I was still thinking about the curse placed on Jacob when we arrived at the Clerkenwell school. It hadn't taken long by carriage but there was only so much silence three people in close confines can endure before time starts to stretch painfully. George had tried to instigate a conversation with me but I wasn't in the right mood for chatter so he spent the remainder of the journey loading the pistol. Before we climbed out of the carriage, he placed his coat strategically over his arm and hand to hide the weapon.

The school's maid showed us into the drawing room where we waited for Blunt. The giant figure of the schoolmaster soon filled the doorway. "Ah, Mr. Culvert, Miss Chambers, you've returned." His wary gaze flicked around the room. "But where is your sister, Miss Chambers? I'd hoped you had come to organize the séance." He bent down to my level and that's when I noticed the puffy, sagging skin beneath his reddened eyes. "The ghost still haunts me," he whispered.

I raised an eyebrow at Jacob. He gave me a smug smile. "We're not here about the ghost," I said to Blunt. "Mr. Culvert and I have some very serious questions to ask you."

"Yes," said George. He squared up to the much larger man and I wanted to cheer his bravery but then I remembered he held a loaded pistol. A weapon can make a person twice as courageous but sometimes twice as stupid too. I wasn't sure which camp George fell into. "Do you recall on our last visit we mentioned a book on demonology had been stolen from my library?"

"I do," Blunt hedged.

"We think you used the information within it to summon a shape-shifting demon from the Otherworld."

Oh dear, George had about as much tact as Jacob. Perhaps it was a male thing. His accusation certainly had an effect on Blunt. The schoolmaster bristled and his beard took on a life of its own as he spluttered an objection.

"How dare you accuse me of such a thing! Get out. Get out of my school." He stabbed a finger at the open door.

"Not until we have answers," George said.

Blunt stepped closer to him so that they were chest to chest, or would have been if the height difference weren't so pronounced. George only came up to the other man's armpit. He swallowed and a bead of sweat popped out on his pale brow.

Blunt chuckled, a nasty sound that gurgled up from his throat. "Stupid boy. What did you possibly hope to achieve by coming here?"

"The truth," George said without blinking.

Jacob sidled over to them. "You'd better say something before he gets himself clubbed by one of Blunt's paws. Use your charm," he added when I gave him a questioning look.

We were in trouble if we were relying on my charm. "Er, Mr. Blunt," I began, "we've just come from Leviticus Price's house and he claimed you were asking some rather specific questions about demonology."

"Did he?" He turned eyes the color of a stagnant pond on me and I recoiled at the viciousness in them. He wasn't trying to hide it now. "And what makes you think you can believe him, Miss Chambers? Did a ghost just happen to whisper it into your ear?"

"Yes. Just like he's now telling me you are the one who summoned the demon." Blunt clearly believed in spirits, demons and the Otherworld so why not use that belief to frighten him?

"What?" he bellowed, his bravado rapidly fading behind his facial hair.

"Spirits know everything, Mr. Blunt. They know what you had for breakfast today, what you do in your office when the door's closed and what you do at night in the girl's dormitory."

The big man rocked back on his heels and his face turned the same sickly color as his eyes.

"So tell us, where is the demon now?"

He stared at me, shaking his head over and over, all the while backing away but not towards the door. Jacob stalked him, taking a step forward for every one Blunt took back. His presence felt strong to me, real, and I wondered if either Blunt or George could feel it too.

"Tell us," I said.

Blunt, still shaking his head, said, "No. No, I … I won't. You can't hurt me. Your ghost can't hurt me."

It was my turn to shake my head. "What makes you think that?"

"Spirits travel right through solid things." He was blustering, his eyes wide, his hand gestures wild. It was almost as if he was trying to convince himself. "They don't have any form. They can't grasp objects." He spun round and lunged for the fire tools. He grabbed the iron poker and brandished it like a sword.

George whipped the coat off his arm to reveal the pistol. He pointed it at Blunt. His hand shook. "Put it down."

"You wouldn't," Blunt said, more self-assured than he had been when discussing ghosts.

"He's right," Jacob said to me. "George won't use it." There was no accusation in his tone. Neither he nor I would blame George if he couldn't fire the weapon.

But George, surprising us both, stretched his arm out. "I will use it. To save her." He nodded at me.

Jacob's gaze slid to mine. He grunted and crossed his arms then turned his attention back to the others just as Blunt lunged at George.

George jumped back and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. He cocked the pistol again but Blunt was on him, bringing the heavy iron poker down onto George's head.

George ducked and put an arm up in defense. The poker kept coming. A scream tore from my throat and I closed my eyes, a reaction I later chided myself for.

But instead of the crack of bone, the only sound was a grunt and it came from Blunt. I opened my eyes. Jacob had both hands on the poker, inches from George's head. He and Blunt battled each other for control, the older man’s startled expression mingling with an angry one.

With a roar and a burst of strength, Jacob pushed up hard, causing Blunt to lose his balance and stumble. Using the momentum, Jacob thrust his opponent against the wall beside the fireplace. The force must have loosened his grip because Jacob was able to snatch the poker out of his hand. He swung it at Blunt's stomach. The impact made a sickening thud.

Blunt let out a whoosh of breath and bent over double, his face bright red. Jacob pressed the poker under Blunt's chin, sending his head snapping back. It hit the wall and his eyes rolled up into his head.

"Ask him about the demon again," Jacob said. He aimed the poker at Blunt's chest.

"Where's the demon being kept?" I asked, trying to keep my voice level. I did not want the men to see how squeamish the fighting made me. My insides might be wobbling like jelly but I would do everything in my power to ensure that's where the jelly stayed.

Blunt grinned a warped, nasty grin. "Get. Out. Of. My. School."

"Please, let's not have any more violence," I said. "I don't want my ghost to hurt you, Mr. Blunt. As you can see, he can wield weapons as easily as any of us. So please just tell us where the demon is and we'll let you go unharmed."

"It won't hurt me." He seemed to believe it too.

"Why do you say that?" It was George. He stood to one side, well away from Blunt and Jacob, the gun still in his hand but pointed harmlessly at the floor.

"Because I must be the only link you have to the demon or you wouldn't be here at all. And I think you want to find it before tonight." His beard and moustache lifted at one corner and the fleshy lips between them twisted into a sneer. "Am I right?"

Jacob, his face distorted with rage, shoved Blunt hard into the wall then pressed the length of the poker against the bigger man's throat. Blunt scrabbled at Jacob's hands, grasping nothing but cool, empty air since he couldn't see Jacob. His eyes widened with fear and perhaps the realization that he'd been wrong—Jacob might kill him. His cheeks and nose became a changing palette of colors—red to mauve to purple—and the veins on his forehead formed thick, bluish ridges. He tried to talk but only squeaks came out.

"He's going to kill him!" George took one step forward but hesitated. "Should we let him?"

"No!" I said. "Jacob, no! Stop this. Let him go."

"He deserves it," Jacob growled. His eyes frightened me. They were cold and dark, two voids of swirling anger.

Blunt jerked about trying to free himself, but it didn't dislodge Jacob. He held the poker against Blunt's throat as if his own life depended on it.

Oh God, I had to do something. "You can't do this, Jacob. Think about it. Think about what you're doing!" If only I could get through to the rational side of him, the side not blinded by fury. "Do you want another death on your conscience?"

George turned to me, his spectacles halfway down his nose. "Another death?"

I ignored him. My plea seemed to be working. With a roar of frustration, Jacob eased back. The schoolmaster slid down the wall like a splotch of mud and sat on the floor. He was still very pink and he held his throat with both hands as if he was holding it together. He heaved in great lungfuls of air and glanced feverishly around the room.

The maid entered carrying a tray of tea things. She gasped when she saw Blunt's state and the tray tilted dangerously to one side. "Mr. Blunt! Everything all right, sir?"

"He, uh, had a coughing fit," I said, trying to catch George's eye but to no avail. He held the gun in plain sight, seemingly unaware of the uproar he would cause if the maid saw it. I grabbed his spare jacket and threw it at him.

He placed it over his hand and the gun. "He's not going to talk now" he muttered, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the door.

With my heart rampaging like an advancing army of soldiers, we left. I glanced over my shoulder to see if Jacob would stay or go. Fortunately he was right behind us, his gaze fixed on George's hand holding mine. I thought he'd still be angry, wanting to fight, but he looked worried. No, not worried. Haunted. The irony of the word wasn't lost on me.

We reached the carriage and George opened the door for me. I checked for Jacob but he stayed back near the school's porch. "Are you coming?" I asked.

He shook his head.

I wanted him with me, holding my hand, telling me everything would be all right. I wanted him away from Blunt. I wasn't entirely sure he could be trusted not to return and … "Please, Jacob, come home with me."

He stalked across the space between us and slammed his hand against the side of the carriage, right near my head. George looked around as if he couldn't detect where the sound had come from.

I swallowed my squeal of fright and blinked at Jacob.

He stood close to me, his palm flat on the carriage, his forearm skimming the brim of my hat. He leaned down until our faces were level. "I told you last night," he said in that quiet, malevolent voice of his. "I'm dangerous. You should stay away from me."

And then he was gone and all that was left was the pounding of my heart and the background noise of George's voice as he spoke words that I couldn't quite hear.

"I can't," I whispered to the emptiness. "I can't stay away."

All I wanted to do when I got home was climb into bed and reflect on everything Jacob had told me that day. Unfortunately Celia bombarded me with questions over a dinner of roast pork in the dining room instead.

"Well? How did it go today?" she asked, popping a single pea into her mouth. Why did she always have to eat them one at a time? She couldn't be trying to impress anyone with her delicate eating habits since I was the only one there.

"Leviticus Price wasn't much help," I said. "He couldn't recall when he spoke to Blunt precisely."

"Oh. Yes of course."

I eyed my sister, a pile of peas balanced precariously on my fork near my mouth. "That is what you meant, isn't it?"

"Well … partly."

I frowned as I chewed my peas. Celia was being coy about something and she was not usually a coy person. Except on one subject. "Ah. You mean did I have a nice outing with George Culvert?"

"Now that you mention it, how are you faring with him?"

Faring? "We get on well enough."

"I see," Celia said as she cut off a small slice of pork. I put my knife down with a clank on the plate. She looked up from her dinner. "Is something wrong, Em? You're not finished. Aren't you hungry?"

I leaned over my plate to get closer to her, even though the large dining table kept us well apart. "I know what you're doing," I said.

"I am eating my food like a lady. You would do well to follow my example if you want to secure a gentleman for yourself."

"A gentleman like George Culvert you mean?"

She shrugged and anyone who didn't know her as well as I did would have thought her dismissive of the suggestion. I was not so easy to fool.

"I am not interested in George Culvert and he's—." I was about to say not interested in me, but that was clearly incorrect. "He can do far better than the likes of me."

It was my sister's turn to lower her cutlery with a clank onto her plate. "What has he been saying about you?" She'd raised her voice, a sure sign she was deadly serious.

"Nothing. He's the perfect gentleman."

She made a miffed sound through her nose. "I'd challenge him to find another girl more interesting than you." She stabbed a pea with her fork rather more viciously than necessary. "Or more suited to a demonologist. Does he expect a Society miss to merely overlook his peculiar interests?"

"Not George." His mother, however, probably would hope such a girl existed.

This time she stabbed two peas. It would have been amusing to watch if I wasn't a little disconcerted by her matchmaking. And if my mind weren't preoccupied with Jacob's behavior. Then there was our conversation in the carriage about his murder …

"Celia, can I tell you what else happened today?"

"Something else happened?" She seemed relieved to leave the subject of George behind.

"Yes. Quite a bit actually." I told her about our visit to Blunt first. I left out the part about the pistol, the fire iron and how close I came to a fight between Blunt and Jacob. There wasn't much more to that part of the story except to say, "We're quite certain Blunt is involved in some way with the demon and the thefts. We just need to prove it."

Celia's jaw dropped further and her eyes grew wider as I spoke. Despite my omission of the grimmer facts, she appeared to comprehend the danger perfectly. "I forbid you to return to the school, Emily. Do you understand? Mr. Blunt does not seem like the sort of person we want to associate with. We certainly won't be performing a séance for him now."

I tried not to smile. "No, we won't." I didn't say anything about not intending to visit the school again though. No need to lie unless absolutely necessary. "There's more I need to tell you, Sis. I … I need some advice."

"Oh?"

"It's about Jacob."

She sighed dramatically. "Not again," she muttered.

"What does that mean?"

Lucy arrived and collected our plates. Celia waited until she'd left before she answered. "I know you see him more than you let on. I know you … like him."

"What of it?"

"He's a ghost, Em. You cannot think of him … " She lowered her voice. " … in that way."

"I think of him as a friend." I folded my hands on the tablecloth to stop them shaking. It was a lie of course, but I didn't think my sister was prepared for the truth—that I loved a spirit. I would always love him.

"I'm not a fool. I know you care for him as more than a friend." She too placed her hands on the table, steepling them as if in prayer. "I recognize a girl who thinks she's in love when I see one. And while I sympathize—."

"Sympathize!" I shot to my feet, bumping my chair and sending it tumbling backwards to the floor. "How would you know how I feel? You've never cared romantically for any man. That part of your heart shriveled up long ago, if it ever existed at all."

Her lips flattened. Her nostrils flared and tears pooled in her eyes. My anger evaporated as suddenly as it had flared at the sight of her struggling not to shed them. "I'm going to my room," I said.

"Emily!"

If she was hoping for an apology she wouldn't get one. I regretted my outburst but not what I'd said. Celia had never been in love. How could she know what I felt for Jacob? "I'm going to my room and don't wish to be disturbed," I said, rounding the table.

"But you wanted to tell me something about him! I'll listen—."

"Forget it. It doesn't matter." I passed Lucy outside the dining room. The red and green jelly she carried on a platter wobbled when she stopped to let me pass.

"Don't you want jelly, miss?"

"No thank you, Lucy."

Her face fell. "But I made it 'specially. Mrs. White says my jellies are a marvel."

It did look rather delicious. "Very well. Bring me some to my room, please." I tried to smile because she looked upset. "Thank you, Lucy."

She bobbed a curtsey that sent the jelly sliding. Luckily she righted the platter and continued into the dining room without mishap.

I ran upstairs and changed into my nightgown then flopped on the bed, suddenly too tired to sit up and read like I usually would.

I was woken by Jacob in the deepest, darkest part of the night. I began to scold him but the look on his face stopped me. By the light of the candle he carried, I could just make out the dread imprinted on every exquisite feature.

I sat bolt upright. "What is it?"

"The demon has attacked Forbes."

The name sounded familiar but I couldn't place it. "Who's Forbes?"

"My parents' butler."

The full implication of his words took a moment to sink in to my sluggish brain. But when it did, I felt ill. "Is he … dead?"

Jacob nodded once and looked away but not before I saw the shine in his eyes, reflected by the candlelight. "He'd been with us for years."

"Oh, Jacob, I'm so sorry."

He shook his head and once more turned to me. His eyes had hardened again, the moment's vulnerability completely obliterated. "I need your help, Emily."

"I'll get dressed." He looked away as I put on a black dress, gloves and a long black cloak. I didn't bother with a hat and left my hair down. Usually I tied it into a braid before bed but I'd been too tired to do anything with it.

Jacob and I didn't talk. My mind was fully awake now, my thoughts tumbling over themselves, until one became very clear. Lord and Lady Preston were about to be burgled—and we had our best chance of sending the demon back to the Otherworld.

We left quietly, me with my boots in one hand, Jacob carrying the single candle. I had him wave it at the face of the clock in the entrance hall—it was three o'clock. Before we left, I found the amulet that had originally summoned the demon and hung it around my neck. I tucked the six-pointed star inside my bodice and glanced back up the stairs. All was silent. Hopefully we'd be back by dawn—I didn't want another argument with Celia. I felt bad enough about our dinnertime squabble.

Outside I put on my boots and together we set off down Druids Way. Oddly for our street, there was no wind. Not even a puff. Without a breeze to blow it away, the fog congealed around us, its damp fingers caressing my face, tangling my hair. I hated to think what my curls must look like with all the moisture in the air.

"It's very late," I said to Jacob. My voice sounded strangely disembodied in the thick night, our footsteps equally so. The feeble glow of the street lamps barely lit up the tops of their poles let alone us far below them. It was a strange feeling walking along the empty, fog-shrouded streets with a ghost at my side. My sense for the dramatic thought it the right sort of night for the dead—ethereal, silent, lonely. "When would your family usually arrive home after an evening out?"

"They're already home. I checked. That's why I woke you."

"To warn them," I finished for him. The cold dampness seeped through my clothing to my skin, all the way to the bone.

I started to run.

Jacob easily kept up but the candle extinguished. He tossed it away. I would have taken several wrong turns in the soupy miasma if it hadn't been for him guiding me. We half walked, half ran and reached Belgrave Square quickly.

At first I thought the house was silent, safe, but then I heard it.

A scream. High, nerve splitting, and filled with terror.

"Adelaide!" Jacob disappeared.

Lights came on inside the house. Adelaide screamed again. Another, higher scream joined hers—Lady Preston's?

Oh God oh God oh God. I raced down the stairs and banged on the servants' door, praying someone was in the service area, hoping they heard me.

"Open—!" A hand clamped over my mouth, stifling my shout. I was wrenched back up the stairs to street level, my attacker dragging me. My heels scraped against the stone steps as I tried to stand. Then I was shoved against the wall of the house. My head hit the stucco and a jolt of pain ripped through my skull. The night turned blacker for a moment but I fought against the fog trying to cloud my brain. Someone held me upright with an iron-clawed grip, stopping me from sliding to the ground.

My vision cleared. A face loomed over me like a moon in the murky night. I didn't recognize it but it was familiar nevertheless. He had the same drooping eyes and small mouth as Maree Finch.

Tommy.

"Let me go," I said. "Please."

Finch laughed, baring two rows of crooked teeth like old headstones. "Who's gonna make me? You?" He leaned in, his wide, white face close to mine. His breath, hair and his very skin reeked of ale and cigar smoke, sweat and something worse. I retched. That only made him laugh harder. "This the girl who can see ghosts, eh?" Was he talking to me or someone else? I tried to look past him but he was too big and the night too dark. "Looks like a mad thing." He sniffed my hair. And he thought I was the mad one.

Suddenly the sound of glass shattering filled the air. Finch pulled back, glanced up. "Christ," he muttered.

I followed his gaze just in time to see Jacob and a man dressed in servant’s livery of scarlet breeches and coat falling from a high window. They were locked in battle and they fell together amidst a shower of glass, hurtling towards the footpath.

My heart leapt into my throat. I screamed. More screams echoed mine from inside the house.

It took me a moment to remember Jacob could not be harmed by such a fall. But his companion would not be so lucky.

I was wrong. The two hit the ground as one. Their impact sent a shudder along the pavement and cracked it open like an eggshell. Jacob sprang up immediately and to my surprise, so did the other man. It was as if they'd not just fallen several stories onto stone.

That’s when I noticed Finch muttering behind me. I couldn’t quite hear what he was saying even though his mouth was right near my ear, but I didn’t think he spoke English.

Before I had a chance to guess at the language, my attention was drawn back to Jacob. He and the other man hurled themselves at each other like two beasts in the ring, using their bodies as weapons. Their chests slammed, shoulders hunched and heaved. Fists smashed into flesh. Flesh that wasn’t like any flesh I knew—it didn’t smack like real skin and no bones crunched. No blood was spilled.

The servant dove at Jacob, forcing him to the ground. Together they rolled into the circle of light cast by a street lamp and that's when I saw his face.

No, not face … faces. It constantly changed, forming and reforming into people I recognized and some I didn't—Finch, Blunt, Jacob, Adelaide, Lady and Lord Preston …

It was the demon, shifting shape as it fought.

Oh God, no. How could Jacob defeat a demon? From my discussions with George, I knew they were strong and that killing them was almost impossible and required a special Otherworldly blade. I also knew that being a supernatural creature meant the demon could tear Jacob’s soul from his body. It could destroy his essence, obliterate him from this world and every other.

It could turn him into nothing.

I tried to get closer but Finch jerked me back. He was still muttering under his breath, the strange, poetic words blending together, sliding off his tongue. He was directing the creature—the demon—controlling it as it fought Jacob.

I struggled against him but his grip was too strong. He hissed in between his strange mutterings then looked over his other shoulder into the murkiness of the nearby alley. Something moved in the shadows. The sound of retreating footsteps echoed through the dense fog and I saw the flap of a coat before it was swallowed up by the night.

Finch grunted and bunched his fist into my cloak. He stopped chanting long enough to utter, "Soft-bellied toff." Did he mean me, or the person from the alley? Had someone been there or was it just a trick of light or my imagination?

Finch jerked me forward only to shove me back against the iron railing separating the pavement from the servants' stairs. Pain spiked down my spine as I almost toppled over the waist-high barrier onto the steps below. He stood in front of me now, his fist still bunching my cloak at my throat, but he was watching the fight. I followed his gaze and cringed as the demon’s fist smashed into Jacob’s mouth. On an ordinary human it would have knocked out teeth but it had little effect on Jacob.

Even so, I felt sick to my stomach. My heart had stopped beating the moment I saw him falling from the window and it felt like it had not restarted. If his soul was taken tonight by the demon, I didn’t think it would ever beat again.

The demon punched Jacob once more and he reeled back from the force. Steadying himself, he ran at the creature as if he was still fresh and his fist connected with the demon’s chin. How long could this go on? Would either of them tire?

I had to do something. Had to. Before the demon destroyed Jacob.

The amulet! With all the action, I’d almost forgotten about it. But Finch’s big paw at my throat cut off access. I tried to pull away but my movement drew his attention and his fist tightened in my cloak. He snarled, baring teeth, and his mouth twisted into a gruesome smile.

With his focus on me and not the fight, the demon slowed, allowing Jacob to get in three quick, hard punches on the demon’s chin, sending it reeling back into the shadows. He glanced at me for the first time since he'd fallen from the window. His eyes widened. His features seemed to collapse in on themselves.

"Emily!" His shout split the air.

Finch spun round and spoke in the strange language again. The demon flew out of the shadows and shoved Jacob back into the lamp post. The iron pole bent from the force.

"Jacob!" I struggled against Finch but it was useless. I was so weak by comparison, so useless. I couldn’t get to the amulet. Couldn’t get away. Couldn’t do anything.

"Emily?" It was Adelaide. She and her father had emerged from the house, wrapped in thick coats with fur collars. Lord Preston's attention focused on the demon and what he thought of that I couldn't make out in the darkness. It must seem terribly peculiar, the creature with its changing faces fighting an invisible foe.

Two footmen joined them on the landing, pistols cocked. Lord Preston also held a long sword, its blade gleaming even in the dull light cast by the lamp Adelaide held. She seemed not to know where to look, first at me, then at the demon, then at her father.

One of the servants aimed his pistol at the demon.

"That won't do anything," I said.

"Shut up!" Finch slapped me across the face. It stung. I bit down against the pain and shook off the dizziness.

"Father