Page 6 of Blackwicket (Dark Hall #1)

Ignoring his question, I appraised what else had been gathered.

The pocketbook I’d hidden in the ceiling vent was present, filled with money I’d saved for a hasty exit.

I’d grown too comfortable, daring to think I’d be in Devin long term, and there was very little.

I also found a chaotic assortment of clothes, items yanked from my closet and drawers at random.

There was a coat I’d meant to get rid of, a pair of trousers and a winter skirt, a vest, no stockings, no shoes, and nearly all the blouses for warm weather.

Most of the savings I’d managed would have to go toward replacing items. If I traveled stockingless, dressed in a thin summer shirt, I’d attract attention, and attention was my eternal nemesis.

The other items were sentimental, and I was surprised by Darren’s inclusion of them: a birthday card from Madge and a small book of terrible poetry Ben had given me, with pressed flowers in the pages for no other reason than I liked pretending I was a romantic woman.

There was also an intimate letter tucked inside.

Ben was a civil engineer, frequently traveling to remote areas struggling to adjust to a world devoid of magical energy that once drove economies and households.

His frequent absences suited me and my need for space and privacy to deal with the curses I’d accumulated.

When he was away, he wrote to me and returned with enough entertaining stories to keep our conversation light and free of talk about what I’d been up to.

It was possible he assumed I never got up to anything.

I’d convinced him I was a woman of very few interests: a competent dance partner, an avid listener, a terrible cook, and a willing bedmate.

It’s all he seemed to want and all I had the energy to provide while balancing a counterfeit identity and an illegal pastime.

The final non-essential item I uncovered was the only photo of me I’d kept, taken on my twenty-sixth birthday, a month before the disaster that triggered my Sisyphean tumble: Madge, Wendy, Ben, and I sitting together on the bench of a picnic table, the sun shining a spotlight on our happiness.

Ben’s arm rested around my waist, while Madge and Wendy leaned together, faces bright with laughter.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and tossed the mementos into a sad pile.

Then, sparing energy I really couldn’t waste, I drew on my wrecked magic.

A feeble spark ignited, and I wove in instructions to burn only these memories, bringing the diminutive flame dancing on my fingertips to the photo.

When it was all alight, I claimed the trousers and knit sweater from the trunk and changed quickly in the bathroom.

I smoothed my hair, but there was nothing to do for the tear at the corner of my mouth, which had stopped seeping but was swollen and red.

When I exited with my ruined uniform, Darren was still sitting at the table, finishing his food, as content and peaceful as though this were a routine. A casual drop-in .

“Where’s the bracelet?” I asked.

“Safe.”

“I know what you do with curses, Darren.”

With a long-suffering sigh, he produced the bracelet and tossed it to me. I caught it by a small miracle, dropping the clothes in the process.

“Would fetch a nice price. You could go anywhere.”

“This almost killed a woman. I’m sure it’s killed others.”

I considered Ms. Rosley’s children, all falling ill, dying within weeks of each other.

“All the more reason to part with it,” Darren said.

“I won’t condemn others to death for money. It’ll only end up with the Brom, and they don’t need any assistance in the death department.”

“That sounded like Isolde Blackwicket talking.” He shook his head, rueful.

“Why are you here?” I asked, exasperated, using my foot to shove the Galton’s regalia closer to the magical fire.

“Can’t a father just want to visit his little girl?”

“No. That wouldn’t explain why you broke into my apartment to pack everything, or why you were at Galton’s waiting for me. It’s been ten years. I’m surprised you even remembered what I look like.”

He glanced at me briefly.

“Couldn’t forget that. You’ve got your mother’s face.”

He was dodging, trying to turn the conversation.

But I couldn’t stand around and play these pointless games.

Neither the Authority nor the Brom would be satisfied when they found my apartment deserted.

I made a sound of impatient disgust as I stalked to my belongings, fetching the pocketbook and closing the carpet bag’s hinged frame with a snap.

“Good, you’re ready,” Darren said. “I’m surprised no one’s guessed where you are yet. I’ll bring the food. You should eat. You’re still a little pale.”

He motioned vaguely around his face.

“You’re not coming with me.” I lifted the bags. “You’ve seen me. Now let’s say our goodbyes for another ten years.”

“Truth is.” He stood, intercepting me at the door, “I’ve come to take you home.”

Home.

I gave a harsh bark of laughter directly in his face.

“In a body bag? Because that’s the only way anyone will ever get me back there.”

“Eleanora.”

My father’s voice was heavy, filled with something terrible.

“Fiona’s dead,” he confessed softly.

Reality shifted, closing in to suffocate me before expanding, stretching into a vast, black nothing with me in the center.

There was a ringing in my ears, growing louder, engulfing me in its high scream.

Something moved in my periphery, the retreating head of a girl, blond curls bouncing, step light and carefree.

She faded, becoming gloom, reappearing as her older self, tall and lean, already beautiful with a smile that invited love but received only pain.

Ghostlike, she moved through me, and I turned to find we stood shoulder to shoulder at the entrance of that house.

She was a young woman now, eighteen, quiet and sad, watching the retreating form of her sister as I left for good.

The burdens of her life had already etched themselves on her features, making her even more striking.

In the space of a heartbeat, my sister’s phantom became the woman I’d seen a few short months ago, when she’d finally answered one of my letters and met me at a café on the outskirts of Devin, only to tell me to stop writing, to forget her, and to never come home.

Live your own life and let me live mine, Eleanora .

Her voice echoed in my ears as she closed the door, separating us forever.

Memories dissolved, leaving only misery behind.

“You’re lying,” I said, voice hollow.

“Not about this.” Darren’s eyes were misty with difficult emotions.

“How?”

“She went too far, Cricket. Got mixed up in stuff even I wouldn’t touch.”

It wasn’t true. Not the timid girl, sweet as spun sugar and just as delicate, who flinched at thunder, and always spoke kindly to those most likely to spit on us in town or call the Authority to report magic use despite my mother’s license.

“It’s not their fault, Ellie,” Fiona had whispered at night, both of us unable to sleep. “What we can do, most people forgot how to. It hurts them too much to remember.”

Darren’s sadness spilled onto his cheek, and he swiped at it, self-conscious.

“You have to come home, Eleanora,” he said. “She wanted you to come home.”

She hadn’t . She’d wanted me to stay away.

“No,” I replied, the words barely a mutter. “I won’t.”

He took my shaking hand. “Sweetheart, look at yourself. You’re out of options.”