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“Even now, Tammany is struggling to reassert themselves as the leaders in the city in opposition to the rich men who run the Order. But how can Tammany establish their power when the Order’s patrols of mercenaries continue to stir chaos in the streets? The police have been unable to stop them. They sweep up Mageus and Sundren alike, and they make Tammany look weak. But if someone could provide information to stop these patrols? If the police knew where and when they might strike, would Tammany not be grateful?”
Lee was silent at first, considering the proposal. “I am to believe you can provide this information?”
“And more,” Jianyu promised. “Think of it. With me as your eyes and ears, you will no longer be at the mercy of the Hip Sings’ violence. You can reassert your place with Tammany as well.”
“And in return? What do you expect?”
“Very little,” Jianyu said.
“I doubt that,” Tom Lee said, cutting his eyes in Jianyu’s direction.
Jianyu inclined his head. “I need assistance in locating someone beyond the reach of the city,” Jianyu explained. “A friend who is missing and likely in danger. I cannot leave the city, but your men could.”
Tom Lee considered this, but his eyes were steady, and his expression gave nothing away. Finally, he spoke. “How can I be sure of your loyalty?”
“Name your price,” Jianyu said.
“I want the Devil’s Own,” Lee said simply. “I want them all, and the territory now held by the Bella Strega along with them.”
Jianyu fought to keep his expression from showing even a flicker of the horror he felt. “You cannot truly believe it is possible for me to deliver you the loyalty of so many.”
Lee’s brows rose. “Do you not think I understand that Nibsy Lorcan is aligned with Mock Duck? He has chosen a side, and in doing so, he has entered the war.”
“I would happily make Nibsy pay for all he has done,” Jianyu said. “But the Devil’s Own, they are too vast, too diverse for me to guarantee their loyalty to you.”
“You are not the only one who hears whispers in the streets,” Lee said with a dark smile. “Nibsy Lorcan has a cane that once belonged to Saunders. I hear it has a certain power over the marks the Devil’s Own have inscribed in their skin. I will find your friend and offer my protection, and in return, you will deliver me that cane. This is the price of the alliance you propose.”
Jianyu thought of the mark on his own back and knew exactly what it would mean to hand Dolph’s cane over to Tom Lee. He would be handing over his life and the life of every person who had ever trusted Dolph.
But Cela was missing. Somewhere beyond the city, beyond his ability to help her, she was in trouble, and it was in large part his fault. He had sent her away unprotected, too shortsighted to consider that Nibsy could reach far beyond the Brink. He would buy her safety now, whatever the cost. And he would see to the safety of the others later. “I will take your bargain.”
“I thought you might,” Lee said. He went to a tall rosewood cabinet that stood on the far side of the room. From it, he took a black braided silk band and, unfastening the ends, he turned to Jianyu.
“What is that?” Jianyu said, suddenly uneasy. The thin piece of cord looked like nothing at all, and yet his skin crawled with the cold energy coming from its clasp.
“You are not the only one with access to magic,” Lee said. “I cannot trust your word, but I can trust this. You will wear this to seal our agreement. I will have command over you and your affinity…” Lee’s expression was cold, hard. “One way or the other.”
HIDDEN DEPTHS
1983—Times Square
At first Esta didn’t feel the cut, but then all at once, she felt the cold magic of Viola’s knife as the blade sank into her arm. She couldn’t stop herself from gasping. It hurt worse than she’d expected, and she’d expected it to hurt a lot. Harte stopped with her sharp intake of breath, but she told him to keep going.
“The faster this is over with, the better,” she told him. “The liquor’s already helping.”
It wasn’t, really. Not nearly enough. But the thing about pain, really bad pain, is that there’s a point at which it all starts to blend together. There’s a point where the body almost stops feeling it.
Almost.
Gritting her teeth, Esta refused to so much as whimper again as Harte methodically ran the tip of the knife around the gash in her arm. He would stop again if he knew how much it actually hurt, and he couldn’t stop. There was no way she could do this to herself.
She hadn’t allowed herself to think about what the wound had meant until they’d made it safely into the hotel room. She’d known immediately that the wound had felt wrong. But when she’d taken off the ruined overalls in the bathroom, she’d still been surprised. The gash in her side was simple enough to deal with, but the festering edges of the skin where the bullet had grazed her told a truth she couldn’t deny—it wasn’t a natural injury. The bullet had contained some kind of ritual magic that hadn’t existed in her version of the future. Even after she’d showered off the filth and scrubbed her arm clean, it looked like the infection had gotten worse. The cold still felt like it was spreading.
Harte worked slowly and carefully, his face tense with the concentration of slicing the tip of the knife through her skin without cutting too deeply. It was excruciating, but slowly, the cold magic of the wound was replaced by the warmth of her own blood. And then, finally, only the normal burning ache of a fresh cut remained.
When Harte was finished, blood welled, but there was no sign of the rotten magic that had drained the color from her skin and the affinity from her fingertips. When she reached for her affinity, it felt almost normal. The net of time hung around her, ready to be taken in hand, and only the barest whisper of Nibsy’s trap remained.
“You’re going to need stitches,” he told her, examining the bloody wound.
