"I'm so glad you could join us tonight, Henry," Constance said. She lazily waved a hand-painted fan at herself while their carriage bounced and jolted its way down a narrow, cobblestoned street. The air inside the carriage felt a bit stuffy, but by mutual agreement they had kept the windows shut to keep out the noise—and smell—of the busy London street they traveled on. "Gilbert has quite the mystery to solve, but I'm sure the two of you will figure it out."

"Thank you for the invitation, Lady Bosford," Henry replied, "and I'm always happy to help Gilbert whenever I can." He returned to gazing out the dust-specked window.

Gilbert eyed his friend with a mix of exasperation and concern. Henry Gonow, fifth Earl of Choughton, had been his friend since their days at boarding school, and despite their differences in station they had remained close; Gilbert had been Henry's best man at his marriage, and for several years he'd had a standing invitation to dine with Henry and his wife on Sunday evenings.

But two years ago, on a rainy winter night, Henry's carriage had overturned while he and his wife were on their way back to London from their country estate, and Henry had ended up in hospital, battling to recover from a ghastly abdominal injury.

His wife Karenna had not survived her injuries.

After months in hospital, Henry had made a full recovery—physically, at least. But now, as Gilbert watched his friend stare into the deepening summer sky, he wondered if a large part of Henry's spirit had died with his wife. He had helped to repair and heal Henry's body, but Gilbert had no clue how to deal with a broken heart.

"When we get there, Henry, I think it best if we contrive to sit on opposite sides of the room," Gilbert said in an attempt to break his friend out of his reverie. "That way, one of us might spy something the other has missed."

Henry looked over at him and nodded. "Excellent idea," he said. "Later on, we can compare our observances afterwards over an excellent brandy that I've been meaning to share with you."

Gilbert wagged a finger at his aunt. "And you—don't parade it about that I'm a doctor. I would prefer it if Henry and I attracted as little attention as possible."

Lady Bosford smirked. "Darling, you could be a chimney sweep and you'd attract attention. Henry, too, for that matter. Come now, you aren't two Christians entering the lion's den; surely gentlemen such as yourselves can handle the admiration of a few young ladies." The carriage lurched to a stop inside the porte-cochère of a large mansion, and as Constance exited the carriage she glanced back at her nephew and said, "But I do promise to not brag about your profession."

Of course, the dozen or so women in the parlor fawned over them anyway. There were several other men there, but they were passed over for the most part, and Gilbert was peripherally aware of the envious glances they cast in his and Henry's direction.

Gilbert envied them for being ignored.

He was relieved that Henry, being possessed of a title, received the lion's share of the attention, but he felt a pang of guilt when he saw his friend's rigid posture. Thank goodness there's not that many of them, he thought. Henry's expression was not unlike a deer standing in the road, staring at an oncoming carriage-lamp. For his part, Gilbert made stiff small-talk while he nursed a glass of sherry, mindful of the fact that he needed to stay in his hostess' good graces; he already had a reputation for a lack of charm—it wouldn't help him to be labeled as rude.

Their hostess, Lady Hempstead, circulated through the room, accompanied by a silver-haired young man dressed in traditional Chinese garb, who carried a red lacquered bowl. "This is Naka, Doctor Lee's son and assistant," she said. "Please place your sovereign in his bowl, and anyone who would like a chance to be chosen during the session should write their name on one of these paper slips, fold it, and put it in the bowl along with your coin."

The young man held out his bowl to each guest, and as coins clinked in his bowl he would bow and murmur, "Xie xie," in thanks. Gilbert fished a sovereign out of his waistcoat pocket and dropped it in the bowl, noting that on closer inspection, Naka looked to be somewhere between sixteen and eighteen years old; his delicate features and over-thin frame gave him the appearance of a younger boy. He frowned when he noticed a bruise peeking out from under the hem of one of his sleeves.

"No paper, sir?" The boy looked up at him, his gaze flicking to Gilbert's golden-blond hair.

The last thing Gilbert wanted was to be chosen as a participant. He shook his head, and as Naka moved on to the next guest Gilbert glanced around the room and did some quick math. No wonder Janning and the Fellows were concerned, he realized; Doctor Lee was taking in close to thirty pounds in a single evening—and if he had even just one of these sessions a week, he had a very healthy income that rivaled some of the leading physicians in London.

It certainly exceeded what Janning paid him.

More sherry and mingling and uncomfortable conversation went on for another half hour, until their hostess waved from the parlor doorway. "Ladies—and our handsome gentlemen," she said, "our session with Doctor Lee will be held in the Library. Would you follow me, please?"

Gilbert managed to get a seat in the back corner, far enough away to be inconspicuous yet still affording a good view of the room's setup. In the center was long table covered with a white tablecloth, and a smaller table a few feet away that held a silver tray, a candle, and a two-foot tall brass obelisk. Two ornate panels featuring embroidered dragons sat on brass easels on either side of the tables, and a number of tall standing candelabras had been placed along the outer edges of the seating area.

He was pleased to see that Henry had secured a spot on the opposite side of the room. Constance, of course, sat right up in front, and all the ladies laughed when she produced a pair of opera glasses from her reticule and brandished them.

She might be a pest, Gilbert thought, but she did make an excellent accomplice.

When everyone was seated Lady Hempstead's butler reduced the remaining gas in the lamps in the room, leaving it only lit by the candles that surrounded them. The excited chatter ceased, and the guests were silent save the rustle of silk gowns.

A man entered the room, clad in a long, Chinese gown made of rich red brocade that buttoned diagonally across his chest, and then down one side. His black hair was caught back in a braid that fell to the middle of his back, and he sported an equally black goatee, the point of which reached his chest. He stopped in front of the table, and then he turned toward the audience and bowed deeply.

"Good evening, I am Doctor Lee," he said in lightly accented English. "I am most grateful to Lady Hempstead for her kind hospitality this evening, and I am also grateful to you for your support." He bowed again. He gazed above the audience's heads, and then he pointed above them. "There are spirits here with us this evening," he murmured, "and they were brought here by some of the people in this very room."

A hushed murmur followed his declaration, but when Lee raised his hand the room fell silent.

"There are a number of reasons why a ghost will attach itself to a person," Lee said. "Sometimes the living are so unwilling to let go of the dead that they create a thread between themselves and their lost loved one. Sometimes, a thread is created by unfinished business, or if the ghost was wronged by the person who is still alive." He moved his hand, pointing to several spots in the air. "I have been gifted with the ability to see these threads, as well as the ability to cut them, thus freeing a person from the karmic ties the threads create. Naka, my son," he said, gesturing at the boy who stood silently by the table, "bring me your bowl."

The young man approached his father, and Gilbert noticed that the bowl now only held the slips of folded paper.

Lee held his hand palm down about a foot or so above the bowl, and then he slowly moved his hand until it was a foot beneath the bowl, and then back above again, and people gasped when a slip of paper slowly rose from the bowl and move up through the air into his hand. Lee grasped the paper, and then he unfolded it and read the name inscribed within. "Lady Priscilla Louden."

Another gasp, another rustle of silk, and a woman in her mid-thirties timidly raised her hand. Lee smiled and made his way over to where she sat on the end of the second row of chairs.

"Good evening, madam," Lee said, "a spirit in this room gave your paper to me. She is here with us now."

As gasps once more filled the room, Gilbert strained to see the pale, translucent figure that seemed to hover in the air between Doctor Lee and the wall. He hoped Henry was getting a better view.

Lady Louden choked back a sob. "My mother," she said. "She… passed away last year."

It was all Gilbert could do to keep from rolling his eyes, although no one would see him so do in the darkened room. Stupid woman, he thought, telling Lee everything he needs to know.

"You have my condolences," Lee said, and he put a hand on her shoulder. "Her passing was difficult for you."

She nodded, and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, keeping her gaze on the ghostly apparition.

"You wish she had stayed with you."

"Y-yes."

Lee gestured at the flickering, silent figure. "Ah, but you see, she did stay. She stayed in this world, instead of crossing over to the next, because of your sorrow." He cocked his head, as if listening to a voice no one else could hear. "She said your need was greater than her own."

Candlelight glinted off the Lady Louden's diamond earring as she tilted her head to look up at Lee. "But… shouldn't she have crossed to the next world? Mother," she said to the spirit, "you can go to Heaven now, I shall be fine."

The figure blurred for a moment, but remained.

"Remember what I said about threads"? Lee said. "There is a thread between you and your mother, and it keeps her here in this world. If you are truly ready to let her go, I can cut the thread."

"Yes, I'm ready," she said, clutching at her handkerchief.

"Naka," Lee said, gesturing to his son, who stood silently by the table, "bring my scissors."

Gilbert craned his neck to watch as Naka took the silver tray off the table and carried it over to his father.

Lee picked up a large pair of golden scissors, and then Naka took the tray back. "These may look like ordinary scissors," Lee said, displaying them to the audience, "but I am able to use them as an instrument of my gift, to cut the threads that sometimes connect the dead and the living." He looked at the pale figure beside him, and then at the woman. "She is ready, and she says that she is glad you are, too." He held the scissors a foot or so above her head and snipped at the air once, twice, three times.

The apparition vanished.

Just like everyone else around him, Gilbert leaned forward in his chair, stunned by the sight. Excited murmurs rose from the audience, and then Lee raised his hand to silence them.

"Your mother has moved on," Lee told Lady Louden.

"Thank you," she said, and then she burst into tears.

While her neighbor comforted her, Lee walked back to the table, where Naka was waiting with his bowl. Once again, he moved his hand above and beneath the bowl, and once again a slip of paper rose through the air into his waiting palm.

"Thomas Cheswick," Lee read from the paper.

A young man in the front row stood up.

"You may sit," Lee said, and people in the audience tittered as Cheswick sat back down.

Lee regarded him. "You have a spirit tied to you as well, but it is inside you. There was anger between you, and when he died, you swallowed your anger. In doing so you swallowed his spirit as well."

The young man stood again. "My uncle!" he said. "He cheated me of my inheritance, and when he died I couldn't do anything about it, because my cousin inherited everything from him."

Gilbert had actually overheard Cheswick talking about his situation in the parlor. If he had overheard, perhaps Naka had as well.

Cheswick began to sit down again, but Lee held up his hand.

"It is not good to have a spirit trapped inside your body, young sir. Come here, and I will remove it, and then I can cut the thread that exists between you."

Lee helped the man remove his jacket and waistcoat, and then moved him onto the table, where, with Naka's help he unbuttoned the bottom portion of Cheswick's shirt and placed clean cloths over his slacks and shirt. Then Gilbert watched in fascination as Lee cupped his hands on Cheswick's abdomen and began to move his right hand as if he was searching inside Cheswick's body. Several women cried out when a trickle of blood appeared between the fingers of Lee's left hand.

"Please, not to worry," Naka said, bowing. "All will be well."

Lee moved his hand a few more seconds and when he lifted it up Gilbert could see a piece of what looked like bloody tissue, about the size of his thumb. Naka held out the bowl, and Lee dropped the bloody lump into it. He then wiped his hands on a clean cloth, and wiped Cheswick's abdomen. He helped the dazed young man rise to a sitting position and said, "See, everyone, he is unmarked. I removed the spirit from young Mister Cheswick without cutting his body."

A number of people in the audience applauded, and for the first time that evening Gilbert wished he'd sat closer. For it seemed to be true—there wasn't a single mark on Cheswick's stomach. His fingers twitched as he suppressed the urge to dash over and examine the man.

Naka handed Lee the bowl, and Lee took the candle from its holder and dipped the lit tip into the bowl. The bowl's contents burst into bright blue flame, causing more exclamations from the audience.

But Gilbert's gaze was fixed on the flickering apparition that had appeared on the other side of the room. Another ghost!

Lee handed the bowl to his son, who took it and offered him the tray that held the golden scissors. Lee picked up the scissors and addressed Cheswick, who was still examining his pristine abdomen. "To remove your thread, you must remove your anger. This man is dead, and the wrong he did you died with him. Do you wish to release him?"

"Good lord, yes," Cheswick blurted out, and even in the room's tense atmosphere his outburst prompted a few chuckles.

"Very well," Lee said, and he held the scissors in front of Cheswick. One, two, three snips, and the spirit disappeared from view.

Almost everyone in the room stood and applauded while Lee helped the young man to his feet, and then Lee bowed deeply and said, "That is all for this evening. Thank you very much for your kind attention, and once again I thank Lady Hempstead for her hospitality. I ask that everyone leave the room now, so that Naka and I may purify it of any ghostly remnants."

Lively chatter filled the room as people excited, and it didn't escape Gilbert's notice that Lee stayed in one place, while Naka helped to escort the guests out of the room. Henry and Lady Bosford were already in the parlor when Gilbert got there.

"Here, darling, have a glass of champagne, I know I certainly need some," Constance said. "I don't know what to think about what we just saw."

Gilbert declined the proffered drink. "That was one of the more bizarre things I've seen in my life," he said. "Aunt, I will meet you and Henry out at our carriage in twenty minutes."

She poured the contents of the rejected glass into her own. "We're not going to stay for the reception?" She sighed. "Well, that's a shame; Violet Hempstead's cook is almost as good as mine. Very well. What are you going to do?"

Gilbert glanced across the room, where Thomas Cheswick was busy showing off his stomach. "I am going to do my best to examine Doctor Lee's 'patient."