Jamie went to Central Park for lack of anywhere else to go.

A mix of anger and grief thrummed through his veins, though he wasn’t certain who he was angriest with. Hurley, for not even bothering to let Jamie know the squad was on the way to arrest his familiar? O’Byrne, for destroying Caballus and beating Nick? Nick, for lying to Jamie, using him?

Wyatt, for dying and leaving him behind with so many questions?

Maybe it was himself he ought to be maddest at. Everyone had warned him about Nick. Rook had told him upfront that if things came down to it, Nick would only ever see him as a witch. But Jamie had dismissed all of it. He’d handed over his heart to Nick, and now it was broken. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

Wyatt, though…

He’d been here in New York, working with Nick and against the law. If Jamie hadn’t been a copper, if Hurley hadn’t headed up the Dangerous Familiars Squad, might Wyatt have come to him?

Uncle Hurley would be expecting him in an hour or so, but Jamie couldn’t imagine walking into Hurley’s office now. Hearing Nick’s name from his lips.

He’d told himself that, despite his recent doubts, Hurley was still a good man. But his officers had wrecked everything in Caballus and beaten Nick bloody. And Hurley hadn’t even warned Jamie. Hadn’t even had the guts or the courtesy to let him know his familiar was hiding criminal fugitives. Did he think Jamie would have warned Nick the squad was coming?

Would Jamie have warned Nick?

Of course he would have. He hadn’t even been really surprised when he found out what Nick was accused of doing. Only hurt that Nick hadn’t confided in him.

This was what love did to a man. He’d been a good copper—a good solider. Followed orders, done what he was told. Bent the rules from time to time, but certainly never broken them outright.

Nick had thrown all of that into chaos. He lived on his own terms, and to hell with anyone who didn’t like it. At his side, Jamie had started to change without even realizing it. Agreeing to the deceit of their temporary bond, because it was the only way for Wyatt to get justice. Meeting in secret with other familiars and witches, to keep Lund and the Police Board from finding out what they learned.

Going against orders, or around them. Lying to the warden of the Menagerie, lying to Lund, because doing things the right way…was no longer the right thing to do.

Jamie stopped walking. The wind was cold on his bare face, but he welcomed it.

Nick and Wyatt had worked outside the law. But he knew both men; knew they believed entirely in the rightness of their cause. Yet neither had trusted Jamie to do the right thing.

Whatever that even was.

If Wyatt had come to him, told him everything…what would he have done?

Of course, Jamie still didn’t know the entire story. How Wyatt had survived Cuba. Why Eddie hadn’t. Why Wyatt hadn’t reported back to the unit, or a commander, and just let everyone think he was dead too.

If only they’d been able to find out where Wyatt had been staying. Surely there would have been some clue amongst his things.

Two women passed Jamie, both holding binoculars and chatting animatedly. Jamie tipped his hat absently as they went by. “A Pine Siskin the other morning…” one was saying.

Jamie shook his head. Except for the middle of the night, every time they’d been in the park there’d been at least one bird watcher about. These folks were obsessed.

Wait.

“Excuse me, ladies?” Jamie called, before he could let himself either hope or despair. “May I ask you something about bird watching?”

They paused and gave him curious looks. “What would you like to know?” one asked. “I can recommend binocular manufacturers, if you need guidance. What one really needs to look for in a set is—”

“No, no,” interrupted the other. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, Mina. To start with, you need a small journal which can withstand a bit of rain, in order to keep the list of birds you’ve correctly identified.”

“Er, aye,” Jamie said. “What I really need to know is whether either of you ladies, or any other, ah, enthusiasts have seen an eagle flying over the park recently.”

“As a matter of fact, we have.” They exchanged a look. “There was a great deal of speculation as to whether the creature was a familiar or a wild bird, actually, as eagles aren’t terribly common in the city. Either way, it hasn’t been seen for some time.”

Jamie’s heart contracted almost painfully. “Did anyone notice if it seemed to go anywhere in particular?”

“Yes.” The other woman nodded. “The creature was spotted outside of the park a few times. Mr. Greene said he saw it alight several times atop Madison Square Garden. As it isn’t nesting season, we took that to be evidence it wasn’t an ordinary eagle after all.”

“Familiars don’t count on one’s life list,” the other put in sadly.

Had Jamie heard right? “Madison Square Garden?”

“Yes. He said it seemed to be fond of the top of the tower, just below the statue of Diana the Huntress.”

Everything seemed to snap into place. “Saint Mary,” Jamie said, touching the pendant nestled against his skin, “I’m an idiot.”

Accessing the top of the tower wouldn’t have been easy for a man with both legs—which no doubt was why Wyatt had chosen it. The confused Madison Square Garden staff tried to dissuade Jamie, but for once he followed Hurley’s advice and relied on his badge and a great deal of bluster. In the end, he found himself thirty-two stories above the ground, in a tiny room half open to the sky, just under the gilded statue of Diana that served as a weathervane.

The space should have been deserted. There was no reason for anyone to come there, save for maintenance of the statue. But the space held a few small comforts: bedding, shaving kit, and a packet of letters wrapped in oilskin.

Jamie slumped against the wall, muscles trembling from the exertion it had taken to get up here. His left knee throbbed with pain, and the muscles of his whole leg burned. But it had been worth it.

This was where Wyatt had spent the last few months of his life. He’d sat in this same space, stared out over the city, and thought…what?

About familiars. About the Pemberton Act and those it affected. About Nick, probably.

Had he ever thought about Jamie?

Once he’d caught his breath, Jamie unfolded the packet, and sorted through the letters. Most of them proved to be from Wyatt’s time in Cuba: correspondence with old friends in Arizona, where he and Eddie had lived. But the final one was from Wyatt rather than to him.

Jamie MacDougal was written on the envelope in Wyatt’s rough hand.

For a long moment, Jamie did nothing but stare at it. Proof that Wyatt had been thinking about him after all. That he hadn’t been forgotten.

That, maybe…he’d been forgiven? For not being there when Wyatt had surely needed him the most. For not saving Eddie.

For, ultimately, not saving Wyatt.

His hands shook so badly he could barely unfold the letter. He took a deep breath, told himself not to break down no matter what it said. Then he began to read.

My dearest Jamie,

I write this letter without knowing if I’ll ever get the courage to send it. A part of me believes you’d understand all the actions I’ve undertaken…and a part of me fears you’d never forgive me for them.

“For what?” Jamie murmured to no one but the wind. Or perhaps the statue above. “Christ, Wyatt, what did you do?”

I’m trying to imagine your reaction to even receiving this. A letter from a dead man. As the Goddess is my witness, Jamie, I never meant for you to think I’d died. After you were hurt, I got down on my knees every moonrise and gave thanks to the Huntress your life had been spared. Eddie and I talked about what we’d do once the war was over. He suggested we go to New York City, to find you…and my brother.

I know I told you about my family, when you asked about the pendant around my neck. We were raised in a faith that believed familiars to be abominations.

I’m writing around the thing I really need to tell you. The thing I don’t want to remember. What happened in Cuba, after you were hurt.

You know the basics; Roosevelt wasn’t shy about trumpeting our accomplishments. But after the Spanish surrendered, word came that they needed Eddie and me for a special mission. Many units had lost their witch and familiar pairs, so we assumed it was some sort of temporary reassignment.

It wasn’t. An American civilian met us. He told us he was with the government—though what part he never said—and a member of the congregation I’d been raised in. The Heirs of Adam.

Jamie went cold. The Heirs of Adam? Ingram’s group?

In the government, and a follower of Ingram’s. Wyatt couldn’t be referring to Lund, could he?

The government, or whatever part of it he worked for, was searching for something hidden high in the mountains. Somewhere accessible only to a winged familiar. According to legend, a conquistador known for his cruelty had used hexes to torment and enslave Indians throughout South America. In particular, he had learned of a way to turn the workings of the hexes inscribed on their plazas and temples, meant to protect their people, against them.

His use of magic was overlooked, at least until the native population had been decimated. After, the Inquisition entered the New World in force, and forbid all hexes, put to death all familiars. The conquistador was enraged, and hid away high atop a mountain, until he died…of what the stories didn’t say.

I think you’ll agree it all sounds like a bunch of hogwash. But Eddie and I were soldiers; we went where we were ordered. I’ll spare you the grueling details, but the story turned out to be true, at least in one particular. High up, where only wings could take you, there was a cave. Something that might have been a man a long time ago. And a journal containing hexes like none neither Eddie nor I had ever seen. Things drawn in blood, meant to corrupt and destroy.

Jamie’s breath caught. No. It couldn’t be.

We returned with the book, as ordered, though neither of us was entirely easy about bringing such hexes back into the world. Better they should be left forgotten. When we next met with the man, no one else was there from the army. Only detectives hired to provide for his security. That should have been a warning sign, but…we weren’t looking for warning signs. We didn’t think we needed to.

They shot Eddie first. From behind, like fucking cowards. I wouldn’t have survived if not for the hex in my pendant. It gave me just enough of a chance to take to the air. One of their bullets hit me and I fell into the jungle.

Saint Mary, Holy Familiar of Christ. Jamie read the paragraph again, then again. Eddie hadn’t just died in action, or on a special mission.

He’d been murdered. On the orders of a representative of their own government.

Cuban villagers found me. Otherwise, I would never have survived. When I’d healed enough to fly again, I knew I needed to go back to the army. Report in.

Except I didn’t know if any of the commanders had been in on it. I didn’t want to think so. But with Eddie dead, and assuming they thought I was dead too, I decided not to chance it.

I was broken inside, Jamie. Losing Eddie hurt, and I mean physically as well as emotionally. I felt like my heart was ripped out, like there was a ball of ice in my chest. I can’t describe it to you adequately. Maybe if you ever bond, you’ll understand.

Jamie closed his eyes. It didn’t seem fair his bond with Nick should feel so warm. If only…

But no. He forced his eyes open again and went back to reading.

So I made my way back to America. To New York. I thought maybe I’d find you. But the Pemberton Act had just passed, and suddenly my very existence was illegal without a witch to watch over me. It was too soon after losing Eddie. I couldn’t bear it.

I was nervous for another reason, too. Someone out there has those hexes, Jamie. The ones Eddie and I delivered into his hands. I’m scared as hell to find out what he intends to do with them.

I can’t help but think they want a war against familiars. Not a real war, of course. But I’ve heard rumors, that other old, forgotten hexes have been used recently. By theriarchists, they say, and maybe that’s even true. But a bunch of penniless radicals didn’t fund expeditions to find ancient hexes. I can’t help but wonder if someone put them in their hands deliberately. To give those in charge an enemy to point at. An excuse to further their own power.

Wyatt hadn’t shared this with Nick, that was for damned sure. It didn’t sound like the sort of speculation Nick would be inclined to keep to himself, even amidst all the other lies.

When I heard your uncle was the head of the Dangerous Familiars Squad, I was even more confused. Maybe I should have come to you anyway. I don’t know.

In the end, I got involved in things I can’t tell you about. I met a familiar I think you’d like, though. I can’t name him safely here, just in case, but he’s something. Angry at the world, and witches in particular, but I think you could get through to him.

I think he needs someone to get through to him.

Jamie swallowed against the tightness in his throat. Nick. He meant Nick.

I found my brother and have a meeting with him tomorrow. Maybe he’ll know what the Heirs of Adam had to do with what happened in Cuba. If I can, I’ll talk him into leaving the church.

After that, I’ll have to decide what to do with this letter. If it’s safe to send. I want to see you again, more than you could possibly know.

I miss you.

Yours always,

Wyatt

Jamie blinked rapidly, fighting back tears. But it was too much, and in the end, he curled up on the blankets, pressed his face into them, and sobbed. For himself, for Eddie, and most of all for Wyatt.

Wyatt, who had still loved him. Wyatt, who had died in fear and pain, alone and without anyone at his side. Thoughts Jamie had kept at bay broke free, along with the grief he’d suppressed so he could focus on finding the killer, and he howled his anguish to the wind and the empty sky.

Eventually, the storm passed, and he lay spent, feeling hollowed out. He wished he could go back and change things, make it so Wyatt and Nick would have trusted him, relied on him.

But he couldn’t. All he could do was decide what to do next.

He picked the letter up from where he’d let it fall and read through it again. It was possible the anonymous man from the government had been Lund, but as the letter didn’t name him, it would be hard to prove. Either way, the Heirs of Adam were involved somehow. Was Ingram at the heart of this?

Wyatt had been going to meet with his brother, who was still part of Ingram’s church. Was that where he’d been ambushed? Or had the reunion simply put him within the Wraith’s sights?

Jamie’s head ached. All of these connections needed to be investigated…but he didn’t have the authority, the standing, to force anyone else to listen. Ferguson might have done so, but he was gone now, and the entire MWP under the watchful eye of a man who belonged to Ingram’s church.

Who might have killed Eddie, and tried to kill Wyatt.

Clock towers chimed across the city, marking the noon hour. Uncle Hurley was expecting him.

Could Hurley help?

Jamie squeezed his eyes shut. O’Byrne had wrecked Caballus. Hurt Nick. He didn’t want to talk calmly to his uncle—he wanted to scream his lungs bloody. Demand O’Byrne be kicked out into the street.

The arrest Jamie had seen, when Hurley had been present, hadn’t been violent. O’Byrne was surely abusing his authority without Hurley’s knowledge. Once Hurley knew the truth, he’d keep it from happening ever again.

Yes, maybe Hurley had become too focused on pleasing his superiors in exchange for promotion. But he cared about Jamie. About Muriel and Fan, and their children. He might have lost sight of the reason he’d joined the force to start with, but this was something different altogether. This was a possible conspiracy that had already resulted in a score of deaths, if Wyatt was right about the connection with the theriarchists. Hurley wouldn’t ignore that, or else he wasn’t the man Jamie had always thought him to be.

The mayor might not listen to Jamie MacDougal, MWP detective. But he’d listen to Inspector Hurley O’Malley, head of the Dangerous Familiars Squad. If he didn’t, they’d go to Roosevelt. If nothing else, this letter proved Wyatt hadn’t vanished due to cowardice. Surely the governor would believe the word of two of his former soldiers, plus the man who’d saved his life while he was on the Police Board.

It wasn’t much of a plan, but it would have to do. Aching inside and out, Jamie dragged himself to his feet and set about the long, slow descent back to the ground.