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

“Which is why we have to get the Pharaoh’s Heart. We can’t give up now. Not when there’s still a chance that we could help the Antistasi to change things—really change things—for Mageus in this country.”

North pushed back a piece of hair that had fallen into her face. The motion was so gentle, and the look on his face was tender enough to make Maggie want to cry. “If the Antistasi haven’t changed anything in a thousand years, what makes you think that we’re the ones who can finally get the job done?”

Because I have to, Maggie thought, the buzzing panic swarming through her again now.

“Who else will do it, Jericho?” she asked instead.

“Let Cordelia here take over,” he said. “Let’s get out of here. You and me. Right now.”

Jericho didn’t understand. How could he, when she hadn’t told him everything?

Maggie’s head was shaking already, as though her body knew what the answer had to be. “You found me because of the Antistasi. Who am I if I’m not this?” she asked him. “Who am I if I walk away without even trying to make it right?”

Jericho let out a ragged breath, and she could sense his growing frustration. “I found Ruth’s organization because I was young and hotheaded, but you have to know by now that I only ever really stayed for you, Mags. Maybe Esta disappearing is the sign we needed. Let’s go somewhere new and start a life together. We could stop running and fighting and just be. We don’t have to stop helping people. You could help a lot of people with those formulas of yours, if you wanted to. We could build a little home and maybe even have us a couple of kids. We could be happy.”

Maggie could practically see them already, the children the two of them might have one day. Carrot-colored hair and freckles and impish, dimpled smiles. She could see them running and playing in this fairy tale he was building for her out of nothing but his words, and her heart clenched. Because she wanted it so desperately.

But it could never be hers if she walked away from this.

“And what then?” Maggie asked, her voice hollow as she turned the dream against him. “If these children you’re imagining are born with the old magic, will we teach them to hide themselves away, as we were taught? Will we teach them to push down whatever affinity they might have and tell them that the old magic is a secret no one can know?”

North’s expression softened. “I don’t know, Mags. I don’t have all the answers, but we’re not the only ones with hardships in this world. There are plenty of Sundren who carry their own burdens through life, and they don’t let those problems stop them from loving and living.”

Maggie was aware of Cordelia standing nearby, watching and listening to every word they said. The sharpshooter had contacts in the network, but Maggie was only truly worried about one.

You’re not the only one with friends in high places. Cordelia’s words ricocheted through her brain, stirring up fear. Hardening her resolve.

Maggie wished she could set her responsibilities aside and step into Jericho’s arms, but her burdens weren’t so easy to set down, not when they were shaped like the lives of the people she loved. For her, stepping away from the path she’d been on her whole life would be more like walking off a cliff.

“I can’t give up now,” Maggie whispered, almost wishing that it wasn’t true.

“It’s not giving up to reach out and claim a life for ourselves, Mags,” North said, squeezing her hand gently. In his eyes was the hope for a future she’d never thought to imagine.

She might have said yes. The word was pressing at her mouth, willing her to let it out, but before she could, a noise drew her attention. A moaning sound that soon solidified into a girl.

Esta was back.

A SIMPLE TRICK

1904—San Francisco

The next time Harte woke, there was no delay between returning to consciousness and remembering everything that had happened. The pain in his head, the ache in his shoulder, and the maddening, burning itch on his ankle reminded him immediately of where he was—and of the reality of his situation. His failures washed over him in an icy flood of shame. He’d been outmaneuvered by his sham of a father, and the artifacts in his possession, the necklace and the cuff—Esta’s cuff—were gone.

Because you are weak, Seshat whispered. I warned you, and still you allowed a powerless rat to best you. Her voice was threaded with the same mockery that Harte was so used to. But there was a trembling energy to her words, except, no—the trembling was coming from him. His limbs were shaking a little, and the chill in the air made him feel almost feverish.

Maybe he was feverish. His body ached, and despite being unconscious for so long, he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes again.

Foolish boy, Seshat hissed. You would accept your failure so easily? You are too soft and far too pitiful to be worthy of the girl or the power she holds within her.

That was probably true, but Harte wasn’t ready to accept it. Certainly, he wasn’t going to lie there and wait for whatever his father had planned for him. But he felt so incredibly awful.

Get up, Seshat urged. Or you will die here, and the girl—and every possibility she contains—will be lost.

The tremulous energy in Seshat’s voice struck a nerve. If I die, what happens to you?

Seshat didn’t respond.

Harte realized then what emotion had colored Seshat’s words—fear. It was so uncharacteristic of her usual rage and fury that it was almost enough to distract him from trying to figure out whether his shaking was from exhaustion or fever. He and Seshat had been locked in a battle of wills ever since the moment he’d touched the Ars Arcana and she’d used his affinity to channel