“NOW.”
I turn to grab one of the long, thin bottles of water that rests in the crate on the backseat floor. I place it between my hands, let my magic pour through me, ignite the water, turn it into sorcerer’s shine.
When I’m done, McEvoy takes a gulp, slides his head onto his headrest, and closes his eyes.
I pull out onto the road.
I wait as he falls under the spell of my shine. But I can’t pass up this opportunity. McEvoy is scared. And McEvoy should be scared.
“There’ve been a couple . . . mix-ups these days, haven’t there been, sir?” I venture. “Mistakes, as you called the mix-up with Ms. James tonight.”
He doesn’t answer. I focus on the highway, the shoulders of dark grass blurring past us. “Issues on the loan-sharking end . . . your gambling business, too,” I persist carefully. “Are you . . . do you think this was somehow . . .” I feel my heart raging like a drum within. “Could they all somehow be related?”
McEvoy barely mumbles a response.
I take a deep breath. I’m going to have to put this all together. I’m going to have to suggest that he’s losing his iron grip on the Shaws. I need to play this very carefully—
“People don’t question you, sir,” I push. “You’ve ruled the Shaws for nearly a decade. You’re the Jackal of the District. Like you said, mistakes aren’t made, because you’ve made very clear what the consequences are of making them.”
McEvoy keeps his eyes closed. But this is my chance, my window. I need to keep pushing this conversation forward inch by painstaking inch. “But what if folks started thinking for some reason that there would be no consequences?” I continue slowly. “What if . . . what if people sense some kind of change?”
At that, McEvoy’s bloodshot eyes fly open, fall on me, but he doesn’t say a word. And despite the fear thundering through me, underneath it I still feel a small, thrilling hum. I’ve tapped into something. Some deep, dark fear McEvoy harbors but would never willingly let see the light of day.
I return my gaze to the road. “Maybe these aren’t mistakes, sir. Maybe someone’s behind all this, someone whispering, creating fractures, tarnishing your name on the street. And as on the pulse of your operation as you are, sir, you can’t be everywhere at the same time,” I say softly. “I’ve seen some of the higher-ups, in and out of the Den. Meeting in back rooms, conferring. Everyone knows that you’re not a fan of performance magic, think the Den is a joke—”
“What the fuck are you trying to say right now, Alex?” McEvoy finally snaps.
“Just . . .” Say it, Alex. Just do it, SAY IT, bring it home. “Could it be possible, that as you’re ruling, working the streets, someone’s working you?”
No answer, and silence screams through the car.
“I mean, it could be anyone, sir. But if they’re managing to stage these ‘mistakes,’ I’d have to think it’s someone high up. Influential.” I pause, swallow down the fear. “Maybe you need another pair of eyes and ears, someone who can keep tabs on what’s happening with your underbosses, somewhere you aren’t known to frequent. Someone who can keep track of every back-room meeting at that Den as you’re taking care of your empire.” Now my heart is beating so fast I almost can’t contain it. “Who’s passing through there, what’s being whispered in the halls. Someone who can figure out how far this extends.”
And then I force myself to do it, to take the hand of what I’m dancing around and drag it right into the spotlight. “If you go there yourself, any whispers of insurrection are going to quiet, shut down, find another way. But if you plant someone inconspicuous, who can pose as a fly on the wall, maybe they can get information for you that you’d never be able to get yourself.”
“Someone inconspicuous,” McEvoy repeats slowly.
“Someone who has the talent to work his way into the Den without any questions asked,” I push. “Someone you know is loyal, who can tell you who needs to be taken care of, before it’s too late.”
“Someone like you.” McEvoy says this matter-of-factly, turns to me, quick as a cat on the hunt. “Watching my back not good enough for you, boy? You think I’m on the way out, you want to hop on a winning ticket?”
I force myself to look him in his eyes. They’re completely shined up.
Before I can think through how to answer, McEvoy leaps across the seat and grabs my collar, drags me within inches of his red eyes. I lose control of the wheel slightly, and the car squeals into the center of the highway. “You playing me, Danfrey?”
“No, sir, you’ve got it all wrong,” I choke out. “I’d lay down my life for you.” I scramble to get control of the car, and he loosens his grip just a hair. “I just want to be where you need me most. I want to make sure I’m doing everything I can to help you.”