The Devil's Workshop

Finding them was the trick. He had tried many times with no success. But his father had always said (and these were words he did remember), “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.”

And so the Harvest Man did try again.

He had his ether and he had his plague mask, to protect himself from the spirits, and he had his blade. It was long and curved and sharp. He had found it in a little store next to the apothecary where he had taken the ether and the mask. It was not as long or as curved as his old blade, the blade the policemen had taken away from him, but it was just as sharp and he liked it.

He crept to the attic door, opened it a crack, and listened. The family downstairs was still eating their evening meal. They were talking and laughing just exactly the way a family should. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could hear the love in their voices. He had chosen a good house. They were a good family.

He wondered what their names were.

He pushed the attic door shut again, careful not to make a sound, and crept back over to the wall. He sat down and crossed his legs and rested his back against the wall. He closed his eyes. There was nothing to look at, only the same dusty joists and cobwebs and dark corners that he had seen in other attics, in different houses.

But this time would be different. He could feel it.

All he had to do was wait until they fell asleep, and then he would go downstairs and use the ether and take his time. He would use the blade on their faces, he would carve away what didn’t belong, and this time he was confident that he would find his family under those unfamiliar features.

He imagined the faces of his family smiling at him and he smiled back at them. The Harvest Man crossed his legs and relaxed and waited in the attic for the people downstairs to stop making noise.

He was a patient boy.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many thanks to my long-suffering agent, Seth Fishman, and my very patient editor, Neil Nyren. And to Ivan Held, for his continued faith in me and in the Murder Squad series.

Thanks to Emily Walters and Kristy Blomquist for helping me understand Claire’s experience. And to Benito Cereno for his help with the Karstphanomen’s Latin phrases.

My Bad Karma mates, B. Clay Moore, Jeremy Haun, and Seth Peck, helped keep me going, offering many helpful suggestions and contact information. (Seth found the jailer’s gun used by the Karstphanomen.) Thanks, fellas!

My early readers, Roxane White, Alison Clayton, Ande Parks, and Brandy Schillace, helped enormously with their enthusiasm, expertise, and eagle eyes.

Richard Walters provided the haunting sound track I listened to while writing this book.

As much as I’ve enjoyed getting to know my shadow on the wall, the real-life Jack the Ripper killed at least five innocent women: Mary Ann Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, Catherine Eddowes, and Mary Jane Kelly. I do not wish to minimize their lives or their tragic deaths in any way.

And, finally, many thanks for ever and always to my wonderful wife and son.