The Serpent by Sarah Fine

Author:Sarah Fine [Fine, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781503903043
Publisher: 47North
Published: 2018-07-23T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

By the time the Lyft driver dropped her off at her apartment, it was nearly ten, and the only thing dragging her out of the car was determination. Her thoughts had to push their way through a sludge of fear and exhaustion. But the notion that maybe, just maybe, her father might come back, might be out there somewhere, and might even be able to help was enough. She pulled herself up the steps to reach the second floor and let herself into her half-empty home.

Jules was gone, all her stuff gone, her presence gone, nothing to hold on to.

Ernie pushed her grief away. The only way she’d get any closure was if she saw this through, if she looked Duncan in the eye and held him accountable for the way he’d made her friend suffer. Maybe the way he’d made her friend die. Knowing him and all he’d done so far, it seemed likely that he’d actually caused her death. It was just one item on the list of his many sins, including possibly trying to make himself the new Forger and breaking the entire world as a result. If she could play even a small part in stopping him, this would all be worth it.

She put on a pot of coffee to brew; she needed any help she could get to stay alert and on her feet. As it began to drip, she went into her messy room and opened the closet door. There, up on the shelf, was the wooden box. Not a treasure box—Ernie had never considered its contents valuable or sharable. It was more of a place she’d locked all her naïve childhood hopes.

She sat down on her bed with the box in her lap and slowly opened it. The postcard she’d gotten a few days ago was on top.

Hoping I’ll be home before Christmas. Miss you so much. Love, Daddy.

That was all, except for the creepy image on the other side, the guy with the monkeys crawling all over his head. She immediately thought of Alvarez and his emperor tamarin, that white-bearded little beast with the terrible screech, but this was exactly the kind of vintage postcard her father had collected at the shop before he’d left. She pulled out the others and looked through them. Nineteen in all. No postmarks, no dates. Now Ernie knew—if her dad was a Dealer, he could easily make sure things got to her without markings that gave away where and when he’d sent them. But why would he do that? Was he afraid some enemy would track his family down?

It hadn’t mattered. At least two Dealers had seemed to know that her mother had received the Forger’s Marks. They’d shown up right on her doorstep.

Ernie looked through the others, noting that there were animals on about half of them. She’d started to write dates on the cards a few years ago, but the ones she’d received as a child were unmarked. Impossible to put in order unless she could rely on memory.

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