Dolph nodded. “Specifically, he’s become friends with a fellow named Jack Grew, who happens to be J. P. Morgan’s nephew. I don’t need to explain to you how important a contact like that is, not with what’s happened to Tilly. I need information, and Darrigan is our best chance to get it. His connections are our best opportunity to get a crew into Khafre Hall.”
She feigned surprised. “You’re not planning to rob them?”
Dolph nodded.
“That’s a bigger risk than the Metropolitan,” she said, pretending to be more concerned than she actually was.
“It is, but if we do it right, the rewards are bigger too. I want to end their reign over this city, over our kind.” Dolph leaned over to take a book from the shelf. “I want to make this land safe for magic.”
He opened the volume—a ledger or journal of some sort. Its pages were filled with the same strong, even hand. He took a small envelope from between the pages and pulled out a worn scrap of fabric, which he handed to Esta.
She looked closely at the faded and smeared letters. “That’s blood.”
Dolph nodded. “Someone died getting that message to me. A woman named Leena Rahal, a woman I trusted with my life.”
“What does it say?” She frowned, playing dumb to lead him on. She didn’t need him to know that she knew Latin as well as any of her other languages. “Something about a book?”
“Have you ever heard of the Ars Arcana?”
Esta shook her head, keeping her eyes on the bloodied words so the lie wouldn’t show.
Dolph flipped through the pages of the journal, and finding the place he wanted, he held it out to her. On the page was an image that she recognized easily enough from her many lessons with Professor Lachlan—the Tree of Knowledge. This image was different from others she’d seen, though. Usually, the tree’s wide branches held symbols representing the ancient mysteries, alchemical notations that were attempts to explain the interworkings of heaven and earth. In this version, though, the tree was aflame, and at the source of those flames was a book. Like the bush Moses found, like the fish in the center of the Philosopher’s Hand, the book wasn’t being destroyed by the fire.
“There are stories passed down through time of a book that holds the secrets of the old magic—the Ars Arcana, or the Book of Mysteries. Some believe it contains the very beginnings of magic. Others believe its pages hold the history of Mageus, but legend has it that whoever possesses the Book also can wield the power it contains. Of course, like the Golden Fleece or the philosopher’s stone, the Book is supposed to be nothing more than a story—a myth,” Dolph told her. “But I believe the Ars Arcana is real, and I believe the Ortus Aurea has it.”
“Because of this?” she asked, holding up the scrap.
“In part, but the more I’ve looked into it, the more sure I’ve become. That image isn’t a simple picture. It’s a complex arrangement of symbols—the book aflame, the moon and stars circling. It should look familiar to you.” He gestured toward the painting hanging over his shelves, the one she’d helped to steal.
“Newton is holding the same book, with the same symbols on its pages,” she realized, looking between the two.
“The circular symbol there is called the Sigil of Ameth, the Seal of Truth. The Order believes an initiated magician could use it to unlock power over all creatures below the heavens—and some above as well. ?The Ars Arcana is supposed to contain the one true sigil. I don’t think it’s any coincidence that J. P. Morgan, one of the highest-ranking members of the Order, owned that painting. I think Morgan couldn’t help himself from bragging about his knowledge. The Order has the Ars Arcana. I know it.”
“You want to steal the Book,” she said, letting her excitement show.
“We could use the knowledge it contains to destroy the Brink. Without the Brink and the Book, the Order would be finished. More than that, I believe we could let magic—old magic, true magic—grow free again. Libero libro. The Book will free us.”
“Does Harte know all of this?”
“He knows what I’m after,” Dolph admitted, “and he knows the Book could bring down the Brink.”
Which is why he took it, Esta realized. He wanted it for himself.
But then . . . why had he disappeared? Why had the Book disappeared? It didn’t make any sense. There had to be something more to what happened, and she would have to be smart—and more patient than she’d ever been—to figure it out. Or risk disrupting the future even more.
“Why are you telling me all of this now?” Esta asked.
“Because I need you to understand the importance of what we are undertaking. It will be difficult to do what I’m planning. Khafre Hall is a fortress. Without someone on the inside, the job will be impossible. Jack Grew’s our way in, and Harte Darrigan is our way to him. So you’ll go to Darrigan and you’ll make sure he gets Jack on the hook.”
Before she could ask anything else, they were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.
“Come,” Dolph said, his eyes never leaving Esta’s.
Nibs opened the door. “There’s news.”
“Well, get in here and tell me about it,” Dolph barked.
With a nod, he stepped into the room and closed the door softly behind himself. “Whatever happened to the Dead Line,” Nibs said, “it’s done. Gone.”
Dolph’s brows drew together. “What do you mean, gone?”
“The crew you had patrolling over on Fulton said that it just disappeared. One minute it was there, and the next, there was a flare of energy and they couldn’t sense it anymore.”
“When was this?”
“A couple hours ago,” Nibs said. “I went down to check for myself before I came to you. I wanted to make sure. But it’s gone, all right.”
“That was right about when Tilly got worse,” Esta realized.
“It was,” Dolph said, his expression stony. He finished his drink before he spoke again. “Gather your things and get yourself to Darrigan’s. I want Grew on the hook, and I want it to happen before anyone else has to die.”
EVEN KITTENS HAVE CLAWS
Harte’s Apartment
Knowing how Dolph Saunders worked, Harte had half expected the girl to be waiting for him when he got back to the theater. Actually, he’d planned on it. He’d spent the long walk back from The Devil’s Own thinking of all the things he wanted to say to her—the rules he’d establish to put her in her place and keep her there. When she didn’t appear, he couldn’t help feeling almost disappointed. And when she still hadn’t made an appearance by the end of the night’s second show, he could only wonder what Dolph was up to and whether he’d keep the bargain they’d made.
Even prepared as he was, the last thing he expected to find when he let himself into his apartment late the next night was the girl, curled up like an overgrown kitten on the narrow couch in his front parlor. She was fast asleep, her head resting on her arm and her breathing soft and even. At first he simply stood there staring. In sleep, her features looked different—softer, somehow.