The Devil's Thief

by Lisa Maxwell

  Esta ducked, keeping herself low as she shoved her way to the edges of the madness, and when she reached the other side, she pulled time around her and ran.

  She didn’t let go of time until she was outside the building and at the carriage where North was waiting. The sounds of the night returned as she opened the door and climbed in.

  “Go!” she told him, looking back out the window.

  He didn’t look up from picking at his fingernails with the blade of a knife.

  “Go!” she said again. “We need to get out of here.”

  “Let’s just give it a minute or two to be sure.”

  He’s insane.

  Her breathing was still ragged from running out of the building and down the block, and her heart felt as though it would pound its way straight out of her chest. When you did a job, you didn’t just wait around to get caught. “We need to get out of here before the police come.”

  “We have time,” he said again, putting the knife away in his back pocket. He took out the pocket watch from inside his vest and considered it. “I’d say we got at least two more minutes to go.”

  Because she’d used her affinity to escape, it took nearly four.

  North had just picked up the revolver when they heard the echo of a small explosion.

  Esta’s stomach dropped. “You said it wasn’t a bomb,” she told him, her mouth dry as she thought of all the people who had been in that room—workers, laborers, all who had come to listen because they needed hope. She’d been so angered by Lipscomb’s words that she hadn’t considered the other people when she set the device for him.

  “No,” he said, meeting her eyes. “I said nobody was going to die, and they won’t. The explosives in that package won’t do more than take a leg or an arm—just enough to put Lipscomb into the hospital and keep him out of our way.” He twisted the knob on the side of his watch as the first of the people began to pour from the doorway of the building. With them came a dense, cloudlike fog, and even from more than a block away, Esta could feel the strange, icy-hot magic in the air.

  “What did you do to them?” she asked.

  “It’s not what we did to them,” he told her, glancing up from the watch. “It’s what you did for them.”

  He clicked the watch closed, and Esta didn’t have time to contemplate the meaning of his words before she felt her veins turn to ice and the world went white.

  THE LAKE

  1902—New York

  Viola felt as though she couldn’t breathe. “What do you mean, it was done with magic?” she asked Ruby. The girl’s skin had gone from the palest cream to a high pink as she spoke, moved by the furor of her convictions. It didn’t make her any less attractive.

  “Jack was clear. The train didn’t just derail. There wasn’t a bomb. The two of them—Harte Darrigan, who was supposed to have died on the Brooklyn Bridge the day before the accident, and this Esta Filosik—used magic to destroy the train.” Ruby leaned forward. “They used magic beyond the Brink.”

  “That isn’t possible,” she told Ruby. Not unless Darrigan had the Book. And for Esta to be with him? No.

  “If it wasn’t true, why would the Order go to such lengths to stop me from telling people?” Ruby asked.

  But all Viola could do was shake her head numbly.

  “The very fact that they were willing to hire your brother to kill me shows just how true it is. There are Mageus outside the city, and there’s more,” Ruby added. “Jack told me what really happened at Khafre Hall the night it burned.”

  Viola’s stomach suddenly felt like it was filled with molten lead. “He did?” she said, trying to keep her voice steady, even as she wondered how deep the water around her might be. Had this all been a trap?

  “They were robbed,” Ruby told her, satisfaction shining in her eyes. “A group of Mageus walked into their headquarters and took all their precious treasures.”

  “Oh?” Viola’s voice sounded weak, even to herself.

  Ruby nodded, her midnight eyes shining. “Yes, but the Order is still trying to cover it up. No one has let anything slip about who the thieves were or what they stole. As long as the people in this city believe that the Order is all powerful, they’ll keep supporting them. That’s why I need you. I need to know what happened in Khafre Hall.”

  “I don’t know anything about what you’re talking about,” Viola said, forgetting where she was for a second. She almost lurched to her feet, but the rocking of the boat reminded her. “Take me back,” she told Theo. “I’m done with this. With all of this.”

  “What is it?” Ruby asked, legitimately confused. “If you’re worried about being attacked, we can protect you.”

  “You?” Viola laughed at the ridiculousness of the girl’s statement. “You are going to protect me?”

  “We can make sure you’re safe from Paul Kelly when the story comes out—”

  “Paul?” Viola asked, surprised.

  “Don’t you see?” Ruby said, lowering her voice. “It all makes sense. Kelly has Torrio—a Mageus—working for him at the same time that Khafre Hall is robbed? Paul Kelly, who is already known to be a notorious criminal—no offense,” she added, her cheeks going pinker still.

  Viola waved away her apology. “You think my brother is the one who broke into Khafre Hall?” she asked, astounded. It was better than Ruby knowing about Viola’s own involvement, but not much better.

  “I don’t know for sure, but that’s how you could help me. If we could prove that he did it, we could take down a crime boss and the Order all at once. Tammany would have to turn against Kelly, because they’re interested in the Order’s favor, and everyone would know that the Order is weak and pointless. And if we can find out what Kelly’s guys took from them, maybe we could even track the objects down and make sure they don’t fall into the wrong hands.”

  Ruby’s mind was a marvel, but it was a dangerous marvel. If the girl insisted on investigating this, it was more than possible that she’d eventually discover the connection to Dolph, and to Viola herself. But if Ruby depended upon Viola for the information, Viola could direct it the way that she wanted. And if she was very smart, she could destroy Nibsy Lorcan in the process.

  She’d been wavering about what she would do, but the idea of seeing Nibsy brought low made up her mind. Yes, her brother might be her own blood, but he’d chosen his path. Viola took a packet from the basket she was carrying and held it out to Ruby.

  “What is this?” Ruby’s eyes widened as she held out her hands.

  Viola hesitated. “Receipts for the last few months,” she told her. “I don’t know what’s in it, or if it will even help, but Paul, he has big plans. In the last week alone, he’s already sent four of his Five Pointers out of the city.”

  “For what?” Ruby asked.

  Viola shrugged. “I’m not sure, but he wants a bigger piece of the world than the streets of this city can offer, and I know my brother. The wide world doesn’t need him meddling in it.”

  Ruby’s brows drew together as she flipped through the receipts, studying them. “Is there anything more?”

  “There’s more, but Paul keeps them close. I haven’t been able to get to them.” Viola frowned at the thought of how closely her brother and his boys watched her. “But I will.”

  “When?” Ruby pressed, holding the package close to her.

  “When I can,” Viola said, irritated at the note of insistence in Ruby’s tone.

  “That isn’t good enough,” Ruby told Viola, her voice rising in volume as she hugged the parcel of documents even closer. “I need to know a date.”

  “Ruby,” Theo said gently. He’d been rowing them steadily back to the edge of the lake.

  “I’m not your servant,” Viola huffed. “You don’t get to tell me what to do or when.”

  “I never said you were,” Ruby said, her pale cheeks flaming red. “I just meant—”

  “You meant nothing, principessa,” Viola snapped. The stress of being trapped so close
to Ruby, of being cornered in so many ways, broke over the dams she’d built and poured out of her in a fiery tirade. “That is your problem. The risks you take, the dangers you put yourself in, all while dragging this one along with you like a puppy to heel—”

  “Hey,” Theo interjected, but Viola ignored him and continued.

  “In your pretty little world, you’re too safe to know what danger is. You give your commands, and you don’t even bother to watch people jump. But you can’t make me jump.”

  “I never—” Ruby started. “That is . . . You’re just—” And then she sputtered a bit more before she made an exasperated sound and turned away.

  Viola pretended that she hadn’t seen the way Ruby’s eyes had gone glassy or the way her voice shook. Instead, she too turned away, ignoring both of them.

  For the next few minutes, Theo continued to row them back. The moment they docked, Ruby was on her feet, being helped out of the boat by the attendant. She stomped off without another word, spoiled rich girl that she was.

  Theo hopped out first and then helped Viola, who hated the feeling of the boat lurching beneath her, onto the dock. For a moment they stood in an uneasy silence, as though neither of them wanted to be the first to leave.

  “I’m not going to apologize, if that’s what you’re waiting for,” she said to Theo, who was watching her with too-steady eyes.

  His mouth curved up, but his expression was sad. “I wasn’t waiting for anything of the sort.”

  She glared at him. “Then why are you still here?”

  “I’m thinking. . . .” He tapped his chin, his eyes squinting against the sun. “She means well, you know.”

  Viola just glared at him.

  “I know what she looks like to you, but I’ve known Ruby since we were both knee-high. She’s had a rough time of it, first with her father and then with everything that’s happened to her family since. She really does want to help. In her own way, she’s trying to do something worthy.” But when Viola continued to glare at him, he let out a sigh. “This isn’t going to end well, is it?”

  The sincerity in his eyes had the fight draining right out of her. “Paul Kelly, he’s not one to mess with—”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said, shaking his head. “But you’re probably right about that, too. It was good seeing you again, Viola.”

  She reached out and caught him by his sleeve. “Is there any way to talk her out of this crazy plan?” she asked, somehow unable to keep an unintended urgency from her voice.

  He laughed. “I’ve yet to be able to talk Ruby out of anything. She has more lives than the proverbial cat.” Then his face softened. “Be careful with her, won’t you?”

  Viola frowned. “I don’t know what you mean. . . .”

  “I imagine you do,” he said, giving her the funny, wobbly grin that would have looked half-drunken on anyone else. On Theo, it simply looked innocent and . . . well, too damn nice. “I think you know, and despite your bluster—which I quite enjoy, by the way—you will take care with her. If not, you’ll answer to me.”

  He tipped his hat at her, and then he turned to gather Ruby’s parcels before he ran to catch up with Ruby, leaving Viola alone at the edge of the lake with her mouth hanging open in confusion and feeling like somehow she’d just lost an argument she hadn’t known she was having.

  THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN

  1904—St. Louis

  Harte didn’t have any idea where the Antistasi had put him, but it had the subterranean feel of a coal cellar or a basement. They hadn’t taken any chances, because not long after they’d dumped him on the floor, he’d heard the same pop-hiss he’d heard earlier, in the back of the wagon. A moment later he smelled the same thick odor that made his head feel like it was floating and his affinity go dull. Whatever it was had evaporated some time ago, but his affinity still felt like it was miles away.

  The ropes on his wrist were too tight for him to wriggle out of, so he just sat there in the darkness they’d forced upon him and waited. The only positive development was that whatever the drug was, it shut the voice up inside of him. He figured it had to be something more than opium for it to have that kind of effect.

  By the time he heard a door open, his arms had gone completely numb from being tied behind him. He scrambled to his feet, ready. If Esta had failed, they wouldn’t be coming to celebrate.

  “Come on, then,” a familiar voice said. It was the cowboy—North.

  The hands that took him by the arm weren’t exactly gentle, but they didn’t do anything more than lead him along.

  Finally, they stopped, and when the sack was removed from his head again, he blinked past the sudden brightness to see that he was in a small office. And he wasn’t alone. The woman was there—Mother Ruth, North, another girl with silver spectacles perched on her nose, who’d been there earlier, and Esta. She had a tired, worried look on her face, and even once she saw him, it didn’t change. But they didn’t have her tied up, and he wasn’t dead yet, so he figured that meant something.

  Even in that ridiculous suit with her hair chopped close around her face, she looked damned near perfect.

  His eyes met hers. You okay?

  She gave him the smallest of nods, but then her gaze shot to Ruth. “I did what you wanted, just like I promised. You can untie him now,” Esta said. There was something in her voice that bothered him, but she looked unharmed.

  “We’ll untie him when we’re ready,” the cowboy said, his mouth hitching a bit on one side.

  “She did everything you asked, North.” It was the girl this time. She was a mousy-looking thing, especially with those glasses, but he didn’t let that sway him. The last time he’d underestimated a person wearing glasses it had been a mistake.

  “Maggie’s right,” Ruth said. “The girl has proven herself . . . for now. You can untie him.”

  In a single, fluid movement, the cowboy took out a thin knife and flicked it open. Show-off. But Harte kept his feelings to himself and masked his irritation with a look of utter boredom.

  “Considering what you had me do, I think we’ve earned your trust, period,” Esta told the woman.

  “You delivered a package,” Ruth said. “That’s hardly grounds for you to make demands.”

  “I nearly killed a man,” Esta said, her voice steady. “I set off some sort of magical bomb that did who knows what to all those people—people who never did anything to me.”

  The power inside Harte lurched at her words, stirred up with something that felt too close to pleasure for his liking. He must have made a sound, because North glanced at him. But Harte gritted his teeth and forced himself to remain composed.

  Ruth gave Esta a pitying look. “Any one of those people would have done the same to you had they been given the opportunity.”

  “You don’t know that,” Esta said, but she didn’t sound convinced.

  “Do you know what the SWP is?” Ruth asked.

  “They’re socialists,” Esta answered. “Workers who want a better life.” But there was something unsettled in her voice. Something that made the power inside Harte pause and take notice.

  “They do, but at what cost?” Ruth asked, stepping toward Esta. “I know those workers as well as I know the Society. They’re the people who look up and dream of one day being tapped by the Veiled Prophet himself. Year after year they elect those who would erase magic from these shores. Year after year they buy into the fears of rich men; they lift up those fears and carry them on their shoulders, all because it’s not they who will be harmed. The Act, the Guard, even the Society itself—none of it affects them.

  “Perhaps they were innocents,” Ruth continued. “Perhaps they simply wanted a better wage and more food on the table for their families. But Caleb Lipscomb knows exactly what he’s doing. He uses them for his own advantage. Who do you think those workers are truly angry at? The capitalists who live in the fancy houses on McPherson Avenue?” She let out a derisive laugh. “No. Every man in that warehouse lis
tening to Lipscomb speak wants to become those men. They picture themselves in those same fine houses, their children in silken pinafores and their wives dripping with jewels bought with the blood of the common worker. The people who follow SWP aren’t really angry at the men who run this city. They’re angry at those beneath them—the freshly arrived immigrants who are willing to work for a fraction of the wages they themselves demand. And they’re angry at Mageus, who did nothing at all to achieve power they can’t even begin to imagine.”

  She gave a shrug that also managed to broadcast her irritation. “Lipscomb knows that. His people were the cause of a riot three weeks ago over in Dutchtown. Three people died because Lipscomb started a rumor that the people who lived there were harboring Mageus who would use their power to take food from the mouths of the ordinary worker. He sees our kind as a threat because he knows that our power means we have a loyalty to something bigger than his group of angry men. He uses the people’s anger because he can, because they fear what they don’t know and won’t understand. Do you know what Caleb Lipscomb is planning?”

  “Something with the Veiled Prophet Parade,” Esta told her.

  “He was planning to place bombs on the parade route. You did the world a favor by putting him in the hospital, where he won’t be able to stir up his followers.”

  “Why would you care about saving the Veiled Prophet Parade?” Harte asked.

  Ruth turned to him. “I don’t care about the parade, but every time there’s an action by some group like the SWP, the Society turns the people’s hatred toward the old magic. It helps them shore up their power, preying on the people’s fears and prejudices. The loss of innocent lives would have been blamed on us.”

  “Then why the attack last night?” Esta asked. “It wasn’t just a bomb that went off. I know there was magic involved. Won’t those people blame you too?”