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Time was such a tricky thing, twisting and unpredictable, but Esta had never had to account for someone else who could manipulate it before. “You said those fires looked like your formulas, didn’t you, Maggie?”

Maggie nodded. “Yes…”

“Is it possible that we already went back?” Esta asked. The two of them only stared at her, so she explained. “Maybe we’re the ones who rescued ourselves.”

North was still frowning, but he wasn’t disagreeing. His hand went to the pocket in his vest, where his watch waited. “It’s not impossible,” he admitted. “But even if that’s the case, it doesn’t help us to get out of here now. There’s nowhere to go and too many damn witnesses.”

Esta considered the men working the oil fields nearby, and an idea began to form. “Maybe we can use them to our advantage.” She turned to Maggie. “Maybe we can use one of your formulations or devices.”

“Of course,” Maggie said, frowning. “But if we do that, they’re going to know for sure that we’re here.”

“That’s the point,” Esta told her as she considered the waiting engine below. There was one thing necessary for a truly great trick—Harte had taught her that. Misdirection. “Those marshals wouldn’t have been riding out to meet the train if they didn’t already think we were on it, and thanks to whoever made that giant inferno of a cyclone, they know that someone has the old magic. So let’s confirm their suspicions. And then let’s disappear.”

“Disappear?” Maggie said doubtfully.

“We’ll need a distraction,” Esta told her. “Something big enough for them not to notice us getting away. Something that will ensure they won’t come looking for us later.” She met their eyes, held their gaze. “I think it’s time to kill the Devil’s Thief.”

A PARTNERSHIP OF SORTS

1902—New York

James Lorcan took another bite of the half-burned sludge from the bowl in front of him, but his awareness was still on Viola’s departure, and on the way the Aether moved in response. His stomach turning at the taste of the food, he set the fork down and picked at the bread. Its flavor was familiar—a hearty rye with a hint of sweetness that had once been served in the kitchens of the Bella Strega. Despite her clear lack of talent for cooking, Viola, it seemed, had learned something from Tilly after all.

Which wasn’t surprising. Dolph’s assassin might be as sharp and unyielding as the blades she favored, but she’d always had a soft spot for Tilly Malkov. James hadn’t missed the way Viola’s eyes had followed the other girl around the kitchen in the Strega.

Kelly flashed a look at Torrio. “Follow her.”

Torrio’s mouth half fell open. “But I thought—”

“I don’t pay you to think,” Kelly said. “My sister is up to something, and I want to know what it is.”

Torrio glanced at James, disgust clear on his face, but James was careful not to look too directly at him. There was no sense giving anything away here, in front of Paul Kelly.

“You don’t think I should be here?” Torrio asked. “I thought we had business with—”

“I have business,” Kelly said, cutting him off. “You have my sister to attend to.”

“I ain’t a nursemaid,” Torrio told him, crossing his arms. Kelly slid a deadly look in Torrio’s direction, but Torrio didn’t so much as flinch. He returned the glare and allowed his lips to twitch with amusement. “And anyway… you sure you want me tending to Viola?”

Tension crackled across the table between the two Five Pointers. “I realize you aren’t a nursemaid,” Kelly said, keeping his voice dangerously even. “And I’m sure that you know how important my sister is to me. I send you because I trust you, Johnny. Don’t tell me that trust is misplaced?”

Torrio’s jaw was tight, and James sensed the Aether around him tremble. He kept his expression placid, watching the drama play out and making a note of this weakness as he planned all the while. Paul Kelly was a thorn in James’ side, a danger as long as he held any real power in the Bowery. The trick would be to neutralize the danger of the Five Pointers in general, and even better if he could do so in a way that was productive.

With a violent thrust, Torrio was on his feet. He tore the napkin from where he’d tucked it into his shirtfront and stormed off. His anger would be useful, James thought… as long as it could be properly harnessed.

Once Torrio was gone and James knew for sure they were alone, he placed the bread on the table and dusted the crumbs from his fingers. “It’s good to have people you can depend on,” he said easily, keeping all trace of mockery from his voice.

Kelly glared at him. “What about you, Lorcan? Do you have people you can depend on?” he asked. “Or haven’t you managed to take the Devil’s Own in hand?”

It was a point of contention between them. Kelly would have happily taken the Strega and all who were loyal to Dolph by force, but James had managed to persuade Kelly of the benefits of coaxing the gang to his side first. It bought James time and provided access to—and protection from—the Five Pointers that he wouldn’t have otherwise had. But James Lorcan knew Kelly’s patience was running out. He’d have to figure out a way to take care of the threat Kelly posed soon.

“Without Saunders, the loyalty of the Devil’s Own is already beginning to wane, as I predicted. The desperate and fearful forget quickly,” he told Kelly. It was true—mostly. As soon as he had the ring, it would be true in fact. Not that Kelly needed that information. “They’ll be ready for you.”

“Good.” Kelly’s eyes gleamed, clearly satisfied with this news.

Of course James had no intention of ever handing over the Bella Strega or the Devil’s Own. Once the artifacts were his, Kelly would be no more than a fly to be swatted. And the Five Pointers? They’d make a fine addition to James’ own numbers.

Paul Kelly gave him a knowing sort of look. “I’m sure it helps that you’ve seen no problems from Tammany.…”