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

herself. Maybe she couldn’t stop the march of history. Maybe she couldn’t stop the march of time, either, but she could stop this massacre. She could stop this future from unfolding. What they were doing there mattered—it had to—even with a sea of angry people around them that seemed to say otherwise.

The arena was sweltering, the temperature and mood both roiling and hot, as patriotism and excitement and anger all mixed together. The woman ended her speech with a rousing call for the nomination of Jack Grew, and a portion of the arena surged to their feet, cheering in response. But not all of the men in the crowd cheered, Esta noticed with a little relief. Large sections of the arena remained seated and unmoved, even as the announcer called for another ballot.

The time had not yet arrived, but with each new ballot, the moment when Jack would activate the tower drew closer. They needed to get the Book before that happened, but it would be far easier to take the Book when he was alone rather than in front of this crowd. To do that, they needed to find him.

“I think the speakers are coming from over there,” Harte told her, pointing toward a small gap in the crowd where a man was approaching the stage.

“It’s as good a place as any to start,” Esta said, stepping away from him, so that she could focus.

They’d barely started making their way around the edge of the arena, toward the area where the speakers seemed to be entering and exiting the stage, when a man with dusty-blond hair and wearing a crooked boater hat trimmed in red and blue stepped into their path, blocking their way. Harte moved in front of Esta, to shield her from whatever might be coming.

But as Esta pushed Harte aside and took her place next to him, where she belonged, she realized the guy wasn’t a threat—or at least not an immediate one. He was wearing a ridiculous smile and an even more ridiculous hat, which looked like the Fourth of July had thrown up on it. On his arm, he wore a black band emblazoned with the Philosopher’s Hand, and his eyes were bright as he held out a pair of small silver pins.

“A vote for Grew is a vote to grow,” he crowed.

It was a damn stupid slogan, as far as Esta was concerned. It didn’t even make sense. “No thanks,” she told the guy. “We’re here for Coolidge.”

“Mr. Grew offers these with his compliments, wherever your loyalties lie. We’re all in this fight together,” the guy said, practically glowing with righteousness and pride.

Esta was about to tell him where he could put the medallions when Harte took them instead. “Thank you,” he said, tucking the pins into his pocket.

“Mr. Grew will be speaking later tonight, and I hope you’ll give him a listen. He has a real plan for protecting our future,” the guy said, even as Harte was pulling Esta along through the crowd, away from him.

“I can’t believe you risked taking those,” she told him, making sure to keep her voice low enough so as not to be overheard.

“Not much of a risk. Not with the Quellant I took. Anyway, I figured it would be worse to raise his suspicions,” Harte said, shrugging off her worries. “Besides, if North and his kid manage to come through like they promised, Everett might want to take a look at how these work. Maybe it would help if the Antistasi knew what they’re up against.”

Esta couldn’t fault that logic, even if she didn’t like the idea of having the medallions so close.

They made their way around the arena’s perimeter and were nearly in line with the stage, when another round of balloting began. The states were called one by one, and one by one representatives came to the floor of the hall to call out their votes. She and Harte paused to watch and listen, but in the end the voting was inconclusive. Jack had a good portion of the delegates, but not enough for the majority he needed. Not yet.

Harte checked the pocket watch Everett had given him.

“Anything?” Esta asked.

He shook his head and then tucked the watch away. “No. Nothing.”

Esta could tell exactly what Harte was thinking—North and Everett were taking too long. She’d expected Everett’s watch to have given some signal by now too. “We don’t even know where Jack is,” she told Harte, trying to stay positive. “Maybe he hasn’t arrived yet. There’s still time.…” She only wished that she knew how much.

Harte’s eyes were serious as he searched the arena. Realizing the night wasn’t over, the crowd was growing more unsettled, and a disconcerted rustling sifted through the arena as tempers rose to match the temperatures. “This crowd isn’t going to hold,” he said. “Not with this heat.”

A little while later, the mood of the entire arena seemed to shift. An alertness went through the crowd like a wave crashing over the shore.

“There,” Harte murmured as Jack Grew began to climb the steps to the stage. Harte had already pulled Everett’s pocket watch out to check it again, but as he was opening it, Esta felt a cool energy course through the air.

“Did you feel that?”

Harte’s eyes had gone a little wide as he stepped even farther away from her. “I did. And so did Seshat.”

OUT OF TIME

1920—Chicago

Deep beneath Harte’s skin, between what he was and what he could only ever hope to become, Seshat began to shift and move, awoken by whatever terrible magic had suddenly snaked through the air and drained the Quellant from his blood. The ancient goddess swelled, pushing at the boundary between them as she recognized the threat in their midst.

Thoth.

The sound of the name came to Harte as clearly as if Seshat had been standing right next to him and whispered it directly into his ear. All at once the arena fell away and Harte saw