The Last Magician Read online

  It wasn’t anything Harte himself was interested in anymore. He’d had too much violence and danger in his life already. The only thing that interested him now was what the girl was doing. He saw her then, the only one moving across the room instead of watching the entertainment, inching her way toward the door to the gallery beyond.

  So that’s her game, he thought with sudden uneasiness.

  In the middle of the floor, Viola was still dancing, now weaving through the room, pulling one of the dour-looking guards into the dance with her gossamer scarf. The other guards laughed, slapping each other as they watched her draw their friend into the center of the room. Away from the door he was supposed to be guarding.

  Misdirection, Harte understood. It was the heart of any illusion, and Viola’s was particularly effective.

  Swiiip. Another knife sailed through the air, pinning the sleeve of another guard to the wall. More laughter erupted as he tried to free himself.

  Harte began to move toward the closed gallery, to where the girl was standing with her back to the door, her hands behind her. Again, there was no betraying energy, no sign that she was using any affinity.

  Clever thief.  Talented, too, if she could pick that lock without looking and without magic. Luckily, she was too busy concentrating on her task to notice him approaching her, but she went completely still when he sidled up next to her.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” he said, dipping his head low so that no one else would hear. He was ready this time for the effect she had on him, the talent she had for distracting him when he should most be paying attention.

  Her eyes widened, but that was the only indication of her surprise. “Go away,” she told him, her hands still working behind her.

  He had to admire the backbone in her. “You know, you can’t use magic in here—they have Mageus watching for it.”

  “I’m aware,” she said, glancing at him.

  He frowned. “If you’re doing what I think you’re doing, you’ll never get out of here without it.”

  “It’s sweet of you to think I need saving, but I’ll be fine. If you’d be a dear and leave me alone, that is.”

  “Save you?” he said, widening his eyes dramatically. “Is that what you think I’m doing?” He inched closer. “I’m only interested in saving myself. You do what I think you’re about to do, and I might get caught in the crossfire.”

  “Then maybe you should get out of the way.”

  He moved closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “Maybe those men in the dark suits would be interested in meeting you. I’m sure they’d have a few questions about why you’re dressed like that.”

  “I’d be happy to give them some answers,” she said too sweetly, batting her eyes at him innocently. “I’m sure they’d love to hear all about a certain magician who has more magic than they realize up his sleeves.”

  “You wouldn’t,” he said, almost amused in spite of himself.

  “I might,” she said, but her eyes were laughing at him. “I’ve decided I kind of hate you, you know.”

  He found himself smiling. “I assure you, sweetheart, the feeling is mutual.”

  “Well, then . . . Since we seem to understand each other now, you might want to move.”

  The smile fell from his face. “Mo—”

  The word was only halfway out when he felt the breath of air as a silver knife flashed between them. It was enough to make him step back.

  Then the lights went out.

  A CHANGE IN PLANS

  Her heart was still pounding from the surprise of having Harte Darrigan materialize out of nowhere. She’d been so busy focusing on the feel of the lock, letting the vibrations from the pick guide her, that she hadn’t even seen him until it was too late.

  Thank god for Viola. Or thank god Viola had only distracted him, when Esta was pretty sure Dolph’s assassin would have been just as happy to skewer them both. She’d definitely wanted to earlier, when Esta had explained her plan for Viola to create a distraction by replacing the troupe’s dancer. She had a feeling Viola didn’t forgive easily.

  Not that she had time to worry about that. The second the lights went out, Esta slipped into the next gallery, leaving behind the gasping, buzzing crowd in the antechamber.

  “Jianyu?” she whispered. “Are you here?”

  “Where else would I be?” His voice came out of the darkness. “What is happening? This was not the plan.”

  “Plan’s changed,” she said, sparking a small flame and lighting the nub of a candle she’d carried in her sleeve. Then she lifted her tunic and removed the clothing she’d hidden there. “They have Mageus for guards. If you use your affinity, you’ll never get out. Here—” She tossed him the gauzy pants and scarf. “Loosen your hair and put these on. And be quick about it.”

  Jianyu rubbed the silky fabric between his fingers. “These are for a woman.”

  “Yeah. Get moving.” She took the bundle of objects Jianyu had collected and began fastening them beneath her clothes. She wrapped a rolled canvas around her upper thigh and tucked a couple of small carved cylinders into the fabric binding her breasts.

  Jianyu wasn’t changing. He simply glared at her. “You want me to dress as a woman?”

  “That’s the basic idea,” she said, sliding a smaller canvas around her other ankle, fastening it in place with the garter for her socks.

  “No,” Jianyu said, dropping the sapphire silk into a pile at his feet.

  Esta turned on him. “We have maybe two minutes left before the lights come back on. That means we have less than two minutes to get you out of here before we can’t. In about ninety seconds, I’ll be on the other side of that door and on my way to the carriage out back, and you’ll be on your own. You can either get over your fragile masculine pride and put on the damn skirt or deal with the Order yourself.”

  After a moment of stony silence, he began unbraiding his hair, glaring at her all the while. He looked like he wanted to kill someone, and Esta knew he probably could, but he didn’t argue as he made quick work of the rest, covering his head and face with the gauzy scarf. It didn’t do much to hide his masculinity. If anyone bothered to really look, they would know he was a man dressed in women’s clothing.

  Not that they had any other choice at that point. She’d just have to hope that people would only see what they expected to, or that they wouldn’t bother looking at all.

  “Very pretty,” she taunted as she slipped the last item into her waistband. “Ready?”

  Jianyu glared at her.

  “Maybe relax your shoulders a bit?” she suggested. “If you want to get out of here, you need to at least try.”

  “I am trying,” he snapped, pulling himself up even taller and broader than before.

  We are so screwed.

  “Okay, well, try harder,” she said, adjusting the scarf over his face to cover his scowl. “When you get out there, you need to pretend like you’ve been there the whole time. Follow Viola’s lead.” She snuffed the candle with her fingertips.

  On the other side of the door, the crowd had grown frantic, which was convenient because their noise covered the sound of the latch as they entered the outer room. She made sure the lock caught, so it would look like the gallery had never been breached.

  “Go,” she whispered, pushing Jianyu into the crowd as the lights came back on.

  There was a moment of shocked silence, before the crowd’s voices rose again, louder than they’d been before. Men barked for someone to explain what had happened, and women gasped, grabbing at their jewels to make sure they were all in place.

  “If you could give me your attention—” A voice came from somewhere on the other side of the room, low and male and full of its own importance, but it took a few more tries before the crowd would quiet enough to listen to the man speaking.

  Nearby, Harte Darrigan blinked at the brightness, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the sudden return of the light. Esta feigned confusion like everyone else a
s she sidled away from his reach. In the far corner, J. P. Morgan had found something to stand on and was telling the crowd to stay calm, that it had simply been a problem with the power, but it had been solved and there was no reason to worry. The evening would go on as planned.

  Not quite as planned, Esta thought as she lifted a tray from a nearby cart and made her way through the crowd. Afraid to jostle the items beneath her clothing, she walked cautiously.

  In the center of the room, Morgan was commanding the musicians to begin playing again, and they immediately launched into another driving tune that was all drums and cymbals. Esta cringed as she saw that Jianyu was standing stiffly, his arms crossed over his chest, instead of making an effort to blend in. But no one seemed to notice. A few more minutes—another pass around the room for Viola and the boys, a careful exit for herself—and they’d all be safe.

  Esta kept her pace steady as she moved ever closer to the arched entrance of the gallery, accepting empty glasses from people who seemed willing enough to forget the momentary darkness now that the lights were back on. From across the room,  Viola caught her gaze and gave a subtle nod before she led the troupe—including Jianyu—beneath the arched entry, out into the museum. Their music faded as they moved away, until it stopped altogether.

  They were out.

  Now it was up to her to get their haul—and herself—out safely as well. Because if she was caught, there would be no one left to help her.

  She was already halfway to the entry, only a few yards more to freedom, when Morgan began his speech about the collection. His voice boomed through the room as he declared his deep affection for the Ottoman Empire, for their great discoveries and mystical art.

  Almost there, Esta thought, closing the final few feet between her and the exit. A little farther—

  Then someone snagged her arm, and she startled, nearly dropping the tray of glasses. She looked over her shoulder to find Harte Darrigan’s stormy eyes boring into hers. With the tray of stemware balanced precariously in her other hand, she couldn’t shake him off. If his hand moved a few inches up her arm, he’d definitely feel the roll of stolen parchment she’d wrapped there, and especially after that little stunt she’d pulled on his stage, she didn’t know what he would do.

  “Let me go,” she whispered furiously.

  He studied her a moment longer with eyes that seemed far older than his years. Then he took the glass he was holding and placed it on her tray. “You missed one,” he said. He still didn’t release her arm.

  She was trapped.

  Panic seized the breath in her chest, made her feel as though every heartbeat was a step toward her inevitable end. Morgan’s voice was still droning on, but he sounded very far away—like she was listening to him through a long tunnel. It felt like she was stuck in the spaces between seconds, unable to go back and make another choice. Unable to do anything to change what was about to happen without putting herself—and everyone else—in more danger.

  But the sudden eruption of applause brought her back to herself. The room snapped into focus, and the panic that had strangled her receded to a dull ache. Her mind raced.

  They were about to open the doors to the other gallery. In a moment they would see that the collection was gone. Once that happened, the museum would be locked down. She’d be trapped, strapped from head to toe with pieces of priceless art. She had to get out before that happened.

  But he didn’t release her. “Don’t you want to see the exhibition?” he asked, his voice steady.

  He knows. And now he was toying with her.

  She glared at him and tried to tug away again, but it was too late. The click of the lock echoed through the room and the gallery doors opened with everyone watching, waiting to see Morgan’s jewel of a collection.

  A gasp rang out in the crowd as the gallery doors stood open, exposing the ransacked room, the missing collection.

  The Magician glanced over as the news of the theft filtered through the crowd, and then he looked back at Esta. His eyes were curious and, if she wasn’t mistaken, more than a little appreciative.

  She could not be caught. Not now, before she had saved the Book and retrieved her stone.  And not there, in a room filled with members of the Order.

  With a quick motion, she flipped her tray toward him.

  Instinctively, his whole body sprang into action. He released her and lunged for the tray to catch it before the glasses fell. But though he’d let her go, the racket of the glasses crashing to the floor caused the people around him to turn. Already another server was coming to help.

  The mouth of the room was only a few feet away, but dark-suited men were moving to block any exit. She’d never make it, unless . . .

  Esta knew it was a risk, but she couldn’t be trapped. She had to get the art out. She had to get herself out.  There wasn’t a choice. So she pulled time around her and ran for it.

  She didn’t bother to see whether the guards sensed her magic as she slipped past them and into the hall. She didn’t stop for anything, just ran as fast as her feet would carry her, down the winding staircase and back through the statue gallery to the service entrance. Barreling past another guard, who was frozen in midrun toward the gallery, she made it out of the museum, into the quiet night, but she didn’t release her hold on time. She moved effortlessly through the silent, still world. The bare fingers of the park’s trees, so much smaller than in her own time, were dark shadows against the star-filled sky as she passed the knifelike point of Cleopatra’s Needle. They waved her on as she made her way down the lane to where the carriage was waiting.

  The others would be gone, she knew. If everything had gone to plan. She didn’t release time until she reached the dark body of the carriage. The horses nickered when she knocked, using the rhythm of beats she’d been taught. To her relief, the door opened.

  But that relief changed to caution when she saw that Dolph sat concealed in the shadows, waiting. “You have the items?” he asked as she took the seat opposite him.

  She gave a nod, and he rapped on the roof twice with his silver-topped cane to signal the driver. With a lurch, the carriage started off, rattling down the cobbled road.

  The small, dark space felt too close, too confined with Dolph’s long legs taking up most of the room between them. She pulled her legs as far from his as she could and tried to shake off her nerves. He’d taken a risk in allowing her to help them, and everything had gone wrong.

  “Well?” His voice was low, expectant.

  She began unfastening the items, taking them from their hiding places beneath her clothes. Dolph took them from her, one at a time, but his expression lit at the sight of a small, carved stone cylinder. He tucked it away in the inner pocket of his coat, like it was something more important than the rest.

  After a few long moments of silence punctuated only by the rattling of the wheels and the strained squeak of the seat beneath her, Dolph spoke. “Nibs told me what happened tonight.”

  “He did?” Her mouth went dry.

  “You took quite a risk, going through with things,” Dolph said. “You could have gotten yourself out and left Jianyu to his own fate.”

  She relaxed a little. He wasn’t talking about her use of magic. “That’s true,” she admitted. “I could have.”

  “You thought about it,” he challenged, his expression unreadable in the dappled shadows of the coach.

  “No, actually. Once I knew Jianyu was trapped, it never crossed my mind.”

  “I find that difficult to believe,” Dolph said.

  Esta leaned forward until her face was lit by the flickering light coming through the small window. She wanted him to see the truth of her words, the sincerity of her intention. Dolph Saunders needed to trust her if she was ever going to get into Khafre Hall. She needed to be on that crew if she was ever going to get close enough to stop the Magician and get her hands on the Book . . . or her stone. Her only way back was through Dolph.

  “I never considered gettin
g myself out,” she told him. “You trusted me with this, and I was not going to betray that trust. My only thought was to find a way to get everyone out safely. I did my job, like I promised I would.”

  He considered that for a moment, but his expression didn’t change. Instead, he leaned back in his seat lazily, his fingertips drumming against the silver Medusa that topped his cane. “Your job was to fleece the crowd,” he said, his lean face grim in the shadows of the coach.

  “Who said I didn’t?” She pulled out a necklace studded with enormous diamonds and emeralds. The stones glimmered as they dangled from her fingertip. “Mrs. Morgan sent this along with her compliments.”

  Dolph’s finger stopped moving. “Did she?”

  Esta did let her mouth curve then. “Well, maybe she would have, if she had known it was gone.”

  As Dolph took the necklace from her, his expression grudgingly appreciative, Esta didn’t feel any sense of victory. Dolph might be pleased, but she couldn’t help worrying about what it meant that the Magician had seen her. Harte Darrigan would know Dolph was behind the robbery, and she didn’t know what he might do with that knowledge.

  And she couldn’t help but worry that her use of magic to escape might come back to haunt her. To haunt them all.

  A DAMN GOOD TRICK

  It had been a damn good trick, making all that art disappear in a matter of the two minutes or so the lights had gone out, and with none of them using their affinities. But the girl had left a mess in her wake, the least of which was the mixture of leftover champagne Harte was covered in and the crystal goblets shattered on the floor around him.

  She seemed to have a way of quite literally disappearing every time they met. It was something to do with her affinity, he knew. He should have been annoyed by her habit of leaving him empty-handed and looking like an idiot, but that, too, was a damn fine trick, and he couldn’t stop himself from admiring her for it. Even if this time she’d left him in a precarious place.