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CHAPTER ONE
ZADIE
“The Saint’s Slasher strikes again! Woman found dead near Saint’s Crossing Bridge!” the paperboy’s voice rings out from across the street.
The words stop me in my tracks as I exit Bramble and Thorne, causing my sister to collide with me.
“Oh, demons and saints, Zadie,” Sabrina huffs as she guides me off to the side to pass and join her friend. “You really ought to pay better attention to your surroundings.”
The bell on the haberdashery door jingles as it clicks shut. Other shoppers continue with their business, either chatting away with their companions or weaving between others and crossing the cobbled street… as if the death of another woman is not worthy of their time—the ninth victim of the grisly murders that started five months ago.
“They found another woman,” Jane says in a not-so-hushed whisper as she covers her mouth with a gloved hand. “I thought the authorities had the man responsible in custody.”
Sabrina presses her lips into a thin line. “Clearly, they arrested the wrong one.”
Or there’smorethan one person responsible,I think to myself. With as little as the authorities have learned, there are still countless possibilities.
The box in my hands starts to crinkle from my increasingly tight grip. I force myself to take a deep breath and loosen my hold. I’m tempted to run across the street to purchase the paper.
“We should get going, Father will be worried if we’re not back in time for tea,” Sabrina says pointedly. “I know what you’re thinking, Zadie—don’t you dare bring that into our home, you know how he feels about such things.”
The three of us make our way down the street, taking the road that leads to our manner on the Eastern side of Briar Field Park. I trail behind them. Jane’s thick ringlets bounce as she chats about their new hats and the dresses they are having made.
Sabrina and I look alike, but other than our sharp but delicate features, warm complexion, and sable hair of our mother, we have little in common. Even with Jane’s fair looks, anyone who has ever met the three of us has mentioned, at some point or another, they could swear the two of them were the real sisters.
Without turning to look back, I can sense the look my sister’s disapproval. She doesn’t like that I want to know the details about the murders. I don’t enjoy the gruesome details any more than she does but staying ignorant of what is happening around us is dangerous.
And if I hadn’t requested to stop at the haberdashery, we wouldn’t have heard of the latest one. I’d only wanted to pick up a cravat for Father’s birthday next month.
I brush off her annoyance and get lost in my thoughts until the tone of their voices change.
“… it would be decent amount of money. We could even go together?—”
A flush colors Jane’s fair cheeks. She throws a furtive glance back at me. There’s a brief pause before they begin describing their latest embroidery projects in excruciating detail.
I pretend not to notice their odd behavior. They are probably hungry or got too much sun after spending the last week of chilly afternoons inside… or talking about something more personal than I would like to know.
Couples and families stroll through the park or sit on their claimed plots of grass. It’s the same as always on a beautiful day. Except that everyone is giving the area around the covered bridge a wide berth. Our pace remains steady and relaxed until we near, then without a word spoken between us, we hurry across.
Every few steps, Sabrina throws furtive glances over her shoulder as if the murderer might have suddenly appeared behind us or snatched me before I stepped foot on the paved walkway again. I keep a pleasant smile plastered on my face and pretend I don’t notice.
Nearing the end of the park, I spot a familiar figure near a copse of trees. Though his back is to me, I’d know him anywhere. Benjamin Browning. He is striking with his sharp features and long golden hair pulled back into a bun, made brighter by the sun gilding the strands.
“Stop lagging behind, Zadie.”
Before she can stop me, I change course toward my childhood friend. Waving and smiling brightly, I call over my shoulder, “Go on without me! I’ll have Ben escort me home.”
He’s talking with our two friends, Wallace Gastrell and Oscar Northcott. They joined our duo four years ago.
As I close in on the grove, I slow, carefully avoiding making any noise that would alert him to my presence as I sneak up on him. But when I press my back to a tree, his words drain all sense of teasing.
“—We have to take action against the viscount, now, before anyone else ends up dead.”
I’m too shocked to retreat and catch up with Sabrina and Jane while I still have the chance.
“How can you be so sure that it’s him?” Wallace asks. He might be a full year younger than I, he’s always the first to question things. “The authorities haven’t found any clues to prove it whether or not a vampire or human is responsible.”
Oscar grunts but says nothing.
