But she wasn’t a girl any longer.
“She’s never going to forgive me,” Ruby whispered, remembering every awful word she’d spoken to Viola.
“Do you want her to?” Theo asked gently.
“I don’t know,” Ruby said, knowing the words were a lie even as she spoke them. But she was still so angry and felt so betrayed that she would never, ever admit it.
CLOSE TO THE SURFACE
1904—St. Louis
Harte hit the ground before he knew what was happening, the force of Esta’s blow and his fall knocking the air from his chest. By the time he shook himself off and sat up, Esta was already running into the burning building again. He saw her silhouetted by the fire, and then she was gone.
At the sight of her disappearing, the power inside Harte rose up with a violence he wasn’t ready for. All at once he was pulled under into darkness, where all he could feel was the pain of being torn apart, the rage at being betrayed, and the unbearable longing that had built over centuries of being imprisoned.
He didn’t realize that he was trying to run toward the fire himself until he came to with North and one of the other brewery workers holding him back as he tried to tear himself away from them. I will rip them apart to find her.
But in a blink, his vision focused and he saw Esta appear again, walking toward them whole and unharmed. She met his eyes with a frown, and he could tell that she hadn’t found the cuff.
He was grateful in that moment that the two guys had hold of his arms. Seshat was so close to the surface that he couldn’t have stopped himself from going to Esta. He couldn’t have stopped Seshat from taking her.
And Esta wouldn’t have been prepared. She wouldn’t have known until it was too late.
As his body started to relax, North and the other guy slowly released him. Concern was etched across Esta’s features, but he didn’t go to her. The power was still pressing itself at his boundaries, testing him.
He didn’t trust himself to even be near Esta, let alone touch her, so he shook his head, warning her off.
Hurt flickered in her eyes, but he turned away from it, knowing that if he went to her now, the demon-like power inside of him would win.
“We need to go, before the Guard decides to do anything more,” Ruth told the group.
Harte wanted to go to Esta, to wrap her in his arms and convince himself that she was still safe and whole, to convince her to leave these Antistasi and all the danger they presented, but Esta’s hurt had turned to hardness. She was already walking away from him, helping Ruth and Maggie and the rest climb into the remaining wagon. And all Harte could do was follow.
THREATS AND PROMISES
1904—St. Louis
It was close to midnight by the time Julien Eltinge let himself out through the stage door and cut back through the alley behind the theater. The humid warmth of the night felt oppressive without so much as a breeze to cut through it. Still, it was quiet, a more than adequate respite from the exhausting day he’d had.
The morning had started with a meeting with Corwin Spenser, who had wanted to go over the plans the Society had been making to ensure security at the parade. Not everyone in town appreciated the Veiled Prophet’s celebrations. The Society always expected trouble, rabble who would do anything to disrupt what should have been an evening of entertainment, but with the president in town, nothing could be allowed to go wrong—especially when it came to the necklace. Julien had assured the old man yet again that he was more than capable of taking care of anyone who might try anything during the parade. That meeting had been followed by back-to-back shows, where the house had been full but lackluster. The heat was affecting everyone.
He’d just turned the corner toward his own apartment when he realized that the carriage on the street behind him seemed to be following him. Slowing his steps, Julien waited for it to pass, but instead it pulled up alongside him and the door opened. Inside was a man he’d seen before—at a dinner the Veiled Prophet had required him to attend earlier that week. He wasn’t one of the Society, but was a representative from one of the other Brotherhoods. Which had it been?
“Mr. Eltinge?” the man called. “Could I offer you a ride?”
New York, he thought suddenly, recognizing the clipped accent of the man’s speech. Which meant he was from the Order.
“Thanks,” Julien called, too aware of the sweat that was dripping down his back. “But I think I’ll walk. It’s a lovely night for it.” He waved and continued on, hoping that would be the end of it.
It wasn’t, of course. The carriage pulled up alongside him again.
“Oh, I think you’ll want to come for a ride with me, Julien.” He leaned forward so the streetlamp lit the planes of his face. “Unless you want me to explain to the Order where you really found that necklace.”
The night felt sultry against his skin, but Julien’s veins had turned to ice. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.” He considered his options, but he doubted outrunning a horse was one of the better ones.
“I think you do,” the man told him. “So I’m going to give you a choice—you can get into this carriage, and tell me everything you know about the Society’s plans for the necklace on the night of the parade. If you do, I can protect you. I can make sure the Order never knows about your connection to Harte Darrigan or the theft of their most precious treasures. Or you can keep walking and count me as one of your enemies.”
The man wasn’t old, but he was soft, bloated from too much drinking and too little exercise. In a ring, Julien could flatten him, but life wasn’t a boxing ring. Life was more of a chess game, and Julien was not about to find himself in check because of Harte Darrigan. “You know,” Julien said, trying to keep his tone easy, “I think I could use a ride after all.”
DISILLUSIONED
1902—New York
Viola didn’t even know where she was walking. She was blocks away, nearly to the edge of the island, when her feet finally slowed and the haze that she was blindly walking through lifted. Suddenly exhausted, she stepped into the safe cover of a recessed doorway and sank to the ground, her legs collapsing beneath her. Realizing that the bullet was still in her hand, she tossed it away in disgust.
Then she took the package that Nibsy had given her from the pocket of her skirt. Viola paused a moment to allow the comforting weight to rest in her hands before she began to open the wrappings. Finally, she felt balanced. Grounded. Ready.
To hell with all her plans. Why should she wait for some future retribution? Why should she allow the Order to destroy Nibsy Lorcan when she could have the honor herself? She would carve him from the world, and then she would go for her brother. And when she had finished with them, she would go for the Order. The silvery blade flashed as soon as she tore the paper away, and she held it up, examining it. Reveling in its power.
She pulled herself up, letting the wrapping fall to the ground, but the markings on the paper caught her eye as it fell. Leaning over, she picked it up and examined the clear, familiar hand. She knew that writing, the way the letters slanted precisely to the right and the bold, confident stroke of the pen.
Dolph.
Her chest ached at the memory of her friend and at the loss of him, but as she let her eyes scan over the lines of writing, the ache turned into something else. Disbelief. Denial.