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Jianyu’s gaze went a little fuzzy, but he did not release his hold on the light. “What?”
“Wait outside and don’t let anyone see you,” Harte told him. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, it means something’s gone wrong, and you can let the others know what I’ve done. But don’t you dare come back for me alone.”
Then he released Jianyu and started up the steps to the apartment that had once belonged to Dolph Saunders.
The lock was a surprise, though perhaps it shouldn’t have been considering what he knew of Nibsy. It was easy enough to pick, and in a matter of seconds, he was inside.
He didn’t waste any time, did he? Harte thought, looking at the changes Nibsy had made in the once-familiar space. His gaze snagged on the painting above it. The one he’d seen just days before in the Professor’s office. It was another reminder of the future that might unfold if they didn’t manage to change the course of history.
It wouldn’t take Nibsy long to realize that the simultaneous arrival of both Johnny Torrio and Mock Duck was nothing more than a distraction, so Harte didn’t hesitate. He went to the bookcase, searching for the leather folder Jianyu had described. He’d sorted through one of the shelves when he heard the door open behind him.
He turned at the same time he heard a metallic snick. Nibsy already had a pistol primed and aimed directly at his chest.
Nibsy stepped into the apartment, not bothering to close the door behind him. “I wondered when I’d see you again, Darrigan. I have to say, I expected you sooner than this.”
Harte lifted his hands slowly, keeping his attention on the gun. But he didn’t miss what Nibsy was holding in his other hand.
“I assume you’re looking for these?” Nibsy lifted the leather portfolio and then tossed it onto a nearby table. “Well, there it is. Not that it’ll do you any good.”
“Don’t you think you should be downstairs with your guests?” Harte asked. “Careful, or you might lose your saloon.”
Nibsy only smiled, his eyes flashing with amusement behind his thick spectacles. “Your care is touching, Darrigan, but my people are far too loyal and too powerful to let anyone get the best of them. They’ll handle the problem. It’s not like they have a choice. Torrio and Sai Wing Mock should know better than to come into my territory making threats. And their alliance means nothing, not in the grand scheme of things.”
Harte realized that they’d made a tactical mistake. Both he and Jianyu had assumed Nibsy would protect his troops since they were all that stood between him and losing everything. They’d been wrong. It was clear now that Nibsy would sacrifice everyone in the barroom if it meant he might get his hands on the Book.
“I should have killed you,” Harte said, realizing that without Jianyu’s help, he had no way out.
“Such a shame you didn’t. Now you’ll never have the chance,” Nibsy told him with a small, amused smile.
He kept the gun on Harte as he poured a glass of Nitewein.
“Here.” Nibsy set the glass on the floor between them. “Drink it. I don’t want any unfortunate incidents with that affinity of yours.”
Harte stared at the glass and then looked back at the gun. He could try to lunge for him. He still had his affinity. But Nibsy’s skin was covered almost completely, and the gun would likely go off before he could use his magic.
“It’s the wine or a bullet, Darrigan,” Nibsy said. “I don’t need you alive, but it would make things so much more entertaining.”
Stay alive. It was the only thing that mattered.
He reached for the glass slowly, but at first he wouldn’t do more than look at the dark liquid inside. He had to delay a bit longer, until his command wore off and Jianyu realized he was gone.
What had he said? Had he commanded him to leave? He suddenly couldn’t remember.
Delay, he thought as he stared at the Nitewein. Someone will come.
Someone had to come. It wasn’t possible that he’d been so stupid to step right into Nibsy’s trap again.
“Oh, don’t worry so much, Darrigan,” Nibsy said as Harte considered the Nitewein. “You aren’t the one I want. You’re only the bait.”
THE MESSAGE
Central Park
Esta opened her eyes, and the darkness that she’d fallen through transformed itself back into the tunnel. She felt unsteady from all that had just happened—all she’d just seen—but the second she realized that the weather was bitterly cold and snow covered the ground beyond the tunnel’s entrance, she sprang to her feet. Her head swirled at the sudden movement, but she tried not to panic. Though it was damn hard to stay calm when her affinity was dead, the city was covered in snow, and Harte was nowhere to be seen—and when the memory of the unmade world was still clinging to her like old cobwebs.
Against her arm, the stone in her cuff thrummed with an unsteady warmth. At least she still had Ishtar’s Key. It meant that she hadn’t gone too far off course. She hadn’t crossed herself and the stone. Even though it wasn’t spring, as they’d planned, it meant that she still had a chance to sift back through the layers of years to Harte and to get things on track. Once the stone cooled, she could get back to where she’d intended to go. She could find Harte. Once her affinity returned.
If it returns.
