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they have little talent as either true
mediums or as fakes.”
    The weariness in his voice drew a sympathetic wince from
Vincent. “I’m sorry, Sylvester. I didn’t know.”
    “I thought about asking you to join me, after James died. The
three of us together might offer something new…but Lizzie has good reason to
stay out of the limelight I thrive in, and I knew you’d never leave her. Or the
shop.”
    Vincent shook his head. “I wouldn’t have been any use to
you. I stopped channeling for a while. As for the shop…we lost it anyway, but
you’re right. I wasn’t ready to let go of it yet.”
    “Still, if you’d only come to me after Reyhome…”
    Would Vincent have said yes, if Sylvester approached him
then? The tender words he and Henry had spoken to one another at Reyhome seemed
tenuous in Henry’s absence. And after weeks of silence, Vincent had concluded
their brief affair at Reyhome had merely been a bit of passing fun.
    Then Henry showed up on his doorstep, and Vincent’s heart took
wing just at the sight of him.
    “You’ll understand more when you see Henry’s instruments in
action,” Vincent replied. “He’s a brilliant man, truly.”
    “An unusual one, at least. I was surprised to hear his
cousin introduced as such.” Sylvester hesitated. “Is she his cousin?”
    “Of course!” Vincent scowled, and Sylvester held up his
hands quickly. “And just as brilliant in her own way. Henry’s white family have
ostracized him for acknowledging the relationship, but he said Jo needed him
more than he needed them.”
    “You seem very fond of him,” Sylvester observed.
    Vincent glanced down at his whiskey. “Dunne would have loved
him.”
    “I’m sure he would have.” Sylvester drained the last of his
whiskey and put down the glass. “But enough. If you have such faith in Mr.
Strauss, I will give him a chance as well.”

Chapter 6
     
    Rather than retire to his bed, Henry opened one of the
crates the porters had stacked in his room. Ortensi might dismiss Henry’s
devices out of hand, but it would be harder to do so if the medium actually saw
one of them in operation.
    He removed a set of Franklin bells and the glass dome meant
to protect them from wind, thankfully still intact after the long train ride.
Carrying them in his arms, he sought out the hotelkeeper.
     Peterson stood near the front door, talking quietly
with the clerk and one of the porters. “…the damned ghost,” Henry heard, before
the clerk nodded in his direction. The hotelkeeper turned to him with a hasty
smile.
    “Is everything in order, sir?” he asked, peering at the set
of bells in Henry’s arms.
    “Quite,” Henry replied. “But I thought I might be able to
offer you—and any guests—reassurances the ghost hasn’t approached
the hotel. Or at least, a warning if she does.”
    “Can you do that, sir?” the porter wondered.
    “This device will ring if the ghost is nearby. Or a
thunderstorm,” he added honestly. The Franklin bells reacted to changes in the
electromagnetic field. Unfortunately, he had yet to find a way to get them to
differentiate between changes caused by ghosts and those caused by lightning.
“I’ll need to place it outside, attached to one of your lightning rods.”
    “Please, sir,” the night clerk said to Peterson. “It’d put
my mind at ease, having to stand here all night, wondering if the ghost is
coming back.”
    “Of course,” Peterson said. “Come, Mr. Strauss. I’ll show
you where the nearest lightning rod is.”
    Installing the Franklin bells was but the work of a few
moments. After making certain the glass dome was secure, Henry went back
inside, to the profuse thanks of the night clerk.
    Vincent’s voice drifted out as he passed the saloon. No
telling how long he’d be up, reminiscing with Ortensi. Returning to his room, Henry
changed into his nightshirt and threw the coverlets back.
    He ought to lie down and try to sleep. Not sit up and wait
for the sound of