A SERPENT’S SMILE
1902—New Jersey
I knew it was you,” Jack said, his grip tight on Esta’s arm.
He can’t be here.
Shock paralyzed Esta for a moment—but only for a moment. Quickly on the heels of shock came the cold sureness of an emotion much darker than fear. Of course Jack Grew could be here. The nephew of J. P. Morgan, Jack was practically royalty in New York. His family would have simply paid the right people, whispered in the right ear, and Jack’s little indiscretion on the bridge would have been brushed away like the morning’s ashes. Never mind that the indiscretion was attempted murder.
If it hadn’t been for Esta’s quick thinking—and her ability to pull time still and move Harte out of the bullet’s path—Jack would have killed him. With the terrible machine he’d been trying to build, Jack would have killed every Mageus in the city. Since he still had the same barely leashed wild-eyed look that he’d had the day before, Esta knew he was still dangerous, and she was not about to give him the chance to kill her, too.
Gathering her wits and swallowing down the sharp taste of hatred that had coated her mouth, she drew a serpent’s smile across her lips and fell into the fake accent she’d used with Jack before. “Jack, darling,” Esta purred, gently testing the strength of the grip he had on her arm. “Is it really you?”
“Surprised?” he asked, his mouth twisting into an answering smile that was all teeth and anticipation. His fingers on her arm just missed the cuff she wore beneath her sleeve.
Esta ignored the fury in his expression and stepped closer. “When the police took you, I was so worried.”
Jack blinked, taken off guard by her words, just as she’d hoped. He almost seemed unsure about what to do next, but he did not loosen his hold on her. Then his expression went brittle and cold. “Somehow I doubt that,” he said, his eyes narrowed. “You were the one who helped Darrigan make me look like a fool. You ruined me.”
“No, Jack,” she said, her eyes wide with feigned surprise. “You mustn’t say such things.”
“You think I haven’t realized that you and Darrigan were in it together from the beginning?” Jack’s fingers were digging into Esta’s arm hard enough to leave a mark. “You don’t think I know that everything you told me was a lie?”
Esta shook her head. “No . . . Darrigan used me,” she said, forcing her voice to tremble a little. She had one chance to get this particular performance right. “I didn’t know what he had planned that night. Don’t you remember? He left me there, alone on that stage, to take the blame. You have to believe me. . . .”
“No. Actually, I don’t.” Jack glared at her. “If anything you just said was true, the Order would already have you. But you managed miraculously to get away—twice.”
“I was afraid no one would believe me—”
“Because you don’t deserve to be believed,” he snapped. “Darrigan got you out of Khafre Hall somehow, and then you managed to get yourself off the bridge, which means you know more than you’re saying.” He started to yank her along, pulling her away from platform seven.
No. She wasn’t going anywhere with Jack. Panic was making her pulse race, but Esta drew herself up, and even though fear put an edge to her voice, she leaned into the role she had perfected to hook Jack. “Let me go,” she told him, using her most imperious voice as she tried to pull away.
If it weren’t for the crowd, Esta would have dropped him in a second. Even with the crowd, a twist of her arm, a shifting of her weight, and Jack would be on his back. The problem was that if that happened, everyone in the terminal would be looking at her.
Any other time she might have risked it, because as soon as she was free, she could have pulled the seconds slow and been gone. But disappearing like that would mean revealing what she was to Jack, and if her affinity was as weak as she felt or if she lost her hold of it—as she had on the bridge—she would be stuck with more witnesses than she wanted. She’d be at the mercy of the crowd . . . and of Jack.
Esta’s mind was racing as she stumbled along, doing everything she could to slow Jack’s progress. The train nearby let off a hiss of steam, a sign that the boilers in the engines were nearly ready and a reminder that the train to Chicago would also leave soon. Other than the odd whispers of energy earlier, she hadn’t seen any sign of Harte. She had to hope that he would still be waiting where they’d agreed, but Jack was dragging her in the wrong direction.
If she didn’t show up, would Harte assume the worst and believe she’d betrayed him? It wouldn’t be a stretch, considering their history. Would he come looking for her, or would he leave without her?
A cold thought struck her: He can leave. She’d given him the Book. She had the stone, true, but she’d given Harte the Book as an assurance that she wouldn’t run. Why hadn’t she considered that he might? After all, he was out of the city now. Free.
And she was trapped with Jack.
It doesn’t matter. Whether Harte was waiting for her, as he’d promised, or had already abandoned her, she needed to focus. If she could just get away from Jack, she might still be able to get out of town. She knew where the first stone was. She could find it—and since she knew where Harte was headed, she could find him, too.
People around them were beginning to stare, so she decided to use that to her advantage and struggled more, putting up a fight to attract even more attention.
“Please, sir,” she whimpered at a man in an ill-fitting vest and a scuffed derby hat, whose steps had slowed as he eyed the two of them. “I don’t know this man,” she pleaded.
But Jack jerked her back, putting himself between her and the person she was appealing to. “She knows exactly who I am,” Jack told the confused stranger. “She’s our maid. Tried to leave town with my mother’s necklace.”
The man eyed the two of them again, and Esta knew what he was seeing: Jack’s expensively cut suit, contrasted with the rumpled skirts she’d lifted from a clothesline that morning. That, along with her fake accent, and the man in the vest paused only a second longer before making up his mind. He gave Jack a nod and kept walking toward the train platform, taking all hope Esta had of a rescue with him.
“Did you really think that would work?” Jack laughed.
Esta glared at him. “Did you really think I wouldn’t try?”
“What did you think would happen—that the police would come and take me away?” He laughed. “Not likely, and not long after the police took you into custody, the Order would have made you wish you’d ended your life on that bridge with Darrigan.”
“Like you aren’t going to hand me over to them anyway.”
The amusement that lit Jack’s eyes made Esta go cold. “Maybe eventually I’ll give you to my uncle and his friends . . . after I’m finished with you.”
Her skin crawled. “If you think I’d let you touch me—”
“If you think you have a choice, you’re not half as smart as you pretend to be,” Jack told her. “But I don’t want you. Women like you are a dime a dozen. I want what Darrigan took from the Order.”
“I don’t know what he took,” she pleaded, playing dumb.
Jack gave her a mocking look. “I don’t believe that for a second. We both know that Darrigan stole some very important pieces from the Order—a book called the Ars Arcana and the five ancient artifacts. I want them back.”
“I’m sure you do, but I can’t give you what I don’t have,” she said, meeting his eyes. “For all I know, the things you’re looking for are at the bottom of the river—with him.”
“Darrigan might be at the bottom of the river, but I don’t believe the things he stole are.” He leaned down so that his face was close to hers. With his strong patrician features and his shock of blond hair, he might have been handsome. But there was a detached arrogance in his icy blue eyes that made her skin crawl, and his skin had a sallow, puffy appearance, the effect of the whiskey already scenting his breath that morning. “No . . . I think there’s a reason you were on the bridge yesterday. I think Darrigan told you where the Order’s things are. Perhaps he even gave them to you.”
She shook her head. “He didn’t—”
He shook her into silence. “Then he told you something. He wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble to steal them only to toss himself from a bridge. You know more than you’re admitting. But don’t worry. . . . I have ways to get the information out of you.”
“You’re welcome to try,” she said, straightening her spine against the threat. He wouldn’t get what she did have, either. As soon as he had her alone, she would do what she couldn’t do here. She would make him regret touching her.
He cocked his head slightly at her boldness. “Do you know what’s happening right now, as you stand here pretending innocence? The Order is turning the city inside out to find its lost treasures. And they will destroy anyone who stands in their way. The longer you delay the inevitable, the more who will suffer.”
He was right. People were being punished because of her. Because of what she had failed to do. But she wouldn’t allow him to use that against her. “To go to that kind of trouble, the Order must be awfully scared. They must know that without their little baubles, they’re nothing.”
His eyes raked over her, too perceptive. “They’re the most powerful men in the country.”
“They’re cowards. Preying on the poor and the weak. I’m glad Darrigan stole their precious trinkets. I’m glad the Order is afraid.”
He did something then that she didn’t expect—he laughed. “Even without their trinkets, they could destroy you.” Then the amusement drained from his expression, and he pulled her close, his eyes not quite focused. He traced one finger down the side of her face. “But I could protect you from them. Once I have what Darrigan stole, you won’t need to fear the Order any longer.”
At first his words made no sense. Then realization struck. “You’re not going to give any of it back to them, are you?”
“Why should I?” Jack’s voice had gone bitter. “You’re right. The Order is nothing more than a bunch of feeble old men. Look how easily trash from the gutter broke through their defenses. If they had only let me consult the Ars Arcana, I could have rid the entire city of the danger. Their precious Khafre Hall would still be standing. I could have protected them.”
With the machine. Harte had told her everything about the dangerous invention Jack had been working on, a modern solution to expand the Brink’s power and wipe out magic—and the people who had an affinity for it. “You would have killed innocent people.”
“There are no innocent maggots,” Jack sneered. “The old magic corrupts everyone the same.” He paused, as though something almost humorous had occurred to him. “I suppose I owe Darrigan a debt of gratitude for liberating the Ars Arcana for me. With it I’ll prove to the world who I really am and all that I can do, and the Order will come on their knees, begging.”
The nearby train let off another hiss of steam, a reminder that she was running out of time.
“Because you’re smarter than them,” Esta said softly, infusing a breathiness into her voice as she tried another tactic. “You always have been.”
Jack’s eyes widened, just a bit, and his breath caught. For a moment he paused, and Esta thought her ploy had worked. But then his grip on her arm tightened again. “Did you really think I would fall for your lies again?”
She shook her head. She’d only hoped. “They weren’t lies, Jack.”
The flicker of uncertainty passed through Jack’s expression.
Ignoring the scent of liquor on his breath, she leaned in closer. “I never lied about my feelings for you, darling.” Then, before she could second-guess herself, she tipped her head up and pressed her lips against his.
Jack’s mouth went stiff with surprise at first, but then he was kissing her. Or rather, he was mauling her, his lips overeager and without finesse, as though he could claim her simply by bruising her mouth with his. It took everything she had not to pull away or gag.
An eternity later, Jack came up for air, his blue eyes glazed with satisfaction, and she thought he might even loosen his hold on her, as she’d hoped. Instead, his grip only tightened. “If you’re lying again—”
“No, Jack . . .” She fought to keep herself calm, but inside she was screaming. It hadn’t worked, and now she had the stale taste of Jack coating her mouth. She began to gather her strength to fight him—to do anything she needed to do to get to platform seven before that train pulled away.
“If you betray me, I will kill you myself. And no one will miss you when you’re gone. Not the trash in the Bowery and certainly not your con man of a magician.” A dark amusement flashed in his cold eyes. “He’s too busy feeding the fish in the Hudson.”
“You sure about that, Jack?” a voice said, and Esta didn’t need to look behind her to know that Harte had finally found her.