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“Will it kill them?” Esta asked, frowning at the ingeniousness—and deviousness—of the invention.

“No,” Everett said, returning the lighter to the safety of his inside jacket pocket. “There’s plenty of oxygen in there for them. But it’ll drain any unnatural magic from the immediate area, and it’ll hold them until someone else can deal with them.”

Everett started back toward the men, but Esta held tight to him. “We need to go.”

“I’m coming,” he said, trying to pull away. “But I want one of those.”

“No—”

“We need to know what we’re up against,” he told her.

The fire was still churning around them, and Esta knew that North would kill her for sure if anything happened to Everett, but she also saw his point. “Only if you can do it quickly.”

It took him barely any time to break one of the flamethrowers from the pile of foam it protruded out of. “Got it,” he told her, returning with a cocky smile and his eyes alight with interest as he looked at his new acquisition.

Beside her, Dom seemed far too quiet.

“Are you ready?” she asked, making her voice gentle. When he didn’t answer at first, she asked if he was okay.

He looked around, taking in the extent of the destruction. “I can’t believe it’s gone,” he said, his voice strangely hollow. “Everything I built.”

“Everything you built?” Esta asked, eyeing him.

“You’re not the only one with secrets,” Dom said, finally glancing at her. He suddenly seemed somehow younger than his appearance would otherwise suggest, and Esta wondered whether the face Dom presented to the world was anything more than a mask. But that feeling lasted only a second, before her attention was drawn back to the danger around them.

The building that housed the Nitemarket was still burning. The fire had gone on long enough that it was clear there was no saving the building, but without the men and their flamethrowers, at least the people could escape. Everywhere she looked, the patrons and vendors alike were streaming toward other exits and returning to wherever they’d come from.

“I think I can put it out,” Everett said, digging through his pockets.

“We need to go,” Esta told him.

“But the market—”

Dom let out a long, tired-sounding breath. But then he shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Everett argued, still trying to find something in the seemingly endless number of pockets he had tucked inside his jacket. He had to stop to cough, though, an indication that the smoke was getting to be too much.

“Now, Everett,” Esta said, tugging on him.

“He built this. We can save it.”

“I’ll build it again,” Dom told him, clapping his hand on Everett’s shoulder. “I’m the market, boy. This is only a building. And buildings can always be rebuilt.”

IMPOSSIBLE CHOICES

1902—New York

Logan Sullivan dreamed of air-conditioning and flush toilets. He dreamed of street sweepers and automobiles, and especially, he dreamed of his smartphone, an object more powerful than the Mageus in this time, even with the surprising strength of their affinities, could imagine. He wanted to go home, back to his city and his own time, and the only way he was getting there was through Professor Lachlan.

Or rather, the way back was through the kid the Professor had once been, a kid named James Lorcan, with thick glasses and too much swagger for his wiry frame.

Logan knew that he had to keep James happy, or he was going to be out on his ass. Without the ring, Logan wasn’t going anywhere. He’d be doomed to live out the rest of his—probably short—existence trapped in a past where people died of things like constipation. The way he saw it, there wasn’t any choice. The Delphi’s Tear was Logan’s ticket out. With it, James assured him they could lure Esta back to the city, and once she was back, Esta could get Logan the hell out of there. Without it? Well… the ring was the only thing keeping James Lorcan interested in Logan, and James was the only thing between Logan and the many, many dangers of the city.

It didn’t help that Logan should have already nabbed the stupid piece of jewelry weeks ago. James hadn’t even bothered to hide his anger when Logan had let the Delphi’s Tear slip away at Morgan’s gala. Logan knew exactly how angry James had been because the kid had the exact same twitch near his right eye as Professor Lachlan. Logan had been on the wrong side of that anger enough times to know that it wasn’t anything to mess with, but somehow the older Professor Lachlan seemed more reserved and polished—softer even—than this kid. James Lorcan looked like nothing, but he was all claws and teeth, and he had a whole gang to back him up. If Logan failed again, he doubted James would be so forgiving a second time.

Clearly, the ring was the only thing that should have mattered, but anyone could see that the dude on the balcony was in trouble. Serious trouble. A fall from that height? Without a parachute? Nobody could survive that. Logan tried to tell himself that the guy wasn’t his problem. He tried to tell himself that he couldn’t save everyone, but that he could help a hell of a lot of people if he got that artifact. If only he could figure out a way to get that door in the ceiling open so he could get to the ring. It was right there.…

Then he heard the girl scream.