Prologue

New York City-State, October 1885

Ashton Wells sprinted through the fog. It drifted in the alleyway, swirling aloft a prone figure just ahead. He skidded to his friend’s side as filament lamps sparked and sizzled in the misty night casting the grisly scene with wavering shadows.

Agent Roland Cavendish slumped unnaturally against a wood crate, eyes clenched. He panted, pain twisting his face into a grimace. “Ash, it’s darker than I imagined.” Roland coughed, pink froth bubbling at the corner of his mouth. “Blackburn. G—get to Blackburn before it’s too late.”

“Where have you been?” Ashton eased closer, his throat tight with worry. His gaze went to Roland’s chest, to the burn trail left by the charge. The heat of the surge left a dark and jagged scald along the armored vest, boring through to Roland’s heart. Crimson seeped between the cobblestones, the edges of the blood going white with frost. Ashton stifled a groan. “I’ve been tearing this city-state apart for two days searching for you!”

“My contact never showed.” Roland arched, pain wracking his body. He grabbed at Ashton’s coat with a fist. “Blackburn, he has to stop it, Ash. There is no time to waste or the blight gets us all.”

“Easy.” Ashton pulled a kerchief from his pocket using it to stem the flow of blood. “What are you talking about? Why did you disappear?”

“The Governors, keep Blackburn from them.”

“Colonel Blackburn?” Ashton asked, surprised. “Why him? What did you discover?”

“It’s the c—cold,” Roland rasped, his eyes going glassy as his hand drifted down. He opened and closed his mouth twice and was still.

Ashton eased his friend down. Standing, he pulled the tracer gun from the holster at his hip, and revved the gear works with his thumb. They glowed bright purple with a building charge. Tiny sparks arched from the weapon to the grounding rivets on his gloved hand. He had to find Blackburn.