“It matters naught,” continued the geminus, its tone appeasing, “this tiny aspect of what is a most generous gift. So you cannot prevent what is foreseen. What of it? You can still reap profits the likes of which are unknown to all mortal men. Your wealth and power continue to grow. Those men you consider your enemies continue to fall. There is nothing you cannot have. Nothing,” it added, “you cannot give to your wife.”

Damn it, but the geminus was a sly bastard. Leo knew the thing manipulated him, said precisely what he needed to hear. He was aware of the creature’s machinations, yet they played upon him, just the same.

He fought against the subtle trap the geminus wove. “That doesn’t change the fact that, even if I didn’t want to stop the mine from collapsing, I couldn’t warn Wansford not to invest in it.”

The geminus shrugged. “Again, ’tis trifling. The man is no friend of yours. Further, with your knowledge of the imminent misfortune, you made a counterinvestment that shall yield very agreeably, to both you and to him. I see no difficulty.”

Surely the Devil and his underlings must practice their art at the Exchange, for this creature spoke honeyed words intended to beguile. Had Leo not trained himself well in the art of deception, he might have ceded to the geminus’s blandishments.

“The underhandedness of this whole business makes me wonder: what else are you not telling me? What hidden traps does the Devil have in store?”

The geminus made a shocked sound. “Sir, you wound me and my master. He has been most generous, and here you cast aspersions.”

“He’s been called worse, and by far more than me.”

The geminus strolled away toward the fireplace. With a wave of its hand, the kindling blazed. Firelight limned the outline of the geminus, the rest of it naught but shadow. It studied the flames for a moment.

“It is time,” the geminus said, “for a reward.”

Leo frowned. Of all the responses he’d anticipated, this was not one he’d considered. “Why?” he demanded.

“Because you have served my master well.”

His frown deepening to a scowl, Leo said, “I serve no one. I act in my own best interest.”

“Of course,” the geminus answered quickly. “You are your own man. A quality my master admires greatly. What I meant to say is that you have made my master exceedingly proud. The ruthlessness you display at the Exchange, the men whose lives you destroy ... all of this pleases my master. Thus, he desires to give you a reward, in recognition of your good works.”

“Tell me about this reward.”

“Greater power. Should you so desire it. You will be able to see farther into the future, decades, and to trigger this ability, you will no longer require coins, but simply any object belonging to your intended prey.” Laughing, the creature said, “Is this not a wondrous gift? And most generous of my master to offer it?”

Leo turned the idea over and over in his mind. Tempting, indeed. Obtaining items owned by his quarry would be an easy matter. The cuff of a coat during a handshake. Inspecting a gentleman’s ornate walking stick. The rewards would be even greater than before, his power immense. Anything he desired—his. Anything Anne could ever possibly wish for—hers.

The old order, based on ancestry and blood, would crumble. He could fashion a new world, where a man’s value was based on his deeds, not birth. Any who opposed him and this new world would see themselves utterly crushed, smashed to powder beneath the relentless grindstone of progress, with his shoulder pushing the stone forward.

“Yes, you see my master offers you a most marvelous power.” The geminus moved from the fire, its footsteps muffled by the carpet. “Speak but a word, and it is yours.”

“Tell me the price.”

“It has no cost, sir.”

“There is always a cost.”

The geminus tutted. “Time on the Exchange has made you chary. What I ask is merely a trifle.”

Leo narrowed his eyes. “I gave you one, months ago. At the temple.” In order for him and all the other Hellraisers to receive their gifts, they had been required to present tokens. Leo had given the geminus a snuffbox, which had been a minor loss indeed, as he never took snuff, only kept the thing as part of a gentleman’s effects.

“One more. Anything shall suffice.”

Glancing around the room, Leo espied a tortoiseshell-and-silver quill stand on his desk. He removed the sharpened, waiting quill, and held the stand.

“Yes,” said the geminus.

Leo had no remembrance of buying the thing. A memory did come to him, though: the battered pewter quill stand and matching ink pot his father used. The pride in his father’s face when he would take up his pen and write, and how happy it made Adam Bailey to see his son make use of it as though the act of writing was itself a commonplace skill, not something painfully acquired later in life.

It had cost his father a week’s earnings to buy that pewter quill stand, and it had already been well used by the time he’d purchased it from the chandler.

The ornate object Leo now held likely cost ten times the quill stand his father had bought. And yet, he didn’t care about this thing at all. It meant nothing. As for the dented pewter writing accessories once belonging to his father, those were kept securely in a strongbox in a locked drawer of Leo’s desk. Only Anne knew of their whereabouts, their significance, for he had shown them to her, and she had handled them with the respect one saved for sacred relics.

This was why she meant so much to Leo, why he had to keep her with him at all costs. Only she understood what he valued. Only she accepted every part of him.

Staring at the expensive trinket in his hand, Leo wondered: what would his father do in this situation? He might refuse the Devil’s offer of power. Or he might seize any advantage given to him, for his father had been at all times ambitious. This was the greatest bequest he left for his son—the need to rise ever higher.

His back heated as greed surged through him. He wanted to take, to claim. Everything he could. For himself, for Anne. For the memory of Adam Bailey.

He glanced up. The geminus stood before him, though Leo had not heard it move. It held out its hand.

“That thing has no value,” the geminus said. “But what my master offers is inestimable.”

Leo’s fingers tightened around the quill stand. Then released. He placed the object in the geminus’s hand. The creature immediately put the quill stand in its coat pocket.

“A wise choice.”

“When will this gift take effect?”

“Immediately.”

To test this, Leo considered taking something from the footman dozing in the entryway, but he had little care for the fortunes of a servant. It must wait until the morrow, when the Exchange opened and Leo could prey upon any number of men.

“If our business for the evening is concluded, I shall away.” The geminus practically sang with good spirits. It strolled toward the door and opened it.

“You have no need of doors,” said Leo.

“Ah, but sometimes I find them amusing, sir, and my humor is too pleasant to waste on tedious appearing and disappearing. I believe I shall take a stroll in your garden. Such a place at night will suit my fancy.”

Leo shrugged. His thoughts were too occupied with whom he should meet tomorrow at the Exchange, what fortunes he would make for himself, and whose he would demolish. “As you wish.”

“Good night, sir. And may I say again how very gratified my master is made by your continued efforts on his behalf.”

“I act on my own behalf.”

The geminus smiled, or so Leo sensed. “That you do, sir.” With that, it quit the study, closing the door behind it. A moment later, Leo heard its footsteps outside on the garden path.

Leo stood alone in the chamber, searching within himself for a sense of his new power. He could not perceive it, not yet, but he felt its potential. Damn, but he wished the sun would rise so the day’s work could begin. If only that were one of his abilities. He felt sorely tempted to run up to the bedchamber and wake Anne, tell her of his greater power. Yet he could not. At the least, he wanted to see her, hold her. His greed for more encompassed them both.

After dousing the fire and candle, he returned upstairs. He threw off his banyan and walked toward the bed.

“Leo?” Anne’s whisper floated through the darkness.

He settled between the covers and pulled her close, fighting the urge to reveal what new gift had been given to him. They would both reap the benefits. “You sound surprised.”

“I thought you were in the garden.”

He stilled. “I was in my study. Some work needed attending.”

“But ... I just saw you out there.” She edged back, away from him. “I heard footsteps outside, and you weren’t in bed, so I looked out and there you were, walking up and down the garden.”

The geminus. He hoped she did not mistake the creature for a would-be burglar, and want to summon the constabulary. “The gardener, perhaps.”

“No. The moon came out, and I saw your face. It was you. I know my own husband. But you weren’t wearing your nightclothes, you were fully dressed.”

Leo was out of bed in an instant. He threw back the curtains and peered into the garden. No one was there. Not the geminus, and not the gardener Leo had invented. He glanced back at Anne, moonlight turning her to silver and shadow, caution in her gaze.

She had seen the geminus, and thought it was him. It could not be possible.

Memory like a knife pierced him. Months earlier, Whit had deserted the Hellraisers. They had fought on Saint George’s Fields, guided there to intercept Whit by his geminus. Whit had pointed at that geminus, told his friends to look at the thing as if expecting a revelation. When none came, when they had seen naught but a faceless creature, Whit had despaired, and turned his back on them. The Gypsy girl with him had seen something, though.