The Devil's Thief

by Lisa Maxwell

  He was quiet a moment before he let out a long-suffering sigh. “Then I guess we’d better go in after him.”

  Cela let Abe take the lead, since she knew they’d waste time arguing about it otherwise. They didn’t run into anyone or any trouble in the building, but they stopped just down the hallway from Cela’s open apartment door. She could hear someone talking, but she couldn’t make out what was being said. From the voices, she knew that Evelyn and Jianyu were still in there, and that Evelyn wasn’t happy.

  “Let me go first,” Cela whispered.

  “No—” Her brother was adamant.

  “Evelyn knows me,” Cela explained. She didn’t tell Abe how the bitch had also locked her in a room and stolen the one thing of value Cela had left. “I can distract her long enough to get an advantage.”

  “I’m not letting you—”

  But Cela was already walking away from him. She didn’t really have a plan, except that she’d lost her brother once that week. She’d lived through that pain, that horrible knowledge that he was gone, and she’d do whatever she could to make sure she never had to feel that again—even if it meant putting herself between Abe and that red-haired she-devil.

  She didn’t bother to knock or make any sound to introduce herself—the bigger the distraction, the better as far as Cela was concerned—but when she stepped into the open doorway and took in the scene unfolding, she realized she was in over her head. Evelyn’s eyes were lit with some unholy light and she was holding a handful of the blond boy’s hair as he knelt next to her, but across from her Jianyu had a knife to his own neck. The strain on his face was clear and his hands were shaking, like he was fighting to keep himself from pressing the blade into the soft skin of his throat.

  Magic, she realized. Evelyn was one of them too. Her whole life she’d lived in the city and thought that the old magic had never touched her. She’d known it to be a dangerous force, a fearsome thing that the ordinary person had to be protected from, so it had come as an unsettling realization to know that she’d been living side by side with it all along. First Jianyu and Darrigan and now Evelyn. And while Evelyn was a dangerous hussy, Cela didn’t figure it was the magic that made her that way.

  Evelyn glanced up and saw Cela standing in the doorway, and her expression turned dark and thunderous. “Ah, Cela, I’d wondered where you’d scurried off to, and here you are.” The corners of Evelyn’s painted mouth curled up to reveal her teeth. “What an unpleasant surprise. But since you’re here, do come in.”

  Cela felt herself softening, wanting to move into the room even though she knew it was a bad idea. She took a step toward them without meaning to, and then she fought against taking another.

  “I was just entertaining a couple of unexpected guests,” Evelyn told her. “Or rather, I should say, I was just teaching a couple of thieves a lesson. Perhaps you’d like to join us?”

  “I’m just here for my friend. And what you took from me,” Cela said, gritting her teeth against the strange pull she felt. Even though she knew what Evelyn was, what the woman was capable of, Cela felt drawn to her, enticed by her.

  “You mean this?” Evelyn lifted her hand, and the ring that Darrigan had gifted Cela flashed in the light. “You’re welcome to try to take it from me.” She laughed. “Though I doubt a Sundren like you could manage.”

  Cela’s feet were inching toward Evelyn. One and then the other, no matter how she fought. Abe. I need Abe.

  She got the burst of a gunshot in answer.

  The sound echoed through the cramped room as Evelyn crumpled to the floor with a gasp, grabbing her right arm. At the same moment, Jianyu dropped the knife he’d been holding and collapsed to his knees, his breathing heavy, and the boy Evelyn had been holding by the hair fell to the floor. He seemed too dazed to get himself up.

  Abe was standing in the doorway, a pistol sure in his hand. “Let’s go,” he said.

  “You shot her,” Cela said, the shock of it still fresh and numbing as she watched Evelyn grab her arm, writhing in pain. The brother she’d known wouldn’t have hurt a fly. Who is this man who looks so much like him?

  She’d been content to see him through little-girl eyes for so long that she hadn’t realized how strong and certain he’d become. But she should have. For two years Abel had taken care of her and protected her after their father had been killed. For two years he’d been her rock. She should have known that he would have had their father’s sureness and their mother’s stubborn strength inside of him, just as she did.

  Cela turned back to the scene behind her. The blond boy lay there, not moving, as Jianyu climbed to his feet and went to Evelyn. He took her hand and tried to pull the ring from it, but even with her injured arm, she lashed out at him. He drew back, out of her reach.

  “We have to go,” Cela told him.

  Jianyu glanced at her, his expression still slightly dazed and his forehead damp with the exertion of what he’d been through. “We can’t leave without the ring.”

  “Then you’d better get it fast,” Abel said. “Somebody will have heard the shot.” He had Cela by the hand, but if her feet had moved on their own a moment before, it seemed like she couldn’t move them at all now.

  Evelyn was struggling up from the floor, her eyes glowing again with that strange, unholy light. “Come and get it,” she purred, taunting Jianyu. “If you can . . .”

  But Jianyu’s face had gone slack, and his body was suddenly deathly still.

  “Jianyu?” Cela asked, ignoring how her brother was trying to pull her from the room.

  Jianyu was on his feet and his eyes were open, but he didn’t seem to hear her.

  Even as blood pooled beneath her, Evelyn was laughing, a deeply maniacal cackling that twisted into the pit of Cela’s stomach. She took a step back.

  “That’s right,” Evelyn said to Cela. “Run away. Run far, far away, little Cela.” She laughed again, her face pale and her voice ragged. “The boys are mine.”

  “We can’t leave them here.” She ripped herself away from Abel and went to Jianyu, whose gaze was on some unseen thing in the distance. He wasn’t listening to her, but she could tug him along. “Get the other one.”

  With a ragged grumble, Abe released Cela’s hand long enough to scoop up the blond boy from the floor. “Now can we go?” he asked. “Or is there anyone else you want me to collect and carry for you?”

  Evelyn was on the floor, trying to pull herself up as she grabbed her bleeding arm, and everything was chaos, but Cela felt a laugh bubbling up. With all the mess they were in, Abe was alive. As long as she had him, the rest didn’t matter.

  By the time they were in the stairwell, Jianyu had come back to himself and was walking under his own power. “The ring,” he said, when they reached the bottom of the steps. He started to turn back.

  “No.” Cela tugged at him.

  “We can’t let her have it,” he argued, trying to break loose from her grip, but she could feel how gently he treated her.

  “You go back there now, you’re going to be arrested for trying to kill a white woman,” Abe told him.

  From the expression on Jianyu’s face, he wanted to argue.

  “Can you get back in without her knowing?” Cela asked.

  Jianyu met her gaze, and she saw the calculations play out in his mind. Finally he shook his head. “Even if she can’t see me, she could sense me.”

  “Then you can’t go back,” she told him. “Not now.”

  “But the ring—”

  “It won’t do anyone any good if you’re dead,” Cela said. “We’ll come back for it. I promise.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Abe snapped. “We can’t be here when the police arrive.”

  The blond didn’t stir, so Abe didn’t put him down. They ran into the night, leaving Evelyn howling behind them.

  THE BREWERY

  1904—St. Louis

  Esta came to slowly, reaching toward consciousness like a swimmer struggling up to the sur
face of a cold, deep lake. Her head pounded as she lay in the darkness and breathed in the dusty scent of the burlap sack still over her head. She didn’t know where she was or how long she’d been out, but she remembered who had taken her.

  The Antistasi.

  Her breath hitched at the memory of everything that had happened at the fair—the missing necklace, the way the darkness had descended stark and empty and absolute when her affinity touched the power of the Book. The ground splitting open . . . The ground split open.

  She pulled herself upright, but nearly toppled over again from the dizziness brought on by whatever they’d used to knock her out. Opium, maybe, from the way her affinity felt dull and numb, but not only opium. This was different from anything she’d experienced before—there was something about whatever they’d given her that made her feel untethered, like she wasn’t quite attached to the earth but was floating free, even as she could feel the solid floor beneath her.

  She called for Harte, but there was no answer.

  After a while she thought she heard voices, and moments later the door opened. “Come on,” a voice said. Since she didn’t recognize it, she figured it must not be the cowboy. Rough hands grabbed her by the arms and dragged her from where she was lying. The moment they took her by the arms, she realized that her cuff was missing. Panic seized her as she realized what that meant, but she kept that emotion locked down. She would have a better chance of getting it back if they didn’t know how important it was to her.

  Once she was outside the wagon, Esta could hear buzzing insects and the soft rustling of trees. Not the city. She wobbled at first but recovered before anyone had to support her. Whatever was about to happen, she’d walk on her own two feet. But her head ached worse now that she was upright.

  “Where are we?” she asked. Her tongue still felt clumsy and thick in her dry mouth, but her voice sounded strong. At least she thought it did.

  “You’ll see soon enough, but I’m going to warn you before we go in.” It was the cowboy this time. “I’ll give you the same warning I gave to your friend. If either of you even thinks about causing a lick of trouble, there ain’t a person here what would think twice about taking care of you for good—no matter who you think you are. You got that?”

  “Understood,” she told him, even as she was already considering all the possible options for freeing herself and Harte if things went downhill.

  “That’s fine. Come on, now. This way . . .”

  With her head pounding from the drug and her whole body feeling like her joints had come loose, it was a challenge to stay on her feet as she was led blindly through what felt like an obstacle course of ramps and steps. Finally, they entered a building—she knew, because the insects went quiet. From the way their footsteps echoed, it had to be a larger room, and from the other voices, they weren’t alone. There were two, maybe three others already there.

  They pushed her into a chair, and she felt them secure her to it with more rope. Then, without any warning, the sack they’d put over her head to blind her was pulled off. She blinked. Dim as the lighting was, it caused even more pain to shoot through her already throbbing head.

  Esta ignored the pain as she squinted, trying to get her eyes to adjust. She’d been right. They were standing in something that looked like a large warehouse. On one side of the room, enormous silver tanks lined the wall. On the other side, a series of long tables held wooden crates filled with glass bottles. The stools in front of the tables stood empty. A factory of some sort. The people were gathered in a smaller, open space between the tanks and the tables. In addition to the cowboy, there was a handful of people—men and women of various ages. They seemed to be waiting for something.

  Across from where Esta was sitting, two other guys in workman’s clothes flanked a chair that held one last person—Harte. He still had the burlap sack covering his face, but that didn’t seem to matter. Even with his face covered, she knew that he understood she was there—his head turned in her direction, and his entire body seemed to come to attention, straining against the ropes that held him to the chair.

  “Is that you, Slim?” he asked. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

  “I’m fine,” she told him, keeping her voice low and clipped. “You okay?”

  “I’d be better if I could see something,” he said, shaking his head a little, as if to shake off the bag.

  “You’ll see soon enough, when Ruth decides what to do with you,” the cowboy told him. He frowned at Esta, but before he could say anything else, they heard a door opening from somewhere deep within the factory. The group turned toward the sound of the approaching footsteps, making it clear that someone important was arriving.

  A moment later a woman appeared on the walkway above. She looked over the gathering below for a moment, before descending the steps to the factory floor. She was maybe in her early forties, but her hair was already shot through with gray, and she wore an expression that labeled her as the person in charge.

  The woman—clearly the Ruth the cowboy had mentioned—gave a silent nod, and at her order, one of the men flanking Harte drew the sack off. He’d lost the hat he’d been wearing earlier, and his dark hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions. His eyes found hers, but they were too wide, too wild, and she narrowed hers at him in warning. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to give away too much.

  Stop it, she tried to tell him silently. But she wasn’t sure if he understood. The cords of his neck were tense, and they didn’t relax at the sight of her.

  Without any introduction, Ruth turned to Esta, her voice unyielding as she asked a single question: “Where is it?”

  Esta blinked. “Where is what?”

  “The necklace,” Ruth said, stalking toward the chair where Esta was tied.

  “I don’t have any necklace,” Esta said, well aware of exactly what necklace Ruth was referring to. And if they knew about the necklace, it was possible they’d also realized what her cuff was.

  Ruth pursed her lips, clearly not believing her. “There is only one thing you could have wanted in the Streets of Cairo—it’s the same thing we want. We know you intended to steal the necklace, and we know that you went to the Exposition today to do just that. I allowed this particular farce to run to its conclusion because it suited my purposes, but the time has come. I’m out of patience.” She leaned down until she was close enough that Esta could see the fine lines that had already started to carve themselves into her face. “I’ll ask you this question only one more time: What have you done with the necklace?”

  “We couldn’t steal what wasn’t there,” Esta told her. “It was a trap. When we got to the chamber, there was nothing in the case, and the Guard was ready for us.”

  Ruth’s expression faltered. “You’re sure of this?” When Esta nodded, Ruth turned to the cowboy, but he only shrugged and gave a slight shake of his head. “I knew this would never work,” she told him. “We should have stopped them days ago and gone after the necklace ourselves.”

  “Days ago?” Esta asked.

  “A haircut and a suit might be enough to fool the Guard, but I’m not half so simple,” Ruth said. “Esta Filosik. The Devil’s Thief. I’ve had people watching you ever since North here saw you outside the theater.”

  Esta kept her expression from betraying even a flicker of the anxiety she felt at the woman’s words. The fact that Harte had been right about her disguise barely even registered over the sudden and unpleasant realization that they’d been watched for days, and Esta hadn’t even suspected. She was either getting rusty, or these people—these Antistasi—were more formidable than she’d expected.

  “If you knew who I was, I can’t imagine why you’d waste your time having me followed,” she said, trying to affect a haughty indifference. “You’d know already that we’re on the same side.”

  “Are we?” Ruth said.

  “Of course,” Esta insisted, refusing to show even a hint of her apprehension. She’d bluffed her way out o
f more difficult spots than this. If they thought she was the Devil’s Thief, then she would use every bit of that title to her advantage. “That is that why you use my name so freely, isn’t it?”

  The woman’s nostrils flared in irritation, but she didn’t deny it.

  “Yes, I know all about that,” Esta said, going on the offensive. “I’ve seen the masks and gowns. I know how your little group pretends to be the Devil’s Thief—to be me.” She watches Ruth’s expression go dark. “I know all about the Antistasi.”

  The woman let out a hollow laugh. “We are no more the Antistasi than a drop of water is the sea.”

  “But you’re part of them,” Esta pressed, testing the mood in the room as she spoke. Whatever doubts Ruth might have about her, the rest of the Antistasi in the room felt more tentative, supportive even—except maybe for the guy they called North. It seemed that even if Ruth didn’t much care whether Esta was the Devil’s Thief, the others in the room did. If she could use that to keep Harte safe, she would. “Or did you steal their name as well?”

  “I’ve stolen nothing. We have earned the right to call ourselves Antistasi,” Ruth admitted, her tone dripping with acid.

  “So I’ve heard,” Esta said, keeping her tone detached, aloof. She kept her eyes focused on Ruth, even as she wanted to look at Harte.

  Ruth considered her. “Have you?”

  Esta nodded. “You have quite the reputation in this town. It’s impressive what you’ve accomplished,” she said, playing to the woman’s ego.

  But the ploy didn’t work. Ruth’s eyes narrowed. “Then you know already that we are not to be trifled with. If you knew anything at all about us, you would know that we don’t hesitate to destroy those we consider enemies.”

  “Of course,” Esta said easily. “But I’m not your enemy. From what I hear? Seems like I’m more like your muse.”

  “You?” Ruth laughed again before her mouth drew into a flat, mocking line. “You’re just a girl. The Devil’s Thief is bigger than any single person—she’s certainly bigger than you. You’re unnecessary at best. At worst, you are a problem that needs to be dealt with.”