Page 10 of The Curse of Indy Moore (The Cursed Duology #1)

Where Indy Contemplates Violence

The sun rose on a ruined room. A crack splintered across the window, refracting the dawn light.

The closet door hung on a single hinge, the bottom half torn to splinters.

Inside, clothes were strewn about, stretching like a river into the room.

There weren’t even clothes to shield me for nothing remained that could be salvaged, either ripped or damp.

Testing the door handle, I found it locked. Claw marks marred the door. My fingers fell against them where my nails fit in the grooves, but as I pulled my hand down, those grooves expanded, replaced by a tear no human could do.

“What is happening to me?” I whispered, sliding to the floor, where I hugged my legs to my bare chest.

No memories of the evening meant no denying the horrifying truth: I caused this destruction, and I had done so again.

How? Why? Would I lose myself every night?

If I was capable of this in my sleep, what more could I do if left unchecked?

Why was this happening? This had to be part of Carline’s curse, but what did it mean, and what more would happen?

“Good morning, Miss Moore.” Mr. Hawthorne knocked on the door. He brought with him a scent of coffee, black with no sweetness. “How is our little rapscallion feeling?”

“Concerned,” I replied, then stiffened when the doorknob twisted. “Do not open the door. I am not decent.”

“Oh.” Mr. Hawthorne snickered. “Would you like assistance?”

“Will you charge me for said assistance?”

“You are a petty one. I like it, but let me elaborate.” The door clicked.

I launched across the room to dive into the ruined materials that did little to cover my skin.

My heart skipped at the thought of Mr. Hawthorne seeing me, how he might compare me to the dozens of others he had no doubt seen through his life.

As an artificer of his renown—and unfortunately good looks—he certainly had an endless list of conquests.

But he did not enter. His hand swung in, wielding a wide-skirted red dress.

Of course, the dress was red, reminding me of Carline, the dress in the mirror, the creepy masked dancers, and the horror of that night following me.

“A dress for the damsel in distress,” he said, the garment swaying from the light turning of his wrist.

“You should have said you had a dress rather than make a strange, potentially lewd remark.” I snatched the garment and shoved the door closed.

Mr. Hawthorne yelped on the other side. “Careful, you about ruined my nails, and I just had them done yesterday.”

Of course he did.

“Why do you have this dress? In fact, why do you have so many clothes?” I asked while tugging on the garment.

“I like to be prepared for random wolf-like girls stripping themselves in my home,” he replied mockingly.

“Be serious. ”

“There was a lovely woman here once who stripped herself of that particular dress.”

“And you kept it?”

“Not on purpose! And I’ll have you know she left with one of my favorite blouses, so I’d said we’re even,” he added, sounding genuinely offended by the loss of said blouse.

With the dress secured, I opened the door, one arm hugging my waist. The dress wasn’t my style, the skirt and sleeves being too short, the fabric soft and extravagant, far more than I could afford, and thus brought about a paranoia that I would ruin it.

In the hall, Mr. Hawthorne had forgone the suit for a white blouse, unbuttoned at the collar, and a pair of navy blue trousers with a slightly darker shade of stitching that wove around his legs in spiral patterns.

His earrings matched, little blue gems that peeked out of his hair, drawn back in a low ponytail.

He was made for city life, for attention and recognition. Honestly, it was mildly irritating.

“Red suits you, little wolf,” Mr. Hawthorne said smoothly, in the way of a charmer who never knew failure. His looks were deceitful, and he no doubt knew it.

“What happened last night?”

“You do not remember? Nothing at all?”

The memories wouldn’t resurface, no matter how much I willed them to. “I lunged at you. You shut the door. That was the last of it.”

Mr. Hawthorne nodded down the hall. “We should talk somewhere you can get more comfortable.”

“Tell me now.”

“I’m not catching you if you faint.”

“I doubt you could, even if you tried.”

At the challenge, he stood taller. “I am stronger than I look.”

“Of course you are.”

Mr. Hawthorne’s heart-shaped lips curled. “Should you be mocking the person who can give you answers about your curse? ”

“You already said you won’t, so I see no reason to play nice,” I replied, meeting his stern attention. That amused him, though, as he chuckled deep in the back of his throat.

“I prefer this version of you, honest and so beautifully disheveled,” he said, then hesitated, and that fanned the flames of fear already gnawing at my heart.

“You shift into a wolf at sunset and, as you can see from the room, you are not in control of that wolf. We are lucky you did not escape through the window.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. His claim was so ridiculous, but he didn’t laugh with me.

Mr. Hawthorne stood there, nodding toward the room, the gnawed furniture, ripped-up cushions, and ruined walls.

My laughter died to a whimper, because why would he lie about that?

How could I ignore the truth staring me in the face?

The memories caught me in a current—Carline chasing me through the woods, the ground beneath my feet, my hands, the mud all over me—I changed in the forest, before I got to Ivory House, to…

that door there in the field. I lost my clothes in the woodlands and came tearing through the castle.

That was Carline’s curse, what she promised.

“This is…” My throat went dry. My legs weakened. “Can I come to control this change?”

Mr. Hawthorne shrugged. “Unlikely. Demons aren’t known for their charity.”

That meant, every night from dusk to dawn, I would be a danger. If I strayed too far from the house, stayed too long in the fields, if I shifted in front of my family, they and anyone in town would become prey. A wolf, unknowing of herself, would stalk them, could hurt them, could kill them.

Was that what Carline meant? I would return because I had to, because the one place I may not cause harm to everyone I loved would be at Carline’s side. Accept her deal and my family would have more than they could ever want. Disobey and I could end the life of that family entirely.

“What can I do?” I asked pleadingly, foolishly.

“What did the demon offer you? ”

“What does that matter?” I snarled, taken aback that he dared to ask, but there was little care in his eyes. He spoke like a noble, too prideful and stubborn to see the world outside the box he created.

“A great deal, in fact. Some demons offer fairly agreeable contracts, but you are right. As it isn’t my deal, it does not matter.

” Mr. Hawthorne flicked his finger, beckoning.

“Come now, we reached Westshire last night, and I fear how many of the townsfolk may have gone into shock after seeing Ivory House. They are so quick to sue, as if I am at fault for their weak hearts. If anything, they should be amazed by such grandeur.”

Mr. Hawthorne wandered away, continuing his tirade that didn’t reach my ears.

My family was down there. I hardly had more answers than I did yesterday, and they had done little more than worsen the situation.

Carline’s curse wasn’t one I could break on my own.

I needed help, and like Mom, I couldn’t get it.

Mr. Thatcher hadn’t spoken to him. Artificers didn’t keep their promises.

He couldn’t come through for me, so I had to do what I could, anything.

“Wait!” I rushed forward to catch Mr. Hawthorne’s wrist. He flinched and cradled that wrist to his chest.

My hands fell to my skirt, tugging restlessly at the fabric. “I’m sorry, but can we not discuss this further? If I am cursed to go through this every night, then I am a threat to everyone in Westshire.”

“What do you expect of me, Miss Moore? To be your knight in shining armor?” he replied.

“You claimed you are the best artificer the world has ever seen, or are you lying? You can’t even break a curse, can you?”

“Still trying to challenge my ego?” Mr. Hawthorne pressed a delicate hand to his chest and fell dramatically against the wall with the other hand draped over his forehead. “Oh, stars! How could I live with myself knowing a random girl from Westshire thinks me weak? I may just die! ”

“If you refuse to help, you must know someone who can. At least give me someone to contact. Otherwise…” I may be forced to do exactly what Carline wanted, run back into her clawed fingers.

Mournful laughter erupted from my chest. I should have taken Carline’s deal, let my aunt and cousins live a life of opulence. I would too, for five years, and that would be more than my worth. That was how I would make up for being a burden never meant for them.

But I feared eternity with Carline, with what it meant to last beyond death and be under the control of another, to think about my family and anyone I have ever known moving on without me, forgetting me, and never bothering to wonder what became of me.

I would be trapped and utterly alone.

Mr. Hawthorne stood tall and cocked an elegant brow. “Will I be compensated for sharing this information?”

I was about to compensate the bastard with a fist in his mouth when he suddenly sighed. “Well, I suppose there is a way you could compensate me.”

“Rooke Hawthorne!” Mr. Thatcher bellowed.

Mr. Hawthorne stiffened, as if the sound of his name from Mr. Thatcher’s lips was an ill omen.

“Must you treat this poor girl so horribly? Miss Moore is begging for your help.” Mr. Thatcher stalked toward us, his forehead creased, and a freshly cleaned Dolly in hand. I had forgotten about her, and my heart soared with momentary relief.