But as he stood there, there was a shattering of glass to his left. A moment later, a pale green fog began to pour into the air.

“Just a bit more light for our new guest,” came a faintly familiar voice, with mocking politeness.

The fog rose, filling the space around Arthur with an unsettling light and slowly revealing the watchers: several armed men in suits, and, just in front of them, the barber who’d nicked him.

He was no longer hunching deferentially to a customer but standing attentive and straight, and his previously bland expression was now set with unsettling satisfaction.

Arthur’s heartbeat was calm and steady. His blood pressure didn’t rise. He took a breath through his nose and wished he could kill with his eyes.

“Lieutenant Kenzie.” The barber made a mockery of a salute. “My name is Peter Becker. You may speak freely.”

“Oh, you’ll let me speak freely, how magnanimous of you,” Arthur gritted out. “Just the small detail that nothing else will be in my control.”

Becker’s smile grew bigger, crueler. “Not one single thing,” he agreed. “I’m glad you’ve caught on quickly. Explaining myself is tiresome.”

A pulse of disgust curled in Arthur’s stomach. “You’re enjoying this. You’re enjoying controlling another human being.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Becker said, with no remorse. “I’m one of the most dangerous paranormals born this era. No one can match me. A lion doesn’t suppress its urge to kill; why should I fight my nature? Why shouldn’t I embrace the power I wield?”

Arthur could see at least six men with guns behind Becker. None of them moved; they stood like statues, their eyes trained forward.

Were they loyal to Baron Zeppler? Or were any of them under Becker’s blood magic like he was?

Becker walked forward, his hands clasped behind his back like he was on a stroll on a spring day. Except, as he came closer, the headlights revealed a tension in his shoulders that belied his easy gait. As if keeping control of Arthur wasn’t quite as simple as he pretended.

“How did you find me?” Arthur bit out.

Becker looked up, as if he were tracking something in the air. “Mr. Chance? Show yourself.”

There was a pause. And then, very suddenly, the blond man from the docks was there, smiling smugly. The teleporter.

Becker gestured at him. “Mr. Chance is a very resourceful teleporter,” he said, and Chance’s smile broadened up until Becker added, “If a complete failure in every other respect.”

Chance’s smile wavered. “What are you talking about? I found Lieutenant Kenzie in Paris like you wanted.”

Becker leaned in. “But you shouldn’t have lost them in the first place,” he said slowly. “And you’ve also lost the firestarter.”