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

Sundren who’ve forced us into the shadows will live to regret their hatred.”

No, Maggie thought as confusion flashed through her. That isn’t right. Revenge wasn’t what any of the Antistasi’s work had been about.… Was it?

“We don’t want to treat you like an enemy,” Cordelia told Esta. “Not when you could be our ally.” Then she turned to Maggie with a serious look. “I guess I should be getting back. If nothing else, we need to find the dagger, and soon. Especially if Jericho was right about seeing some kind of guard from St. Louis at the show.”

“What?” Maggie’s head whipped around. “You don’t mean Jefferson Guard?”

“May could be that’s what he called them,” Cordelia said. “It happened earlier today. It must have slipped his mind to tell you, considering everything else that’s happened.” She finally tucked the small pistol away.

“If there are Guardsmen in Denver, it means the Society knows we’re here,” Maggie said. Suddenly nothing seemed as important as getting to Jericho. She turned to her table and started collecting as many of the devices and formulations as she could. She might need them all to get him out of there safely.

“What’re you doing?” Cordelia asked.

“I just pushed Jericho out the door and straight into a trap,” Maggie said, counting the incendiaries as she filled her pouch. “I’m coming with you.”

“I’ll take care of Jericho,” Cordelia said.

Maggie looked up. “No, I have to—”

“I know my way around the show. No one will notice me. You, on the other hand…” Cordelia looked her up and down, and Maggie felt her cheeks warm with the implication that the sharpshooter found her wanting. “You’d only draw attention and make things even more dangerous for him.”

“But—”

“No. You’ll stay here and make sure Esta doesn’t forget where her loyalties should lie,” Cordelia decided. “If you think you can handle that much.”

“I can handle it,” Maggie said through clenched teeth.

“Good.” Cordelia adjusted her hat in the hazy mirror. “You know, Margaret, for a second there, I really thought you might accept Jericho’s offer to up and leave. I thought maybe you’d forgotten what you have at stake in all of this.”

Something in Cordelia’s voice sent a trickle of foreboding down Maggie’s spine. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing much,” Cordelia said. “But I’d watch yourself, if I were you. The Professor has already started to wonder if his trust in you has been misplaced.”

“The professor?” Esta sat up a little straighter. “What professor?”

Maggie ignored Esta. “I didn’t realize you were in contact with him,” Maggie told Cordelia, trying to remain calm. But the room swam a little as she realized what that meant. What the Professor might already know.

“He ain’t too happy with your recent silence,” Cordelia said, looking far too satisfied with herself. “Don’t worry, though. I’ve assured him that all’s well.” She gave a small shrug. “Of course, that was before I learned that y’all had lost the necklace. If I were you? I wouldn’t give me any other reason to doubt your loyalty—not unless you’d like him knowing. Now, if you’ll pardon me, I need to be getting back. We wouldn’t want to let Jericho go off unsupervised. He might start thinking about leaving again or doing something else you’d regret.”

HIS FATHER’S SON

1904—San Francisco

Harte ignored the ache in his head and in his leg as he considered what to do with the boy—his brother—and how to get out of the basement storeroom. He had to get back the artifacts that had been taken from him, and to do that, he had to find his father. Maybe the boy could help with that.

Squatting down until he was eye level with the child, Harte leaned in as though he had a secret. “You know, I could do a really wonderful trick if I had more space,” he said, hating himself for the duplicity. But it would be far easier to have the child show him the way out than to risk taking a wrong turn in the building. For now the child seemed to like him. He’d use that—even if the boy ended up hating him later. “Would you like to see another one?”

The child nodded, his expression bright and hopeful.

“Do you know where we might find a little more room?” Harte asked. “This cellar’s awfully cramped. There’s no way an elephant would fit in here.”

“An elephant?” the boy breathed.

Harte ignored the pang of guilt he felt and leaned in a little to sink the hook. “I think I might manage to conjure one up, if I had the room for it.” He paused, pretending to think. “We would need to get outside, but I don’t know the way.…”

“I do!” The boy took Harte’s hand and began tugging him out into a corridor that was little more than a dirt-packed tunnel lined with dry goods and supplies. There was no real light there, except the daylight that spilled from the open doorway at the top of a steep set of steps.

At the foot of the steps, Harte had to pause to catch his breath. If he’d been denying his situation before, the fact that he felt winded and tired from walking such a short distance forced him to realize the truth. He was sick. He could have happily climbed back onto that filthy makeshift pallet and rested, but he knew implicitly that this was his one chance at freedom.

Sammie put his finger to his mouth to quiet Harte, who hadn’t said a word since they’d stepped out of the storage room.

“Is your father up there?” Harte whispered, straining his ears for some sign of what might be waiting for him above as he gathered his strength. His whole body felt hot and cold at the same time, and his muscles ached.

The boy nodded, and his expression was suddenly shadowed. “In his shop.” His small, feathery brows drew together in an expression of worry. “I wasn’t supposed to talk to you. He’ll be angry when he finds