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PART I
ONLY A DREAM
1920—Brooklyn
Esta stared down at the small book in front of her. If not for the power radiating from it, the Ars Arcana would have been unimpressive. Unremarkable, even. It was smaller than one might expect of such a fabled object, bound in worn leather that had long since cracked and peeled from age. But the design carved into its cover was astounding. Clear and crisp, the geometric shapes were layered and woven into one another to form a complex sigil. The lines were so entangled that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the next began.
So much was riding on what the Book of Mysteries contained—the information and the magic within its pages—that Esta hadn’t been able to fall asleep. She knew she should probably wait for Harte, but impatience made her a little reckless. She hadn’t been able to stop herself from taking the Book from the satchel and running her finger along the intricate design carved into the leather of the cover. At the soft brush of her touch, the Book shuddered. The Aether around her trembled in response. Even the very quintessence of existence seemed to understand that the piece of pure, untouched magic within those pages could remake the world. Or destroy it.
For what was Aether but time, the very substance that carved order from chaos? And what was magic but the promise of power within chaos? Time and magic. Order and chaos. Once, the two had existed in a fragile equilibrium. Like the ouroboros, the ancient image of a serpent fated to forever devour its own tail, time kept magic in check, and the wild chaos of magic spurred time onward. But a mistake—an act of hubris, however well meaning—had changed everything. Now, deep within the Ars Arcana, a piece of the beating heart of magic waited. Severed and separated from time by an act of ritual, it was impossibly potent and dangerous. In the wrong hands, its power could cause unthinkable destruction.
Esta glanced over her shoulder to where Harte was still sleeping on the low sofa. On a makeshift pallet nearby, North’s boy, Everett, snored softly as well. Even in sleep, he looked so much like his father. But North wasn’t with them any longer. He had sacrificed himself for Everett—for the hope of a better future for all Mageus—in Chicago. And Esta would not allow that sacrifice to go wasted. She would do everything she could to claim them a different fate.
The enigmatic owner of the Nitemarket, Dominic Fusilli, had dropped them off at one of his warehouses in Brooklyn and told them to get some rest. As far as Esta knew, she was alone with the Book in the stillness of the night.
She could wake Harte—she probably should wake him—but it had been nearly two days since he’d had any real sleep, and he was still weak from being sick in California. He needed the rest. And also, she wasn’t ready to tell him yet—not about what Seshat had revealed back in Chicago nor about what Esta had done to save his life. She’d promised to finish the ritual Seshat had started eons before, a ritual to place that severed piece of magic back into the whole of creation. It was a promise she had no idea how to keep.
The Book trembled again, beckoned. The answers were within those pages.
They have to be.
Her finger had barely made contact with the ancient cover when, suddenly, the Ars Arcana threw itself open, and the most terrible wailing split the silence of the night as the pages began flipping in a seemingly endless wave. Which shouldn’t have been possible. The Book wasn’t that big. There shouldn’t have been that many pages. Then, just as suddenly as the Book had opened, its pages burst with a blinding flash of light so bright, Esta had to flinch away, shielding her eyes from its brilliance. When the light dimmed and her eyes readjusted, she was no longer in the warehouse in Brooklyn but back on the stage of the Chicago Coliseum. The Book was gone.
In her hand was the hilt of the dagger that held the Pharaoh’s Heart, and beneath her, Jack writhed, his eyes open in rage and fear. She lifted the dagger, knowing what she must do—what she had done. What she would do a thousand times over. She knew what would happen next, the sickening crunch of bone. The terrible sinking of the ancient dagger’s blade as it sucked itself deep into Jack’s chest.
You would be so willing to kill for the power in these pages?
A voice echoed inside her head—it was her own voice and not her own at the same time. Startled, she stopped with the dagger over her head. All around, the crowd in the massive arena had gone silent.
Of course she would kill for the Book. She already had.
And now? Will you take the beating heart of magic as your own…? Or will you give it over to the one who thinks herself a goddess?
The voice was no longer her own but Thoth’s—the same voice that had spoken to her before, in Denver. In Chicago as well.
Will you sacrifice yourself for Seshat’s mistakes? Do you trust in her promises so absolutely?
Esta shook her head, trying to shake off the voice. It couldn’t be Thoth. She’d destroyed him and the danger he posed along with him, but the memory of him was so strong, and his words were already worming into her mind, poking at her misgivings and fears.
She will not save you, the voice whispered. Given the chance, Seshat will destroy you and the world itself. For what? For simple vengeance.
It was no less than Seshat had threatened for months now. But they’d made a bargain. Harte’s life for Esta’s promise…
You will die to keep that promise, the voice threatened. But there is another way. Give your affinity over willingly, like so many have before you. You need not die. With your affinity, I could control Seshat’s power. Your magic could remove Seshat from the Magician without destroying the boy who holds your heart. You could live beyond the reach of time, and your magician with you.
She wanted to deny the temptation in those words, but she couldn’t. How?
With the beating heart of magic.
The voice spoke again, a crooning caress along the inside of her mind. Think of all you could do if only you would have the courage to take what I offer. Think of the chaos you brought into the world. Think of those you could save: Your friend who tumbled from the sky… All those who have died because of you… Your parents… Your magician, who is destined to be consumed by the demon within him.
Seshat will not save them. She will not save you.
It was a temptation. It would have been a lie not to admit that to herself. To save Mari and North. To save Dolph and Leena, the mother she’d never met. To know that Harte would be safe.
Think of what you could do with the power in these pages, the voice tempted. It was her voice now, and Thoth’s as well. Both together. Terrible and enticing all the same. The demon bitch was too weak to truly take it as her own. But you, girl… you are more than Seshat could ever be. With the power in these pages, you could become infinite. Think of it, the voice whispered. Think of what you could accomplish if magic—pure magic, true magic—answered only to you.
No. Esta recoiled from the idea. She’d seen what the quest for power had done to Seshat. To Jack. To Thoth. She didn’t want the power in the Book; she only wanted to replace it into the whole of creation, where it belonged. She only wanted to complete the ritual that Seshat had started so long ago, as she’d promised she would.
