Dr. Shahdi Feroz, Skeeter knew, was not just a world-renowned Ripperologist, she was also the team’s cult-phenomena expert. She had made a life’s study of criminal cults and intended to research first-hand Victorian London’s teeming subculture of spiritualists, occult worshipers, Celtic-revivalists, magic practitioners, and the city’s numerous flourishing, quasi-religious cult groups. It had led her to support some rather unusual ideas about the Ripper murders. What she knew about down-time occult groups made for a terrifying parallel to what Skeeter knew of up-time cults. He’d seen his share of them in New York. And over the past few years, the new ones popping up like malignant mushrooms made those older ones look positively apple-pie ordinary. Which was doubtless why Bull Morgan had personally requested her presence at this meeting. Shahdi Feroz, as elegant and composed as a Persian queen, dark hair upswept in a mass of thick, raven’s-wing waves, glanced at Skeeter, evidently aware of his intent scrutiny, and started to speak—
And the elevator doors slid open onto pandemonium.
Shahdi Feroz turned aside at once, stepping out of the elevator to make room for the others. She glanced over at Ann through dark, worried eyes as they all crowded off the elevator and tried, somewhat vainly, to find space in Bull’s packed office.
“I didn’t expect quite so many people to be here.” Her speech was rich and fluid. Skeeter, fascinated by the rising and falling inflections of her exotic voice, managed to locate a space that hid him from most people’s view.