BENEDICT O’DOHERTY
1904—St. Louis
Harte’s head was still pounding from whatever they’d used on him in the wagon, and inside, the power of the Book was churning uneasily. It didn’t like whatever that drug had been—and, to be fair, neither did Harte. His affinity felt hazy and indistinct, like the magic that was his usual companion was too far for him to reach.
Fine, then. Harte might be a magician by trade, but he was a con man at heart.
“If you know so much, perhaps we should dispose of you now,” Ruth said, stalking toward him. She had a combination of fear and fury in her eyes—a combination that might prove dangerous—but at least she wasn’t so focused on Esta any longer.
“That would be a mistake.”
“Unlike you,” Ruth said, “we do not make mistakes.”
“Maybe not yet,” Harte said, not so much as blinking. “But not taking advantage of what we can offer you? Definitely a mistake.”
“Why do you think we need entry into the Society?” Ruth asked.
“The necklace wasn’t at the fair. If you don’t have it, that means the Society has moved it. How are you planning to get the necklace if you don’t even know where it is?” He paused, letting his question hang in the air before he spoke again. “You’re already running short on time.”
Ruth straightened, and Harte could tell from the way her expression shifted that her actions were a show for everyone in the room. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No?” Harte asked easily, relying on the impressions he’d gotten from when his captors had touched him without realizing the danger. “Your guys are spooked because they know you’re not quite ready. They’re thinking that maybe it’s too big a risk, especially that one.” Harte nodded toward the one who had held his hands behind his back—the one he’d managed to read just before he was tossed into the wagon. “Frank, right? He’s got a sister up in Chicago. Figures that he could take off and go live with her instead of getting himself killed.”
Ruth turned to the guy, whose face had gone pale. “Is this true? You doubt our undertaking?”
The guy shook his head dumbly for a second or two before he found words. “He’s lying, Ruth. He’s just trying to confuse us.” But the fear in the guy’s expression told a different story.
“Cowardice will kill you, Frank. Not my plans.” Ruth nodded to one of the others. “Take him downstairs and make sure he’s secured. There isn’t room for misgivings and fear. Not now.” Then she turned on Harte. “I know who she is, but who are you?”
“Someone just like you,” he said simply. “I hate the Society and everything it stands for. We heard about what you did last fall—the attack on the construction of the Exposition. It was brilliant. Masterful, even.”
Ruth considered him. “What is your name?”
“Benedict O’Doherty,” Harte told her, the name slipping from his lips before he could consider it. “I’m called Ben for short.” Or I was, once. It seemed he’d been resurrected twice now, he thought darkly.
“I don’t trust either one of you,” Ruth told him.
“That only proves you’re not stupid,” he said simply. “But not accepting our help—that would be stupid. Especially when we could help you be more successful than you’ve even dreamed. Give us a chance to prove ourselves. The one you just had taken away was worried about a job you had for him. Let us do it instead.”
Her eyes narrowed as she thought it over. Then her expression cleared. “Fine,” she said, her lips curling. “I’ll give you this one chance to prove yourselves.” She glanced at the cowboy. “Take him away and make sure he doesn’t cause any problems.”
“But the job—” Harte said.
“I think we’ll let the Thief do it. If she’s so powerful and so anxious to work with us, she shouldn’t have a problem. And if she does anything at all to betray us, you’ll be the one to pay.”