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James understood now. “You’re afraid of their magic.”

“I’m not afraid,” Kelly said, his tone unyielding. “But I’ll admit I don’t have the specific skill set that you and your people do.”

James knew this was the real reason Kelly wanted control over the Strega and Devil’s Own. Kelly might have despised his sister—he despised everyone with the old magic—but he wasn’t above using Viola or any other Mageus for his own means.

“Think of this as another way to solidify our partnership,” Kelly said when James didn’t immediately agree. “A show of continued good faith. After all, it would be a terrible shame if the Strega started having the same problems as some of the other saloons in the area.”

James saw the threat for what it was, and he found that he had little interest in being Kelly’s pawn. Still, he understood the opportunity that the situation presented.

“Of course,” James said, pretending deference. “It does seem like it would be in both of our interests to make sure the Order can’t regain a footing in the city.”

James was glad suddenly that he hadn’t simply allowed the Order to remove the threat of Paul Kelly at the gala. He’d wanted to, but the Aether had whispered otherwise, and once again his intuition had proven correct. Kelly, it seemed, could still be useful. When the time came, James would pit his two greatest enemies against each other and watch as they destroyed each other instead of him.

As he listened to the information Kelly offered, James’ mind was already whirling with possibilities. The Aether bunched and shifted around him. He would retrieve the artifact he’d lost and take care of the problem Paul Kelly posed all at once. He’d help Kelly rob the Order, all right. Then he’d help the damned Five Pointer right into a noose.

MISDIRECTION

1904—Texas

North had done his damnedest to argue against Esta’s plan, not only because it seemed like they were taking unnecessary risks, but also because it provided the Thief an opportunity to leave them in the dust, like her partner had. She assured them she wasn’t interested in running, but North had a feeling that Esta could lie better than most. Still, it wasn’t like he had a better idea, so there he was, right where he hadn’t wanted to be, watching the train yard from a spot on an outcropping a little way off.

“It’ll be okay,” Maggie whispered from her place next to him. She could always read the direction of his thoughts too easily. “She’s not going anywhere.”

North grunted his disagreement.

From their vantage point, North could see the men going about their business, unaware of what was about to happen, and he didn’t exactly envy them. Esta was below as well, inching toward the tracks. She’d wrapped some fabric they’d found in an empty shed around her waist as a makeshift skirt and covered her head with another strip of bright fabric to make it look like there was more hair beneath. She might have looked a mess, but Esta still moved with the kind of easy confidence that made you believe she could do practically anything. Which was exactly what North was worried about.

Together, they watched as Esta slunk around the edges of the train yard. When no one was looking, she climbed into the engine compartment. None of the men seemed aware of what was happening. No one seemed to notice the girl pressing a gun against the engineer’s spine, so they couldn’t have seen her use Maggie’s confounding solution on the poor guy. No one even looked up, not until the train’s engines started humming and the wheels squealed as it began to move down the track. They paid attention then, because some of the tanker cars were still hooked to the pipes that fed them, and as the train pulled away, black liquid poured out onto the ground.

Before the train could pick up too much speed, North saw Esta push the engineer from the train. He rolled to his side, and some of the workers ran to him. As the engine continued away, the workers launched into action. Some were trying to stop the flood of crude oil that poured from the pipeline, but others were running after the train and trying to catch hold of one of the rails so they could climb up into the engine compartment. The sound of gunshots rang through the air, and North pulled Maggie back to protect her from any stray bullets.

“We need to go,” he told her.

But Maggie shook him off. “We need to be sure.” She turned back to the scene playing out before them.

A moment later, Esta emerged again from the back of the engine, the barrel of a pistol aimed toward the nearest tower.

One, two, three shots erupted from the pistol North had loaned to her, each echoing with the telltale puff of smoke from the firing. But nothing happened.

“Come on,” Maggie whispered.

When the fourth puff of white smoke erupted from the gun, the tower exploded in a burst of blue flame. Two others followed in rapid succession, the sun-dried wooden frames burning so hot and so fast, North had to turn his face away. When he looked back again, flames were licking up into the sky. Blue and purple, green and orange and red, the inferno flickered with energy, like electricity gone feral. Like magic.

The crowd of men below were no longer focused only on the train. Almost as one, they turned in horror. Some fled, while others started working to put out the fires before they could spread, but it was already too late. The buckets of water didn’t touch the strange flames.

The explosions had done their job, just like Esta had thought they would. The posse of men who’d been investigating the other train arrived a few minutes later, charging in on mounts that became immediately skittish at the sight of the strange flames. The horses pranced uneasily beneath their riders, tossing their heads like they could shake away the heat.

A pair of men broke through the posse’s ranks and came to the front. From the way they sat their horses and surveyed the destruction with a kind of stillness, North figured they must be the ones in charge. One of the men listened as the others in the yard all tried to talk at once, pointing and shouting in the direction the train was going, but the other man pushed back his hat and looked to the burning oil towers.

Beneath the brim of the hat, the sun revealed a face North hadn’t seen in at least two years. A face he would never forget. Jot Gunter.

The man owned the ranch North had worked on years before, back in Crabapple, Texas. When Gunter had discovered the mark on North’s wrist, he’d ordered North beaten, tossed from the ranch, and left for dead. Even from that distance, the rancher was easy to recognize, and North could tell that Gunter hadn’t changed one bit. Same heavy white mustache. Same beady eyes. His presence there in the oil fields of Corsicana, Texas, though, was a variable North couldn’t have predicted.

“We have to go. Now,” he said again, this time taking Maggie by the hand and forcibly tugging her along.

“But Esta—”

“This whole crazy plan was her idea,” North reminded Maggie. “She knows where to meet us.” They needed to get away while they could.