He notices the earl of Winchester, who is not dancing, but watching his son with an attention bordering on obsession. As well he might. For his own part, Stricklend is pleased that the Yulemass prophecy has opened up another avenue to obtaining the Elixir—one that need not rely on anything so crude as the abduction and torture of the new Head Witch of the Lazarus Coven.

He can see Lilith Montgomery being whirled about the room to the accompaniment of Strauss’s oompah in what he decides is a proprietorial manner by the young Viscount Harcourt. While Stricklend does not choose to partake of friendships of any sort which involve physical contact, he has spent many years observing those who do. And all that he has learned brings him to the conclusion that the viscount is smitten, but the duke’s daughter is not. There is a stiffness about her back and shoulders, a tension in the way she carries her head, a lack of softening toward her dance partner that are at odds with the seemingly sincere smile she bestows upon him. The viscount, in contrast, grips her about the waist as if she might try to fly from his arms, and never for one instant takes his disconcertingly penetrating gaze from her face. He does detect, however, a certain affection on Lady Lilith’s part, but it appears to be something born of family ties, and of duty, rather than passion. It is however, he is quietly confident, an attachment that will be sufficient for his needs. The girl trusts the young man, that much is clear. Indeed, she apparently trusts most of the assembled company. Or else she merely finds safety in being in a crowd. How could anything untoward, let alone anything threatening, possibly happen to her here, in this dazzling place, surrounded by all these sparkling people? On his arrival Stricklend observed her guardian spirits waiting with laudable patience and loyalty at the entrance to the house. He was not surprised to see the dashing Cavaliers who always accompany her, but the hulking Goth is a new addition to her personal guard, and the second he spotted Stricklend he sent a burst of particularly unpleasant will in his direction as he passed.

As he watches the Lazarus witch dance, he catches something in her movement, a subtle inclining of the head, a sweeping glance in a particular direction, a focus in one part of the room. It does not take him long to find the object of her attention—a tall, good-looking man in ill-fitting clothes. He has the hair and eyes of a poet, but there is a line to his mouth that is full, yet quite severe, quite basic. What can such a girl as Lilith Montgomery, blessed in so many ways, want with a nonentity such as this? And yet, there is a strength about him, an intensity that does draw the eye.