The Serpent's Curse Lisa Maxwell (famous ebook reader .TXT) 📖

They ran through her mind again and again, steady and constant as the train consuming the tracks beneath her.

It was a mistake.

I never should have allowed it to happen.

She could hear Harte’s faint breathing above her, the soft not-quite snores he made as he slept the sleep of the righteous. She had thought he’d understood. When he’d laid his mouth on hers, when he’d pulled them both under, breaking through the casual stoicism they each wore like armor, she’d thought he was in agreement. Apparently, she’d been wrong.

She’d spent so much of her life trying—trying—so hard to be what she was supposed to be. The perfect thief. Loyal to her provider and mentor, loyal to her team. The perfect weapon. Honed and sharpened. Cast from steel. It didn’t matter that Esta was good at all of those things. It didn’t matter that her heart beat in time with the seconds when she lifted a wallet or found the final number in the tumbler of a lock. What mattered was that none of it had been a choice. Her life, her profession, her talent and drive… it had all been handed to her—forced upon her—and Esta had accepted each as her due. They had been nothing more and nothing less than the cost of belonging.

But Harte? He’d been a choice. From the first time she’d encountered him at the Haymarket, to when she’d saved him from the end he should have met at the Brooklyn Bridge, to a few moments ago, when she’d let go of all propriety and control, Harte Darrigan was a choice Esta made again and again. Often against her better judgment. With him, she had never been anything more or anything less than who she truly was meant to be. And that couldn’t be a mistake. Could it?

Esta wasn’t sure what she was supposed to feel other than a biting disappointment and the sharp cut of something that she couldn’t help but admit was hurt. Was she supposed to feel different somehow because of what had happened between them? Was she supposed to feel transformed?

She felt neither.

By the next morning, though, Esta managed to pull herself together. It wasn’t like she had any other choice. She would not give the night before any more importance than Harte had. She would do what she’d always done—she would press onward, pretending confidence and hoping that she could spin its magic around her once more.

She would try.

They sat, too quiet and too awkward, barely picking at their breakfasts. Esta watched the land passing outside the train window so that she wouldn’t have to look at him. Harte fidgeted with some dry toast, and she could tell he wanted to say something, but she didn’t want to deal with any more excuses. Not now. Not in the bright light of morning, when everything about the night before made her feel like an utter fool. Harte apparently didn’t understand that her silence meant that there was no need to discuss it.

“About what happened last night,” he started.

Esta turned to him, ready. She gave him what she hoped was a calm and dignified smile. “I’d rather put it behind us.”

“You can really do that?” Harte eyed her, his jaw suspiciously tight.

“Of course,” she lied. She made a show of spearing a bit of potato and pretended to enjoy it, forcing herself to swallow it down.

“Just like that?” he asked, frowning. “You can act like last night never happened? Even after we—”

Esta slammed her fork down a bit more forcefully than she had intended, but at least it shut him up. She needed Harte to understand what she was about to say, and she needed him to understand it now. Because she didn’t think she could handle it if he kept reminding her of what might have been… but what clearly wasn’t.

“I will figure out a way to put last night behind me because I have to,” she told him. “So do you. Whatever mistakes were made last night no longer matter. When we get to Chicago, we’ll have one chance to steal the Book and the dagger from Jack. You know what the future holds, and we cannot allow the Reticulum or Jack Grew’s presidency to become a reality. Last night was…” Her throat went tight. She suddenly had no idea how to finish that sentence.

“It was what?” Harte asked, and Esta wanted to believe that there was a note of longing in his voice that matched her own.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, shoving aside the sentiment. “Last night can’t figure into what happens next. We can’t let it distract us.”

Harte was silent, and Esta allowed herself to relax a bit, believing that everything was settled.

“And if there are… consequences?” Harte asked softly.

Consequences? It took a second, but then it hit her what he meant. “You mean…” She’d been so stupid. She hadn’t even considered—

“There won’t be,” she told him, as though saying the words made it a fact.

Harte’s dark brows drew together. “You can’t know that for sure.”

“I know that it doesn’t matter,” she told him, trying not to think about a future that could never be.

“How can it possibly not matter?” Harte was angry now, she could tell. But Esta was angry too. Or maybe she was hurt, and the two emotions felt close to the same when everything was so mixed up and desperate.

“Because it doesn’t.” She leaned over the plate of food that she no longer had any interest in. “Did you forget how this might well end?” she asked him. “There’s only one way we know of to control the power of the Book—Seshat’s power.” She thought carefully about her words before she spoke again. She needed him to understand. “You know what Professor Lachlan tried to do to me when I returned to my own time. My affinity can unite the stones. We can use it to control Seshat’s power. I’ve already accepted that I might not get to walk away from this, Harte.”

As she’d spoken, Harte’s