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Ever since Harte had noticed that she was bleeding, the wound in Esta’s side had been aching more and more, but when the clerk behind the counter recognized them, that pain fell away. From the way he was searching blindly under the counter, he’d probably already triggered a silent alert. She had to get them out of there, but her affinity was still fuzzy, and they needed the supplies.
“We’re not—” she started, but the old man pulled out a gun before she could finish. It was a small snub-nosed pistol, but the size didn’t matter much in such close quarters. He was already pointing it in their direction.
“Put your hands up,” he demanded. “The reward for the two of you is dead or alive, so I don’t care if I have to shoot you.”
Esta felt Harte go still next to her, freezing at the sight of the gun, just as she had. She reached for her magic again, and she could almost grasp her affinity. But it still felt slippery and just beyond her reach.
“We don’t want any trouble,” Harte said as he lifted his hands. He was using his most charming voice, the one he’d used onstage when he wanted to entrance an audience.
“Then you should have stayed the hell out of our city,” the old man sneered. All the while the sirens were drawing closer.
“We’ll leave,” she told him, wondering if she could still grab the basket as she backed away slowly. “We’re going now.”
“Like hell you are,” the old man said, drawing back the hammer on the pistol as he aimed it toward Harte. “You’re not getting away again. Not after you kidnapped that poor girl and murdered her in the subway.”
Esta knew what was about to happen. There was too much anger and hatred radiating from the clerk for him to stand down. Even without her affinity, time seemed to go slow. His thumb had already cocked the hammer of the gun. His finger was on the trigger, was easing it back.
On instinct, she leaped in front of Harte, pushing him aside as she reached once more for her affinity, and… there. This time her fingertips brushed along her magic, and she managed to pull the seconds slow just as she careened into Harte and knocked him to the floor.
Heat erupted through her arm. Her connection to the old magic already felt unsteady, but now it felt like holding a live wire. But she gritted her teeth against the discomfort and held tight.
With the world frozen around them, the sound of the gunshot echoed like a far-off cannon, long and low, and there was an icy energy coursing through her arm. Her affinity still felt too unsteady—too dangerous—to focus on anything but holding tight to the seconds. She closed her eyes and focused on her connection to the old magic, but it slipped from her fingers as another shot rang out. The linoleum tile shattered next to where they’d fallen.
“We have to go. Now,” she told Harte through gritted teeth as she reached for the seconds again.
Her affinity was there, but the cold that had rocketed through her when the bullet grazed her was getting worse. The icy throbbing in her arm felt like it was radiating from the wound, numbing her and wreaking havoc on what little of her affinity she could sense. The seconds still felt slippery and wild, and she didn’t know how long she could keep hold of them.
As Harte pulled her to her feet, he saw that the bullet had grazed her arm. “You’re hit.”
“I’m fine,” she told him, brushing off the fear in his stormy eyes. It wasn’t completely a lie. She’d been grazed by a bullet before, so she knew this one hadn’t done any real damage to her body, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that it had done something to her magic. Her arm burned like hell, if ice could burn, and the pain seemed to be spreading. She couldn’t think too much about what that might mean, though—not until they were safe. “Get the basket of supplies.”
Harte grabbed the plastic shopping basket, and then he ripped the gun from the clerk’s hand for good measure. Together, they ran. Her arm screamed as she pushed open the heavy glass shop door, but she managed to keep hold of the seconds this time, despite the pain.
Outside, the streets around Times Square were frozen. People were halted mid-stride across busy intersections. The yellow flash of unmoving taxicabs dotted the crowded streets. Lights gleamed steadily, no longer flashing or twinkling. The persistent drone of the city, with its blaring horns and constant noise, was silent.
It was almost a comfort. Esta had done this so many times before. When things had gotten to be too much for her, when she needed a break—when she’d needed to feel in control of something in her life—she’d come to Times Square to watch the tourists take photos of everything and get swindled on fake Rolexes. She’d been just a kid then, but it had felt miraculous every time. Then, her magic had felt like a lifeline, the only thing that made sense. Now, with the tenuous grasp she had on the seconds, her affinity felt like a liability. They had to get moving.
She started walking without any idea about where they should go. There was a whole city they could hide in, but thanks to whatever tale Nibsy told the Guard, everyone was searching for them. Esta’s mind raced, trying to think about where she was. When she was.
The subway wasn’t an option, and neither was a taxi, so getting away from Times Square would be tricky. But there had to be somewhere they could hide for a while and regroup without anyone seeing them.
When they rounded the corner, they nearly ran into a trio of policemen frozen in time, and at the sight of them, Esta’s magic slipped for just a second, and the world slammed back into motion. The noise of Times Square—squealing breaks and blaring horns and the drone of traffic and people—assaulted her. She saw the instant the police recognized them, but she couldn’t quite grasp her magic.
“Run,” she told Harte, ignoring her arm as she pulled him away from the police.
She could hear the cops behind her, shouting for the two of them to stop, but she plunged on, darting down the crowded sidewalks, dodging around pedestrians until—there—she finally managed to grasp the seconds.
The world went silent again, but she didn’t stop tugging Harte onward through the tableau of now-frozen pedestrians. Her connection to the old magic felt even more unsteady than it had a moment before, and the ice in her arm was definitely spreading.
Then Esta realized where they could go. It was perfect. Times Square had changed dramatically since 1902, and most of the buildings that rose around them now hadn’t been there at the beginning of the century. But she knew one that had. They could even slip back into the past without ever leaving, if they needed to.
“This way,” she said, pulling Harte farther east along Forty-Fifth Street. They’d gone only a few yards when her magic slipped again, but this time no one seemed to notice that the two of them had basically just appeared out of nowhere. With the injury to her arm, she decided to let time spin on for a little while. She’d need her strength for what was coming next.
When they reached Sixth Avenue, they turned south and went one more block until she saw the cream stone and hunter-green awnings of the Algonquin Hotel. Despite all the changes in this part of town, the Algonquin had been a constant.
“Don’t you think we should get away from this area?” Harte asked, frowning a little when she slowed to a stop in front of the hotel. He tossed a nervous look behind them.
“Probably,” she admitted. “But running ourselves to exhaustion isn’t going to help anything. It’ll be safe enough here if we can get into a room without being seen.”
