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Darrigan only frowned silently as he studied her. She wasn’t sure what he saw in her eyes or in her expression, but when he spoke, his voice had softened. “Does he know?”
Cela thought about denying what Darrigan’s words implied. She could have pretended that she didn’t understand or that he was out of place in his asking, but all she could think about was the way Jianyu had taken her in his arms when Theo had brought her back to the city. The strength and sureness of his embrace had made her think that he might feel as she did. But he was always so careful, and it was only sometimes that she caught him looking at her when he thought she didn’t notice.
She could have brushed off Darrigan’s question, but whether prayers or curses or ritual spells, there could be power in words. With Jianyu missing, with Viola bloodied and bruised before her, Cela couldn’t bring herself to lie.
“Sometimes I think he does,” she whispered. “Sometimes I think he maybe even feels the same.” She turned back to working on Viola’s back, though her hands didn’t move. “But he has ideas about who he is and what he deserves.”
“We all do,” Harte told her. “And we’re nearly always wrong.” He paused, and Cela wondered what he was thinking. She didn’t need to wonder who he was thinking about. “Jianyu’s a good man.”
“One of the best,” Cela agreed with a small, terrified smile.
“I’ll see about looking for him while you’re finishing up here,” Harte told her.
She hadn’t realized how tense she was until the worry coiling within her eased a little at Darrigan’s words. “You think you know where he might be?”
“Not yet,” Harte said. “But maybe Logan can help with that.”
“Be careful, Darrigan,” Cela warned. “This isn’t the same city you left. A lot has happened while you’ve been away.”
He gave her an unreadable look. “You have no idea how true that is.”
Once he was gone, Cela turned back to Viola and reached for her needle and thread. With the first poke and pull of the thread, Viola released a ragged, whimpering moan. Cela took that as a sign that she wasn’t dead yet and kept stitching.
SECOND CHANCES
Harte had complete confidence that Cela would be able to close up the ragged skin on Viola’s back, but he wasn’t sure if that would be enough. Dolph’s cane touched more than the surface of a person. The power within that silver gorgon’s head went far below the skin to destroy the person’s connection to old magic, but that connection—that part of any Mageus, no matter how strong or weak their power might be—was an essential part of them. Intrinsic and interwoven. Removing it, or even attempting to, usually meant death.
The fact that Viola wasn’t already dead made her damn lucky. She’d be even luckier if she walked away with her magic intact.
Logan was sitting at the kitchen table, right where Harte had told him to wait. He was staring off absently in the direction of the sink, or maybe he wasn’t looking at anything at all. He looked lost, like he was unsure of where he was or what he was supposed to be doing. But when he saw Harte enter the kitchen, he got to his feet. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something but then thought better of it.
Finally, when he did speak, Logan didn’t ask any of the questions Harte had expected.
“Back at the Strega, James made it sound like he expected Esta to be with you.” Logan took a step toward Harte. “Do you know where she is? I need to find her. I have to talk with her.”
Harte eyed the other boy, sizing him up. He tried to see what Esta might have seen and wondered if this guy had meant something to her once. “What do you want with her?”
The guy shook his head, lifting his hands a little. “No, it’s not like that. She’s like a sister to me.”
Harte only glared at him. “You brought her back here at gunpoint,” he reminded Logan. “Not exactly very brotherly of you.”
Logan at least had the grace to look embarrassed. “Look, man, I’m sorry about that, but I can’t undo it now. I just want to get back to my own time, back to my old life. Esta’s the only one that can do that for me, so if you know where she is, you gotta tell me. Please. I’m begging you.”
Harte knew Logan wasn’t anywhere close to begging, and for a second or two he considered reaching forward and grabbing Logan’s wrist. It would be so easy to let his affinity flare, to issue another series of commands. They could use a spy in the Bella Strega, one they could depend on. It might be worth the risk, even if Nibsy would likely expect it. But Esta’s voice was in his ears, brushing against his conscience about taking Logan’s free will.
It didn’t seem to matter that he’d already killed a boy today. He hadn’t hesitated in ending Werner’s life to save Viola’s. But he hesitated now. He wasn’t sure if that meant he was getting better or just getting soft.
It wasn’t that he trusted Logan, not after what he’d done to Esta. Not after he’d been standing there, healthy and unharmed and clearly part of Nibsy’s crew in the Strega. But Logan seemed sincere enough, and Harte Darrigan knew better than anyone that everyone deserved a second chance. And if he could use Logan? All the better.
“I don’t know where Esta is right now,” he told Logan honestly. “But she’ll find us eventually. In the meantime, I need your help to find a friend of ours.”
Logan crossed his arms over his chest, and the expression he wore gave his answer before his words did. “Why would I want to help you?”
“Because Esta will be here soon enough, and when she arrives, she’s not going to have a lot of incentive to help you, not after what you’ve done.” Harte shrugged. “But maybe if you helped a friend of hers, maybe she’d be more willing to listen to your sob story about how Nibsy made you do it.”
Logan’s nostrils flared with frustration.
“We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the easier way,” Harte told him, ready to use his magic if he needed to.
