They heard the carriage well before they saw it. The fog was as thick and shifting as ever, moving through the streets like a living thing, and but for the pale gleam of lamplight reduced the buildings to nameless, shapeless shadows.

Bartido shifted his shoulders beneath his greatcoat. He generally preferred a lighter jacket, but he was glad this time that he'd chosen heavier garb. The night seemed much colder than the first time he'd called on the Proseccos, and the dampness of the fog was the kind that penetrated the bones. Will Laird hadn't brought a greatcoat and had given more than one shiver as they walked through the streets. His sister, with more forethought as suited the elder sibling, wore a hooded cloak over her dress and gloves for her hands.

The hackney emerged from the fog and came to a stop in front of the Proseccos' gatepost.

"It looks like this is your friend, the one we were waiting for," Victoria said.

"And a good thing, too. Maybe we should have taken a carriage."

"Well, if we'd known that it would be this cold and clammy, we would have."

"At least the two of you had the brains to dress for it. I tell you, the next time I hear Uncle Syrus complaining about how the sea air makes his joints ache, I won't be snickering up my sleeve at his crotchets, you can count on it."

"It's too bad, then, that you didn't leave your coat behind, too, Bartido, if the experience teaches compassion for your elders," Carstairs joked as he descended from the carriage.

"Somehow, I don't think God arranged tonight's fog to give us a lesson in humility, Michael."

"Not specifically, no, but there are lessons all around us; it's only up to us to see and learn them." He paid the driver, then turned back to the group, approaching as the carriage vanished into the fog.

"Why, you're a priest!" Laird exclaimed as he saw Carstairs's pectoral cross.

"Father Michael Carstairs," Bartido said, "curate at St. Helena's and, more importantly, a childhood friend of mine. Michael, this is Miss Victoria Laird and her brother William."

"A pleasure to meet you in person; Bartido's mentioned that he'd been introduced to these seances by you."

"Quite so," Will said, puffing out his chest a bit. "Ah, is that why you invited us all to make up a party of it tonight, Bartido?"

"Right; it only seemed fitting that you be here on the night I bring my friend along."

"Well, that makes sense. Share the experience and all, especially since it's like I brought him along as well, if at second hand." He paused, then went on to say, "Honestly, Bartido, I can't thank you enough. Vi's been ever so touchy about the idea of going back for another seance this past week that I was afraid I'd seriously offended her."

"Touchy? Now really, Will."

Bartido chuckled.

"You'd better watch out for yourself there, Will," he added. "Keep stuffing your foot in your mouth like that and you'll need Michael's help instead of mine to recover it."

Victoria laughed while her brother pulled a face.

"I'm still not quite sure what you're doing here, Father Carstairs, even if Will does stand in need of aid and comfort," she said. "Will tells me that the Church frowns on spiritualism, and in all honesty it isn't hard to see why."

"Please, call me Michael; you're friends of Bartido's, after all, and it will feel very strange to have you stand on ceremony all night."

"All right, Michael, then. But my question still stands, curious woman that I am."

"Well, I can't argue with you. The simple fact is that what most spiritualists say about ghosts and the afterlife does run counter to the Church's teaching."

"Stands to reason," Laird said. "'Course, you priests had your place. Can't run before you can walk, and all. People needed that helping hand to get them pointed in the right direction." He smiled benignly at Carstairs, as if he was offering a compliment rather than asserting that the role of priests in society was over now.

To be fair, he probably does think it's a compliment.

"Be honest, Will; do you even know what that means?"

"'Course I do, Vi!" He looked a little hurt. "It means that people weren't ready to really understand things before. If the messengers of the spirit world came then, we wouldn't have known what to do. We needed the priests to teach us the basics, to set us on the right path. That's why mediums didn't start developing until now, because human minds weren't ready to touch the spirit world."

"That sounded...remarkably coherent, actually," Bartido said.

"Is that what Mrs. Prosecco teaches?" Carstairs asked.

Laird shot him a suspicious look.

"You're not trying to put together a heresy case, are you?"

"This is Albion, Will," Bartido pointed out. "It's not against the law to be a heretic unless you're a priest, and that's only canon law."

"'Only' canon law?"

"They can't hang you or burn you at the stake," he said. "That's a fairly significant difference."

"So, since we can acquit him of malice aforethought," Victoria brought the conversation back to the original point, "why are you here, Michael?"

"Well, it's true enough that I do not approve of such things. But Bartido is my friend, and he assures me that there's more to what the Proseccos are doing than playing carnival tricks on the credulous and gullible."

Bartido noted that Carstairs had chosen his words carefully, giving almost the opposite impression of his actual purpose without any outright untrue statements. He was kind of impressed.

"Good for you!" Will said enthusiastically, impressed for other reasons. "Glad to see an open mind in a man of the cloth!"

Carstairs's pained expression suggested that he wasn't entirely happy with the praise, though whether it was shame at deception, annoyance that his calling was assumed to be closed-minded, or the more semantic irritation that Laird was making "open-minded" a synonym for "credulous" wasn't obvious. It could well have been all three.

Bartido, for his part, was more interested in Laird. He'd put the young gentleman down as a casual follower, the type whose prime interest in the seances was in finding a slightly unusual evening's entertainment. Now, though, he was talking more like someone who was a true believer, though he supposed that could have been a reaction to the perceived threat of the priest. Men often would dig in their heels at criticism, after all.

Even so, it seemed a little extreme.

"Will's a bit more enthusiastic than I remember him being about all this," he mentioned to Victoria while the other two were occupied with their back-and-forth debate.

"I'm afraid so. The seance you and I went to with him seems to have made a strong impression on him."

"And on you?"

She smiled wryly.

"Let's just say that I'm happy with the answers that I found for myself and leave it at that, shall we? I still have to defend my brother's honor."

"That may take some doing."

Her eyebrows rose.

"Bartido Ballentyne, you're up to something," she concluded.

"I am not." Unlike Carstairs, he had no trouble with telling bald-faced lies.

Not that they were believed.

"Hm, and it's coincidence that even though we've met at various events several times over the past week, you didn't even mention spiritualism until last night?"

Which served to illustrate the problem of using intelligent people as cover for his own activities: they could figure things out and not just innocently follow their scripted roles.

"If any of this is going to hurt my brother, I swear that you'll regret—"

"There's nothing like that, I promise," he assured her at once. That was true enough. Unless Laird had some undocumented role in the con, such as being a shill—but that was something he'd already considered and dismissed as unlikely. So the only thing he was likely to suffer would be the shattering of his illusions, and most people would agree that that was actually good for him in the long run.

Not that I've ever been fond of "it's for his own good" as an excuse for anything, but Will's just a sideshow when it comes to this business, anyway.

Victoria gave him a long, searching look as if trying to measure his sincerity. She must have been satisfied with whatever she saw, since she nodded once, then turned to where Laird and Carstairs were still continuing their discussion.

"Will, Michael, perhaps it would be more comfortable if we continued this inside?"

"What? Oh, oh, yes, thank you, Vi. Don't want to keep people waiting on us now, do we?"

They rang the bell, and were once again admitted into the house by the elderly butler. Just as on the first visit, Domenic Prosecco was waiting in the anteroom, together with the elder Guinnesses.

"Welcome back, my friends," the spiritualist greeted them, a warm smile on his sharp-featured face. "I am pleased to see you again."

"It was an amazing experience, one not quite like any I've had before," Bartido said honestly. "After something like that, it would be hard to just walk away without looking back."

"The wisdom of the spirit world is available to all," Prosecco answered. "Our explorations look into the fundamental mysteries of the universe, the chain of life and death and the existence of the soul. It is no wonder you would be drawn back. But I must say that it is not every day we welcome a priest at one of our seances, Father Carstairs."

Prosecco's knowledge of Carstairs's name surprised Bartido at first, until he remembered that they'd sent in their visiting cards, meaning that it not only wasn't a mystery, but not even an attempt to be mysterious.

"After what he experienced last week, Bartido thought that there was something here I needed to see. I hope that I am welcome?"

"All true seekers after knowledge are welcome here."

"God has given us the power of reason with which to experience His creation; I would not be true to my vows were I to set aside mine."

Bartido almost whistled in appreciation of that line, though he doubted Carstairs would enjoy the sentiment.

"Your open mind is a pleasure to encounter in a man of the cloth. I am sure that what you see and hear tonight will excite your curiosity and interest."

"I look forward to it."

"It was an experience," Bartido said. He'd slipped out of his greatcoat, and was standing with it over one shoulder, hooked on the fingertips of his right hand. "Honestly, I couldn't believe some of the things I saw at first. I'm indebted to Will and Victoria for thinking to include me, and I think you'll see some of the same astonishing things I did. But I hope you'll forgive me, Mr. Prosecco, for inviting another guest?"

"Oh, indeed? Another new seeker, come to learn what he or she may?"

Bartido shook his head.

"No, one who has been here before, a man who has been driven by the events he's seen to a new turn of mind."

"Indeed? How is that?"

"I believe that refers to me."

Heads turned to the robed figure of Nathan Dundee, who stood in the doorway.

"You have a way of making an entrance, Master Dundee," Bartido said with a smile. The smile was not returned, but instead drew a sharp look from beneath bristling brows.

"Say rather that I've lost patience with the necessity of social routines." His gaze turned to Prosecco. "I hope my presence won't cause any ill feeling. As young Ballentyne knows, I am fascinated by your proceedings and what I witnessed the last time I was here."

"May I ask if Tobias is here as well?" Mr. Guinness spoke up for the first time since Bartido's arrival.

Dundee shook his head.

"I am here of my own accord, not in line with anyone's agenda and most certainly of all not his. Forgive me if I speak bluntly, but that young man showed no respect for my findings simply because they did not suit his hopes."

Far from being offended, the Guinnesses actually looked relieved.

"On the contrary, Master Dundee, I am happy that our communion with the spirit world will not be disturbed by our son's rancor." He shook his head sadly. "It is a hard thing to admit, but the simple truth is that Tobias has strayed from the path, caring nothing for his spiritual well-being."

A new voice spoke up in response. "Don't worry; I'm sure that he just wants to help out his parents."

"You are late, Miss Vine."

"Sorry, Master. I was chatting with the butler while I gave him our coats."

"Do not dally," Dundee told his apprentice. "Our time is valuable, and we are making these good people wait on our pleasure."

"Yes, Master Dundee."

It was a shade embarrassing for the girl to be chastised in front of the group, no doubt. Dundee was probably quite a martinet as a teacher. On the other hand, the girl did seem like she could be a bit flighty, exactly the type to rub the necromancer the wrong way.

"And who is this charming young lady?" Prosecco stepped into the breach to smooth over any awkwardness.

"My apprentice, Miss Vine Petri. Ballentyne's invitation named her as well."

"Oh, indeed?" Victoria remarked dryly, arching an eyebrow.

"She seemed like she'd be more convivial company for Master Dundee than Mr, Guinness, plus she may be of use to him in making his observations." Bartido said it easily, almost as if he'd had the explanation prepared in advance. Which, of course, he'd had.

"I see." Victoria gave him a wry smile that wasn't exactly hostile but definitely not one that approved. He supposed it didn't help that Vine was another redhead that had a name starting with V; it was sort of like when two women wore identical dresses to a social event, only a more intimate duplication.

Since Dundee wasn't exactly inclined to do so, it was left to Bartido to make the introductions for Carstairs and Vine both.

"Thank you for having me," the girl told their host when Bartido finished. "It sounds amazing, the ability to contact the dead without having to rely on magic. I mean, Master Dundee is teaching me amazing things, too, but to talk to ghosts just by calling on them, I wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it for himself."

"My apprentice speaks with more enthusiasm than care, but in essence she is quite correct. Had Ballentyne not invited me I would have contacted you on my own before much longer. The phenomena we experienced require further study and investigation; we stand at the gate of an entirely new era in magic."

"You flatter us, Master Dundee."

"Actually," Guinness spoke up, "the Proseccos are of the same mind as you are."

"Indeed?"

"Yes, for they, too, believe that the mediumistic qualities that Madame possesses should be studied and developed, and that others of the gift be sought out and encouraged in their abilities, much as you yourself as a magician have your apprentice. They seek to know how widespread these abilities are, how best to make use of them, and if there is any greater purpose in their development."

"You see?" Laird said. "It's like I told you. It's because we're ready to hear the messages of the spirits that we've now been given the ability to do it."

"It sounds like a worthy course of action," Dundee responded to Guinness. "But what I mean is to inquire into the magical aspects of it all, how what Madame can do interacts with the fundamental forces of Necromancy. There must be a connection of some kind."

Bartido managed to not laugh at the master magician's word choice, but he did share a glance with Carstairs. He was sure that in another few moments Guinness would start talking about the trust all on his own without any prompting.

Prosecco, too, seemed to have reached that conclusion, at least to judge by how quickly he intervened.

"Your attention is kind, and after we are through with tonight's explorations I am sure that we can make the time to speak of this further. But for now, let us focus not on the worldly and analytical side of things, but on the spiritual knowledge that the future offers us. We are gathered to enrich our spirits, not to indulge in the cold, scientific study of the method."

Carstairs frowned at this, his disapproval echoing his earlier remarks on God and reason. He did not speak up, though, suppressing his instinct for this theological debate in the face of his actual purpose for being there. Bartido was grateful; the last thing he wanted was for the evening to devolve into an argument over the arcana of religious belief, magical theory, and the false creed the Proseccos were dressing this con up in. Not only was it unlikely to be entertaining as it spiraled up into the more rarefied air, but it was guaranteed to be extremely unproductive.

"Very well," Dundee gave in for his part, "but I will want to speak with Madame and yourself later on at your earliest convenience. You have raised a number of significant questions that I feel deserve to be answered."

"I agree completely," Bartido put in. "I have to agree with Mr. Prosecco, too, though. After all, what we see and hear tonight may change what you're going to ask."

"Hm, that's certainly the truth."

The curtains parted, and Addeline Prosecco emerged from the seance chamber.

"I see that we are quite a spirited company tonight," she said, a flicker of a smile acknowledging and dismissing the unintentional pun in the same moment. Her husband introduced Carstairs and Vine to the medium.

"But come, all is prepared and we are ready to begin." Her eyes met Bartido's as they swept the group and he couldn't suppress the sudden, though groundless fear that she could see right into his soul to know what he was planning.

He met that gaze and, refusing to back down, grinned saucily at her, and had the unexpected pleasure of watching her flinch in surprise.