Something wasn't right. Ashton shifted uncomfortably in his knee-high black boots. The actual gardens behind the Midnight Garden were chilly and his breath puffed out in small pale clouds as he waited in a concealed area of tall shrubbery to see where the two men from last night might rendezvous.

Lucien had been positive that he'd heard Waverly's voice as the one giving orders to the hired assassin. But it was easy to let prejudices color a man's memory. Ever since the League ...