Melusine gritted her teeth. Every gibbet at Tyburn and Hounslow appeared to have been plundered of its charnel spoil to enrich the adjoining cabinet, so well was it stored with skulls and bones, all purporting to be the relics of highwaymen famous in their day. She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch. There were too many kills, too many unsolved files in too many cabinets. But you’ve got to lend me forty pounds. “If it will keep you busy,” he said, with a faintly ironical smile. Melusine’s heart ached for him, but she had to force him on. “Was that before or after you became a vampire?” Michelle questioned her casually, as if it were an interview. She must speak to Jack.
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