That wasn’t going to happen. If anyone was going to kill that piece-of-shit magician, it was going to be him.
So Jack made his way with the rest of the crowd, following the long incline that led out over the shoreline and toward the soaring towers of the bridge. He took the entrance to the far right, one usually taken up by streetcars and trains. The farther he walked, the denser the crowd became, but this wasn’t the refined crowd of Broadway. All around him, the clamoring of too many languages assaulted his ears. Guttural and brash, the voices were a noisy babble that made him feel as if he were the one who didn’t belong.
It only served to make him angrier. After all, his family had practically built this city.
Still, the crowd would make it that much more difficult for the Order to deal with Darrigan. He pulled the brim of his hat low on his forehead and started on his way toward the arches of the first tower. The crowd had come to a stop there, a motley throng of humanity dressed in the gaudy satins and bright taffetas of people who didn’t know better, people who bought their goods ready-made and three seasons out of fashion. And in the center of the teeming mass, as still as a rock in a current, was the magician.
ENDGAME
The Brooklyn Bridge
It was hard to even pretend confidence with a gun pressing into the small of her back, but Esta did what she could. She couldn’t use her affinity, not with the grip the large boy had on her arm, but she could use the other magic Professor Lachlan had taught her when she was a girl. Confidence is the key to any con. If they see you sweat, you’re dead.
The morning wind had kicked up by the time they made their way across the span of the bridge to the arches of the first tower that held the monstrous suspension cables aloft. With every step, she sensed what remained of Dolph’s crew becoming more nervous, and who could blame them? Though the day was warm, there was a chill in the air. A cold, malicious energy that whispered of danger. A reminder that ahead was the end of the world for anyone with magic.
She hadn’t been on this bridge since she was a child.
Now, the closer they got to that tower, the more she felt like the girl she’d once been. But Professor Lachlan wasn’t there to help her, and she had a sinking feeling that if anyone carried her off the bridge this time, it would be because she was dead.
She straightened her spine, ignoring the kiss of the gun. She would get the Book and the stone from Darrigan, or she would die trying.
The boy pushed through the crowd, dragging her along, with Nibs following close behind. Viola was there too, somewhere, ready to step in if need be, as were Jianyu and a handful of Dolph’s crew. All there to make sure that everything went their way, and to be certain that Harte Darrigan never came back into the city.
They made their way toward the front of the crowd. Each step was one closer to the cold currents of energy warning them of disaster and death. Eventually, they reached the point where she could see Harte, already warming the crowd up with some minor sleight of hand. When he looked up and saw her, an emotion she couldn’t read—and one she didn’t want to think too much about—flashed behind his eyes.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced. “I see my assistant has arrived.” He held out his hand, as though nothing had happened between them. As though he’d never betrayed her, never left her for dead in a theater filled with the Ortus Aurea. “Esta, my dear?” When she didn’t move, he asked the crowd to encourage her.
Applause surrounded them, and when she glanced at Nibs, for some indication of what she should do, she saw his indecision. His eyes were narrowed as he considered Harte, but then he gave a nod of his head. “If you try anything at all, you’re dead,” he told her.
She was sick of that particular threat.?With a frustrated huff, she stepped toward Harte.
“I’ve missed you, sweetheart,” he said, as he took her hand and made a show of kissing it for the audience.
“Funny,” she replied, her eyes stinging with tears that had nothing to do with the breeze. “I haven’t thought about you at all.”
The audience close enough to hear roared their approval.
Harte had already removed his cloak. He handed it to her, and then he proceeded to remove his waistcoat as well. Before he could finish unbuttoning his vest, there was a disruption from deep within their numbers, and an uneasy murmuring rose within the crowd as a man made his way forward, gun drawn.
Harte’s expression faltered just a little as he gave Jack Grew his most charming smile. “Jack! How good of you to make it.”
“Give me the Book, Darrigan,” Jack said, pointing the gun directly at his chest. “And the artifacts as well.”
“You’ll get them soon enough—”
“The Book!” he screamed, cocking back the hammer. “I will not allow you to make a fool of me again.”
Harte’s face went serious. “You’re going to have to be patient, Jack. If you shoot me now, you’ll never get what you came here for. So if you’d just lower that thing and—”
It felt like it all happened at once. She was on the bridge, and she was also standing in the hallway of Schwab’s mansion. She was watching Harte about to be shot, and she was seeing Logan bleeding on the floor. Two moments, two places in time, but the same gunman. The same deadly weapon set to stop a beating heart.
She grabbed Harte and pulled time slow at the same moment that the gun went off, at the same moment that the bullet began traveling in its deadly path. And when she looked up, the bullet inched past them, so close they could feel its heat.
“I thought you hadn’t missed me?” Harte said, close to her ear.
She realized that she was holding on to him maybe more tightly than she needed to. “Where’s the Book?” she asked, not letting go as she backed away from him and the smell of oranges and Ivory soap.
“It’s in my cloak.” He indicated that she already held the cloak in her arms. “Along with your cuff.”
“My cuff—” Her chest went tight.
“The one you showed me. The one you were after.”
Around them, the world was silent. “And the rest?” she asked.
“Gone,” he said, pushing a piece of hair out of her eye. “I sent them out of the city last night. By now they’re on separate trains, heading to all the places I’ll never go.”
Her fingers tightened on the silky material of the cloak in her hands. “Why would you do that?”
“The Order can’t have them, not with what Jack has planned. And I couldn’t let Nibs get them either.”
“Nibs?” He wasn’t making any sense.
“He planned all of this from the beginning—Leena’s death, Dolph going after the Book, even you—” He pressed his lips together. “He’s the one who killed Dolph.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Dolph was shot the night of the heist. Nibs was with us.”
“Was he?” Harte asked flatly. “Do you know for sure he was waiting outside Khafre Hall that entire time?”