“Everyone answers to me,” she replied, calm and unperturbed but also fierce and intense. “Mine is power without limit, vengeance without end, an inescapable nightmare. All who oppose me fall.”

She sounded familiar.

“Is that why the Mastiff was in this casket?” Gemma asked her. “He weren’t supportive enough?”

“He craved power, which I offered him. And he adored me, which was exceptionally useful. But I no longer need him.”

“And so you killed him?” Barnabus demanded.

“People die all the time,” the woman said, unemotional, unconcerned. “You’re a doctor, Barnabus. You know that.”

“They don’t always mysteriously end up buried in another person’s grave,” he said.

“A little surprise for the Kincaids. Was that not terribly fun to watch, Gemma?”

Barnabus held tighter to her hand, not liking the sound of Gemma’s name on this murderer’s lips.

“What could you possibly gain from terrorizing the poor and vulnerable people of London?” he asked.

“What have I gained?” She laughed humorlessly. “I have gained an army.”

“If you’re amassing an army, you must mean to go to war.” He hoped if she kept talking, he could sort out who she was and, more important still, a means of escape.

“People like you, weak fools that you are, address your family pain with good works and rescues,” the woman said. “Vengeance is far more satisfying.”

“What is it you’re meaning to do with us?” Gemma asked. “Wouldn’t do to miss a prime opportunity for bloodshed.”

“Do not be dramatic, sweetie. You’re both still useful to me. You will deliver a message.”

“What message?” Barnabus asked. “To whom?”

“Tell your friends that ‘the poor and infirm, the hopeless and voiceless’ will tremble before me.” She stepped from the shadows, lit by the gray of cloudy moonlight.

Gemma gasped as Barnabus’s heart froze in his chest.

“Tell them I do not relent. And I never forget. I am the Tempest,” Serena said.

Barnabus held fast to Gemma’s hand as they raced down the dark London streets toward DPS headquarters. He had to warn them. He had to tell them that the enemy they thought they were fighting was not the real threat.

All this time, Serena had manipulated them into searching for her, looking for her, reaching out to her, saving her. And in so doing, she had met many of the Dreadfuls. She knew so much more than they likely even realized. And she, not the Mastiff, was the head of London’s criminal underworld. She was, as she so aptly put it, a nightmare come to life.

He pushed his way through the familiar blue door and slammed it shut behind him, Gemma at his side.

Nolan was not on his bench. The door to the parliamentary room was wide open, and raised voices, echoing in chaos, sounded from inside.