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

her into the kiss. Her mouth opened slightly, and their breath intermingled, warm and sweet and so right that she thought she might shatter. She felt the warm slide of his tongue against her lips, and then, as she opened farther for him, it was over. He pulled away, his eyes wide with something that might have been pain or might have been fear.

“She’s back,” Esta said, knowing immediately what had put that expression on Harte’s face. Seshat had been quiet, so they’d been saving the Quellant, but they should have known better. It had been too much to hope that Seshat’s absence could have been permanent.

He scooted away from her, and then he stood and went to the window as he ran a shaking hand through his already rumpled hair. His eyes were stormy now. “I shouldn’t have touched you. I should have known better.”

“We both should have…” She never should have allowed it. They couldn’t risk everything for something as silly as kissing—even if in that moment kissing felt more essential than anything.

The heat in Harte’s eyes made Esta’s throat go tight, and she knew they’d reached a turning point that couldn’t be ignored. They couldn’t stay there, in that room—in that time—avoiding their responsibilities any longer. Nibsy could still be out there searching for the stones. Jack certainly still had the Book. And hiding from the world wouldn’t protect them… not when the greatest danger lived inside Harte’s skin.

“Dinner,” she told him, as if a simple errand could ever be enough to distract her.

The next morning, Esta stood at the window, watching the city wake as she contemplated her options. Below, a monochrome sea of gray and black suits made their way along the crowded sidewalks while trolleys and buses plodded through the streets. For the last few weeks, she’d been completely focused on Harte—on making sure he grew stronger every day. Now she looked at the world outside their room and wondered what their actions in 1904 might have done to this time, to this present. It was long past time to find out.

Harte was watching a variety show on the television, laughing at a comedian with a puppet, when Esta walked over and switched off the set.

He looked up at her, clearly annoyed.

She settled on the bed next to his feet, keeping far enough away that she wouldn’t be tempted to touch him. “I think it’s time we start figuring out what our next move should be. We need information. I’m thinking about going out. I could find the library or—”

“I have a better idea,” Harte told her, already lifting himself from the bed.

Esta couldn’t dissuade him, and within the hour, he was bathed and dressed in the clothes she’d stolen for him. The pants and shirt hung a little more than they should have from his thin frame, but with the way he’d been improving over the last couple of days, she knew it wouldn’t be long before he filled them out.

With his dark hair slicked back, his face cleanly shaven again, and the modern cut of his pants and jacket, Harte almost looked like he’d stepped out of an episode of one of the old-fashioned shows he’d been watching. His color was better, and he couldn’t hide his anticipation at the idea of leaving the hotel. As much as Esta wished she could convince him to stay and rest a little more, she couldn’t really refuse.

Once they were out of the hotel and into the briskness of the late-fall day, Harte paused for a second to look around, his expression filled with something akin to wonder. He’d been watching the city from the windows of their fourth-floor room, but now that he was out in it, Esta wished she knew what he was thinking. She’d grown up in a world even louder and faster and more modern than this one, but since Harte had spent his life with gaslights and horse-drawn carriages, the cityscape before him must have felt like stepping onto another planet.

Harte didn’t seem thrown off by it, though. Actually, Esta thought he was handling everything surprisingly well, considering. As he’d convalesced in the hotel room, he seemed to take the changes around him in stride.

They took a bus over to Grant Avenue, and from there they cut through the streets of Chinatown to reach the neighborhood known as Jackson Square. Chinatown was bustling with tourists and denizens alike. They walked along beneath buildings topped with pagoda-like roofs, while red lanterns hung on wires that crossed the streets and ornate dragons curled around streetlamps painted bright seafoam green. Harte stopped.

“What is it?” Esta asked, panic sliding through her. “Are you feeling okay?”

“What happened to this place?” Harte said with a hushed awe in his voice.

She hadn’t noticed at first, but now that she really looked around, she understood what he was referring to. Grant Avenue was a wide street, filled with distinctive architecture and ornate flourishes. It was the Chinatown of movies and postcards, but it wouldn’t have been there fifty years before. It certainly wasn’t the Chinatown that Esta had seen from a distance, trapped behind a barbed-wire barricade.

“I’m not sure,” she told him. “Time passes, I guess. Things change.” It wasn’t a good answer, but it was the only one she had to give.

Together, they walked up Grant Avenue, and Harte’s worry eased into curiosity. Esta tried not to be too obviously amused at the way Harte marveled at the changed world. They turned onto Washington Street and then wandered north on Montgomery, until Harte came to a stop in front of a two-story brick building at the corner of Montgomery and Jackson Street. According to the historical marker out front, it had once been a bank built by William Tecumseh Sherman, the Civil War general. It wasn’t a bank any longer. It seemed to house offices of some kind.

Harte stared up at it, frowning thoughtfully. “This was where the Committee’s headquarters used to be,” he said. “At