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

“It’s fine,” Esta told him, her clipped voice coming to him through the pitch-blackness.

“It absolutely isn’t,” he said. He stopped what he was doing and reached for her hand, feeling how it shook slightly—from the cold of the room or from nerves, he didn’t know. “I was an idiot.”

“You were,” she said, and without being able to see her face, he could not sense what she was thinking. “But that isn’t exactly a new development.”

Harte barked out a surprised, grateful laugh, and as he moved closer, Esta went suddenly still, as though she was waiting to see what would happen next. He paused, giving her room and time and an escape, if she needed one.

She was so close, and even without Seshat’s constant prowling, Harte felt unsteady. He knew that if he kissed her, he would not want to stop.

“Are you going to take care of the lock, or do you need me to do it?” Esta asked finally. Her voice was breathy, and Harte understood he hadn’t been alone in his desire, but it was also enough to shake him back to the moment at hand and to force him to focus.

“I can handle it,” he said evenly, trying not to feel too disappointed. He worked carefully, letting the vibrations and the tension on the pick guide him, wishing Esta’s feelings were as easy to unlock as the bit of metal beneath his hand.

He hadn’t quite managed to release the lock when an explosion sounded on the other side of the door. Even with the thickness of the metal, Harte could hear the blast and feel the vibrations. It was enough to make him lose his concentration, and all the progress he’d made on the lock. Then a barrage of gunfire erupted, a muted rat-a-tat-tat that seemed impossibly fast, followed by more shouting. And then… silence.

Esta grabbed his arm. “What’s going on out there?”

“I’m not sure, but maybe if we’re lucky, it’ll have taken care of Torrio for us,” he told her, knowing that they couldn’t possibly be that lucky. More likely, whatever was on the other side of the door would be another problem… and most likely a well-armed one.

For what seemed like an endless stretch of time, they stood together, Esta’s hand on his arm, and they waited. Listening. They were concentrating so hard on trying to hear the danger that might be coming for them that they both jumped when a narrow window slid open in the door. The scent of gunpowder drifted in through the bright slash in the darkness. Then a set of mismatched eyes—one brown, one green—appeared in the window.

“Well, well… looks like the two of you have found yourselves in quite the predicament,” a familiar voice said right before the lock clicked and the door swung open. On the other side, the hallway of the tunnel was filled with an unnatural fog that glowed with a bright lavender-and-yellow swirl, and Jericho Northwood stood grinning at the two of them, looking a few decades older and every bit as ornery as he ever had.

THE CITY’S SHADOWS

1902—New York

The sounds of bells and sirens were already echoing through the city, fueling the anticipation and heating the blood in James Lorcan’s veins. The Order knew for sure now that they were under attack, but James’ plan was only beginning to unfold.

In the back of the open horse cart, Viola still looked a little stunned from what had happened a few minutes before. She’d watched her brother be carted off in a Black Maria, but James knew that she understood that she still wasn’t free—not if she crossed James when he held the lives of her friends in his hands. She was clinging to the side of the cart’s bed, trying to stay upright as they careered through the city. Off-balance, literally and figuratively, just as James preferred her.

In the distance, James heard the keening whine of a locomotive’s whistle and the noise of a city stirring to find itself awash in confusion. Finally, it was beginning. As Werner urged the poor, bedraggled mare to move faster, only James himself knew how it was all destined to end.

Mooch and a few others from the Devil’s Own rode cramped in the bed of the cart along with Viola. James had selected them each by hand—some for their particular abilities, and some, like Mooch, that he preferred to keep close. When the redhead exchanged an uneasy glance with Viola, his pale skin flushed so quickly and easily that James knew his suspicions had been right. There was something between the two—a connection had likely facilitated Viola’s little bout of larceny and the disappearance of Dolph’s journal. James figured that if the two were so happy to work together, they could die together as well.

The ride down Twenty-Third Street took only a handful of minutes, but with the sun ever lower in the sky, it might as well have been hours. Then, as the sun drew closer to the horizon, something odd began to happen. As the sky shifted closer to twilight, the streets began to light with a strange, almost ethereal glow. The drab red brick of buildings brightened in the odd light, and the puddles of water and troughs along the road turned to molten pots of gold. The city’s shadows all stretched east, like nature itself was pointing their way. Urging them on.

It was a startling thing to see the road before them bathed in such a light, especially in a city where the streets were usually at least partially shaded by the ever-growing buildings that lined them. But for James, it was a sign that he’d been right. His plan would work. The Aether vibrated, dancing around him, and the sun warmed his skin as it lit their wagon in the eerie light.

“The Golden Hour,” Viola murmured, lifting her hand as though she could catch the sunbeams and the power they supposedly held. Her drab, olive-toned skin