They found they were right. In the east wing, there was a door where various workers came and went. “They’ll probably bring them through there,” Harte figured. The Prophet still had to make the switch from Julien, who’d worn the necklace in the parade, to the real debutante, whose reputation depended on her not displaying herself so publicly in the city streets. The transfer had to be seamless, though. When the Queen of Love and Beauty was introduced to the ball in the rotunda, she would already be wearing the Djinni’s Star.
They found a cart laden with stemmed champagne bowls just across from the doorway, and they each took up one of the cloths and pretended to polish the crystal as they watched for the Prophet’s arrival. They didn’t have to wait long. A few minutes later, the staff around them seemed to noticeably adjust themselves, picking up their pace and attentiveness, and not long after that, the Veiled Prophet came through the door. Behind him, two of the Jefferson Guard had Julien—one holding each of his arms.
Harte ducked his head, pretending to study the glasses, but he used the motion to watch as the group entered one of the unmarked doors in the hallway. Other Guardsmen took up posts on either side of the door.
“You there!” a voice said from behind Harte. “What are you doing? Those have already been polished.”
Harte glanced up to find one of the waiters staring at them, his hands filled with a tray of canapés and a scowl on his face.
“Water spots,” Esta told him, holding up one of the glasses.
The waiter scowled even more. “You don’t both need to take care of water spots,” he grumbled. “We need more men on the floor.” He came over and thrust the tray toward her. “Take this out there. Roosevelt wanted some of the pâté.”
Esta glanced at him. She didn’t have much choice but to take the offered tray and head into the rotunda.
“Finish that up and get out there,” the man snapped at Harte before he hustled off to reprimand someone else.
Harte kept his head down and polished the spotless champagne bowl in his hand, keeping his eye on the door where the Veiled Prophet had Julien. A few minutes later the door opened and the veiled man exited with a girl on his arm.
No. The debutante must have been waiting in the room. She was already wearing the decoy necklace, and now she was being escorted into the rotunda.
He would get Julien out of there, and then he would go after them.
Harte put the crystal back on the cart and started toward the Guardsmen. He moved fast, pushing his affinity outward as he grabbed one. The other attacked, but not fast enough. A moment later they were both staring, dazed, and making their way like sleepwalkers toward the exit of the building.
Carefully, Harte eased the door open and saw that there was one Guardsman left, looming over Julien.
“I told you, I had nothing to do with the attack.” Julien’s voice was filled with more irritation than fear, so that was something, at least. “Those barbarians came after me, too. Do you see this? Does this eye like something I did to myself?”
Harte slipped into the room and used the element of surprise to his advantage. He launched himself at the Guardsman and in a matter of moments had wrangled him to the floor. Pushing his affinity through the tenuous layers of skin and soul, he sent the Guardsman a single command. The man went limp beneath him, his eyes open, looking to the ceiling above.
“We need to go,” Harte told Julien. “Now.”
But Julien was staring between Harte and the incapacitated Guardsman. “You’re . . . Dammit, Darrigan. You’re one of them,” he said, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe it.
“You can hate me later if it means that much to you,” Harte told him. “If you don’t move now, you can stay here and deal with the Prophet on your own. But I’m leaving.”
Indecision flickered in Julien’s expression. Finally, he sighed and stepped over the prone Guardsman. “You should have stayed dead,” he muttered, but there was no hatred and no heat in the words.
“There are days I feel the same way, Jules.” And today, with Seshat already clamoring inside of him, was definitely one of them.
The hallway was empty now, and they had a clear path to the door. They were nearly there when Harte heard the laughter behind him. He turned to find Jack Grew leaning against the wall, his eyes bright with hatred.
“Harte Darrigan,” he said, stepping toward them. “Back from the dead . . . again.”
Harte stepped in front of Julien, shielding him from Jack. “Go,” he urged. “Get out of here, now.”
“But—”
Harte turned and pushed him through the exit, thankful for the gown Julien was in as he pressed a command into the bare skin of Julien’s exposed back. Leave. Now, he ordered. Don’t look back.
Then he turned to Jack.
“I knew you would come to me,” Jack said, his voice rough.
Harte frowned. “I didn’t come for you.”
“Didn’t you?” Jack stepped toward him.
“No, I—” But his words died in his throat. There was something shifting in Jack’s eyes. Something dark that was looking out at him from inside. The skin on Jack’s face flinched, twitching like he’d been struck, and then something beneath it rolled, creeping under the surface like a snake.
Harte reached for the cart of crystal and pushed it over, sending the glasses crashing to the floor as he turned and ran.
The voice inside of him was screeching, and it was all he could do to keep his feet moving as his shoes slipped on the broken glass coating the hallway. He was nearly to the rotunda when Jack spoke again.
“Did you think you could evade me forever, Seshat?”
At the sound of the name, the voice unleashed itself, rising in its force until Harte could not fight it. Until he was nothing more than a shell of skin and bone, directed and moved by some unseen power.
THE CURTAIN PULLED BACK
1902—New York
Under the warm blanket of Jianyu’s affinity, Viola watched as a second curtain opened, revealing a scene with a boat and sailors, their faces a picture of horror as they tried to escape from three watery maidens dressed in flowing robes who seemed set on capsizing them.
“Hurry,” she told Jianyu as he carried her on his back around the edges of the crowd, careful not to disturb anyone and give away his position.
Jack Grew was droning on as they walked, and as much as she would have liked to shut him up, Viola prayed he would keep talking. Four scenes had been on the program, which meant that Ruby could be revealed at any moment.
“Evil creatures, designed and forged to bring men to their knees. Their feral power was once a danger, once unchecked in the face of helpless man. But as time passed, as man learned and cultivated an enlightened view of magic, their time came to an end.”
They were at the curtains, and while the audience was enraptured by the sight before them, Viola followed Jianyu as he slipped through the curtain to the area backstage. Jianyu released his hold on the light, and she felt the warmth of his affinity recede as she slid down from his back. “It will be easier this way,” he said, before she could argue.
“If you leave with the ring, I’ll find you,” Viola promised. “And when I find you, it will not be to talk.”