“I bet they don’t,” Harte said. He shook his head. “This was a mistake.” He turned to go, but Jianyu stepped in front of the door, blocking his way. “Call him off, Dolph.”
“I’ve got a proposition for you,” Dolph said, ignoring Harte’s command.
“I’m not interested.” He turned his attention to Jianyu. “I bet your uncle’s real proud of you right about now, isn’t he? He must love you being a lapdog for that one there.”
Everyone knew that Jianyu Lee was the nephew of Tom Lee, the leader of the On Leong Tong over in Chinatown. The kid could have had his own turf, maybe even run his own crew, but here he was working for Dolph. That was the thing about Dolph Saunders—he had this way of pulling people in. Even people who should’ve had some brains.
Jianyu just smiled darkly, an expression that warned Harte not to push.
“I said call him off, Dolph,” Harte said again, trying not to let his nerves show. He might be a fool, but he wasn’t stupid enough not to realize how dangerous his position was.
“I think you’d be interested if you gave me five minutes,” Dolph said. “Or I can always have one of my boys convince you.”
“Threats?” Harte glanced up at the two rough-looking boys still looming behind Dolph. “That isn’t usually your style, old man.”
Dolph couldn’t have been older than his midtwenties. But with the streak of white hair and the way he’d been born to lead, Dolph had always seemed even older. Once, “old man” had been a term of endearment between friends. Not anymore. Now Harte slung the nickname like an insult.
Dolph’s mouth curved to acknowledge the slight, but he didn’t otherwise react. “Never used to be,” he admitted. “But it turns out you can teach an old dog new tricks.” His mouth went flat. “Sit. Give me five minutes before you go off half-cocked. Or haven’t you grown out of your temper yet?”
The two puffed peacocks behind Dolph shifted, like they were getting ready for their boss’s next order. Harte eyed them warily and measured the inconvenience of a black eye if he left against the sting of his wounded pride if he gave in. It was damn hard to charm an audience when you looked like a common thug, so he went back to the table and took a seat.
“Five minutes. But I’ll tell you straight off, I’m not interested in any of your scheming. Never was.”
“I won’t call you on that particular lie, but getting out of the city isn’t a scheme,” Dolph said, signaling to Nibsy to pour Harte a glass of whiskey. “It’s a real possibility.”
The fine hairs at the nape of Harte’s neck rose in warning. There was only one way out of the city—through the Brink—and it was a trip Harte had no interest in taking. Not by choice. Not by force, either.
He shifted in his seat. “More threats?” he asked, cautious.
“Not a threat. A proposition. A way out.”
“None of us can get out of the city,” Harte said carefully, wondering what Dolph was up to. “Not without paying the price. Every Mageus in town knows that.”
Dolph took a long, slow drink from the glass in front of him and then motioned for Nibsy to pour another before he spoke. “The Brink hasn’t always been there, Darrigan. Did you ever stop to think that if the Order was able to make it, then there has to be a way to unmake it?”
“Now I know you’re wasting my time.” Harte shook his head. “If you knew how to punch a hole out of this rattrap of a city, you’d have already done it and then started charging admission for the crossing.” He started to push his chair back to go, but Jianyu had moved behind him and pressed his shoulders down. Jianyu’s thumb was firm against a tender spot at the crook of Harte’s neck, keeping him in his seat. “Get your lackey off me, Dolph. I have somewhere else to be.”
“The Ortus Aurea doesn’t have any real magic,” Dolph continued. “Everything they have, everything they can do—it’s counterfeit power. It all comes at a cost. The Brink isn’t real magic, but it’s destroying real magic just the same.”
“It seemed real enough when it took everything my mother was and left her a shell of what she used to be.”
“I’m not saying the Order isn’t powerful. What I am saying is that they can be stopped,” Dolph said. “The men in the Order see magic as some kind of mark of the divine. They can’t bring themselves to believe that the poor, wretched masses who come to these shores could possibly have a stronger connection to divinity than they themselves do. But we both know that magic isn’t anything to do with angels or demons. Old magic, the kind you and I know intimately, is a connection with the world itself. You can’t split affinities into neat categories or elements any more than you can separate fire and air. One needs the other. When the Order tries to divide up the elements and control them through their rituals and so-called science, there’s a cost. It weakens magic as a whole.”
“Funny for you of all people to say that,” Harte said flatly, without so much as blinking. He tested the pressure against his shoulder and found he still couldn’t move.
Dolph frowned, but he didn’t respond to Harte’s implied challenge. “You know I’m right. The power they wield isn’t a natural part of the world, like ours is, and I believe the Brink can be destroyed if we take away the source of their power.”
“You’re talking about taking them head-on,” Harte said. That was a stretch, even for Dolph.
“I’m talking about destroying the one tool they have to control us.”
“You’re talking about a fairy tale.”
Dolph didn’t blink. “Every day people come to this country—to this city—because they believe their children will be safer here than in the places they’re from. They’re lured by the promise of a life away from the superstition and hate in their own countries. All lies. Any Mageus that enters this city is snared like a fish in a net. Once they land on these shores, they can’t leave without giving up the very thing that defines them, and trapped on this island as they are, they’re at the mercy of the Order. Held down, held back, always kept in their place by those in power.”
“I know all that already, Dolph,” Harte said. His stomach churned. Of course he knew. “But there are ways to make a life here, even in this city.”
Dolph gave him a mocking look. “You mean like you have?”
“I’ve done well enough for myself.”
“Sure you have. You’ve managed to get yourself some smart new clothes, a safe apartment in the good part of town, and money in your pocket. You’ve even managed to find yourself some well-connected friends. But do you think you’d last a day in your new life if those new friends of yours knew who you actually are?” Dolph leaned forward. “What you are?”
Harte refused to so much as flinch. “You plan on outing me and destroying the life I’ve built for myself?? I’ve lived through worse.”
“No, Darrigan,” Dolph said. “I’d prefer to use that new life of yours to our advantage.”