The Last Magician Page 18

  That close to the stove’s warmth, she unwrapped herself from the damp cloak she’d been wearing. She nodded to the table where Dolph sat with Viola, Jianyu, and Nibs, their heads all bent close together and their voices low. “What’s going on there?”

  Sliding a cup of milk toward Esta, Tilly gave her a wry look. “Big plans, like always.”

  Dolph thumped the table with his fist, and Viola said something vicious in Italian as she gestured wildly with her hands.

  “They don’t seem to be going too well.”

  “They’re not, from what I can tell,” Tilly said, turning back to the sinkful of dishes.

  Esta picked up a towel and took one of the wet plates from where Tilly had set them on the counter. Wiping at the plate, she kept an ear toward the group at the table. “What are they trying to do?” she said, keeping her voice low.

  Tilly glanced over at her out of the corner of her eye. “Something that will probably get one of them killed,” she murmured. She shook her head, obviously disgusted with the whole idea.

  “It’s not possible,” Viola snapped. “You want that we walk into a crowded room, take everything right from under their noses, and get away without being caught.  All while cleaning out everyone in the room at the same time? Sei pazzo!”

  “We’ve been over this. Jianyu can slip in undetected,” Dolph started.

  “And then what?” Nibs asked gently. “He’s no thief, Dolph.”

  “He steals secrets well enough,” Dolph insisted.

  “Secrets don’t have weight,”  Viola said, punctuating her words with her hands. “This is different. You want him to take everything? To rob a room filled with members of the Order while we take the exhibit? It’s too much for one person.”

  “Maybe we don’t need to take all of it?” Jianyu offered. “Taking a prized piece or two should be more than enough.”

  “No!” Dolph thumped again. “It’s not. They can’t know what we’re after. If we take everything, they’re less likely to know why they were robbed.”

  “Then what do you suggest we do?”  Viola asked.

  “We’ll send you,” Dolph said.

  “Bah! Be serious. I’m no thief, and you don’t want them dead, do you?”

  Esta took a sip from the cup of milk, using the excuse of the movement to glance over at the tense group around the table, but she practically choked when she found Nibs watching her.

  “What about her?” Nibs said as she was turning away.

  “What?” Dolph snapped.

  “Esta, the new girl. She’s lasted nearly a week downtown, hasn’t she? You know she’s talented—you couldn’t even stop her.” He shrugged. “Why not have her fleece the crowd? Jianyu can focus on the art.”

  Dolph turned to look at her with his icy stare. He studied her a second, his features tense. “No,” he said after a moment, and turned back to the table.

  “She does have light fingers,” Jianyu pressed, his eyes sliding over to her. He gave her an unreadable look, a reminder of what he had over her.

  “No,” Dolph said again, as though that was the end of that.

  “I agree,”  Viola said, glaring at her. “Not the girl.”

  For some reason it was Viola’s dismissal that rankled. “Why not ‘the girl’?” Esta asked. She took a step toward them, never letting her gaze drop from Viola’s. “You need something taken, and it’s what I do. I managed to take that knife right out of your pocket, didn’t I?”

  “You haven’t managed it since,”  Viola snapped, her eyes narrowing.

  “Haven’t bothered to try.”

  “Enough,” Dolph said before Viola could come back at her.

  Esta looked to Dolph. “You know I’m more than capable.”

  “But I don’t know if I can trust you.”

  “Only one way to find out,” Esta challenged.

  Dolph didn’t speak at first, simply stared at her, his cold blue eye serious.

  “You’re all worse than a couple of tomcats fighting over an alley,”  Tilly said, bringing a plate of food to the table. “Esta’s fine, Dolph. I have a good feeling about her, and if you were honest with yourself, you’d know you trust her.”

  “You don’t know that,” he said, glancing at Tilly.

  “I know she’d already be gone if you didn’t.” She gave him a stern look. “Use her. Maybe you’ll be less likely to get somebody killed that way.”

  “Tilly’s right,” Nibs said. “We can use the girl.”

  “The girl has a name,” Esta muttered.

  “Fine,” Dolph said, taking one of the biscuits Tilly had brought over. “Take a seat,” he said to Esta. “But know this—if you even think to cross us—”

  “You’ll be dead before you lift a finger,”  Viola finished.

  Jianyu was silent, not adding his own warning, but his eyes were steady, watchful.

  Luckily, she wasn’t planning to cross them. Not yet, at least.

  THE CORE OF MAGIC

  It was long after the Strega had closed its doors for the night when Dolph finally made his way back to his lonely apartment. Once, it had been filled with warmth and life, but now the silence served as penance. He settled himself at the table by the fire to look over the floor plans for the Metropolitan and the notes he’d collected about the exhibition so far, as well as Jianyu’s latest report.

  Sometime later, a sharp knock at the door stirred him from his solitude. He glanced up at the clock and saw that he’d worked well past midnight, far too late for someone to disturb him if it wasn’t important. “Come,” he barked, stepping in front of the table to block the view of the paperwork.

  Viola entered, and Dolph relaxed a measure, taking his chair again as he motioned for Viola to close the door behind her. Her unease permeated the air around them.

  “What is it?” he asked, gesturing to the empty chair across from him.

  Viola shook her head. “I won’t stay long.” But she didn’t immediately speak.

  “It’s been a long day, so if you have something to say, you’d best get to it.”

  Her eyes found the sheets of papers and notes on the table, and then she glanced up at him. “You really think it’s wise to include the girl in this?” she said finally.

  “That seems to be the current consensus,” Dolph said, sinking back into his own chair.

  Viola scowled. “I don’t trust her.”

  “You don’t trust anyone, Vi. Except maybe Tilly, and even then . . .” He gave a tired shrug. What was there to say about that, if  Viola wouldn’t say it herself ?

  Not that he blamed Viola for being so wary. She’d trusted her family, hadn’t she? Raised as the dutiful daughter, she’d done everything they’d asked of her—became her brother’s weapon when he began making enemies that came with the reputation he was building in the neighborhood. But when they’d heard whispers that she was getting too close to one of the teachers at the night classes she attended, they’d made the woman—and any hint of an affair—disappear and tried to sell Viola off to the highest bidder. For her own good, of course.

  As young as she had been and with the family she came from, she’d risked her life leaving their house, and she’d risked everything else in trading her loyalty to him for protection. Not that she had trusted him enough to tell him everything that had happened. But he’d found out on his own. He always did.

  Still, he’d never forget the day  Viola arrived at the Strega, her lip split and crusted over, the skin around her left eye as purple as the iris. She’d walked through the saloon doors with her chin up, her shoulders back, and had promised him that she would do anything he asked of her if he would keep her family from dragging her back. Because if they tried, she would kill them rather than live under their control, and she didn’t know if she could live with that.

  Viola had kept her promise to him for more than three years now, and he’d come to depend on her. Come to almost enjoy her flashes of temper and to respect her intractable will.
But he didn’t have the patience for any of it that night.

  Viola was silent at first as she took the seat opposite. Then, after a thoughtful moment, she leaned forward and spoke in low, halting tones. “We could wait awhile, you know. There’s no reason to rush. Or we could do as Jianyu suggested and only take the art. It would be enough to embarrass Morgan without risking everyone to a green girl we still don’t know.”

  Any other time, Viola’s point would have been well taken. Usually, he’d spend months watching and waiting before he’d even consider taking someone new into his confidence. But this time . . .

  “We can’t wait.” He’d been searching for answers for too long now, and he was still missing an important piece of the puzzle. He pushed a sheet of paper that held a list of names.

  “What’s this?”

  “More have gone missing.”

  Viola studied the list, her eyes squinting and her mouth moving soundlessly as she tried to make out the names. “People always go miss—” She stopped short and looked up at him in surprise. “Krzysztof Zeranski?”

  Dolph nodded. The city had a tendency to swallow the weak, but Mageus with stronger affinities, like Krzysztof, were usually better at avoiding that fate. Lately, though, it seemed that some of the most talented—and most powerful—were disappearing again, exactly as they had last year. “He helped with a fire on Hester Street last week. It’s possible he was seen.”

  Viola handed him back the list. “What does this have to do with the job at the Metropolitan?”

  “The Order is up to something. Look at that list, Viola. Krzysztof has a talent for calling to water. Eidelman grows nearly impossible blooms at his flower shop over near Washington Square, and anyone knows you talk to Frieda Weber if you want the sun to shine on your wedding day. They all could be confused for elementals.”

  Viola shook her head. “But they’re not. Water, air, earth—they all are part of one another. To call to one is to call on the very core of magic itself.”

  “I know that and you know that. Hell, every Mageus was born with that knowledge deep in their bones, but the Order and their like—people who’ve never felt the call to connect with the world around them—fall back on the myth that you can separate the parts of magic to make it more manageable. Look at the Brink itself—as though you can separate the affinity from the Mageus without damaging both? It’s impossible. No Mageus can fully recover from what it does to them, and every time one of our rank is laid low by it, magic as a whole is weakened.

  “Maybe I’m wrong about this. Maybe I’m seeing patterns that aren’t there, but I don’t think so. This happened before, when we lost Leena. These names suggest that it’s starting again. I can’t ignore that fact, just as I can’t forget that every day we wait is a day closer to the Conclave. They’re planning something—something bigger than we’ve seen before—and we’re running out of time to figure out what it is.  We need the Ars Arcana.”

  “This is about the Book again?” she asked, clearly irritated.

  “It is,” he said.

  “You really think a simple book is so important?”

  “Leena never would have sacrificed herself for a simple book, Viola. Not unless it was exactly that important. I trusted her in life, and I’ll trust her in this. I’m convinced the Order has the Ars Arcana, and I’m convinced we need it to beat them.”

  Viola’s violet eyes were still unsure. “If we were truly brave, we could take on the Order without worrying about some stupid book. What chance could they stand against us? Conigli, all of us, for not fighting them.”

  Dolph shook his head. “Maybe once that would have been true, but now? Magic is dying, and it has been for some time. Away from the old countries, every generation forgets a little more. You’ve seen it yourself, haven’t you? How each generation is a little weaker than the one before it. Maybe one hundred—even fifty—years ago, we might have stood a chance, but I wouldn’t risk a stand now. No one with any sense would.”

  “So we wait until we’re ready. We build our power,” she argued. “We could take our time, chip away at the Order’s power until they’re weak enough to defeat.”

  “You don’t understand. . . .” He leaned forward a bit. “What I’m trying to do is about more than simply bringing down the Order. If I’m right about the Ars Arcana, it contains the very secrets of magic itself.”

  “We have the secrets of magic.” She tapped her chest. “It flows in our very blood.”

  “True, but we’ve forgotten. We could be so much more. The Order wouldn’t be able to stop any Mageus from fulfilling their destiny ever again. We could make this whole country a haven for our kind.” When she continued frowning, he pressed on. “This has become bigger than me, bigger than what I lost when the Order took Leena from me.”

  “What does any of this have to do with the museum? The Book isn’t there.”

  “The Morgan exhibit has pieces I need to examine,” he said, sliding the exhibition program toward her. Jianyu had managed to lift one from the printer where it was being made, so Dolph knew exactly what Morgan had. He knew exactly what he needed.

  She glanced up at him, a question in her eyes.

  “Getting into Khafre Hall won’t be enough—the Order will have the Mysterium protected by more than a locked door. I’m expecting something like what they kept Leena in before they killed her—something that would hurt any Mageus who tried to come close. We’ll need to break through that protection,” he said, taking the program back from her and pointing to one entry in particular. “I think this might work.”

  She studied the entry doubtfully. “Morgan wouldn’t put anything so dangerous—so important—on display,” she challenged.

  “He might if he didn’t realize what he had,” Dolph argued.

  “You can’t know that for sure.”

  No, of course he didn’t know for sure. But it wasn’t as though he could simply walk into the museum and examine the piece himself without raising suspicions. “I know enough, and Nibs is optimistic.”

  Viola studied him with narrowed eyes. “No . . . There’s something more. Something you’re not telling us.”

  “If I’m not telling you, then it’s not your business to know,” Dolph said, his impatience seeping into his words.

  But Viola didn’t seem to heed the warning in his voice. “You used to trust me, you know.”

  He let out an exasperated sigh. “I still trust you, Vi.”

  “You keep secrets from us.” She shook her head. “You’ve always kept secrets from us, I suppose, but now I think there’s something more. If you aren’t careful, you’re going to get us all killed.”

  “Are you saying you want out?” he asked tightly.

  She studied him with eyes as sharp as the knives she had hidden in her skirts. The clock tick-tick-ticked out the seconds as they passed, each moment feeling like one closer to everything unraveling.

  Leena would have known what to say to soothe  Viola. She would have told him if this whole gambit was a mistake. But would he have listened?

  “Are you saying I have a choice in the matter now?”  Viola asked, her eyes never leaving his.

  “You’ve always had a choice,” he said, keeping his voice level, his expression placid. “But when you pledged your loyalty and took my mark, you understood the consequences of making it.”

  Her expression didn’t so much as flicker. “I don’t need your threats, Dolph. Mark or no mark, I keep my word.”

  “I know that, Viola,” he told her. “If you don’t want in on the Metropolitan job, I don’t want you there.  Too much is at stake for anyone not to be all in.” He paused, lowered his voice. “We could use your help on it, though.”

  “Fine,” she said after another long moment. “But if the girl crosses us—”

  “I don’t think she will.”

  “Will you give her your mark before?” she asked.

  He should. Anyone he let close enough to do a job like this should have been
made to take his mark, but with his affinity hollowed out and weak, the marks were pointless. He wasn’t sure what would happen—what he would reveal—by marking the girl without his magic intact.

  Viola frowned at his hesitation. “You’re too soft on her.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You admire her,” she insisted.

  “She’s a talented thief, but—”

  “I can see why,” Viola continued, ignoring him. “She’s stubborn and too bold. She reminds me a bit of Leena in that way. But you’re letting your sympathy cloud your judgment. I worry you trust her for the wrong reasons.”

  “I worry you dislike her for the wrong reasons,” Dolph said softly.

  “What are the right reasons, Dolph?”

  But when he went to answer, he found that he didn’t know anymore.

  THE METROPOLITAN

  Central Park East

  Esta checked her reflection in the glass covering an eighteenth-century watercolor. The disdainful eyes of the wigged man in the portrait stared back at her, and she had the sudden, uneasy sense that he could see right through her. She only hoped no one else could.

  Ignoring his disapproving gaze, she craned her neck from right to left to make sure that every stray hair was still tucked up into the silk tarboosh, the fezlike hat that all the servers were wearing that night. It was lucky, she supposed, that they were wearing them. She was nearly as tall as most men, and it was easy enough to wrap her chest to hide her curves, but without the hat, it would have been harder to hide her hair and pass as one of the male servers. Otherwise, she didn’t doubt Viola would have made an argument for cutting it.

  The silken pants and long tuniclike coats—all part of the exhibition’s general theme—were a bonus too. To finally be out of the long skirts she’d been wearing made her feel freer than she had in weeks. Not that the serving uniforms or any of the decorations were even remotely authentic. With the shine of the silk and beaded details that glittered as she moved, the outfit looked more like something from a Vegas show.