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

the Book away from Jack—and somewhere caught in the now-riotous crowd was Harte.

Everywhere, people were trying to escape from their burning garments and from the hall itself. The whole crowd was moving almost as one, pushing and climbing over one another as they tried desperately to reach the still-locked doors.

Slowly, Jack—or the thing inside of him—seemed to realize something had gone wrong. When the medallion Jack himself was wearing burst into flames, he released Esta to tear it from his coat. But even once the medallion was gone, smoke still poured from beneath his collar and cuffs. Jack pulled at the buttons of his shirt, tearing it open to reveal rows of strange symbols that glowed like embers on his skin. He seemed to scream more in rage than pain at first, but as he clawed at his skin, the markings only glowed brighter.

Esta was beginning to back away when Jack suddenly went strangely still. His head whipped around to look toward the steps that led up to the stage.

“Seshat,” Thoth’s voice hissed from Jack’s mouth, its weathered rasp as old as time itself, and a serpent’s smile crept across his face. His chest was still smoldering, but now Jack did not seem to be feeling the pain of the flames. “I thought you might join us.”

The smell of burnt skin and sulfurous smoke was thick in the air as Esta turned to see Harte climbing the steps to the stage, his stormy eyes steady on her.

“No!” she screamed. But Jack had already leapt for Harte. It happened so fast—Jack lunged across the stage, pushing Harte back down the steps, until they were both on the ground, wrestling for control. In a blink, Jack had the advantage. His hands were around Harte’s neck, strangling him.

Two of the men who had been onstage with them lunged for Esta, grabbing her by the arms to hold her in place. She twisted, catching one off guard as she kicked out viciously at the other’s knee. In a fluid movement born from years of training under Dakari’s watchful eye, Esta twisted again and again, meeting the men blow for blow until they were down and she had freed herself.

The men had been easy enough to dispatch, but she’d wasted precious time. Harte was no longer fighting, and Jack was looming over him, with his knee on Harte’s chest. The Pharaoh’s Heart was in his hand. Jack was already bringing the dagger down, directly toward Harte’s chest, when Esta pulled time slow. Without hesitating, she was down the stairs, using all of her weight and all of her strength to knock Jack away from Harte.

Jack fell to the ground. His chest still glowed where the ritual magic he’d tattooed onto his skin continued to smolder, but the dagger clattered away and his coat lay open, revealing the Book. It was so close. Everything they’d fought for was right there, within reach, but Esta’s eyes turned to Harte—

She wasn’t thinking about Seshat or the danger of touching him when she made her choice. She wasn’t thinking about anything other than how his lips had already gone blue, how his eyes already looked glassy and unfocused. She wouldn’t lose him. Not now. Not after everything.

She pulled herself up and was at his side in an instant. “Harte,” she said, cupping his face with her hands, drawing him into the net of her affinity.

He didn’t move, but a shuddering breath was released from his lungs. “Harte, you have to wake up,” she said, bringing her face close to his to listen. “We have to go.” But Harte lay as quiet and unmoving as if he was still frozen in time. He wasn’t breathing.

Not knowing what else to do, she placed her mouth over his and filled his lungs with her own breath, but before she could pull back, his hands were on her arms, pinning her in place, and she felt herself falling into darkness.

THE SERPENT’S CURSE

1920—Chicago

Night fell from above, obscuring the confusion around her, and stars swirled around Esta until she found herself standing in an open chamber with stone-carved walls the color of sand. If she focused hard enough, she could almost look through the illusion and see the world as it was—the people still frozen in her hold of time and Jack lying nearby—but only just. And it was so difficult to focus beyond the illusion for very long. It was far easier to give in to it.

Above, the sky glimmered with an endless swath of stars, and along the edges of the room, flames climbed from great curved cauldrons of iron. Standing before Esta, a woman with hair coiled like snakes around her face and eyes like obsidian waited. Seshat.

“You came to me,” Seshat whispered, anticipation thick in her papery voice. “You came to me again. As I knew you would.”

Esta took a step back. She felt panic climbing inside her as she looked around the room, trying to see through the illusion Seshat had created, to find Harte. Even now he could be dying.

“I didn’t come for you,” she told Seshat. “I came for him.”

Seshat reached out for Esta, as though she hadn’t heard. “Take my hand, and together we will awaken the true heart of power, unleash the possibilities of chaos, and begin again. Together, we can unmake this world—all of its meagerness and hatred—and realize our fate.”

Esta shook her head. “I don’t want any of that. And neither do you.”

“You think you know my heart?” Fires flashed in the depths of Seshat’s eyes as her hand dropped to her side in a fist. Suddenly she looked nearly inhuman in her rage. Esta had seen visions before; she’d seen Seshat in the throes of hope, but now the ancient goddess looked broken and twisted.

“Look what he’s done to you,” Esta whispered, unable to keep the horror and sorrow from her voice. “Look at what Thoth’s made you into—”

“He’s done nothing to make me. All I