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PART I
AN UNFAMILIAR COUNTRY
1904—Texas
Esta Filosik stood on the open platform at the back of a train heading into the West. The wind tore at short strands of her hair, whipping them against her cheek as she took in the view. There was a wild beauty to the land, but the stark openness of the seemingly endless sky unnerved her. Despite the warmth in the air, a chill had sunk deep into her bones. It felt suspiciously like regret.
Harte was gone.
When she’d discovered his absence a little while ago, she hadn’t even been surprised. Not really. His desertion felt strangely familiar. Almost expected. Maybe a part of her had been waiting for him to leave for weeks now, but it didn’t hurt any less to know that she’d been right.
Not that she would ever admit that. Not even to herself.
It didn’t seem to matter that he had a good reason to put distance between them. Back in New York, Harte had tried to warn her that the power that had once been within the Book of Mysteries was dangerous. In St. Louis, he’d tried to explain that it was growing stronger and becoming harder for him to control. But the night before, when that ancient power had overwhelmed him in the Festival Hall, Esta had finally understood. Harte’s usual stormy eyes had gone black, and his expression had become so foreign that Esta had known instantly it wasn’t Harte looking back at her.
And when she’d tried to help him—when she’d touched him? A shudder ran through her at the memory of the power she’d felt tearing at her.
No. Not a power. A person. Seshat.
Once, the ancient goddess had tried to save the old magic, but Seshat had been betrayed and trapped in the pages of the Ars Arcana. Now, after being imprisoned for so many years, she was furious and probably more than a little unhinged. To get her revenge, Seshat would destroy the world itself, and she would use Esta to do it.
So yes, maybe Harte had been right to leave, to put space between them until they had a way to control the goddess’s power. But he should have discussed it with her. They could have made a plan. Together. Like the partners they were supposed to be. And he certainly shouldn’t have taken the Key. It was, without a doubt, the bigger betrayal.
Esta wasn’t exactly sure how time might unravel if she never returned to the city and gave her younger self the cuff with Ishtar’s Key, as Professor Lachlan said she must. One thing was certain, though—Esta was undeniably connected to that small girl she had once been. She now wore the evidence of this link on her wrist, where a scar had appeared only days before.
Despite being new to Esta, the silvery letters looked like they’d been carved into her skin long ago, a single word in the Latin she’d learned as a child—the Latin that Professor Lachlan had taught her. Redi.
He’d used the imperative. It was a demand that she return to him.
The scar’s sudden appearance was proof that however twisted and tangled time might be, the person Esta was now and the young girl Nibsy held captive were one and the same, as Nibsy and Professor Lachlan were one and the same. It was a sign—a warning—that Esta had no choice but to return the Key to her younger self and put her own life on its proper course. If she didn’t, her present would become impossible. The person she was would cease to be.
Maybe that would be better.
Esta felt suddenly numb with a mixture of grief and exhaustion. Again and again she had tried to right the wrongs of history. She had tried to create a better future for those with the old magic, but she had failed—
No, Esta thought darkly. I’ve made things even worse.
When she and Harte had left New York weeks before, they’d only meant to find the artifacts before Nibsy could, but Esta had mistakenly brought them forward to 1904 and had destroyed a train in the process. Because of that mistake, the Devil’s Thief and the Antistasi had been born. History had been set on a different path: the old magic had been deemed illegal, and so many had suffered because of it. And that was before they’d attacked the Society’s ball—and the president. Esta could only imagine the ways history might continue to change because of what she’d done.
She should have listened to Harte and focused on collecting the stones. Instead, Esta had let her anger blind her, and she’d helped the Antistasi deploy a serum that turned out to be deadly. Worse, Jack Grew had still managed to slip away, taking the Book—and all of the secrets it held—with him. Without the Book, there was little chance of finding a way to use the stones to stop Seshat without Esta giving up her life.
But even sacrificing her life wasn’t enough to right the wrongs she had created. Esta was willing to give up everything to stop Seshat here and now, but even if Harte could take the Key back to New York for her and give it to her younger self, the world was likely already changing in ways Esta couldn’t predict and didn’t want to think about.
She took a step toward the edge of the platform, ignoring how the wind lashed at her. Below, the ground rushed by in a blur of rock and brush. Maybe it would be better if she didn’t return the stone. After all, without her meddling, the Book and its terrible power would have disappeared, as it had once before, and Seshat would never have been a threat. The world would be safe.
Safe. Esta looked out at the far-off horizon and tried to imagine that world, but she found she couldn’t. Hadn’t she learned long ago that safety was nothing but an illusion?
Her death was no solution. She knew that. If she never returned the Key, if history did unwind itself, the old magic would die, as Seshat had feared so long ago. Esta had grown up in that world, in a time far in the future, where magic was nothing but a fairy tale. And before magic faded away? There would be a century of fear and pain for those Mageus unlucky enough to have been born with a connection to the old magic. Removing herself from the equation wouldn’t stop the Order or any of the Brotherhoods. It wouldn’t end their hate or their violence or the power they held over the city she loved. It would simply leave the innocent as unprotected as they’d ever been. And Harte Darrigan would be gone as well, lost to history and memory, his life ended on a cold and lonely bridge.
It was that final thought that felt most impossible of all.
Esta’s fingers brushed at the bracelet at her wrist. The cheap strand of beads was the only thing Harte had left her, but he’d used his affinity to make it something more. As soon as Esta touched it, she felt Harte there, like he was standing right beside her. His voice echoed softly through her mind, explaining where he would go, what he planned to do, and when his words died away, Esta thought she could almost feel the warm brush of lips against the column of her throat: a promise and a plea all at once.
To control Seshat and stop the ancient power from unmaking the world, they needed the other lost artifacts, but with Seshat’s power growing, Harte’s time was running out. The Dragon’s Eye waited for him on a distant shore, but the Pharaoh’s Heart was closer. It was where they would have traveled together if everything hadn’t gone wrong in St. Louis. But with the threat of Seshat’s power, they couldn’t afford to waste time traveling together.
Find the dagger. Then meet me at the bridge. Together they would go back to the city and collect the final artifact.
It wasn’t exactly a command. Harte hadn’t used his affinity to take away Esta’s will, as he could have. He’d left her behind, trusting that she would be able to do what he asked of her. Trusting that she’d be willing.
