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“That’s no way t’run a proper clandestine operation,” Liam, the once potty counterfeit crank, added. He had turned out to be considerably less potty than Kit had first imagined, but played the part so well that he often kept playing it even when it was no longer necessary.

He’d been an invaluable aid in Kit’s work for the Senate. They all had, knowing more about the London underworld than he ever would, and hearing all sorts of rumors that might never have come to his ears otherwise. The intelligence network the Consul had wanted him to create for her had been made infinitely easier with their help.

And now, they’d made him a headquarters.

“D’ye like it?” Leta asked idly, as if it didn’t matter one way or the other, although Kit knew her better by now.

“It’s perfect,” he said, because it was. “As usual.”

They grinned at him, his little group of thieves, and then went downstairs to break open a barrel to celebrate, as that was their answer to everything. Elinor went along because she wanted to play with the cats, who were quickly abandoning Kit since food often accompanied the ale. All except for one.

The solid white creature who seemed to be the leader of the group of former familiars stayed, eyeing him from her perch on top of the table. It had been left in place, along with its chairs, and a new narrow one with a sloped-lid desk box had been added against one of the now bare walls. The portraits were gone, he wasn’t sure where, but he was glad for it.

The room felt less oppressive without their gaze on him, he had to admit. This was a new era, and they needed to be looking forward towards building a future, not back to a past that, for good or for bad, was lost to them. And yet . . .

“You remember her,” a woman’s voice said.

Kit didn’t have to turn around to know who stood there, although she had never spoken to him before.

“Yes.”

“I thought the acolytes blurred your mind.”

“Somewhat. There are things that remain. The most important ones.”

“Is that why you are doing this? For her?”

“You seem surprised.”

“Witches and vampires are usually enemies. I have wondered.”

Kit did look back then, over his shoulder. And saw the same woman that he had glimpsed on his first day at the alehouse. Human-like and stunning beautiful, with hair as white as her fur had been, but it was the compassion on her face that truly struck him.

Perhaps that was why he answered honestly.

“For love. That is what she chose in the end. Love over hate, for her country, for her daughter, for me. Could I do any less?”

She didn’t answer. But she did change back to her alternate form, jumped off the table, and flowed down the stairs to join the others. He supposed he must have passed the test.

He started to follow her, but found himself sitting in front of the desk instead. And pulling over a sheet of paper, a stack of which had been made ready for him, along with a quill and ink. His little band of rogues had thought of everything, but he . . . he only thought of one thing.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me prov'd,

I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.