Present Day—Orchard Street
The first indication that something was wrong was the entrance to Professor Lachlan’s Orchard Street building. When Dakari got them back, the building looked the same from the outside, but inside, things had changed. There was a new, ultramodern lobby, complete with a security desk and a guard she’d never seen before. And extra security measures on every floor, at every door.
The building had always been something of a fortress, an odd place to call home, but now its austerity made the unseen threats outside its walls seem that much more foreboding.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
The brightly lit workroom in the basement of their building, where Mari once had produced everything the team needed, was nothing more than a dusty storage closet. Esta had returned from 1926 to find Mari was gone.
It wasn’t just that Mari was no longer part of their team. Mari no longer even existed.
Esta had used every skill she’d learned over the years from Professor Lachlan to look for her friend. She’d searched immigration records and ancestry registries for some sign of Mari or her family, but instead Esta had found the unsettling evidence that her world had somehow changed.
It was more than Mari’s disappearance. Small shifts and subtle differences told Esta the Order of Ortus Aurea had grown stronger and become emboldened in the late twenties and beyond, when they hadn’t before. Waves of deportations. Riots that hadn’t existed before. A change in who had been president here and there. All the evidence showed that the Order was more powerful now than they had been before Esta and Logan went to steal the Pharaoh’s Heart.
With shaking hands, Esta did the one search she’d been dreading—the night of the heist. She had to know if that had been the source of the changes. She had to be sure.
She wasn’t surprised to find herself inserted in the historical record where she never should have been. Not by name, of course. No one there that night could have known who she was. But she found a small article that talked about the break-in and the theft of the Pharaoh’s Heart.
They knew she’d taken the real dagger.
And from the sparse two inches of print, it was clear they knew that Mageus were behind it.
She’d underestimated the danger they faced. She’d been raised to defeat the Order, trained since she was a young girl in all the skills necessary to do just that. Esta had read the history—public and private—and spent her childhood learning about the devastating effects the Order had on Mageus in the past. She trained daily with Dakari so that she could fight and defend herself against any attack, and still she hadn’t truly understood. Maybe it was because the Order of Ortus Aurea and all they’d done so long ago seemed more like myth than reality. The stories had been so monstrous, but in actuality, the Order itself had always been little more than a shadow haunting the periphery of Esta’s vision, the boogeyman in her unopened closet. It had been so easy to slip through time, to take things from right under their noses, that she’d never understood . . . not really.
Yes, the Order had created the Brink, and yes, that invisible barrier had effectively stripped the country of magic—and Mageus—over the years. Maybe there had once been a time when everyone knew magic existed, and certainly there was a time when people feared and persecuted those who had it, but by the end of the twentieth century, old magic—natural magic—had been mostly forgotten. A fairy tale. And as the public forgot magic, they forgot their fears. The Order had gone underground. It was still a threat to those few Mageus left, of course, but without public support, it operated in secret and its strikes were limited.
The changes in the Professor’s building, the small differences in the history books, and, most personally, the erasure of Mari’s very existence made Esta think that might no longer be the case.
She had caused this.
In the choices she’d made, she had somehow traded Logan’s life for Mari’s, traded the relative safety that had been her life for this other, unknown future. She hadn’t even realized that was possible.
She had known that traveling to other times carried risks, but Professor Lachlan had taught her that time was something like a book: You could remove a page, scratch out a word here and there, and the story remained the same except for the small gaps. He had always believed it would take something monumental to change the ending.
Apparently exposing her powers to save Logan had been enough.
• • •
Three days after she brought Logan back, Esta found herself sitting at the end of his bed, watching his slow, steady breathing. He’d lost a lot of blood, and Dakari’s affinity for healing hadn’t been strong enough to stave off the infection his body was fighting. He still hadn’t come to.
It wasn’t that she’d ever been particularly close to Logan, but he was a part of the Professor’s team. They needed him. And seeing him pale and so very still shook her more than she would have expected.
She knew the moment Professor Lachlan entered the room, his soft steps punctuated by the click of the crutch he used. Esta didn’t turn to greet him, though, not even when he took a few steps through the door and paused as he often did when he had something to discuss with her.
“Don’t say it. Please—don’t even say it.”
“Perhaps I was going to thank you for saving him.”
“Bull.” She did turn then. Professor Lachlan hadn’t moved from the doorway. He was leaning, as usual, on his silver crutch.
She wasn’t sure exactly how old he was, but despite his advanced years, the Professor was still fit and slender. He was dressed in the same uniform of tweed pants and a rumpled oxford shirt he’d worn when lecturing to scores of undergraduates at Columbia over the years. He was a small man, not much taller than Esta herself when he straightened, and at first glance most people overlooked him, often dismissing him as too old to be worth worrying about.
Most people were idiots.
The cataracts that had plagued him for years clouded his eyes, but even so, they were astute, alert. Three days ago, when she’d told him what had happened and tried to explain about Mari, he’d simply listened with the same impassive expression he usually wore, and then he’d dismissed her. They hadn’t talked since.
“You were going to tell me I broke the most important rule,” Esta said. She’d been waiting for this lecture for three days now. “I put us all at risk by blowing our cover and exposing what we were to the Order. I already know that,” she said, feeling the pang of Mari’s loss more sharply.
“Well, then. It’s good of you to save me the trouble.” He didn’t smile. “We need to talk,” he said after a moment. “Come with me.”
He didn’t wait for her agreement, so Esta didn’t have much choice but to leave Logan and follow the Professor down the hall to the elevator. They rode the ancient machine in silence, the cage vibrating and rattling as it made its way to the top of the building he owned. It had once been filled with individual apartments, but now Professor Lachlan owned all of it. She’d grown up in those narrow hallways, and it was the only home she could remember. It had been a strange childhood filled with adults and secrets—at least until Logan arrived.
When the doors opened, they stepped directly into the Professor’s library, its walls lined floor-to-ceiling with books. These weren’t like the unread, gilded spines of Schwab’s books, though. Professor Lachlan’s shelves were packed with volumes covered in faded leather or worn cloth, most cracked and broken from years of use.
No one had a collection like his. He’d purchased most of the volumes in his personal library under false names. Others, he’d had Esta liberate from reluctant owners over the years. Many of his colleagues knew his collection was large, but no one knew how extensive it was, how deep its secrets went—not even the members of his own team. In truth, no one dead or alive knew as much about the secrets New York held as James Lachlan did. Esta had spent almost every day of her childhood in that room, studying for hours, learning everything she needed to blend in during any time in the city’s history.
She’d hated those hours. It was time she would have rather spent on one of their daily walks, the long, winding strolls that Professor Lachlan used to teach her the city, street by street. Or better, prowling through the city herself, practicing her skills at lifting a wallet, or sparring with Dakari in the training room. The long hours she’d spent learning in that room had served her well, though. That knowledge had gotten her and Logan out of more than one tough spot.
But it hadn’t helped at Schwab’s mansion. She made a mental note to do more research on the blond—Jack—whoever he was. If their paths crossed again, she’d be ready.
Professor Lachlan made his way slowly into the room, straightening a pile of papers and books as he went. Clearly, he was in no hurry to get to his point.
It was a test, she knew. A familiar test, and one she was destined to fail.
“You said we needed to talk?” she asked, unable to stand his silence any longer.
The Professor regarded her with the expression he often wore, the one that kept even the people closest to him from knowing his thoughts. He might have made an excellent poker player, if he’d ever cared to gamble. But he never did anything unless he was already sure how it would turn out.
“Patience, girl,” he told her, his usual rebuke when he thought she’d acted impulsively—which was all too often, in his opinion.
He took a few more labored steps toward his desk, his lined face creasing with the effort. When his cane slipped and he stumbled, she was at his arm in an instant.
“You should sit,” she said, but he waved her off with a look that had her stepping back.
He hated it when anyone fussed. He never wanted to admit that he might need some fussing every so often.
Never expose your weaknesses, he’d taught her. The minute someone knows where you’re soft, they can drive in the knife.
“I don’t have time to sit.” He leveled an unreadable stare in her direction. “You allowed a member of the Order to see you.” His tone made it clear that the words were meant to scold as much as to inform.
“What was I supposed to do?” she asked, lifting her chin. “Leave Logan? I saved his life. I brought him back to you. I kept our team together.”
Professor Lachlan’s expression didn’t so much as flicker, but something in the air between them changed. “You lost sight of your assignment.”
“I got the dagger.”
His mouth went tight. “Yes, but that wasn’t the only thing you took, was it?”
“I tried to give you the diamond.”
“I didn’t send you to steal diamonds. If you had been on time, as was planned, none of this would have happened.”
“I can’t say that I’m sorry,” she told him, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “I saw an opportunity, and I took it. Just like you taught me.”
“You did, didn’t you?” He studied her. “You’ve always been a good student, possibly even better than Logan—though not as disciplined—but your impulsiveness had consequences this time.”
She’d learned long ago not to flinch under the weight and expectation of the Professor’s stare, so she didn’t now. But the reminder of her mistakes hit its mark.
Her throat went tight. “What do you want me to do? I can go back, fix it.”
“What would you do? Try to stop yourself ?” Professor Lachlan shook his head. “I don’t know if it’s even possible. And I won’t risk any more damage to the stone for a fool’s errand.” He pinned Esta with his steady, patient stare just as he’d done since she was a small girl. “What’s done is done. We go on from here. As always.”
“But the Order,” she reminded him. “You said yourself, they’ve seen me now.” She looked up at him, forcing herself to meet his eyes the way he had taught her when she was a girl. “The whole point of stealing from the past is so the Order can’t see me coming, but now they’ll know. They might even be waiting for me.” I’m useless to you, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking.
And if that were true, what role could she play in the Professor’s world? If she couldn’t do the job he had groomed her for, where would she belong?
“They saw you in 1926, true. But that only means they’ll know who and what you are after that point.” He gave her a look that said she should have figured that much out on her own.
Understanding hit. “But not before,” she whispered.
“No, not before,” he agreed.
“There has to be plenty to take from the years before the twenties.”
Professor Lachlan leveled another indecipherable look in her direction that had her falling silent as he made his way steadily past the stacks of old newspapers and books to the large wall safe at the far side of his office.
He placed his hand against the sensor, and when the lock released, he took a large box from the recesses of the vault. Esta kept quiet and didn’t bother to ask him if he needed help with it, not even when it was clear he did. Finally, he managed to make his way to the large desk that stood at the midpoint of the room.
The heavy oak table was covered in piles of papers and stacks of books. Setting the box on one of the smaller piles, he sank into a straight-backed chair and set the crutch aside before he bothered to speak.
“Back when I found you wandering alone in Seward Park, I wasn’t in the market for a child. But when I discovered what you could do—your affinity for time—I realized you could be the key to my plans,” he said, leaning forward in his chair. “It’s why I’ve spent the last twelve years training you, teaching you everything you would need to know to go to any point in the city’s past and take care of yourself.
“I didn’t adopt you because I wanted to steal shiny baubles and old journals,” he said, his voice twisting with his annoyance. He stopped short then, as though realizing he’d let his emotions get away from him, and then started again, more measured this time. “This has never been about getting rich, girl. Each of the jobs you’ve done has had a purpose.” He opened the box. “I needed information, and that information led me to the various treasures you’ve managed to bring me.”
One by one he took the objects out of the box.
“You’re familiar with the Pharaoh’s Heart,” he said as he removed the newly stolen dagger from the bag. “But your first real piece was the Djinni’s Star.”
He took out a heavy necklace that Esta remembered taking from an Upper East Side jeweler four or five years back. In the platinum settings was a rare turquoise that seemed to hold an entire galaxy within its blue depths.
“And I’m sure you’ll remember the Delphi’s Tear,” he said, holding out an agate ring with a stone so clear and pure it looked almost liquid.
Of course she remembered. She was barely thirteen when she’d slipped it off the finger of a socialite sometime in the 1960s. It had been the first of the pieces she’d taken from the past and the first piece she’d stolen with Logan’s help. He’d been an unexpected—and not altogether welcome—addition to the Professor’s crew. Esta hadn’t been happy when Professor Lachlan had introduced Logan, the nephew of one of his contacts. She’d seen it as a sign that she wasn’t trusted enough, that Professor Lachlan didn’t think she was ready to go out on her own. She’d been even less happy when they’d all gone together, with each of them taking one of her hands to slip back through to the midcentury city. Logan had found the ring, and she’d taken it. And she’d hated him a little for being so necessary.
He’d won her over, though—too fast. She’d been young and didn’t have much experience with anyone outside the Professor’s small circle, so she didn’t know at first to look beyond his charm. She’d fallen for it, until she realized that everything was a game to Logan. It wasn’t that he was heartless or uncaring. He was as dedicated and loyal to the team—and to Professor Lachlan—as she was. But whether it was a shiny jewel or a never-been-kissed girl, he was only interested in the chase. And once the chase was over . . .
“Then there’s the Dragon’s Eye,” Professor Lachlan said, bringing Esta’s attention back to the present moment as he removed a glittering tiara from the box. At its center was a large piece of amber so flecked with gold that it practically glowed.
She’d found that piece in Chinatown sometime in the forties. She’d been fourteen, and it was the first big job they’d done without Professor Lachlan escorting them. By then she’d accepted what Logan was and had forgiven him for making her think he was something more. She’d even formed a begrudging friendship with him. Professor Lachlan needed and trusted Logan, and she trusted Professor Lachlan. So that was that.
“And then there’s the Key.” Finally, he pulled out the most familiar treasure of all—Ishtar’s Key. The rock was a strange, dark, opal-like stone that glimmered with a deep rainbow of colors. Set into an arm cuff that fit perfectly against Esta’s own biceps, it was the stone that allowed her to slip vertically through the layers of time. Her stomach sank when she saw the jagged line bisecting its smooth surface, the reminder of yet another consequence of her mistakes.
When they’d finally gotten back to their building on Orchard Street, Esta had discovered the crack. The only explanation was that she’d used it too much without giving it time to cool, but they didn’t know what it might mean for the stone’s power. She hoped it was a positive sign that even from across the room, its familiar warmth and energy still called to her.
Looking at the objects on the table was like looking at her own history, but she understood that there was more to the display than a walk down memory lane. Seeing the five objects there on his desk, she could tell there was a pattern she hadn’t previously understood.
Professor Lachlan ran his finger over the crack in Ishtar’s Key, pausing thoughtfully before he spoke. “These five stones were once in the possession of the Ortus Aurea. Back when the Order was at the very pinnacle of its strength, it kept them in a secure room called the Mysterium, a vault deep within their headquarters in Khafre Hall. Only the highest circles ever had access to them, but their existence was the very source of the Order’s power, until they were stolen.”
She looked up at him. “Stolen?”
Professor Lachlan opened one of his notebooks and flipped through it until he found a page with a yellowed piece of newsprint taped onto it. He turned the book so Esta could read the story.
“Back in 1902, a group of Mageus attempted to take down the Order,” he explained, pointing at the clipping. “They broke into the Mysterium and stole the Order’s most important treasures. But one of the crew double-crossed the rest, and the job went off the rails. The crew scattered, and the artifacts disappeared.”
She scanned over the faded column of print. “This is a story about a fire,” she said, confused. There was no mention of a robbery.
“Of course it is. The Order couldn’t let anyone know what had really happened. If word got out that they’d been robbed of such important treasures—by the very people they were trying to control, no less—they would have looked weak. It would have put them at risk for more groups to try retaliating. They hid their losses. They hid their failures. They pretended nothing had happened, that everything was the same.
“It worked, for a while at least. I’ve already taught you about the early years of the last century. You know how dangerous this city was for anyone with the old magic—the fires, the raids disguised as simple policing to protect the city. And there was always the Brink. Stealing the Order’s artifacts didn’t change any of that. But as the years passed, the old magic began to fade and be forgotten. New generations were weaker than the ones who had come before, and the city began to forget its fear.
“The Order never forgot, though. For years the highest members of the Order tried to find these pieces and bring them back together, but because of the work we’ve done, they’ve never managed to. Occasionally a piece would pop up at an auction, like the one at Schwab’s mansion, or rumors of another would surface, but since that original theft, these pieces have never been in the same room.” The Professor smiled, his old eyes sparking. “Until now.”
He didn’t have to tell Esta that there was something about the various stones that made them more than they appeared. Just as Ishtar’s Key called to her, the artifacts together seemed to saturate the entire space with a warm, heady energy.
“You see,” he continued, “there has been a method to what we’ve done these past years. One by one, I discovered the fate of the stones. One by one, I’ve collected them and kept them safe. But it’s not enough. Everything we’ve done has only been a prelude to one item, the last of the artifacts.” He leaned forward. “I’ve been more than careful, or haven’t you noticed? Each job has been a little farther back, each one a little more challenging. I was getting you ready for the one job that means everything.”
Esta straightened a bit. Professor Lachlan was still willing to trust her. He still needed her.
“What’s the mark?” she asked, her voice filled with a bone-deep desire to prove herself to him.
He smiled then. “We need the final item that was stolen that day. A book.”
Esta couldn’t hide her disappointment. She’d stolen plenty of books for him over the years. “You want me to get another book?”
“No, not another book.” His old eyes gleamed. “You’re going to get the Book—the Ars Arcana.”
Even with all her training and the many, many hours she’d spent learning about the city and about the Order, Esta had never heard that particular term before. Her confusion must have shown.
“It’s a legendary book, a text rumored to be as old as magic itself,” he explained with a twist of impatience. “For years it was under the Order’s control, and I believe it can tell me how to use these stones to topple the Order once and for all. Imagine it, girl—the few Mageus left wouldn’t have to hide who we are anymore. We’d be free.”
Free. Esta wasn’t sure what that word even meant. She loved her city, had never really thought about or yearned for a life outside it. But Professor Lachlan was looking at her with an expression of hope and warmth. “Tell me where it is, and it’s yours,” Esta said.
“Well, that’s where it gets tricky.” Professor Lachlan’s expression darkened. “The Book was lost. Probably destroyed.”
“Destroyed?”
Professor Lachlan nodded. “One of the team double-crossed the rest. He took the Book and disappeared. If the Book still existed, I would have found it by now. Or Logan would have.” His eyes lit again. “That’s why you have to stop the traitor before he can disappear. If you can save the Book and bring it back here, it would change everything.”
Anticipation singing in her blood, Esta kept herself calm, determined. “Who is he? Where do I find him?”
Studying her a moment longer, Professor Lachlan’s mouth turned up ever so slightly. It wasn’t a real smile, but it was enough to tell her that she’d started to win back a measure of his approval. “The spring of 1902, when the heist happened,” he said, tapping the news clipping. “You’re going to have to go back further than you’ve ever gone before. The city was a different place then.”
“I can handle it,” she said.
“You don’t understand. . . . Magic was different back then. Now the city is practically empty of magic. Now people think magic is a myth. But back then the streets would have felt electric. People knew that the old magic existed, and they feared those who held it. Back then there was still the feeling in the air that something was about to start. Everyone was picking sides.”
“I know,” she told him. “You’ve taught me all of this.”
“Maybe I did.” He sighed as he lifted Esta’s cuff from the table and examined it, frowning as he studied the crack in the stone. “But I’m still not sure you’re ready. This last job makes me wonder . . .”
Esta wanted to reach for the cuff, but she held back. It wasn’t exactly hers—the Professor only permitted her to wear it when he needed something from the past. Otherwise, he kept it safe in his vault. Still, the cuff had always felt like hers, ever since the first time he’d slipped it onto her arm a little more than six years ago, when she was eleven years old, and shown her that she was meant for more than lifting fat wallets out of tourists’ pockets.
“I won’t disappoint you again,” she promised.
He didn’t offer her the cuff, though. He was still punishing her, however gently. Teasing her with the promise of the stone but reminding her who Ishtar’s Key—and the power that came with it—really belonged to.
“We can’t afford to wait for Logan to heal. You’ll go after the Book now, and you’ll go alone.”
“Alone?” Esta asked. “But without Logan, how will I find it?”
“You’ll get yourself on the team that steals it.”
Confused at the change in their usual way of working, Esta frowned. “But if we waited for Logan to heal, we could get there before them. In and out quick, like you’ve always said. We don’t have to take the risk of it disappearing.”
“No,” Professor Lachlan said sharply. “It won’t work.”
“But with my affinity—” she started.
“It isn’t enough,” he snapped, cutting her off. “Do you think you could simply waltz into the Order’s stronghold and lift the Book? You’re a gifted thief, but it took a team to get in, to get past their levels of security. And the person who eventually double-crossed them was essential to that.”
“There has to be another, easier way,” she argued.
“Even if there were . . .” Professor Lachlan shook his head. “Every one of our jobs has been carefully designed so that the Order never knew when they were actually robbed. Every time you’ve taken an artifact, I’ve planned it so the theft was invisible, so they couldn’t trace it to us. I did that for a reason. But look what happened this last time—you changed something by being exposed. How much more of our present might be affected if you mess with the events of the past?”
He tapped again on the news clipping. “The heist has to happen exactly as it happened then. You can’t risk changing anything. Think about it—if the heist doesn’t occur or if the Order knows who was behind it, there’s no telling what that might do to the future. To our present. The only difference can be who gets the Book. Otherwise, think of what repercussions there might be.”
She thought of Mari and knew too well what the effects might be.
“Besides,” he said, examining the crack in the surface of the stone, “I’m not sure that Ishtar’s Key could handle taking two through time again. You put a lot of pressure on the stone with what you did at Schwab’s mansion. You’ll have to do this alone.” He still wasn’t smiling as he held out the silver cuff. “Unless you don’t feel up to the challenge?”
Esta hesitated before she reached for it. This, too, seemed like a test, but if she failed this time, how much more damage could she do? How many more lives might she be putting in danger?
But if she succeeded . . . Maybe by getting the Book, she could make everything right again. Maybe she could get Mari back.
She thought of the uncounted others who might still live in the shadows of the city, their affinities weak and broken from years of disuse and generations of forgetting. If one mistake in the future could have caused so many changes to her present, what might destroying the Order do? If she succeeded, she could do more than simply fix the mistakes she’d made and make her present right again. Maybe she could rewrite her own future. Reclaim magic.
There would be no more hiding—for any of them.
She took the cuff. The silver was still cold from being in the vault, but she slid it onto her arm without so much as a shiver. Again, she felt the pull of the stone, like something was warming her from within. Something that felt like possibility . . . and the promise of power. “Tell me who betrayed them,” she said, determined. “Who is it I need to stop?”
Professor Lachlan’s mouth curved into a smile, but his eyes held nothing but cold hate. “Find the Magician,” he told her. “And stop him before he destroys our future.”