Esta turned on him. “We have maybe two minutes left before the lights come back on. That means we have less than two minutes to get you out of here before we can’t. In about ninety seconds, I’ll be on the other side of that door and on my way to the carriage out back, and you’ll be on your own. You can either get over your fragile masculine pride and put on the damn skirt or deal with the Order yourself.”
After a moment of stony silence, he began unbraiding his hair, glaring at her all the while. He looked like he wanted to kill someone, and Esta knew he probably could, but he didn’t argue as he made quick work of the rest, covering his head and face with the gauzy scarf. It didn’t do much to hide his masculinity. If anyone bothered to really look, they would know he was a man dressed in women’s clothing.
Not that they had any other choice at that point. She’d just have to hope that people would only see what they expected to, or that they wouldn’t bother looking at all.
“Very pretty,” she taunted as she slipped the last item into her waistband. “Ready?”
Jianyu glared at her.
“Maybe relax your shoulders a bit?” she suggested. “If you want to get out of here, you need to at least try.”
“I am trying,” he snapped, pulling himself up even taller and broader than before.
We are so screwed.
“Okay, well, try harder,” she said, adjusting the scarf over his face to cover his scowl. “When you get out there, you need to pretend like you’ve been there the whole time. Follow Viola’s lead.” She snuffed the candle with her fingertips.
On the other side of the door, the crowd had grown frantic, which was convenient because their noise covered the sound of the latch as they entered the outer room. She made sure the lock caught, so it would look like the gallery had never been breached.
“Go,” she whispered, pushing Jianyu into the crowd as the lights came back on.
There was a moment of shocked silence, before the crowd’s voices rose again, louder than they’d been before. Men barked for someone to explain what had happened, and women gasped, grabbing at their jewels to make sure they were all in place.
“If you could give me your attention—” A voice came from somewhere on the other side of the room, low and male and full of its own importance, but it took a few more tries before the crowd would quiet enough to listen to the man speaking.
Nearby, Harte Darrigan blinked at the brightness, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the sudden return of the light. Esta feigned confusion like everyone else as she sidled away from his reach. In the far corner, J. P. Morgan had found something to stand on and was telling the crowd to stay calm, that it had simply been a problem with the power, but it had been solved and there was no reason to worry. The evening would go on as planned.
Not quite as planned, Esta thought as she lifted a tray from a nearby cart and made her way through the crowd. Afraid to jostle the items beneath her clothing, she walked cautiously.
In the center of the room, Morgan was commanding the musicians to begin playing again, and they immediately launched into another driving tune that was all drums and cymbals. Esta cringed as she saw that Jianyu was standing stiffly, his arms crossed over his chest, instead of making an effort to blend in. But no one seemed to notice. A few more minutes—another pass around the room for Viola and the boys, a careful exit for herself—and they’d all be safe.
Esta kept her pace steady as she moved ever closer to the arched entrance of the gallery, accepting empty glasses from people who seemed willing enough to forget the momentary darkness now that the lights were back on. From across the room, ?Viola caught her gaze and gave a subtle nod before she led the troupe—including Jianyu—beneath the arched entry, out into the museum. Their music faded as they moved away, until it stopped altogether.
They were out.
Now it was up to her to get their haul—and herself—out safely as well. Because if she was caught, there would be no one left to help her.
She was already halfway to the entry, only a few yards more to freedom, when Morgan began his speech about the collection. His voice boomed through the room as he declared his deep affection for the Ottoman Empire, for their great discoveries and mystical art.
Almost there, Esta thought, closing the final few feet between her and the exit. A little farther—
Then someone snagged her arm, and she startled, nearly dropping the tray of glasses. She looked over her shoulder to find Harte Darrigan’s stormy eyes boring into hers. With the tray of stemware balanced precariously in her other hand, she couldn’t shake him off. If his hand moved a few inches up her arm, he’d definitely feel the roll of stolen parchment she’d wrapped there, and especially after that little stunt she’d pulled on his stage, she didn’t know what he would do.
“Let me go,” she whispered furiously.
He studied her a moment longer with eyes that seemed far older than his years. Then he took the glass he was holding and placed it on her tray. “You missed one,” he said. He still didn’t release her arm.
She was trapped.
Panic seized the breath in her chest, made her feel as though every heartbeat was a step toward her inevitable end. Morgan’s voice was still droning on, but he sounded very far away—like she was listening to him through a long tunnel. It felt like she was stuck in the spaces between seconds, unable to go back and make another choice. Unable to do anything to change what was about to happen without putting herself—and everyone else—in more danger.
But the sudden eruption of applause brought her back to herself. The room snapped into focus, and the panic that had strangled her receded to a dull ache. Her mind raced.
They were about to open the doors to the other gallery. In a moment they would see that the collection was gone. Once that happened, the museum would be locked down. She’d be trapped, strapped from head to toe with pieces of priceless art. She had to get out before that happened.
But he didn’t release her. “Don’t you want to see the exhibition?” he asked, his voice steady.
He knows. And now he was toying with her.
She glared at him and tried to tug away again, but it was too late. The click of the lock echoed through the room and the gallery doors opened with everyone watching, waiting to see Morgan’s jewel of a collection.
A gasp rang out in the crowd as the gallery doors stood open, exposing the ransacked room, the missing collection.
The Magician glanced over as the news of the theft filtered through the crowd, and then he looked back at Esta. His eyes were curious and, if she wasn’t mistaken, more than a little appreciative.
She could not be caught. Not now, before she had saved the Book and retrieved her stone. ?And not there, in a room filled with members of the Order.
With a quick motion, she flipped her tray toward him.
Instinctively, his whole body sprang into action. He released her and lunged for the tray to catch it before the glasses fell. But though he’d let her go, the racket of the glasses crashing to the floor caused the people around him to turn. Already another server was coming to help.