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

had taken from the Metropolitan, an ancient-looking thing that had once belonged to Newton himself, but the answers she was looking for wouldn’t be there, either. Finally, she came across a simple volume, bound with stitched cloth instead of leather, and she pulled it from the shelf. Thumbing through it, she could not stop the emotion of seeing Dolph’s familiar script from crashing over her—the warmth of the memories and the disappointment as well.

As she flipped through the pages, Viola realized there was too much there: notations about the Brink, notes about the stones and the Book, and pages filled with crude sketches done in scratches of ink. There were notes written in English and Italian, German and French. As she searched for what she needed, Viola heard voices in the hallway, and panic slid down her spine, but… there. A sketch of a familiar shape. It was clearly Libitina, with her thin, sharp blade and ornate handle, sketched onto the page. But Viola could not read the words. They were written in a language she did not know, as though Dolph had been purposely cautious and intended to keep this knowledge from her.

Viola shook off her disappointment as she tucked the notebook into her skirts. It was a risk, maybe even a mistake, but she could not be sure how many of the pages she needed, and she could not leave without the knowledge she’d come for.

The voices were closer now, just outside the door, and even if they weren’t heading for Dolph’s apartment, Viola knew that she could not leave the way she’d come. Without hesitating, she went for the window. The gauzy curtains fluttered in the breeze when she opened the window wider. She pulled herself over the sill to the fire escape, then pushed the window back to where it had been before, and began the climb down. She did not look behind her to see if she’d been spotted, and her heart did not stop racing until she was on the ground and far away from the one place that had ever felt like home.

TIME’S FANGED JAWS

1904—Denver

North and Cordelia didn’t come back that first night—Esta hadn’t really expected them to, but she could tell that Maggie had hoped. They waited up until late, and she helped as Maggie tried to keep herself busy by making more of the Quellant. By the time they finally finished, the city outside their window was quiet, but the thoughts running through Esta’s mind were too loud to let her sleep.

She wondered if Harte had made it to California yet, and she hoped he was having better luck than she was. She still regretted getting rid of the bracelet he’d left her. Even traveling with the two Antistasi, she felt alone, but it was never worse than in the middle of the night, when the world was quiet and endless with sleep. In those deep hours, she would have welcomed the sound of Harte’s voice in her ear, the feel of his lips against her skin. She should have appreciated the bracelet for the gift it was. Once they met up, it was likely they wouldn’t have much time. At least with the bracelet, she could have had the illusion of him.

The sky was already lightening when Esta finally drifted off, but her dreams were not easy. She found herself in a desert where dangerous magic swirled through the air. Beneath the sand, a monstrous serpent slid along, chasing her across an endless stretch of emptiness. Ahead, silhouetted against the blazing sky, she saw Harte standing with his back to her. Her heart leapt at the sight of him, and in response, the serpentine monster changed course, aiming instead for him.

Esta shouted, but Harte didn’t turn. She started to run, but she knew she would never reach him in time. When she reached for her affinity, her magic lay cold and dead, and in the end, the serpent rose from the sand and lunged for Harte, its fanged jaws wide. As the serpent’s teeth clamped shut, Esta woke with a start, the scar on her wrist burning again.

Despite the warm breeze coming in through the window, she felt chilled. Across the room, Maggie snored softly, but Esta didn’t even try to sleep again.

They spent the rest of the next two days keeping themselves busy while they waited for news that never came. Esta watched and helped Maggie when she could, but the days dragged on, and they both grew more impatient and anxious for word from North and Cordelia.

“I think you’ve killed it,” Esta said. She couldn’t take listening to the sound of the pestle grinding against the marble mortar anymore. It was the afternoon of the third day, and she’d been watching out the window, jealous of everyone who was free to go about their business in the streets below as she tried to distract herself, but now she turned back to look at Maggie.

“What?” Maggie paused and looked up over her glasses.

The room finally descended into blessed silence. Maggie’s hair had been threatening to fall from its loosely pinned bun all morning, and now a long piece did fall in front of her face. Maggie pushed it back, blinking a little, like she’d been so preoccupied with her work that she’d forgotten about Esta completely.

“Whatever you’re grinding up in there—it’s dead,” Esta said, trying to keep her voice pleasant and not as frayed as her nerves felt. “Completely and utterly. You can’t do anything else to it.”

Maggie glanced down and gave a small curse that might have been amusing in any other situation. “I overdid it,” she said. “And it was the last of my camphor. I won’t be able to make any more of the Quellant until I get more.” She cursed again.

“So let’s go get some,” Esta suggested. She wasn’t used to sitting still for so long, and being trapped inside the dingy apartment was doing nothing for her