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Esta pressed her hand to the pages of the Book, as she had done in her dream, but nothing happened. She closed her eyes and tried to sense some indication of Seshat’s power or her presence, but she wasn’t Harte. The pages told her nothing of the life within them.
Running her fingers over the tightly bunched symbols on the page, she almost felt bad for Seshat. Maybe the ancient being had tried to kill her—and tried to destroy the world along with her—but once she’d been a woman who had only been trying to do the right thing.
How was Seshat any different from Esta herself? Hadn’t Esta also tried to do right by magic and failed? Hadn’t she, too, tried to change the course of history and made things immeasurably worse? Being trapped within lifeless pages had to be nothing short of misery. Why did Seshat deserve that fate when Esta herself now had a chance to walk free?
Whatever pity Esta might have felt, one fact remained: now that they had the Book and the artifacts, they could do what Thoth had planned all along—they could use Seshat’s power to complete the ritual. They could go back and put history on the course it should have been on all along. With Seshat’s power, they could fix the Brink, and by reinserting that piece of magic back into the whole, they could fix everything.
The problem was Nibsy.
He wanted her to return to the past. That much had been clear, even if his reason wasn’t. There must be something he still needed from her. Maybe her power? Maybe he still needed to use her to control the Book.
It would be so much easier if they could just eliminate the threat he posed.
But they couldn’t kill him. Otherwise, who would be waiting in the future to find the girl and to raise her? Who would send her back, so that she could remain on this path? It meant dooming that girl to a life being raised by a monster.
Esta had seen what this version of Nibsy had done to the girl. With her own eyes, she’d witnessed what she could have become in another life under his control. Could she really doom that other girl to that fate, just so she could claim a future with Harte for herself?
FUTURES PAST
1983—Algonquin Hotel
Harte woke from a deep sleep with a jolt. All at once he remembered what had happened in the subway station. Remembered Esta, broken and dead, and his own magic the reason it had happened.
Panicked, he struggled to free himself from the mess of blankets and sheets, but they felt like a serpent wrapped around him. Strangling him.
“Harte?” The mattress sank with Esta’s weight as she sat next to him. “Are you okay?”
Not dead. The rest came back to him then as well. The rush through the city, the night they’d shared. Finally, he managed to free himself from the covers enough that he could sit up. Esta was there—alive—looking at him with concern.
“Fine,” he told her, trying to wake himself fully. The nightmare of what had happened in that subway station still felt too close, too real. “I’m fine. Just a dream.”
They were in the hotel, safe from the forces hunting them. Daylight streamed through the gauzy curtains, and he could hear the rumble of the city beyond.
He realized then that he wasn’t wearing anything beneath the sheets, and though his cheeks heated at the memory of the night before, he felt desire pull low and sweet in his gut. He wanted to tumble her back into the bed and forget about everything else.
But Esta clearly had other ideas. She was already dressed—not in the robe she’d wrapped herself in the night before but in an outfit he’d never seen. A soft, oversized sweater in seafoam green concealed her shape, and pale denim pants covered the legs that had been bare just hours before. The clothing looked warm and comfortable. And he hated it.
“Where’d you get the clothes?”
“I raided the luggage in the bellhop’s office,” she told him. “Don’t worry. I didn’t let anyone see me. I got you some things too.”
“Later,” he said, and reached out his hand. She took it, and he tugged her toward him until she’d fallen into bed. Once she was situated across his lap, he took his time kissing her.
She hummed happily and leaned into the kiss, opening her mouth against his as she tangled her fingers in his hair.
Better. He ran his hands beneath the sweater, careful not to disturb the bandage on her side, and found the strap of her undergarments. His thumb was poised to unhook the fasteners when she went still. “Harte, wait…”
He did what she asked, but he left his fingers splayed across her back. Her skin was so warm beneath the thick clothing. “Do you really want me to stop?” He rubbed his thumb along the pearls of her spine until she shuddered.
“No, but—”
He kissed her before she could finish the thought, and by the time she pulled away breathless, he’d managed to unfasten the undergarment.
“Harte—” Her voice turned to a whisper as his hand ran across her skin and his thumb brushed the underside of her breast.
“Yes?” He paused, waiting for her. Dying a little with every second he didn’t touch more of her.
Her head fell to his shoulder, and he felt the warmth of her breath against his skin. “I wish I could stop time forever,” she whispered. “I wish we could live here in this room and this moment. Then we would never have to face what comes next. I want you—”
