A moment later, he had the lock undone, the code cracked as easy as the safes and trunks he got into at Arthur’s place.

He opened the safe door, and Gwen inhaled sharply.

Inside the safe was a clock, older than any antique Rory had ever seen. It was maybe two feet tall, built of delicate filigreed gold with spires at the top like a castle. The round clock face had at least three dials of different sizes and that many hands, with circles of roman numerals, zodiac signs, and more symbols Rory didn’t recognize. Rory couldn’t see the magic like Gwen did, but he could feel it against his skin, nothing like the scorching pomander that left his throat dry, but a magnet, like the lodestone, pulling at the magic in his blood.

“Oh wow,” he breathed.

“The siphon,” Gwen said softly. “It’s beautiful.”

She carefully pulled it from the safe with a soft grunt as Ellis swiped a sham off one of the pillows on the bed. Gwen wrapped the siphon clock in the case and held it securely to her chest.

“We’d best get moving.”

My plans were changed.

I see. Changed by what?

Not what. Who.

Down below, in the live magic show on the stage, half a dozen knives were embedded in the wheel around the pretty woman. The man in the tuxedo was taking a bow for an applauding audience.

The hairs on Arthur’s neck were standing on end.

If Jade was nervous, she was hiding it perfectly. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “Who changed your plans?”

“The same man who’s forcing me to allow your friends to steal the siphon.”

Arthur froze.

Jade blinked several times. “I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t play coy, Miss Laurent.” There was something ugly blazing in the seller’s eyes even as the rest of him sat perfectly still. “You can’t possibly imagine how enraging it is to sit here and let myself be robbed. Me, Lord Blanshard, with magic Baron Zeppler can only dream of.”

Jade leaned forward, without fear. “Then tell us why you are.”

“As if it’s my choice,” the seller, Lord Blanshard, spat. “He wants you to steal it. But frankly, I would rather both of you were dead.”

Blanshard’s two henchmen suddenly stepped forward.

Arthur pushed off the wall, fists ready—

The audience below shrieked. There was a high-pitched buzz of metal whizzing through air as the woman tied to the wheel screamed—and three knives cut like bullets across the balcony, stopping an inch from Blanshard’s and his two henchmen’s throats.

One of the henchmen let out a strangled yelp. Blanshard glanced down at the knife floating at his throat, then raised his eyebrows at Jade. “Not a dream reader, then.”

“I’m afraid not,” said Jade.

“And I’ve underestimated you.”