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Jianyu’s first indication that something was amiss had been when the wagon, flanked by police on horseback, had arrived from the east nearly an hour before. He had known immediately what the wagon carried, even though it had been too early. Far too early, considering that sunset had still been minutes away. All of their information had indicated that the Order’s boat would not even land until the Golden Hour began.

They had expected the Order to be prepared for an attack—Theo had warned them of the nervous energy among the old men of the Inner Circle—but they had not expected this.

Jianyu’s reaction had been immediate. Without even hesitating, he had reached for the light, as he always did—then everything had changed. As the daylight took on a golden cast, the usual warmth of his affinity had transformed into a searing heat. The light had flashed around him, bright and impossibly hot. It had felt as though the sun itself had come down from the sky and had been attempting to consume him, and Jianyu could do nothing but release his affinity, even as the sunlight was still searing the surface of his skin. The truth was an unexpected blow. Something about the strange light on this strange day, during this strange hour, had changed the rules of his affinity.

They had expected the Order to use certain protections. They had known that the Order would use something about the power of this false solstice to keep what was left of their treasures safe, but they had all believed the protection would be only on the wagon carrying the goods. Perhaps even on the ring itself. Jianyu had not imagined—none of them had imagined—that the protections the Order used could also affect their affinities.

Or maybe it was only his that had been affected. Maybe because his magic aligned most closely with the light, Jianyu was more susceptible.

Whatever the case, his skin still stung, and though he wanted to pull the light around him and take the packages the men were beginning to unload from the wagon, he could not. He understood from the way the daylight had gone almost amber that there was no point even in trying. Apparently, the Golden Hour was more than a quaint description. It was a powerful type of ritual magic. All he could do was stand and watch as a group of men opened the wagon, removed a heavy crate, and took it, under armed guard, into the building.

It galled Jianyu to know how close he had been to the artifact. The ring had been right there, but as long as he could not wrap the light around himself, as long as he could not use his affinity, he could do nothing. He was far too conspicuous, especially in this part of town, far from the community of Chinese people who lived around Mott Street. Without his affinity to hide him, he would be immediately noticed. Immediately targeted.

Jianyu simmered with the frustration of being able to do nothing but wait, but then sirens had started to call through the city streets, and he had known it was truly beginning. He had known there was no way to warn Viola that all their careful scheming had been for nothing. He couldn’t reach Cela or Abel to tell them that their plan was crumbling like ash.

Though it felt like he was stuck, drowning in a dragon’s pool, in the end Jianyu had decided to stay where he was and to wait. He could only hope that whatever strange power was at work, it was only temporary. Certainly, as soon as the sun set and the Golden Hour waned, he would have access to his magic once again. Certainly. With his affinity, he could still hope to find the stone, even if it was behind thick iron walls or layers of protections.

It had been no easy task to remain unseen as the minutes crept on, especially once some of Dolph’s boys had entered the park. Twice Jianyu had nearly been seen by one of the Devil’s Own. Then, suddenly, things had changed once more. Two carts filled with Five Pointers had arrived and launched an attack on the now-empty wagon. Shots had been fired from buildings across the street as the plaza in front of the new skyscraper had erupted into a battle.

A few minutes later, Nibsy had arrived with a wagon of people. Viola had been there in the back, along with Mooch, Werner, and a light-haired boy who was not one of Dolph’s, but Jianyu recognized him. The blond boy had been in Evelyn DeMure’s apartment that night weeks before, when they’d almost retrieved the Delphi’s Tear. They had failed that night. They could not fail again.

Jianyu moved closer to the wagon. If he could signal Viola, perhaps they could figure out a new direction. But there were too many people around, and the park itself was too open, with young trees and wide walkways that left nowhere for him to hide. Viola and Nibsy were arguing, and Viola turned to the park—Jianyu thought perhaps she saw him—but then she climbed down from the wagon and followed Nibsy’s boys around the side of the building.

He had to stop her. He could not allow her to go into such danger alone.

Again Jianyu reached for his affinity, but before he could even grasp the light completely, he again felt the sun’s power sear his skin, and once more, he was forced to release his affinity and the light with it.

By then it was too late. Viola was gone.

Nibsy turned, his head swiveling around toward the park. The lenses of his spectacles flashed golden in the setting sun, and Jianyu pulled back behind another carriage before he could be seen. When he chanced another look, Nibsy was still studying the park, his brow furrowed thoughtfully. Watching.

Frustrated with himself and the entire situation, Jianyu began walking away from Madison Square. He would take the long way around the building, cutting down a block or two east, far from the police and Nibsy. He would position himself to enter the building once the strange golden light eased. What else could he do? He only hoped that when the sun sank below the horizon, he would be able to touch his affinity. Until then, he could not simply stand there and wait.

THE TRUTH OF HISTORY

1920—Chicago

Esta couldn’t help but study North and Everett as she and Harte followed the two toward the entrance of the Nitemarket. The father and son were of similar height and build, though Everett hadn’t quite filled into his shoulders yet, and they moved alike with an easy, loping grace. In the yellowish glow of the streetlamps, North’s reddish hair and Everett’s ashy brown didn’t look any different.

She understood from the way North glared at her that he hadn’t forgotten her intention to go back and change the past. Now that he had not only Maggie to think of, but also Everett and his other children, the threat she posed was that much more dangerous. Esta couldn’t fault him for worrying about that, but she also couldn’t put everything aside for his fears… not when the truth of history lay before her, dangerous and demanding of her attentions.

Still… meeting Everett made things more real. Knowing what effects her actions might have now was different from thinking about some unknown future North and Maggie might have created. Everett was real and whole and every bit as vulnerable as any of the people Esta was trying to save by stopping Jack. Her returning to 1902 might negate his very existence. She would have to deal with that reality eventually, but not tonight. Not when the crescent moon hung like a scythe over the second city, a reminder of the reaping that would come if they couldn’t stop the events that were about to unfold.

They took the L west until the tall buildings of the central part of Chicago began to flatten out, and eventually they arrived at a station somewhere near Cicero. A few blocks from the stop, North led them to a lonely house in the center of an otherwise empty lot. It looked to be condemned.

“Once we’re in the Nitemarket, it would be best if you leave the talking to me,” he instructed. “That goes for you, too, Rett. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“It was only that one time—” the boy started.

“That one time was more than enough,” North told him, sounding every bit like the father he was. “Your mother’ll skin me alive if anything happens to you.”

Esta bit back a smile at the two. In some ways, North still looked like the boy he’d once been, even beneath the lines of his face. He and Everett could have been mirror images, separated only by the passing of years.

The four of them went around the back of the building, where the lot was strewn with trash and old cigarette butts, and North led the way up the decaying steps to the back door. Inside, the house didn’t reveal anything more. Plaster crumbled from the walls, and the floor was weak and rotted out in more than one spot, but once the door was closed, the noise of the outside world went suddenly silent—a lot more silent than the rickety old walls should have warranted.

“What kind of a game are you trying to play?” Harte growled.

North didn’t answer, but a second later, a door on the other side of the room opened, and a small man emerged wearing enormous spectacles, with lenses so thick they made the eyes behind them look unnaturally small. Esta glanced at Harte, who looked every bit as unnerved as she felt by the guy’s unexpected appearance.