Rest hadn't come easily to Zinobia since that day in the square, and the conversation with Josiah that followed hadn't helped. The local papers and tabloids were already stirring up conspiracies regarding the incident in the square. Was it rabies? Were they about to have another pandemic? How many were dying to this?

They talked about the Special Ward at Serenity Lake. They talked about... her, the Bloodletter who'd taken on the "most unpleasant" task of treating these screamers. No doubt her little three-room ward would be overrun soon. Unsustainable, Josiah had said, and she was beginning to agree. She may have to talk to Roland about putting a cap on the amount of patients they saw per day.

In the long run, it was better to help the few than to work herself into the ground helping the many. Those were the hard lessons she had to learn after the war took so many doctors away. It didn't make turning away patients any easier, but sometimes it helped her sleep at night.

At least for now, she could put aside thoughts of the screamers and the media and dress up, look pretty, and try to have some fun. With that in mind, Zinobia topped off her ensemble with a gold necklace and took a step back to assess herself in the mirror. She was showing more cleavage than she was comfortable with, but she hoped the gaudy neck piece would distract from it.

Munroe had suggested a full necklace that covered half her throat and fell into a V just below her collarbone. The gold was accented with diamonds and jet black stones that played well with her dress. She'd fit right in with the high society grifters.

A knock sounded on her bedroom door. "Mother, the car's outside."

She grabbed her shoes from the footrest and followed Vittoria downstairs, but paused when she saw Josiah standing in the basement doorway.

"I'm coming with you," he said. "I've been paranoid since you spoke of the incident in town. Consider it a precaution."

"As you wish." They joined hands, and warmth washed over her as they merged. If she was being honest, she'd been wary about leaving the house without Josiah. While exorcising demons in public was inadvisable, she felt safer and more prepared with Josiah.

"Apollo," Zinobia called. He popped his head up from the couch and thumped his tail against the cushions. She scratched him under the chin. "Be a good boy and watch the house, alright? We won't be gone too long."

They grabbed their coats and headed out into the frigid night air. To her surprise, Crowley stood outside, next to a sleek, white car far fancier than the one Roland usually rode around in. When he told her the previous day he'd be sending a car, she hadn't expected this or his personal driver.

"Ladies." Crowley opened the door with his usual polite smile.

"Wow, this is fancy," Vittoria said, grinning from ear to ear as she slipped into the plush leather seats. "I feel like a movie star."

"Just wait until you see these houses on the garden walk," Zinobia said. "Pretty swanky. I doubt I could be comfortable living in such excess."

"But why? I'd love to live in a mansion."

Zinobia shrugged. "It's far too impersonal. What's the point of twenty rooms if I'm only going to use three? It just seems like such a waste. And imagine walking from one end of the house to the next. That would be so long and lonely."

"I suppose," Vittoria agreed. "But then you could throw parties to fill the place with people. Like in the Great Gatsby."

"The who?"

"The Great Gatsby. It's an American novel. This chirpy little girl, Alice, she's an English major too. She has family in New York and they send her books all the time. She let me borrow the Great Gatsby and wow, it was a trip. Very grand, but so so tragic. I'll ask her to borrow it again so you can read it."

Zinobia smiled. Vittoria's manic energy was so infectious, it was hard not to get excited when she was excited. Even as a child, when she'd see a bear they couldn't afford in a shop window, she'd bounce up and down. "If only I could squeeze it, just once," she'd say. Now she was bringing boys to the house. Time was such a cruel mistress.

They reached the gates of Roland's estate and joined the line of cars trying to get in. Unlike the vast, rolling knolls of the Councilman's estate, Roland's was filled with greenery. Evergreens pruned to precise points lined the drive. Clusters of bushes and flowers and tiny bird baths filled the space of the front yard. Instead of a fountain serving as a roundabout, there was a garden circle with a statue of a kneeling woman at its centre.

Roland's home was a whitewashed, palatial behemoth that stood four stories high and yet was dwarfed by the land it stood on. The stone pillars holding up the overhang at the entrance stretched two stories high and were thicker than Zinobia was wide. People stepped from extravagant vehicles in extravagant clothes and didn't walk so much as strut through the double doors. Extravagantly.

Another thing Zinobia hated about high society: everything had to be overstated to the point of being tacky. You had to know these people were wealthy. Otherwise, what was the point of all the pomp and pageantry?

Crowley stopped in front of the entrance to let them off. "Enjoy the party, ladies."

"Thank you, Crowley." Zinobia took Vittoria's hand, and they hopped out of the car together. Several cameras flashed and popped obnoxiously. They truly were like movie stars. Through the double doors, the foyer was bustling with activity. Attendants took guests' coats, and chatter flew across the room.

"I didn't expect to see you here!"

"Is that you, darling? I haven't seen you in ages."

"Now this is a party. Roland's truly outdone us all."

Zinobia passed her coat off to an attendant, who assigned it a number and slipped it on a rack with a million others. She smoothed her dress as nerves sent her stomach aflutter. She hated socialising, especially amongst these kinds of people. Their questions went beyond what you did for a living. They wanted to know about your legacy, your family, how many houses they owned, what businesses and stock they invested in. They wanted to know about your forty-seventh house in the Caribbean where you spent your holidays or if you've ever been sailing on the Mediterranean.

All things Zinobia couldn't relate to. While she wasn't poor, she preferred a modest life dedicated to her work. To helping people. Something those of Roland's ilk knew nothing about. She served, they were served.

"I think the main event is upstairs," Vittoria said.

At the back of the foyer, people glided up carpeted steps and banked a left into the south wing. Zinobia held the hem of her dress aloft with one hand and gripped the wooden bannister with the other. They followed the guests and signs of merriment to the second floor.

To Roland's gallery.

The first feature to catch her eye was the chandelier. The way the crystals dripped from the gold frame reminded Zinobia of icicles clinging to leafless branches in winter. Paintings covered the walls and ceiling, and statues stood like sentinels in various nooks in the room. Guests glided across the polished floors, carrying flutes of wine or plucking tiny morsels from trays held aloft by servers. Across the room, a wall of windows led out to a balcony that overlooked the courtyard out front.

Zinobia understood why Munroe called this a small, intimate gathering. There couldn't be more than fifty guests present. No music, so people could talk to each other, although a few people milled around the Steinway grand piano at the centre of the room.

"This is the opposite of a Gatsby party," Vittoria said. "But I like it. There's something very elegant about it. Don't you agree, mother?"

"I suppose." Zinobia accepted the flute of champagne offered by a passing attendant.

She squeezed Zinobia's arm. "Erik and Darcy are here. Meet up later?"

"Sure."

"And try to loosen up. Have some fun. It's a party." Vittoria flounced off to meet her friends and stomp youthful enthusiasm into Roland's floors.

Speaking of. The gracious host was showing off a sculpture of a weeping woman clinging to a sword to a group of guests. Their eyes met briefly, and she nodded in greeting before wandering deeper into the party. She stopped in front of a painting of a rabbit in the forest. The atmosphere was dark, dark greys and blues and greens brought the mood of the piece down. Yet the rabbit stood on its hind legs, its face turned up to the single shaft of golden light in the forest.

"Doctor Baxter?"

Zinobia turned and found Victor and Alex standing behind her. Gone were their drab uniforms, replaced with white coats, snazzy ties and flowers in their lapel. "Victor, Alexander. I wasn't expecting to see you two here."

"Yeah, we were shocked when Lord Ashbourne extended the invite," Alex said with a sheepish smile. "I almost didn't recognize you in..." He gestured at her vaguely with his tumbler of dark liquor. "All of this."

Victor elbowed him in the shoulder. "Will you stop it? She's our boss."

Zinobia breathed a laugh. "You boys clean up nicely. Are you enjoying the party?"

"It's alright, I suppose," Alex said with a shrug. "I'm not really into art, but I'm into this." He raised his glass.

Someone cleared their throat. Councilman Whittock. Victor's large frame had blocked his approach, else Zinobia would've wandered somewhere else to avoid him.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," he said politely. "May I borrow Doctor Baxter a moment?"

Victor looked at her with one eyebrow raised.

"I'll talk to you boys later," Zinobia said. She'd send them away so they wouldn't have to hear her giving the councillor a piece of her mind. As her orderlies walked off, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "Can I help you, Councilman?"

He cleared his throat. "It seems I owe you an apology for what happened the other night. It was a stressful situation, and I had much too much to drink. Please accept my humblest apologies."

She had half a mind to say no, or ask if Roland had put him up to this. But this was a party and she should loosen up, as her daughter so eloquently put it. "Apology acknowledged."

"There's something else I need to discuss with you." Nathaniel tucked his hands behind his back and stood beside her, admiring the painting. "Since the incident in the town square, people are more on edge about these screamers. I plan to ask the council in London for aid, but I'll need to compile as much information on this... phenomenon as possible."

Zinobia had already guessed where this was going. "I've been keeping reports on those who are brought to Serenity Lake."

"Ah, Roland and Theo said as much. I asked them first, but they said you're much more knowledgeable on the topic. Would it be possible to condense your findings into a report I can present to the Council? You'll be paid for your time, of course."

This on top of dealing with the growing number of screamers? She'd never get any sleep. "I can, but I'll need some time."

"Of course. I'll have my assistant get in touch with you should you need some help. Thank you again, Doctor Baxter." He tipped his head and took his leave.

Zinobia, Josiah said. Pardon me for interrupting your merriment. There's a demon here.

Her blood froze over. Where?

Talking to the group of women near the door. I can smell the brimstone from here. Could be dangerous.

Especially with all these people here. Zinobia spotted the demon in question. He was an older gentleman, with grey hair and a clean–cropped moustache. He spoke animatedly to Violet and Marcella Dening, mostly Marcella, while gesturing to one of Roland's many marble pieces.

Zinobia let her eyes move from him to all the oblivious party-goers. This is bad.