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The coachman looked half-frozen by the time Jack opened the door and let him in. While the sniveling little man shivered, Jack barely felt the burst of winter that followed in with him.

It hadn’t taken much—a few extra dollars thrown his way and the help of a fairly simple spell—to ensure Aaron’s loyalty. With the coachman’s position in his mother’s house, he traveled between the Grews and the various Morgans often enough to be useful. Servants knew more about their employers than anyone ever wanted to think about, and more, they talked to one another behind closed doors. Aaron had been more than helpful with making Jack privy to those conversations.

“What news do you have for me?” he asked, securing the door behind them.

“David Francis has been giving the Inner Circle fits,” Aaron said, rubbing his hands together to warm himself.

“From the Society?” Jack asked.

Aaron nodded. “Word is that the other Brotherhoods are coming for blood. The Inner Circle is nervous. They’re not sure that the Conclave will be enough to maintain their power.”

“Did you get the plans yet?” Jack asked.

Aaron took a paper-wrapped package from within his coat. “One of the maids at the Vanderbilts knows a girl who works for the High Princept at the Flatiron. One of those harem girls they keep for their ceremony. She managed to get me these.” He started to offer the parcel, then withdrew it before Jack could take it. “She’s risking a whole lot by taking these, though. She’s going to expect something in return.”

Glowering, Jack turned to his things and took a handful of bills from his wallet. “Will this suffice?” He tossed them on the table for Aaron, whose eyes lit at the sight.

“That should do,” the coachman said, greed coloring his features. “At least to start.” He tossed the parcel on the table and took up the pile of money, counting it before he tucked it into his jacket. “It should all be there, the plans for the Garden and the Conclave. They’re doing something with the electric grid, too. Wiring it up for some kind of big exhibition.”

Jack left the parcel where it was. There would be time enough to go through its contents later. “Anything else?”

“Your mother is still beside herself because you ran off again,” he said. “And your uncle keeps showing up to the house demanding that she tell him where you went. Oh… and one other thing. The Reynolds girl, they found her.”

Jack’s instincts prickled. “They found Ruby?”

Aaron blew into his hands. “Yeah. She came running right to the Order. Said she managed to escape from her kidnappers.”

“Has she said anything about what happened to her?” Jack asked.

“Not much,” Aaron told him with a shrug. “Says she doesn’t remember anything. Whoever took her must have drugged her up pretty bad. But she’ll tell anyone who listens that it wasn’t maggots that did it. Which makes sense, I guess. If it were maggots that took her, how would she have gotten away?”

“How indeed,” Jack said, considering this new piece of information.

He ushered Aaron out and bolted the door behind him again before turning to the information the coachman had delivered. But he had trouble concentrating on the plans, detailed and revealing though they were. He hadn’t expected Ruby to return. If she had any brains in that pretty head, she would have run far, far away from him.

But if she was back and telling tales about her experience, she was up to something. It meant his plans would have to change. He’d intended to arrive back in the city the day of the Conclave, early enough to make his preparations but not so early as to get caught up in the Order’s drama or his family’s expectations. Or to put himself at risk of being found by Darrigan and his band of maggot filth. Now he’d have to return sooner. Because he could not allow Ruby Reynolds to interfere. He was so close to victory. He would not let some stupid girl get in the way of his plans.

MORNING’S LIGHT

The Safe House

Harte woke early in the morning and reached for Esta only to find her side of the bed cold. It was still dark, long before dawn. Pushing himself upright, he rubbed his eyes and tried to wake himself. Moonlight lit the window, but the room was empty.

He wrapped a blanket around his shoulders to ward off the chill in the air and padded barefoot down the hall, knowing already where he’d find her. She hadn’t been sleeping well the last few nights, and this wasn’t the first night he’d awoken to find her gone.

She was where he expected, sleeping on a well-worn couch in the front parlor. It reminded him of the time he’d returned home to find her in his apartment, courtesy of Dolph. How many weeks ago had that been? He wasn’t sure any longer. He’d been through years and years, back and forth through time, and the experience of it had left him turned inside out and unmoored. But the sight of Esta, sleeping there in the moonlight, settled him. Terrified him.

The Conclave was coming, and with it, the threat of the future he’d read in Nibsy’s diary. It was a future he’d do damn near anything to prevent.

Esta shivered in her sleep and curled into herself more tightly.

With a sigh, Harte took the blanket from his shoulders and wrapped her in it before lifting her gently. She didn’t wake as he carried her back to the room they shared or when he settled her into bed. She only sighed and moved her body closer to his warmth when he climbed in with her.

But he didn’t sleep any more that night. He couldn’t stop thinking about what might happen if they couldn’t stop Jack before the Conclave. He couldn’t stop regretting his decision to give Dakari the diary. With it, at least they might have known what was coming. For the rest of the night, he lay awake, watching Esta’s fitful sleep and listening to the building settle and sigh.

It was a strange place, perhaps because of how it was bespelled or perhaps in spite of it. Dolph’s building. Another secret he’d kept. Harte had to admit he was grateful, even if the building felt alive sometimes. As though the walls themselves were listening to their conversations.

He must have finally drifted off to sleep sometime around dawn. When he finally woke, the slant of the winter sun told him it was later in the morning than he usually slept. Esta was still in the bed next to him, but she was sitting up and reading the stack of Nibsy’s papers that had survived their trip back into the past. She set them aside when she saw he was stirring.