“Mrs. Evelyn Abercrombie,” he offered by way of explanation, “eldest daughter of the late Olivia Pendergast.” As he spoke, Aldous looked around the room, the empty bottles adorning the flat surfaces explaining the stench of old alcohol that filled the stale air. Did his brother truly live this way? Had he given up lodging at the family home for this?

“She wrote to me on Wednesday,” the wizard continued from his sentry post in the middle of the room. “I would have rather discounted what she had to say, if she hadn’t had a letter from you to Miss Pendergast—Merlin, Reuben, what could have possessed you? No, I don’t want to know—the more I know, the harder it will be to believe what I wish instead. Regardless, you have a choice, and it is not one you will have much time to ponder.”

---