“Mr. Brown,” he said with as much dignity as a man who was heavily leaning on a slip of a girl could muster, “I’ve a favor to ask of you.” He glanced about the room, taking in the familiar faces. He knew them all. Of course he did. They were his children. “Of all of you.”

Mr. Brown’s mouth hung open like a dead cod’s before he regained his wits and snapped it shut, immediately coming out from behind the bar to bow before Adam. “Sire.”

Adam could do without the display. Which was a first. He repressed a sigh. “Rise, Mr. Brown.” When the man did as bided, he continued. “Miss May and I need to be out of sight for a while.” The understatement of the year. However, he’d be damned if he begged for a soft bed and a cudgel blow across the brow so he could find blessed oblivion.

Fortunately, it was obvious what Adam needed, and Mr. Brown sprang into action, snapping his fingers at the barmaid, who bustled over and gave Adam a kind smile. “This way, sir.” Anna Smith. GIM age: seventy years. Death age: seventeen. Cause of death: strangulation after rape.

He kept his voice low. “Thank you, Miss Smith.” And though it gutted him to do it, he let her slip her shoulder under his free arm so that she might help Eliza bear his weight. Thus supported, they moved as an awkward group toward the back of the room. As they went, every GIM in the room stared on, silent and questioning. He’d answer them later.

Adam caught the eye of a slim young man, all but hidden in the shadows by the bar. “Jonathan Moore, I’ll ask you to keep watch outside.”

Quick as a tick, the man nodded and slipped out the door. Good lad.

Brown hurried to open a door that led to a set of narrow and rickety stairs. Wonderful. Adam swore he heard Eliza mutter much the same sentiment under her breath. But when he glanced down at her, her face was serene and her attention set on their destination.

“We’ll get you set up in —” Brown stopped midsentence, his gaze focused on a spot just to Adam’s right. And Adam inwardly cringed, realizing that Brown was listening to a spirit. One Adam could no longer see. Brown’s eyes narrowed, and he turned back to Adam expectantly. When Adam merely returned his look, Brown obviously realized his predicament, and the man’s wispy brows lifted a touch. Inside himself, Adam died a little more. But Brown was polite enough not to make a fuss, only got to the heart of the matter. “Fae spotted coming down the road.”

A ripple of palpable tension ran through the room. Fae were rare enough that most immortals feared them. Misinformation mixed with heinous stories of torture helped that fear along. Rather brilliant of the fae, Adam thought with grudging admiration. For now the mere mention of them had others cowering or looking over their shoulder.

However, the GIM had very real reasons to fear the fae. A GIM could not see much less pull a fae’s soul from his body. Adam knew this fatal weakness was due to the fact that his magic was connected to a fae curse; thus they were the only supernatural immune to the GIM’s power. The only recourse was to fight them hand to hand with iron and hope to strike a killing blow.

“Come,” Mr. Brown said. “We haven’t much time.”

Though a frisson of terror raced up Eliza’s neck, she remained steady as the GIM around her snapped into action. Two men stepped in between Eliza and the young barmaid to take hold of Adam. They wedged their shoulders beneath his arms and, with a shocking display of deference, half carried him towards the other end of the pub. The barmaid touched Eliza’s elbow.

“Follow me, Miss.”

Eliza followed, pretending that her heart wasn’t in her throat, that she didn’t hear the agitated whirring of the girl’s heart or see the way the gentle glow around her body had darkened to a coal-smoke color.

The room grew darker as well. Outside, just visible through the latticed, bottle-glass windows, a thick, greenish fog had rolled in. A shiver tickled Eliza’s skin. It was as if the fog were sentient and searching for prey.

The two GIM led Adam to the back wall of the pub. The walls were constructed of wide slabs of wood so old that they were blackened and glossed over with smoke and grease. Hammered into the walls were intricate bands of iron forming a pattern of crosses interlocked with fleur-de-lis. Rather lovely, but odd. It was if they were inside of a cage.

The woman caught Eliza looking and dipped her head in close. “For the GIM, a fleur-de-lis represents mind, body, soul. I’ve no idea why Adam favors the cross pattée.”

But Eliza did. It was a knight’s cross.

A GIM touched the center of a cross, and a door, completely hidden by the pattern on the wall, swung open. A crawl space, no bigger than a kitchen pantry, greeted them. “There’s a tunnel that leads to an exit about a block away,” said one of the men. He pointed to a hook on the wall. “Pull that there and it’ll open.” The pained tone of his voice made it clear that he thought it unlikely Adam would be able to move.

“I’d rather fight,” Adam said, “short as that battle would be.”

The GIM grinned with satisfaction. “Aye, sire, I’d expect nothing less from you.”

Though they set Adam down with care, the GIM hurried now. Eliza was handed in a moment later. She shuffled over to Adam’s side, where he’d begun to slump down the wall. He wouldn’t last much longer. As she needed his help, anxiety rode through her at the thought of him expiring. He’d promised that he’d soon heal, but it didn’t appear likely.