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Viola’s jaw ached from clenching it all evening. She thought for sure her molars would crack from the pressure one of these nights, from the strength it took to keep her temper in check. The willpower it took not to let her affinity unfurl and kill them all.

When the coast was clear, she and Jianyu moved quickly. By the time they reached the boy, he was already sitting up, groggy and disoriented from the beating and from her magic. He wouldn’t be able to walk on his own, she realized. One of his legs had been broken. She could help with that, once they were safe, once he was back in the arms of his mother, Golde.

But when Josef saw who was standing over him, it wasn’t relief that crossed his face. It never was. His eyes widened, and he tried to back away. Thanks to the poisonous lies Nibsy had spread throughout the Bowery, Josef Salzer believed they were the traitors.

With a sigh, Viola sent out her affinity again, pulled on his heartbeat softly, just enough that he passed out once more.

“It’s always the same,” she muttered, helping Jianyu to support the boy’s weight between the two of them. “Always the hate.”

“The understanding comes later,” Jianyu reminded her. “Golde will explain. She will make him understand.”

“She’d better,” Viola muttered. The summer’s sultry heat had her sweating through her dress from the effort of dragging the boy through the streets. They had not expected a second building, so they had farther to go than they had planned.

“She will,” Jianyu assured her.

“And then what?” Viola asked. She stopped short, suddenly exhausted beyond reason. It had already been weeks of this. Weeks and weeks of midnight rescues to save the lives of those who believed them to be villains. Weeks of never knowing when the Order and their men would come for them as well. All in the midst of a city on the verge of exploding.

And who would rescue her if that happened? Who would rescue Jianyu? After all they’d done, after all the lives they’d tried to save, who among the Devil’s Own would risk their lives to save the two of them?

No one. She and Jianyu were on their own. Even with souls under their protection, even with life upon life owed to them, they were alone.

With Josef slung between them and the danger of the Conclave marching closer, Viola finally voiced the fear that she knew they both held silently in their hearts: “What if they never return?”

Jianyu didn’t bother to ask who she was referring to. They did not often speak of Esta and Harte, but the Thief and the Magician were always there, a silent absence between them. “Then it becomes even more important to carry on,” Jianyu said. “We do what we have always intended. We protect those we can protect. And we stop Nibsy and the Order from building any more power.”

“How?” Viola asked, glancing at him. “Each week brings a new riot in the streets, a new victim to rescue. The Order will not stop searching for their treasures. They will not stop until every Mageus in this city has been damaged by their violence. And we don’t even have an artifact to show for all the danger we’re in.”

“We have the silver discs,” Jianyu said, urging her on. They still had quite a distance to cover before they reached the wagon waiting for them.

“Useless trinkets,” she grumbled.

“You know that is not true,” Jianyu told her. “You would not have taken them if they had not called to you with their power. Perhaps it is time to stop waiting for Darrigan and Esta to rescue us from our future. Perhaps it is time to begin searching for answers of our own.”

But the Order had just left the discs sitting there, out in the open. Unguarded. Unwatched. They could not possibly be so important. “What if there are no answers?”

In the distance, a dog barked, and then they heard the sound of shouting. The clattering of wagon wheels was growing closer. But between them, Josef Salzer was a deadweight, holding them down.

“Cela,” Viola said. She was waiting for them around the corner, without any protection.

“We have to go,” Jianyu told her. “We must get to her,” he said, pulling Josef and Viola onward. “And we must go now.”

ANOTHER MANHATTAN

1983—The Bridge

Esta felt her affinity waver as the icy warning of the Brink crashed over them, swelling until it had engulfed them both like a wave cresting over a seawall. The seconds suddenly felt sharp and dangerous, but she gripped them tighter, determined not to let them fly away from her as she dragged Harte onward.

She ran on instinct, their hands still clasped tightly and her breath coming hard, as she pushed through a thick wall of cold energy that seemed endless. The other enormous limestone tower of the Brooklyn Bridge was still fifty yards or more away, but it might as well have been fifty miles. Every step brought a fresh burst of pain as the seconds in the grasp of her affinity sharpened, twisting savagely to be free. Time felt like a live wire.

Suddenly, Esta felt Harte jerk out of the grip of her magic. She turned back to find him frozen with the rest of the world, his face contorted in a kind of desperate agony. This time she allowed the seconds to slip away from her, and as the world slammed back into motion and Harte was free, a wailing moan of sheer pain tore from his chest. She reached for him, but he pulled away.

“No!” His features contorted with another moan. “Don’t touch me!”

“Seshat?” she asked.

A grimace was her only answer.

Separate now, they ran. Dimly, Esta was aware of sirens screaming in the distance as they burst through the last few yards of dangerous energy. When they finally broke free of the Brink’s power, Harte tumbled to his knees, shivering in the shadows of the bridge’s towers. His chest heaved from the exertion of the run, and Esta understood he was shivering from something more than the cold. His hands were pressed over his ears, holding his head, as though trying desperately to keep himself together.