Page 89 of A Dangerous Vision

“Mind your tongue, boy,” Callister snarled.

Pennington glared at him. “Why should I heed anything you say?”

While the two men exchanged petty sleights, Electra edged toward the ledger-covered desk and stared down at the silver penknife lying at the edge of the blotter.

Gideon approached, wearing a frown. Looking down at what had caught her notice, his eyes ballooned wide.

“Shall I touch it?” she whispered.

Before Gideon could answer, Pennington pushed up from his chair, swaying a bit. Callister shot up too.

“Sit down,” he hissed at the men.

Pennington shoved Callister hard enough to make him stumble. Then he clutched the lapels of his own frock coat and took a step toward Gideon.

“I did it,” he said in a low voice. “Promise you’ll set Demeter free, and I will tell you all.”

Callister growled, “You will not say a damned word.”

Gideon stepped toward the two men, who looked on the verge of descending into fisticuffs.

Electra reached out and touched the silver penknife. She closed her eyes, pushing away the tension in the room.

An image came into focus. A figure approached in the darkness. Dark hair. Square jaw. Percival Pennington. He looked angry. Brows bent, a scowl pulling at his mouth. He snapped his head up, glared. Then he stopped, but the man whose memory she saw—Lance Pennington, she presumed—moved closer. So close they might have embraced. Pennington looked down. Lance Pennington did too. A flash of silver.

A scream pulled Electra from the images, and she spun to find Gideon attempting to tear Callister and Pennington apart. Miss Faraday pulled at her uncle’s arm.

“Cease this!” the girl cried.

Callister lifted his hands as if to signal he would no longer struggle against Gideon’s hold.

“Sit,” Gideon barked at the man. He pointed at Pennington. “And you.”

Both men dropped into the chairs they’d vacated.

“You murdered your brother,” Electra said to Lance Pennington.

Mrs. Devlin had told the truth.

The young man nodded, then dropped his head, his blond hair obscuring his face.

“And what is your involvement, Mr. Callister?” Gideon asked.

“None at all,” Callister insisted.

“He’s lying.” Miss Faraday’s soft voice cut through the room. “He asked my uncle to do it.”

Callister’s lip curled as he looked at the girl. “Hyperbole,” he bit out.

“He did ask me,” Lance Pennington said, lifting his head. “Offered to pay me, and I pondered how I might do it. If I could do it.”

He fell silent.

“Then I saw Demeter climbing out of a carriage in front of the townhouse. I felt such rage, and there was no more thought of planning or plotting.” He gave Gideon a stricken look. “I struck him down, there on the street. It took but a moment. By the time I spoke to Demeter that night, it seemed like a nightmare. Or perhaps a dream in which there was no longer an impediment between us.”

“I never paid him to do it,” Callister said in a cutting tone.

“He didn’t,” Lance Pennington put in quietly.