His face was hollow under his cheekbones. There was a lot of energy in the atmosphere around him, but Gwendolyn thought it felt off.

“Why the Closed sign?” Spode asked.

“Caught another rat.” Gwendolyn checked the alley, making sure no one lurked in the shadows before closing the door. She turned to face Spode. “Your turn. What are you doing here? I thought we agreed you shouldn’t take the risk of being seen in my shop.”

“Things went wrong at the Sefton house yesterday. Harlan Rancourt got away with the oracle.”

“Rancourt?” Stunned, Gwendolyn frantically tried to reassemble the facts. “Are you talking about that insurance investigator? How do you know he’s Rancourt?”