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

the floor when another of the Order’s robed men began to climb the stairs.

When the man entered the chamber, the others turned for the news.

“Did you find the maggots responsible?” the High Princept demanded.

“No…” The robed man’s jaw clenched. “But we have another problem. Newton’s sigils are gone.”

By the time Jianyu extricated himself from the building, night had arrived. With the glare of the streetlights in this part of the city, it was simple now to keep the light open around him, but his feet could not seem to carry him fast enough. Once he found himself on the broad stretch of Fifth Avenue, though, he turned immediately west and began to run toward the building where Cela had been positioned. He did not allow himself to think about what might have happened to Cela or Abel if Viola had not made it in time. But if Paul Kelly’s men had harmed his friends…

He was barely two blocks away when he saw them, standing on the corner of Twenty-Third Street. Viola, Abel, and Cela were all staring up at the building he had escaped from minutes before. Cela’s deep-brown skin had taken on an almost silvery glow in the light thrown by the streetlamps, and Jianyu was struck suddenly by her beauty—the curve of her smooth cheek and the way her hair was curling around her temples, the strength in her narrow shoulders and the graceful, nimble fingers she had lifted to her mouth.

The direction of his thoughts made him nearly stumble and lose hold of the light.

Cela Johnson was not for him. He could offer her nothing—not safety, nor home, nor the promise of a future. He had his path set before him, and he would follow it through until the end. And if that thought made him feel suddenly more tired than he ever had been before? It did not matter. It could not matter.

Jianyu waited until he was closer to release his hold on the light. He did not let himself acknowledge—or revel in—the relief he saw in Cela’s eyes. But he could not stop his heart from racing when she threw her arms around him, tucking her face close to his neck.

“I thought we’d lost you again,” she whispered, hugging him a moment longer before she finally released him and stepped back.

Jianyu could still smell her perfume or her soap—a warm, sweet fragrance that made him suddenly unsteady. He glanced at Cela’s brother, but if Abel thought anything of his sister’s actions, he did not show it.

“We saw the man jumping from the building, and we thought…” Cela didn’t finish.

“That was Logan,” Jianyu said.

“What happened?” Viola asked. “Did you get the ring?”

Jianyu shook his head. There would be time later—to explain how Logan had attacked him and fled, to figure out what had happened to the boy and the artifact he had taken. “Did either of you take something from the Order’s chambers?”

Viola frowned, but she took a package from her skirts no broader in diameter than a bowl of rice. She offered it to Jianyu, and when he peeled back the handkerchief she’d wrapped around it, cold energy filtered through the air.

He could not stop the smile that split his face. “We may not have the Delphi’s Tear, but neither does the Order. Without the ring, they will not be able to reestablish their power. They need the artifacts to fortify the Brink, but even if they might retrieve them, without these sigils, they will no longer be able to control it.”

NEARLY HOME

1920—Brooklyn

Esta watched the lights of the city—her city—grow closer and brighter as Dominic Fusilli’s truck cut through the streets of Brooklyn. A moment before, she’d been in the heart of Chicago, but now, through whatever magic Dom used to create the entrances of the Nitemarket, she was home… or nearly home. She hadn’t expected her heart to twist at the thought of returning. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it, her city, with its tangled streets that never slept. For Esta, it had been only a matter of weeks since she’d left, but suddenly those weeks away felt so much longer.

Across the Hudson River, the Manhattan skyline wasn’t quite the one she’d grown up with. There was no Chrysler Building with its Art Deco spire, no Empire State Building anchoring Midtown, and no Freedom Tower at the tip of the island. Those iconic landmarks wouldn’t be built for years to come, but in this version of the skyline she could begin to see the promise of what the city would one day become. These streets glowed so much brighter than anyone could have imagined back in 1902, and the light the skyline threw off, the way it illuminated the atmosphere like a halo around the city, settled something in her chest.

She would not let herself think of the memory of the dagger plunging into Jack’s chest, past bone and sinew, or of the memory of Jack’s eyes—suddenly too human—pleading with her. She would not let herself wonder how she would go on living with blood on her hands, even if it had been necessary, even if Jack had deserved to die right alongside Thoth. There would be time enough to think of that—to live with that—later.

Esta felt the tension vibrating from Harte, and she realized he was holding himself away from her. She didn’t let go of her hold on the Book as she took one of their remaining Quellants and offered it to him.

“She’s quiet,” he said, hesitating.

“Take it anyway.” She placed it in his hand. “Just in case.”

He took the small white pill with shaking hands and placed it in his mouth. His eyes closed as he bit down, shuddering again as his throat worked to swallow. Little by little, the tension in his body eased, and eventually he opened his eyes. He stared at her as though testing himself.

“Better?” she asked after a long moment.

Harte nodded, though from his grimace—and from