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TAINTED MAGIC

Harte took out Werner first. It was the only choice, considering what Werner’s affinity could do. The single shot did exactly what he’d expected and launched the people in the Bella Strega into chaos. It wasn’t exactly the most elegant form of misdirection, but it served his purpose.

After finding Cela’s house destroyed by fire, there was only one place he could think of to go where he was sure to find some answers—the Strega. He hadn’t known what to expect, not after all they’d done to change the course of time and history. But when he’d reached the saloon, he realized that even his worst fears hadn’t come close to the reality of the scene he found there. Viola was tied to the table that Dolph once favored—the one where he’d once gathered his closest friends—and Nibsy Lorcan was using Dolph’s cane to unmake her.

If Viola was there, somehow trapped and under Nibsy’s control, where was Jianyu? What could have possibly happened over the past months to make this scene a possibility?

If he didn’t save Viola, he’d never find out.

Harte hadn’t even paused. There wasn’t time to worry about whether Werner deserved to die, because Harte had seen a similar scene play out before. He’d watched when Dolph had destroyed a man in this same way years before—it was the reason he’d never taken the mark himself. He refused to let that fate happen to Viola, not when he was there to stop it. When he’d lifted the snub-nosed pistol he’d taken from the future, he hadn’t aimed to injure. He needed Werner to stay down, because he knew he’d have only one attempt to get Viola out of there alive.

As Harte stalked through the frantic crowd, he touched an exposed wrist here, a bare neck there. He hadn’t used his affinity so much in months. Hell, he’d never used his affinity that much at all, but he didn’t hesitate now. Wrapping his magic around him, he reached through the shells of humanity and commanded as many as he could. He had only so many bullets left in the gun, after all. By the time he reached the other side of the barroom, he already had the pistol aimed at Nibsy’s chest. No one moved against him.

Instead, the barroom descended into an unsettled quiet. A couple of the Devil’s Own were trying to save Werner, but most had realized that something else was happening. No one stepped forward to help Nibsy or stop Harte. But the whole room turned to watch the drama that was about to play out.

“I wondered when you might show up again, Darrigan,” Nibsy said, glancing over Harte’s shoulder to the door he’d just come through. “But you seem to be missing something. Or will Esta be joining us later?”

Harte ignored the taunting calmness in Nibsy’s voice. The knowing glint in his eye. “Let her go, Nibs.”

Viola’s dark hair had fallen from its pins and now covered her face, so Harte could not tell if she was conscious. Her shirt had been torn open, from neck to waist, and her corset had been cut away to expose the skin on her back. There between her shoulder blades, something that might have once been Dolph Saunders’ mark had been transformed into a bloody mess. Her skin looked blistered and torn, and the once-black tattoo had turned the color of blood. The mark itself—or what was left of it—was glowing, as though there were a fire beneath her skin, burning her from within.

“I don’t see why I should.” Nibsy touched the silver head of the cane to her back again, and cold energy flashed through the room.

Harte felt the hair on his arms and neck rise as Viola screamed. The skin on her back bubbled and blistered as the snakes inscribed into her skin began to move. As they rippled and pulsed, the ink turned bloody, and Harte knew that if he didn’t stop Nibsy, she wouldn’t last much longer.

He drew the hammer back on the pistol. “I’m not going to ask you again, Nibs. Let Viola go, or I’ll pull the trigger right now.”

“You can’t kill me,” Nibsy said, not making any move to release Viola from the Medusa’s kiss.

“Try me,” Harte challenged.

“If I die, Esta dies as well,” Nibsy said with an amused shrug. “I’m necessary to her very existence. And she’s necessary to yours.”

He was right. Harte had no way of knowing where Esta even was—or when she was—but if Dakari didn’t follow through, then Esta’s existence depended on Nibsy Lorcan’s life. He couldn’t risk killing him. Not yet. Not until he got the sign he was waiting for. But that sign had not yet appeared.

“I don’t have to kill you to make you regret hurting her,” Harte warned. “The bullet in this gun doesn’t need to take your life to destroy your magic. Tell me, Nibsy, what do you think your life would be like without your affinity?”

Nibsy’s expression faltered a little, and Harte could see him calculating. Reading the room or the Aether—or whatever it was that he did to get three steps ahead of everyone. The cold power swirling through the room eased a bit, even if Nibsy didn’t move the cane from Viola’s blistered and bloodied back.

“This gun happens to be a little gift from the future,” Harte explained, taking another step forward. “The bullets in it are tainted with ritual magic made to destroy Mageus. I’ve seen up close what it’s capable of. One strike and your affinity will be virtually useless. And if you don’t manage to cut out the rot in time? The damage will spread. It won’t kill you right away, but you’ll wish it had. Now step away from her, or I’ll be more than happy to demonstrate.”

Nibsy hesitated, calculating still, but then suddenly he seemed to have a change of heart. He lifted his hands, raising the cane above his head as well. “Fine,” he said. “Take her, for all the good it will do you.”

“Back up,” Harte said. “And tell your guys there to stay back as well. Anyone moves, anyone tries anything, and you’re the one who’ll get the bullet.”

Nibsy spread his hands wide, but Harte didn’t accept his cooperation as a given. He kept the gun leveled at him the whole time, waiting for the trick.

“Tell that one to untie her,” Harte commanded, nodding toward an unfamiliar blond boy about his own age. He’d noticed the interest in the blond’s expression the second Nibsy mentioned Esta’s name, and he had the sense he knew who the guy might be.

“Logan,” Nibsy said, confirming Harte’s suspicions about the boy’s identity. “Go ahead and cut Viola free.”

Logan had been one of Professor Lachlan’s. He’d grown up with Esta, but Harte didn’t know whether it was loyalty or desperation that had made him Nibsy’s.

As Logan was working on cutting the ropes securing Viola’s legs, Harte sidled up behind him, brushing the back of his fingers along the boy’s neck. He sent a quick pulse of magic through him, a command to ensure his complicity. When Logan was done cutting the ropes from Viola’s wrist, he lifted her gently in his arms without being told and brought her over to where Harte was waiting. All the while, Harte kept the gun aimed at Nibsy’s chest.

Viola let out a moan in response to being moved, but she didn’t seem to be conscious. Her head hung back over Logan’s arms, her limbs loose and limp.

“Are you taking him as well?” Nibsy asked. He’d lowered his hands by now and had them resting on the silver Medusa’s head.