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“Maybe, but I don’t think so. Cordelia wouldn’t put herself at risk by telling the Professor anything before she has the dagger in hand,” Esta said. “What if she failed to retrieve it? She’d be in the same position you’re in right now.”

“I don’t know,” Maggie said.

“Fine. What if it is already too late?” Esta asked. “If that’s the case, we don’t have anything else to lose. But if I’m right? We still have time, Maggie. We can get ahead of this.”

Maggie didn’t answer immediately. She turned away and went to the window, looking out over the city streets instead of at Esta.

“Help me,” Esta pleaded. “I wasn’t lying about Seshat, Maggie. If I can’t bring the artifacts together, if I can’t control her power, then Seshat will destroy the world. She almost succeeded back in St. Louis. If we can stop Cordelia from alerting the network, we can get the stones. Help me, and I’ll do whatever I can to make sure the Professor can’t hurt you or anyone you love. I promise.”

Esta waited a moment, but Maggie didn’t respond. “Maggie?”

“Something’s happening.” She waved Esta over. “I know that guy. I saw him in St. Louis. He was there that night of the ball, in the Festival Hall.”

Beneath the window was a long line of carriages and police wagons. With them were a half dozen of the Jefferson Guard and a group of marshals.

And watching over them all was Jack Grew.

As though he sensed them watching, Jack went very still and then turned to look up at their window. Esta pulled Maggie out of sight and motioned for her to be quiet. She eased the curtains back again, just enough to take another look. The last time she’d seen Jack had been in the Festival Hall. He’d been attacking Harte. Or, rather, the thing inside of him had been attacking the power inside of Harte. Thoth.

If Jack was there, it meant trouble. Big trouble. But it also meant a second chance, Esta thought suddenly. If Jack was in Denver, then so was the Book, and that meant there was a possibility she could leave Denver with both the Book and the Pharaoh’s Heart in her possession. It would take finesse—and it would take convincing Maggie to abandon her commitment to the Antistasi and join her.

“If Jack Grew is here, he knows the Thief isn’t dead,” Esta said. Then she looked Maggie straight in the eye. “I know you care about your sister, and I know you don’t want to believe anything I told you today, but if Jack Grew and the Jefferson Guard are here, things are worse than we suspected. They’re here for us. Whatever threat the Professor might be holding over you, North is definitely in danger right now. We have to get to the show before they do,” Esta said, telling Maggie the one thing she knew the other girl needed to hear. Luckily, it also happened to be true.

A WICKED BIT OF MAGIC

1902—New York

Cela Johnson had been trying to take in the dart of a dress for the last thirty minutes. It should have been an easy enough job, simple compared to the intricate beadwork on the costumes she’d once worked on at Wallack’s. Before all this. But before felt like a lifetime ago. Considering how she’d up and taken off without notice, Cela knew she’d never work there—or in any of the white theaters—again.

The needle slipped and pierced her thumb, and Cela hissed in a breath, sucking at the wound for a second or two and tasting the copper of her own blood. She was never clumsy with a needle and thread, but it had been nearly impossible to concentrate ever since that Italian girl had come sweeping in—and then right back out—without saving Jianyu, as they all had hoped she would.

Though Cela had to admit that he did look a little better since Viola had used her magic on him. His color wasn’t so ashen and his skin wasn’t as cool to the touch, but Jianyu still wouldn’t wake. Viola hadn’t said that she would return, and there’d been no sign of her for days. And Cela had so many questions.…

Neither Cela nor Abel were quite sure what they should be doing about the ring Jianyu had been looking for. Somehow it didn’t seem quite their business, and yet Cela couldn’t shake the notion that she was supposed to keep looking for it. She was already involved, after all, even if she still couldn’t remember why she’d agreed to take Darrigan’s mother. She’d accepted the ring as payment, and she’d done so without questioning how a stage magician—even one as popular as Harte Darrigan—could have afforded such a thing.

Jianyu was only hurt now because Cela had accepted the ring and he’d been sent to watch out for her. But for Cela it was more than a simple case of what was owed. Before Abel had come back from the dead, Jianyu had become a friend. He’d trusted her with the truth of the ring when he could have lied about its power, and she’d promised him that she would help him find it in return. Cela Johnson wasn’t going to back out now. Hadn’t her Nan always said a promise spoken had to be kept? Well, she’d spoken all right. She just didn’t know what she was supposed to do next, and she especially didn’t know what she was supposed to do if Jianyu never woke up.

Outside the open window, a carriage rattled by, but instead of proceeding down the road, it came to a stop a little ways beyond the house. There wasn’t anything special about the sound of it, but something stirred in Cela. She put aside the mending she’d been trying to do and went to the window, but the carriage had stopped beyond her view.

Rubbing at the back of her neck, Cela gave herself a moment to stretch. The room was too warm, and the scent of sickness was thick in the air, but she didn’t trust leaving Jianyu alone, even if he wasn’t in any shape to go moving on his own. If he woke, she wanted to be there. If he didn’t wake, well, she wanted to be there for that as well.

A moment later she heard voices from below, soft and urgent, and then footsteps sounded on the stairs. Cela stepped in front of the bed, even though she couldn’t have done much more than poke at the intruder with her needle, but the door opened to reveal Viola. The girl was dressed every bit as plainly as she’d been the first time she visited, but now her eyes were ringed with dark circles, like maybe she hadn’t slept since she’d failed to save Jianyu either. When she stepped into the doorway, a white man filled the space she’d just vacated. He had hair the color of straw, slicked back in waves around his broad forehead, and was wearing a casual day suit tailored so precisely it practically screamed money. And money usually meant problems.

Cela nodded toward the stranger in the doorway. “Who is he?”

“Theo Barclay, miss. I’m a friend of Viola’s.” The man held his hat in his hands, and his mouth formed something that looked like it was trying to be a smile, but his expression remained tight and guarded. He looked every bit as uncomfortable as Cela felt with him crowding into the room.

“Why would you bring him here?” Cela asked Viola. Abel was out for the day, but he’d have a fit if he knew she’d brought a stranger to Mr. Fortune’s house when they were supposed to be lying low.

“I tried to leave him behind, but you know how men get when they decide you need their help.” Viola let out a frustrated sigh and gave Cela a long-suffering look, one that Cela sympathized with despite herself. “It’s even worse when they have money.”

Cela wasn’t sure what Viola was going on about, but she had a feeling that this man’s appearance couldn’t mean anything good. “I thought we’d never see you again after the way you tore out of here last time. It’s been two days without so much as a word.” She didn’t bother to stop herself from scowling.

Viola’s eyes shifted toward the floor. “I’m sorry.” It looked like she was swallowing her own tongue as she tried to force out the words.

“Why did you come back, anyway?” Cela demanded, her hands crossed over her chest. “It’s clear you can’t do him any good.”

“Maybe not before,” Viola said. “But now I think I can.”