Fleece watched through the window as St. Cyprian and his assistant departed. When they had been lost to sight, hidden within the throng of pedestrians, he let the curtain drop and turned. His eyes briefly scanned his desk, taking in the ephemera that had occupied his life for so many months. Ever since he’d made his damnable bargain with William Melion.
He leaned back against the wall, suddenly light-headed. He pressed his fingertips to his brow. His skin was slick with sweat, despite the...