“Do you know what would have happened if you were caught today?” Ruth continued. “Do you realize what it would have done to us?”
“I can’t see how me being caught would have affected you in the least,” Esta said.
“Which only shows how foolish you are,” Ruth said. “I don’t know who you really are, and I don’t know if you have done even one of the many things that have been attributed to you, but I do know this—the Guard catching you would have been a victory for the Society and the other Brotherhoods. It would have been a fatal blow to the Antistasi movement everywhere. To catch you would have meant an end to the legend of the Thief. That legend is what keeps us safe even as it inspires fear in our enemies. Without it, we’d be exposed.”
She hadn’t even considered that. Esta had seen the women in the ballroom, she’d heard Julien talk about the exploits of the Antistasi, and she had admired them. She hadn’t realized that she might be putting them in danger just by actually existing.
“It wasn’t my intention to put any of you in danger,” Esta said, trying to make her voice sound contrite. “I don’t want to be a liability. I’d much rather be an asset.”
“But you’re not an asset, and without the necklace, what can you offer me?”
“Besides my name?” Esta asked, trying to come up with something that would be convincing enough to assuage Ruth’s doubts.
“We already have that,” Ruth told her. “Even without you, we can continue to use it.”
“But you don’t have a way into the Society,” Harte said from across the room.
Ruth’s brows drew together and she turned away from Esta to focus on Harte. His expression was strained, but he had a look of sheer determination in his eyes.
“Why would you imagine we need that?”
“Because we know that you have big plans,” Harte said, drawing Ruth’s attention toward him. “And we know what you’re still missing.”
BENEDICT O’DOHERTY
1904—St. Louis
Harte’s head was still pounding from whatever they’d used on him in the wagon, and inside, the power of the Book was churning uneasily. It didn’t like whatever that drug had been—and, to be fair, neither did Harte. His affinity felt hazy and indistinct, like the magic that was his usual companion was too far for him to reach.
Fine, then. Harte might be a magician by trade, but he was a con man at heart.
“If you know so much, perhaps we should dispose of you now,” Ruth said, stalking toward him. She had a combination of fear and fury in her eyes—a combination that might prove dangerous—but at least she wasn’t so focused on Esta any longer.
“That would be a mistake.”
“Unlike you,” Ruth said, “we do not make mistakes.”
“Maybe not yet,” Harte said, not so much as blinking. “But not taking advantage of what we can offer you? Definitely a mistake.”
“Why do you think we need entry into the Society?” Ruth asked.
“The necklace wasn’t at the fair. If you don’t have it, that means the Society has moved it. How are you planning to get the necklace if you don’t even know where it is?” He paused, letting his question hang in the air before he spoke again. “You’re already running short on time.”
Ruth straightened, and Harte could tell from the way her expression shifted that her actions were a show for everyone in the room. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No?” Harte asked easily, relying on the impressions he’d gotten from when his captors had touched him without realizing the danger. “Your guys are spooked because they know you’re not quite ready. They’re thinking that maybe it’s too big a risk, especially that one.” Harte nodded toward the one who had held his hands behind his back—the one he’d managed to read just before he was tossed into the wagon. “Frank, right? He’s got a sister up in Chicago. Figures that he could take off and go live with her instead of getting himself killed.”
Ruth turned to the guy, whose face had gone pale. “Is this true? You doubt our undertaking?”
The guy shook his head dumbly for a second or two before he found words. “He’s lying, Ruth. He’s just trying to confuse us.” But the fear in the guy’s expression told a different story.
“Cowardice will kill you, Frank. Not my plans.” Ruth nodded to one of the others. “Take him downstairs and make sure he’s secured. There isn’t room for misgivings and fear. Not now.” Then she turned on Harte. “I know who she is, but who are you?”
“Someone just like you,” he said simply. “I hate the Society and everything it stands for. We heard about what you did last fall—the attack on the construction of the Exposition. It was brilliant. Masterful, even.”
Ruth considered him. “What is your name?”
“Benedict O’Doherty,” Harte told her, the name slipping from his lips before he could consider it. “I’m called Ben for short.” Or I was, once. It seemed he’d been resurrected twice now, he thought darkly.
“I don’t trust either one of you,” Ruth told him.
“That only proves you’re not stupid,” he said simply. “But not accepting our help—that would be stupid. Especially when we could help you be more successful than you’ve even dreamed. Give us a chance to prove ourselves. The one you just had taken away was worried about a job you had for him. Let us do it instead.”
Her eyes narrowed as she thought it over. Then her expression cleared. “Fine,” she said, her lips curling. “I’ll give you this one chance to prove yourselves.” She glanced at the cowboy. “Take him away and make sure he doesn’t cause any problems.”
“But the job—” Harte said.
“I think we’ll let the Thief do it. If she’s so powerful and so anxious to work with us, she shouldn’t have a problem. And if she does anything at all to betray us, you’ll be the one to pay.”
JUST A GIRL
1904—St. Louis
Maggie watched as her sister’s people led the Thief and her companion away. They went calmly, though clearly reluctantly, and the way that the guy—Benedict—looked at the Thief, as though he would do anything at all to keep what was about to happen from occurring, nudged at something deep inside of her.
“Was that really necessary?” she asked Ruth, who was standing, impassive as always, watching as well.
Her oldest sister, the only mother she’d ever known, glanced over at her with impatience shimmering in her gaze. “Are you questioning my judgment?”
Maggie shook her head. “No, Mother Ruth. Just wondering . . .” But secretly, she was questioning her sister. She’d been questioning Ruth and her tactics for some time, but right now, she knew this was where she had to be. “If Lipscomb’s people catch her—”
“Then they take care of a problem for me,” Ruth said in a tone that brooked no argument. “She’s not the Devil’s Thief, Maggie. She’s just a girl, same as you. Same as I once was. The Devil’s Thief is bigger—it’s something we created through our actions. If she’s so stupid as to get herself caught by Caleb Lipscomb and his half-witted socialists, then it’s what she’ll deserve.”