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

to toe, which made their bodies glisten in the strange light. Around each of their necks, a single large crystal dangled from a golden chain. Each pendant had been cut to symbolize one digit of the Philosopher’s Hand: the key, the crown, the lantern, the star, and the moon. The elements necessary to transmute existence. The women were living statues; they barely blinked, even when the members inched forward to take a closer look. They’d been one of Jack’s better ideas for the ceremony, but his best was yet to come.

While the other members swooned over the new surroundings, Jack felt nothing but satisfaction. Soon the Delphi’s Tear would be his, and with it the ability to finally complete his machine. He would show the Order how wrong they had been to deny him for so long. He would show the Inner Circle the path down which their destiny must lead.

Jack took a seat close to the edge of the room as the lights went dim and the ceremony began. In the back of the chamber, a door opened that had not seemed to be there a moment before. It was a brilliant bit of illusion, and the men around Jack murmured appreciatively as four members of the Inner Circle made their way toward the altar. When they reached the front, they formed a line, and then one stepped forward and began to speak about the illustrious history of the Order of Ortus Aurea.

Jack barely paid attention to the old man’s droning. What did he care about the past, when the future stretched in all its brilliant possibilities on the far horizon? On and on the speech went, and all the while Jack pictured what would come next and prepared himself. The old man prattled on for what seemed like an eternity, until finally bells could be heard from somewhere within the walls and the door at the back of the room opened once more.

This time it was the High Princept who appeared. He was flanked by two other men, each draped in white linen and wearing masks that obscured their identities. When the three reached the blue altar, the two masked men unrolled a scroll and held the wide swath of it upright, so the Princept could read an incantation. He invoked the gods and the angels, and he beseeched them to protect this place that would be a sanctuary for years to come. When he was finished, the masked men withdrew the scroll, and as one, the members in attendance stood and applauded.

Jack played his part, rising and clapping along with the rest. He would let them enjoy their moment, because he knew that his own plan was already unfolding.

In the preceding weeks, he’d worked long and hard to prepare for this night. He’d been forced to humble himself, bowing and pretending subservience, when he knew that the old men of the Inner Circle were nothing more than a past that hadn’t realized it was over. In the end they’d trusted Jack enough to use him, but they hadn’t allowed him to attend the ceremony to install the artifact into the Mysterium earlier that day. They said it was because he wasn’t officially part of the Inner Circle—not yet. But Jack understood an excuse when he heard one. They were still holding him at arm’s length.

No longer. The High Princept’s arrival signaled that the time was finally at hand. He checked his watch and saw there were still a few minutes until the sun dipped farther than six degrees below the horizon, minutes during which the Order still would believe themselves to be protected by the power of the Golden Hour. But in those remaining minutes, they would find out how vulnerable they truly were.

An alarm sounded in the outer chamber, and Jack frowned down at his watch. It was a few minutes earlier than he’d planned, perhaps, but close enough. As the members began murmuring at the sudden interruption, the High Princept stood to reassure them.

“Gentlemen, we expected no less than an attack this evening, but please. Settle yourselves. Every precaution has been taken,” he assured the room. “Every measure of possible protection has been put into place for this very eventuality, and the maggots who would try to disturb us this evening will find themselves sorry. As we sit here, safe in the sanctuary of our own making, the building is turning itself on our intruders.”

As if on command, heavy shutters rolled down over the windows, leaving the entire sanctuary bathed only in the glow of the phosphorus lamps. It was exactly as Jack had hoped: The lamps cast enough light to throw the flickering shadows that would allow him to move through the crowd without being noticed.

“All of the chambers beyond this one will lock, making entrance or exit impossible,” the Princept continued. “Even now security measures are being activated that will snuff out the threat any intruders might pose as easily as a candle.”

The Princept didn’t bother to tell the rest of the members that it had been Jack who had set up the entire system, which was, he supposed, probably for the best. It was unlikely any of the members would realize that the protections Jack had designed also contained an extra feature for this particular night: It would release a series of alchemical reactions that would appear to be an attack. The effect would doubtlessly cause enough confusion to keep the members of the Order distracted. In the end, it would seem that Jack’s security system had worked and the building had been defended. In reality, the attack would be nothing more than smoke and mirrors. He’d learned that bit from Darrigan, back when he’d believed the magician had some real connection to the powers of the occult. The attack was nothing but misdirection—a diversion intended to keep the Order from realizing what was actually happening.

“As long as everyone is accounted for,” the Princept called, “we are all safe here until the