Tilly had seen through the mask she wore, had never believed her to be the coldhearted assassin the rest saw. One person knowing her truth had been enough. It had to be, because Viola’s role was her shield. It allowed her to survive in a world that would rather see her dead. ?Tilly had understood that as well, and she had given Viola friendship, even when she could not give more.
Dolph nodded, and one by one the silent crowd in the room began to depart. A few were brave enough to come forward and touch Viola gently on the back or the shoulder before they went. Then the new girl, Esta, came forward to take her turn as well.
Esta touched her shoulder gently, like a bird landing on a branch. “I think she must have known how you felt for her,” she whispered.
Viola shook her head, wondering as she had before how this strange girl could see her so clearly. “She would have despised me,” Viola whispered.
“I don’t think she would have. ?Tilly understood people.” Esta gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “She loved you. Anyone could see that, even if it wasn’t in the way you hoped.”
Viola looked up, wanting to believe those words, and found Esta’s eyes glassy with tears but free from lies. Free, too, from the judgment she expected there. “I still don’t know that I like you,” she said. “But Tilly did. And you’re right. She did understand people. Better than I ever could. You’ll stay?”
“Yes,” she whispered to Viola. “Of course.”
Viola’s throat was too tight to do more than nod her thanks, and then she turned her attention back to Tilly. She was afraid to look away, afraid that the moment she blinked or stopped watching, she’d miss Tilly’s last breath. Or that she would cause it.
A suffocating silence blanketed the room, broken only by Tilly’s rasping, uneven breath.
“Viola . . . ,” Dolph whispered gently. “It’s time.”
Viola ignored him and took Tilly’s hand in hers, rubbing her thumb over the pallid skin as her whole body trembled with the effort not to let her grief spill out and drown her. She lifted the limp hand to her cheek, closing her eyes and imagining for a moment that she was strong enough to save her friend. That this was all a horrible dream.
But ?Viola knew dreams from waking. She knew the thick scent in the air and the rasping sound in Tilly’s throat, and she’d never looked away from death before. She wouldn’t look away now.
Viola opened her eyes and took a long, deep breath as she placed Tilly’s hand gently across the girl’s own stomach. Then she whispered one last thing into her ear.
Tilly blinked, turning her eyes ever so slightly to look up at Viola. For a moment her gaze was focused, as though she had come back to herself long enough to see who it was who stood above her—just long enough to say good-bye.
Tears blurring her vision, Viola pulled her hand away, and with it, she pulled away her affinity, that fragile thread holding Tilly to this world.
Life and death, two sides to the same coin. Her family saw her as a killer, and so she had become one. Everyone else believed her to be a killer, because they forgot that death is simply the other side of life. But Viola never forgot. She couldn’t. She’d tried to save her friend, and she’d failed.
Tilly’s chest heaved in a final, ragged breath. And then her body sank motionless back to the bed, her empty green eyes staring sightlessly above.
THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE
Esta felt the room go cold, the magic draining from the space like air sucked from a vacuum. ?Viola reached over, her always-steady hands shaking, and gently traced her fingertips over Tilly’s face, closing the girl’s eyes. Then she stared, mute and tearless, at the girl’s still body.
As Esta watched, she remembered suddenly what Logan had looked like, pale and unconscious in the narrow bed after the mess at Schwab’s mansion. How was it possible that she hadn’t thought about him for days now? Had life in this city been so all-consuming that she’d lost sight of why she was there? Then she thought of the clipping, still tucked safely against her skin—if the heist didn’t happen, if she changed too much just by being here, what would happen to all the people she’d left behind?
“Come,” Dolph whispered, nodding toward the door. “We’ll give her the space she needs to grieve.”
In the hall, he gave a silent jerk of his head to indicate that she should follow him. When they reached his rooms a floor below, he opened the door and ushered her through it. He gestured for her to take a seat in one of the chairs near the bookcases, and then he poured himself a drink.
Esta was almost grateful to see that he seemed as shaken as she felt with what they’d witnessed. After downing the first glass of whiskey, Dolph poured himself another and then sat in the armchair across from her. He didn’t speak at first. Instead, he swirled the liquid in the chipped cup he held in his broad, calloused hands before taking another long swallow. Finally, he looked up at her.
“Thank you for staying,” he said, his voice no more than a whisper. His jaw was tight, and in his eyes she could see the pain of? losing Tilly, and if she wasn’t mistaken, maybe the pain of something more.
“It was nothing,” she told him, still unsteady from the rush of Viola’s magic.
“No, that’s not exactly true.” His eyes were shadowed with the evidence of sleepless nights and worry. “Most aren’t willing to bear witness to pain that can’t be remedied. Most find it easier to simply turn away. On behalf of ?Viola—and Tilly—I thank you for not doing that.”
They sat there for a long while, an impromptu wake. Dolph took a drink every so often from his glass of whiskey, while Esta waited for him to speak or to dismiss her so she could escape the heavy silence.
He set his drink aside. “Harte Darrigan visited me yesterday. We’ve come to an understanding. I have you to thank for that.”
“Good,” Esta said. “I’m glad I could help.”
“I’m sending you to him.”
“What?” She sat up straighter.
“You’ll need to pack your things.”
“Wait. . . . You gave me to him?” she asked, incredulous.
“Of course not,” Dolph said. “I want a pair of eyes I trust on Darrigan at all times. What you did at the museum for Jianyu and the rest of the crew, what you did today for Viola . . . You’re one of us now. I’m trusting you can keep him on task.”
Esta felt the instinctive need to argue. She didn’t want to leave the Strega, didn’t want to go stay with Harte Darrigan. But she stopped herself. This was what she’d been hoping for all along, wasn’t it? Dolph was handing her the perfect situation—a chance to get close to the Magician. A chance to stop him before he ruined all their futures. She wouldn’t waste it. “What do you need from him?”
“Darrigan hasn’t always been the polished magician he is now. Once, he wasn’t any different from any of the boys in the Bowery. But he’s managed to carve out a new life for himself, and that new life comes with some very powerful friends.”
“He knows people in the Order?”