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AN EXPECTED INTERRUPTION
1902—New York
After finishing with Theo Barclay, Jack Grew took the stairs down from the Library of Life room to the chambers below, whistling as he went. It was a strange little tune, and he realized as he reached the sixteenth floor that he couldn’t recall where he’d heard it. Actually, he couldn’t recall having ever heard it, except maybe in dreams, but Jack dismissed that idea at once. It didn’t matter where he’d picked up the song. Things were going his way, and by the time night dropped her veil over the city, the Delphi’s Tear would be his, and Theo Barclay would be no more.
The Order’s ceremony to consecrate the top five floors of the Flatiron Building as their new headquarters was to be held in the more public chambers on the sixteenth floor. Here, a larger portion of the membership could be in attendance, as the upper floors were reserved for the wealthiest and most powerful members.
Like the library above, the more public sanctuary was also located at the front of the building so the members could take in the grandeur of the city. To enter, members were required to navigate a series of antechambers, each fortified with their own protections. Between each, narrow winding turns had been designed to disorient and confuse, so that by the time the member stepped into the space, he would immediately be overtaken by the view. Centered in front of the bank of windows was an angular altar. It had been carved from a single enormous piece of lapis lazuli, and the setting sun illuminated it, turning the altar as brilliant as the summer sky.
Jack entered behind a few of the other members, appreciating the warm glow of the phosphorus lamps that hung from gilded chains around the edges of the room and the ornate designs etched into the walls. With its windows, the entire space was bathed in the ethereal light of the Golden Hour. To the west, the sun had nearly reached the water. It would be only a little while longer now. Until the sun dipped below the horizon, Jack would enjoy the pageantry that was to come. And after… he would make his move.
Before the altar stood five women clad only in silken sarongs. Their bare skin had been painted in gold from head to toe, which made their bodies glisten in the strange light. Around each of their necks, a single large crystal dangled from a golden chain. Each pendant had been cut to symbolize one digit of the Philosopher’s Hand: the key, the crown, the lantern, the star, and the moon. The elements necessary to transmute existence. The women were living statues; they barely blinked, even when the members inched forward to take a closer look. They’d been one of Jack’s better ideas for the ceremony, but his best was yet to come.
While the other members swooned over the new surroundings, Jack felt nothing but satisfaction. Soon the Delphi’s Tear would be his, and with it the ability to finally complete his machine. He would show the Order how wrong they had been to deny him for so long. He would show the Inner Circle the path down which their destiny must lead.
Jack took a seat close to the edge of the room as the lights went dim and the ceremony began. In the back of the chamber, a door opened that had not seemed to be there a moment before. It was a brilliant bit of illusion, and the men around Jack murmured appreciatively as four members of the Inner Circle made their way toward the altar. When they reached the front, they formed a line, and then one stepped forward and began to speak about the illustrious history of the Order of Ortus Aurea.
Jack barely paid attention to the old man’s droning. What did he care about the past, when the future stretched in all its brilliant possibilities on the far horizon? On and on the speech went, and all the while Jack pictured what would come next and prepared himself. The old man prattled on for what seemed like an eternity, until finally bells could be heard from somewhere within the walls and the door at the back of the room opened once more.
This time it was the High Princept who appeared. He was flanked by two other men, each draped in white linen and wearing masks that obscured their identities. When the three reached the blue altar, the two masked men unrolled a scroll and held the wide swath of it upright, so the Princept could read an incantation. He invoked the gods and the angels, and he beseeched them to protect this place that would be a sanctuary for years to come. When he was finished, the masked men withdrew the scroll, and as one, the members in attendance stood and applauded.
Jack played his part, rising and clapping along with the rest. He would let them enjoy their moment, because he knew that his own plan was already unfolding.
In the preceding weeks, he’d worked long and hard to prepare for this night. He’d been forced to humble himself, bowing and pretending subservience, when he knew that the old men of the Inner Circle were nothing more than a past that hadn’t realized it was over. In the end they’d trusted Jack enough to use him, but they hadn’t allowed him to attend the ceremony to install the artifact into the Mysterium earlier that day. They said it was because he wasn’t officially part of the Inner Circle—not yet. But Jack understood an excuse when he heard one. They were still holding him at arm’s length.
No longer. The High Princept’s arrival signaled that the time was finally at hand. He checked his watch and saw there were still a few minutes until the sun dipped farther than six degrees below the horizon, minutes during which the Order still would believe themselves to be protected by the power of the Golden Hour. But in those remaining minutes, they would find out how vulnerable they truly were.
An alarm sounded in the outer chamber, and Jack frowned down at his watch. It was a few minutes earlier than he’d planned, perhaps, but close enough. As the members began murmuring at the sudden interruption, the High Princept stood to reassure them.
“Gentlemen, we expected no less than an attack this evening, but please. Settle yourselves. Every precaution has been taken,” he assured the room. “Every measure of possible protection has been put into place for this very eventuality, and the maggots who would try to disturb us this evening will find themselves sorry. As we sit here, safe in the sanctuary of our own making, the building is turning itself on our intruders.”
As if on command, heavy shutters rolled down over the windows, leaving the entire sanctuary bathed only in the glow of the phosphorus lamps. It was exactly as Jack had hoped: The lamps cast enough light to throw the flickering shadows that would allow him to move through the crowd without being noticed.
“All of the chambers beyond this one will lock, making entrance or exit impossible,” the Princept continued. “Even now security measures are being activated that will snuff out the threat any intruders might pose as easily as a candle.”
The Princept didn’t bother to tell the rest of the members that it had been Jack who had set up the entire system, which was, he supposed, probably for the best. It was unlikely any of the members would realize that the protections Jack had designed also contained an extra feature for this particular night: It would release a series of alchemical reactions that would appear to be an attack. The effect would doubtlessly cause enough confusion to keep the members of the Order distracted. In the end, it would seem that Jack’s security system had worked and the building had been defended. In reality, the attack would be nothing more than smoke and mirrors. He’d learned that bit from Darrigan, back when he’d believed the magician had some real connection to the powers of the occult. The attack was nothing but misdirection—a diversion intended to keep the Order from realizing what was actually happening.
“As long as everyone is accounted for,” the Princept called, “we are all safe here until the danger passes.”
Jack waited, keeping his expression even as the men around him began looking over one another, counting among their ranks. He waited long enough to be sure that the room was already buzzing with confusion, and then he called out. “Barclay’s missing! He was right here… but now he’s gone.”
It didn’t matter that Barclay had never been there to begin with. The men around him reacted exactly as Jack had predicted they would. With confusion and then suspicion… and then, predictably, with anger.
Smiling to himself as the mood of the room shifted, Jack ducked behind a tapestry, depressed a lever hidden there, and let himself out into the hallway. The rest of the members would whip themselves into a fit while Jack retrieved the ring. In a matter of minutes, he would return to the sanctuary below, undetected, and when the Order discovered that the artifact was missing, Barclay would look like the culprit. The poor, desperate, dead culprit.
TIMES CHANGE
1920—Chicago
Jericho Northwood and his crew had only come to the Green Mill that night for the Nitewein that John Torrio and his lot sold to lure Mageus into the establishment. He hadn’t expected to find a couple of familiar faces in addition. Now he had to figure out what he was going to do with them.
In truth, North had never expected to see hide nor hair of Esta Filosik, much less Harte Darrigan, again. He’d only expected that one day, when he was least expecting it, the life he had would simply disappear. He’d turned in each night thanking his lucky stars for the gift of one more day to be the man he was, living the life he had, and each morning he’d wake up with the grateful wonder that it was all still there, his life still intact and his family still whole and real in his arms. But now Esta was back, and with her, the threat she posed to him—to his life and to everything he’d built and everyone he loved.
He knew what Maggie would say. Some things are destined, his wife would tell him with that soft smile she always wore when she was somewhere between amused and exasperated. There’s no way around the two of us, she’d say as she braided their youngest girl’s hair. His Maggie had an absolute faith in the inevitability of the two of them and the little family they’d built for themselves, a belief that nothing—not time, nor magic—could shake. Some things are meant to be.
North didn’t know that he quite agreed. He knew exactly how possible it was to change the course of things. Maggie could keep her faith, but North wasn’t willing to chance everything he was and everything they’d built to the whimsy of fate. Not that he had any clue how to fight against something as slippery as destiny or as unyielding as time.
It didn’t help any that the fear of what Esta could do to his life had only grown with each addition to his family. Their children were a spot of light in North’s life, and he didn’t trust fate to keep their lights aglow. But then, he had to admit that fate—fickle though she might be—had somehow seemed to smile on him far more than he’d ever deserved. He’d lost everything and then found Maggie. They’d made terrible mistakes with the Antistasi, and somehow still managed to make it through to the other side. Their life together, their children—if those were all gifts of fate, Jericho Northwood was damn lucky. Now, it seemed, fate had delivered Esta Filosik to him once more, but he wasn’t sure what that meant.
