THE BREWERY
1904—St. Louis
Esta came to slowly, reaching toward consciousness like a swimmer struggling up to the surface of a cold, deep lake. Her head pounded as she lay in the darkness and breathed in the dusty scent of the burlap sack still over her head. She didn’t know where she was or how long she’d been out, but she remembered who had taken her.
The Antistasi.
Her breath hitched at the memory of everything that had happened at the fair—the missing necklace, the way the darkness had descended stark and empty and absolute when her affinity touched the power of the Book. The ground splitting open . . . The ground split open.
She pulled herself upright, but nearly toppled over again from the dizziness brought on by whatever they’d used to knock her out. Opium, maybe, from the way her affinity felt dull and numb, but not only opium. This was different from anything she’d experienced before—there was something about whatever they’d given her that made her feel untethered, like she wasn’t quite attached to the earth but was floating free, even as she could feel the solid floor beneath her.
She called for Harte, but there was no answer.
After a while she thought she heard voices, and moments later the door opened. “Come on,” a voice said. Since she didn’t recognize it, she figured it must not be the cowboy. Rough hands grabbed her by the arms and dragged her from where she was lying. The moment they took her by the arms, she realized that her cuff was missing. Panic seized her as she realized what that meant, but she kept that emotion locked down. She would have a better chance of getting it back if they didn’t know how important it was to her.
Once she was outside the wagon, Esta could hear buzzing insects and the soft rustling of trees. Not the city. She wobbled at first but recovered before anyone had to support her. Whatever was about to happen, she’d walk on her own two feet. But her head ached worse now that she was upright.
“Where are we?” she asked. Her tongue still felt clumsy and thick in her dry mouth, but her voice sounded strong. At least she thought it did.
“You’ll see soon enough, but I’m going to warn you before we go in.” It was the cowboy this time. “I’ll give you the same warning I gave to your friend. If either of you even thinks about causing a lick of trouble, there ain’t a person here what would think twice about taking care of you for good—no matter who you think you are. You got that?”
“Understood,” she told him, even as she was already considering all the possible options for freeing herself and Harte if things went downhill.
“That’s fine. Come on, now. This way . . .”
With her head pounding from the drug and her whole body feeling like her joints had come loose, it was a challenge to stay on her feet as she was led blindly through what felt like an obstacle course of ramps and steps. Finally, they entered a building—she knew, because the insects went quiet. From the way their footsteps echoed, it had to be a larger room, and from the other voices, they weren’t alone. There were two, maybe three others already there.
They pushed her into a chair, and she felt them secure her to it with more rope. Then, without any warning, the sack they’d put over her head to blind her was pulled off. She blinked. Dim as the lighting was, it caused even more pain to shoot through her already throbbing head.
Esta ignored the pain as she squinted, trying to get her eyes to adjust. She’d been right. They were standing in something that looked like a large warehouse. On one side of the room, enormous silver tanks lined the wall. On the other side, a series of long tables held wooden crates filled with glass bottles. The stools in front of the tables stood empty. A factory of some sort. The people were gathered in a smaller, open space between the tanks and the tables. In addition to the cowboy, there was a handful of people—men and women of various ages. They seemed to be waiting for something.
Across from where Esta was sitting, two other guys in workman’s clothes flanked a chair that held one last person—Harte. He still had the burlap sack covering his face, but that didn’t seem to matter. Even with his face covered, she knew that he understood she was there—his head turned in her direction, and his entire body seemed to come to attention, straining against the ropes that held him to the chair.
“Is that you, Slim?” he asked. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
“I’m fine,” she told him, keeping her voice low and clipped. “You okay?”
“I’d be better if I could see something,” he said, shaking his head a little, as if to shake off the bag.
“You’ll see soon enough, when Ruth decides what to do with you,” the cowboy told him. He frowned at Esta, but before he could say anything else, they heard a door opening from somewhere deep within the factory. The group turned toward the sound of the approaching footsteps, making it clear that someone important was arriving.
A moment later a woman appeared on the walkway above. She looked over the gathering below for a moment, before descending the steps to the factory floor. She was maybe in her early forties, but her hair was already shot through with gray, and she wore an expression that labeled her as the person in charge.
The woman—clearly the Ruth the cowboy had mentioned—gave a silent nod, and at her order, one of the men flanking Harte drew the sack off. He’d lost the hat he’d been wearing earlier, and his dark hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions. His eyes found hers, but they were too wide, too wild, and she narrowed hers at him in warning. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to give away too much.
Stop it, she tried to tell him silently. But she wasn’t sure if he understood. The cords of his neck were tense, and they didn’t relax at the sight of her.
Without any introduction, Ruth turned to Esta, her voice unyielding as she asked a single question: “Where is it?”
Esta blinked. “Where is what?”
“The necklace,” Ruth said, stalking toward the chair where Esta was tied.
“I don’t have any necklace,” Esta said, well aware of exactly what necklace Ruth was referring to. And if they knew about the necklace, it was possible they’d also realized what her cuff was.
Ruth pursed her lips, clearly not believing her. “There is only one thing you could have wanted in the Streets of Cairo—it’s the same thing we want. We know you intended to steal the necklace, and we know that you went to the Exposition today to do just that. I allowed this particular farce to run to its conclusion because it suited my purposes, but the time has come. I’m out of patience.” She leaned down until she was close enough that Esta could see the fine lines that had already started to carve themselves into her face. “I’ll ask you this question only one more time: What have you done with the necklace?”
“We couldn’t steal what wasn’t there,” Esta told her. “It was a trap. When we got to the chamber, there was nothing in the case, and the Guard was ready for us.”
Ruth’s expression faltered. “You’re sure of this?” When Esta nodded, Ruth turned to the cowboy, but he only shrugged and gave a slight shake of his head. “I knew this would never work,” she told him. “We should have stopped them days ago and gone after the necklace ourselves.”
“Days ago?” Esta asked.
“A haircut and a suit might be enough to fool the Guard, but I’m not half so simple,” Ruth said. “Esta Filosik. The Devil’s Thief. I’ve had people watching you ever since North here saw you outside the theater.”
Esta kept her expression from betraying even a flicker of the anxiety she felt at the woman’s words. The fact that Harte had been right about her disguise barely even registered over the sudden and unpleasant realization that they’d been watched for days, and Esta hadn’t even suspected. She was either getting rusty, or these people—these Antistasi—were more formidable than she’d expected.
“If you knew who I was, I can’t imagine why you’d waste your time having me followed,” she said, trying to affect a haughty indifference. “You’d know already that we’re on the same side.”
“Are we?” Ruth said.
“Of course,” Esta insisted, refusing to show even a hint of her apprehension. She’d bluffed her way out of more difficult spots than this. If they thought she was the Devil’s Thief, then she would use every bit of that title to her advantage. “That is that why you use my name so freely, isn’t it?”
The woman’s nostrils flared in irritation, but she didn’t deny it.
“Yes, I know all about that,” Esta said, going on the offensive. “I’ve seen the masks and gowns. I know how your little group pretends to be the Devil’s Thief—to be me.” She watches Ruth’s expression go dark. “I know all about the Antistasi.”
The woman let out a hollow laugh. “We are no more the Antistasi than a drop of water is the sea.”
“But you’re part of them,” Esta pressed, testing the mood in the room as she spoke. Whatever doubts Ruth might have about her, the rest of the Antistasi in the room felt more tentative, supportive even—except maybe for the guy they called North. It seemed that even if Ruth didn’t much care whether Esta was the Devil’s Thief, the others in the room did. If she could use that to keep Harte safe, she would. “Or did you steal their name as well?”
“I’ve stolen nothing. We have earned the right to call ourselves Antistasi,” Ruth admitted, her tone dripping with acid.
“So I’ve heard,” Esta said, keeping her tone detached, aloof. She kept her eyes focused on Ruth, even as she wanted to look at Harte.
Ruth considered her. “Have you?”
Esta nodded. “You have quite the reputation in this town. It’s impressive what you’ve accomplished,” she said, playing to the woman’s ego.
But the ploy didn’t work. Ruth’s eyes narrowed. “Then you know already that we are not to be trifled with. If you knew anything at all about us, you would know that we don’t hesitate to destroy those we consider enemies.”
“Of course,” Esta said easily. “But I’m not your enemy. From what I hear? Seems like I’m more like your muse.”
“You?” Ruth laughed again before her mouth drew into a flat, mocking line. “You’re just a girl. The Devil’s Thief is bigger than any single person—she’s certainly bigger than you. You’re unnecessary at best. At worst, you are a problem that needs to be dealt with.”
“I’m not a problem,” Esta told her. But then she considered her words and gave Ruth a careless shrug, refusing to be intimidated. “Then again, maybe I am, but I’m definitely not your problem.”
“No?” Ruth mused. “From where I stand, you are a liability to myself and to the Antistasi.”
Esta gave a cold laugh, using the motion to glance at Harte, who was watching the conversation with a tense expression of concentration. “How do you figure?”
Ruth stepped toward her. “The police and the Guard have been looking for you ever since the night we helped you slipped past them at the Jefferson Hotel. For a week they’ve been on high alert, searching everywhere for some sign of you, which has been more than a simple inconvenience for me. Your presence in my town has made it nearly impossible for my people to do their jobs and has put every one of us in danger of being discovered. All because the authorities believe you to be something special, something dangerous. The Devil’s Thief,” she said, but there was a hint of scorn in her voice. “But here you sit, at my mercy. Barely a woman and too soft for anyone with eyes in their head to mistake you for a man. You are nothing but a liability.”
Esta let her mouth curve. “If you really believed that, you wouldn’t have tied us up and drugged us just to have this little conversation.”
“I don’t take unnecessary risks,” Ruth said, visibly bristling. “Not when the safety of my people is at stake.”
“I haven’t done anything to your people,” Esta countered. “There’s no reason to think I would.”
Ruth tipped her head to the side. “You didn’t plant a smoking device on my man?”
“He was following me,” Esta said, unapologetic. “And it’s not like he bothered to introduce himself. I didn’t know who he was or that he was one of yours at the time, and I had to distract him. Besides, he seems to be just fine.”
Ruth’s brows drew together. “While I’ll admit that I’m inclined to be impressed by anyone who’s able to get the better of North, I’m less inclined to be forgiving of your attempt to incriminate us with your reckless display at the fair.”
North. That must be the cowboy, Esta thought, and the way he was glaring at her only confirmed it.
“Do you know what would have happened if you were caught today?” Ruth continued. “Do you realize what it would have done to us?”
“I can’t see how me being caught would have affected you in the least,” Esta said.
“Which only shows how foolish you are,” Ruth said. “I don’t know who you really are, and I don’t know if you have done even one of the many things that have been attributed to you, but I do know this—the Guard catching you would have been a victory for the Society and the other Brotherhoods. It would have been a fatal blow to the Antistasi movement everywhere. To catch you would have meant an end to the legend of the Thief. That legend is what keeps us safe even as it inspires fear in our enemies. Without it, we’d be exposed.”
She hadn’t even considered that. Esta had seen the women in the ballroom, she’d heard Julien talk about the exploits of the Antistasi, and she had admired them. She hadn’t realized that she might be putting them in danger just by actually existing.
“It wasn’t my intention to put any of you in danger,” Esta said, trying to make her voice sound contrite. “I don’t want to be a liability. I’d much rather be an asset.”
“But you’re not an asset, and without the necklace, what can you offer me?”
“Besides my name?” Esta asked, trying to come up with something that would be convincing enough to assuage Ruth’s doubts.
“We already have that,” Ruth told her. “Even without you, we can continue to use it.”
“But you don’t have a way into the Society,” Harte said from across the room.
Ruth’s brows drew together and she turned away from Esta to focus on Harte. His expression was strained, but he had a look of sheer determination in his eyes.
“Why would you imagine we need that?”
“Because we know that you have big plans,” Harte said, drawing Ruth’s attention toward him. “And we know what you’re still missing.”