The only thing Hollis needed more than a nap was Ana’s company. Unfortunately, he hadn’t time for either.

He’d returned to Thurloe after the previous day’s games to look in on his sister-in-law and her children. Not long before he’d arrived, word had come from Brogan that the records from White’s needed perusing. Hollis had spent the rest of that day and into the night searching out a member who could get him the information he needed. Then he’d returned to the Thompsons’ for more games and spying and snooping. Not willing to risk being caught out behaving in a suspicious way, he’d taken a hack all the way back to his flat, then another back to Pimlico, alighting several streets away and walking in the rain to the Newport house. He lock-picked his way through the back-garden door and slipped up to the lookout room.

“Welcome back, you lazy bum,” Brogan greeted.

Hollis tossed his dripping coat on the table. “Your line was ‘Hollis, you look worn down. Please, take a nap while I continue as lookout.’”

Another voice answered. “And what’s my line?”

He spun about, shocked to see Ana sitting at her leisure in a threadbare armchair, his latest penny dreadful in her hand, illuminated by a small candle on a copper candleholder. “I see this spot’s grown cozier while I’ve been running all over Town doing the difficult work.”

Ana raised an eyebrow and looked to Brogan. “Is he always this grumpy when he’s tired?”

“I’ve not seen him tired before, truth be told. He’s not usually the one doing the lifting.”

Hollis pulled off his sodden gloves. “You make me sound like I’ve been out thieving.”

“Shocking.” Ana’s theatrical tone pulled an exhausted smile to his lips.

He dropped his gloves in his hat and set it atop his coat. “I could use a hug if you have one to give.”

“Hollis.” Brogan pulled his name out long and singsong as he snatched Hollis into a bone-crushing embrace. “I’ve missed you, lad. Don’t ever leave again. M’ poor heart can’t take it. I—”

“I will belt you, Donnelly.”

Brogan laughed and dropped his arms. As he walked back to the window, he hooked his thumb over his shoulder in Hollis’s direction. “Best of luck with that one, Ana. He’s sore and sore.”

“‘Ana’?” Hollis eyed them both.

She rose from her chair and moved to him. “We’ve had a lot of time together, waiting for you. In addition to discovering his actual name, I’ve learned more about Dublin than I thought I’d ever know, and he is now an expert in the characteristics of various string instruments. And we are both now very familiar with the exploits of a certain one-time street urchin.”

He pushed back his wet hair. “Fletch has been hanging about as well?”

“He has a message for you,” Brogan said. “One he said he had to deliver in person.”

“Which means he likely won’t let me sleep either.”

Ana brushed her hand against his, her fingers warm against his cold skin. She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. Heat enveloped him on the instant.

He put his arms around her. She returned the embrace.

“You’re damp,” she said.

“I had to walk from Hugh Street and sneak in the back.” No matter that he was ready to drop, he would not have traded the feel of her in his arms for even a moment’s rest. “I’m convinced people were standing on the rooftops, emptying buckets of water on my head the entire way.”

She rested her head against him, dampness and all. He breathed in the scent of her, a warm, soft vanilla. How had he not noticed that before?

“There ain’t time for that.” Fletcher made the pronouncement as he walked unceremoniously into the room.

Hollis didn’t drop his arms away from Ana. Holding her gave him strength. “Brogan says you have a message for me.”

Fletcher held out a sealed letter. A fleeting glance identified the stationery. For the first time in his two years as a Dreadful, Hollis had been sent a direct correspondence from the Dread Master himself.

He kissed the top of Ana’s head, then stepped away. She knew of his efforts at the Thompson house. She knew some of those involved in the mission. But she didn’t know about the Dread Penny Society. It had to remain that way.

“You are near enough to my father’s size,” Ana said. “I’ll gather you a change of clothes from his armoire. Then you won’t be wet and cold.”

“Thank you.”

Once Ana left the room, Hollis broke the seal on the Dread Master’s letter. The rainy skies outside provided very little light, so he crossed to Ana’s candle, tipping the paper enough to see the neat writing.

“This isn’t your penmanship,” he said to Fletcher.

“I’ve told you myself that I ain’t the Dread Master,” he said. “Didn’t you believe me?”

“I don’t always know what to believe.” He dropped his gaze once more to the brief letter.

Hollis.

Received your report. We cannot ignore that the one-time Crow and the Raven are likely one and the same. Maneuver into a game with him. Catch him cheating. Gather proof. He must be stopped.

DM

Hollis pushed out a breath. This was what he’d wanted: the Dreadfuls to trust him with something other than scraping and bowing. The Dread Master’s note gave him that in spades. Why, then, did he feel tired instead of excited?

Hollis tore the note in half, then half again, continuing the effort as the pieces grew ever smaller. Fletcher set an open flask on the table beside the candle. Hollis dropped the bits of paper into it. He’d seen Fletcher do that often enough after reading correspondence from the Dread Master to know the proper way of disposing of the paper. Fire was also considered an acceptable means of destruction, but this was easiest in the moment.

“Your Ana will return shortly,” Fletcher said. “Any instructions we need before she gets back?”

“The Dread Master wants me to gather proof that the Raven cheats his patrons. That means going back. Getting in deeper. Likely breaking into areas of the house where I’m not actually allowed.” Hollis rubbed at his face. “We’ll eventually need to recruit a few more highborn Dreadfuls. This type of mission is beyond the scope of just one person.”

Brogan spoke from the window while still watching the street. “How are you meant to play cards and sneak around the house at the same time? Does the Dread Master think you’re actually a pair of twins?”

“Maybe he’s hopin’ you’ll toss Very Merry into the efforts, let her do the snooping for you.”

Though he knew Fletcher had made the suggestion in jest, Hollis still gave a serious answer. “Very Merry is safe where she is. I won’t put her in any danger, no matter the enormity of all the Dread Master expects me to do.”

A quick knock sounded at the door before it inched open.

Ana peeked inside. “I have dry clothes for you, Hollis.”

“You’re a worker of miracles.”

She laughed and set the pile on the table. “Anything else I can do to keep my sainthood?”

“Do you know any talented sneak thieves?” Brogan asked, laughter in his tone.

Ana turned wide, worried eyes on Hollis. He knew what was weighing on her: she was a talented sneak thief, but they didn’t know that.

“We’re hoping to gather evidence that the games across the street are manipulated,” Hollis said. “Brogan’s proposing a more creative approach than I’m planning to take.”

Some of the tension in her posture eased. She even managed a smile. “You mean to catch cheating as it happens, but he wants to break in and find marked cards or hidden compartments or, I suppose, a very convenient list of victims.”

“That’d be grand,” Brogan said.

Fletcher leaned against the wall near the window. “It’s a right regular shame you didn’t manage to catch the Phantom Fox, Hollis. You’d have precisely the skilled help you need.”

The man didn’t realize the legendary sneak thief was in the room.

Ana stepped closer to Hollis and, in an almost silent whisper, said, “He’s not wrong. I could do it.”

He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I’d keep out of the public rooms.”

“Ana.” He pulled her to the side of the room. “Four-Finger Mike doesn’t deal only in thieving children. One of his closest associates ran a vast prostitution ring, and very few of the women caught up in it were there willingly.”

“I have slipped in and out of dozens of houses, some of which were full of people at the time, and I’ve only ever been caught by you. And even then, I still got away.” Her gaze turned almost pleading. “I could do this, Hollis. I could help.”

“If she’s a skilled sneak thief, I think we ought to consider it,” Fletcher said.

Hollis and Ana both jumped, looking over at him.

He gave them a look as dry as the Sahara. “We’re in a tiny room with no other noises. Did you really think we couldn’t hear you?”

Brogan added his thoughts. “Four-Finger Mike won’t be expecting a woman thief.”

“They agree with me,” Ana said. “You’re outvoted.”

“This isn’t Parliament, darling,” Hollis said.

“This also isn’t a dictatorship.” She popped her fists on her hips. “So either you can include me in this and we’ll formulate an approach together, or I’ll simply wait until you’re across the street and I’ll get the information I need from these gentlemen, then do my part without you.”

He eyed the others. “You’d do that to me?”

“The Raven has to be stopped,” Fletcher said. “And you said yourself it’s more than you can do on your own. Four-Finger Mike wouldn’t recognize her, should she be seen. We can’t say that for either of us.”

Hollis paced away. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. But, no matter that the Dread Master had shown some faith in him, he knew he didn’t have the clout to override the others. And he’d learned a little of Ana’s stubbornness.

“This is dangerous.” He said it as much to Ana as to the others, a last effort to change all their minds.

“If we bring down the Raven,” Ana said, “we can likely bring down Four-Finger Mike as well. This neighborhood will be safer for it. The children of London will be safer for it. The women of London will be as well. It is dangerous, yes. But it must be done.”

Fletcher gave a firm nod. Brogan mimed applause.

That was their fate sealed then. Ana would be sneaking into the lion’s den, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Swear to me you’ll be careful.” He brushed his thumb along her jaw.

“I swear.”

He bent and brushed his lips over hers, a whisper of a kiss, unhurried and light as air. He’d caught her once, and he wasn’t as wily as Four-Finger Mike. If anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself.

The gambling rooms at the Thompsons’ place were arranged according to the skill of the players and the height of the stakes. Hollis had begun in the lowest of the rooms—the ground-floor drawing room, sporting three-penny stakes and games dependent more on chance than skill—but he had already moved to the small sitting room on the first floor, four rooms advanced from where he’d begun.

Never in all his time there had he seen the Raven join a game. He’d need to do something to catch the eye of that elusive fellow.

Hollis left every day with more money in his pocket than he’d arrived with, but that hadn’t done the trick. He’d managed some impressive performances in various games. That hadn’t either.

Skill alone wouldn’t do it. He needed to borrow a page from Fletcher and swagger a little. The best game for that, in his experience, was baccarat. Tradition dictated that players could make quite a show out of revealing their cards. Some chose to simply flip them over. Others took their time, bending the cards, drawing out the drama.

Hollis sat at the baccarat table, determined to win handily and with flair. Baccarat involved a great deal of chance, but with six players and a dealer, a great many cards would be revealed. Hollis could track which ones remained in the deck and, thus, which ones were most likely to come up. He’d previously played with each of these gentlemen at other tables. He knew how to read them.

Each card he was dealt, he twisted loosely from one corner to the other, slowly making a pasteboard curl before laying it face up, perched on two corners. The drawn-out approach brought all eyes to him and built tension and expectation.

He played the table as much as the cards. Some of the gentlemen were cautious, making smaller bets, not easily persuaded to wager high. Others, though, needed only a couple of wins to toss caution to the wind. Hollis provided that, building their confidence and, with it, the pot.

No one would be ruined by him. He wouldn’t allow the wagers to reach that level. He simply pushed the game far enough for a few people to wander over and watch.

Hollis assumed an even more roguish posture and watched as the final opponent at the table turned over his cards, adding a small crease as he did. The first was a ten, which could prove either perfect or disastrous. The onlookers and the dealer watched closely as he turned his second card. An eight.

Whispers of excitement echoed around them. Only one pair of cards could beat a natural eight. But Hollis knew which cards were left, and he had a tremendously good chance of holding that pair.

Leaning on the arm of his chair, his posture unconcerned, he began curling back the first of his two cards, slowly revealing it. A ten. He tossed it to the dealer. The room watched and waited.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hollis spotted the Raven standing apart from the onlookers. But he was watching. He was most definitely watching.

Hollis undertook his card twisting with an extra degree of emphasis. The tiniest bit at a time, he wrapped it backward. The crowd bent forward, eager for a glance. Only one card would win.

He saw it before anyone else. Though most players kept their reactions subdued, this was not the moment for subtlety. He saw precisely the card he needed and grinned.

He tossed the curl of pasteboard to the dealer.

“A natural nine,” the dealer declared. “Our winner, gentlemen.”

Hollis stood, offered a dip of his head, and waited as the dealer gathered the impressive pile of coins Hollis had won.

Their host wove toward him, stopping beside him at the baccarat table.

“I suspect, Mr. Darby,” the Raven said, “you may be bored with our games here.”

“A little.” He dropped his now much heavier purse in his jacket pocket, balancing the appearance of triumph with ennui. He had a very specific role to play, after all. “Do you know where I might find more of a challenge? I haven’t a membership at any of the clubs.”

The Raven waved that off. “They’ll not challenge you there. What you need is a game in the front parlor.”

“The front parlor here?” he asked.

The Raven nodded. “Very few are invited to play there. Your brother, in fact, never made it that far.”

“My brother is not the brightest among us.” He offered a nod to the table of gentlemen.

“But you, I would wager, are.” The Raven assessed him. “What do you say, Mr. Darby? A greater challenge. Greater stakes. Greater privacy.”

“Against whom would I be playing?”

The man’s smile was somehow both oily and sincere. “Only the best.”

“An undertaking on that level deserves an audience one can depend upon.” He set his hands in his pockets, assuming a casual posture. “Allow me to bring my choice of companions, and I believe I will accept the challenge.”

The Raven nodded. “Very well. Choose your support and choose your game. Simply tell me when.”

“Tomorrow,” Hollis said. “In the evening.”

“I look forward to it.”

Hollis put his hat on his head and, with one last nod, turned and left.

Tomorrow evening. His moment of truth.