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

LOST

1920—A Train Heading East

Esta didn’t know how she managed to guide Harte out of the bank vault and get him to the station in Oakland without anyone noticing the bloodstains on his clothes or his general state of shock, but she did. She bought two overnight tickets for a train to Chicago that left within the hour and sat silently by his side as they waited for the boarding call. Since the Quellant was still suppressing Seshat’s power, she took the risk of taking his hand in hers, but he didn’t respond. It was clear he was still reeling from the loss of his brother.

Esta thought she might almost understand what loss like that felt like. She’d lost too many people in her life—had herself been the cause of deaths and disappearances. There was the hollow shock of discovering too late that Dolph Saunders had been her true father and the pain of learning that her friend Mari had disappeared, erased from existence because of some change Esta had made in a seemingly unconnected past. Then there was Dakari. Esta still felt a numbing grief when she thought of her friend and mentor, and every time she did, the memory of him being murdered that night in Professor Lachlan’s study rose in her mind.

Even once they were underway, safely ensconced inside the cramped quiet of the train berth, Harte remained distant and far too quiet. They barely talked through dinner, and Esta felt like she was looking at him through the wrong end of a spyglass. Harte was right there, an arm’s length across the narrow table from her, and yet he felt too far away.

Worse, the air between them seemed to be charged with an awkwardness that had never been there before. Esta felt like she was dining with a stranger instead of the one person who had always seemed to see her better than anyone ever had—even when they’d still been enemies. It felt like all of the intimacy they’d shared in the previous weeks, the long days and nights of his recovery—first at the hospital and especially at the hotel in San Francisco—had evaporated into nothing in the presence of his grief.

Or perhaps, the truth of that intimacy had finally come to the surface. Perhaps it had stripped bare each of their vulnerabilities far more than either of them had ever planned, exposing the soft, white underbellies they’d taken such pains to cover and protect for so long.

Still, Esta wanted to say something—anything—that could close the distance between them again. “It wasn’t your fault, Harte,” she whispered, finally breaking a silence that had grown too oppressive for her to bear.

He glanced up at her, his expression so dark that she knew it had been the wrong thing to say. “Sammie’s dead, Esta.”

“But you weren’t the one who killed him.”

His mouth went tight, and he stared down at his barely touched plate of food. “Is that how you feel about your friend Dakari?” he asked. His voice was gentle, but the question still felt like a slap.

“That’s not the same,” Esta argued, but she couldn’t stop the guilt and shame from rising up within her, right alongside the memory of that night in Professor Lachlan’s library.

“Isn’t it?” Harte asked.

“Of course not,” she said. Still, Esta couldn’t blink away the image of Dakari’s face when Professor Lachlan had aimed the gun at his chest. She would never forget the shock of betrayal and confusion that had flashed through Dakari’s dark eyes as the bullet tore through him, nor the sound of his body hitting the floor. All because Professor Lachlan had been trying to bend Esta to his will.

“Sammie would never have been shot today if not for me dragging him into our troubles, Esta. He’d still be running his club and helping Mageus like Gracie and Paul, and he could have lived to a ripe old age. I never should have walked into his life again. I should’ve learned after what happened with Julian. So please don’t try to tell me this isn’t my fault. It’s as much my fault as if I’d pulled the trigger myself.”

“Should I blame myself for Dakari’s death, then?” Esta asked, feeling unbearably brittle.

“Of course not,” he told her.

“It doesn’t work both ways, Harte. If you caused Sammie’s death, then I’m every bit as guilty of Dakari’s,” Esta said, letting the truth of that settle over her. “Dolph’s too, for that matter.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Harte raked a hand through his hair.

“But it is,” she told him gently, tears burning in her eyes. “It’s exactly what you’re saying.”

“No—” He reached for her hand.

She looked down at their fingers intertwined. “You’re not wrong, though. Not really. Dakari did die because of me; that fact is irrefutable. So did Dolph. So did my mother and who knows how many other people.”

Harte’s voice was soft when he spoke again. Far gentler than she deserved. “You didn’t kill any of them, Esta.”

“That’s my point,” she whispered, feeling strangely lighter. “You’re right… I didn’t kill Dakari. It was Professor Lachlan who pulled the trigger.” She felt something loosen within her and gave Harte’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You didn’t kill your brother, Harte. You saved him when he was just a boy. You gave him a long life, and you’ll give him another one if everything goes as we hope it will.”

“But we don’t know for sure.” Harte tried to pull away, but Esta didn’t allow him to retreat.

“You’re right,” she admitted. “We can’t know for sure right now. But we have to believe it. We have to keep going.”

Harte pulled away from her then, and this time she let him. Before she could figure out how to make things better, though, the porter interrupted to clear away their plates and prepare the sleeping quarters. Harte wouldn’t quite look at her as he announced that he would take the top bunk and