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“We should go, Morgan.” Barclay stepped forward.
“My people will take care of the fire,” Morgan growled. “This house is built like a fort. We’re not in any real danger.”
“I’m not waiting to find out,” Barclay said, already pushing past Morgan.
Morgan tried to block his way. “You can’t leave yet. You haven’t told me what you’ve heard. You said there was news.”
“The news can wait, John. I’m not going to leave my wife a widow because you’re too thick-skulled to take the appropriate precautions,” Barclay said, pushing past. The other man and the Princept started to follow.
Jianyu saw his opportunity, and without further hesitation, he scooped up the parchment, and the leather envelope as well, tucking them beneath his tunic and obscuring them with the light, just before Morgan turned back to the room and saw the now-empty desk.
Morgan lurched for the desk, giving Jianyu just enough room to slip past him and out the door, dodging around the retreating men of the Inner Circle and harried servants as he went. Behind him, he could hear Morgan cursing.
He slipped out of the mansion with a group of servants, hidden from their sight by the power of his affinity. There was smoke in the air, but there was something else as well—the telltale warmth of magic sizzled through the heat of the summer night. It brushed against Jianyu’s neck, lifting the short hair there in warning. He did not have to wait long to figure out where it was coming from. Across the street, Nibsy Lorcan waited, concealed by the crowd of people who had gathered to watch dark smoke pour from Morgan’s coal cellar.
Alarms clanged in the distance, growing ever closer, as Jianyu turned away. But he had not taken more than two steps when he felt ice creeping along the ink on his back. His steps froze as the pain intensified and his panic grew.
When he turned, Nibsy was watching him—or, rather, he was watching the spot where Jianyu was standing since Jianyu had not yet released the light. Tentatively, he took a step toward Nibsy, and the ice in his chest eased just a little.
So this is his game. He took another step, and then another, slowly moving toward the crowd of people where Nibsy waited. With each step he took, the icy warning in his skin eased a little. When he was nearly an arm’s reach away, Nibsy spoke.
“We need to talk.” Nibsy kept his eyes on the column of dark smoke coming from the mansion. He did not bother to look over at the spot where Jianyu stood. Why should he? Jianyu knew he could sense him through the marks. “Come,” he said, turning away, back into the crowd.
He hesitated, but as soon as Nibsy began walking away, Jianyu felt the mark etched into his skin surge with a cold energy that turned his blood to ice and his knees weak with fear. Wordlessly he followed. Because he did not have a choice.
NO ONE IS SAFE
1983—Orchard Street
When Esta finally drew back from Harte, the warmth of his mouth remained imprinted upon her lips. With the seconds hanging in the net of time and the world silent around them, she paused to catch her breath, to marvel that he was there at all. While she’d been plotting her escape, he’d come for her. Somehow, Harte had known the other Esta wasn’t her. Even after he’d watched her die, he’d come to Professor Lachlan’s building—to find her. To save her.
Esta Filosik had never been the type to want or need saving, but now, looking into Harte’s stormy gray eyes, she wasn’t about to complain.
“As nice as that was…,” Harte started.
“Nice?” she asked, pretending to be insulted. “You think that was nice?”
His eyes softened. “There aren’t words for what that was,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips and placing a kiss on the center of her palm.
She felt her cheeks go warm. She felt everything go warm.
“But we should get going.” He lowered their joined hands. “If my experience getting in here is anything to go by, we should expect anything trying to get out.”
Together, they moved to the bank of now-frozen monitors, looking for the best path of escape. It was clear that the Guardsmen had already fanned out through the building. Knowing where the Guards were would help in avoiding them, but Esta wasn’t ready to leave. Not yet.
“We need to go back up to the library,” she told Harte.
“Esta, no.” He shook his head. “We have to get out of the building. Now. While we still can.”
“Harte, every secret Nibsy ever wanted to hide is up there,” she said.
His brows drew together. “We’ll come back.”
“What if the Guard takes everything before we can? We don’t have to go back blind,” she said, remembering how fat the file in the safe was. And there was Nibsy’s diary as well. “It’s more than just knowing what happened in the past, Harte. Nibsy knew how to complete the ritual to neutralize Seshat, didn’t he? He wouldn’t have bothered if he didn’t also know how to use the Book’s power. He’s been studying and planning for nearly a century, and the information upstairs is our best chance for understanding how to fix everything without making any more mistakes,” she told him. “The answers we need are up there. But we’re not the only ones who could use that information.” She tapped at the image on the screen, the men mounting the staircase. “We have to get his notebooks and files, and we have to get them now. Before they do.”
He wanted to argue. Esta could see it there in the sharp lines of his face, the set determination of his expression.
“You know I’m right about this,” she told him.
