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“We need to go,” Theo urged. “I have to get to the ship if I want any chance of stopping the rumors that Jack has surely already started about me. He’ll try to frame me when the ring disappears—especially if he’s not the one who gets it. I can’t be seen here. And you have to get to Cela and Abel before the Five Pointers can.”
Viola looked up at the impossible building jutting like a blade against the deepening twilight of the evening sky. She sent up a prayer for Jianyu’s safety, and then she and Theo melted into the crowd.
THE MYSTERIUM
1902—New York
Jack Grew stood in the center of the new Mysterium and paused long enough to take in the wonder of his surroundings. The walls of the room were lined with gilded sigils, the names of angels and demons who lent their power to those worthy enough to carry out their will.
As above, so below.
Now Jack Grew was higher than any other—quite literally. The rest of the men in attendance shivered and quaked in fear two floors below him, and the rest of the city was lower still.
It had been almost too easy to reach this point. The old men in the Inner Circle had been so taken with his demonstrations at the gala that they had been more than willing to allow him the privacy to work on the measures he’d proposed to seal the Mysterium—blood magic, as ancient as the Nile itself. Guaranteed not to be corruptible or breakable. They had been so excited about the enchantment, they’d never questioned his truthfulness. Why would they, when they never doubted his desire to join them? Who, after all, wouldn’t want to become one of the chosen?
Only the man who had already surpassed them all.
The Inner Circle—the High Princept, especially—never considered that membership in the Inner Circle meant nothing at all to Jack, so the High Princept never suspected that Jack had also given himself a way into the new Mysterium. A spare key, of sorts, that he had built into the very enchantment he’d devised.
On instinct, Jack patted the place where the Book usually sat in his jacket pocket. His pulse jumped to find the pocket empty, but he reminded himself that this was for the best. He’d left the Ars Arcana back in his rooms, under lock and key in a heavily warded safe. It had been a hard decision—the temptation to keep it always with him was enormous—but Jack couldn’t chance losing the Book, and he knew he couldn’t be sure that the Inner Circle wouldn’t have some surprise in store. He understood that some members still didn’t completely trust him, so he had to be prepared in case they’d layered in some other protection that he was unaware of.
He could not allow anyone to discover that he had the Order’s most prized and important artifact. Not now. Not when he was so close to retrieving the ring, and with it, to finally finishing his great machine. Still, the absence of the Book bothered him. Jack could almost feel the weight of it still there, a phantom limb.
So far everything was going to plan. It had been easy enough to duck out of the sanctuary without being seen, and when he’d arrived at the antechamber, the door opened easily, exactly as he’d planned. He’d found the balcony empty, as he’d hoped it would be.
Jack could have looked. There was part of him that wanted to. Seeing Barclay’s broken body splayed on the pavement below would have given him enormous satisfaction, but he wouldn’t be greedy. He would save that particular moment for after, when he would have the time to savor it.
Instead, he’d gone directly to the stairs, directly to the Mysterium above. There, the wall of windows at the end of the room made the streets of the city glow in an electrified gold, like an illuminated map through the crystalline glass. The windows had been specially designed and bespelled by the Inner Circle to reveal the truth of the Order’s power. Through them, the men of the Inner Circle could be reminded that the city—every inch of the island—had been touched by the Order’s power. The winding paths in Madison Square pulsed with a deep scarlet, and beyond the edge of the island, the Brink itself shimmered with ribbons of astounding colors, the only protection against the uncivilized threat of feral magic.
The strange threads of color looked different than they had earlier, though—the ribbons seemed more erratic, and now there was a shadowy darkness woven through their spaces. Jack wasn’t sure what could be causing such an effect. He’d heard the worries the old men in the Order had about the Brink, concerns that it was waning in its power, but it was more likely that the difference was simply an effect of the solstice’s power.
Either way, it didn’t truly matter. The Brink was already becoming irrelevant. The Order might have been emboldened by retrieving the Delphi’s Tear, but Jack knew that soon there would be more bridges and trains leading out of the city, maybe even a tunnel under the river. The Brink was a vestige of the past. It had served its purpose, but it would not be enough to stop the onslaught of maggots that insisted on coming to these shores. The Order must change to address that threat, or they, too, would fall into irrelevance, and their great nation—their peerless civilization—would fall to ruin.
Jack Grew would not allow that to happen.
In the center of the Mysterium was a replica of the Tree of Life wrought from iron and gold. Within the maze of its spindly branches were five open spaces, and in one of those spaces, the Delphi’s Tear floated, suspended in the Aether. The entire piece seemed to glow from within. For the time being, it had an extra layer of protection upon it, charged as it was by the power of the Golden Hour. If the Order had been able to complete their ceremony, this protection could have been extended in time, recharged at each subsequent solstice.
If the Order had been able to complete the ceremony…
The air around the ring shimmered as Jack circled the sculpture and examined the artifact, waiting. With the Delphi’s Tear, he would show the Order—no, the country—that there was a better way, a more modern and powerful approach to dealing with the threat of feral magic. He would show everyone how the occult sciences could change the world. He had only to wait for the golden light to dim, and with the confusion in the sanctuary below, the protections of the Golden Hour would fade. Jack would be able to take the ring and forge a new path toward a new future.
Once the sun had dipped below the horizon, Jack watched as the electrified streets began to dim. Far off, the Brink still lit the river with its strange colors, but the sculptural tree began to dim. Its protections began to wane. The Golden Hour had come to an end.
It was time.
Jack reached for the ring, certain of his victory, but he had not yet touched it when a pain erupted in the back of his head, sharp and absolute. His legs went out from under him at the impact, and he barely caught himself as he crumpled to the floor, his vision already blurring.
As Jack tried to gather his wits and focus through the pain, a masked figure stepped up behind him. Barely holding on to consciousness, Jack could only just make out the shape of a man. He realized then what had happened. Someone was there with him in the Mysterium. Someone had broken through every protection he’d created, throwing his plans into chaos.
No. This couldn’t be happening. Not again.
Before Jack could even bring himself to his knees, the thief had already grabbed the ring, dislodging it from the Aether, and then turned to retreat. But the instant the thief’s unworthy hands had touched the artifact, the protections Jack had put in place awoke. The medallion at the entrance of the Mysterium began to slide back into place, blocking the exit before the thief could reach it.
Jack couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation he found himself in as the thief darted around the room, looking for some other option. But there was no escape from a doorless room high above the city streets except one. Jack tried again to stand, but his head spun, and he collapsed again, unable to do more than simply lie there with the room swirling around him.
If he could make it to the doorway… perhaps he could pull himself across the floor and perform the ritual to open it—except that he knew that plan was pointless. Even if Jack could get himself out of this chamber, he was in no shape to stop the masked figure from also escaping. Better to be trapped there together. At least this way the bastard who’d hit him wouldn’t be able to take the ring. At least this way Jack could make it appear that he was protecting the Order’s treasures, and the old men would never know the truth.
Jack thought that he had planned so carefully. He’d been sure that he’d accounted for every possibility, and still this had happened. Soon the sanctuary below would open. Soon the Inner Circle would rush up to the Mysterium to check on the artifact, and the High Princept would use his blood to open the door. Soon they would find Jack here, and there would be questions.
