The Last Magician

“I’m not interested in helping your advantage.”

Dolph ignored his rebuff. “It’s good you’ve managed to do what you have, but you always were scrappier than most. There’s plenty who aren’t. And even scrappy as you are, you can only get so far in this city. ?You and I were friends once, so I know how it must chafe to always have to hide what you are. ?As long as the Order has power over our kind, it will always be a liability. But if the Order’s main tool for controlling us was destroyed, you could have a different life. The Brink can be undone, I’m convinced of it.”

“You can’t know that,” Harte challenged. “And I like my life well enough. I’m not about to get myself killed over one of your mad theories.”

“It’s not a theory.” Dolph nodded to Jianyu, and the pressure on Harte’s shoulders eased. Then he pulled a small scrap from his pocket and set it on the table so Harte could read the faded writing on its surface. “Leena died getting that to me.”

Harte read the smeared letters on the scrap and then glanced up at Dolph. “I don’t speak Italian.”

“It’s Latin,” Dolph corrected.

“What’s it mean?”

“Libero Libro. It means that the Order has a book—”

“I’m sure they have lots of books.”

“Probably,” Dolph said, not taking the bait. “But there’s one book in particular they protect more than any other, and getting this book means freeing our kind.”

Harte gave him a doubtful look. “A single book couldn’t do all of that.”

“The Ars Arcana could.”

This gave Harte pause. “You think the Order has the Ars Arcana?”

Dolph tapped his finger against the scrap of fabric. “I do.”

Harte shook his head. “Even if you’re right, even if the Order has the Book of Mysteries, you’ll never be able to get it. Everyone knows that Khafre Hall is built like a fortress. You couldn’t even get through the front door, much less get your hands on any book—Ars Arcana or otherwise.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Dolph said. “With the right team, we can get in and get the Book. Think of it, Dare. . . . We could change everything. No more slums. No more scraping by. Without the Brink standing in your way, you could walk out of this city a free man to go make your fortune. You could do anything, go anywhere, and keep your affinity all the while.”

Harte ignored the lure of that promise. “The only people who can get into the front door of Khafre Hall are members of Ortus.”

“So we’ll have a member let us in,” Nibs said.

For a moment all Harte could do was gape at the boy. “You’re insane too,” he said. “Did you forget that they hate us? There’s no way one of their members is going to help one of us.”

Dolph pinned Harte with a knowing glare. “That life you’ve made for yourself has introduced you to some interesting people. Word is you’ve been seen with Jack Grew, one of J. P. Morgan’s nephews, I believe?”

“So what of it?” Harte said, even more wary than before.

“Morgan’s one of the highest-ranking members of the Order.”

“No,” Harte said, shaking his head as he pushed away from the table and stood. “No way in hell. No.”

But Jianyu’s strong hands sat him back down roughly and held him in his seat.

“It’s like you said, you’ve managed to make a whole new life for yourself. New name. New suit. New address on the right side of town. If you keep rubbing elbows with the right people, you could get us in.”

Harte choked out a hollow laugh. “I’m not in the market for suicide. Besides, even if what you’re proposing is possible, even if you and your crew could get in and get this book, the Order wouldn’t simply accept defeat. They’d hunt down every Mageus in this town. You’d get hundreds of innocent people killed. Thousands, maybe. No one with magic—or with connections to people with magic—would be safe.”

“We’re already not safe,” Dolph countered. “We already live like rats, fighting each other for whatever the Order leaves us. Everyone’s so worried about getting a little bit more for themselves, they don’t even realize they’re killing one another over the garbage.

“The Order of Ortus Aurea depends on that, Harte. They want us lining up along old divisions, clinging to what we know so that we can’t imagine a bigger future. But I’ve already imagined it. Look at the people in this room right now—Viola, Jianyu. I’ve started putting together a team that could take down the Order once and for all. I need someone to get us in, though. Someone with the right talent for it.” His jaw tightened. “Someone like you.”

Harte knew what it must have cost Dolph to say those words, but it wasn’t enough. Not considering how dangerous the Ortus Aurea was and how much he had to lose.

“You’ve had your five minutes.”

Dolph studied Harte a long minute before lifting his hand and gesturing vaguely for Jianyu to release him. “I’m not taking your answer now,” Dolph said, dismissing him. “You listened and maybe you’ll think about it. We’ll talk again.”

The pressure no longer on his shoulders, Harte stood. “No, we won’t. I’m not interested now, and I won’t be interested ten days from now, so you can just leave me the hell alone.”

He maneuvered through the still-crowded barroom, cursing himself again for his own curiosity, his stupidity for coming in the first place. Because damn if Dolph wasn’t right—he had listened, and now he was thinking. He was thinking about the possibility of getting out of that godforsaken city. Of being free once and for all.

Dolph Saunders might need him, but Harte certainly didn’t need Dolph. He’d find a way to do it on his own.

Harte pushed his way through the crowd and out into the night. He never once looked back, so he didn’t see the knowing smile curve at Dolph Saunders’ mouth.





BENEATH THE EPHEMERAL MOMENT OF NOW


Present Day—Orchard Street

The next evening, Esta sat on the edge of her bed reading over the yellowed news clipping yet again, as though the century-old scrap could tell her something more about what had happened the night of the heist. She probably shouldn’t have taken it from Professor Lachlan’s office, but she hadn’t been able to help herself. He was sending her back, alone this time and for longer than she’d ever been in the past before, and it was all happening too fast. She didn’t feel nearly as confident as she wanted to.

Someone rapped on the door to her room, and she jumped at the sound of it.

“Just a minute!” Her fingers shook as she folded the clipping into a small waxen envelope and shoved the packet as far down into her corset as she could manage.

The knock came again. “Esta?” The voice was muffled by the heavy door.

Lisa Maxwell's books