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“Neither should you,” Viola scolded. “We’re a team, no? You and Darrigan should have included us. Maybe this”—she gestured toward his clear injuries—“wouldn’t have happened.”
Or perhaps it would have been worse, Jianyu thought. But he knew better than to start a pointless argument when Viola was snapping with temper.
In the distance, Jianyu could hear shouting coming from the saloon. It sounded like an argument or brawl. The voices were louder, and the uproar far more violent than he had expected. Something crashed, like glass shattering.
What had they done?
Jianyu had never intended to put the Devil’s Own in danger, only to keep Nibsy occupied. Which clearly had not worked. Nibsy had not been distracted, and now the Strega sounded as though it were at war.
He thought to go, started to turn in the direction of the noise. They needed to stop the madness that Darrigan’s affinity had inspired, but he was only upright because Darrigan and Esta were supporting him.
“Whoa,” Esta said gently. “Wrong direction.”
“But the Strega—”
“We don’t have time,” Darrigan told him.
They were already dragging him out the back door of the building before he could argue any further.
Outside, snow swirled in the air. The clouds had grown heavier above, making the daylight seem slanted. Everything looked softer somehow, cleaner and quieter than it had before. Or maybe that was the loss of blood and the pain making him delirious.
They were barely out the door when he saw the familiar wagon from the New York Age waiting across the street. There was Cela sitting on the driver’s perch, watching the building, her long legs clad in trousers and a man’s cap pulled low over her brow. There was nothing about her that looked remotely like the boy she was playing at being, especially not once she noticed they’d emerged. The instant her eyes locked on him and saw that he was injured, she was moving.
But the change in her expression—the fear in her eyes—had warmth blooming inside him, pushing away the pain despite the icy wind and the cold energy radiating through his arm. That warmth felt too close to joy. Too close to wanting.
He could not allow himself to believe that the concern he had seen flash across Cela’s features was for him alone. She would have felt the same no matter who was injured. He would not start thinking that he had any right to her care. He could not begin hoping for that.
Cela opened the gate of the wagon, her expression still painted with fear, and she watched as they helped Jianyu into the back. He felt like a fool—weak as a child—as Cela helped Darrigan and Esta get him into the wagon, but he did not have the strength to bat them away. He kept his jaw clenched tight, though, so he wouldn’t cry out and betray the amount of pain he was currently in.
Once everyone had climbed into the back, Cela hesitated. Her gaze had caught on the bloody mess of his hand, and when she lifted her eyes to meet his, he could not read the emotion there. It was not pity. It was not even fear any longer. She closed the door, securing them, before Jianyu could begin to understand why the look she had given him made him feel so very… unsettled.
The jerk of the wagon starting off shot a fresh burst of pain through him. He could not quite stop the grunt of pain that escaped. At least the others were too busy with each other to notice how badly he was hurt. Harte was looking at Esta as though he had just unearthed a rare treasure, taking her face in his hands and examining her for any sign of injury. Viola was checking that Ruby was unharmed as well.
“I don’t know why you’re worried about me when Jianyu’s the one who’s actually hurt,” Ruby said, brushing her aside.
Viola turned then, as though she had forgotten, and from the way her expression shifted and the color drained from her cheeks, Jianyu understood exactly how bad he must look.
“Madonna,” she whispered, looking down at his arm. “What happened in there?”
“Nibsy,” Darrigan said darkly, which seemed to be all the explanation that any of them needed.
“What did he do to your arm?” Esta asked, gesturing at the place where the black cord had embedded itself into Jianyu’s skin.
It was worse than it had been. There was no denying that fact. Before, the piece of braided silk thread had been cutting into his skin, which had been bad enough. Now, the bit of thread had changed, transformed by the corrupt magic it contained. It no longer appeared to be a solid, braided cord. It seemed to be transforming, as though the silk had been liquefied by the magic within it and was melting into him, fusing with his skin. The braided threads appeared to be separating as well, and now some had begun to vine up his arm, like deadly tendrils seeking out the affinity that lay within him. More crept down beneath the blood coating his hand, and they were still moving, slowly but steadily creeping and spreading their terrible cold energy with every passing second.
“That isn’t Nibsy’s work,” Viola told Esta. “It’s part of the bargain this one made with Tom Lee.” As the carriage bumped and rattled and Jianyu tried to keep himself from crying out in pain, Viola explained the situation that had driven him to make his foolish alliance. “He wanted protection for Cela, but that bit of evil was the price of the agreement.”
“It was necessary,” Jianyu argued. He would not regret the choice he had made. It did not matter that Cela had been safe all along. She had been in danger, and if Theo Barclay had not reached her first, his bargain might have been the only thing to protect her. It was worth it, mistake though it might have been. Cela’s life would always be worth it, whatever the price might be.
“You could have waited,” Viola argued.
“Would you have?” he asked, glancing from Viola to Ruby and back.
She understood his silent message, and at least she was honest enough not to say anything more.
“He put his affinity up as collateral for Lee’s help?” Esta said.
“And Lee seems to be ready to call in the deal,” Darrigan said. He lifted Jianyu’s wrist to examine it, eliciting a fresh grunt of pain from Jianyu.
