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THE SERPENT’S JAWS
1983—City Hall Station
Harte watched as an older version of Nibsy Lorcan stepped into the dimly lit space of the station. He was acutely aware of how bad the current situation was. The artifacts and the Book were exposed and vulnerable, and Esta was still unconscious. He couldn’t protect the artifacts or the Book without letting go of Esta, and he couldn’t bring himself to do that.
“You know, Darrigan, I haven’t been called that name in decades,” Nibsy said with a disgusted squint. He wasn’t as old as Harte would have expected him to be; the healers he used must have been absurdly talented. However much his appearance had changed, his eyes were the same, as small and as beady as a rat’s behind the thick glass of his spectacles’ lenses. “I didn’t much like it way back when. I find I still don’t.”
Harte didn’t care much what Nibsy Lorcan did or didn’t like, but he needed time to think, to get Esta, the Book, and the artifacts out of there. He maneuvered so that his body was between her and Nibsy, protecting her and shielding the Book from Nibsy’s view until he figured out a plan.
Nibsy took a small step forward, and when Harte wrapped himself more protectively around Esta, the old man only shook his head. “I’m the least of your worries right now. There’ll be more of them coming any minute now.” He nodded toward the bodies on the floor. “The amount of power the two of you set off will have every Guard in the city on their way. And there you are, trapped. Easy pickings.”
Harte didn’t respond. He wouldn’t give Nibsy the satisfaction or the ammunition.
“I might not be able to cross that line, but the Guard won’t have any issue with it, Sundren as they are. And she’s too weak to fight more of them off. They’ll drag you both away, and when you break that ritual spell and cross the boundary, it will kill you both as surely as anything.”
“There shouldn’t be any Guards,” Harte said, trying to stall.
“Why? Because Esta killed Jack Grew?” the old man asked, amused. “Murdered him in the middle of a crowded arena in front of all the press. There were pictures in every paper. Newsreels played in every cinema for weeks after. Did you really think that would end the Guard and the Brotherhoods? Jack’s death showed every Sundren in this country exactly how dangerous our kind are. It galvanized the Brotherhoods’ cause and handed them popularity and power they never dreamed of wielding.” His eyes narrowed. “She made him into a martyr, and the idiots in this land turned him into a saint.”
Harte thought of the familiar darkness in the dead men’s eyes and knew Nibsy was telling the truth, but he wondered whether Nibsy understood that more than Jack Grew’s hatred had survived that night in Chicago. Thoth had as well.
“She doesn’t have much time, you know, especially after what she’s done to these fellows.” The old man nudged one of the fallen bodies with his toe. “Even now, her connection to the artifacts and the Book is draining her. They want what they’re owed. Magic wants what is owed.”
The serpent catches its tail, severs time, consumes.
Harte had a million questions, but he didn’t voice any of them. He remained silent and considered his options. From the way Nibsy was waiting at the edge of the sigil, Harte had a sense that, unlike the Guard, he couldn’t cross the boundary Esta had created. Which meant that he’d been telling the truth. It also meant they had time. But he knew he didn’t have much time.
“She has to finish what she started. It’s the only way.” Nibsy used the cane to point at the swirling energy around the sigil. “This is only the beginning of the ritual. Just like the Brink, if you try to leave, the power that she’s awoken will take your affinity—both of your affinities. Unless she gives the spell what it desires, what she promised the whole of magic by beginning it, she’ll die from what it’s taking. That’s the only way to end the ritual.”
“What she promised?”
“Her power,” Nibsy said, his eyes flashing with anticipation. “Her magic. It was the mistake the Order made in creating the Brink—believing they could use the power in the Book without offering something in return. They wanted power without the price. Without true sacrifice.”
“You lied to her,” Harte said, his jaw tight. “You said it wouldn’t kill her.”
“Of course I lied,” the old man told him, impatience coloring his words. “About any number of things. The girl shouldn’t have been foolish enough to believe me. But she’s not dead, as far as I can see. The ritual hasn’t killed her. Not yet. Now she has to finish what she started. It’s the only way out for you. More, it’s the only way to stop the Brotherhoods from having the key to infinite power.” He took another step forward. “Think of the damage the Order did with the Book and the artifacts before. The atrocity of the Brink happened because they didn’t understand how to control the demon bitch within those pages. But now that the girl has united the artifacts and reimprisoned Seshat? Think of what the Brotherhoods could do. They could touch the very heart of magic. Her sacrifice would be for nothing if the Brotherhoods gain control of the Book now.”
Harte didn’t believe for a second that Nibsy cared. He wanted the Book and the power it contained. But Nibsy was right about one thing—if the Brotherhoods got the Book, everything that had happened to them would have been for nothing. But if Esta died there—in that time before she could return the cuff to her younger self—none of it would matter.
“If she dies, we both lose,” Harte reminded him.
“Not if she completes the ritual,” Nibsy said, amusement glinting in his eyes.
Harte examined the open page that Esta had read before. The serpent catches its tail, severs time.
Harte considered those words. Could there be a chance…?
“How can she finish anything?” Harte asked, the words tearing from his throat. “She isn’t even conscious.”
“You can help her,” Nibsy said simply. “Use your affinity. Command her. She has to sacrifice her power. She has to finish what she began.”
Harte took Esta’s hand. He understood what Nibsy wanted him to do, but accepting it meant admitting defeat. His thumb traced along the rough, scarred skin on her wrist. “You want me to betray her,” he said. “You want me to kill her.”
The old man huffed an impatient breath. “Let’s not pretend you’re so noble, Darrigan. We’ve known each other too long to have lies between us. I know what you are.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” he said.
“You expect me to believe that you’ve changed so much?” Nibsy scoffed. “You, the boy who sacrificed your own mother to escape this prison of a city. You’ve betrayed everyone who trusted you. No, Darrigan. People like us never change. We are who and what we are. So why delay the inevitable? Why this ridiculous charade? The girl has served her purpose. For both of us. She has to give her power to the stones. It’s your only way out of the cage she’s created for you. Unless you want to die at the hands of the Guard. Because once the Brotherhoods get the Book, you’re dead either way.”
