Page 133

Jianyu did not bother to respond. While Jack busied himself with the lamps, Jianyu took stock of his situation. They were in a warehouse, and in the center of the space was a large metal structure that could only be the terrible machine Darrigan had described to him. The machine that had killed Tilly. The machine that could destroy all magic for a hundred miles. The Magician had destroyed the machine, but there it was. Whole once again.

As Jianyu had suspected, his ankle was chained to a stake cemented into the ground, but the shackle was a single, unbroken piece of dark steel without any hinge or latch. There was no keyhole—no lock to pick—and the cold energy of the corrupted magic was strong enough that it made the dangerous piece of silk wrapped around his wrist feel like no more than a whisper. A few feet away was a broad table piled with papers and tools. Among the clutter was Libitina, too far away to be of any use on the shackle.

Jack carried with him a burlap sack and a ceramic growler. As he approached Jianyu, he took a small paper-wrapped parcel from the bag and tossed it at Jianyu’s feet, just within reach of the end of the chain. Then he set the growler beside it, before unpacking the rest. The bag contained another of the paper-wrapped parcels, some notebooks, and a flask of something that smelled strongly of whiskey when it was opened. Jack took a sip from the flask and then set it aside on the makeshift table before he began to unwrap what appeared to be a sandwich.

Jianyu only watched. He did not move to inspect the package Jack had dropped on the floor at his feet. Nor did he try to reach for the growler. His thirst was of less concern than understanding Jack’s plans.

“It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jack said, glancing at Jianyu as he chewed. “If I wanted you dead, you already would be.”

Considering his current predicament, that particular reassurance meant very little. It guaranteed even less.

“I know full well you can understand me. You might as well eat,” Jack said, and then took another long drink from the flask. “You’ll want to keep up your strength for the escape I know you’re already planning.”

Jianyu’s stomach rumbled at the thought. Reluctantly, he opened the parcel to find a hard-crusted roll filled with odd-smelling meat. His nose wrinkled, but Jack was right—he did need to preserve his strength, because he was not planning on remaining a prisoner for long. He took a bite, but it was nearly impossible to choke down the terrible food, and the water in the growler was little help. It was overly warm and tasted bitterly of sulfur. He set both aside, disgusted with the food and with himself.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I haven’t killed you,” Jack said after he’d finished his own lunch.

He had, actually, but Jianyu simply stared at Jack. There was little to be gained by conversing with a madman.

“Or perhaps you’d prefer to enjoy the surprise of what’s to come?” Jack asked pleasantly.

Jianyu remained silent. He would prefer to know, but he had no interest in playing these games. Better to watch. Better to wait. Eventually someone as volatile as Jack would misstep.

Jack removed an object from within the jacket he wore. He held it up and showed it to Jianyu. “Do you know what this is?”

Even if Jianyu had not known anything at all about the Ars Arcana, the strange energy coming from the small leather book in Jack’s hands—the heady warmth of the old magic and the cold warning of counterfeit magic mixed together—would have told Jianyu that the book was more than it appeared. But Jianyu knew the Book. He had seen it before in Esta’s possession. Jianyu also knew that Esta and Darrigan had taken the Book with them when they left the city. They had used its power to pass through the Brink, so they could search for artifacts and retrieve them before Nibsy did. For Jack to have the Book now…

Jianyu’s mind was racing. If Darrigan and Esta had died on the train, as the news reports had suggested, it meant they were not searching for the artifacts—had not been searching all this time. If they were gone, they would not be returning at all.

There was no one coming to save them.

Jack had already opened the Book. His mouth was forming the shape of strange words, and his voice rose so that the droning sound of the unknown syllables filled the air in the warehouse. As he spoke, Jack’s eyes had gone impossibly black. It looked as though the pupil had grown, consuming the iris and the white as well, until there was nothing but darkness, nothing but emptiness within.

Except, when Jack turned to him, he realized that the darkness was not empty. He thought he saw something shift there in that void. Something apart from the man seemed to lurk within.

Jianyu noticed the circle then. How had he missed it? Someone had traced it into the dirt of the floor, just beyond the reach of his chain, but now it was beginning to glow with a dangerous energy that brushed against his skin in warning. The air around him went thick with magic, and suddenly his arms and legs felt as though unseen hands were jerking him upward until he was floating above the ground, splayed out and helpless to fight against it. Around his wrist, the silken band had gone as cold as ice.

THE POWER WITHIN

Jack Grew felt more than the warmth of the morphine in his blood. The power within him had taken over and was whispering the ancient words that caused potent magic to begin swirling through the warehouse. He gave himself over to that power, reveled in it, as the very Aether lit around him.

The maggot was hanging, caught in the Aether, his arms and legs stretched as though pinned to some invisible rack. He was grimacing as he tried to free himself, but he’d give up soon enough. He should have realized that it was pointless to fight against the Book’s power.

Jack took the Pharaoh’s Heart from the sack and noticed the maggot’s interest.

“Do you recognize this?” Jack asked. “No, don’t try to pretend otherwise. I see it there in your eyes. You know what it is. Perhaps you’ve seen it before? Maybe you were there in Khafre Hall that night when your friends destroyed it.” He held the blade up a little, noticing how the bloodred garnet in the hilt seemed to glow in response to the magic coursing through the air. “The Pharaoh’s Heart. An apt enough name, I suppose, since I will be using it to cleave the magic from your heart.”

The Chinaman remained silent, but he could not completely guard his emotions. There was fear in his narrow eyes.

Jack took the rest of the supplies from his satchel, including the large onyx he’d found out west. He turned the crystal back and forth in the lamplight, admiring the way it gleamed. He’d been right. It would be perfect for what he planned to do.

“What will you do with me?” the Chinaman asked through clenched teeth.

“You aren’t really in any position to be asking questions,” Jack mused. “But since you’ve so little time left, I’ll have pity. You see, you’re about to become a part of history.”

He took the dagger in hand and walked toward the maggot, relishing the brush of power as he stepped over the boundary line of the ritual.

“That doesn’t appeal to you?” he asked when the Chinaman didn’t react. “Think of it, a filthy immigrant like yourself, destined to always be other, and now your feral magic will help me change the world.”