Jordan knew this with every fiber of her being. Every time she forged an Edward Lear, a Henry Ossawa Tanner, a Frederic Remington, a Georgia O’Keeffe, a Homer, she knew. She wore their great hats for a little bit each time she forged them, but that didn’t make her great. The gap between what she did and what those artists did was vast. Before Ronan, she had thought that was how it would remain. She’d figured that she would run out of time long before she’d ever have a chance to see what she was capable of. But now she was in Boston and her heart was still beating and her eyes were still open. With a sweetmetal in hand, she might have more time than she ever hoped for.

Jordan wasn’t great at art, but for the first time, she thought she might get the chance to find out if she could be.

“Thanks for the help,” Jordan said.

“Sure thing,” Matthew Lynch replied. “Thanks for buying my corn dog.”

“Is that what you were eating? I thought it was a sock.”

Matthew rubbed his stomach enthusiastically with one hand and shifted the enormous garment bag on his shoulder with the other. “Everyone needs more socks—that’s what Deklo says.”

The advantages of bringing the youngest Lynch as her assistant were threefold. First of all, she could use an extra set of hands. Not only was it nice to have someone else to move lighting or adjust hair, but clients also paid more for artists who brought assistants. It seemed like it should be more expensive and so it was, one of those psychological self-fulfilling prophecies. Secondly, Declan Lynch had asked if she could keep an eye on Matthew while he ran some errands, presumably of dubious legality or safety, and it was nice to be able to do him a favor to show she appreciated him coming up to Boston. And finally, it hadn’t taken long for Jordan to figure out that Matthew Lynch was a little bit like a sweetmetal, but for humans. People loved him. They didn’t know why they loved him, but they did. Thoroughly, simply, unabashedly. That seemed like a lucky thing to have on a job.

“You’re gonna tell me what I need to do, right?” Matthew asked. “When we’re in there?”

“That’s the plan,” Jordan said. “Should be nice and relaxed. We want them to feel they’ve had a good time. You make ’em happy, they tell their friends about you. And people in places like this have friends …”

“With dollar bill signs for eyes?” Matthew asked. “Wait, no, you’d be the one with the dollar bill signs, ’cause you’re the one getting paid. Or pound notes? Pound note signs?”