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

well. Somehow, over the past week or so, the idea of him seemed to have shrunk in her mind as he lay sick and unmoving in that bed. Now she remembered again how tall he was, how his slenderness belied his strength.

Now Jianyu’s skin felt warm against hers, and with his hand steady on her arm, Cela realized that she had not expected him to wake again. Not really. She certainly hadn’t expected that he’d recover so quickly.

Magic, she reminded herself. It was easy to forget the truth of that when she was with him—with all of them, really. They didn’t seem any different from Abel or herself—or anyone else—until they did something strange and uncanny that made the hair on her neck rise to know that there was power she didn’t really understand at work in the world.

Then again, there were a lot of things Cela Johnson didn’t understand about the world. Who would have guessed that the strange gathering taking place in this house’s too-small kitchen would have even been possible? The Italian girl with her glittering eyes and sharp tongue, Theo Barclay, whose suit declared that he was every inch Fifth Avenue, and then Jianyu with his short-cropped hair, and herself. None of them would have ever met if not for Harte Darrigan and the blasted ring. Their worlds should have remained separate, as neatly divided as the streets of the city were, each with their small enclaves and communities. Each keeping to themselves, because that was how you were supposed to keep yourself and the ones you loved safe and secure. So many different worlds were colliding in that tiny room, and not a single one of those worlds was safe or secure, and Cela couldn’t help but wonder what would come of it.

“We need to discuss what will happen next,” Jianyu said, almost as though he’d been thinking the same thing. He pulled back his hand and lifted the chipped mug of coffee. He didn’t ask for any cream or sugar, just took a small sip, black as it was.

It had to be bitter—probably burnt, too, considering that it had been on the stove for too long now. But Jianyu’s eyes fluttered closed for a second and he smiled, the barest curve of his lips. It was a private, inward-type smile, the sort of smile that told Cela that he maybe felt the same way about coming back, like maybe he hadn’t really believed it would happen either, but now that it had, he was grateful.

“Thank you,” he said again, and again Cela felt those two little words held a whole lot more than what he was saying. Then he set the chipped mug back onto the tabletop, and she wondered if the moment had even happened or if she’d only been imagining that something new was building between them.

“The only thing that needs to happen next is for you to rest,” Cela told him, her voice sounding too tart, even to herself. “Everything else can wait until you’re stronger.”

“Do I look so weak?” Jianyu asked, lifting his brows in a challenge.

Cela frowned. “You look…” He looked fine, she admitted to herself. He looked healthy and whole and better than he had in days. She let out a sigh, already knowing she was going to lose this particular battle. “Not even an hour ago, you were two steps away from death. You need to rest.”

“I have already rested more than enough for an entire lifetime,” Jianyu said, dismissing her concern. “The Order cannot wait, not if they truly have the Delphi’s Tear in their possession.” He looked to Viola.

“Nibsy believes they have it,” she confirmed. “My brother must believe it too. I can’t see any other reason he would be willing to include Nibsy Lorcan in whatever it is he’s planning.”

“You’re going off the word of people that none of you even trust,” Cela said, her instincts prickling. Jianyu was barely well and already he was going to toss himself into danger, and for what? For the girl who hadn’t thought twice about skewering him with a knife. “This Nibsy person could be lying, for all you know. So could Paul Kelly. Either one of them could be setting you up.”

“It is possible, but the fact remains that neither can be permitted to take possession of the ring,” Jianyu told her—told all of them—and there was such a strength and sureness in his voice that even Cela, who would have rather seen him climb back into bed, couldn’t argue with it. “We must retrieve it from the Order before they can use it to reestablish their power. Darrigan and Esta will return to us, and we must not be empty-handed.”

“What, exactly, do you think you’re going to do?” Cela asked, with no small amount of disbelief and more than a little worry. “Even if you can turn yourself into a ghost, I was at that gala. I saw what the Order’s capable of.”

“I agree,” Theo said. “I know those men—too well, in some ways. They have money and power that make them nearly untouchable.”

“We touched them before,” Viola challenged. “We burned Khafre Hall to the ground and took their most precious treasures.”

“You sure didn’t manage to hold on to them long, though,” Cela said, earning herself a sharp look from Viola.

Viola’s eyes flashed, but Cela didn’t care, exactly. Viola’s confidence irritated her in ways she couldn’t explain. Maybe it was the absolute sureness in her voice and the way she carried herself, like the world couldn’t touch her. Or maybe it was that she seemed to assume all was forgiven for what had happened at the gala. As though Viola’s healing Jianyu should’ve been enough to forgive her from nearly taking his life in the first place.

Maybe it should have been enough. But for Cela, who had sat by Jianyu’s bed for days, who had fretted over his cooling skin and sluggish breathing, it didn’t feel like enough. The only problem was that Cela wasn’t