The second Werner saw her, she felt her chest go tight and her throat begin to close, but this time she was ready for the unsettling feeling of being suffocated. She’d never felt magic quite so powerful before, which was worrisome enough. But worse, from the way he was taking orders, Esta understood that he probably wasn’t all that powerful, not relative to others. Professor Lachlan had tried to warn her, but now she understood—magic was different there. Like nothing she’d ever experienced.
But she didn’t have time to worry about that fact. If the two knew how little strength she had left, Esta would lose her upper hand, so she pretended a calm confidence she didn’t feel. When the woman saw she hadn’t escaped—hadn’t even tried to get away—she slapped Werner’s arm. ?A heartbeat later, Esta could draw air into her lungs once more.
“A fair trick,” the woman said, her face not betraying any hint of surprise or anger or even interest. “But you wouldn’t have gotten very far. Not with Mr. Murphy looking for you.”
“Who said I was trying to leave?” Esta said, holding up the brooch so the fake stones glinted in the light thrown by the ball of fire in the woman’s hand. “I was only proving how useful I could be. Besides, why would I run from the very person I’m looking for? Miss Malone, I presume?”
The woman blanched a little, but managed to hold on to her composure as she reached out and took the brooch Esta was holding. “Please,” Esta said. “I need a place to stay. I’m a hard worker, and I will be loyal to any who help me.”
“The city doesn’t need any more thieves.”
“I can make it worth your while.” Esta ran her fingers along the edge of her bodice until she found the small pocket sewn into the lining. Relieved that they hadn’t found it, as they had her knife, she pulled out the diamond she’d taken in Schwab’s mansion. “Here,” she said, offering Bridget the stone. “This is all I have.”
After a long moment, Bridget took the stone and examined it, then eyed Esta again as she tucked the diamond into her pocket. “Maybe I know somewhere you could go. . . . Where are your people?”
Relief coursed through her, but she tamped it down. It was too soon to celebrate. “Dead. There was a fire. . . .” She let her voice trail off, and she glanced away, sinking the hook into the lie.
Werner shifted uneasily on his feet at the mention of the word. No doubt he’d had his own experiences with the fires that were so were common in this city. She’d learned from Professor Lachlan about the “accidental” blazes that consumed whole buildings filled with magical refugees while the fire brigades—controlled by and dependent on the Order—stayed away.
Bridget’s eyes narrowed. “There’s no one to come looking for you?”
“No one except your Mr. Murphy,” Esta told her.
In the long moment that followed, it took every bit of strength Esta had left not to falter. If Bridget refused to help now, she wasn’t sure what she would do. The Professor’s plan hinged on Esta exposing herself and Bridget seeing something of interest in Esta’s talent, but they hadn’t planned on Esta making an enemy of Bridget. If the madam turned her away, or worse, turned her over to Murphy, Esta had already used every ounce of her strength on the desperate bid to prove herself. She had nothing left, not even the diamond. And if they drugged her any more, she’d be beyond helpless.
“How did you know who I was?” Bridget asked.
“I’m good at recognizing a tell,” she explained with a shrug. “A good thief knows how to read a mark.”
Bridget’s features registered her understanding of what Esta’s words implied—that she had been the mark—but she didn’t address the insult.
“You hesitated when I said your name.”
Bridget frowned. “I didn’t—”
“It wasn’t much. And then there was the tiniest tick of a muscle in your cheek. If I hadn’t been looking, I wouldn’t have seen it at all.” Esta conveniently left out the fact that she was always looking, always aware. Professor Lachlan had trained her too well not to be.
Bridget’s mouth went tight. Then she spoke to Werner. “Take her to Dolph Saunders. He should be at the Strega this time of night.”
At the mention of the name, Esta felt a surge of victory, but she tamped it down. She wouldn’t get ahead of herself. Not yet.
“Please . . . ,” she said, hesitating when Bridget’s eyes narrowed. “Can I have my knife back?”
“What knife?” Bridget asked, her face impassive as flint.
“The one that was in my boot. The one you took.”
Bridget’s expression never wavered. “After I’ve saved you from Mr. Corey, after I’ve offered to help you find protection, you accuse me of stealing from you?”
Esta met Bridget’s steady gaze and weighed her options. She needed the knife—the safety and assurance it represented, the link that it was to her own time. But she also needed Bridget Malone to give her an introduction to Dolph Saunders.
Dakari would understand, she told herself.
She’d come back later. There would be time enough to get the knife back.
When she didn’t argue any more, Bridget gave her a smug look before addressing Werner again. “If Saunders isn’t pleased with her abilities, bring her back here and we’ll give her to Mr. Corey.” She glanced at Esta, a warning in her expression. “If she tries anything at all, kill her.”
A NEW AGE
The Docks
Jack Grew closed his eyes against the throbbing in his head as the carriage rattled onward. Perhaps that last round of drinks had been a mistake. ?Actually, the entire night had been a mistake, from the beginning to the end . . . though the bit of silk who’d managed to walk away with the contents of his wallet had been worth it, he thought with a small smile. It wasn’t like she got away with much anyway. He knew not to bring a heavy wallet to a place like the Haymarket, no matter what the rest of the family currently thought of him.
He’d show them how wrong they were, eventually. It was only a matter of time before his project would be complete, and then his uncle and his cousins and the rest would forget about that unpleasantness in Greece with the girl and recognize his vision. He’d be back in the Order’s good graces, and they would have no choice but to give him the respect he deserved.
It wasn’t as though he would have really married the girl. She’d bespelled him. Tricked him with her power.
Then she’d made off with his grandmother’s ring, proving his entire family—including Junior—right. Which, truly, was the one sin he could never forgive her for.
Most days he tried not to think of her—or of the whole mess—but as the carriage rattled on, he couldn’t stop the direction of his thoughts. Maybe it was the last round of whiskey, or maybe it was the disaster of the evening, but the memory of his mistakes pulled at him, and he couldn’t help but wallow in the past.