The Serpent's Curse by Lisa Maxwell (read an ebook week .TXT) 📕

his eyes and gathered his strength. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he could almost see the familiar lines of Esta’s face, and in response, he felt Seshat stir with interest.

You can’t have her, Harte said. Neither of us can. But help me now, and we can both give her what she needs to defeat Thoth. Help me now, and we can end your enemy. You can have your revenge, even if neither of us lives to see it.

He felt Seshat’s frustration at his words, but he also sensed her resignation. Harte didn’t wait for her agreement. Instead, he started across the street and let himself into the darkened house.

The light from a streetlamp poured in through the small windows, casting an eerie pall over the home. It was a small space that held a living area and kitchen all together, but it was neat and tidy, with matched pieces of well-made furniture. On one wall was a large wardrobe cabinet flanked by a couple of low couches. In the opposite corner, a stove stood cold and waiting. It clearly hadn’t been used in some time, but the air still held the smell of spices and oil.

Confident that no one seemed to be home, Harte leaned against the nearby table, but breathing only caused him to erupt into a fit of coughing, which shook his body and sent jolts of pain through him. He gripped one of the chairs, hunching over as he tried to brace himself. Finally, when the fit had passed, he gathered what little strength he had and turned back to his business. He had to find Esta’s cuff.

He started with the wardrobe on the far side of the room. It was a large piece, solid and well made. Behind the closed doors, Harte found a combination of shelves and drawers. He started to open one of the drawers but stopped short. If it hadn’t been so deathly quiet in the house, he might not have heard the noise, but in the muffled silence, the sound of a gun being cocked might as well have been as loud as a cannon. Harte froze.

“Your hands. Put them where I can see.” It was a woman’s voice, soft and accented, but confident just the same.

He turned slowly, raising his hands so that he could show he was no threat. On the other side of the room was the woman who had answered the door so many days before. His father’s wife. She had seemed surprised then—maybe even afraid. Now she wore an expression both fierce and unwavering.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “Who sent you?”

“No one,” he told her.

She shook her head. “I know what you are,” she said, continuing to aim the gun at the center of his chest. “Committee rat. You’ve been sniffing around my home for days. I already told the other that I don’t have what you’re looking for.”

“No,” Harte said, feeling more light-headed than he had a moment before. “Not Committee.”

“Then who sent you?” she demanded. Harte had no doubt that she would shoot if she didn’t get the answer she wanted. “What do you want?”

“Please…” Harte stepped into the beam of light. “I’m not from the Committee. No one sent me. I only want the items your husband took from me—a necklace and a cuff,” he told her, making a circular motion around his upper arm that had her leveling her gun at him again. “They weren’t mine. I need to return them to their owner.”

A blur darted from the back room, and it was all Harte could do to keep from falling over from the impact. Sammie. The woman put down the gun immediately and issued an urgent command to the child clinging to Harte’s legs. But the boy argued back, refusing to let go.

“You’re the one who gave yourself up for my son?” the woman said, surprise coloring her expression.

“It was the least I could do. I was the one who put him in danger in the first place,” Harte said, gently pushing the child away from him.

“No,” she said. “That was his father.” The woman’s expression shifted to concern, as though she’d finally taken stock of Harte. “You don’t look well.”

“I’m not,” Harte admitted, swaying a little. “Which is why it’s even more important that I retrieve what I came for. I need to return the pieces, and I don’t know how much time I—”

“They’re gone,” she told him, her expression closed off.

“Gone.” The word came out in a rush, and Harte felt like he’d been sucker punched.

“I’m sorry.” The woman did not seem sorry.

“They can’t be gone.” He’d been having trouble staying upright before, but now the devastation of this information threatened to push him over completely.

“I had to. My husband’s creditors would have taken the house if I hadn’t paid them. It was the only way to save him, to save us from—”

A loud banging erupted on the other side of the door, followed by shouted commands that had the woman’s eyes widening.

“Were you followed?” she demanded in a hushed whisper.

Harte shook his head, but in all honesty, he couldn’t have known.

The woman seemed to sense this. She spoke to the child, who nodded obediently, before she looked back at Harte. “Go with Sammie and remain silent.” Then she tucked the gun into the folds of her gown and shouted something to the people on the other side of the door.

“But—” Harte shook his head. Even as he wobbled on his feet, it seemed wrong to leave her to defend him.

“Go,” she commanded. “You cannot be found here. Do you understand?”

The fear in her eyes told Harte everything he needed to know. He’d put this family in danger once again. This time he didn’t argue when the boy took him by the hand and led him through a doorway to a bedroom. There Sammie pulled back the rug and opened a hatch in the floor to reveal a set of earthen steps leading down into a compartment that looked