LIBITINA
1902—New York
By the time Viola made sure that Theo and Ruby were headed toward the safety of their own part of town and she made her way back to the New Brighton, Paul had already heard about the fire. He was pacing and shouting at his men, while the one they called Razor stood nervous and waiting nearby.
“Where have you been?” Paul asked, turning on her the second she was through the door. His face was mottled an ugly, angry red.
“Out,” she told him, pretending that she didn’t notice his agitation.
“Out?”
She shrugged. “I needed air.” After the meeting with Ruby, she still felt like she needed air, not that Paul had to know about that.
“I needed you here,” he snapped. “Station thirty-three, she’s on fire, and it isn’t any normal fire.” He glared at her as though it were somehow her fault.
“You think I did this?” She glared at him in return.
“You were, as you said, out.”
She frowned, realizing that all of the Five Pointers were now watching her with a question in their eyes. “Fire is not my style, Paolo. You know that.”
“If that station burns, Tammany is not gonna be happy,” Razor said. “We have to do something.”
Paul let out a frustrated growl and took Viola by the arm. “These are your people, so you’re going to help me.”
By the time they got over to the station, the air was heavy with smoke. Flames were tearing from the arching windows, and the front of the brick building was black with soot as the fire brigade pumped water toward the blaze. The steady stream from the pump truck didn’t seem to be doing anything to stop the fire, probably because the heat of the flames wasn’t the only warmth in the air.
Someone with an affinity for fire had to be nearby, feeding the flames, but where? She scanned the crowd, searching for some sign. The old magic was about connecting with the larger world, so it required focus and often needed contact—a sight line or direct touch. Whoever was at fault would be close.
“Find the maggot doing this or don’t bother coming back to the New Brighton,” Paul said.
Viola shrugged off the slur on her brother’s lips. He’d called her worse. “And what am I supposed to do when I find him?”
“You’re my blade, aren’t you?” Paul glared at her.
“I don’t have a knife,” she told him. “You made sure of that.”
“How many times do I have to tell you, you don’t need one?” he said, his meaning clear. “Go on. Before it’s too late.”
She thought about arguing, but before she could, she heard the shattering of glass as a window cracked and flames poured out of it. If this station was destroyed by someone with the old magic, Tammany would retaliate. Innocent people would be at risk of being caught in the cross fire.
Without much choice, Viola ducked into the crowd, her eyes sharp for some sign of the perpetrator as she focused the warm energy that had nothing to do with the flames. She was halfway through the crowd when she saw a familiar figure standing on the steps of a building about half a block away. Nibsy Lorcan.
The boy’s gold-rimmed spectacles flashed in the light from the blaze, and next to him was a boy with hair the color of flame focusing all his attention on the burning fire station.
She sent her affinity out, searching for the heat of the boy’s affinity, the beating of his heart, and when she founded it, she tugged, just a little. Not enough to kill him, but more than enough to make him collapse to the ground.
Nibsy watched him go down, and then he began to scan the crowd. A moment later he found her, and his mouth curved up, as though he knew exactly how useless she’d become.
Too soft, an assassin who couldn’t properly kill.
But that boy—he’d been one of Dolph’s once. What was his name? She couldn’t remember, but she knew that he wasn’t the one who needed killing. That honor belonged to Nibsy, who was smiling at her as though he knew what she was thinking—and didn’t care.
What she would give to wipe that smile from his face.
Viola let her affinity find the steady pulsing of the blood in his veins and reveled in the understanding that she held Nibsy’s life. It would be so easy to end him. She could trade what was left of her soul for vengeance for Dolph’s murder. Her soul, tarnished as it was, was hardly a worthy trade, but in that moment she felt as though it might do.
Better. She would kill him with her own hands.
Around her the street was in chaos. The crowd, who had gathered to watch a fire that could not be quenched, jeered their disappointment as the water began to have an effect on the flames. But Viola barely heard the noise, and though her eyes watered from the smoke, she didn’t care as she walked toward Nibsy.
He started down from his perch, to meet her halfway. The nearer she came, the more amusement shone in his eyes.
“I hope you’ve made peace with your god, Nibsy,” she said as she approached him. “I’ve come for you.”
He didn’t so much as flinch. “If I believed in a god, I would have lost faith in him years ago. You don’t scare me, Viola. If you wanted to kill me, I’ve no doubt I would already be dead.”
She curled her mouth into a deadly smile. “Perhaps, in your case, I prefer to play with my prey.”
“I see that spending time with your family has only improved your delightful personality,” Nibsy said, rocking back on his heels a bit.
“Bastardo,” she spat. She would wipe the smugness from his face, and she would do it with her bare hands.
“I’m not your enemy, Viola,” he said softly.
“Funny,” she said. “You look just like him. I know what you did, how you betrayed Dolph. How you betrayed all of us.”
“I never betrayed you. Dolph Saunders was a danger to himself and to our kind. He would have started a war that we couldn’t have won. I protected the Devil’s Own—and all of those like us,” he said, sounding like he actually believed it.
“I never needed your protection,” she sneered.
“No?” he asked, his tone mocking. “You’re enjoying your time with your brother, then?” When she only glared at him, he spoke again. “You were meant for more than being Paul Kelly’s scullery maid, Viola. Yes, I know how he uses you. He brags about it to me. His blade. His sister, who has learned her place.” Nibsy shook his head. “Some blade—sharp enough to cut his potatoes and not much else these days, from what I hear.”
“I could cut you,” she told him.
“With what?” he asked, taunting her. “You miss her, don’t you?” he asked, the glint in his eyes mocking her as much as his words.
Libitina. “You aren’t man enough to wield her. But don’t worry. I’ll take her from you soon, and then I’ll cut your heart out and leave it on Dolph’s grave as a tribute.”
“So bloodthirsty,” he said, a laugh in his eyes. Then his face grew serious. “You’re welcome to try to take your knife, but I’d rather give her to you.”
She narrowed her eyes. It was a trick. This one, he was slippery as an eel, and just as treacherous. “Why would you? A boy as smart as you pretend to be should know I would only turn around and sink her into your heart.”
“Because, despite everything that’s passed between us, I think we could be friends.”