It was too late to change now, though. Behind the walls of the theater in front of them, beyond the crowd with its champagne-tinged murmurs, was the first of the stones—the Djinni’s Star.
“What time does Julien go on?” she asked as they stepped forward with the line.
“He’ll be late in the show,” Harte said, glancing up at the marquee, where Julien Eltinge’s name was spelled out in the glow of electric lights. “Maybe around nine?”
“I still think it would be easier to slip into his apartment and take the necklace,” she told him. They’d argued about it earlier on the train, but Harte had been insistent.
“Maybe—if we knew for sure that the stone was there. But it’s not worth the risk of getting caught breaking in when I can just ask him for it.”
“I never get caught,” Esta said, cutting a look at him. “And do you really think using your affinity on him is the best idea?”
“It’s the simplest way.”
But Esta wasn’t so sure. If her affinity felt off—shaky and unsettled—what must his be, with the Book’s power inside of him?
The wind kicked up, providing some relief from the warmth of the night as it gusted between the buildings, rustling Esta’s silken gown and taffeta wrap. It had a cool metallic scent to it that promised rain, and the clouds overhead, heavy and gray in the twilight sky, seemed to agree. But it also carried something else—a warm energy that was the unmistakable mark of magic.
“Did you feel that?” she asked, but Harte didn’t seem to know what she was talking about. He stepped up to the ticket counter, and she focused her attention on the people around them. At first nothing seemed amiss, but then she saw the girl in blue.
If Esta herself hadn’t been a thief, she would have thought nothing of the way the girl tripped or of the way the guy leaning near the lamppost reached out to keep the girl from falling. But Esta was a thief, so she didn’t miss the flick of the girl’s wrist or how the guy palmed the small package in the exchange, using the girl’s clumsiness to cover for tucking it into his vest.
It took only a moment. The girl in blue thanked the guy and kept walking onward. The guy continued to lean against the lamppost, his broad-brimmed cowboy hat shielding his eyes and hiding most of his features except for a hard mouth. His shoulders had a slouch to them that Esta suspected couldn’t be taught.
She was still trying to figure out what the girl might have given the guy when the shrill trilling of a whistle split the air. A moment later Esta turned to see a trio of men running toward the theater. They were wearing long, knee-length dark coats and had white bands with some sort of insignia wrapped around their right arms. On their lapels, golden medallions flashed in the lamplight. They were a bit smaller than normal police badges, but they had the same official look to them.
The guy with the broad hat glanced up at the commotion, but that stiff mouth of his didn’t betray any surprise or fear. Instead, the corner of it kicked up, like he’d been expecting them all along. He pulled out a pocket watch that flashed in the light cast by the lamp when he opened it. Lazily, he twisted the dial of the watch, like he had all the time in the world.
Then he tipped back the wide brim of his hat—and looked straight at Esta. He blinked, and then his eyes widened ever so slightly. The motion pulled the sleeve of his shirt back enough to expose a black circular tattoo that wound around his wrist. If he’d been surprised to see her staring, the moment passed quickly. He gave her a wink as he snapped the watch shut, and a burst of icy-hot energy ricocheted through the air . . . and he was gone.
She was still staring at the place where he’d disappeared when Harte pulled her back, knocking her off-balance as the three men burst through the line of people waiting. As they passed, Esta felt another wave of magic in their wake. Instinctively, she pulled her own affinity back as she caught herself against Harte.
She felt his arms tighten around her, and her skin burned from his closeness.
But if Harte noticed the same electric pull between them, he didn’t show it. “I felt that,” he said, frowning as he looked for any evidence of danger. “Come on . . .” He led her toward the entrance to the theater as the trio reached the lamppost and grabbed an unsuspecting man who’d been sitting on a bench near where the cowboy had been.
“But—” She was craning her neck, trying to see what was happening and looking for some sign of where the guy with the watch had disappeared to.
“We don’t need to get wrapped up in whatever that is.” Harte had his arm around her still as he led her into the lobby of the theater.
“That was magic,” she said. “How can there be magic here?”
“I don’t know,” Harte told her, glancing back at the doorway of the theater. “But it didn’t exactly feel natural.”
“It felt . . . off, didn’t it?” She should have pulled away from him now that they were inside, but she didn’t. Even through the layers of material between them, she could feel the warmth of him, an antidote to the cold, unnatural energy that still sifted through the air. Instinctively, she shifted closer, wanting to dispel the unease the event had left in its wake. As she breathed in the warm scent of him, clean and crisp and so familiar, she leaned into him.
It was a mistake. Harte’s posture went rigid, and his expression went carefully blank as he unwrapped his arms from her waist and stepped back. “It reminded me a little of the Brink,” he said, his tone neutral and matter-of-fact, like he’d never touched her—or at least as though he hadn’t meant anything by it. “But what caused it?”
Esta shook off the sting of his indifference. If that’s how it’s going to be . . . “From what I saw, they seemed to be after some cowboy wannabe with a magical pocket watch.” She told him about the girl and the drop, and how the guy had looked right at her before he’d disappeared. “It was like he’d already known that they wouldn’t catch him.”
“But he saw you?” He frowned as though this was a problem.
“Looked right at me,” she confirmed, remembering the way his expression had shifted slightly when he’d seen her. “But then, I’d been watching him first. Maybe he noticed.”
“Do you think they could have been from the Order?” Harte asked.
“The way they were dressed?” The Order only admitted the richest and most exclusive men in the city—old money. “They didn’t look the type.”
“Then who were they?” Harte asked, frowning. “And who were the people who seemed to be after them?”
“I don’t know. I don’t like anything about this,” she told him. When they had arrived in Baltimore the day before, nothing had seemed obviously different, and she’d breathed a little easier, hoping maybe it meant that Jack having the Book hadn’t changed things too dramatically. But the cowboy with the watch and the uniformed men set off alarms. She’d never heard of anything like that before—not outside the Brink. “Let’s just go. We can check out Julien’s house tonight and come back here tomorrow, if we need to.”
Harte looked back at the lobby doors and then at the street beyond like he was considering their options. “We’re here already,” he said after a moment. “Whatever that was seems to be over now, and no one out there was all that alarmed by it. We’ll keep alert, but for now let’s just get on with it and get out of this town before we run into anything else.”