Page 30 of Blackwicket (Dark Hall #1)

I sat in the threshold of that room, knees to my chest, staring in at the wreckage for so long that the afternoon began to fade.

I imagined the many memories hiding in the cracks of the floorboards and seams of the wallpaper.

A million rice-sized secrets undulating out of view like maggots.

Once, nothing could have made this room feel unsafe.

Now, all I could sense was the foul possibility that my sister had been helping the Brom kidnap children, just as Grandma Fora had taken my mother.

It would have required traveling between the joints Dark Hall’s magical corridors—quadrants I’d never been brave enough to venture into.

The ones where reality grew insubstantial as a cloud, and magic moved in illuminated streaks through the vacuum of darkness.

Mother had never spoken an ill word of Fora Blackwicket, the only parent she’d ever known, but in truth she’d hardly spoken any word of her.

Isolde’s childhood was a mystery to me beyond the occasional story told by others.

Even after she’d divulged her origins as a Dark Hall child, she’d never discussed with us the possibilities of where her home was, but I suspected she was searching for it during all of her trips to Dark Hall near the end.

We’d been taught the Fiend was a creature born of necessity, a monster made by magic to protect itself from those who’d enter its sacred home with curses clinging to them. And despite what I’d said to the Inspector, I believed the Authority’s fear of it was well earned.

Fiona had never expressed interest in the strange byway built by generations of Curse Eaters, where magic could be shaped with ease into anything a heart could think up.

Like living in a dream. The first time she’d chosen to join me on an illicit trek, she’d made it two steps in before beginning to sob so fiercely she’d given herself hiccups.

How could that same person have navigated Dark Hall to steal children for the Nightglass family?

At length, I grew brave enough to reenter the room, approaching the decimated wardrobe. The toy puppy rested on top of the quilt, which peeked from the beneath the ruins. I crouched and nudged it aside. The embroidered name wasn’t visible, but it was clear in my mind’s eye.

Roark.

If my sister kept so many children, there’d be no need to embroider a single name, no purpose to keep a sole photo of herself and a small boy.

I glanced up, my eye catching what remained of Fiona’s clothes in the half-empty wardrobe.

A pale blue dress mirrored the meager light from the window, its beadwork shining.

Thea had instructed me to come to the lounge tonight.

I hadn’t decided to go. I didn’t trust the woman, not when she seemed so involved with William and so ready to put on a well-practiced facade. Not when she’d tried to taint me with a curse hidden in a sweet drink.

But if she had any information about what all of this meant, it was worth the risk.

At twenty ’til ten, I slipped away from Blackwicket House. I hadn’t heard Inspector Harrow leave, but the car was gone. It didn’t matter. He hadn’t warned me to stay in the house again, hadn’t made his threats. Whatever work he did in the dead of night was his business, and this was mine.

Along with the outfit I’d borrowed from Fiona’s collection, I’d added a more sensible coat, one that would shield my bare shoulders and chest from the frost of the night.

Snow was falling, and it took me longer than usual to traverse the distance in satin heels, feeling ridiculous.

Why Fiona even owned a dress that covered so little of her shoulders confounded me.

But I bet she’d been stunning in it, and not as awkward as I.

I didn’t consider myself unattractive, merely uninteresting, a requirement of the life I’d chosen to lead. Flashy dresses, cosmetics, and elegant hairstyles were a unique risk I hadn’t ever mustered the courage to explore.

The sidewalk was busy as ever in front of the Vapors, and it required some bossy maneuvering to reach the narrow passage between buildings which I’d spotted from the crosswalk.

I wasted a moment peering down an alley so narrow a broad-shouldered man would struggle to navigate it, then walked nearly the full length of the theater before the wall bowed, forming an alcove for hind lot deliveries.

As I emerged into it, I discovered I wasn’t alone.

Several men, some clad in waitstaff uniforms, leaned against the walls, puffing on cigarettes.

Upon noticing me, a few stood straight, while others offered low whistles.

The fact I was covered from head to toe didn’t dissuade them.

I reacted with disgust and strode towards the side door, which was ajar, held open by a brick.

“What’s the hurry, gorgeous? Surely you got a minute to do something pro bono for us hard working fellas.”

“Alright,” I said, smiling wide, channeling the effortless charm my friend Magdaline possessed in spades, adding a sultry accent the dancehall girls in Devin favored. As much as I loathed to utter the words, it was my best bet of getting in without a scuffle .

“I’ll just tell William Nightglass I was late because I was enjoying myself in the grimy alley with… say, what’s your name?”

A scoff from the oldest of them, “The Principe don’t mess with the girls that come ‘round back, princess.”

“You sure?”

As if sent from the heavens, the door creaked open wider, and Thea James leaned out to find me standing mere inches away.

Her makeup was impeccable, the white feather nestled behind her ear, fluttering in the icy breeze.

Her wrap dress was a deep shade of red, with such a daring neckline that even my gaze snagged.

The men adjusted their postures, discarding their cigarettes and straightening their shirts and jackets.

“What took you so long? You were supposed to be here hours ago!” She grabbed hold of my arm and as she was pulling me in, I regarded the flabbergasted faces and winked.

“Bye,” I said, sweet as spun sugar.

Thea paused inside the doorway and began yanking at the buttons of my coat.

“Get this off. God, I hope you didn’t dress like a damn librarian.”

I let her jostle the coat from my shoulders.

After revealing the dress, she gave me a complete once-over, scrutinizing the blue silk sheath draped with a gathering of white chiffon, the hem ending at my ankles, generous slit climbing above the knee, offering both daring and ease of movement.

The neckline exposed my shoulders and décolletage, which I’d left unscented in honor of self-preservation.

Given the circumstances, I wasn’t eager to attract any more notice than what was required.

“When Fiona wore that dress, she looked like a goddess,” Thea said.

I flushed, touching the dip of the neck, self-conscious .

“If she could see you in it,” Thea continued, shoving the coat into my arms, “she’d be one jealous woman.”

The abrasive compliment hooked its teeth in the way Thea meant it to, with no softness or room for the recipient to question its sincerity.

“Follow me, we have to go through the theater.”

“Why have me come in the back if…”

“Coppe’s working the front tonight.” She cut me off, making it clear the thought of him knowing I was here was unsavory.

We moved down a dim hallway, papered in gold stripes.

Heavy doors lined the walls, leading to offices or dressing rooms, although none boasted plaques or names.

As we neared the main hall, I finally heard the muffled music of Thea’s band playing something low and languid, and above this, a more insistent noise emerging from a doorway on my right: the sounds of people enjoying themselves in ways unrelated to music.

Separate from the warmth that crept up my neck was that sensation of loose magic flooding the hall ahead.

Unlike Thea’s magic, this didn’t work slowly like wine on a tranquil night, but blitzed my senses like hard liquor poured too recklessly down a gullet.

I stalled, swaying slightly, already woozy.

“Shit,” Thea uttered, steadying me. “You’re a lightweight. I didn’t expect that. Make your guard air tight—no magic in, and none out. I don’t want a single person to sense you. Hold your breath if you have to. Tonight isn’t a night for a novice.”

I took offense at her suggestion that I was a novice, considering my history, though I wasn’t completely certain what skill she was discussing.

“Then why’d you invite me tonight ?” I asked, lowering my voice to her level, bare whispers in the hall. A woman cackled.

“You have a right to see something. I’m going to show you what Fiona did for this town. ”

We arrived at a set of velvet curtains, identical to those at the entry, appearing black in the gloom. Thea parted them to peer out.

“You’re ready now, or you’re ready never. Stay close, don’t let anyone touch you and if they try, you say you’re William’s.”

I snorted, prepared to protest when Thea leveled a look on me so grave I balked, and considered the weight of this moment. I was walking into the arms of my sister’s secrets, and as Thea said, I was either ready now or never.

“I’m William’s,” I replied in agreement to her terms.

The theater was awash in blue light, so dim that the guests appeared as mere impressions, silhouettes of shadow lounging on the chaises and couches that had replaced tables, huddled in unmistakably obscene configurations.

Scattered throughout were low benches, adorned with flickering candles which occasionally illuminated a rouged cheek, a diamond earring, the flash of an expensive cufflink, and the stockinged toes of a woman whose leg draped over the shoulder of a kneeling man.