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“You—” Jianyu’s brows furrowed. “The fire.”

“Of course,” James said. “You didn’t realize I’d been following you, but I had the sense that today could be important for you. For us.”

“Never for us,” Jianyu promised, but his words were empty when he could barely remain on his feet.

James tightened his grip on the cane, and Jianyu crumpled to the ground.

A few seconds later, he started to struggle up. The fury in his eyes made it clear he wanted a fight, so James depressed a small lever to release the hidden blade in the tip of the cane. Jianyu froze at the sound, clearly remembering the poisoned blade hidden there, and he remained still as James used it to slice open his tunic, revealing the leather envelope tucked within.

“I’ll be taking this,” he said, scooping up the package while Jianyu writhed in pain.

The Aether trembled, but the strange hum did not stop.

“They’ll come for you,” he assured Jianyu. “The Order is already searching for you, but without my protection, the rest will come as well. And when they do, you’ll return to me. You’ll beg for my protection.”

Jianyu’s expression was tinged with such fury, such glorious hatred… it was almost amusing.

“Oh, I know you’d never come to me to save yourself,” James assured him. “You’re far too noble and self-sacrificing for that. But you’d beg for those you care for. Those you’ve promised to protect.”

He loosened his grip on the cane and released the connection he’d been holding through it. With a shuddering gasp, Jianyu pulled himself up onto his hands and knees. Then, slowly, he got to his feet.

“You don’t want me as your enemy, Jianyu,” James said softly, but the threat in his words was clear. “It would be much better for everyone involved if you counted me as a friend.”

“I will never count you as a friend,” Jianyu vowed.

James could practically taste his anger, his barely leashed temper. Delicious. Jianyu losing hold of his careful control would be more than entertaining. It would be perfect.

“You wound me,” he said with a mocking smile. “Never is such a long time, you know. Just like being dead.” Then he let his expression go cold. “I’ll have the sigils one way or the other. Better to hand them over while you still can.”

“You will never get them,” Jianyu promised. “They are in a place where you cannot reach them. And they will remain there, far outside your grasp.”

“Are they?” Nibsy asked, allowing his lip to curl as he clutched the Medusa’s silver-coiled head. The ring’s energy urged him on, but he held back. It wasn’t time. Not yet. “Tell me, Jianyu… is Cela Johnson enjoying her time as a chambermaid in Atlantic City?”

Jianyu’s face drained of color. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, but he seemed frozen. Unable to decide whether to attack or flee.

James didn’t bother to hide his amusement now as he took another step further. “Did you really think I couldn’t reach her simply because she was beyond the Brink? Did you forget that Kelly’s men are mine now?” He gave Jianyu a pat on the cheek too sharp to be playful, and when Jianyu flinched, James couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ll be sure to have Razor Riley give Cela your regards.”

“We are finished here,” Jianyu said, nostrils flaring. He turned on his heels and slipped into the night.

“No,” James said, more to himself than to Jianyu. “We’re only just beginning.”

TICK-TOCK

1983—Orchard Street

Esta lunged for the elevator buttons, even as she felt her magic hollowing out. But the lift was as dead as her affinity. No matter how violently she pressed, the elevator didn’t respond.

“You’re not going to be leaving that way.” The old man’s voice was soft and calm, and Esta knew he was speaking the truth. Somehow, he had known to be there in the library waiting for them.

Harte’s hand tightened around hers, and when she looked over at him, they didn’t have to speak to understand each other. The cold blast had affected both of them, and with the elevator dead, there was no choice. They’d have to go through the library and down the steps to escape, which meant they’d have to play the old man’s game. At least until their affinities returned. She gave Harte a sure nod. They’d face this head-on.

Together, they stepped out of the elevator. Professor Lachlan was there at the other end of the large room, sitting beneath the portrait of Newton and the Book, behind the large table he’d always used as a desk. He had a pistol—the same gun he’d used to kill Dakari—sitting within reach on the tabletop.

“I wondered when you’d show up again,” the old man said. “After you disappeared on the Guard a few days ago, I knew I only had to wait. But I suspected you wouldn’t risk going too far ahead, because I taught you better than that. It looks like I was right. As usual.”

Esta bristled at the presumptive ownership in his tone. “You didn’t teach me anything.” That had been a different version of Professor Lachlan, one who had been every bit as duplicitous. But the old man sitting before them had lived a different life in a far different world.

I don’t know this man, she thought. Not really. Though she did know what he was capable of. She’d seen that other version of herself, frozen unnaturally in time, and she understood exactly what he was willing to do in order to win.