Page 46 of Blackwicket

“Your confidence in that statement is a marvel.”

“There aren’t anymore Narthex, are there?” I couldn’tcontrol the testiness. “The Authority made sure of it. There aren’t any ways to get to Dark Hall.”

“Unless you’re an adept magic user.”

“You said yourself magic is dying.”

“Except I watched you inhale a Drudge like it was opium smoke.” He was harsh, the veneer of his stoicism cracking, “Then scurry straight out of that department store only to pop up here a week later, fresh as a goddamn daisy. It takes considerable power to walk away from that. You’re living proof there’s magic enough somewhere.”

“Does that make you feel like a failure, Inspector?”

He laughed then, running a hand over his mouth, likely talking himself out of shooting me. I noticed the hollowing of his cheeks as he bowed his head to refocus himself, the dark hue gathering beneath his eyes. He appeared unwell.

He pointed at me, the motion emphatic.

“You threatened the Drudge with a trip to Dark Hall. So I’ll ask you again, Miss Blackwicket. Can you access it?”

I’d trapped myself, and there was no more safety in completely lying.

“Not anymore. That threat was empty.”

“But you’ve been there before.”

“When I was a child.”

“Your mother took you there?”

“No. She forbade me from going. I snuck in.”

“Did your sister?”

“She never showed any interest. She was always afraid of it.”

“Because of the Fiend?” he asked. “But you weren’t afraid?”

The Authority’s ignorance continued to both astound and enrage me.

“The Fiend doesn’t bother people who don’t keep curses, Inspector. It feeds on broken magic. If there is none, it’s harmless.”

In truth, the Fiend was horrifying, a smoky horde of hellish faces and grasping ghostly limbs. When I’d first encountered it I’d been sure I was dead. I’d huddled and cried for my mother as it rolled over me like fog, chattering my name. I’d emerged unscathed and never saw it again, not until I’d taken Thomas.

“Eleanora, if you could access Dark Hall as a child, why should I believe you can’t now?”

His use of my given name was always jarring, and I fumbled.

“There’s not a Narthex anymore, Inspector. It was closed the night I left this house.”

“The one in the parlor.”

As usual, he showed his hand when it would do the most harm, overpowering my senses with a resentment so strong I could taste its bilious bitterness coating my throat.

“Yes,” I grated. “If you already know the answers to your questions, why are you asking them?”

“I didn’t ask you about the Narthex. You supplied that information yourself, and you expect me to assume there’s not another Narthex somewhere in this house.”

“If there were, there wouldn’t be nearly so many curses here.”

“I imagine it’s less lucrative to feed them to the Fiend.”