Page 4 of Blackwicket (Dark Hall #1)

“Lizzie!” Magdaline gasped as I shoved past her, clutching the items to my chest. I hoped Ms. Rosley’s shrieks would cause enough pandemonium in the crowd that I could escape undetected through the staff corridors, but I’d been stupid to wish for chaos.

It was the one thing that always came when called.

The Drudge thrashed inside the clutch, yanking its tether with such force that the bracelet slipped from my hand, and in my haste to catch it, I lost grip on the purse.

It fell to the ground, discharging the revolver.

The blast shattered the perfume counter, and Magdaline cried out, crumpling into a heap.

“Madge!”

The crash of noise drove the already alarmed masses into hysterics as people attempted to flee, purchases abandoned, children wailing as they were snatched off their feet and from their prams into the arms of terrified parents.

Ms. Rosley had fallen, her prone form convulsing.

I couldn’t know if I’d done right. She’d been so far gone.

Ejected from the bag, the Drudge squelched through the debris and began clambering toward the cosmetics display.

Its ferocity was aided by the instinct to cleanse itself in pure magic, even though the promise of liberation was a lie.

Human terror had already tainted the exhibit, turning the sparkling edges of the enchantment dim and gray.

Such paltry offerings would never be enough, and the curse would only pollute what it absorbed, growing in power and misery until strong enough to break from its vessel and walk the world.

What I needed to do now would cost a pound of flesh and more, but from the moment I’d touched the curse, I’d condemned myself to it.

Grateful the panicking hordes were giving us a wide berth, I took a stabilizing breath, withdrawing my senses from the mayhem and reaching for the heart of the creature buried deep in the bracelet.

The tendrils of magic I’d employed with Ms. Rosley began their hunt through the tightly wound darkness until they grazed upon an electric thread. I seized it and pulled.

The Drudge flipped onto its back, the size of a rabbit now, with a grotesque flailing of stunted limbs, features clay-soft and malformed.

I drew it closer through the wreckage of the shattered counter, the rivulets of perfume thickening the air with cloying scents.

On the third drag, it accepted its odds. Choosing me was its best option.

It fumbled onto its stomach, skittering closer blink by blink, and I lowered the barrier I’d grown so accustomed to holding in place, ready to let it in. A hand on my arm startled me. Magdaline.

“We have to go,” she said, shaky, clutching the top of her right shoulder, the blue of her jacket stained a vivid, angry red. The bullet had grazed her. Despite her injury and having witnessed what I’d done, she’d stayed to ensure my safety.

The Drudge leapt, clawing its way up my chest and throat, small hands hot as dying embers.

Reaching my face, it burrowed into my mouth and stretched the delicate corner of my lips, which tore from the force.

But as my jawbone gave a warning groan, the Drudge collapsed into a murky cloud of rust-hued ashes.

The inhalation that followed was involuntary, a reflex bred into me by generations, practiced since childhood, and suppressed for years.

The curse wasted no time tangling itself in the branches of my ribs, burning like fire smoke and leaving the taste of smog and expensive perfume on my tongue.

It was an eternity lasting no more than a second, and my next breath came ragged.

“Oh, god,” Magdaline said. The fear and betrayal in my friend’s eyes anguished me. “You’re a Curse Eater?”

As she retreated a haphazard step, she slipped on broken glass and fell, landing on her injured arm and leaving streaks of gore on the terrazzo.

I moved to help her.

“Stay away!” she screamed, kicking at me so fiercely that a kitten heel dislodged, hitting my shin. This was horror, and I was the monster that had inspired it.

An apology would mean nothing. I couldn’t take back the choices I’d made, so I did the best I could for Magdaline and left her alone, turning to begin my run to the staff door.

Hidden by a glass brick wall, it separated the cosmetics department from the rest of the east floor and remained the only exit free of the crush of people trying to escape.

But as I rounded the destroyed counter, my eye caught an oddity: an imposing figure standing stock-still amid the panic.

The mob gave him ample room, instinctively aware that to touch him would be a fatal error.

He was too far for me to see the color of his eyes, but I knew it all the same, knew the plane of his cheeks, the juncture of his jaw and neck scarred with law-sanctioned violence.

I recalled his voice, low and mocking, following the final time I’d insisted I knew nothing of Brock Mofton’s death.

The Authority has a procedure to handle dealers of black-market magic. Do you know what Annulment is, Ms. Knoles? Do you know how much it hurts?

This was Magdaline’s handsome stranger. Not a stranger at all. He hadn’t been working up the nerve to flirt—he’d been watching me, waiting for a mistake like this.

The poorly stacked house of cards that was my borrowed life came tumbling down as I fled. The Inspector made no move to pursue, perhaps knowing there was nowhere I could go in Devin where he couldn’t find me.

The chaos I’d unleashed had made it onto the street, frantic shoppers and bystanders gathering to ogle the flood of people pouring from the most distinguished department store in the city. Authority sirens blared, punctuated by exclamations of dread, each more extravagant than the last.

Cursed items in the store.

Someone murdered by a Drudge

Dark Hall is open.

The weight I carried spread, a languid toxin, making my limbs heavy and my mind sluggish. It entreated me to slow, to give in, and be emptied. I’d never consumed anything this strong so far from a place of safety, from a person who could offer help if I began to drown.

The heady charge of corrupt energy made forward movement a labor, but I kept my spine straight even as I was forced to shoulder past people, no one shifting even a fraction to the side.

Frustration rose, mixing with the dark taint of the magic, turning it to rage.

The high scream of fire engines had joined the cacophony, but the crowd continued to block the street, preventing assistance from reaching its destination, reaching people who might be hurt.

Poor Ms. Rosley. Poor Magdaline.

“Move!” I bellowed, gambling my strength on the outburst. Several stunned faces turned my way, and a small path opened.

I made it to the sidewalk, the assembly of people more malleable here, and spied the entrance to the narrow alley system I often braved on rainy days.

It was a shortcut to the parallel street on the opposite side of the entertainment district where I lived.

An inch closer, another, until my progress was cut off by a handsome woman in her sixties.

Pearl earrings hung at her lobes, like snowflakes suspended, the somber navy of her wool overcoat contrasting with starry silver hair, brushed in a perfect chignon.

She was too close, and the bright fragrance of lilacs and greenery filled my nose, the scent clashing with the frigid fold of winter.

“Oh, darling, are you alright?” she asked, clearly prepared to make a fuss. “Your poor mouth is bleeding!”

Hazily, I swiped my knuckles across my sore lips, and they came away smeared red. I hadn’t been able to separate the tang of blood from the foulness the Drudge had left behind.

“You’ve come from the department store, haven’t you? Here, follow me, we need to find you a place to sit, assess the damage.”

The kindness stalled me, and she clasped my hand in hers, patting, offering an assured smile.

Her fingers were warm, skin soft, and for the smallest of moments, my heart beat slower, jumbled thoughts melting and turning wooly.

Everything grew quiet, she and I the sole people in existence.

The only other person who’d ever made me feel so contented in a moment better suited for panic was my mother.

I’d been climbing the porch railing, trying to get to the roof to help a bird that had flown into the foyer window, when the rotted wood splintered and I fell, breaking my wrist. Mother had stroked my hair and murmured words that spread sweet as sunbeams, and the pain of her setting the bones into place was reduced.

This long-ago memory prevented the bewitchment from doing its intended work, and my wits returned to me. I forcefully severed the connection, even as her magic began searching mine, seeking out the Drudge. She pulled back, grimacing as though I’d struck her .

“Please, don’t be frightened,” she said, coaxing. “I want to help you.”

I couldn’t give this woman any more reason to think she was dealing with a vulnerable target, so I risked a threatening step towards her.

“You know what I’ll do if you try it again,” I replied.

Compassion drained from her eyes, the facade of care cracking under pressure. She observed me with dispassionate, almost medical, interest.

“Don’t let them trap you, Eleanora.” Her use of the name my mother had given me was disorienting. “Let me take it. I know what to do with it.”

“Fire! Fire! Everyone, back up! The place is on fire!” The roar rose above the droves, and at last, they broke apart in all directions, separating me from the old woman.

I took my opportunity, using the surge as cover and slipping into the eerie stillness of the alley, the fastest route home.

All I needed was time enough to safely rid myself of the curse and shove it into its old vessel, but already I heard the sound of footfall behind me.

I’d chosen wrong, my desperation making me stupid.

There were only two more turns before I reached another main road, another swarm of humanity I might hide myself among.

I picked up my pace only for the heel of my uniform shoe to wedge itself between crooked cobblestones, sending me to my knees.

The footsteps grew louder, then slowed, the beasts always at my back catching up to me at last.

I was unwilling to die in an alley of a city I didn’t even like, ripped to bits by the type of people who’d ruined my life to begin with.

I stood unsteadily. Unlike forcing the Drudge into a lifeless host, the unforgivable crime I was going to commit wouldn’t be difficult work.

The Drudge was already willingly rising, begging to be shared.

“Eleanora.”A man’s voice .

I whipped around, abandoning my shoe, hands raised to grab hold, mouth open to release the vile toxin onto its next victim. Transferring the curse so aggressively would wreck me, but I would be free of it. I would get away, and my pursuer would likely die of shock.

But he’d predicted this. Catching both of my wrists, he drove his knee into the soft hollow beneath my ribs, hard enough to knock the air from me.

I buckled, but my attacker held tight to my arms, preventing me from toppling over.

The jolt of the impact discouraged the curse from advancing, and it made a morose retreat.

“Whoa there, Cricket. Got you a little too hard. Up you get.”

I coughed, looking into the face of the man I’d failed to murder.

“Darren?” I choked out, disbelieving.

“Still calling me by my given name, huh? Okay.”

I certainly wasn’t going to call him Dad .

He stabilized me, drawing my arm over his shoulder, “Damn, that’s a lousy one you’ve got there. Even I can feel it. I don’t know what the hell you were thinking, but we’ll talk about that later. You’ve got to transfer it, or the rot will get you.”

On any given day, feelings for my father tipped precariously toward detestation, but relief wounded my will to hate him, leaving space for the child I’d been the last time we’d seen each other.

“Maybe it should finally,” I replied. The sentiment was honest, but sounded petulant. I was sixteen again, equally afraid and full of pride.

“Don’t pout,” he said, nudging me forward. “And move your feet. Your exit wasn’t stealthy. The Authority will be looking for you.”

The Authority and something more sinister. I recalled the woman in the street, her detached interest and powerful magic .

“The Brom know I’m here,” I managed as we took our first step.

Darren halted. I couldn’t meet his eye.

“Well…” he said after a beat, starting us off again, bearing most of my weight. “If this is your way of ‘escaping your tainted family legacy,’ I hope you’re open to some critiques.”