Once, the Five Pointers wouldn’t have dared cross Elizabeth Street or come within four blocks of the Bella Strega, Dolph’s saloon. But now they walked the streets Dolph had once protected, their presence a declaration of their intent to occupy. To conquer.
It wasn’t unexpected. As news of Dolph’s death spread, the other gangs would begin to take the territory the Devil’s Own once held. It was no more surprising to see the Five Pointers in the neighborhood than it would be to see Eastman’s gang or any of the rest. If Jianyu had to guess, he suspected that even Tom Lee, the leader of the most powerful tong in Chinatown, would try to take what territory he could.
The Five Pointers were different, though. More dangerous. More ruthless.
They were a newer faction in the Bowery, and because of that they fought like they had something to prove. But unlike the other gangs, Kelly’s boys had managed to procure the protection of Tammany Hall. The year before, the Five Pointers had broken heads and flooded polling places to elect a Tammany puppet to the city council, and ever since, the police overlooked whatever crimes the Five Pointers committed.
It had been bad enough that Kelly had been working in league with the corrupt bosses at Tammany, but during the days preceding Dolph’s death, they had grown more brazen than ever. It had been an unmistakable sign that something was afoot. Everyone in the Strega had known that unrest was stirring in the Bowery, but it was a sign read too poorly and too late.
Feeling exposed, Jianyu drew on his affinity and opened the threads of light cast by the streetlamps. He bent them around himself like a cloak so that the Five Pointers wouldn’t see him pass. Invisible to their predatory vigilance, he allowed himself to relax into the comfort of his magic, the certainty of it when everything else was so uncertain. Then he picked up his pace.
A few blocks later, the familiar golden-eyed witch on the Bella Strega’s sign came into view. To the average person looking for warmth from the chill of the night or a glass of something to numb the pain of a life lived at the margins, the crowd of the Bella Strega might not have seemed any different from the other saloons and beer halls scattered throughout the city. Legal or illegal, those darkened rooms were a way for the city’s poor to escape the disappointment and trials of their lives. But the Strega was different.
Or it had been.
Mageus of all types felt safe enough to gather within its walls without fear and without need to hide what they were, because Dolph Saunders had refused to appease the narrow-mindedness bred from fear and ignorance or to tolerate the usual divisions between the denizens of the Bowery. Going to the Strega meant the promise of welcome—of safety—in a dangerous city, even for one such as Jianyu. On any single night, the barroom would be filled with a mixture of languages and people, their common bond the old magic that flowed in their veins.
That was before a single bullet had put Dolph into a cold grave, Jianyu reminded himself as he passed under the witch’s watchful gaze. Now that Nibsy Lorcan had control of the Devil’s Own, there would be no guarantee of safety within those walls. Especially not for Jianyu.
According to Esta, Nibsy had the uncanny ability to see connections between events and to predict outcomes. Since Jianyu was determined to end Nibsy’s reign, and his life, he couldn’t risk returning to the Strega.
Still, Nibsy had not managed to predict how Dolph had changed the plans at Khafre Hall, nor how Jianyu had intended to help Harte Darrigan fake his own death on the bridge just hours before. Perhaps the boy wasn’t as powerful as Esta believed, or perhaps his affinity simply had limitations, as all affinities did. Finishing Nibsy might be difficult, but it would not be impossible. Especially since Viola could kill a man without touching him.
That would have to wait for another day, though. Jianyu still had to find Viola and tell her everything. She likely still believed that he had not been on the bridge and that Harte Darrigan had betrayed them all.
The Strega behind him, Jianyu continued on. He could have taken a streetcar or one of the elevated trains, but he preferred to walk so that he could think and plan. Gaining Cela’s trust would be a delicate procedure, since Cela Johnson wouldn’t be expecting him and few in the city trusted his countrymen. Protecting her and the stone might be even more difficult, since she was Sundren and had no idea what danger the ring posed. But he had promised Darrigan, and he understood all that was at stake. He would not fail.
By the time he reached the South Village, Jianyu detected smoke in the air. As he drew closer to Minetta Lane, where Miss Johnson lived, the scent grew stronger, filling his nostrils with its warning and his stomach with dread.
Jianyu knew somehow, before he was even in sight of the building, that it would be Cela Johnson’s home that he found ablaze. Flames licked from windows, and the entire structure glowed from the fire within it. Even from across the street, the heat prickled his skin, making the wool coat he was wearing feel overwarm for the early spring night.
Nearby, the building’s tenants watched as their home was devoured by the flames. Huddled together, they tried to protect the meager piles of belongings they’d been able to salvage, while a fire brigade’s wagon stood by. The horses pawed at the ground, displaying their unease about the flickering light of the fire and the growing crowd. But the firemen did nothing.
It wasn’t surprising.
Jianyu knew the fire brigade’s current inaction was intentional. The brigades were mostly Irish, but being at least a generation removed from the boats and famine that had brought them to this land, they considered themselves natives. They looked with distaste on the newer waves of immigrants, from places to the east and the south, and on anyone whose skin wasn’t as white as theirs, no matter how long their families had been in this land. When those homes burned, the brigades often moved slower and took fewer risks. Sometimes, if it suited their purposes, they ignored the flames altogether.
If asked, they would say it had been too late. They would tell the people weeping and wringing their hands that the fire had already consumed too much, that it was too dangerous even to try entering the building. Their lives could not be wasted on lost causes.
It didn’t matter whether their words were true. The effect was the same. Even now, the men simply leaned against their wagon, their hands crossed over dark uniforms, impassive as the rows of brass buttons lining their chests. Their shining helmets reflected the light of the blaze, as the pale-faced men with long, narrow noses watched a home transform itself into ash. It had happened countless times before, and in the days to come, Jianyu knew that it would happen again.
Still under the cover of his magic, he approached the group of people slowly, listening for some indication that Cela was among them. For years now Jianyu had been Dolph Saunders’ eyes and ears in the Bowery. It wasn’t only that he was able to evade notice with his affinity. No, he also had a talent for understanding people and reading the words that remained unspoken, a skill he’d picked up when he’d traveled through Gwóng-dūng, before he was caught. He had wanted to start anew and to leave that life behind him, but because he hoped that the Brink could be destroyed, Jianyu had agreed to use his ability for Dolph, to warn him when danger was coming or to find those who needed help but didn’t know where to ask.
He used that skill now, listening to the group that had congregated to comfort the family.