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

Cela nodded toward the stranger in the doorway. “Who is he?”

“Theo Barclay, miss. I’m a friend of Viola’s.” The man held his hat in his hands, and his mouth formed something that looked like it was trying to be a smile, but his expression remained tight and guarded. He looked every bit as uncomfortable as Cela felt with him crowding into the room.

“Why would you bring him here?” Cela asked Viola. Abel was out for the day, but he’d have a fit if he knew she’d brought a stranger to Mr. Fortune’s house when they were supposed to be lying low.

“I tried to leave him behind, but you know how men get when they decide you need their help.” Viola let out a frustrated sigh and gave Cela a long-suffering look, one that Cela sympathized with despite herself. “It’s even worse when they have money.”

Cela wasn’t sure what Viola was going on about, but she had a feeling that this man’s appearance couldn’t mean anything good. “I thought we’d never see you again after the way you tore out of here last time. It’s been two days without so much as a word.” She didn’t bother to stop herself from scowling.

Viola’s eyes shifted toward the floor. “I’m sorry.” It looked like she was swallowing her own tongue as she tried to force out the words.

“Why did you come back, anyway?” Cela demanded, her hands crossed over her chest. “It’s clear you can’t do him any good.”

“Maybe not before,” Viola said. “But now I think I can.”

“What’s changed?” Cela asked, trying to ignore the hope that made her feel light-headed.

“This,” Viola said, pulling a small object from her skirts. She held it up for Cela to see. It was about the size of a thin cigar, halfway smoked, and seemed to be made of clay or stone. Or maybe some kind of dark-red rock.

“What is it?” Cela eyed the object, trying to figure out how it could help anything.

The white man’s eyes lit up. “Where did you get—”

“Where is not important,” Viola said, cutting him off with her words and a look. “What is important is this—Libitina, she’s not a normal knife.” Viola’s full mouth pinched tight, but then she explained that the knife’s blade was a wicked bit of magic—false magic, she called it, though it seemed to Cela true enough if it could cause a man’s death so easily. “I was trying to heal him with my affinity, but it won’t work alone. We need false magic to break false magic.”

“And what about this one?” Cela glanced at the man who was blocking the doorway. “Is he some kind of wizard or something to help with your ‘false magic’?”

“No,” Theo Barclay said with an uneasy smile. It was the sort of wobbly smile men who hadn’t grown into themselves still used on their mothers. “I’m a student, actually. Art history.”

Cela couldn’t stop her brows from rising. “That sounds…” She was about to say pointless, but nothing good came from speaking ugly, so she simply shook her head instead. “If you think there’s something you can do, then you best get to it,” she said reluctantly. She wouldn’t let herself hope. Not yet.

Viola started toward the bed, but Cela suddenly had a wave of apprehension and stopped her. “You’re sure this won’t hurt him?”

“It shouldn’t.” But Viola’s strange violet eyes looked unsure. She glanced up at the white man again, like she needed the confirmation.

“I’ve done the translations twice,” he said. “It will work.”

This was another gamble, Cela realized. Another shot in the dark. She hesitated a moment longer, torn and frustrated at her own powerlessness, before she finally relented and let Viola pass. It wasn’t as if there was anything more she or any of Abel’s friends could do for Jianyu. If Viola thought she could help, then who was Cela to stand in her way?

“You ever done this before?” Cela asked as Viola approached the bed.

“Once,” Viola told her, but she didn’t elaborate. “Help me get his shirt off ?”

They worked together to carefully remove the shirt until Jianyu’s bare chest was open to their view. When Cela removed the bandage, she saw that the wound in his shoulder hadn’t changed. It was still raw and angry, still seeping blood after so many days. Behind her, Cela could sense Theo Barclay inching closer, but she tried to put him out of her mind—she only hoped he was gone before Abel returned. And that he wouldn’t cause any trouble for them later.

At first Viola didn’t move. She stood, staring at Jianyu. But if just looking at him could fix him, he would’ve been well already.

“Now what?” Cela asked, prodding Viola.

Viola glanced at her. “Now we try…”

The object was the shape of a cylinder, and now that she was closer, Cela could see that its surface was carved with a series of strange markings. When Viola rolled the object through the dark blood oozing from Jianyu’s wound, it acted like a stamp and created a lurid trail of scarlet inscriptions across his shoulder and down over his chest.

Cela thought she had understood what it meant that Jianyu was Mageus. She’d been with him when he’d cloaked them both in his magic to escape a Bowery saloon. Back in Evelyn’s apartment, she’d been caught in a siren’s spell. But this was different. A strange energy filled the room, lifting the hairs on the nape of Cela’s neck. Theo Barclay didn’t seem as shaken as she felt, though. He was watching Viola work with bright interest, but Cela felt only deep unease. She steadied herself as Viola traced the small amulet in strange looping patterns over Jianyu’s chest, and as Cela watched, the bloody runes began to glow.

PLANS TO MAKE

1902—New York

Coming back to life was not at all like waking up. There was no gentle stirring or warm satisfaction to be found in the comfort of a safe bed.