He took the paper and, with a trembling voice, read aloud the four words written there. “The Tempest is here.”

Silence filled the room.

“Nolan,” he whispered.

“He was gone when we started pouring in,” Fletcher said. “That ain’t never happened before.”

Was Nolan the one reporting to her? He knew them all by sight, knew their schedules, their missions.

“Serena told us that she is the Tempest. If Nolan was her eyes on the inside, she knows who we all are. She knows everything.”

Fletcher barked out orders on the instant, instructing the DPS members to go secure and safeguard their families. He sent Elizabeth to shut down her school and keep her students safe. As the room emptied and the DPS scattered like leaves on the wind, he turned to Barnabus and Gemma.

“Get yourself to safety. Knowing how much you know, you likely will be the Tempest’s most pointed target. You were planning to leave London, and now is the time to make good your escape.”

“To abandon everyone now, when the danger is so—” Barnabus began objecting.

“Nothing is simple anymore. You both are certified and recorded as dead. You have the means of escape.”

Barnabus looked at Gemma. “We are ready. We can get out of London before anyone catches up to us. I will go wherever you want to go, do whatever you choose.”

She nodded. “We are dead, Baz. We have some anonymity. We could help.”

“We would be in danger,” he reminded her.

“We are already in danger,” she said. “But neither of us is the sort to abandon people when they need us. Neither of us will be happy if we ain’t helping.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a quick kiss there. “We’ll go invisible, then? The bachelor and his bride, slipping through London’s streets like ghosts?”

“People’s lives are on the line, Baz. We are going to save everyone we can. Together.”

“Together.”

Chapter 33

Chapter 33

In the quiet of the abandoned house, once the center of this network of authors and philanthropists, Fletcher Walker set his hat on his head, straightened the lapel of his coat, and turned to face the chair he’d sat in for years while guiding the efforts of the Dread Penny Society, acting on behalf of the Dread Master.

He took hold of a spindle on the back of his throne and pulled it, activating a lever only he knew about. In the wall directly behind the chair, a panel opened. He stepped through, taking up the lantern and matches set there for precisely this purpose. He lit the lantern as the panel closed behind him.

He followed winding stone steps down farther and farther into a subterranean passageway. Down he walked, his footsteps echoing around him.