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      LYRICAL PRESS

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

       www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Copyright

      Lyrical Press books are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2018 by Mae Clair

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

      All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, and educational or institutional use.

      To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

      Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Special Sales Manager:

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      119 West 40th Street

      New York, NY 10018

      Attn. Special Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

      Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      LYRICAL PRESS Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

      First Electronic Edition: June 2018

      eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0727-8

      eISBN-10: 1-5161-0727-6

      First Print Edition: June 2018

      ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0730-8

      ISBN-10: 1-5161-0730-6

      Printed in the United States of America

      Dedication

      In memory of my father, who showed me how to paint pictures with words.

      Acknowledgments

      A number of people helped shape this book into the story it is today. To Staci Troilo, thanks for your enthusiasm, suggestions, and quick turnarounds on the draft chapters I sent. I couldn’t ask for a better critique partner. To Paige Christian, my editor at Kensington, you continue to amaze me with the polish you apply to my work. I am truly grateful for your insightful recommendations and your attention to detail. It is always a pleasure to work with you! To the team at Kensington and Lyrical Underground, thank you for all that you do on my behalf. Everyone is a class act. A special thank you to my husband for putting up with my weekend writing marathons, late night deadlines, and all the times in between when the plot lines don’t seem to fit and there just aren’t enough hours in the day. Your faith in me helps me batter through the hurdles. Finally, to my readers, I can’t thank you enough for your support. A story is nothing without an audience to embrace it. That you look forward to and enjoy my books makes writing worthwhile.

      Chapter 1

      April 9, 1900

      Charlotte Hode gathered her Dorothy bag, looped the drawstrings over her wrist, then smoothed her woolen skirt as she waited for Frederick. Water dripped from the broad brim of his hat when he opened the carriage door.

      “It’s a bad one tonight, Missus Hode. Foggy as all get out. Not even Thomas Edison’s white magic could cut through this.”

      Gauging the fog, she’d have to agree. The Wizard of Menlo Park may have illuminated the streets of New York and Philadelphia with electricity, but lamplighters still saw to the lanterns of Hode’s Hill each evening and morning. Edison’s current wouldn’t stand up to river fog.

      Accepting Frederick’s hand, she stepped outside, then opened her umbrella. “The walk isn’t far.”

      Frederick rummaged inside the coach. “Let me light a lamp for you.”

      “No, I think not.” She knew the way and didn’t want the attention a light might attract. Someone would surely hail her if they saw that glow in the darkness, and she couldn’t risk word getting back to Henry. Her husband had forbidden her to see Lady Glass, a troubling turnabout as he’d once attended séances with her. “I shouldn’t be more than an hour, Frederick. Climb inside where it’s dry.”

      “The least I can do is walk you to the medium’s house.”

      “Your kindness is appreciated, but it’s important I gather my thoughts for the reading. Your presence would only serve as a distraction.” The lie rolled from her tongue in an effort to spare his feelings. He was too big a man, far more likely to be seen than her. If Henry learned of what Frederick had done this night, it would spell the end of his employment. She couldn’t afford the loss of an ally in her quest of future visits with Lady Glass.

      “But the Fiend, Missus. If anything should happen to you—”

      “I don’t believe in the Fiend.” She hoped her defiance held true. “And even if there is a devil-imp that haunts these streets, terrifying women, he surely has more sense than to be out on such a miserable night.” She pulled the hood of her cloak securely about her head. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

      Before Frederick could protest, Charlotte strode briskly down the alley. She’d walked that path many times, though usually in daylight. Clipped echoes rang from the cobblestones beneath her heels, the sound quickly swallowed by the fog. The back stoops of homes loomed on either side, each brownstone abode invisible until she came upon doors and windows shuttered against the night.

      It

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