“Mr. Tabor, the owner of the mine?” She was surprised, although she should not have been. He was one of the most powerful men in Goetia. Of course, he was a Virtue and the head of an Order. “Daniel was in the mining business? This handbill was his?”

“Indeed.” Ibrahim called for the check.

The Virtue had not returned with her coffee, but Ibrahim did not seem like he planned to wait. He shrugged into his coat with the help of a member of the waitstaff and offered her a farewell.

“Until tomorrow at the trial,” he said, a hint of eagerness in his voice. “High noon sharp. Do not be late. For Mariel’s sake.”

And then he was gone.

She followed his cue and did not wait, either, half-convinced the blond man would show up and put a knife in her back instead. Although she was so tired that she might have suffered it for the boost the coffee and sugar provided.

“No time for such things,” she told herself, pushing to her feet. “Mr. Tabor awaits.”

CHAPTER 13

Everyone knew the Tabor house. It was the grandest home on Ambrosia Street, and Ambrosia Street was the grandest street in Goetia. The Elect called it Rich Man’s Row and were certain God favored the men and women who lived within its well-kept palaces. But the Fallen called Ambrosia Street the Eye of the Needle, and they were certain those within would burn in the pits of hell upon their deaths.

The street was only a short distance from the Excelsior Hotel, and she arrived at Tabor’s grand manse within the quarter hour. The manservant who greeted her at the door informed her that Mr. Tabor was indisposed and not seeing guests. She showed him Ibrahim’s pin. He looked at it, handed it back, and then disappeared into the vast residence. He returned a moment later to give her a slip of paper with an address and a drawing of a map.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Directions to Mr. Tabor’s laboratory.”

She recognized the general area the map portrayed and the X that marked Tabor’s laboratory. It was part of the divinity mine complex that spread across one of the lower peaks known as Abaddon’s Hands. It was ten miles up the mountain, too far to walk. There were few hours left in the afternoon, so even if she did find a horse and buggy to take her up to the mine, she suspected no one would want to wait for the nighttime return trip.

“When do you expect him home?” she asked the manservant, hoping she could call again after dinnertime.

“Not until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Every moment, the clock ticked closer to Mariel’s trial. She needed to talk to Tabor tonight.

She walked back to the Excelsior and attempted to hail a carriage, but none was willing, citing, as expected, the steep roads and lateness of the hour.