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“What do you mean?” North asked.
“Just what I said. That tower isn’t some decoration. It’s a weapon, similar to the one that the Vigilance Committee used in California years ago,” she told him. “You know about what happened there?”
“Of course.” Everyone had heard about that. “It was a damn tragedy. The number of people who died…” North shook his head. “But it isn’t possible that they’d build another. Roosevelt promised that the government wouldn’t build anything like it, ever again. People wouldn’t accept such a thing.”
“American Steel isn’t the government,” Harte reminded North. Then he glanced briefly at Esta. “And as for people standing for it… times change.”
North made his expression carefully blank. “You’re saying you know for sure this will happen?”
Esta nodded. “If the Antistasi attack the convention, Jack Grew and the Brotherhoods are going to activate that tower. If that happens—”
“People will die,” North said. “A lot of people. Innocent people.”
“Didn’t you know?” Harte said darkly. “There are no innocent Mageus. According to Jack and the Order and all of the Brotherhoods, there never were, and if they have their way, there never will be.”
“Even if there are Antistasi here in the city planning some sort of deed… Even if the Brotherhoods retaliate, it won’t work. Something like that, I can’t believe the public will stand for it. They might not care if Mageus are rounded up and quietly deported or imprisoned. It’s easy enough for people to ignore the things that they don’t have to look straight at, but you’re talking about a lot of people dying. Children and old people and everyone in between. You’re talking about outright murder. If the Brotherhoods start up that tower, it’ll backfire on them, same as it did in California.”
“This time will be different,” Esta said. Her face was partially shadowed, but even concealed by the darkness, her eyes were serious and filled with a sadness that even North couldn’t possibly ignore. “The public will not only stand for it, but they’ll reward Jack Grew—the person responsible for the tower and its effects—at the convention.”
“Well, see, that’s where you’re wrong,” North said, feeling a bit of relief. “They just decided on that Harding fella as the presidential nominee.”
“When?” Esta demanded.
“Earlier this evening,” he said, frowning at her tone. “An hour or so before we found you at the Green Mill. Seems to me your predictions are a little off this time.”
“There’s still the vice presidential nomination,” Harte said.
“And then when Harding dies…” Esta didn’t finish.
“How could you possibly know all that?” Everett asked Esta. “You’re talking like you can prognosticate the future.”
“It’s not prognostication if you’ve seen it for yourself,” North told his son, wishing it were otherwise.
“The bottom line is that if they voted to nominate Harding tonight, we’re running shorter on time than we thought,” Esta said. “We need to know what the Antistasi’s plans are. We need to stop them.”
“How do I know you’re not just trying to scare me into cooperating?” North asked.
“I am trying to scare you,” Esta told him. “Unless we do something, the attack will happen. The tower will be activated, and Jack Grew will become president. Once he’s in power, Roosevelt’s promises will be moot. Jack will build more towers—a whole network of them. Enough to wipe out every bit of the old magic in this country.”
“We’re going to figure this out with or without your help,” Harte told him.
“With your help, we can maybe save even more lives, though. Including your own,” Esta said. “Because if you stay here in the city, you’re both going to die.”
North wanted to argue that what they were saying was ridiculous. There was no way the events would unfold like that. But he knew better than to doubt Esta.
“It’s like I said, the Antistasi aren’t exactly organized these days,” he said. “I’ve been in Chicago for nearly a week, and I haven’t heard any rumors about anything happening at the convention. Whoever’s planning it is keeping things quiet.”
“But you are still involved with them. You could help us find out who’s planning it,” Esta said.
North hesitated. “Possibly,” he admitted reluctantly. “I know someone who might know what’s going on. We can find him at the Nitemarket.”
THE GOLDEN HOUR
1902—New York
Jianyu Lee was stuck. He had positioned himself out of sight behind a cart parked on the outskirts of Madison Square, not quite a block away from where he’d intended to be, but he could not venture any closer. Not without being seen. Especially not with boys he recognized from the Devil’s Own, boys who certainly would recognize him as well, prowling through the park. Jianyu had the sense that they were searching for something—possibly even for him—and so he stayed back, unable to do more than wait.
Everything had been going to plan until, quite suddenly, it was not.
