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Then she pushed his chair out into the night air.
If Harte had thought he was ready for what waited for him beyond the hospital, he’d been wrong. The scene outside was like something that not even the inventors and scientists at the world’s fair could have imagined. The streets were smooth ribbons of black, completely devoid of horses and packed instead with machines painted in every color imaginable. They were nothing like the motorcars he’d gawked at back in St. Louis at the Palace of Transportation. Those machines were as square and boxy as a wagon, but these machines? They seemed more like sculptures than vehicles, impossible art forged from metal as smooth as water and crystalline glass.
They gleamed. Bright silver glinted off each curve of them, and their bodies shone like the paint was still wet. And the buildings. In New York there had been one or two buildings that scraped at the sky, but they’d stood apart, like sentinels above the rest of the city—not like this. In the years that had passed, San Francisco had become enormous. The hospital itself was a massive brick structure that rose at least ten stories above him. And the lights. Broadway had glowed at night, but everywhere Harte looked, electric lights flashed and twinkled even more brightly.
It all felt like too much, and yet… it was perfect. All Harte could do was stare in wonder and horror and awe. The world around him was new and unknown and perfect. It was right there—so close to being his. So was Esta.
But only for a little while.
Harte reached back and put his hand over hers as he looked up at her, and Esta’s expression flickered to concern as she inquired whether he was okay. He nodded but couldn’t figure out how to put all the things he wanted to say in words that would make any sort of sense. Esta seemed to understand, though. Wordlessly, she paused to let their fingers intertwine as the city continued to spin around them. For a moment the world was distilled down to the two of them. Harte felt only the warmth of her skin, the strength beneath, and not any of the rumbling power that had dogged him since he’d touched the Ars Arcana in the Order’s vaults.
Then something shifted in Esta’s expression. Her eyes had softened and gone glassy, but now she blinked resolutely as her entire posture seemed to stiffen with resolve. He could feel her pulling away from him, even while their hands remained clasped. “We’ll need to find somewhere to lie low,” Esta told him. “Maybe a hotel or—”
“Esta.” Harte squeezed her hand gently, and she went silent and stopped walking. “Thank you.”
He felt her relax a bit. Her golden eyes softened, and she gave him a small nod. All the things that Harte wanted to say hung in the silence between them, but before he could figure out where to begin, the moment had passed.
“We should go,” she said, blinking again as though to will away any hint of tears. “If those men back at the hospital were there for us, they’ll have figured out that we’ve left by now, and the Quellant won’t last forever.” She released his hand and started pushing the chair again.
As they began to move again, Harte felt a wave of exhaustion sweep over him. Esta was right. Her words were a reminder that freedom wasn’t possible anymore—not for him. Maybe it never had been. The men with medallions glinting on their lapels were sure signs that the wonders of the world around him would always remain out of reach. So, too, would Esta. The Quellant she’d given him would soon wear off, and Seshat still prowled within his skin.
Now more than ever, perhaps, Harte knew that he would not allow the goddess to touch Esta. The time would come when they would run out of the Quellant, and if that happened before they managed to control Seshat, Harte would do whatever he had to in order to keep Esta safe and whole. He would give his life, and gladly, if it meant that Esta would be able to go on without the threat of Seshat’s power. But as he watched the lights shine and listened to the automobiles slide along, as he caught the clean, floral scent of Esta’s soap in the air, Harte Darrigan wondered how he would ever bear to let it all go.
INESCAPABLE
1952—Washington, DC
Jack Grew slammed the phone onto its receiver so hard that the bell within vibrated at the impact. The news he’d just received had anger curling hot and furious in his blood.
They’d managed to lose Darrigan and Esta. Again.
All the resources Jack had bestowed upon the various Brotherhoods—the Committee especially—all the investment he’d made in waiting so patiently for so long, and the idiots in California had managed to let Esta and the Magician escape. The patient in question had been admitted to the hospital weeks ago, but no one had noticed that the man matched Darrigan’s description until earlier that day. Jack should have left immediately, but from all accounts, the patient was in no shape to go anywhere. Instead, he’d trusted the Committee’s watchmen to do the work he’d been destined to do, and they’d let Darrigan escape. Again.
Jack walked across his office to the broad table that contained a map of the entire country. He studied the shoreline of California, tracing it with a single fingertip as though he could touch Darrigan from afar. It was too bad he couldn’t transport himself there, through the power of his thoughts alone.
They were still there, he knew, looking at the curve of the bay as it cut into the California coastline. Right there. Somewhere in the hills of that city—waiting for him to discover them. He returned to his desk and made a quick call. The plane would be ready within the hour, and by evening, he would be in San Francisco taking care of things personally, once and for all.
Jack Grew had always known Darrigan and Esta would resurface. Even when his advisers had wanted to pull back from the project, even when the various chairmen of the various Brotherhoods had wondered if his ongoing surveillance program had persisted long enough, Jack understood what Esta Filosik was capable of, and he knew that the work he was doing would pay off. He hadn’t expected to wait nearly fifty years, of course. But the sureness within him, the voice that guided his every victory, had counseled patience… and once again it had proven correct.
He walked around the large model, examining all that he had accomplished in the lifetime he’d lived so far. The country spread out before him, the hills and valleys, rivers and streams all in perfectly rendered relief, and among them a series of pins dotting the landscape in an inescapable net. His life’s work. His final victory. Each pinpoint of blue was a tower already built and ready to be armed. Each pinpoint of red was a tower nearing completion. When they were finally connected, their power would create an impermeable net across the entire country, collecting feral magic better than the Brink ever could and destroying any maggots who still managed to hide themselves away from the righteousness of the law.
A knock came at the door, and Hendricks ducked his head through the opening. “The car is here for you, Mr. President.”
“Good,” Jack said, still relishing the way the title sounded after all these years. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
When Hendricks was gone, Jack turned back one last time to examine the map. Perhaps it was time, finally, to bring his great creation to life. Darrigan could try to run, but he would never escape. Wherever Seshat was hiding, her power would finally, finally be his.
PART IV
THE CHANGED CITY
1952—San Francisco
After they escaped from the hospital, Esta managed to find them a safe room at a decent hotel fairly quickly. It was easy enough to use her affinity to dodge behind the counter, lift a key, and adjust the paper ledgers to make it seem like they’d paid.
The next day, she searched the local paper for news of their escape from the hospital, but she found no mention of it. If the Brotherhoods knew that Esta and Harte were in the city, they hadn’t publicized that knowledge. That fact didn’t make Esta feel any better, though. The Society and the Syndicate had allowed the public to continue believing that the Thief was dead, even while they were searching for her at the Curtis Brothers’ Show. Still, as long as the entire city wasn’t searching for them, they had some time for Harte to recuperate. And he needed it.
For the next few weeks, they stuck close to the hotel as Harte grew stronger. As stir-crazy as she might have felt, Esta didn’t go out for much more than food or supplies. At first, she’d been afraid to leave Harte for more than a couple of minutes because he’d still been so weak, and then later because there was a part of her that worried he would disappear again if she looked away. But as the days passed, their routine grew more familiar, and the room became a kind of den, a safe nest away from the dangers that had been dogging them for so long. Even Seshat had remained quiet. The goddess seemed to understand that her fate was tied to Harte’s and that Harte needed to heal. In the peace of those long days, Esta found it too easy to imagine that the whole world was contained in that small room, and there were moments when she could almost forget what still lay ahead for them—and for her, especially.
