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“To the courageous settlers of the west, the Syndicate, we bid welcome. As above…”

Again a portion of the rooftop erupted in answer: “So below.”

“And finally, our newest brothers, those who guard our westernmost shores, the Vigilance Committee. We bid you welcome. As above…”

“So below” came the echoing reply.

“As above, so below, and so we bid all welcome to our city, to this bastion of hope and prosperity,” the Princept said. “From its earliest days, this island has been a shining light. Centuries ago, it served as a foothold in the wilderness, and the men who carved civilization out of chaos became exemplars of what was possible for the worthy in this great and noble land. And so, on this darkest night in the deepest part of the year, we commemorate their work and bind ourselves to the mission of the Brotherhoods. We gather to reconsecrate ourselves to the power of the occult sciences as we look onward into the new century.”

The crowd erupted into applause, and the Princept basked in their adulation. Harte watched the muscle in Jack’s jaw twitch as he clapped slowly along with the rest. The Princept raised his hands to quiet the crowd before he continued.

“For decades now, the Order of Ortus Aurea has protected this great city from the darkness threatened by feral magic. During that time, we have led all those worthy of the occult sciences into a new, golden dawn. For more than a century, our work here has protected this city, and the country beyond.”

Again came a smattering of applause, but this time it seemed contained to the portion of the roof where the Order sat.

Harte sighed. “They do love droning on about nothing, don’t they?”

Esta nodded, biting back a smile. “Endlessly.”

“Our Founders saw the threat to these shores, the creeping danger of feral magic, and were not satisfied to allow the danger to go unchecked. They were determined to protect this land of opportunity and plenty, and they used their great skills—their sacred artifacts—to protect the innocent. Their fortifications have stood steadfast, and tonight we reconfirm our commitment to this noble calling and our commitment to this nation and its people. Tonight we reconsecrate the power that has been at the heart of our country’s safety for so long. Tonight we reaffirm our commitment to these streets and to the land beyond.”

“Where are they?” Esta wondered again, looking back over her shoulder to the entrance of the roof. “They should definitely have been here by now.”

“They will be,” Harte told her, hoping he was right.

Esta frowned, searching the crowd on the rooftop. “They’d better be. We can’t do this alone.”

Out of nowhere, a thunderous crack echoed through the air, and the top of the Flatiron Building flashed, bursting with light. Harte watched as the light grew into a churning ball of otherworldly flame, and then, suddenly, a bolt of something that looked like amber-colored lightning shot out through the crystalline windows of the Mysterium to the fountain at the center of Madison Square Park.

The crowd on the roof gasped in appreciation and applauded again.

Worth Square was barely big enough to be considered a park, and its obelisk—a tombstone for some long-dead general—was a modern piece, not anything as large or authentic as the Egyptian obelisk that stood in Central Park. Now, though, everyone’s eyes were being drawn to that small plot of land. The monument had started to glow from within, the gray stone turning brighter and brighter, until another thunderous crack echoed through the air and another bolt of light erupted from its tip and shot across the park, meeting the bolt from the Mysterium.

As the two lines of energy intersected in the center of the park, it formed a ball of light that started to swell. As it expanded, the alchemical flames that had illuminated the park leaped and danced, and the cement pathways of the night-dark park began to glow.

Harte realized then what he maybe should have realized before: The walkways of the park formed another symbol. Another sigil. Perhaps it wasn’t as ornate or intricate as the one on the Book or the ones carved into the silver discs, but as those pathways turned to shimmering, he couldn’t deny the cold power that was rising into the air.

Hadn’t Ruby told them that the Order built the city—designed the very grid of streets—to channel occult power? Hadn’t Jianyu and Viola explained how the Manhattan Solstice had transformed those streets during the Golden Hour? Harte hadn’t quite understood, but now he did.

The Order no longer had its artifacts or the Book of Mysteries. They’d lost Newton’s Sigils as well. But they had this, the city itself. The power that had somehow been built into it as part of the design. This was how the Order would convince the other Brotherhoods of their supremacy. This was how they would attempt to recharge the Brink… and this would be where Jack would attack. He’d use this display somehow in his attempt to bring everything down around them.

But as the sidewalks of Madison Square Park burned bright, the pathways like carpets of undulating flame, Jack did not make a move.

“Why isn’t he doing anything?” Esta asked. “And where are Viola and Jianyu?”

Harte didn’t have answers to either of those questions. He was too busy trying to predict what might happen next.

“Something’s wrong,” Esta told him. “We need to find them.”

“No,” he said, touching her arm softly to steady her. “We need to stay here with Jack. We have to trust them.”

There was something stirring in the air, a strange energy that had his hair rising and his instincts sparking.

“My brothers,” the Princept called out. “Behold the mastery we have attained. Behold our city alive with power, ready to accept the future fate has held in store.”

Another crack sounded, this time closer yet, and Harte jerked Esta back to protect her, ducking like everyone else on that roof as sparks flew from the tallest of the Garden’s towers. High above, the goddess Diana began to glow as energy coursed through her body. She was a woman aflame, and then, just when she had turned nearly incandescent, the energy being channeled through her bolted out from the tip of her arrow and careened through the air to join the other currents in the park below.

The crowd murmured in appreciation as the cauldrons flashed, their colored flames rising into the night, and the pathways of the park pulsed with light. And then, little by little, the light from the park began to move. To spread. The bright energy might have been magic or electric or something between, but it moved like molten molasses creeping toward the pathways of the streets, and little by little, it began to light the city from within.