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

face had gone pale. He was shaking his head like he didn’t want to listen, or maybe like he didn’t believe her. “The Book will have another answer,” he said.

“It might not.” The pain in his expression made Esta soften her voice. “Once we have the Book, we’ll be able to get the stones back to 1902. The Quellant should hold off Seshat for the time being, at least. But we have only so much Quellant left, and you can’t live with her inside your skin indefinitely, Harte. She has to be removed, and her power has to be controlled, and—right now, at least—there’s only one way we know of to do that.”

“Esta—”

“Maybe the Book will have some other answer. I hope it does. But if it doesn’t, or if we can’t get the Book, then I won’t have any choice. I’ll use my affinity to unite the stones, the same as Professor Lachlan would have. There’s a good chance I’m not going to survive that, Harte.”

“So last night,” Harte said, swallowing hard. “It only happened because you felt like you had nothing to lose.”

Esta stared at him in disbelief. How could he possibly be so blind? So stupid. “Last night happened because I have everything to lose.”

“I should have thrown myself from the train leaving St. Louis,” he said flatly.

She glared at him. “Martyrdom isn’t a good look on you.”

“But it works for you?” Harte asked, anger tingeing his voice. His hands were shaking a little, and he still looked practically colorless.

“It’s not martyrdom. It’s reality,” Esta told him. “We have to find a way to control Seshat, and so far there is only one way we know of. I can do it, and I will if I have to. It’s a reality we both need to accept.”

“I won’t accept that.” Harte tossed his napkin onto the table. “There’s no reason you have to give up your life to stop Seshat, not when there’s an easier way.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Esta asked. She shook her head, fighting back tears that she would not allow. “You weren’t some itch I had to scratch last night, Harte. I have no interest in being some kind of hero. I don’t want to die to save the world. But I’d happily give my life to save you.”

Harte stared at her, and Esta immediately realized her mistake. With her words, she’d exposed far too much of her tender, beating heart, and the silence that filled the berth somehow felt more dangerous than any enemy she’d ever faced. She hadn’t ever felt so exposed before.

Then Harte took her hand, and some of the panic receded. Her stomach flipped as his long, strong fingers intertwined with her own. His gray eyes were soft as he looked at her, and when he spoke, his voice was barely more than a whisper. “What makes you so certain I don’t feel the exact same way?”

Esta couldn’t move. She was afraid that if she did, the entire world around them would shatter and fall away. That she would shatter as well.

How had she not considered this? Last night, she’d been so angry at herself for thinking he hadn’t understood, but now? She realized she’d been wrong. He had understood—did understand—and somehow that made it even worse. There was a raw openness in Harte’s expression that was terrifying.

A realization settled over Esta that stole her breath, plucked it straight from her chest with fingers as nimble as her own. If Harte felt for her even half of what she felt for him, he would never allow her to do what she intended. If they could not find another way to stop Seshat—one that did not involve her using her affinity and giving up her life—Harte would take himself out of the equation to protect her, and his death would destroy her just the same.

PART

V

TRAFFIC AND LUCK

1902—New York

Cela Johnson decided that maybe she wasn’t actually made for a life of crime right about the time that everyone else decided that she should be the one to sit on the rooftop of the tallest building on Thirteenth Avenue to watch for the Order’s ship. She’d spent her share of evenings sitting on fire escapes, like everyone else born in a city that sizzled with the summer heat, but this was something different somehow.

To Cela’s back, Manhattan’s streets sprawled in all directions, an impossible stretch of humanity. Abel was out there somewhere, waiting like everyone else, for the signal she would send. In front of her, the Hudson River glinted, a chain of gold in the early-evening sun. Somewhere out beyond the river, the Order was making ready to move their goods, was maybe already moving them.

Cela lifted her spyglass to study the boats dotting the river, hoping that the sign she was looking for would come sooner rather than later. One of those boats held the ring that Darrigan had given her, the ring that had turned her life upside down. Soon a boat would start to inch its way toward one of the many busy docks that lined the western side of the island, and then the game would begin.

Noting the sun’s low position in the sky, Cela checked her watch again. It was already 7:26. Not quite time, since nothing would happen until the sun was exactly at the right angle, nearly sitting on the horizon. But it was getting close.

The minutes felt like they were crawling by, but Cela didn’t dare so much as look away or blink. The boat they were looking for would dock no earlier, and also probably no later, than 7:46, when the sun was exactly six degrees above the horizon. It was the beginning of a period the Order called the Golden Hour, when the sun was supposedly at its most powerful.

It wasn’t when the sun was at its brightest, mind you, which would have been what any rational person