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

talking about outright murder. If the Brotherhoods start up that tower, it’ll backfire on them, same as it did in California.”

“This time will be different,” Esta said. Her face was partially shadowed, but even concealed by the darkness, her eyes were serious and filled with a sadness that even North couldn’t possibly ignore. “The public will not only stand for it, but they’ll reward Jack Grew—the person responsible for the tower and its effects—at the convention.”

“Well, see, that’s where you’re wrong,” North said, feeling a bit of relief. “They just decided on that Harding fella as the presidential nominee.”

“When?” Esta demanded.

“Earlier this evening,” he said, frowning at her tone. “An hour or so before we found you at the Green Mill. Seems to me your predictions are a little off this time.”

“There’s still the vice presidential nomination,” Harte said.

“And then when Harding dies…” Esta didn’t finish.

“How could you possibly know all that?” Everett asked Esta. “You’re talking like you can prognosticate the future.”

“It’s not prognostication if you’ve seen it for yourself,” North told his son, wishing it were otherwise.

“The bottom line is that if they voted to nominate Harding tonight, we’re running shorter on time than we thought,” Esta said. “We need to know what the Antistasi’s plans are. We need to stop them.”

“How do I know you’re not just trying to scare me into cooperating?” North asked.

“I am trying to scare you,” Esta told him. “Unless we do something, the attack will happen. The tower will be activated, and Jack Grew will become president. Once he’s in power, Roosevelt’s promises will be moot. Jack will build more towers—a whole network of them. Enough to wipe out every bit of the old magic in this country.”

“We’re going to figure this out with or without your help,” Harte told him.

“With your help, we can maybe save even more lives, though. Including your own,” Esta said. “Because if you stay here in the city, you’re both going to die.”

North wanted to argue that what they were saying was ridiculous. There was no way the events would unfold like that. But he knew better than to doubt Esta.

“It’s like I said, the Antistasi aren’t exactly organized these days,” he said. “I’ve been in Chicago for nearly a week, and I haven’t heard any rumors about anything happening at the convention. Whoever’s planning it is keeping things quiet.”

“But you are still involved with them. You could help us find out who’s planning it,” Esta said.

North hesitated. “Possibly,” he admitted reluctantly. “I know someone who might know what’s going on. We can find him at the Nitemarket.”

THE GOLDEN HOUR

1902—New York

Jianyu Lee was stuck. He had positioned himself out of sight behind a cart parked on the outskirts of Madison Square, not quite a block away from where he’d intended to be, but he could not venture any closer. Not without being seen. Especially not with boys he recognized from the Devil’s Own, boys who certainly would recognize him as well, prowling through the park. Jianyu had the sense that they were searching for something—possibly even for him—and so he stayed back, unable to do more than wait.

Everything had been going to plan until, quite suddenly, it was not.

Jianyu’s first indication that something was amiss had been when the wagon, flanked by police on horseback, had arrived from the east nearly an hour before. He had known immediately what the wagon carried, even though it had been too early. Far too early, considering that sunset had still been minutes away. All of their information had indicated that the Order’s boat would not even land until the Golden Hour began.

They had expected the Order to be prepared for an attack—Theo had warned them of the nervous energy among the old men of the Inner Circle—but they had not expected this.

Jianyu’s reaction had been immediate. Without even hesitating, he had reached for the light, as he always did—then everything had changed. As the daylight took on a golden cast, the usual warmth of his affinity had transformed into a searing heat. The light had flashed around him, bright and impossibly hot. It had felt as though the sun itself had come down from the sky and had been attempting to consume him, and Jianyu could do nothing but release his affinity, even as the sunlight was still searing the surface of his skin. The truth was an unexpected blow. Something about the strange light on this strange day, during this strange hour, had changed the rules of his affinity.

They had expected the Order to use certain protections. They had known that the Order would use something about the power of this false solstice to keep what was left of their treasures safe, but they had all believed the protection would be only on the wagon carrying the goods. Perhaps even on the ring itself. Jianyu had not imagined—none of them had imagined—that the protections the Order used could also affect their affinities.

Or maybe it was only his that had been affected. Maybe because his magic aligned most closely with the light, Jianyu was more susceptible.

Whatever the case, his skin still stung, and though he wanted to pull the light around him and take the packages the men were beginning to unload from the wagon, he could not. He understood from the way the daylight had gone almost amber that there was no point even in trying. Apparently, the Golden Hour was more than a quaint description. It was a powerful type of ritual magic. All he could do was stand and watch as a group of men opened the wagon, removed a heavy crate, and took it, under armed guard, into the building.

It galled Jianyu to know how close he had been to the artifact. The ring had been right there, but as long as he could not wrap the light around himself, as long as he could not use his affinity, he could do nothing. He was far too conspicuous,