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His eyes roll back into his head while his body still flops against the velvet seat. I unbutton his ruffled shirt next and swap it out with my own. Another piece that fits like a glove. Like it was made for me.

“Just ask my mother, if you can find her. Or the nun back at the orphanage who let me stick my fingers in her cunt before she went crying to the headmistress about me. I made her cum so hard, it was holier than any sacrament she’s ever received. But naughty little Rowena couldn’t keep a secret.” I slick my black strands back with some of the man’s hair wax, my fingers shaking as I remember the betrayal.

He slumps over, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. I pull him forward so I can remove his velvet coat. Its lapels are lined with a gold brocade—a fabric I’ve only ever read about but never seen up close.

Once I’m fitted head to toe in his attire, I stuff his limp corpse into my cheap clothes. It’s remarkable, really. I am already feeling more like a lord than I thought. I take out my dagger and clean my fingernails with it.

“So I ruined the girl. I told the headmistress that I would tell the entire town how the nuns make us perform sexual favors on them. They, of course, fired her. She went mad and tried to kill herself. Last I heard, she was locked up in Absentia Asylum.” I sigh as I tuck my flask inside my new velvet coat. “And that was that. Good riddance. She shouldn’t have crossed me. You, dear Bellamy, were just unfortunately in the wrong place at the right time. Much like your coachman.”

Now I must bring this carriage to a halt. I spot the cord hanging from a tiny hole in the wall of the carriage. I tug on it three times and wait. Within seconds, the horses slow, and we come to a complete stop.

I peer out the window and count my lucky stars that we are still high on the mountain with no other carriages in sight. I pop open the door and stick my head out. “Forgive me, coachman, but I think Lord Erebus has fallen ill. Can you be of assistance?”

The coachman’s face pales. He swallows hard, his throat bobbing. “What is wrong with him?”

I shrug. “Don’t know. Perhaps the soup was bad. You will have to come see for yourself.”

He sets down the reins after whispering a strange command into the horse’s ear… mors vincit omnia. Death always wins.

I force a smile and hop out of the carriage. I’m fluent in Latin, but he doesn’t need to know that. “What did you say to the horse?”

“I told him to stay.” Liar.

I nod and move to the side so he has room to pass. “I’ll have to remember that one.”

He sighs knowingly when he enters the carriage. “May the ravens spare me.”

I climb in after him and jam my knife in between his ribs. “They will not. I can’t leave any stone unturned.”

“Wait, please! I won’t tell anyone,” he cries.

I roll him over and plunge the knife into his heart. I do prefer to look a man in the eyes when I take his life. “Except you already told the horse.” I twist it in deeper and watch with interest as the light in his eyes dims before finally going out.

I jerk back as his blood oozes out. I don’t want it getting on my new clothes. While I would’ve preferred him to steer us a little longer, I couldn’t take the risk of someone seeing me do the switch.

I strip the coachman naked before dumping him over the side of the mountain. The buzzards will pick him clean before anyone finds him out here. I drag Bellamy out of the carriage next and lay him down on the dirt road. I set my suitcase next to him, then place the bloody knife in his hand.

There. Now it looks as if he was attacked; he fought back, but failed. And if they ever find the coachman, they will tie him to this. I laugh at my luck as I gaze down upon him. My fortune has changed for the better. For once, I have been given a gift. And I will not forsake it.

I hop up on the cab and take the reins. “I am your liege now. Let’s go.” I click my tongue, and all four horses start to move again.

The rest of the trip is smooth as I make my descent down the mountain. With a full belly and a slight whiskey buzz, my grin widens. I just became one of the wealthiest men in Melancholia. Not too shabby for an orphan boy from the poison fields.

The town of Wickford Hollow has indeed grown. I trot into the bustling town square with one agenda only. Luckily for me, despite all the new storefronts and displays of grandeur, Scabber’s Row still thrives. I trot up to the line of deplorables and scan their faces, searching for the right one.

These scoundrels are the worst of the worst, criminals who can’t find honest work, so they come out here to earn their wages another way. They are loyal only to the coin. And they won’t hesitate to kill you for it. Which is why I need one of my own.

I gravitate toward the man at the end, the only one whose hands aren’t shaking from opium withdrawals. He glares up at me, flinching only for a second before he quickly recovers. You can tell a lot about a man who can hold eye contact with a man like me. One whose soul is as dark as mine.

“I’m in need of a coachman to take me to Raven’s Gate. You can leave after or stay on. Up to you. I will pay you more than you’re worth.”

The bald man licks his teeth. He’s not much older than me, but a hard life has aged him decades past. He sizes me up, taking visual notes of my attire and then the carriage behind me. “What happened to your former coachman?”

“I killed him for asking too many questions. Now, do you want to work for me or not?” I raise my chin with just enough arrogance to make him wonder if it’s all a scam. But it doesn’t matter if he believes me to be a rich man or just a scoundrel like him. The one thing he can see in my eyes is that I am, in fact, a murderous bastard.

He saunters past me, climbs up onto the cab, and takes the reins. “What shall I call you?”

I grin as that tight knot in my belly unravels. “Bellamy Erebus. Lord Erebus.”