The note, it seemed, wasn’t the only message Paul Kelly had sent him.
Cursing the whole way, he ran back down the short flight of steps into the basement den, shouting for the sleepy-eyed guard to rouse the others. He grabbed his mother, his stomach turning and his throat tightening as the stink of her unwashed hair and clothes assaulted him. The smoke-filled night would be a reprieve compared to what she smelled of, but he pushed through his revulsion and got her out of the building, through the crowd, and into the waiting taxi at the curb. He gave the driver her address, and tried to keep her upright as the carriage rattled to a start across the uneven pavers.
When he leaned out the window, away from the smell of her, he saw Paul Kelly’s men watching him from the shadows.
THE CENTER WON’T HOLD
Bella Strega
Usually, the noise of the crowded barroom was enough to settle Dolph’s nerves on even the most frustrating of days. He always sat against the back wall, in part because he only had to watch one direction for an attack, and in part because he could watch the events of the night without being involved in them. From his usual table, he could observe everything he’d built, test the mood of the Bowery, and plan for all he still wanted to accomplish without anyone bothering him.
Though the room was already nearly filled with people drinking and laughing, Dolph found himself restless. There had been reports of a fire down on Broome Street. He’d sent some of his people to help stop the flames and get the innocent out, but there was only so much they could do without alerting suspicion. People would be hurt, and he was impotent to do anything about it.
Tilly had gone out on some errand, or he would have been in her kitchen, allowing her easy way to soothe him. He needed some of her soup, its heady, golden broth laden with matzo balls, or some of her fresh bread that tasted like life itself.
He needed the Book. But to get the Book, he needed Harte Darrigan’s help.
The girl wasn’t his last chance to hook Harte Darrigan—he knew that—but she was close to it. And she’d been gone a long time.
It rankled, still not knowing what she was capable of. A thief for certain. Most likely trustworthy, based on her performance at the museum. But she was still hiding something from him, and since he didn’t know how her affinity worked, he couldn’t predict how she might move against him. And he couldn’t ask, not without revealing his own lost affinity. His crew expected him to already know.
Not that long ago, he wouldn’t have worried at all. Leena, with her calm strength, would have been able to neutralize the girl if she attacked with her magic. And before the Brink, he would have been ready, would have known the flavor of that magic from the moment they’d met.
Before the Brink, he would have been able to do so much more. With a shake of her hand, he could have used her affinity for himself for a time, without harming her, just as he could with any Mageus. Once, his talent had made him seem limitless. Now he had to settle for pretending, for running a long con on those who trusted him.
He wasn’t so green as to think that the game could last forever. Someone would eventually realize his weakness . . . and take advantage of it. The only question was who—and when the betrayal would come.
As though spurred on by his dark thoughts, a commotion erupted from the front of the building. He went on alert, ready for the danger, as the double doors of the barroom sailed open, clanging against the wall from the force. The crowd turned almost as one to see who had arrived. And then murmuring began, sweeping through the saloon like the fires that often tore through the Bowery’s most dilapidated tenements. Like the one earlier that night had.
Dolph was nearly halfway across the room when he saw it wasn’t any danger at all, but Jianyu, standing in the open doorway. ?The look of distress on the boy’s face had Dolph’s neck prickling in alarm, but he moved faster when he saw who Jianyu carried.
“We’re closed,” Dolph shouted. “Viola! Shut it down. Mooch, Sean—get everyone out of here.”
His crew was well trained. They didn’t ask questions or hesitate, but snapped into motion like a well-oiled machine. His employees were already gently guiding the other patrons toward the exit, but everyone was craning their necks to see what had caused the confusion.
“He’s killing her!” someone shouted, and Dolph felt the anger and fear of the crowd turn, almost as a single unit, toward Jianyu. Their once-unsettled murmurs grew into an angry, noisy jumble of languages. Energy spiked throughout the room as each person drew their affinity around them—whether for protection or to attack, Dolph didn’t know. A moment later, the first slur tore through the room, its guttural sound as vicious and ugly as the hatred behind the word, and the tenor of the crowd changed, transforming into something more dangerous.
Dolph raised his cane and brought its silver cap down with a vicious crack against the last-call bell with an earsplitting clang. “I said we’re closed! Out! All of you!” He took a step forward, swinging his cane in front of him and not caring who it hit, as he helped to herd the crowd out into the night.
“Push those out of the way,” Dolph called, pointing to a pair of shorter, square tables that lined the wall as he latched the door. “Put her over there on the floor, where she won’t hurt herself.”
WHAT HAPPENED ON FULTON STREET
Jianyu carried Tilly, writhing and moaning in his arms, toward the spot that had been cleared for them. Around him, Dolph’s people drew closer. He could feel their wariness, their distrust.
Before he could settle her, ?Viola pushed her way to the front, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Che cos’è?” she started to say, but the words died on her tongue when she saw who he had, and she went dangerously still. “What did you do to her?” ?Viola growled.
Jianyu felt her magic before she had even drawn her knives. Hot, angry, it assaulted him like a blast from a furnace, and the pain that gripped his entire body had him gasping for breath. His blood felt like fire, his lungs like dried cement. He struggled to stay upright, to keep from dropping Tilly, whose writhing made her difficult to hold.
“Viola! Enough,” Dolph barked, catching him by the elbow before he toppled over. “Unless you want him to drop her, leave him be. Someone get Nibs in here. Now!”
Viola’s eyes were sharp and bright, but a moment later, the heat receded from his blood, and Jianyu drew in a deep, heaving breath. Suddenly aware of the grip Dolph had on his arm, he pulled away and took the final few steps on his own to settle Tilly on the floor.
“Hold her legs for me, Vi,” Dolph directed, as he took hold of Tilly’s upper arms to keep her from scratching at her face and neck. Already the skin there was red with raised welts from her own nails.