The Last Magician Page 30

  He had style, Dolph admitted, feeling tired and older than his own twenty-six years. Kelly was only a couple years younger than Dolph, but he had something that felt new. Kelly had a different style, one that drew the boys who filled the barroom around them. One that could be dangerous if it ever found a wider audience.

  Dolph took the seat across from Kelly without waiting for an invitation. “That may be, but I have Darrigan now. Our deal’s done.”

  Kelly took two long drags on the cigarette and let the smoke curl out of his wide nostrils. “You know, I got to thinking. . . . Why would Dolph Saunders need Harte Darrigan? And why would Harte Darrigan be sniffing around with Jack Grew, especially when Jack’s a member of the Order? I thought to myself, those two things can’t be coincidences.” He squinted a little as he took another drag. “So I asked myself, what do they know that I don’t?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dolph said easily. “Harte was mine first, that’s all. I wanted him back.”

  “That’s a nice story.” Kelly smiled around the cigarette. “But I don’t buy it.  You’re no stranger to taking what isn’t yours. Speaking of which, how is my dear sister these days?”

  Dolph allowed himself a cold smile. “She sends her love. It comes with a blade and a handful of curses I couldn’t repeat in mixed company. Might offend the delicate sensibilities of your boys there.”

  “Sounds like Viola.” He gave Dolph a challenging look. “She’ll betray you eventually, you know, and return to me. I’m family, and she knows the importance of family. Il sangue non é acqua.”

  “I’m not sure she knows the truth of that.”

  “She will,” he said, and the threat was clear.

  “She’s under my protection.”

  “For now,” Kelly said smoothly, and then shifted onto a new topic. “I’ve been hearing things around town about this big shindig the boys in the Order have planned—this Conclave at the end of the year. Word is, anyone who’s anyone will be there.”

  “Only if you’re a member of the Order,” Dolph said.

  Kelly’s expression never changed. “So maybe I’ll become a member.”

  Dolph let out a surprised laugh before he realized Kelly was serious.

  Kelly leaned forward, his expression determined. “I’m not like you, Saunders. I aim to be someone someday.”

  “You’re already someone,” Dolph argued. “You control half the blocks south of Houston right now. You didn’t need the Order for that.”

  “No, I didn’t need them, but it wouldn’t hurt to have that kind of power on my side, now, would it?” He smiled, a leering sort of grin that had all of Dolph’s instincts on alert.

  “It’s a pipe dream, Kelly. The Order only takes their own kind. You might have power and you might even have enough money, but it will never be the right kind of money to get in with the blue bloods uptown.”

  Kelly took another long drag on the cigarette and eyed Dolph like he was weighing the pros and cons of giving anything away. Then he stubbed it out in the crystal bowl sitting on the table next to him, twisting the slender butt between his meaty fingers. “Maybe you’re right. But like I said, I was curious, so I started asking around.  And I started listening. And what I hear is that you’re after some book the Order has.”

  Dolph felt suddenly paralyzed. Someone had talked. Someone he’d trusted had said too much, given too much away.  There was a weak link in his organization, maybe even a rat.

  “So I said to myself, Dolph Saunders and I, we are smart men, well read and erudite and all that. But there’s no book worth risking the wrath of the mayor’s precious little boys’ club unless it’s some powerful book.”

  “If those rumors were true, I’d deserve whatever I got for my stupidity,” Dolph said, leaning back in his chair and making a show of his amusement.

  Kelly smiled like he could see right through him. “Playing dumb doesn’t suit you, Rudolpho.”

  Dolph remained silent. He didn’t let his expression so much as flicker. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “So that’s how it’s to be?” Kelly shrugged as he lit another cigarette. “Fine. This isn’t a tea party. You want me to call my boys off Darrigan, I’m going to need something more from you, something Darrigan can’t give me.  You and I both know he can do an awful lot.  And this book . . . From the sound of things, it can do an awful lot too. Maybe more than even you can.”

  “A deal’s a deal, Kelly.” Dolph stood to take his leave. “I already gave you what you needed on the mayor, and Darrigan’s playing nice now.”

  Paul Kelly laughed, the smoke from the cigarette spilling from his nose, like he was some sort of demonic beast. “I’m not your dog, Saunders. I won’t be brought to heel. As far as I’m concerned, Darrigan’s still mine. You want him outright, it’s gonna cost you.”

  Even as Kelly spoke those words, Dolph was already planning how to deal with this new development. His grip tightened on his cane. “Name your price.”

  “I want the Strega.”

  Dolph laughed. “I’ll see you in hell first.”

  “Your words, not mine,” Kelly said easily.

  “You’re going to regret the day you crossed me,” he said, standing.

  Paul Kelly gave him a smile that was all teeth. “I doubt that, Saunders. I doubt that very, very much.”

  Dolph didn’t say anything as he turned to go. If he were honest with himself, he would have admitted that he’d sensed betrayal growing thicker in the air for weeks now—the uneasy energy of a lie being told, the heady anticipation that marked the casting of rigged dice.

  But Dolph hadn’t been honest on the day he was born, and he certainly wasn’t any better now. Not when he’d lost so much. And not when everything depended on keeping those losses a secret.

  TEMPTATION COMES IN MANY FORMS

  Wallack’s Theatre

  The bottle of Nitewein was still sitting on Harte’s dressing room table. He swore he could hear it calling to him ever since the girl had taken up residence in his small apartment.

  It was bad enough that she’d blown through his neat, orderly life with her very presence—the off-key singing that carried through the bathroom door as she soaked in his porcelain tub, the silk stockings draped over the parlor furniture. The smell of the floral soap she used that didn’t seem to match the hard-nosed stance she took on absolutely everything, but suited her just the same. It had permeated the air in his apartment, and he had the feeling that the scent of it would remain even after she was gone.

  And she would be gone. As soon as the job was over, she’d leave. Just like everyone left.  Just like he would leave as soon as he could.

  Well, good riddance, then.

  He wanted her gone.

  He wanted his life back.

  He wanted a way out of this mess he’d found himself wrapped up in. He picked up the bottle of Nitewein and rolled the liquid around inside it.

  Evelyn appeared in his open door. “You look horrible,” she said.

  “Thanks.” She wasn’t wrong. He had deep circles under his eyes from not sleeping. But how was he supposed to sleep on that lumpy couch that barely held him, especially when he knew she was less than ten feet away? Maybe it really had been too long since he’d been with a girl. That had to be all it was.

  He eyed Evelyn.

  She seemed to read his mind. “What?” she said with a sly smile.

  “Nothing,” he told her, dismissing the idea. It would be a mistake far worse than a glass of Nitewein.

  But Evelyn seemed to have read his thoughts and was already sauntering across the room. He felt the caress of her magic. He should have stopped her—really, he should—but the warmth that rubbed against him soothed something inside him. That part of him that had started pacing and prowling the first day the girl opened his bathroom door dressed in nothing but a towel. A towel, for god’s sake. Like any man in his right mind could have resisted that.

 
Harte had resisted, though. It had taken a good long walk and two stiff drinks before the show that day, but he hadn’t gone back to his apartment, not until he knew Esta was asleep. And he’d resist Evelyn, too. Because nothing good could come from leading on a siren.

  “Did you need something?” he asked, studying himself in the mirror. He took the pot of kohl and the small brush and started to dab it under his eyes, but his hands were shaking and he smudged it. Harte cursed under his breath.

  “Let me,” Evelyn said, taking the brush from his fingertips. She settled herself on his lap, and before he could stop her, she was brushing at the smudged kohl with her fingertip. At each gentle tap, tap, tap, tiny sparks of warmth began to relax him.

  This close, he realized her eyes were the most amazing shade of blue. Like the open seas. Like freedom and possibility.

  Her red mouth pulled up as she took the brush and gently applied the kohl to the edges of his eyes. As she worked, he felt more relaxed than he had in days. In weeks. The soft weight of her on his lap felt like an anchor in a stormy port.

  When she was done, she gave his left eye one last smudge with the pad of her thumb, and he couldn’t have stopped himself if he wanted to. A moment later, their mouths tangled. She tasted like wine, he thought vaguely as he pulled her closer, desperate for more of her. And more, as their mouths mashed in a fit of heat and impatient fury.

  It was like he was drowning and she was air. And he couldn’t get enough of it, of her. He barely heard the door open. He was only faintly conscious of someone entering the room.

  “Well, this is a pretty picture,” a voice said somewhere on the edges of his consciousness, but he ignored it and dived deeper into Evelyn’s kiss.

  It wasn’t until Evelyn was ripped from his lap and he sat gasping for air that he comprehended it was Esta who’d come in. She had Evelyn by the hair and was dragging her out of the room, and all Harte could seem to do was sit and stare mutely.

  “Bitch,” she said, tossing Evelyn out of the room. “You come near him again, and it’ll be your last time.”

  “You and what army is going to stop me?” Evelyn sneered.

  “I’ll leave that to Dolph Saunders.”

  “Dolph Saunders?” Evelyn looked suddenly uneasy.

  “We understand each other, then,” Esta said, laying on her false accent thick.

  “I understand fine,” Evelyn sneered. “You’re going to regret this.”

  Esta didn’t bother to respond, simply slammed the door in Evelyn’s face.  Then she turned to Harte, her golden eyes on fire. “You have something on your face,” she said, taking the glass of water on his dressing table and, without any warning, tossing it directly in his face.

  He sputtered in surprise. “What—?”

  “Oh, save it. You’re lucky I came when I did.” She crossed her arms. “I can’t believe you fell for her.”

  “I don’t answer to you,” he snapped, feeling more uneasy than angry. But inside, he was a ball of panic and fury. What the hell just happened?

  “After that little display, maybe you should. Lord knows you can’t take care of yourself.” She shook her head. “There’s enough magic in the air here to suffocate a person.”

  “Magic?” he asked, stunned. His mind still hadn’t caught up to what was happening . . . what had happened.

  Esta stared at him like she was waiting for him to put the pieces together.

  Then he felt it—Evelyn’s affinity was still snaking through the room like opium smoke, curling about him. Still calling to him. Shit. Right when he most needed to keep his wits about him, he was losing his damn mind instead.

  Turning back to the mirror, he saw for the first time the mess he was—the dark streaks running beneath his eyes from the water, the red ringing his mouth like one of Barnum’s clowns. No wonder Esta looked like she wanted to kill him. He wanted to kill himself when he thought about how stupid he’d been to let Evelyn touch him.

  “You’re welcome,” she said.

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked, taking out his frustration on her.

  “You’ve been avoiding me,” she said, a furrow between her eyes. “You never came back to your apartment last night.”

  “You were already asleep.” Harte tried wiping the red from his mouth.

  “You weren’t there this morning,” she pressed.

  “I left early.”

  “Like I said, you’re avoiding me. You promised Dolph you’d help get Jack,” she pressed. “You made a deal.”

  But he’d had enough of women for one day. “Dolph can go hang.”

  “You don’t get it, do you?” she snapped. “People are disappearing. Tilly is dead.” Her voice broke at the admission.

  “Dead?” He hadn’t realized. “I knew she was hurt, but—”

  “She’s gone.” Esta’s shoulders sagged, and it seemed like all the fire in her had faded.

  “When?”

  “A couple of days ago—before Dolph sent me.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

  “Are you really?” she asked, her voice flat, cold. He didn’t have an answer for that. “This thing we’re doing? It’s bigger than Dolph—bigger than either of us. I don’t care what you think about me or how angry you are that you’re stuck with me. This isn’t exactly a picnic for me, either, you know. But you need to pull yourself together and get over it. We need to get to work before you lose Jack Grew completely.” She softened her voice. “Or before anyone else has to die.”

  Her words hit him like a slap, but he shoved away the pang of guilt he felt when he saw the sadness in her eyes. She wasn’t some innocent in this, whatever she might pretend. She was there because Dolph Saunders had penned him into a corner, but he knew that wasn’t the only reason.

  “That’s a nice speech. But tell me something, Esta. Why are you really here?”

  Her eyes went suddenly wary. “I don’t know what you mean. Dolph sent me to watch you. Why else would I be here?”

  “You tell me. Who’s the old man?” he asked, taking a step toward her.

  “What?”  The color drained from her face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She turned to go, but he grabbed her wrist.

  He remembered the images he’d seen when he kissed her the last time she was in his dressing room. “I know about the old man with the crutch, in the room lined with books.”

  “How could you possibly know that?” she whispered, not bothering to deny it. Her golden eyes were wide with disbelief.

  “I know you’re not only here because of Dolph,” he pressed, ignoring her question. “You’re here for yourself—because the old man told you to find the Magician.”

  “Please,” she said, trying to get away from him. “You’re hurting me.”

  He saw then how tightly he was grasping her wrist and released her immediately. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaken by the sight of the red mark he’d left on her delicate skin. He took a step back from her as she rubbed her wrist, hating himself for how easily his temper had spiked. How easily he’d become his father’s son.

  When he turned back, her eyes were steady on him, calculating. “You were in my head.”  She took a step toward him, closing the distance he’d put between them. “Is that what you do? Climb into people’s heads and violate their most private thoughts? Do you have any idea how wrong that is?”

  He ignored the familiar wave of shame. “You cornered me in my dressing room and lied to Evelyn about who you were. So, yeah . . . I took a look. I needed to protect myself. I needed to see exactly what your game was.”

  “When you kissed me,” she realized, raising her fingers to her lips. “Then you should have your answers already.” She lifted her chin, her eyes filled with disgust. And if he wasn’t mistaken, with fear.

  “It doesn’t work like that,” he snapped, hating his own limitations. And hating that what he’d done—what he was—had made her afraid. . . . Just as it had his mother.

  She h
uffed out a laugh. “You really expect me to believe that?” she asked, but her voice shook, at odds with her show of confidence.

  “It’s the truth. I only get impressions unless I focus pretty intently, and if you remember, I was a little too distracted to really focus.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. “I saw the old man, the library, and I heard him say ‘Find the Magician.’ That’s it. That’s all I know.” He didn’t look away, wouldn’t back down from this. “Who is he, Esta? I need to know why you came for me. I need to know why you’re really here.”

  Her mouth went tight, and for a moment he thought she would continue to lie to him. Finally, she spoke. “He’s my father.” Her eyes were steady, even as her voice shook. “Or, rather, he’s as close to a father as I ever had. He raised me.  Trained me to pick locks and lift wallets. He made me who I am.”

  He studied her, searching for a sign of the lie, but all he found was a sharp pain in her expression that he recognized too well. “Where is he now?”

  “He’s dead,” she told him, her voice hitching. “Gone.”

  Even through the haze Evelyn had left behind, he felt like a veritable ass. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Yeah, well . . .” Her mouth went tight. “Some affinity you have, isn’t it?”

  Harte ignored the insult. “If he’s dead, why did you still come to find the Magician?”

  Esta licked her lips. “Because he told me to. He could see things. He had an affinity for knowing about things that would happen.”

  “And why did you need to find me?”

  She took a breath, still wrestling with herself, but then she met his eyes. “He said that you were going to disappear with the Book that Dolph’s after. And if you do that, the Book will never be recovered. You’re going to destroy any chance we ever have of defeating the Order.”

  “And you believed him?” Harte said, suddenly cold.

  “He’d never led me wrong before,” she said. And that much, at least, sounded like the honest truth.

  “For what it’s worth, I don’t have any plans to destroy the Book.”

  “For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t let you.” She shook her head and let herself out.