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“The delegation from California won’t be in until the day of,” Abel told them, running through the list of names in front of him. “Their trains are set to arrive the afternoon of the twenty-first. But the men from out west—the Ranchers’ Syndicate—and the ones from St. Louis are planning to be here the night before.”

“You mean the Veiled Prophet Society,” Harte said darkly, glancing at Esta.

She had a sense of what he was thinking about. The regret in his eyes was for Julian, who hadn’t deserved any of what happened to him.

“They don’t really wear veils, do they?” Cela wrinkled her nose.

“Just the head guy,” Esta told her, remembering the ridiculous costume and the fateful fear that the men hid beneath it.

“Veils or hoods, it doesn’t make much difference when the marrow’s all the same,” Abel said.

“So they’re Klan?” Cela asked.

“Not exactly, but they’re all part of the same family tree,” Abel explained. “The Society got their start busting up railroad strikers about twenty years or so ago. The city fathers in St. Louis didn’t like the way all the workers were coming together, Negro and white alike, so they made sure to stop that before it got anywhere at all.”

“Of all the Brotherhoods, they’re probably the most organized,” Darrigan told them. “They’re likely the closest to making a play for power. If we can stir up something there, it might put more pressure on the Order.”

“I’ll let Mr. Fortune know,” Abel told him. “He’s familiar with the Veiled Prophet nonsense, and after what Viola did to save him and his men, he’s more interested than ever to go after the Order and their like any way he can.”

“I can’t imagine there’s a Negro in this city that won’t have something to say about the Order welcoming Klansmen right out in the open, no matter what they might call themselves,” Cela told her brother.

“Probably not,” he said. “And I’m sure that the men involved with the Order wouldn’t want the publicity if the other papers pick up the story. There’s a reason the Klan wears hoods, and here in the north? People like to pretend they’re not as low as all that.”

Esta wasn’t sure that involving more innocent people in their current mess was the answer. “I don’t want anyone else getting hurt. Especially not Mr. Fortune. If the Order retaliates—”

“He’s not worried right now,” Abel told her. “With the fire, there was no proof at all that he was housing Mageus, much less the missing Reynolds girl. And then when she showed up wearing the wedding gown that the patrol supposedly found?” He shrugged. “Everyone’s backing away from the story. The Order’s pretending they didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“What about Jack?” Harte asked. “Any sign of him yet?”

Abel shook his head. “Sorry. No one’s caught word of anything that might point to where he could be. It’s like he’s some kind of ghost.”

Jianyu was there suddenly, appearing in the doorway. His eyes found Cela first, as usual, and Esta watched whatever was going on between them play out silently. She wondered if Abel noticed as well. She wondered if he was as tired of the simmering emotion between the two as the rest of them were.

“You’re back early,” Esta said, pretending she hadn’t noticed the way that they were looking at each other.

“Did you have any luck?” Cela asked.

Jianyu took a folded bundle of papers from his sleeve and placed them on the table. “The Inner Circle are keeping to themselves. Outside of their new headquarters, they do not say much about the arrangements of the Conclave. But the Garden does not seem to have the same concerns about secrecy. I found these in their offices.”

“Seating charts?” Darrigan asked, frowning. “Not sure what kind of help those will be.”

“It’s always good to know the players on the board,” Esta told him, giving Jianyu an encouraging smile.

“I have the floor plan as well,” Jianyu said, pointing to the sketches he had made from the originals. “The Order will hold events throughout the building. From what I gather, they will start here, with speeches in the main arena, but the ritual will take place in the open air. Here… on the roof. There’s more.… Timetables for the catering and staff.”

“So Jack could strike anywhere,” Esta realized.

“But he is most likely to strike during the ritual,” Jianyu told them.

“Which means we should focus our attention on the roof,” Harte said.

“Any word from the Bowery?” Esta asked.

Jianyu’s expression grew more serious. “There is still no sign of Logan. Nibsy seems to be keeping him close.”

Esta’s stomach sank. It had been a risk to draw Logan into this. She should have just turned him away. Despite what he’d done to her, she hadn’t wanted to see him hurt. He was a pawn as much as anyone.

“And what about Nibsy?” Harte asked.