The Serpent's Curse, Lisa Maxwell [new reading .TXT] 📗

a watch of her own. So much of the plan was dependent upon everything happening at exactly the right time, and yet she would have to rely only on instinct, hoping that she remembered and reacted when necessary.

The train was coming closer now, and when Esta turned, she saw that the posse was coming as well. A sense of déjà vu swept through her as she saw the horses at full gallop. Then she noticed that a small group of them had steered their mounts to the center of the tracks. The engineer must have seen the horses, because Esta heard the wailing screech of the brakes and the hiss of steam being released from the boiler as the train struggled to slow in time.

She remembered then how the train had swayed with the sudden braking, and she continued to watch the scene, waiting. Right now, the other versions of themselves should be leaving the Pullman berth. Soon they would make their way out of the train, as they had the first time. With the way Esta had used her affinity earlier, she wouldn’t be able to see when her past self exited the train with Maggie and North. She wouldn’t be able to tell when it was approaching—the moment she would lose hold of time and North would be shot. But if she could distract the posse right when it happened, if the men on horseback turned away instead of aiming for North, maybe she could rewrite what had happened.

She could only hope that there would be some sign of when to act once the train came to a stop. Because if she acted too late, all their plans would be for nothing. If North was shot as he was before, nothing would have changed.

As the horses’ thundering hooves grew closer, Esta thought she saw the flicker of something—a wavering of her vision in the spot where they might have once stood a little ways off from the train. Her instincts told her that it was as good a sign as she’d ever get. She touched the scar at her wrist and hoped that her theories were right.

The igniter Maggie had given her was a strange contraption made from a glass vial that cracked in two to create a small explosion. It was easy enough to use, and Esta quickly activated the formula inside and set it on the fuses before pulling back under cover when the horses galloped past her.

A moment later, the entire landscape erupted as Maggie’s incendiaries exploded, their flames consuming the small clutches of brush and shrubs where they’d been placed all along the landscape. The Flash and Bangs erupted next, like fireworks at close range. One by one they exploded at random intervals, drawing the riders’ attention in multiple directions at once. The horses reared up, shying away from the noisy confusion despite their riders’ commands. As Esta watched, the strange multicolored flames from the incendiaries that had set fire to the brush began to produce an ethereal fog. It wasn’t the cloying smoke of a normal fire, but instead glowed a strange lavender as it swirled into the sky, a cyclone of power and flame that blocked the riders’ way. It blocked their view as well. A few tried to shoot, but their leader held up a hand to stay them.

Esta waited, trying to remain calm, but she didn’t know what was coming. If her theory was right, if they had been able to save North, then her present should become impossible. If time worked the way that Professor Lachlan had explained, her present self—the one crouching in the bushes and hoping—should no longer be. But what that meant, Esta didn’t exactly know.…

As she continued to watch, the landscape around her fuzzed in and out of focus, and suddenly Esta felt a bolt of utter dread. She could sense time hanging around her, but the seconds had become erratic and unstable. The landscape flickered, and time felt suddenly dangerous. Hungry. She could almost feel the seconds turning toward her. Coming for her. She could sense their desire to devour her—to tear her from the world—but when she reached for her affinity, desperate to stop whatever was happening, Esta could no longer grasp the seconds. Her affinity slipped through her fingers like sand.

As the world around her shifted, she had the sudden, awful thought that she’d miscalculated. She’d wondered what would happen if she didn’t return the cuff to her younger self. She’d wondered what it would feel like to disappear—whether it would hurt to be unmade or whether it would be soft, like sinking into darkness. She thought maybe it would be like forgetting—like nothing at all.

Now Esta understood. Now she knew how truly terrible it was to feel time pulling her—and everything she was—apart. Ripping her from existence.

Esta’s mind raced for some solution, some way out of the trap she’d set for herself, but before she could do anything, she felt herself being unanchored from the present moment, torn away, torn back through the layers of time and place. Until she wasn’t anything at all.

THE COVER OF NIGHT

1904—San Francisco

When Harte Darrigan finally disembarked from the train in California, he was still across the bay from the city he was trying to reach. He followed the line of railroad passengers to the long ferry boats and climbed aboard, the whole time trying not to look too overwhelmed by the sights around him. He’d lived his entire life on an island, but he’d never ventured close to the water’s edge if he could help it. In California, though, there was no trace of the cold power that kept Mageus away from the shores of Manhattan. Harte felt only the briny dampness of the sea air and the strange coolness of the summer day as the wind ruffled his hair. He’d watched the continent unfold itself for the last few days, and now he’d reached its end.

Fog cloaked