Thomas watched, his gaze questioning, as I picked up the pieces of newspaper clippings and tucked them into Nathaniel’s journals that also contained missing women.

“I’m bringing this to Uncle,” I said. “He’s the one who’s taught us about there being no coincidences in murder. If he was unsure of the Frankenstein code, then this will be a bit harder for him to ignore. Something is happening here. It’s only a matter of time before bodies turn up.”

Birds of the crow family: four figures, including a crow, a raven and a rook

THIRTY-SIX

MURDER OF CROWS

SOUTH SIDE

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

13 FEBRUARY 1889

Uncle, Thomas, and I walked into police headquarters, appearing like a murder of crows, swooping in with our black cloaks and sharp eyes. The sound of my cane reminded me of the tapping of Edgar Allan Poe’s famous raven. I hoped the Chicago police would fear us haunting them forevermore should they ignore our evidence. Someone had to hold them accountable for their lack of effort. I was thrilled Uncle was back on our side.

It hadn’t taken him long to start twisting the ends of his mustache when I’d showed him each piece of new evidence. He’d agreed: there was undoubtedly a career murderer stalking these streets. Young women didn’t simply vanish on their own. At least not in the staggering numbers of the last few weeks. Someone was preying on them.

A lack of bodies troubled Uncle. He wondered where the murderer kept them. Surely he hadn’t dug over thirty graves within the city of Chicago. So where were they? He didn’t want to connect the crimes to Jack the Ripper without further proof, but even he couldn’t deny the underlying suspicion that we were getting close. And now we were about to demand answers.

Uncle paused at a desk where a young woman sat, typing up correspondence.

“Good morning. I’m Dr. Jonathan Wadsworth, forensic coroner in London. I rang earlier.” He cleared his throat when she still hadn’t looked up. “Is the general inspector in?”

The young woman slid her gaze from Uncle to Thomas before landing on me. She shook her head. Back in England, Uncle’s name meant something. We were no longer in England and her blank stare indicated she’d never heard of the famed forensic man. Odd, since he was mentioned in conjunction with the Ripper murders worldwide.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding apologetic at all, but still polite. “Mr. Hubbard is currently indisposed. May I take down a message?”

I studied the young woman. Young. Independent. Someone who craved to earn her own way without relying on anyone else. I imagined she wasn’t originally from this city and had left comfort and familiarity behind with her loved ones. She was precisely the sort of person who appealed to our murderer. She very well could be next. Anyone could.

“It’s quite urgent,” I said. “We believe we’ve got information that might be beneficial to him regarding several missing women.”

She seemed to hesitate at that, her own attention traveling over me with the same curiosity I’d shown her. I must seem equally intriguing—a young woman working with a forensic coroner. For a moment, I thought she’d break protocol for us.

“He really is indisposed,” she finally said. “Do you have a card or an address he can use to contact you?”

Uncle stayed behind to make sure she’d taken his message and address down, while Thomas and I waited outside the building. Sunshine tried shoving its way through a thick wall of clouds. Its attempt at getting through was going as well as ours was at present.

“What are we supposed to do?” I asked, poking holes in the snow with my cane. “Sit around, sipping tea and eating cake, until a body turns up?”

“We could try speaking with friends of the missing women.” Thomas watched me stamp at the snow. “Though perhaps we can wait a bit.”

I glared at him. “You’re not suggesting I’m incapable, are you?”

Without care or concern for the people walking past us on the street, Thomas tugged me by my overcoat until we were close enough to share breath. “You, my dear, are more capable than any person I’ve ever had either the pleasure—or displeasure in most cases—of meeting.” He kissed my forehead. “I’m suggesting we see what Noah’s come to say.”

“Noah?”

He smiled down at me. “He sent a telegram this morning. He has new information he wants to share in person.”

“Hey, you two!” Noah loped through the snow, his infectious smile in place. He held fast to his hat as he crossed the busy sidewalk and paused in front of us. “Have any luck?” He nodded toward the police station. After scanning the holes I’d punched in the snow, he answered his own question. “Don’t take it personally. No one in this city wants to acknowledge bad stuff is happening. They think it’ll scare people away from the illustrious White City. As if anything would keep people away from the Ferris Wheel.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m heading there now and thought you’d like to come.”

Thomas quickly assessed Noah, and I imagined he already knew the answer before he asked the question but was attempting to be polite. “Another missing woman?”

“Yeah.” Noah scratched the side of his head, nodding. “She worked at the fair. Thought I’d poke around and see what I could find. The Columbian Guard is being tight-lipped about it.”

“Columbian Guard?” I asked. “What’s that?”

“An elite part of the police force.” Noah seemed less than impressed. “The White City is so massive, it needs its own police. They wear stupid uniforms, too. Complete with capes. The council thought it would look good to, you know, be in theme with how regal the place is.”

Costume choices aside, I shifted my attention to Thomas. He offered a slight nod. Here was a promising trail for us to follow.

I inhaled some of the icy air, already feeling more energized. “Let’s go back to the White City, shall we?”

After Thomas ran inside and informed Uncle of our plans, we set off for the World’s Fair.

Despite clouds covering the sky, the enormous Ferris Wheel cut like a blade through the gloom with its sheer might. In fact, it was hard to believe in anything other than magic in the White City. Even knowing what I did about missing women, I couldn’t stop from gasping as I watched the mammoth wheel rotate high in the sky. It carried two thousand people into the heavens. And while I watched it happen before me, I still found it impossible to believe. I’d been impressed by images I’d seen of the Eiffel Tower during Paris’s Exposition Universelle, but this was the most magnificent thing I’d ever witnessed.

Thomas stood beside me, watching the enormous wheel rotate. When he caught my eye, I saw a hint of sadness before he covered it up. I reached over and held his hand. He needn’t utter a word; I knew how he felt. What he longed for. I longed for it, too.

It would be lovely to be the sort of young couple who could purchase boxes of Cracker Jack and stand in the massive line for the giant ride. We could talk excitedly about Buffalo Bill’s stagecoach attacks, marvel at how authentic it appeared, our cheeks flushed with the thrill. Once we finally boarded the Ferris Wheel and soared into the heavens, perhaps Thomas could steal a kiss. But we weren’t that couple. We had a murder investigation to conduct.

We followed Noah through a throng of people, Thomas holding tight to me so we didn’t get separated by the masses. Despite the buildings and the new technology on display, the crowds might truly be the most remarkable spectacle yet. Tens of thousands of people meandered around. It was the most people I’d ever seen in one location.

It took nearly two hours of moving at a slug’s pace, but we finally made it to a small building tucked behind the Court of Honor. Giant plants hid it from the view of passersby, and if Noah hadn’t known where to turn, I’m positive we would have walked straight past it.

He knocked on the door, a tap that sounded like Morse code, then stood back as heavy footsteps marched our way. A stout man with red cheeks greeted us. “Mr. Hale, I presume?”

Noah stepped forward and tipped his hat. “Thanks for meeting with me, Mr. Taylor. These are my associates, Mr. Cresswell and Miss Wadsworth.” He swung his arm to include us. The older gentleman narrowed his eyes. “They’re here to observe,” Noah clarified, lying smoothly. “Would you mind if we came in, or should we do this out here?”

Mr. Taylor blinked as if to clear his thoughts, then motioned us in. “It’s best to not draw attention to ourselves. Come in.”

Inside I was surprised to find a tiny but well-organized office. The limited space had been utilized well—four desks were split evenly on each side, creating an aisle; three of them were occupied by young typists. Mr. Taylor brought us to a fifth desk partially hidden with an ornate screen. He pulled a chair around and set it next to two others already there. “Sit. Please.”

Once we’d arranged ourselves, Noah jumped straight into his inquiry. “What can you tell me about Miss Van Tassel? Anything about the last time you saw her, her mood, if anything was odd. Even the most insignificant detail might help. Her family is sick with worry.”

Mr. Taylor sat forward at his desk, his hands steepled in front of him. “She never missed a day of work. Always came in with a smile. I believe she’d only been in the city for a few months, but she kept mostly to herself, so none of us heard much about her life outside of here.”

“She didn’t tell any of your other typists about her personal affairs?” Noah pressed. “No one she might be courting…”

Mr. Taylor shook his head. “When you rang earlier, I called a meeting with everyone. I asked them to tell me anything they knew. Prior to working here, she had a job at a pharmacy on 63rd Street. She never told anyone why she left it; we assumed for the pay. We’ve only been operational in this location for a little over a week.”

Thomas tapped his fingers on his thigh but didn’t interrupt Noah’s interrogation. Noah glanced at us and I could see the defeat I felt mirrored in his eyes. “Did anyone ever meet her here or drop her off?”