I doubt even you could breach whatever shields he has in place. No, better you merely observe him.

He will know he is being watched.

That can’t be helped. At least I will know his whereabouts. If he leaves the ball, tell me at once.

The Goth then fades to nothing before my eyes. I struggle to still my racing pulse and focus my fractured mind. Freddie is still close by, I can sense his presence, but it is feeble, like a fluttering moth that could expire at any moment.

“Oh, where are you, Freddie?” I whisper. “Where are you?” With my eyes closed I can watch my Cavaliers as they charge through the house, room after room, floor after floor, until the youngest and swiftest comes upon a body, supine and inert upon a chaise.

Here, mistress! Here!

Where? Oh, yes! I see him.

I run from the room taking care not to be seen by any curious servants. I have to climb two flights of stairs before I find my way to the guest suite on the third floor. In contrast to Mr. Chow Li’s, this is a pretty place, a place of good taste and refinement and respectability, but the end result is the same, because what has gone on here is the same. I fall to me knees beside my darling brother. He has removed his jacket, and his shirt sleeves are rolled up. His left arm trails to the ground, and from it a thin line of fresh blood that still drips to the floor.

Carefully I turn him over so that I can see his face.

“Freddie! Oh, my poor, dear Freddie!” His skin is a ghoulish green, his eyelids closed, his mouth open. I place my hand against his brow and let out a small scream. He is cold. Dead. Gone. I am too late. Too late! No!

“No!”

Mistress, should he be shaken? Try to rouse him.

Should we call a spirit physician? Or one who treads the earth still?

No. No, there is nothing to be done. I am too late.

My tears fall unchecked now, splashing onto Freddie’s lifeless chest as I lean over him. I have failed him. I have failed Mama. I could not protect him, from himself, or from Stricklend and the Sentinels, and now he is dead, and Mama’s poor battered heart will be broken forever.

“Oh, Freddie.” I gaze at his face, stroking his broad smooth brow.

And in that instant, his eyes spring open.

I gasp, wondering if I can have been mistaken, if, after all, he is still alive and there is still hope. But no, I can see there is no life in those beautiful green eyes. They stare back at me, accusing, reproachful. And when he speaks to me his blue lips do not move, for it is his spirit voice I hear.

Lilith, help me!

“Freddie! Oh, I am so sorry. So very, very sorry.”