“They don’t always mysteriously end up buried in another person’s grave,” he said.
“A little surprise for the Kincaids. Was that not terribly fun to watch, Gemma?”
Barnabus held tighter to her hand, not liking the sound of Gemma’s name on this murderer’s lips.
“What could you possibly gain from terrorizing the poor and vulnerable people of London?” he asked.
“What have I gained?” She laughed humorlessly. “I have gained an army.”
“If you’re amassing an army, you must mean to go to war.” He hoped if she kept talking, he could sort out who she was and, more important still, a means of escape.
“People like you, weak fools that you are, address your family pain with good works and rescues,” the woman said. “Vengeance is far more satisfying.”
“What is it you’re meaning to do with us?” Gemma asked. “Wouldn’t do to miss a prime opportunity for bloodshed.”
“Do not be dramatic, sweetie. You’re both still useful to me. You will deliver a message.”
“What message?” Barnabus asked. “To whom?”
“Tell your friends that ‘the poor and infirm, the hopeless and voiceless’ will tremble before me.” She stepped from the shadows, lit by the gray of cloudy moonlight.
Gemma gasped as Barnabus’s heart froze in his chest.
“Tell them I do not relent. And I never forget. I am the Tempest,” Serena said.
Barnabus held fast to Gemma’s hand as they raced down the dark London streets toward DPS headquarters. He had to warn them. He had to tell them that the enemy they thought they were fighting was not the real threat.
All this time, Serena had manipulated them into searching for her, looking for her, reaching out to her, saving her. And in so doing, she had met many of the Dreadfuls. She knew so much more than they likely even realized. And she, not the Mastiff, was the head of London’s criminal underworld. She was, as she so aptly put it, a nightmare come to life.
He pushed his way through the familiar blue door and slammed it shut behind him, Gemma at his side.
Nolan was not on his bench. The door to the parliamentary room was wide open, and raised voices, echoing in chaos, sounded from inside.
To Gemma, he said, “I will explain all of this to you, I promise. But we have to tell them now.”
“I trust you.”
He rushed into the parliamentary room. Most of the DPS members were there, and everyone was talking at once. This was not the friendly gab they often had before a meeting. Everyone looked worried and confused.
Barnabus didn’t have time to slowly get their attention. He popped two fingers in his mouth and whistled as loud as he could manage. They all turned. Surprise, shock, even horror appeared on a few faces. Most of the DPS had not been told that his death had been staged.
“What are you doing here?” Fletcher asked.
“The Kincaids came to resurrect our graves. We hadn’t beenable to get out of the churchyard without being caught, so we were waiting.”
“They discovered the empty caskets?” Brogan guessed. “That might explain why we’re all getting warnings from every urchin in our network.”
Barnabus shook his head. “The coffin they opened was one of ours, but it wasn’t empty. They’d pulled a body out.”
A heavy and uncomfortable silence settled over the room.
“Who was it?” Fletcher asked.
“The Mastiff.”
He could see they all meant to ask questions, but there wasn’t time. “The Mastiff was not the mastermind we believed him to be, pulling the strings and giving the orders. All this time, he was answering to someone else. He was acting on orders. And that someone was waiting nearby, watching the resurrection, enjoying the whole thing.”
“Did you figure out who?” Stone asked, obviously understanding the significance of that.