WALLACK’S THEATRE
1902—New York
Jianyu Lee understood the weight of failure. Its oppressiveness had chased him from his brother’s house and later sent him, desperate to prove his worth, to a new land. Like the story of Kua Fu chasing the sun, Jianyu had tried to outrun the disappointments of his boyhood. Instead he’d carried them with him on the endless journey across sea and land, only to find more waiting when he arrived in this city and discovered that the promises of the Six Companies’ agent had been lies.
He had tried to make the best of working for Wung Ah Ling, the man who fashioned himself as Tom Lee. With his diamond stickpin and stylish derby hat, the self-proclaimed “mayor” of Chinatown was well known throughout the city. He had been delighted to have a Mageus in his employ and had taken Jianyu under his tutelage. Lee had helped him perfect the English that Jianyu had been taught on his long journey, and Lee had explained that the work of the tong was to aid their brethren in navigating the strange ways of this strange land. To protect them. But the longer Jianyu collected bribe money from poor shopkeepers, living in the same rooms where they worked while Tom Lee lived in the palatial splendor of his three-floor apartment at 20 Mott Street, the more Jianyu realized that Lee was no different from the rich merchants back in Gwóng-dūng who ate well while the poor farmers starved.
The day Jianyu was sent by Lee to collect money from a laundryman whose rasping voice and well-lined skin reminded him of his long-deceased grandfather’s was the day Jianyu realized he was still nothing more than a bandit. The new beginning he had hoped for was more of the same. After that, every day that he worked as Tom Lee’s lackey, using his affinity against those who could not help themselves, he had added another stone to his burden. But Dolph Saunders had given him a way to lay some of that burden down when he’d offered Jianyu a place in the Devil’s Own. The dream of destroying the Brink had given Jianyu hope for a different future—for himself and for each of his countrymen back home who carried an affinity, and who would be threatened if the Order’s cancerous power were allowed to spread.
Jianyu had been so busy guarding against the danger of the Order that he had failed to see the danger in their midst. They all had, and Dolph’s life had been the cost. In the days following Dolph’s death, Jianyu felt the old familiar shame return, creeping in the shadows of too silent rooms, waiting for him to pick up the burden of his failures once again. Perhaps he might have. Perhaps one day he might still, but for now, Jianyu had work to do. Nibsy Lorcan was a danger perhaps even worse than the Order, who seemed focused on their power here in New York. If what Harte Darrigan told him was true, Nibsy’s ambitions were much larger. If Nibsy controlled the stones, his power might stretch beyond the seas. Whatever might come, Nibsy Lorcan could not be allowed to win.
Jianyu had made Darrigan a promise to protect Cela Johnson and the stone she carried. It was the first step toward defeating Nibsy, and he would not fail.
First, however, he had to find her before anyone else did.
After the confrontation with the woman in the cellar of the theater, Jianyu knew he could not leave until he had determined whether Cela was inside. Which was why he spent the day watching the theater’s doors from an alleyway across the street, wrapped in light, so no one noticed him as he waited. All morning, he passed the time by watching the comings and goings of those who did not have to worry about who or what they were, people who knew they belonged—or those who could pretend they belonged. How many among those who passed by that morning were also Mageus, able to blend in and become invisible within the crowd without using any magic at all? It was a comfort that Jianyu had not had since the day he left his own country.
But then, there magic had been different. There was no Order, no Brink. His affinity had not been a liability as it was here.
He was not sure when the exhaustion of nearly two days finally dragged him under, but it was growing dark by the time he was jolted awake by the toe of a policeman’s boot. After producing the required identity papers—falsified documents that served as protection when he could not use his affinity—Jianyu pretended to move along as instructed. When the policeman had moved on, he drew his affinity close and returned to wait until the crowd from the last show had poured out of the front and the performers had finally stopped trickling out of the stage door.
Jianyu waited longer still, until he saw the woman from earlier leave, her hair a bright flame beneath the glow of the evening’s marquee. Once she had turned the corner and was out of sight, Jianyu pulled the light around himself again and made his way back into the theater. Inside, he released his affinity, just in case there was anyone else left behind who could sense magic, and allowed his eyes to adjust. Again he began his search for some sign of Cela, hoping all the while that he had not missed her when he had failed to stay awake.
There hadn’t been any sign of a costumer’s shop backstage, so he went back to the cellar, where the woman had stopped his earlier search. Even if Cela herself wasn’t below, perhaps her workroom would give him some clue to where she had gone or where she might be.
It was too dark to search properly without any light, so Jianyu took the chance of using the bronze mirrors in the pocket of his tunic. Focusing his affinity through them, he amplified the minuscule threads of light that surrounded him and wrapped them around the disk until it glowed. The soft halo of light guided him through the dusty space as he searched, looking for some sign that he had been correct—that Cela Johnson was, indeed, there.
Finally, he came to a room at the back of the cellar. The door was closed tight and locked, but he picked the lock cleanly and opened the door to find a workroom. The glow of his mirrors showed it to be a small space, but neat and tidy. Rolls of silks and bolts of fabric were piled all around. He ran his finger along the cool metal of the heavy sewing machine that stood in the corner and it came away clean. No dust had accumulated there or anywhere. It felt as though the room had been used . . . and recently.
“Cela?” he called softly into the emptiness. “Cela Johnson? Are you there?”
He listened, knowing that silence would be the only answer, before he tried once more. “My name is Jianyu Lee, and I’ve come to help you.” He paused again, weighing the risks of divulging too much if someone else were listening, and then he decided to take the chance. “Harte Darrigan sent me to protect you.”
He stood for a long time, his ears open and his focus sharp for any sign of life, any indication that Cela was still there. In the corner, he heard a rustling. . . .
But when he lifted his disk, the glowing light revealed the tail of some rodent just before it scurried away.
Cela Johnson had been there not long before. Jianyu was sure of it. But she wasn’t there any longer. Only one question loomed larger than all the others—had she left this place of her own free will, or had someone else gotten to her first?