Page 12 of Blackwicket (Dark Hall #1)

I stood in the morgue, facing a man my sister had loved, hurt with the knowing she’d considered me good as dead.

“I’m glad to see you well, William,” I said, uncertain of my standing in his graces.

“And I’m glad to see you alive , Eleanora,” he replied, still scrutinizing me, before a slow smile curved his mouth, making him handsome enough I recognized what had drawn Fiona to him. “I never would’ve recognized you. You and your sister never did favor each other.”

I appreciated his deliberate choice to accept my status among the living without question, and it was true what he’d said.

Fiona was our father’s doppelg?nger, honey-spun hair and skin that browned in the sun, turning the dusting of the freckles across her nose all the more charming.

I’d taken after our mother, hair like charred chestnut and a complexion that burned far too easily.

My relief over his lack of prodding was short-lived, his smile settling into something with a bite, a look his father often wore, one that suggested he knew all your secrets and would be pleased to use them against you. The sudden resemblance chilled me.

“Where have you been all this time?” he asked, more to himself than me.

The bell chimed as the door swung open again, sparing me the effort of constructing a response that included nothing I didn’t want William to know. A young boy in oversized work trousers entered, holding a simple wooden box, the size and form of a miniature casket, tightly against him.

When he noticed me, he stopped dead still, resembling a wild animal caught in bright light. His eyes flicked uncertainly to William.

“Jack. Come, boy. You’re letting the cold in, my bones can’t bear it.” William waved him forward.

Doing as he was told, the boy named Jack let the door close and wiped the fresh snow off his boots on the entry rug, glancing again in my direction, uncomfortable.

“Is he yours?” I asked.

William laughed; a powerful burst of noise that made me jump.

“Eleanora, the boy’s twelve.”

It was all he needed to say. When I’d last seen William, he’d been twenty and childless.

“As much as he’s underfoot, he might as well be,” William said good-naturedly. “But—no, Jack is the son of a house employee. He’s taken up a position as my assistant.”

William clapped the boy on the shoulder with some affection, but Jack remained stiff. He was a mop of a child, all lanky limbs he didn’t quite seem to control, topped with a crop of auburn hair he’d tried, and failed, to shove beneath his flat cap.

“Miss,” he greeted.

I managed to offer him a meager smile.

William nodded to Mr. Farvem. “Go with him, lad. Run your errand.”

Jack did as he was asked, clutching the box, and making a wide berth around me to the old gentleman, who guided him through a door behind the reception desk.

“He doesn’t know if he’s coming or going,” William said, then redirected us to the matter at hand. “Eleanora, I regret this is the circumstance that brought you back here from…wherever you’ve been.”

I pressed my lips into a tight line. I owed him no explanation.

“Fiona was a beloved member of this community.” His expression was stricken. “I take full responsibility for what happened.”

Here was the reason I was here in this town, in this morgue, and I took the opportunity to snatch at some scrap of truth.

“What did happen to her, William?” I asked, daring to reach for any familiar territory we shared.

He cast his gaze down to where the tip of his cane met the floor and the formality in his tone diminished.

“Your sister was a complicated woman. Secretive. She often mystified even me, and as you’re aware, we—” He paused, rethinking his next words.

I no longer needed to guess whether the love affair of their youth had continued.

“In the past year, she became more reclusive. She roamed the cliffs but avoided visiting town. A few days prior to Yule, when she missed the fête, I sent someone to the house out of concern. They discovered her on the porch.”

His voice grew quiet with the reverent hush belonging to death as he delivered the final blow. “It was a curse, Eleanora.”

I raised a hand to stop him from saying anything more, from offering details he might feel obliged to provide.

I was aware of the condition curse rot inflicted on a body.

Unchecked, it infiltrated the bone and marrow, devouring the essential components of the human soul, reducing it to a husk, devoid of all that had made it a person.

When the body ceased being a solid vessel, the curse would move on, preferably to the nearest entity with any spark of magic: an animal, another person, or a house made living by the hearts that had loved and died for it .

For those unaccustomed to handling tainted magic, the threshold for the number of curses it took to empty them was low, but a Curse Eater, particularly one as capable as my sister, could face an army and survive the experience. At least, that’s what I’d once believed.

“I wish I could have done more for her,” William said, “but she had a habit of taking on far more than she was able to handle alone.”

He leveled his eyes on me, the emphasis of the last word a clear condemnation. The woman he’d once loved, regardless of how their story ended, was gone. And I, the sister who wasn’t dead, was the altar to place blame upon.

It was my fortune Mr. Farvem and Jack returned, the former with a sheaf of papers, interrupting the tenseness poisoning the air.

“I’ve brought the documents, Ms. Blackwicket, outlining the service at the Nightglass estate and dates.”

I could afford no more patience. I wanted nothing else to do with this mortuary or the people in it.

“That’s what I’d like to change. There’ll be—pardon me, William—no service at the Nightglass estate. I want her to be home, where she belongs.”

The undertaker opened his mouth to object to the significant reorder of plans already set in motion, but I couldn’t leave this wretched parlor until I’d asserted my will.

“Mr. Farvem.” Venom was poised on my tongue. “This isn’t a request. You have a legal obligation to me, and you will change the plans.”

William’s firm grip came to rest on my shoulder. In his palm, a current of energy pulsed, characteristic of the Nightglass family, adept practitioners of magic whose long-standing ties to the Authority granted them amnesty from the law.

Gooseflesh prickled along my skin, the lingering essence of the Drudge growing excited.

I tried to retreat from the touch without revealing my urgency, but his grip tightened, and the curse grasped hungrily at his power.

William’s expression darkened and he withdrew his touch, severing the connection.

My mother had taken pains to convince everyone Fiona and I were incapable of magic, that curse-eating wasn’t in our blood. Whatever he’d known of Fiona, he’d suspected of me, and now he could be certain.

When he spoke again, his eyes remained fixed on the undertaker.

“I’ll have a few boys from the house at your disposal, Farvem. They’ll assist with whatever you need to make Ms. Blackwicket’s wishes a reality.” It was clear he’d broker no argument.

With a defeated sigh, Mr. Farvem replied, “If that’s what’s necessary, I understand. I’ll need some time to prepare. Unfortunately, I have no appropriate area for you to view the body, Ms. Blackwicket, as all of our viewing rooms are in use.”

“I’m sure Eleanora prefers not to wait,” William said, the hardness of his voice suggesting this wasn’t assistance but punishment.

“Very well,” Mr. Farvem replied stiffly, aware his authority in his own business had been revoked. “Give me a moment.”

With an air of being put out, he retreated to a door hidden by a wooden screen, disappearing through.

“Jack,” William said, the warmth of affection now absent. “Go ahead to Thea. I’ll meet you there.”

The boy, who’d taken off his cap and been twisting it in his hands, hesitated. “Mr. Nightglass…”

“This is not a discussion,” William interrupted.

With a last wary glance at me, Jack took his leave.

William and I were alone.

“Do you plan on staying at the house long, Eleanora?” he asked .

“No, I’ll be leaving as soon as I’ve done right by Fiona.”

“And do you happen to be the woman responsible for the recent chaos in Devin?”

He’d made the connection quickly--my sudden arrival, the curse he’d found skulking in my magic. I attempted to keep my response measured.

“It’s not my intention to bring trouble to your doorstep, William.”

He regarded me with the sharp attention of a man familiar with the shape of dishonesty.

“Trouble finds your family, whether you want it to or not. Does your father know you’re here?”

Silence was my answer.

“Ah.” William shook his head, disappointed. “I wish he’d been more forthcoming. I hate being ill-prepared.”

“It will come as no surprise to you that my father is a liar.”

William’s eyebrows lifted in amusement, and he averted his gaze, looking at the frosted glass of the front window as though he could see out into the day.

“Our fathers have that in common,” he said.

Physical discomfort bolted across his features, a small grunt of pain rising from his throat as he leaned slightly sideways.

“I’m afraid winter cold mistreats me,” he said at length when he’d gained composure, his eyes meeting mine again, like a hand hovering at my throat. “The result of an unfortunate injury.”

An unfortunate injury. Little Thomas, driven mad by curses, maiming his brother before being brought to Blackwicket House for healing. Dying instead.

My heart beat a ragged rhythm. Nothing was forgotten. Nothing forgiven.

“Well, Eleanora,” William said, approaching the entry, a new stiffness in his gait. “Welcome back to Nightglass. You’ll find things changed since you left, but as you know, old histories have a way of coming to call, no matter how much we hide from them.”

I tried to read between the lines, but our muddy past hindered me. Out of caution, I assumed the worst.

“I am not a woman moved by threats, William,” I warned.

“You misunderstand,” he said, opening the door and inclining his head in farewell. “It’s merely a caution. Only a stupid man would threaten a Blackwicket.”