ALEX
The rest of the troupe takes a step back, completely in the dark about what Joan’s going to do, as she holds the spotlight. And the dread I’ve managed to dam, as I’ve played the dutiful cop playing the dutiful troupe member during the performance, starts flooding in. There’s a shine that defies the laws of magic, a shine being sold by a gangster who wants to take over the underworld—
And the girl I’m falling in love with is taking the stage to somehow bring it home.
The room falls completely, deathly quiet, as Joan places both of her hands back on her bottle of shine. She mumbles words of power, words I can’t quite hear, even this close to her, but in seconds, a glass stopper appears and lodges itself right into the mouth of her bottle. Colletto and his men shift below us, mumble speculation.
Then Joan takes one of her hands off the glass, digs around the shelf under the altar, and pulls a switchblade out from it. As she pushes up the right sleeve of her dress, I have to stop myself from reaching out and grabbing her hand, telling her that whatever she’s about to do, it’s not worth it, not for them. Grace gasps on Joan’s other side, and her hand flies to her mouth, while a strange, deep regret floods through me and settles into my skin. On Joan’s forearm is a patchwork of scars, some fresh and red, some pink, older. She leans her arm over the bottle, and with a calm precision, presses the blade right into her arm.
After a trickle of blood wraps around her skin and drips into the stoppered bottle, she caps the bottle and begins another spell. Again I can’t hear the words, but this time I strain to: “Less of me . . . offering . . . eternity . . .”
Her bottle begins to tremble, quake, then settle, just like it’s alive. What did she just do? Some dark sorcery, a spell of blood? Devil’s magic?
As Joan backs away from her new creation, again Gunn goes to her side. He takes Joan’s bottle into his hands, lifts it up for the crowd to assess: a bottle of glistening shine, stoppered with a cork of bloodstained glass.
“An eternal shine,” Gunn says to the audience. “A bottle of pure, liquid magic, caged by magic. An old and secret magic that we have perfected, that would not have seen the light of day without the power of this magic haven.” Gunn hands the bottle back to Joan. “Or of course, without a powerful, resourceful sorcerer.”
Colletto stands up slowly and walks to the front of the stage. “May I see the bottle?” he asks Joan.
“Go on,” Gunn tells her.
Joan heads down the stairs to hand the bottle to Colletto, while I get a strong, overwhelming urge to gut Gunn, right here and now. He’s standing so close, I could wrap my fingers around his neck. I could conjure a thousand knives, incise him with cuts just like Joan’s, let him bleed out slowly.
“That’s yours to keep,” Gunn tells Colletto, once Joan takes her place back among us. “I knew you wanted to make sure there was no tampering with the sample I showed you last time. You saw this one brewed and bottled yourself—so take it back with you, confirm its shelf life, and open it in a few days. When you see it’s real, I expect we’ll have a deal.”
As Colletto studies the glass bottle, the room buzzes around him. The air is tense, expectant, excited—and my mind is buzzing right along with it. Because everything I’ve been shelving . . . Joan’s relationship with Gunn, her caginess, her secrets, her unparalleled power . . . there’s no ignoring it anymore. It’s impossible not to bring this deal down without bringing Joan down with it. Because Joan is the magic behind the largest score in Unit history. Joan is the eternal shine.
Colletto says, “Tell me exactly how it’s done.”
Gunn shakes his head. “If we’re going to embark on this road together, there needs to be a foundation of trust, of partnership. I assured you that I can make this product, again and again. Now leave the magic to me,” he says. “Our history of hate has lasted far too long. It’s time to put the past behind us.”
Gunn is a cold, ruthless bastard, but even still, I can’t wrap my head around his decision to team up with Colletto. He’s shaking hands with the gangster who gunned down his father, Danny the Gun. He’s delivering the death blow to his mentor McEvoy, to align with the enemy. This bastard deserves everything that’s coming to him.
Colletto looks up at Gunn on his stage, nods. “How much?”
“You give me two hundred and fifty dollars for every gallon. You charge double on the street, and the difference of course will fall to you. We shake hands, and you’ll have our word that you’ll be our sole distributor, on the only shippable shine known to man,” Gunn says slowly. “And in exchange, you give up the shining room business—my Shaws get a complete monopoly on performance magic in the city.”
Colletto keeps his eyes on the glistening red bottle. “And the rest of our operations? Gambling, racketeering, loans?”
“The rest of our proposed agreement would go immediately into action. We reorganize the district. Everything west of Fourteenth Street is ours. You take the east. A smooth criminal empire, as I believe my father once called it,” Gunn says tightly. “Before lesser men took a hammer to his vision.”
A true deal between the Shaws and their enemies. A deal across all operations, no less—hell, a partnership. Agent Frain is going to flip.
Colletto turns the bottle over once more in his hand. “Thursday,” he finally answers. “I’ll give you ten thousand for fifty gallons. You throw in the sweeteners we talked about, and we’ve got a deal.”
Gunn breaks into an uncharacteristically wide smile, a smile that almost makes him look boyish—reminds me of just how young this mongrel is, and just how high he’s managed to claw. He gestures for our troupe to descend the stage. “I think this calls for a toast.”
On cue, stagehands file into the performance space with large silver trays loaded with shot glasses, ascend the stairs, and grab the remaining six bottles of shine from the stage. And with that, the vibe of the room shifts. Shine is being poured. The deal is going forward. Foes have turned into allies, and an almost festive air settles over the crowd. I need to pass this on to Frain, all of it—
“But first, how about a round of applause for our performers?” Gunn says.
Colletto claps a full, long applause, and his team of thugs joins in. We bow slightly, as Joan, the star, takes a full curtsy in front of their benches. Does she realize that all eyes are on her now? Does she understand that these gangsters see her as a commodity, a valuable asset that could be sold, or stolen?
Another reason why I need to shut this operation down.
Another reason why this whole magic racket is wrong—because of sorcerers like her, and once upon a time sorcerers like me: sorcerers who get used, turned around, and forced right into the line of fire.
As the crowd moves toward the VIP lounge, Joan edges beside me and whispers, “Go up the fire escape to my room when this is done. Wait for me. Gunn’s giving everyone a celebratory shot of shine—they’ll be in the lounge for at least an hour, I’m sure.” She flashes me a heady smile. She’s clearly emboldened by what she’s done, empowered, not ashamed. She’s exactly where I was a year ago: being manipulated, handled, tricked into thinking she’s invincible. Before I can think through it, I give her a discreet little nod. She breaks away and goes back to Gunn’s side.
As the stagehands lead Colletto and his men to the VIP lounge, Gunn lingers and surveys our troupe. “You all did spectacularly. But I won’t lie: there’re going to be long, tough days ahead. I expect you all at eight a.m. tomorrow, ready to live and breathe brewing shine until Thursday, to ensure that our first shipment’s on time. So enjoy your night.” Then he drops his voice, addresses Joan. “I’m sure Colletto wants to meet you.”
Joan nods, but as she trails him, she throws a glance at me behind her shoulder.
I can’t meet her on her fire escape. I can’t have Joan, even if I want her. This is about far more than her and me—
But as she turns down the hall, these thoughts are strong-armed by a greater truth: this can’t be the last time I watch her walk away.
“So that’s what she’s been hiding,” Rose says as soon as Gunn, Colletto, and their respective teams of thugs turn down the hall toward the VIP lounge.
“Stock warned us so many times about her.” Tommy shakes his head. “We saw it that night in the house of magic manipulations, remember? Something evil was going on up there.”
Rose nods as she plays with her dark, knotty hair. “Stock thought she was working for the devil.”
“Did you know Joan was in on this?” Ral demands of Grace.
But I’m half listening at best, inside my own head. Joan’s in deeper than she realizes. Maybe her allegiance to her family and Gunn’s promises have turned her around so much, she’s got no sense of which way’s up. Maybe I can stop her, reason with her, before it’s too late for her, without compromising my score.
“Alex,” Grace says, and when I look at her, I can tell this isn’t the first time she’s said my name. “Did you know about any of this?”
I shake my head. “No,” I say sadly, “Joan tricked us all.” I clear my throat. “Excuse me, I think I’m going to leave while I can, get some rest.”
Grace gives me a sympathetic smile as the rest of the troupe devolves back into their whispers and accusations.
I burst through the double doors, hit the shock-cold January air. Part of me is fully aware that I should keep walking right out to M Street, find a phone and call Frain, tell him the deal particulars that are as good as done, and not look back. You know what Joan’s room means. You shouldn’t get mixed up with her like that. It will complicate things even further—
But the other part of me is already climbing up her fire escape.