Interlude

LAWTON

Things with Tomas were going about as fine as Lawton had figured. Tomas was suspicious by nature. Every fence Lawton had ever met stared at the world through narrowed eyes, but Tomas was a different sort.

Prone to violence more than blackmail or sabotage.

But his muscled thugs were slow, big men reliant on their strength and not lean, agile creatures like him. And Calix.

This had been the backup plan all along, but seeing the fear and confusion on Calix’s face as Lawton slammed the four-inch blade through Tomas’s hand had sent a wave of guilt through him. Calix had been insurance against Tomas getting violent, but it hadn’t quite worked.

Because of that damn book. The very one Cassandra wanted delivered to her at precisely eleven a.m. No sooner, and certainly not a minute late. And Tomas had agreed to meet, but only at ten. Everyone’s fucking demands were standing between him and enough cash to pay off his gambling debts. Every last one of them.

But priorities first.

Lawton shoved the satchel into Calix’s arms and told him to run. Calix was the only person in the world he would trust with the book, and now that Lawton had drawn first blood, he would be the one ducking fists and dodging blades. He was a lot of things, self-sacrificing not being one of them. But he wouldn’t stand the thought of Calix being hurt.

Their gazes locked for a moment that felt like forever, but then Lawton shoved Calix toward the back of the shop while he went to the front. And then he lost sight of Calix as both of Tomas’s thugs lunged at him while Tomas snarled and wailed in pain and rage behind him.

Losing all three men giving chase would take smarts. And Lawton had already mentally mapped an escape route, but it relied on good timing and a bit of luck. Being chased in the Village would lead to having the authorities summoned, and he wasn’t about to chance that.

Instead, Lawton burst out of the shop and onto the rough cobblestoned street that was Babylon Boulevard, veering left, then left again down a narrow alley while heavy footfalls pounded behind him. Just as Lawton reached the west edge of the Boulevard, the distinct — and terrifying — sound of a gun being cocked hit his ears.

A gun? A bloody gun? How very…American.

Fear was a real thing at the back of his throat, pushing him to run harder, faster. Just as the first shot rang out. Guns were terribly inaccurate at the best of times, so while Lawton wasn’t surprised to remain upright and whole, he wasn’t nearly out of danger yet. All his carefully laid plans were crumbling with every second, so Lawton did the one thing he was good at, even more so than charming people.

Surviving.

Up ahead, a thick metal door creaked open and a bald man in a blood-stained apron stepped out, cigarette halfway to his lips. Lawton rushed forward and grabbed the man by the shoulders.

“Sorry, mate,” he said as he shoved the man into the alley, giving a swift kick to the trashcan by the door for good measure. Anything to distract his pursuers would be useful right now. Lawton dove inside the building, taking in the sounds of knives on countertops and the murmur of conversation, then raced to the front of what turned out to be a butcher shop. The smell was truly terrible and Lawton sucked in a lungful of air a bit too hastily. His eyes watered as he coughed, but he dove into the crowded shop front, pushing past men in torn overcoats and women in bedraggled bonnets, ignoring the few people who shouted after him.

As Lawton dashed onto the busy sidewalk, he chanced a look back. He’d lost the two thugs but Tomas was quickly barreling through that same crowd in the butcher’s. Far too close for his liking. Foolish, perhaps, to continue to run and risk a collision with a carriage; a collision he’d certainly lose. But the carriages weren’t his target.

“Sir! Sir! A man with a gun is robbing that butcher’s!” Lawton yelled, hoping he looked frantic enough that the mounted policeman plodding along the street would stop. He pointed a shaking finger toward the butcher’s and the policeman, a lean man with a thick, black handlebar mustache, whirled around, hand going immediately to the club at his belt.

Score one for the bravery of a policeman carrying only a blunt weapon, thinking of going up against a man like Tomas with a gun.

“Please help!” Lawton yelled, drawing onlookers. The timing couldn’t have been better. A scream rose up from the butcher’s and the policeman spurred his horse forward. Giving Lawton the out he needed as one…two…three shots rang out and a man yelled for help.

Ten minutes later, he was unlocking the back door to Dodge’s ground-level apartment, pointedly ignoring the sweat trickling down his spine. A horrible feeling, truly, and it made him shudder as the cool dark of the kitchen enveloped him.

Dodge was an old friend, one of the first people Lawton had met down at the horse racing tracks a few months after he’d immigrated from England. Lawton had quit that habit when he’d finally found a few decent gambling dens in which to wile away the hours, but Dodge earned his entire living betting on the ponies. So while his friend was out trading bills for slips of paper and cheering on his horses from the sidelines, Lawton was finally alone. And safe.

Lawton sat on the floor, back to the wall, and sighed. He had fucked up royally, as Dodge would say. Now he had no deal for the antique books, which meant no money. And he had no book for the Golden Order, after spending their money. And Cassandra was expecting him soon.

He was fucked.

Lawton let himself wallow in his misery, a hippopotamus in a puddle of shit of his own making.

Time for a plan, one that would help him find Calix and that damned book.

That same night

“What do you mean you can’t find him?” Lawton forced himself to unclench his jaw as he stared at the blonde-haired man standing in his parlor. “You told me you could find anyone. I gave you Calix’s scarf. You assured me he would be found.”

The man shook his head. “I didn’t give any assurances, Mr. Adler. You can talk to Ms. Spurrington about whatever she might have promised you. There’s no trace of your friend, or the artifact, anywhere in the Village. I suggest checking other parts of the city.”

The man paused, giving Lawton time to fume as his mind raced. Calix was a creature of habit. After the mishap with Tomas, Lawton knew the book would be safe with Calix. He had figured Calix would head home, because when his friend panicked, he fled to certain safety.

Or so he believed. Clearly something else was going on. And all Lawton knew at this point was that the Golden Order’s mage had failed, which meant his handler would be displeased. Not at the mage, of course, but at Lawton.

He had failed. Spectacularly.

That damn book, he thought as he dismissed the mage with a wave. “Fine,” Lawton bit out. “But I’m deeply displeased.”

The blonde man laughed. “Good for you. Not much you can do about it, though.” He walked out with a cheeky wave and the impertinence only fueled Lawton’s rage. The temptation to throw something — that vase in the corner, the book on the table, his half-empty glass of brandy — was strong. But Cassandra would be here any moment and he couldn’t afford to appear ruffled in front of her.

Cassandra Spurrington was terrifying. Lawton would never admit it out loud, of course. But the woman screamed authority with a single look and after he’d learned how close she was to the head of the Golden Order, well…he knew better than to cross her.

Which meant tonight he had to turn on all the charm and spin his story perfectly. Otherwise, the consequences would be his alone and he might lose any chance at being ingratiated even further into the Order. He only had so much leeway in his temperament for failure, and things of late had been pushing him to the edge.

His only relief had been Calix. Sweet, tempting, pliable Calix and his soft eyes and plush mouth. Lawton shuddered, remembering the feel of Calix’s hair between his fingers and the heat in those brown eyes as Calix stared up at him. Lawton let his eyes close as the memory — and the sensation of it — rushed through him.

Calix’s mouth, his lips, his sinful tongue. The dents in Lawton’s skin from how Calix gripped him, holding him so tightly. As if Calix were afraid he’d leave. How the gas sconces flickered, casting them both in velvet shadow. The sweep of Calix’s eyelashes against his cheeks.

“Lawton.”

Lawton’s eyes snapped open. Cassandra Spurrington stood in the doorway to the parlor, dressed in her trademark pinstriped suit, arms crossed and her gaze intense. Everything about Cassandra was intense, at all times. He’d personally witnessed people cross the street to get out of the way.

If only they knew who she was, and who she worked for, Lawton thought as he gave Cassandra a tight smile. “Please come in.”

Without a word of acknowledgement, Cassandra strode into the room and took the chair to the right of the fire. It placed her back to the wall instead of the door; a move Lawton had noticed at their very first meeting. Cassandra was still an enigma to him, but some of her behaviors were highly evident of a person constantly on alert.

“Tell me what happened with the book,” she said as Lawton sat across from her. “Don’t leave anything out.”

Lawton had thought long and hard about how he wanted to approach this story. Spinning his own version of events meant placing the blame at the feet of a few — that haughty man who tried to outbid him at the auction, Tomas and his thugs. He didn’t want to involve Calix in all of this, but considering he had possession of the book (and hopefully did still), Lawton saw no choice.

Cassandra listened with a stony expression until Lawton mentioned the other bidder. “What did he look like?” she asked, tipping her chin up.

“Tall, lean, impeccably dressed if I might say so. Close-cut hair, high cheekbones, dark skin.” Lawton tapped his fingers on the armrest for a moment, remembering. “He carried a teakwood cane—”

“Tipped with gold? Silver rings on his fingers?”

Lawton raised an eyebrow at that. “Yes. You know this man?”

Cassandra didn’t look so much as nonplussed. She nodded and said, “Aubrey Lavigne. I’m not surprised. He’s been an occasional thorn in our side, but usually doesn’t get in our way.”

“Perhaps not so much happenstance this time, Cassandra. He offered me double what I paid for the lot for one book.”

Now he had her attention. “Did Mr. Lavigne mention which one he desired?” When Lawton shook his head, Cassandra sighed. “There’s a chance he was after the grimoire, but we can’t be certain. The lot we had you purchase contained more than one magical book.” She made a circular motion with her hand, cunning gaze fixed back on Lawton. “Tell me the rest. And don’t lie to me, Lawton. I want to know precisely how you lost the grimoire.”

Something inside Lawton squirmed. He wasn’t a man to fidget, but Cassandra managed to make him feel insignificant with a glance and a few words. And her request to know the whole story, instead of demanding to know what happened in the immediacy of the day’s events, made his palms sweat.

With a deep breath in, Lawton continued his story. “Our appointment at eleven was at the forefront of my mind, so I was determined to finish my business beforehand. Taking Calix with me was a precaution, as the book dealer who accosted me — quite unusual for him, I must say — is best dealt with if a witness is there.”

Cassandra held up her hand. “Get to the point, Lawton. You couch your words in a mannerthat removes you from the situation, as if you’re only a bystander. You went to this bookseller to do your personal business. Fine. Why did you relinquish the grimoire from your care?”

Lawton tried not to show frustration. She wants the whole story, then interrupts me. Fine. “Tomas, the bookseller, has a quick eye. He spotted the grimoire in my bag and tried to take it. His thugs attempted to strong-arm my friend and I when I wouldn’t turn the book over, so I had to think fast. I told Calix to run, gave him the book, and then split with him the other way.”

Cassandra’s one word rang out in the room. Even the fire couldn’t abate the chill in the air. “Why?”

By this point, Lawton’s nails were biting into his palms. The pain grounded him, even as panic started to set in. Cassandra could do anything to him, per the Order’s rules. She was his handler. The retrieval of the grimoire had come from on high. Lawton took another deep breath and said, “Because I trust Calix. I know him on every level. I knew he would circle back to find me, or go to his home and send a messenger to track me down. When nothing of the sort happened, I called for an Order mage to find him. But the mage said—”

“I know what he said because he waited outside your building to tell me,” Cassandra cut in. “Rian is one of our best. And he said there was no trace of your friend or the grimoire. It would take immensely powerful magic to block that book from a tracking spell.” The look she gave Lawton cut right through him. “Does your friend have any abilities?”

The one thing Lawton swore he would never do was rat on Calix. Even after all these years, he was certain Calix hadn’t been fully honest with him after explaining it as “mostly indecipherable near-dreams” that sometimes were useful in a pedestrian sort of way. But Lawton had no evidence to the contrary; if Calix ever had those “near-dreams” about Lawton, he’d never said a word.

“No,” Lawton said with a sad little head shake. It was only mostly for show. He didn’t want to lie to Cassandra, but any magic of Calix’s wouldn’t have been able to block magic like Rian had found. So the lie didn’t hurt anything. “Other than being preternaturally beautiful.”

Cassandra didn’t so much as crack a smile. “Does he know anyone who could work that kind of warding magic?” When Lawton shook his head again, Cassandra’s gaze narrowed. Lawton felt as though someone had dropped him into a meat locker. “That makes my job more difficult, but so be it. We can’t keep track of everyone in the city, not without more funding.”

While Lawton puzzled over that statement, Cassandra stood to stand before the fire, her back to the room and him. Her black-gloved hands were clasped at the small of her back, and with her ramrod straight posture, she was even more intimidating. “Tomorrow, you’ll track down your friend and get the book back. Bring it to me immediately, with absolutely no delay. Do this, and we’ll forget this cock-up of yours. Retrieving the book is your primary job.”

Her tone brooked no argument. Lawton wasn’t entirely sure he even had a good one, as much as some part of him was itching for a fight. Something to relieve the tension he could feel through his entire body.

“It’ll be done,” Lawton said. Show her no fear. Cassandra latches onto fear like a hunting dog with a fox’s trail. Well, old boy, you’re the fox right now. “But if I’m going up against wards, surely you have some way for me to break them or even see through them? As much as I adore you magical lot, I don’t have an ounce in me.”

Cassandra didn’t move as she replied. “If your friend is as trustworthy as you say — and he must be, since you gave him the book — he’ll have it. Don’t forget your place, Lawton. You’ve yet to be fully ordained. Do this, and you will be.”

Fury, whiplash fast and hotter than iron, made Lawton bite the inside of his cheek. The sharp pain made him focus, but no amount of pain would shake Cassandra’s words out of his mind. Wasn’t he already good enough, having dedicated the last year of his life to helping the Order? Courting influence at parties with the names on everyone’s lips, getting pivotal Order members invited to other parties to do their own courting. Hells, even stooping so low as to run their errands, like with this damnable book. Cassandra had massaged his ego a little by saying the job had come directly from Vincent de Laine, the head of the Golden Order himself. At the time, Lawton had been proud, but now it felt cheap and bitter. And when he did find Calix tomorrow and got the book into Cassandra’s hands, it would only be a hollow victory.

The withered hand of envy and jealousy threatened to scratch at old scars deep inside him. But maybe he needed it now, something to latch onto so he could be done with this entire fucking asinine errand boy job. Lawton’s fingers sought out the gold pin on the inside of his jacket and remembered how Calix had asked after it.

Any thought of Calix right now besieged him with worry.

“Consider it done,” Lawton bit out.

“Good.” Cassandra left the spot before the fireplace to pin him with her stare once more. “If you arrive at the Bleeker Street office after noon, you can wait until I’m available. You cannot leave that book with anyone else.”

Lawton stared hard back. “Surely they’re all Order employees, considering it’s an Order office?”

“Only me, Adler.” She was serious, clearly, using his last name like that. “And this meeting is over.”

Cassandra walked out of his house without so much as a terse farewell.

Lawton waited until he was certain she’d departed before walking over to the wall and punching it. He whipped around, breathing through the pain as he stared at the blood welling on his knuckles. Then he went upstairs to his bedroom with one goal in mind — the little black book locked away in his bedside drawer. Two decades of parties and faires, ballrooms and barrooms, had given Lawton plenty of chances to wield his formidable charm. The contacts he’d built up and maintained over that time gave him an in with almost every aspect of New York City society.

And right now, he needed a very special kind of magic user.