Over the years, Thorn had been called to various crime scenes. Airship crashes. Factory accidents. Even a handful of cold-blooded murders. Indeed, he'd seen his fair share of dead bodies.

But never one quite so disemboweled as this.

The longer he gazed upon it, the more horrific it became. The victim's face was intact, but her chest had been sliced open and her ribs broken to reveal the viscera and organs inside.

Well, not exactly inside.

Most of the vital parts had been pulled from the corpse—intestines, lungs, liver—and tossed haphazardly about the alley in which the poor woman laid dead.

It was the most gruesome thing he'd ever seen.

He turned away and pulled out a handkerchief, pressing it against his nose to ward off the metallic scent that permeated the bloody alleyway. Pacing back to his fellow officers, he cleared his throat and attempted to compose himself.

"Any leads?" he asked Damon.

The young constable swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the alley before returning to him. "Nothing official," he said, his voice strained. "But there's been some speculation."

"Speculation? Is that how the police force functions now?"

Damon winced at Thorn's biting tone. "I'm sorry, sir. Forget I said anything."

Thorn's shoulders sagged, and he let out a long breath as he tucked the handkerchief back in his pocket and flipped open the portable typewriter on his wrist. "No, it's not your fault. This is just a tad jarring. In my ten years on the force, I've yet to see something quite so horrendous here in Bellfolk. And I was on call for that explosion at the gear factory last year. So tell me, what are these speculations?"

Damon took in a deep breath. "Based on the barbaric and primitive nature of the death, some have a conjectured that the perpetrator comes from..." He swallowed again and whispered, "The Dreadful District."

The words echoed off the brick walls, and Thorn's fingers froze. "I'm sorry, did you say the Dreadful District?"

Damon nodded.

Thorn closed his eyes and held back the curse that was at the tip of his tongue. It made sense. While there were, of course, criminals in Bellfolk, none were capable of such an atrocity as this. Only someone depraved could commit this sort of crime. And the only place that could produce someone quite that twisted was the Dreadful District.

"Did anyone actually see something that could back up these speculations?" Thorn asked, opening his eyes and typing Dreadful District into the wristwriter.

Clearing his throat once more, Damon nodded to the dismembered corpse. "Other than the organs thrown about the alley?"

Thorn's face twisted into a grimace as he ripped the very short piece of paper from the wristwriter and tucked it into his waistcoat pocket. "Thank you, Constable. I'll be certain to look into this. In the meantime," he glanced over his shoulder and repressed a shudder, "call for a doctor. Perhaps someone who specializes in dead bodies can shine a little light on this tragedy."

Damon's face went so pale that he resembled one of the monstrous creatures rumored to haunt the Dreadful District. "You mean a forensic doctor?"

"I doubt a physician would be much good in this case."

"But the only forensic doctors are...they all reside in..."

Clapping a hand on the young man's shoulder, Thorn gave him a firm but sympathetic glare. "This isn't a request, Constable. It's a command. And I'm not asking you to actually go there, I'm just having you send a message. And do it quickly. I'd like to get started on this investigation."

Without waiting for a response, he left the young constable to his work and headed back to the Center with one thing on his mind:

Gin.

~

Thorn drummed his fingers against the bartop as he gazed down at the two words on the scrap of paper in his hand.

Dreadful District.

The ink had leaked and smeared a bit on the word "dreadful," as if even his wristwriter had been terrified to type the name of the notorious district. It wasn't often that he was forced to consider that ghastly quarter of their fine city. The only reminders he ever had of the place were the little booklets that parents brought into the station as they demanded that the police do something about the miscreants selling such horrific tales to their children. He'd flipped through one or two in his own youth, and he assumed the stories were just as sensational as they were then.

Bloodsucking creatures of the night preying on young virgins.

The dead being brought back to life through mysterious science.

Murderers who feasted on the livers of their victims.

Downing the rest of his gin, Thorn called for the barkeeper and took one last look at his brief notes. With a dismembered body on his hands, he wondered if maybe these penny dreadfuls weren't as fictional as he'd once believed.

"Refill?" the barkeeper asked.

Thorn nodded and turned to the tall man who was replenishing his drink behind the counter. "You ever read those little horror stories they say come from the Dreadful District?" he asked him.

The barkeeper glanced over his shoulder and furrowed his brow. "When I was a kid, I guess. Like to think I've outgrown superstitions and ghost stories." He returned with a full glass of gin and placed it on the counter. "Why? Tracking down a supplier?"

"I wish that were my biggest concern right now." Thorn took a long swig of his drink and set the glass down again. "Say, you seen any odd folks about here recently?"

The barkeeper's gaze wandered, and his eyes widened as he looked over Thorn's shoulder. "Something odder than that?" he said, nodding to whatever was behind him.

Thorn turned around and came face-to-face with a tall, pale woman dressed in a tattered black dress and a well-fitted white lab coat. Well, it was probably white at some point in the past. Now it was stained and burnt and frayed. Her hair was an abominable rat's nest, partially braided and wrapped in what looked like bandages and piled atop her head. But what was most disconcerting about this vision in macabre was the blood coating her bare hands.

"Inspector Thornton Rowle?" she asked, her frigid tone matching her cold glare.

"Ah, yes? I mean, yes," Thorn replied, still taken aback by the woman's appearance.

"You requested a forensic doctor?"

He stared at her blankly for a moment before shaking his head and blinking away his surprise. "Yes. Yes, yes, I did. I'm assuming you're the doctor?"

His eyes wandered to her bloody hands, and rather than try to hide them or clean them, she had the gall to hold one out to him. "Mercy Bierce. Doctor, scientist, and occasional graverobber."

He looked up at her in disbelief, but her only response was to continue her stony stare.

"Let me get you another drink," the barkeeper said from behind him.

As the barkeeper retreated to the safety of the backroom, Thorn finally got ahold of his senses and retrieved his handkerchief. "I'm hoping that based on the state of your hands, you've finished the inspection of the body and have some information for me?" he asked, offering the woman the embroidered cloth.

She narrowed her eyes at his gesture. Forgoing formalities, she settled herself in the seat beside him and leaned her elbow against the bartop. Thorn watched in horror as she rested her head on a bloody hand, curling her fingers into her dark, tangled hair.

"I did," she said, responding to his inquiry. "I have no information for you."

His heart sunk a little. "So I guess I'm still stuck with only speculations."

Trailing her sullied fingers through his half-filled glass of gin, she added, "However, I do have a word of advice."

The disappointment lightened for a brief moment, and he turned to her eagerly, his wristwriter at the ready. But when he found her only inches away from his face, her brown eyes boring a hole right through his soul, it took all his strength to keep from falling out of his chair.

"Stay out of this," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You and your shiny little gears have no idea what you're up against."

After another cold glare, she took the handkerchief from him and wiped the blood away from her hands. She then dropped it in his lap and made her way out of the crowded alehouse.

Thorn stared at the blood swirling about in his glass of gin, the dark woman's words echoing in his head.

Stay out of this.

He swallowed hard. Had that been a warning? Or a threat?

~

Thorn woke up early the next day to begin his investigation in the Dreadful District. Every nerve in his body was on edge as he tugged on his street clothes and tucked a pistol into the pocket inside his jacket. Would that be enough in a community notorious for its criminals and potential supernatural activity? Biting his lip, he grabbed his mechanical spider and strapped it to his belt, just to be safe.

"Lord give me courage," he mumbled as he pulled on his coat.

When he opened the door of his apartment, Damon was standing in the hallway, his face as pale as it'd been the night before.

"Inspector, I'm afraid another body's been found," the young man said.

Thorn's heart sunk. "I'm assuming it's the same as the first?"

"Nearly identical."

Heaving a sigh, Thorn followed Damon down the stairs. "So our lead regarding the Dreadful District still stands?"

"Considering the amount of blood and the missing heart?" Damon said as they hurried out into the street. "Yes, I'd say so."

Thorn stumbled and grabbed the constable's sleeve, forcing him to stop. "Did you say missing heart?"

Damon furrowed his brow. "Yes. Like the body last night."

As Thorn continued to stare, the lines in Damon's forehead deepened.

"Didn't the forensic doctor tell you?" the constable asked.

"She told me she had no information for me."

"Really? That's odd. She rattled off all sorts of stuff while she examined the body. She was a rather gruesome sight, too, wrist-deep in blood and viscera."

"Why would she not tell me about a missing heart? That seems like an important bit of information."

Damon shrugged. "Who knows with those Dreadful folk? Especially that one. It takes a strange woman to be able to muddle around in dead bodies."

Strange didn't even begin to sum up Mercy Bierce. "Have you called for her again?"

"No, but one of the officers did a brief check and found the organ missing."

Thorn let out a long breath. "All right, then, let's get going."

The body was nearby the alehouse where he had met Mercy. Damon was right. This murder was just as gruesome as the one before. Blood splattered on the brick walls, organs tossed about the alleyway, and the poor dead woman with her chest skillfully sliced open.

Thorn could only gaze upon the scene for so long before his stomach began to churn. Turning away for fear his breakfast of coffee and crumpets would come up and add to the bloody mess, he approached the officers gathered at the entrance of the alley.

"Any evidence aside from the missing organ?" he asked.

Damon shook his head. "It's the same as the last."

"Although, the barkeeper says there was a strange woman in the alehouse last night," piped up Mattie. "Dark, dreary, and covered in blood. Said she was chatting with an officer."

"That was just the forensic doctor," Thorn said, typing up a report of this latest murder.

"Still, a fine coincidence that this body happens to turn up near the same establishment where she was last night."

Thorn's fingers paused as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. That was indeed quite the coincidence. And though it was really just another speculation, at this rate, he couldn't ignore any leads.

"So what now, Inspector?" asked Damon.

Thorn ignored the knot in his stomach as he closed his wristwriter. "Now I pay a visit to the Dreadful District and see what I can find out about Mercy Bierce."

~

Even though Thorn knew he was still in Bellfolk, stepping into the Dreadful District was like crossing over into foreign territory. A perpetual chill permeated the air, as if the neighborhood were stuck between autumn and winter. Thick fog floated over the street, turning everything into hazy silhouettes. And there were dark brown stains on the cobblestone road, mixed with mud and what appeared to be bones. Were they animal? Or perhaps human...

Tearing his eyes away from the ground, Thorn tried to concentrate on the houses and shops around him. They were depressing little hovels, all somber greys and blues surrounded by unwelcoming wrought iron fences. As he gazed upon a particularly large house, his heart skittered when he found a pale, unsmiling woman staring at him from the attic window. Ever the gentleman, he dipped his head, losing sight of her for only a second. When he returned his attention to her, she was gone.

Taking in a slow breath, he glanced around at the other folks milling about on the street. They were all just as gloomy and unsettling. Their eyes darted to him suspiciously, and he couldn't help but notice what a wide berth they were giving him. Looking down at himself, he realized that, here in the Dreadful District, he stuck out like an overly-corseted bosom. The denizens of the district were all high collars and unnecessary lace parasols wrapped in grey and black. They rather resembled their somber, uninviting homes.

However, none of these passersby were Mercy Bierce. It seemed he'd have to venture further into the district to find his suspect. A shiver ran down his spine at the prospect of having to actually engage these people in conversation.

"Snap out of it, Rowle," he mumbled to himself as he forced his feet to move forward.

Still, the stories from those penny dreadfuls played through his mind as he passed through the crowds, and he couldn't help but wonder if the tales were, in fact, inspired by reality.

After wandering about the fog-laden streets for a spell, Thorn stopped to take stock of where he was and came to the conclusion that he was utterly lost. He had no idea from which direction he had come, and the fact that all the buildings looked identically gloomy was not helping his situation.

"How can anyone find their way around here?" he grumbled, squinting his eyes in an attempt to see past the thick fog.

There was a silhouette in the distance. Shapely like a woman with what appeared to be wild hair piled atop her head. Could it be Mercy?

The figure turned a corner, and, as this was the first potential lead he'd had thus far, Thorn discreetly tailed her.

It was impossible to catch up to her, and with the fog in the way, he couldn't discern anymore of her features. She finally stopped at a black gate. It groaned in an almost humanlike manner when she opened it, sending goose pimples down Thorn's arms. Regardless, he followed after her, ignoring the mournful sound of the gate as he found himself walking into an even deeper fog.

Something wasn't right about this. There were no houses or shops about. Or people. All was still and quiet.

A crow cawed, nearly scaring him out of his skin. He grabbed for his pistol but was startled by yet another crow. And another. Spinning around in place, he found that there were nine crows peering at him through the fog. What were they sitting on? Stooping closer, he managed to make out a stone with something engraved on it.

Nan Eccleston. May she rest in peace. And may her head someday be found.

Thorn's stomach dropped when he realized where he was. His eyes flicked to the crows still cawing at him, and he couldn't keep an old penny dreadful rhyme from playing through his head:

A crow for sorrow, two for mirth. Three for a wedding, four for a birth. Five crows for silver, six for gold. Seven for a secret ne'er to be told. Eight for Heaven, nine for Hell—

A tenth crow landed on a tombstone to his left. Looking him straight in the eye, the filthy bird let out a loud caw, and as a dark figure appeared behind it, Thorn could almost hear the final line of the rhyme whispered on the wind:

And ten black crows for the devil himself.

He fumbled with his pistol as the dark figure lunged at him. Something sharp tore at Thorn's chest, and he cried out, stumbling backwards and into cold, clammy hands. He whirled around and found another dark figure, its face obscured by a black hood. It reached into its cloak and pulled out a very large and very bloodstained cleaver.

All of Thorn's training fled his mind, replaced instead by the horrifying penny dreadful stories that had haunted his dreams as a child.

Vengeful spirits attacking the living.

Women buried alive for spurning a lover.

Killers who baked their victims into pies.

Was he about to become another morbid story for young children to waste their money on?

But then a cry escaped from the dark figure in front of him, and its grip on Thorn loosened. It moved to turn around, but its head came flying back with a grunt before the figure toppled to the ground. Thorn expected to find something even more terrifying than his near-murderer standing before him. Instead, he found a woman.

Mercy Bierce.

She cocked an eyebrow, a splatter of red on her elbow and a bloodstained scalpel in her hand. "I see you decided to disregard my advice about staying out of this one."

Before Thorn could respond, she set her eyes on the figure behind him. Pushing him aside, she descended upon it, scalpel raised above her head. The cloaked figure practically tripped over its feet in an attempt to escape. Mercy only stopped once it had disappeared into the foggy cemetery.

Releasing a sharp breath, she turned back to Thorn with that stony glare, but after what he'd just experienced, it was more than welcome. "You saved my life," he breathed, placing a hand on his chest to be sure his heart was still beating.

"Are you daft? Wandering into a cemetery like that?"

"I didn't realize it was a cemetery. And since when have cemeteries been dangerous?'

She gave a short laugh. "Have you never heard of graverobbers?"

"But I'm not in a grave. And I'm alive."

Tucking the scalpel into her pocket, Mercy approached him. "Doesn't matter. Cemeteries are fair game. Anything within their gates is up for grabs." Her eyes wandered to his chest, and her brows drew together. "They got you."

He followed her gaze and found a large, bloody tear in his shirt. "It's just a scratch. I've had worse," he said, trying to make up for his lack of courage earlier.

Mercy grabbed his arm. "You have no idea where that blade's been or how many dead bodies it's cut into. You could develop an infection, then gangrene, and wind up right back here for them to finish you off. Come on."

Seeing as he hadn't a clue where he was or how to get back to Bellfolk, Thorn let her drag him out of the cemetery. Besides, wasn't she the one he'd be searching for? This was the perfect opportunity to question her. Although, would it really be wise to accuse of murder the woman who was about to give him medical attention?

"Let me get my supplies," she said when they entered one of the many dreary buildings in the district.

Though the exterior of the house resembled the others, the interior was certainly much more interesting. It was still made up of drab, somber colors—aside from the green acanthus wallpaper—but there was an unusual warmth to this place. The room was filled with all sorts of strange tools and devices. Dried plants hung from the ceiling, and jars of powders and liquids occupied the shelves lining the walls. One even contained a deformed human head.

"That's Charles," Mercy said as she stationed herself by a metal table with her tools. "An old professor of mine. He bequeathed me his head in his will. You know, for science. A nice gent, but he had his vices. Mostly cheap whores. I suspect that's where the syphilis came from."

"Syphilis?"

"Yes. That's why he's missing his nose. Now let me fix that cut up before you, too, end up a deformity in a jar."

Thorn approached the table, and as he got closer, he saw that it was equipped with leather restraints. Five in total. He hesitated and stole a glance at Mercy.

She smirked. "I'm not going to tie you down and dissect you, Inspector."

Perching on the edge of the table, Thorn removed his jacket. "Well, you did just murder someone with a scalpel."

Mercy helped him off with his waistcoat and button-down shirt. "Someone who was about to use you for spare parts. Anyhow, I didn't kill them. I just stabbed them and knocked them out."

She examined his bare chest, gently fingering the gash that was deeper than he'd realized. "So they won't die?" he asked.

"Well, they could develop an infection from the stab wound. But not likely. I'm very meticulous when it comes to the cleanliness of my equipment, unlike many of your doctors in Cogs-and-Gears county."

Dousing a clean rag with alcohol, she began dabbing at the gash. He hissed at the stinging pain and resented the smug smile on Mercy's lips. "I'm actually happy I ran into you, Miss Bierce."

"Based on the size of this cut, I'm sure you are. They were probably aiming for your throat. You're lucky you dodged them."

"No, I mean that I came here to find you."

She set aside the rag and pulled out a needle from a leather bag. "To arrest me?"

His eyes followed her every movement as she passed the needle through a candle's flame before threading it. "Why would you think that?"

"Because another body showed up near the alehouse where you and I were talking last night. And like the first, this one was also missing its heart. Sit still so I don't stab you somewhere vital."

He held his breath as she plunged the needle into his skin. Aside from the pain, she was surprisingly gentle. Her fingers moved with great precision, barely brushing against his chest as she stitched up the large gash. It was over in a matter of minutes.

"I told you, Inspector, this doesn't involve you," she said as she cleaned her tools at the sink. "You should head back to your airships and clockwork houses."

Glancing over her shoulder, she met his eyes with that stony stare. But there was something more behind it. Could it possibly be concern?

"Go home where it's safe," she continued, turning back to the sink. "The Dreadful District is no place for tinkers like you."

Thorn opened his mouth to object but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Mercy set her tools aside and answered it to find a dark-haired young girl with even darker circles around her eyes. Her gaze flickered to him for a moment before settling back on Mercy.

"We need your assistance with a body," she said.

Mercy gave a terse nod and grabbed her leather bag before hurrying out the door. Thorn threw his shirt on and chased after her, nearly losing her in the dense fog.
There was a crowd gathered by the cemetery where he and Mercy had been only minutes earlier. Mercy was kneeling before the victim, examining the bloody scene carefully. It was another woman, similar to the other two. Same dark hair, same general build. This killer had a type.

A type.

Thorn's eyes flickered to Mercy as she stooped over the body, her brows knit together in concentration. Why hadn't he noticed this earlier? Now that she was right beside one of the victims, it was obvious.

They all looked like her.

"Well, she's dead," Mercy said as she rose to her feet and snapped her bag closed. "Best bring her to the undertaker before she begins to smell."

Those standing around quickly got to work lifting the body and carrying it away. As they disappeared into the fog, Mercy brushed past Thorn and dutifully avoided his gaze.
He grabbed her arm. "The killer's after you."

She stopped and heaved a sigh before glancing over her shoulder. "I told you, this doesn't involve you."

"I'm a police officer. Of course this involves me."

"No, it involved you when he was killing the steam-brained citizens of Bellfolk. Now that he's wandered into our district, you're off the hook."

"'He'? So you do know who it is?"

"Inspector, this doesn't concern you. Go back home. I can handle things from here."

Before he could argue, she pulled away from his grip and continued on her way.

What should he do? Clearly she was more than capable of taking care of herself. She'd proven as much in the cemetery. But this wasn't only about her. This madman had killed two innocent Bellfolk women. He had to be brought to justice.

And it was Thorn's job to do just that.

It took him a few minutes to navigate through the fog, but he eventually found his way back to Mercy's house. A sharp cry came from behind the door as he approached it. Swallowing hard, he pulled out his pistol and stormed inside to find utter chaos. Shattered jars, overturned furniture, broken tools—

And Mercy struggling against an unknown man bearing a large knife and holding her by the throat.

A man with three human hearts tied to his belt.

"I told you, Mercy," the stranger wheezed between clenched teeth as he slammed her against the metal table. "I told you I would steal your heart."

Mercy clawed at the hand around her neck, but he bested her in strength as he squeezed tighter.

"Let her go!" Thorn called out, raising his pistol and aiming for the man.

At the sound of his voice, the stranger started and pulled Mercy in front of him, keeping a firm hold on her throat. "You got the police involved?" he hissed at her.

"She has nothing to do with me," Thorn said. "You've killed three innocent women. Your own actions got me involved in this."

"You chose a copper over me?" the stranger said to Mercy, stroking her cheek with trembling fingers.

Mercy's lips were turning blue, but she still managed to raise an eyebrow at him.

"All these wasted years," he went on. "We could've been magnificent together."

He gazed at her tenderly for a moment, his lips drawing closer to her own gaping mouth. Thorn's finger twitched on the trigger, but the madman was too close to Mercy to shoot.

"It's too late, though," the stranger said as he shook his head. "I can't risk you running away again. I swore your heart would be mine. And if I'm anything, I'm a man of my word."

The blade of the knife flashed in the lamplight as he moved it towards Mercy's chest. Panic seized Thorn's heart, and he fired his pistol. The knife halted, and the madman let out a grunt. He stared stupidly at the blood trickling down his wrist.

In his hesitation, Mercy freed herself and grabbed a scalpel on a nearby table. Without flinching, she buried the blade into the man's throat while he was still gawking at his wounded hand. He met her eyes with a burning rage as he raised his knife again. Thorn pulled out his spider and hurled it at the madman. The moment the mechanical arachnid hit him, it released a giant web of threadlike steel. Choking on his own blood and struggling against the net, he tripped and fell to the ground.

And didn't move again.

~

"I should have stabbed that first night," Mercy said to Thorn back at the station in Bellfolk a few hours after the incident..

"Was he always insane?" Thorn asked, typing up the report.

"In school he was incredibly obsessive. With his work and with the ladies. And he was an addict to boot, so that only made things worse."

"Has he tried to kill other women?"

"I don't know. The other night was the first time I'd seen him in years. He sounded relatively sane in his letter, so I didn't see the harm in meeting up. But when he declared his love and I turned him down, he lost it."

"And then tried to harvest your heart. Makes sense."

"To a madman, I suppose. Inspector, are we through? I don't like leaving those other officers alone in my home for too long. Their steam-addled brains might break something."

Thorn leaned back in his chair. "I think I have what I need for a full report. Thank you, Miss Bierce."

Mercy rose to her feet. "Thank you, Inspector."

As she turned to leave, Thorn hesitated and then asked, "Do you have anymore psychopathic ex-lovers running about?"

She glanced over her shoulder and smirked. "Maybe. I do have a very colorful history."

"Then perhaps I can call upon your expertise the next time someone starts literally stealing hearts? Or something similar?"

"I suppose. If I'm available."

As he held her gaze, that stony stare of hers melted into something like respect. He had to admit that the feeling was mutual. "I'll keep you in mind, then," he said.

A smile tugged at her lips. "Until next time, Inspector."

"Until next time, Miss Bierce."