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“Please, sir. No…” Her voice was no more than the mewing whine of a kitten, but he had no pity for her. Kittens grew into cats with claws, feral and dangerous if left unattended.

“Now, Carina,” he said sternly, and she finally complied, slipping her trembling hand into his, even as her small mouth was pressed tight.

The mark on the underside of her wrist had long since scarred over into the shiny pink of new skin. The girl trembled in his grasp as James traced over the letters with his finger, and he wondered how close the connection was between this child and the girl she would become. Could Esta see his warnings? Could she feel the touch of his finger through the miles and the years? More importantly, would she understand?

He had not brought Viola’s knife, but James doubted the make of the blade was what mattered. Tears were running down the apples of the girl’s cheeks even before he touched the small pocketknife to her skin, and by the time it drew blood, she was crying in earnest.

James ignored the girl’s tears.

As long as Esta Filosik was still in play, nothing was ever over. Nothing was ever too late.

PART III

NEW ALLIANCES

1904—San Francisco

The air was oppressive with the fog that was coming in off the bay when Jack Grew arrived in San Francisco. He’d left Denver immediately after dealing with the maggot sharpshooter. Her affinity had been a welcome addition to the collection of power held within the Book. He had not bothered to stop and confer with Gunter or any of the others before he left. He brought Hendricks with him, but that was only because Jack had happened to see the Guardsman as he was leaving the grounds of the Curtis Brothers’ Show.

Denver had been a fiasco, but at least it hadn’t been a complete catastrophe. In Jack’s pocket, the Book’s power still throbbed in time with his own heart. Esta Filosik might have slipped away from him, but he knew exactly where she was heading, and he had allies already waiting.

When the ferry finally docked, Jack was met by one of the leaders of the Vigilance Committee. William Cooke was in his thirties—a decade older than Jack, but still young enough not to be part of the old guard. Jack remembered Cooke from the Conclave two years before. He’d been an attendee then—a junior delegate from the Vigilance Committee. Even then, Jack could sense a hunger in the other man, and in the time between, Cooke had apparently managed to rise through the ranks of his organization with impressive speed. He could be a rival for power unless Jack neutralized that threat right now.

Cooke seemed unaware of the direction of Jack’s thoughts as he welcomed Jack on behalf of the entire organization to their “fair city” with a haughtiness that made Jack want to punch him. “Fair” was stretching things, in Jack’s estimation. He’d traveled any number of places with the president, and even more on Roosevelt’s behalf, but he’d never been this far west. Now he saw that he’d been missing nothing. The shores of San Francisco teemed with working-class miscreants, and the buildings along the waterfront were no better than shacks. Years before, New York had already made improvements in even its poorest neighborhoods that far surpassed these streets.

But he didn’t tell Cooke any of this. There was no sense upsetting the man before he proved himself useful.

“I trust you’ve made the necessary arrangements,” Jack said, lifting a handkerchief to his nose to ward off the smell as Cooke led him through the docks.

“After I received your telegram, the Committee doubled the watchmen’s patrols.”

“And the Thief??” Jack asked.

“So far there’s been no sign of her,” Cooke admitted.

“You’ve kept all of this quiet?” Jack asked. “We wouldn’t want our quarry to get word that we’re searching for her. If she has allies in this city, they might warn her off.”

“We’ve kept everything in-house, like you wanted,” Cooke assured him.

“There haven’t been questions about the increased patrols?” Jack wondered.

Cooke shook his head, clearly self-satisfied with the job he’d done. “We’re already dealing with a bit of an issue in Chinatown right now—a possible outbreak of plague.” He shrugged. “It’s been easy enough to explain the increased patrols throughout the city as being related to that. There’s enough negative sentiment about the Chinese in the city that nobody has questioned our methods. If anything, the citizens approve of keeping a tighter watch on the foreigners, and they’ve welcomed the increased surveillance. They don’t care who else we might be watching for.”

Good. “President Roosevelt sends his heartfelt appreciation for all you and your men have done to help protect our great nation,” Jack said solemnly. It wasn’t exactly a lie. He was sure Roosevelt would have appreciated Cooke’s assistance if he’d had any notion that Jack was still tracking the Thief. But while the president had been upset by the events at the world’s fair, he didn’t understand the true threat that feral magic posed to the country. Roosevelt cared about assimilation of the immigrants who brought the feral magic to the country, but he didn’t understand that maggots with that sort of wild, dangerous power could never be truly American. Simply forcing a maggot to speak English would never be enough, not unless or until the power they carried was neutralized.

Cooke preened all the more. “Myself and my city are gratified to be of service to the president.”

“You have my personal appreciation as well,” Jack added. “I know that in the past our respective Brotherhoods have been at odds, but the events of the last few weeks have illustrated how important our mutual cooperation will be in this new century. I’m glad that men like yourself—modern men of action and intelligence—have the foresight to understand that our shared enemy requires new alliances.”

“Alliances?” Cooke glanced at him.

“Unity against a common enemy,” Jack clarified. He looked to Hendricks. “The medallions.”

Hendricks gave a sure, obedient nod, removed a small linen pouch from his bag, and offered it to Cooke, who took it with some confusion.

“The Veiled Prophet Society and their Jefferson Guard offer you a token of our shared Brotherhood,” Jack explained. “It is time to put our differences aside. It is time to act as one.”

Cooke opened the pouch and removed one of the medallions to examine it. “What is this?”