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Esta couldn’t argue that it sounded promising.
“Even if the headpiece isn’t in there, maybe the exhibition inside will have some clue about what happened to it,” Harte said.
“Maybe,” Esta said, still feeling uneasy. But Harte was already moving toward the arched front door, and she didn’t have any choice but to follow.
THE DRAGON’S EYE
1952—San Francisco
Once Harte was inside the building, he realized he’d been bracing himself for an attack. Instead, he was met with nothing but silence in the cool marble lobby. He could see the echo of the bank it had once been, but now the room held a few large displays. The caged bank windows had been replaced by an open counter, where an older man sat. Harte sensed Esta entering behind him. When he turned to her, he was once again surprised by how pretty she looked in the strange clothing of this time, with her hair curling around her face and her lips painted a soft pink that made his mouth go dry. Within him, Seshat pressed at her cage, reminding Harte that he couldn’t slip again, not like he had the day before.
Seshat had been so quiet as Harte recuperated that he’d started to believe she might have given up—maybe she was content with his promise to destroy Thoth and would not insist on using Esta to take her revenge on the world itself. The day before, Harte had woken from a nap and, for a moment, he’d forgotten the danger. All he’d seen was Esta, and he couldn’t stop himself from touching her, from kissing her. But when his lips had touched Esta’s, he’d let his guard down and Seshat had surged and reminded Harte of all that was at stake.
“Welcome,” the man said. “I assume you’re here for the exhibit?” He glanced between the two of them, and then, after taking their admission fees, pointed them in the direction of the rest of the exhibition.
The main displays were on the second floor of the building. They started at the mouth of the staircase, and trailed through a series of small galleries that told the story of San Francisco from the beginning. Large, printed signs described the city’s history, or at least the history that started with Spanish priests establishing missions, through to Mexico’s surrender of the land to the United States. Along the way, various artifacts were spotlighted from above, their glass cases forming a winding path toward the back of the building.
As Harte and Esta went through the archway, they passed a young guard in a dark, ill-fitting suit. Harte sensed Esta tense as they passed him, but she continued on. When they were finally out of the guard’s sight, Esta leaned so close that Harte felt Seshat lurch.
“Did you see the medallion on his lapel?” she whispered.
Harte frowned. He hadn’t noticed, but he trusted Esta’s instincts. “There must be something here they’re trying to protect.”
Together they wandered through the displays, and Harte didn’t have to pretend that he was interested in the artifacts, especially the ones pertaining to the Vigilance Committee. It had apparently been started back in 1851 as a way to fight the lawlessness and corruption in the city. An etching depicted a building with two men hanging from nooses. There was a display with medallions that reminded Harte of the open-eyed ring his father wore, and a model of Lady Justice staring with her eyes wide open.
When they came to a display about earthquakes that had happened early in the century, they paused. Beneath a wall of photos was a model of the city, most of the streets destroyed by the quake. Chinatown had been flattened, as had most of the area around it. But the building they were currently in had remained standing… for the most part. It explained the missing top floor.
The level of sheer devastation made Harte pause. “The whole city was destroyed,” he realized. Twice. He’d never seen anything like it. No wonder Chinatown seemed so changed from the streets that he’d walked only a few weeks before.
Esta was frowning. “I knew there was a big earthquake sometime early in the century, but I don’t remember there being two.…”
“That’s what it says,” he read, running his finger along the words etched into the placard. “The first one was in July of 1904, and then there was another two years later, in April of 1906. It destroyed most of what had been rebuilt and burned the rest of the city to the ground.”
Her brows were furrowed. “July?” Esta stepped closer and read the placard again. “That’s when we were there, Harte. Look at this—the map. Look at where they think the epicenter was.”
He leaned forward, but he knew already what he would find. On the other side of Chinatown, the small dead-end Dawson Place was marked with a red bull’s-eye.
“I knew that Seshat was powerful, but I didn’t realize—” She looked at the map again as though it might tell her some other story if she stared at it hard enough. “I did this.” She lifted her hand and touched the spot on the map.
“You don’t know that,” Harte told her, wishing there was something more he could say.
“I do.” She looked at him, her whiskey-colored eyes filled with certainty. “I felt her. When I slipped you forward. I thought I could hold her back, but I—”
The guard entered the room behind them, and Harte went on high alert. “Later,” he told Esta as he nudged her along, ignoring the way Seshat rattled within.
As they rounded a corner and entered the next gallery, Harte noticed a glass case that glowed golden from within at the same time Esta grabbed for his arm. Seshat’s power rustled at her closeness, but Harte barely noticed, because he’d already seen what had made Esta gasp. The Dragon’s Eye. Miraculously, it was still there, every bit as ornate and fanciful as the day Harte had found it deep within the Order’s vaults.
This time the crown wasn’t sitting out in the open, but behind a thick case of glass that reminded Harte of the one that had contained the Djinni’s Star back in St. Louis. There was no hint of opium, as there had been at the fair, but he circled the case carefully, pretending to read over the information about the crown as he tried to figure out what security they would have to get through.
He looked up to find Esta staring at the headpiece, mouth pulled into a frown and her brows furrowed, like she was confused. He sidled up next to her. “The security seems minimal,” he whispered. “We could try to take it now.…”
Esta shook her head ever so slightly. If he hadn’t been looking for her answer, he wouldn’t have realized she was telling him no. She glanced up at him, and he watched indecipherable emotions play across her features. She was about to say something, when the guard from before entered the room. This time he wasn’t alone.
“Do you know, I think I’ve had enough touring for one day,” Esta said. Her voice had a false brightness to it that couldn’t mask her nerves. “I’m positively famished, though. Maybe we could find a place to eat?”
“Of course,” he told her, playing along. He didn’t allow himself to make eye contact with the guards, who were clearly following them.
Harte braced himself for an attack as they worked their way out of the exhibit and took the stairs back down to the lobby. They nodded to the man at the front desk, then let themselves out into the noise of the streets. Once they were outside, Esta picked up her pace, but a few blocks away, Harte tugged her to a stop. He leaned against one of the ornate lampposts.
