A VISION OF LIGHT AND POWER
1902—New Jersey
Harte Darrigan knew he was a bastard in every sense of the word, but he couldn’t stop the wave of possessiveness that flashed through him when he saw Esta tip her chin up and press her lips against Jack Grew’s.
The train to Chicago was about to leave, and there had been no sign of her on the platform where they’d agreed to meet, so Harte had gone looking. He’d come around the corner and found her with Jack, and there was no mistaking what he saw—she had kissed him. On purpose. Even now, pinned against Jack, she wasn’t struggling to get away. And if anyone could get away, it was Esta.
For a moment the only thing Harte could bring into focus was the way her fingers were curled around the lapels of Jack’s coat. The voice inside of him had roared up, shrieking with a deafening pitch as it clawed at its confines, and by the time he had pushed it away and shoved it back down, Jack was speaking.
“. . . con man of a magician . . . too busy feeding fish in the Hudson.”
Rage had slammed through Harte, and the voice echoed in approval. “You sure about that, Jack?” he asked, gratified to see the surprise drain Jack’s face of color. But in the space of a heartbeat, Jack’s expression rearranged itself—surprise transformed to confusion and then to recognition—and he pulled Esta back against him, pinning her to him.
Harte took a step forward, but Esta shook her head.
For an instant the fury within him rose up again, but then he saw how wide her eyes were. There was a fear in them so uncharacteristic that Esta almost looked like a different person. Suddenly the station seemed to fall away, and it felt as though the entire world had narrowed down to the whiskey-colored irises of her eyes.
Her eyes were wide, and her expression was blank with terror. The stones around her glowed, a fiery circle of light and power. One by one the stones went dark, and then the blackness of her pupils seeped into the color, obliterating it, spreading to the whites of her eyes, until all that looked back was darkness. Emptiness. Nothing. And the darkness began to pour out of her. . . .
He stepped forward blindly, not knowing what he could possibly do. Not sure what he was even seeing.
“No!” she told him, the fear in her voice stopping him in his tracks. “Stay back.”
All at once, the vision dissipated. They were in the station once more, and Esta’s eyes were golden. They were still frightened, but there was none of the yawning blackness he’d seen just moments before. And Jack was smiling as though he’d already won.
“I’d listen to her if I were you,” Jack said, his voice calm and level, as if they were discussing something as mundane as the weather or the price of bread. “Or don’t listen. It doesn’t much matter to me. If we’re being honest with one another, I’ll probably shoot her either way.” Jack’s eyes narrowed. “But then, honesty isn’t something you’re familiar with, is it, Darrigan?”
Honesty? The voice suddenly roared inside of him. What could he know of honesty?
Disoriented and filled with a combination of guilt and rage that he didn’t quite understand, Harte tried to pull himself together. “Playing with guns again, Jack?” he asked, amazed that he managed to keep any tremor of fear out of his voice. “I’m sure the police over there would be interested in knowing about that.”
“She’d have a bullet in her back before you finished calling them,” Jack replied lazily.
The other passengers streamed around them like water parting for a rock in a stream, ignoring the tableau they must have made standing there, tense and clearly at odds. But then, wealth like Jack’s granted a certain amount of invisibility, Harte thought. No one questioned you when you appeared to own the world.
Harte kept his focus on Jack so he wouldn’t have to deal with the fear in Esta’s eyes. “You don’t really want to hurt her, Jack. Your family might own half the city, but murder is murder. There will be consequences for shooting a girl in the middle of a train station.”
“Oh, I think you’ll find that you’re wrong about that,” Jack said, and Harte didn’t like the gleam in Jack’s eyes. “Even if there are certain inconveniences, I think you’ll find that I’m willing to deal with quite a lot to get what I want. I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”
The determination in Jack’s tone was a stone in the pit of Harte’s stomach. “I know you are, Jack. But you don’t have to—that’s what I’m trying to tell you. We can make this easy. You don’t need to hurt her. She doesn’t have what you’re looking for.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed, but Harte could read the anticipation and eagerness in his expression. Just keep him interested. Because without Esta . . .
He couldn’t let himself think about that.
“And you do?” Jack asked.
“No—” Esta started to say, but another jerk from Jack had her gasping instead.
Harte tried to send Esta a silent message, what he hoped was an encouraging look to let her know everything would be fine. They’d get out of this mess. He would get them out.
“Of course I do,” Harte answered lazily. He knew what Jack wanted. It was the same thing Jack—and everyone else—had wanted from the beginning: the Book. And all the knowledge and power it contained. Well . . . Jack could have one of those things.
“Where is it?” Jack demanded.
Harte didn’t know whether the decision he was about to make was the right one or if it was his biggest mistake yet. But from the wild look in Jack’s eyes, Harte knew that Jack would do everything he was threatening. After all, to Jack, Esta was expendable. Jack didn’t know what she was, couldn’t even begin to imagine how useful she might be to him, so Jack wouldn’t hesitate to shoot her. And if that happened—if Esta died here and now—Harte would be lost as well.
He shuddered as the voice tried to claw its way to the surface of his mind. Pushing him forward. Compelling him.
Harte took the Book from inside his coat.
“You can’t—” Esta said when she saw it, but Jack pushed her forward, silencing her with the threat of the gun in her back.
Jack’s eyes widened slightly, and a hungry gleam shone within them. “Give it to me,” he snapped.
“I know how much you want this, Jack,” Harte said, pulling around him the familiar role he’d perfected over the past few years—the even-tempered, ever-confident magician. “How many times did you tell me about how your uncle and his friends kept you from everything you could be by refusing to let you have access to this Book? Well, here it is, Jack. You can have it—the power of the Ars Arcana and all the knowledge it contains. You simply have to release Esta, and it can be yours. All of it can be yours.”
Jack’s icy eyes were determined, and Harte could sense that Jack’s desire for the Book burned hot and bright. He wanted to accept. . . .
Then Jack’s expression shifted, and his lip curled slightly on one side. “Now I know you’re lying. You expect me to believe you would give up all that for her? After all you’ve done to get it?” Jack shook his head. “No girl is worth that.”
Harte let out a derisive chuckle, even as his stomach threatened to turn itself inside out. “Well, by all means . . . keep her, then—I’d rather have this anyway,” he lied, making a show of tucking the Book back into his pocket as he turned to leave.
Ignoring the way Esta’s body went tense, Harte shoved down the voice that roared its displeasure at the idea of leaving her behind. All around him, the station seemed to recede. The smell of coal smoke in the air and the noise of the early morning travelers. The hiss of steam from a train nearby and the final call of the conductor. None of the noise or sights of the station touched him, because all his energy was focused on walking away from Esta.
Harte got exactly three steps away before Jack did exactly what he had hoped.
“Wait!” Jack shouted.
Harte turned slowly, pretending to be annoyed at Jack’s change of mind. “Yes?”
Jack lifted his chin, a sharp jerk that punctuated the demand in his words. “If it’s really the Ars Arcana you have there, you should be able to prove it. Some demonstration of the Book’s power will suffice.”
Harte kept from showing any bit of the relief he felt at Jack’s words. “Of course . . .” He withdrew the Book again. His heart was pounding away in his ears as loudly and as steadily as a train careening down the tracks.
Esta’s eyes were determined, frantic to convey a single message that Harte was just as determined to ignore—no.
Trust me, he pleaded silently, but he couldn’t be sure she understood.
He made a show of examining the Book, of riffling through its uneven pages and admiring it. “Despite its humble appearance, this Book is quite amazing. I’ve learned so much from it already,” Harte told Jack, settling deeper into the role and taking comfort in that familiar, reliable part of himself. “I think you would be very impressed to see what I can do with it.”
Jack only glared at him. “I doubt it. If that book had any real power, you wouldn’t still be standing here talking.”
Harte gave a conceding shrug. “You’re right, Jack. So let’s not talk any longer.” He held the Book out in front of him.
Esta’s face was creased in pain, her expression urgent with panic. “No, Harte. You can’t—”
But before she could finish, Harte tossed the Book into the air, high over their heads.