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

in the windless air. In the center of the roofline, a tower rose, its steel frame a dark outline silhouetted by the setting sun. The tower bore a placard with the logo of American Steel at its apex, and hanging from that was an enormous silken banner. On it was an image Harte recognized: the Philosopher’s Hand.

Harte had seen copies of this familiar alchemical formula many times before in his studies. He’d seen it in the warehouse where Jack Grew had built his first machine, and he’d seen it again in the bowels of Khafre Hall. But this version was different. The emblem on the banner reminded Harte a little of the moving picture box that had been in the San Francisco hotel room, because the image seemed almost alive. It had clearly been charmed in some way. The five elemental icons floated above the disembodied hand’s fingers—crown, key, lantern, moon, and star—each rotating slowly, glowing with their own unique phosphorescence. The palm held the fish in a flame-bound sea with softly undulating waves. It was the symbolic representation of quintessence—Aether. But though the flames churned, the banner did not burn.

“Jack showed me a similar image back in New York,” Harte told Esta. “This one appearing now can’t be a coincidence.”

“It’s happening tonight.” She sounded more worried than she had earlier. All day, she’d worn her usual air of confidence as they’d gone over the plans and preparations, until everything was excruciatingly clear and everyone was ready. Now she looked nervous.

Harte couldn’t say anything to bolster her, though, because they’d finally reached the entrance. Esta fell silent as Harte handed over the tickets Dom had procured for them, and a man wearing a too-familiar silvery medallion on his lapel waved the two of them through.

“They’re everywhere,” Harte whispered, noticing that every few yards there was someone else wearing one of the medallions that served to detect illegal magic. Many wore badges bearing the enchanted image of the Philosopher’s Hand as well.

“Of course they’re everywhere. The Brotherhoods will be the reason Jack gets the nomination,” Esta reminded him. “Unless we stop him.”

Once inside the building, they allowed themselves to be carried with the crush of other attendees toward the main hall. Harte pulled the pocket watch Everett had given him from the inside pocket of his vest, but he was disappointed to see nothing but the time displayed by the hands. The watch was one of Everett’s contraptions—not magic, because that would have been too dangerous in a hall filled with members from the Brotherhoods. Instead, the piece worked with some kind of radio signal. Apparently, where Maggie was adept with mixing formulas, her son had the same touch with machinery. When Everett and North were done with the tower, the watch would vibrate and its hands would begin to spin. So far they were holding maddeningly steady.

“I hope we weren’t wrong to trust North and Everett,” Harte said as he watched the steady ticking of the seconds, waiting for something to change.

“Rett was determined to help us,” Esta reminded Harte, even as she scanned the crowded hall.

“He’s not the one I’m worried about.”

She glanced at him. “You think North would get in the way?”

“You and I both know that North has a family full of reasons to walk away from all this and to take his oldest son with him.” Harte had seen the fear in the cowboy’s eyes. His own father might never have looked at him with that same kind of concern, but after losing Sammie, Harte had at least a little understanding of what North might be feeling. “One good dose of one of Maggie’s concoctions, and Everett wouldn’t have much choice.”

Esta’s mouth went tight. “I don’t think North would do that to Everett. Besides, if North was going to run, he would have last night.”

“Maybe…” Harte hadn’t forgotten the cowboy’s reluctance to allow Everett to stay. “But if they left instead of heading to the tower, we’d never know. We’re just assuming they’re up there.” He jerked his head toward the ceiling.

“If you were this worried, you should have let me go with Everett,” Esta reminded him.

“We already went through this,” Harte told her. “You can’t be in two places at once.”

“With my affinity, it would have been easy to—”

“Not with all these medallions. Besides, it’s more important that we focus on getting the Book and the dagger from Jack,” Harte said, cutting off the discussion. It hardly mattered that with her affinity, Esta practically could be in two places at once. He wanted her with him, though, because at least when she was near him, he knew she was safe. “Whatever happens with the tower, getting the Book and the dagger is more important anyway.”

Esta frowned as though maybe she didn’t agree.

“We cannot allow Jack or Thoth to keep that Book, Esta.” Harte took her hand, tangling their fingers. He hated the Quellant and how empty it made him feel, but at least it allowed him to touch Esta while he still could. The Book was the best chance he had of saving Esta from herself—of maybe even saving them both—but if they couldn’t get it back, he’d take whatever time he had left with her. “We need the secrets contained in those pages.”

“You’re right,” Esta admitted. “I think we can trust North and Everett, though. This is going to work, Harte. It has to.” She gave his hand a soft squeeze and then lowered her voice. “How is she?”

“Quiet,” he said, knowing that Esta was talking about Seshat.

So far the power inside of him felt as absent and empty as his own. Still, he couldn’t forget what had happened at the Nitemarket. Whatever those men had done during the attack had made the effects of the Quellant all but evaporate. Harte knew that he had to prepare for the possibility that it might happen again. As long as Seshat’s power still lived inside him, he would continue to be a liability.

“Esta…” He wasn’t exactly