Unraveling Secrets (The Secret Trilogy) by Lana Williams Page A

evening, a couple of conversations mentioned the missing boys, but no one seemed to have any additional information.
    Stephen watched a group of three men whose auras shifted from gray murkiness to black spikes as the evening passed. Stephen drew as near as he dared but caught only bits and pieces of what they said. He’d nearly given up on hearing anything of interest when he heard the words “boys” and “experiment” uttered by one of the men. They all left soon after.
    Curious , Stephen rose to follow and signaled for Farley to keep an eye on the men who still watched the serving woman.
    Stephen exited the tavern, shutting out the rousing notes of ‘The Parson and the Chamber Maid’ as he closed the door and stepped onto the dark, foggy street. As he looked for the men, he shifted his shoulder to ease the tightness there. Though it was healing, the gunshot wound still hurt and his stamina had not yet returned in full. In addition to his injury, a crowded establishment always took its toll, but one filled with the people from this neighborhood with their suspicious minds and ill intentions was exhausting.
    He rubbed his fo rehead in an attempt to ease the ache there, hoping he could quickly find the men who’d been talking in the tavern.
    His step hitched as he realized someone watched him. As casually as possible, he surveyed the street through the mist. Several carriages and cabs passed by and many people went about their business but none seemed to pay him any mind. He paused just beyond the hazy gas stre et light to gain a better view.
    The sound of a shoe on the cobblestone behind him had Stephen spinning around in time to see a fist plowing toward him. He narrowly dodged the blow when another smashed into his side, knocking his hat to the ground.
    “That’ll teach ye to mind yer own business!” His thick Irish brogue identified him as the red-haired man from the tavern.
    Stephen ’s years of training as a savateur took over. Acting on instinct, he drove his fist into his attacker’s jaw. The man staggered back as Stephen spun to heel kick his other assailant.
    “Bloody hell! Watch out fer ‘is feet!”
    The barrel-chested Irishman refused to give up and seemed determined to damage Stephen’s face with fists like hams. Luckily, his next punch swung wide.
    The other man tried to circle behind Stephen. “If yer thinkin ’ to bilk us, ye best think again. Yer like don’t belong ‘ere.”
    “Last time I checked, I was free to drink wherever I please,” Stephen answered as he waited with his hands at the ready to see what the men would try next. He silently cursed the m for interrupting his pursuit of the one lead they might’ve had for the missing boys.
    “Ye said he ’d be an easy mark,” the red-haired man’s cohort said as he lowered his fists. “I’m not stayin’ for this.” He retreated into the foggy night, ignoring his friend’s angry curses.
    The remaining man threw his fist again. Stephen blocked it with his forearm, using the man ’s own momentum to shove him away.
    “Mind yer own business, damn you!” Cradling his arm, the ma n hurried off after his friend.
    He took a slow breath to calm his racing heart then straightened his clothing. As he bent down to retrieve his hat, a sharp pain shot through his shoulder. He lifted the lapel of his jacket to make sure the damned injury wasn’t bleeding again but couldn’t see anything in the dim light.
    He should ’ve realized they’d look at him suspiciously if they thought he was listening to their discussion about whether to form a union. Even talking about it was seen as a threat by some businesses.
    Awareness shot through him again, and he shifted to see if one of his attackers had returned.
    The only thing he spotted in the fog was a sleek black carriage rolling to a stop across the street . The red velvet curtain was pulled aside as though the passenger watched him. The coachman hopped down, and Stephen immediately recognized