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

Harte’s fists clenched. “Watch yourself, old man.”

But his father ignored the not-so-veiled threat. “Once your mother had her claws in me, I couldn’t break away. Only the liquor helped make any of it livable. But as soon as I crossed the bridge, I was free, well and truly—from the evils of drink and from the abomination that was your mother.”

“You’re lying,” Harte spat, unwilling to believe that anything that came from this man’s mouth could be the truth.

“In the end, my suffering proved the strength of my soul,” his father said, lifting his chin as he ignored Harte’s accusation. “My trials forged me, cleansed me of my sins, and made me into a new man. A man worthy of claiming a new life. Eventually I was released, and I returned here to take up the life that was waiting for me.”

Harte still wasn’t sure how that could be possible. He’d ordered his father away from California, ordered him to forget this life.… Unless Samuel Lowe wasn’t lying about what Harte’s mother had done. If that was the case, maybe there was something about the Brink that had broken through the compulsion Harte had tried to force upon his father, just as it had broken through whatever his mother’s affinity might have done.

“My prosperity is evidence of my righteousness,” his father went on, unaware of Harte’s thoughts. “As I continue on the path, I continue to be rewarded—with my store, which prospers more every year. With a place in my city, and with a strong son who carries my name.”

I’m your son. Harte shook off the thought. He’d never wanted to claim this man’s name before, and he wasn’t about to start now.

“I won’t let you upset the life I’ve built here,” his father continued.

“I’m only here for the Dragon’s Eye,” Harte reminded him. “Tell me where I can find it, and I’ll leave you to your righteousness and your rewards.”

“I told you. It’s impossible.” His father leaned forward, and there was panic in his eyes. “The Committee isn’t a bunch of unorganized brutes, like the gang bosses you grew up around.”

“You’re afraid of them,” Harte realized, not missing the way his father flinched at the accusation.

“My soul is blameless, my conscience clear,” Samuel Lowe said, avoiding the question. “But I can’t help you. I won’t.”

Harte kept his voice easy, but he made sure there was a note of menace in it as well. “I don’t think you quite understand. I’m not asking.”

Show him what you are, Seshat taunted, endlessly tempting. Make him see you now as he never has before.

It would be easy enough there, even with the prying eyes of the other diners, to reach across the table. It would be worth the risk to take his father by the hand—or by the throat.

The violence of the image shook Harte back to himself, and he looked at his outstretched hand, trying to remember when he’d raised it. His father had jerked back and was already reaching for his gun, when a commotion erupted on the other side of the restaurant—a clatter of dishes and metal serving plates. A waiter appeared suddenly, whispering an urgent rush of words to his father that Harte couldn’t quite make out. His father’s expression hardened as he nodded to the waiter.

Then Samuel Lowe turned to Harte. “We have to go. Now.”

A noise came from the front of the restaurant, and the waiter gestured urgently for them to follow. But Harte wasn’t going to allow himself to be distracted. Not when he was so close.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “Not until I have what’s mine.”

“The Committee’s watchmen are here. They’re searching the restaurant,” his father said, getting to his feet.

“What are they searching for?” Harte asked. He stood and prepared to block the old man’s way if necessary.

“The same thing they’re always searching for,” his father said as he tried to skirt around Harte. “The Committee’s main purpose is to eliminate the threat of creatures like you. If we stay here, you’re likely to be swept up in the raid.”

“Why would you help me?” Harte asked, suspicious. “Why not let them take me away? It would eliminate a problem for you.”

“I can’t risk being connected to you,” his father said, and there was enough disgust in his expression that Harte believed him. “If they knew I didn’t turn you in immediately, I’d be ruined.”

The explanation contained enough of the truth that Harte stood and followed his father through the back of the restaurant toward a rear exit from the dining room, but before his father could disappear through it, Harte caught the older man’s arm. “We’re not done with our conversation.”

“No,” his father said, tearing his arm away. “We’re nowhere near done.”

The exit led to a passageway that ran behind the main dining room and through the kitchen. Around them, the cooks and waiters were in a panic, but their waiter led them through the confusion, toward a small door in the floor at the rear of the building. The waiter opened it, revealing a staircase that went down beneath the building, and then waved them through.

“Where are we going?” Harte asked, eyeing the dark space below.

“The tunnels. They connect various buildings in the city, if you know the right people. This one ends a couple of blocks from here. Far enough away to be safe.” His father motioned that Harte should go first. When he didn’t immediately move, his father raised one eyebrow, a challenge. “Unless you’d rather stay and deal with the watchmen on your own.”

A crash came from the other side of the kitchen, followed by angry voices that signaled the watchmen were getting closer. There was no other exit that Harte could see. His only real choice was to accept the help his father was offering.

It was a mistake.

Harte was only three steps down into the gloom when he felt a sharp blow to the back of