Harte was halfway down the hall when another explosion hit, throwing him from his feet and knocking him into the wall. He staggered to his knees, steadying himself as he heard a crackling and another explosion. And then the ceiling broke open above him.
INTO THE FIRE
1904—St. Louis
Esta was helping lift one of the children into a wagon that had been waiting in the yard behind the warehouse when she heard the explosion and turned to see the main building go up in flames behind her.
We were just in there. A matter of a few moments and they would have still been in there.
Maggie gasped, her hand to her mouth as she adjusted the toddler on her hip. “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no . . .”
Esta set the child she was holding into the wagon and turned to take the one from Maggie, who let go of it reluctantly. Her eyes were wide and glassy as she watched her family’s business burn.
“We’re safe,” she told Maggie. “The kids are safe too. You can rebuild anything else.”
But Maggie was shaking her head, and Esta couldn’t tell if she was disagreeing or if she simply couldn’t even hear her from the shock of it. North was there a moment later, taking Maggie in his arms like he didn’t care who saw. His face relaxed in relief as he held on to her, whispering into her hair.
The last child had just been loaded into the wagon along with the dozen or so patients they’d rescued from the hospital when Mother Ruth came around the side of the building with a small group of people.
“Where’s Har—Ben?” Esta said, correcting herself before she uttered the wrong name. He wasn’t with the rest of the group.
“He’s not with you?” North said, turning to Ruth.
Another explosion echoed from within the building.
Ruth shook her head. “Last I saw him, the crazy fool was running into the building.”
“He thought you all might still be in there,” North said, his voice sounding as hollow and shocked as Esta felt at the idea of Harte being inside of that building.
“He’s inside?” Esta asked, the words clawing themselves free from the tightness in her throat. Above them, the roof of the main building crackled and shifted. As if reading her mind, Maggie grabbed her wrist.
“You can’t—”
Esta tore her arm away and started running.
As soon as she was close, she pulled time slow and stepped through the doorway of the burning building without looking back.
She had no idea where Harte would be, but she’d start at the nursery. If he’d come in looking for her, that was where he would have gone.
The heat of the fire radiated in the passageways around her, but the flames themselves had gone still, like brilliant flowers blooming on the walls and ceilings. She couldn’t stop time completely, so she couldn’t stop the process of oxygen consumed by the fire. The heat was a constant, and the air hung heavy with deadly smoke, but she wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t. Not until she found Harte.
Esta’s chest clenched when she turned into the hallway where the nursery waited and saw the pile of burning rubble. She nearly lost her hold on her affinity when she saw the shoe peeking out of it.
She didn’t waste any time in starting to move the pieces of ceiling that had fallen on Harte, but it was taking too long. She uncovered his face and saw that his eyes were open—he wasn’t dead, but he also wasn’t any help, nearly frozen as he was. Considering her options, she let go of the seconds. The flames crackled to life in a roaring blaze, and Harte gasped as more pieces of the ceiling fell.
His eyes met hers, his face blanching when he saw her standing there above him.
“Help me,” she said, trying to pull more of the rubble off him.
She could hear the building creaking as they worked, until finally he was free of the large piece that had pinned his legs down. “Can you walk?” she asked, coughing from the heat and the smoke.
“I think so,” he told her, getting to his feet but tottering a little. She caught him before he could fall.
“Can’t you . . . ?” He meant that he wanted her to stop time.
“No,” she said. “Not with you. The building’s too unstable.” She could tell he wanted to argue, but she didn’t give him the chance. With her shirt up over her nose and mouth, they moved as fast as they could through the hallway, toward the back of the building.
They were almost out when Esta stopped.
“What are you doing?” Harte asked, pushing her onward.
“My cuff. Ishtar’s Key is in here,” she said.
“Do you know for sure?” He coughed.
She shook her head. “But if it is . . .” The fire had started unexpectedly, and Ruth had been too busy arguing with the Guard—distracting them, so Maggie could get the children out—to do anything else. Maybe it wasn’t in here, but she couldn’t take that chance. “I can’t leave without it,” she said, turning back into the fire. Without it, they would be trapped there with no way back. And no way to set things right.
“No, Esta—” He grabbed at her hand.
“Let go,” she told him, trying to shake him loose. But he was too stubborn, and already she could feel the heat of the power within him creeping against her skin, as stark and real as the fire.
“I’m not leaving you here. It’s not worth dying for.”
But hadn’t she already made that decision? “I’m dead either way.”
He shook his head and was about to argue with her, but she cut him off.
“I need that stone, but I can’t do this with you, Harte. Not with whatever is inside you. Let me go, and I can at least try. I got you out, didn’t I?” She could tell he wanted to disagree, but he couldn’t argue with that point. “I’ll be back outside before you even notice.”
“No, Esta,” he said, tightening his hold on her arm until his fingers were digging painfully into her skin. There was something dark in his expression, a desperation that was stark and pure. In that moment, she couldn’t tell what it was moving behind his eyes—whether it was he himself who cared that desperately or if it was something else. Seshat. The demon-like power inside of him—did Seshat know that the stones would be her undoing?
That thought made up her mind for her. “I’m sorry,” she said, as she wrenched his arm to the side and laid him flat on his back. The moment his hand released her, she pulled time slow and dodged back into the flames once more.
A PEONY IN A TOMATO PATCH
1902—New York
Lies. Viola knew that the words coming from Nibsy’s mouth were as foul and polluted as the muck that flowed in the sewer, and now that she had Libitina in her hands once more, she would show him what she thought of his lies. She began to unwrap the comforting weight of the knife when, from the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of pink that was utterly out of place in the dreary, sooty air of the Bowery.
She should have known that the girl wasn’t going to listen to her and go back uptown, where she belonged. She shouldn’t have been surprised to find Ruby there, craning her neck to see what was happening with the fire and looking every bit like a peony in a tomato patch.
Ruby was too engrossed in trying to see what was happening, but from the look of concentration and worry on Theo’s face, he had realized that the crowd’s mood was turning now that the steady stream of water was beginning to extinguish the blaze. With their source of entertainment dying, they were beginning to grow restless and rowdy.