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“You said you didn’t want to help,” she said to Joshua, still not understanding. “No one wanted to help.”
Joshua shrugged. “I didn’t. I’m still not willing to get mixed up with any sort of magic, but you didn’t really expect I’d leave my man here hanging, did you?”
Her brother was looking too smug for his own good.
“I didn’t—” Cela didn’t know what to say. “Thank you,” she finished finally. It was all that seemed appropriate, and still it wasn’t nearly enough.
“Come on, Rabbit,” Abel said, once Joshua had gone off on his own way. “We need to get going. It’s not going to take too long before Kelly’s boys realize what happened.”
Cela looked to Viola. The Italian girl had been standing apart from them, and now her arms were wrapped around herself, like she’d caught a chill despite the warm summer air. There was a lot that needed to be said, but Cela wasn’t sure where to start, so she settled for the thing that seemed most important. “Thank you,” she said softly, stepping closer to Viola. “We owe you our lives.”
Viola’s cheeks flushed, and she looked away. “It was nothing.”
“That’s not at all true,” Cela said, laying a hand on Viola’s arm. Jianyu had told her a little about how Viola felt using her affinity to kill. She had some sense of what the choice to take out the Five Pointers might have cost her. “You kept my brother safe. You came back for us. If you hadn’t, we’d probably be dead.”
Viola looked up finally. “I made a promise to you before.”
Cela paused, remembering that night… the conversation they’d had in the darkened doorway of Mr. Fortune’s house. Then, she hadn’t been ready to give an inch, not after how ugly Viola had acted. Now? She wasn’t sure what to think or where this put them, but she had the sense that they were somewhere new. “Thank you for keeping that promise.” She let her hand fall away. “Where’s Jianyu?”
“He’ll come soon,” Viola told Cela, but then her gaze rose.
When Cela turned, she could see the Flatiron Building rising above the city, slicing into the twilight sky.
She was about to turn back to Viola when she saw it—a man falling from the topmost point. He was no more than a speck plummeting to the ground, his arms spread like a bird’s, as if he were about to take flight.
RIOTOUS FURY
1920—Chicago
The Chicago Coliseum had become a riot of noise and confusion. Harte had barely blinked, and suddenly Esta had appeared on the stage in the center of the room. She was holding the Book in her hand, but Jack Grew had her by the wrist. Seshat railed at the sight, but Harte barely noticed. All he was focused on was the way Jack was gripping Esta’s arm and the fact that she hadn’t already been able to wrestle away from him. Jack held on tightly to Esta despite her writhing, and within seconds he’d taken the Ars Arcana from her and shoved it back inside his jacket.
The Book hardly seemed to matter anymore, though, not when Harte saw the fear that was stark in Esta’s expression. For once he understood Seshat’s point. At that instant, he would have gladly destroyed everything just for the opportunity to kill the bastard.
Harte was already pushing his way through the riotous crowd to get to Esta when he felt another blast of cold energy shuttle through the room. Suddenly the doors to the arena clanged shut, and as the cold settled over him, Harte realized that he couldn’t move. Struggle as he might, he could not take even one more step toward Esta. He was trapped in the eerie unnatural energy, locked in place and powerless.
“Help me,” Harte said to Seshat, not caring who heard him. “If I can get to Jack, I will destroy Thoth.”
I remember too well what happened the last time you made that promise. I gave you every chance, and you wasted it on an urchin.
This is different.
Is it? Seshat mused. You had a chance already to kill him, or don’t you remember? In the train station, weeks ago, the girl would have ended him. You stopped her then. Why should I trust you now? Why should I risk everything I am—everything the old magic could ever be—when you’ve allowed weakness to rule your actions again and again?
It wasn’t weakness to save my brother, and it wasn’t weakness to spare Esta the horror of taking a life, Harte argued.
No?
No. This time is different, Harte promised. This time, I will kill him with my own two hands.
You have no chance, Seshat told him, her voice hollow. Maybe before, you could have fought him. Perhaps you could have destroyed him years ago, when you stopped the girl from taking his life. Perhaps then… But now? Look around. Thoth has had far too long to reveal the secrets of the Book to the body that carries him. You should have let me have the girl. I would have ended Thoth and all of the hatred he has inspired before his power could grow. Look at what he has become. Look what your weakness has done.
Harte did look—the entire hall was in an uproar. Those who had been sitting without making any judgment were now on their feet with the rest. Confusion swirled in the air, and stirring it was fear and hatred so thick that Harte could practically taste it, bitter on his tongue.
“So you’re giving up?” he demanded. “You would let Thoth win?”
Seshat was silent, and Harte had the sense that she was waiting for something. But he couldn’t understand her hesitation, not now when the danger—and the opportunity—were so clear.
Jack ignored the noise of the crowd and stepped to the microphone, dragging Esta along with him. His hand still locked around her wrist, he shouted, “As above!”
