panel featured a frieze depicting the burning of a witch. “To remember,” Poppy said, “what happens when the people start to believe in the supernatural.”
It wasn’t a comforting memory to have. “Were any of those women truly witches?”
“Some. Most were simply women caught up in the tide of fear. Fear of the unknown is a deadly thing.”
The dark, burled wood of the door highlighted the clean lines of her pale profile and the red flame of her hair. His voice was jagged as he spoke. “This is what you truly do, isn’t it? Keep things like this from happening again?”
“It is what we try to do.”
“Where is everyone?”
Her long finger punched in another code. “Around. Most regulators are out in the field, and this sector is fairly high level.” Beyond the door, a series of rooms opened up. Unlike the sterile feel of the halls, this new place had a domestic look about it. Each room led into the other. One was rather formal, the other looked more like a gentleman’s retreat, and another a small library. Here and there, men and women sat in chairs, reading, smoking, or paired off in small groups for conversation. None of them looked up as Win and Poppy passed, and he rather thought that it was an unwritten rule in regards to privacy. But they were all aware of Win’s presence. Never before had he felt more of an interloper. While not outright watched, Winston felt their surreptitious looks with every step he took.
This was Poppy’s world.
Poppy read his expression well. Her voice dropped to a murmur. “Here, I am known as the director of this sector. Seven sectors, seven directors, Mother and Father overseeing all.”
“And who is this Father?”
“Augustus.” Lamplight flashed in her eyes as they walked along. “The man who saved you.”
“The… er… man with wings?” He refused to say angel, but he had his suspicions.
The corners of her mouth curled. “He is a demon. A special sort. I would introduce you but he went away on personal business.” A faint frown marred her brow but she let it go and ascended a long spiral staircase with steady proficiency. “There are certain activities for which we require above-ground rooms. We’ve taken over a few warehouses as cover.”
Poppy led him into a large, light-filled room, walled on one side with a grid of floor-to-ceiling windows. An ebony lake of marble spread out before them, and her reflection rippled along its surface as she strode forward between one of the rows of black-topped worktables that held various mechanical devices in stages of completion. Young men and women stood before many of them. The workers gave them an idle glance as they passed but it was clear Poppy was a regular visitor. Above their heads, the ceiling soared twenty feet up and crested in the center with opaque glass window panels. Poppy’s red hair shone like a beacon among the drab color and the pale-faced workers.
When she reached the center of the room, she turned and headed toward one of the two massive fireplaces at the side of the room. Neither was lit at the moment, for it was summer. A tall, shining steel worktable had been placed a few feet in front of the fireplace on the left. There a woman stood, her head bent as she fiddled with some apparatus too small for Win to discern its function.
“Miss Evernight.” Poppy’s crisp voice caught the lady’s attention, and she set down her tools.
A small jolt hit Win. She was young. Very. Perhaps eighteen or nineteen. She still had a touch of childhood roundness in her cheeks, but her dark eyes snapped with quick intelligence.
“Mrs. Amon.” She gave a small curtsey. “If you’ve come about the gun, I am to commence testing this afternoon.”
Hamon, Amon, Belenus, Lane, Poppy, Mother… The woman had more names than the Queen. Win could only guess at what insane name she’d call him now.
Win stepped closer, and Poppy acknowledged him. “This is Mr. Amon.”
He tried not to let his surprise show. Miss Evernight was less successful. Her eyes widened, and her winged brows disappeared beneath the shining black fringe that she wore.
“Mr. Amon.” She made an awkward attempt to extend her hand, but noticing that her fingertips were covered with oil, lowered it and nodded instead. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
It was clear that she hadn’t expected Poppy to actually possess a husband. Perhaps they all had aliases.
“Mr. Amon,” Poppy said, “may I present Miss