“Will Corey really keep Murphy away?”
Nibs shrugged. “He has a good enough reason to. If Murphy found out that Corey was lying to him and the rest of the Order, he’d lose everything. But people don’t always act in their own best interest.” Nibs peered at her a few seconds longer. “You know, maybe there is something you could do for me—and for Dolph. It would go a long way toward thanking him for protecting you.”
“Sure. ?Anything.”
“I’d like you to come see a show with me.”
Esta studied him, confused at the odd request. ?Then, realizing what he was asking, what he intended, her frustration grew. “Look, you seem nice enough,” she said as gently as she could, “but I’m not interested.”
The boy smiled softly, as though he were amused. “I didn’t think you would be. Still, I’d like you to come with me.” His tone was sincere enough that she almost believed him.
“I’m only here to work.”
“Humor me,” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets as he rocked back on his heels. “Consider it part of the job.”
Esta narrowed her eyes at him. His position with Dolph made it nearly impossible for her to say no, and he seemed to know it. “Just a show?”
He chuckled. “Okay, fine. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” An odd look crossed his face. “But I’m serious about it being part of the job. Dolph’s been trying to get this particular guy on the crew for months now, but so far he hasn’t been moved by any of my appeals. Maybe you’ll have more luck.”
“I don’t know why I would,” she countered
“I got a feeling about you,” Nibs said. “Darrigan just might go for a pretty face.”
CLASSIC MISDIRECTION
Wallack’s Theatre
“Tough crowd tonight,” Evelyn said from behind Harte’s shoulder as he watched Julius Tannen’s monologue fall flat.
He didn’t bother to look back at her. He was too busy counting the empty seats in the house. Shorty was right. Things weren’t looking good.
At first, the audiences had poured in to see his act. The entire city had been talking about the miracles he’d accomplished on that stage. But the city was only so big. It didn’t matter how amazing the effects he presented were—after a while, everyone had seen them. He needed something new.
Better, he needed to get out.
“Any second now they’re going to start throwing fruit,” he muttered, disgusted.
“I bet you thought you’d escaped from all that when you moved uptown.” A smile curved in Evelyn’s voice, but there wasn’t any warmth. “Just goes to show, even the polish of the upper crust only goes skin deep.” She moved closer and lowered her voice. “We missed you last night, after the show.”
Harte doubted that very much. Twenty minutes in, they all would have been too numbed by the Nitewein to care about anything but the next pour.
“Still won’t tell me who you ran off to see?” she purred, resting her hands on his shoulders and looking up at him. Her eyes were soft, the pupils large and unfocused.
Frowning down at her, Harte wondered suddenly what had made her start drinking so early in the day. But then he realized he didn’t really care. It wasn’t his place to care. He knew where caring got you.
Harte shrugged off her hands. “No one important.”
He didn’t need anyone asking questions about his meeting with Jack Grew. It was bad enough that Nibsy Lorcan was following him again. And cornering him like that in the park? It didn’t bode well. If Dolph Saunders had an idea of what he was up to . . .
But there couldn’t be any way for Dolph to know. Harte had been too careful. Or so he hoped.
He tilted his head, stretching his neck as he tried to loosen himself up. The city had felt almost claustrophobic lately, and the events of the night before hadn’t helped things. And not being able to have a proper meal since the girl had assaulted him . . . well, that had only made things worse.
The act onstage was getting the signal from the stage manager to wrap things up, so Harte took one final look at himself in the small mirror on the wall and fixed a smudge in the kohl beneath his right eye as the orchestra trilled the notes that cued his entrance.
Beyond the glare of the footlights, the sparse crowd rustled discontentedly in their seats as he took the stage. The faces in the audience were frowning and clearly impatient to see something worth the price of their fifty-cent ticket. He hadn’t planned anything new, but it was too late to do anything about that now.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he called, letting his voice boom over the theater as he settled into the persona he’d perfected for the stage. “I have traveled far and wide to learn the occult arts, the hermetical sciences. Today I bring you evidence that we mere humans might converse with the divine. ?And that the divine,” he said, flourishing his hand to ignite the flare palmed there, “might converse with us in turn.”
The ball of fire burst from his palm, hovered for a second in the air, and then vanished. It was a simple enough trick, but it did its job. An interested murmuring rustled through the house as a stagehand rolled out a table filled with props.
“Do not be alarmed,” he said, taking up a pair of steel hoops large enough to fit over his head. “This is not the magic of old, wild and untamed, capable of seduction and destruction. There is no danger here,” he called, manipulating the rings so that they locked together, came apart. “For my powers come not from the accident of birth, but from careful scientific study and practiced skill. Because I have devoted myself to the mastery of the occult sciences, the powers I demonstrate have no command over me.” With a flourish, the hoops seemed to vanish. “Instead, I bend them to my will,” he finished, plucking a hoop out of thin air, making it materialize before the audience’s very eyes.
The house was silent now, all eyes watching and waiting for what he would do next. Rich or poor, every audience was the same. Some might dismiss tales of the old magic as nothing more than legend. Some might fear its existence still. Most had been taught to hate the people with affinities for it. But like the Order, they all desperately wanted magic to be real. ?They wanted to believe that something was out there bigger than they were—as long as that something could be controlled by the right sort of people.