The Last Magician

by Lisa Maxwell

  “How are you, Golde?” When the woman gave an inarticulate shrug, Dolph went on. “I came to see about your husband,” Dolph said, switching into German.

  The woman shook her head. “He won’t see anyone.”

  Dolph seemed to accept this and didn’t press. “How is he?”

  The woman twisted her hands in her apron as she sat at the table and began gluing her own flowers. “The doctors say he’ll heal.”

  “His position?”

  She shrugged, a small movement that broadcast her fear and worry without a single word. “Filled, I suppose. He’ll find another. We’ll get by.”

  Esta crouched down to watch the children at work as Dolph talked to the woman about the state of their affairs—the rent that needed to be paid, the groceries she could barely afford. The little ones looked at Esta with the same tired, cautious eyes as their mother, but the youngest held up one of the silk flowers as an offering, her fingers red and raw from her work.

  Esta took the delicate bloom carefully and pretended to give it a sniff. The girl smiled softly. Suddenly Esta felt the warm pulse of magic, and the flower petals began to move, fluttering open and closed.

  The girl grinned, proud of the demonstration, and Esta pulled a coin from her pocket and presented it to the child, whose eyes widened. “Go on,” she whispered, but the child didn’t seem to understand, so Esta placed the coin in the small hand and closed it.

  “Where’s your oldest, Josef ?” Dolph asked, nodding to where Esta kneeled with the children.

  “Out,” the woman said, her tone bleak. “Sometimes he collects coal for us during the day. Keeps us in warmth at least.”

  “And the other times?”

  “With his father sick, he runs with a group of boys from the street.” The woman shrugged, defeated. “I don’t like them, but what can I do? He’s nearly fourteen. I’m lucky he hasn’t left altogether.”

  “Send him to me when he gets home. I have some work I can give him.” When the woman frowned, Dolph spoke again to reassure her. “Nothing dangerous. I need someone to make small deliveries. He’s welcome to collect your coal while he’s out.”

  “My husband won’t want any of your bargains,” the woman said warily.

  “No bargain required, and I won’t ask your son for his oath, if that’s what worries you. He’s too young to be making those decisions, but he needs to be kept busy. Kelly or Eastman won’t be so understanding if he gets mixed up with them. The boy can keep the position even once your husband’s well, so long as he spends his nights at home with you.”

  The woman didn’t argue the point any further, simply nodded her head and turned back to the flower she was piecing together.

  Dolph glanced at Esta. “We’ve other stops to make.”

  At the next building, they visited a girl who couldn’t have been any older than Esta herself. The baby on her hip fussed and a toddler played at her feet as Dolph accepted her cup of coffee and sat to talk with her.

  “Dzień dobry, Marta. I came because I heard about Krzysztof. . . . There’s been no sign of him? No news?” he asked in Polish.

  The girl shook her head as she stood to stomp out the paper doll the toddler had just set on fire with nothing but his will and his affinity. “Nie,” she said sharply, cracking the child across the hand, which caused him to begin wailing and set the baby off as well.

  Dolph bent down to look at the little boy and placed his finger against his lip. The little boy seemed startled at the sudden attention and went quiet, his small lip still quivering as he tried to catch his breath. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, Dolph wiped the snot that was running from the boy’s nose, then ruffled his hair and offered him a wax-wrapped piece of caramel before turning back to the boy’s mother.

  The little boy remained silent, watching Dolph talk to his mother as he jawed at the candy. In the course of their conversation, Dolph promised the woman that someone would deliver laundry to be done from the Strega. They settled on a generous price, and he assured her he’d look into her husband’s whereabouts himself.

  The whole time Dolph spoke to the boy’s mother, Esta couldn’t help but picture him shackled in a prison boat, heading toward the Brink.

  She’d been six when Professor Lachlan first explained the Brink to her. Until then, she hadn’t understood they were trapped in the city. He’d taken her to the Brooklyn Bridge and told her about the Order. The farther they had walked along the bridge, the colder the summer day felt. Even before they came to the soaring arches of the towers, Esta had become so scared that she’d cried. Tourists eyed them both suspiciously as Professor Lachlan had picked her up and carried her back to where they’d started. If it had been terrifying to simply be close to the Brink, she couldn’t imagine the horror of crossing.

  Dolph didn’t deserve that. No one did.

  The morning wore on, with Esta pretending not to listen to the discussions Dolph had with one family after another. Each apartment was more cramped than the last, each family more desperate. Most of them had children who were wild to be outdoors but who clearly had affinities they couldn’t control yet. And without control, the children had to be kept hidden.

  By the time it was past noon, the sun had burned away the hazy clouds and the air was teasing them with the promise of spring.

  “You hungry?” Dolph asked.

  “I could eat,” she told him as her stomach growled in response. She still didn’t understand what his purpose had been in taking her with him, showing her all he had.

  She followed him back through the neighborhood. Despite relying on his cane, Dolph walked at a quick pace through the crowded streets. He had a way of moving that made his limp seem more like a strut. A confidence that fooled you into thinking there was nothing wrong with his leg.

  When they came to Houston Street, Esta was surprised to see she recognized their destination. In her own time, Schimmel’s Bakery was on the other side of Houston, but when she stepped up into the tiny storefront, the smell of bread and onions wrapped around her and squeezed her with nostalgia. All at once, she was a small girl again, remembering the times Dakari had taken her out for a snack after their training session, an apology and reward all at once.  And they’d often gone to Schimmel’s for a knish.

  She let the memory of her other life wash over her for a moment. Dakari’s kind, crooked smile. Mari’s tart comebacks to every one of her complaints. Even Logan’s condescension. And Professor Lachlan . . . trusting her to get this job done, one way or another.

  They were all unreachable to her.  With the changes in the news clipping still tucked against her skin, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to reach them again.

  In all her trips, all the jobs she had done, she had never felt so untethered from her own history, which she could only hope still lay somewhere, unreachable, in the future. Esta never wallowed, but she allowed herself a moment to miss it—the indoor plumbing and the speed of cars and the streets that weren’t filled with shit. And the people she cared about.

  “What will you have?” Dolph asked, eyeing her as though he understood her mind had been elsewhere. But he didn’t call her on it and he didn’t press, and she found herself unspeakably grateful for that.

  They took their order to go, shifting the warm, heavy pastries between their fingers to keep from being burned as they walked and ate.

  It tasted the same, Esta thought. A hundred years, and the way the starchy filling of the knish melted in her mouth, dense and warm with just enough salt, took her right back to being ten years old. To the fall days when she would sit with Dakari on a bus bench, trying to eat the whole thing before it went cold as he reviewed the day’s lesson, her progress and her mistakes.

  She’d been nearly eleven before she could finish a whole one on her own, but now, with her hunger gnawing at her, one didn’t seem nearly enough.

  “Exactly how many languages do you know?” Dolph asked.

  The knish suddenly tasted like ash in her m
outh. Esta swallowed the bite she’d just taken, choking it down as her stomach flipped nervously, and then regarded him as blankly as she could manage. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  Dolph gave her an impatient look. “I watched you today as we made the calls.  You were listening.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  But he shot her a look that made her swallow her protest. “How many?” he pressed.

  “Several,” she admitted finally. It had been a major part of her training, and luckily she picked them up quickly.

  Dolph took another mouthful of his knish. “You didn’t think that relevant information to mention before?”

  She shrugged, choosing her words carefully. “Not everyone appreciates the skill. Like you said, I was listening today.  A lot of people see that as more of a liability than an advantage.”

  He nodded. “Lucky for you, I’m not one of them.”

  She blinked up at him, relieved. “You’re not?”

  He shook his head. “But don’t think you can hide things from me without it costing you my trust.”

  “I won’t make that mistake again,” she assured him, ducking her head and hoping he couldn’t read the lie in her words.

  “See that you don’t.”

  After that, they walked in silence for a while before she felt brave enough to ask the one question that had been bothering her all morning. “Why did you bring me along today?”

  “In part, I wanted to see how you would react to the people I protect. There are too many who believe we should keep to our own, and they’re not willing to cross new lines. A lot of people never talk to anyone who isn’t from the village they grew up in. A lot of people are only interested in protecting their own. That’s what the Order wants. They don’t want Mageus to realize we have more in common than we have differences, because keeping us divided means their own power stays secure.

  “But I also wanted you to see with your own eyes what I’m trying to do and what’s at stake if we fail.” He popped the last of his knish into his mouth and finished it before he continued. “Golde’s daughter took a liking to you.” He gestured to the flower Esta still had tucked into her hair.

  “She was sweet,” Esta said, feeling suddenly defensive.

  “She is. But what life does she have to look forward to? She’ll live out her days in those rooms, or other rooms like them, without any chance for something more. All because she can make a silken flower bloom. If she’s lucky, the Order will never touch her directly, never let her building burn down around her or cart off her father or husband for crimes they didn’t commit. She probably won’t be lucky. Few are. Marta wasn’t so lucky. Her husband disappeared a little over a week ago. She has no other family here. If I didn’t step in, what would become of her and her children without him?”

  “And that’s it?” she asked, still trying to figure out what made this man tick. If everyone had a weakness, everyone also had an angle. She didn’t believe that Dolph Saunders was any different. “You just help them, with no expectation of reward? No conditions?”

  He considered her question for a moment before he spoke, and when he finally did, his words were measured. “I’m no saint, Esta. I’m a businessman with multiple properties, with employees who depend on me, with people in this neighborhood whose respect I’ve earned. I’d like to continue being that man. I’ve always been ambitious, maybe too ambitious for the life I was born into. If the Order falls, that’s good for me, for my businesses. For my future prospects in this city. If I’m the one to bring the Order down, people will be grateful and I will reap the benefits. There’s no doubt of that, and I’d be lying not to admit it.

  “But I also know what it means to starve. I’ve slept on the streets and I learned how to escape from those who would hunt me. I know the strength of will it takes to fight back from the bottom, and I know that not everyone has that strength. So, yes, I have my own interests, but I’m not completely without a heart, whatever the rumors about me say.”

  Esta studied him for some sign of the lie in his words. Professor Lachlan had taught her everything he could, had trained her to bring down the Order that pressed them into narrow lives. But he’d never concerned himself with the world beyond their small crew. To free themselves was enough. But here was Dolph Saunders, a man who had every reason to be out for himself, for the power he could grab, telling her something different. “And you trust them? You trust all the people you help not to give you up to the Order?”

  “What choice do I have?” he asked wryly. “No one can survive on their own. Not even me.

  “Do you have any other questions?” he asked, but in his tone was a clear indication that he was done answering them.

  She shook her head. She already had too much to think about.

  “You handled yourself well last night. Jianyu probably owes you his life.”

  “I did my job.”

  “So humble?” Dolph’s mouth curved slightly. “I think you have depths you’re still hiding from me, Esta Filosik. I’m not sure I like that about you.”

  She frowned, worried by the sureness in his voice. “I would never do anything to hurt you or anyone you protect.” It was a lie, but she managed to choke it out with admirable ease. She’d been trained well, after all.

  Yet all her training couldn’t stop the twist of guilt she felt now that she knew Dolph and the rest.  There was no way to do what Professor Lachlan had asked her without hurting them all in the end. And if she hurt Dolph, she was hurting every person he helped in turn.

  “But how far would you go for them?”

  Esta didn’t answer at first. She understood he was appraising every move she made, every word she spoke. Agreeing too readily would mark her as a fool, or worse. When she finally answered, she spoke only the truth: “If it was to stop the Order? I’d risk everything.”

  “So would I,” he told her. He hesitated briefly before he spoke again. “I have plans for the Order,” he explained. “Perhaps you could help me with those plans. Nibs seems to think you might be able to.”

  Licking her lips, Esta considered her next words carefully. “I . . . I’m not sure if Nibs is right, but I’d be willing to do whatever I can.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” he said, though his expression didn’t soften. “Then I have a job for you. We can call it a test to see how serious you are and how much I can depend upon you. My plans depend on someone joining us. Someone who has been quite reluctant to do so.”

  “Harte Darrigan,” she said, putting the pieces together.

  “He saw you at the museum, and he knows you work for me. That makes him a liability.”

  “I’ll make sure he’s not,” she promised. She’d put to rights whatever she’d done and put Harte Darrigan back in his place.

  Dolph chuckled. “If I wanted him dead, I’d send Viola,” he joked. “My plan depends upon Darrigan’s help. I want you to get him for me.”

  SPARKS OF POWER

  The Docks

  The old fool was never going to finish with his tinkering. Jack paced the dirt floor of the warehouse as the sound of metal on metal and the blast of the welding torch grated at his raw nerves. Ever since the robbery at the museum, he’d paid the old man double to work around the clock to finish the machine. It should have been done by now.

  Finally, the old man backed away from the machine and gave it one more look. “That should do it.”

  “Have you made the adjustments I sent you?” Jack asked, holding up the roughly cut diamond. There would be hell to pay when his father found out how much he’d spent on the stone, but if this worked, it wouldn’t matter. If this worked, they would thank him. He’d be a goddamn hero.

  He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before, but something had clicked when he’d learned that his aunt had lost a family heirloom at the museum—a priceless necklace filled with rare emeralds and diamonds. They were singular, irreplaceable . . . and they had given him an idea.

  Of course he co
uldn’t simply generate power with a machine, no matter how complex and modern it might be. He needed an object for the power to be focused into.

  Didn’t the Order depend on their artifacts to keep the protections secure in the Mysterium? He’d never seen them himself, but he’d heard about them—five gemstones that one of the most powerful alchemists to have ever lived had collected from five ancient civilizations steeped in magic. That alchemist had found a way to imbue the artifacts with power through complex rituals, power that the Order could draw on still. True, only the Inner Circle understood the secrets of the artifacts, but Jack was no idiot. He’d spent the last year learning everything he could—everything his uncle and the others would permit him to. If those stones could hold magical power, why couldn’t this one?

  It had cost him everything he had—and some that wasn’t actually his to give—to convince the antiquities dealer to part with the stone. But he needed something more than a simple jewel. This diamond had been found in the tomb of Hatshepsut, the same pharaoh who had erected the very obelisk that now stood in Central Park. There was a symmetry to it that buoyed Jack’s confidence. It could work.

  “I’ve made the changes,” the old man said with a less-than-hopeful look as he took the stone and examined it. “But I don’t see how a bit of rock will be enough to defuse the power buildup this thing generates.”

  “It’s not your job to see. Just follow instructions,” Jack ground out. “You have followed my instructions, haven’t you?”

  The old man nodded.

  “Then there shouldn’t be any problem,” Jack snapped. “Get this installed in the central globe, and then start her up. Let’s see if you’re going to disappoint me again.”

  The old man gave a worried nod and then went back to the wiring. A few minutes later, he connected the power and a buzzing roar began from somewhere deep within the heart of the machine. Then the large, orbital arms began to rotate, slowly at first and then faster, until the center globe began to glow.