Page 2 of The Curse of Indy Moore (The Cursed Duology #1)

“Yeah. Have a nice night, Indy.” He tipped his mug. I didn’t want pity, but he shared that pity, observing me like he couldn’t believe I wished to leave, then went to the counter for a refill.

I took the opportunity to clean around his table, then ensured I didn’t go near him for the rest of the night. Though that didn’t matter, because I couldn’t get our breakup out of my head.

“I don’t see our relationship heading anywhere,” he said with his hands stashed in his pocket. “You’re a nice girl, but you’re a little boring, honestly.”

I hadn’t known how to respond to that, so I didn’t. I refused to cry, because crying never fixed an aching heart and my cousins would ask what was wrong. They would want to help, and I wouldn’t be able to tell them what happened because I was ashamed.

As the night grew later, Francesca retired to her room, although not before calling out, “Serving lass, accompany me, won’t you?”

She may have asked nicely, but it was not a request.

I set aside the mop to follow Francesca to her room, where she complained, as always.

“Every year I visit, and every year this room is more grotesque than ever. What do you call that?” Francesca pointed at the bed.

“A mattress,” I replied.

Francesca kicked the bed. The mattress creaked. “This is trash,” she said with her heel on the edge of the bed. “It’s an insult to be here at all.”

Then why aren’t you staying at the baron’s estate, I resisted the urge to ask.

Ysabel and I spent quite a few evenings theorizing.

The baron was a disgusting bastard, so he probably flirted with a beauty like Francesca, or she preferred putting up with our trashy inn if it meant being surrounded by compliments all night.

Regardless, this happened every year, and I simply had to wait it out.

“The least you can do is freshen this place up prior to my visit. Is that not your job?” Francesca took the pipe from her purse to take a hit. She blew the smoke in my face. At least it smelled nice.

“My job is to clean the tavern and serve food. I cleaned your room this morning, even after no one had used it for over a week, but if there is anything wrong, let me know, and I will fix what I can,” I said, offering her a casual smile that made her click her teeth.

“There is nothing you can do to fix this dump, save burn it to the ground and rebuild, which none of you filthy folk can afford.” Francesca fell on the mattress while taking another hit. She waved her hand, swirling the smoke around her. “Bring me dinner. Hot dinner.”

Bowing my head, I descended to the first floor, where patrons departed.

Without Francesca, everyone wandered home, including Baxter.

I watched him leave before retrieving Francesca’s dinner.

She further complained about the poor taste before letting me return to cleaning.

Closing up didn’t take too long since I kept up with the mess all night.

At the counter, Ysabel had my payment waiting.

I slipped the coins into my hand to stash in my skirt pocket.

“You know, I have never seen you buy yourself anything nice with the coins I pay you.” Ysabel had a cigar caught between her lips.

“Because I have bills to pay,” I answered.

Ysabel knocked the ashes into a tray. “You’re sweet, caring so much for your aunt and them girls, but I don’t think it’d kill you to buy yourself something nice for once.”

“I did. I bought a dress,” I said bitterly.

A foolish girl hurried into town with the little she had to buy a dress, the first one she ever bought brand new from a store.

There would be no patches, no ripped seams, and her boyfriend would tell her how beautiful she was.

Instead, he broke up with her, and she wasted her money on a dress that only fostered bad memories .

Ysabel grabbed my lantern from under the counter. “I would like to see it one day, then.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t meant to be. I plan on selling it.” I took the lantern and headed out into the night.

Westshire didn’t have streets. We had dirt roads, leaning cottages, green pastures, and a dozen streetlights.

Six of them worked, three of them flickered when they pleased, and three were broken entirely, so all knew to carry a trusty lantern.

No one wore nice shoes because the uneven paths riddled with mud, sticks, and stones would ruin them.

The hems of our clothes remained stained, no matter how much we washed them, and the kids loved a rainy day. Their parents, not so much.

The path followed the winding hills of our land, where cottages perched atop them, their thatched roofs thick to protect from storm and cold. Old fences surrounded the fields where livestock slept, and the occasional dog barked at any critters attempting to break their way into a henhouse.

The cottage I called home sat on the outskirts of town.

A single light shone through the window by the arched doorway.

An old fence surrounded the property, the wood rotting.

The gate squeaked in the slightest breeze and groaned when I pushed it open.

The gray cobblestones Uncle Fern and I laid together led to the front door painted a brilliant blue that none could miss.

Inside, Aunt Agnes waited at the dining table.

The cottage consisted of four rooms with the kitchen, dining, and lounge area crushed into one.

At the back, two doors led to the bedrooms shared between the five of us.

The final room was a small washing area converted from an old pantry.

If one wasn’t careful while washing, they’d scrape their elbows on the walls, speaking from experience.

We never had much, but we had what we needed, and that was all anyone should ever ask for.

Aunt Agnes smiled. The lamplight caught in the blue of her eyes.

She tried hiding the streaks of gray in her blonde hair by stuffing the pieces into a messy bun.

“Indy, welcome home,” she said from the table where her hands, tanned by years in the sun, laid on my neatly folded dress, the new one I bought.

“The girls had a little accident today.”

“An accident, or were they starting trouble?” I asked.

Aunt Agnes stood to hold up the dress, revealing the stained skirt that she no doubt struggled to get out.

“Maude and Susannah were playing in their fort again. They tracked mud throughout the house and on the beds,” she explained carefully.

I laid out the dress that morning, considering sending it with Aunt Agnes tomorrow to sell in the city. Even if I couldn’t make back what I paid, we could get something, but with the stains, no one would buy it.

“I am so sorry. I gave the girls a good scolding,” she said.

Removing my cloak, I hung it by the door with the others. “Don’t get angry with them for playing. I shouldn’t have had it out.”

“They’ll get away with everything if you don’t discipline them a little.”

“They get away with everything, even with discipline.” I took the dress I had once been so proud of.

The garment wasn’t as grand as Francesca’s, but it was soft and new, with a cute collar.

When I saw myself in the shop's mirror, I hardly recognized the girl smiling back at me. New clothes weren’t a necessity.

I took a chance, and that chance went sour.

Lesson learned; at least this lesson wasn’t learned with a concussion.

Although my aching heart tried arguing that this pain was worse, ever so dramatic.

“I hope you didn’t stay up to tell me this.” I folded the dress to tuck under my arm. “It’s late. You should get your rest.”

“As should you.” She hugged me tight. “You don’t need to work at Ysabel’s every night. We’re managing.”

“We’ll manage better with this.” I grabbed her hand to set the coins in her palm. “We should have enough to get Maude her medicine when she undoubtedly catches her fall cold. ”

Aunt Agnes thanked me in a soft whisper. We both knew what happened if we couldn’t afford medicine, having already lost Uncle Fern and my mother. I refused to let Maude suffer as they had.

“Get your rest,” my aunt said. “And at least pretend to be upset with the girls in the morning. They deserve a little scare.”

I couldn’t even if I tried, but I nodded for her.

She went to the room she shared with her eldest, Charlotte, and I went to the one I shared with my two younger cousins, Maude and Susannah.

They had bunk beds that served no purpose since they shared the top bunk most of the time.

We had a dresser pressed against the wall beneath our window for their clothes.

The bottom bunk became a toy chest full of pinecones, sticks, and rocks tied together by threads to create whatever strange concoction the two could imagine.

I laid the ruined dress on my bed, then used my foot to tug an old beer crate out from under it.

Ysabel gave a couple to me that I stored my clothes in.

The girls had more stuff, so I gave them the dresser.

Most of my clothes were filthy, anyway. After stashing the dress in one, I pushed the crate under the bed, then stood to meet two sets of eyes, the same blue as their mother’s, peering at me from the top bunk.

“You’re meant to be sleeping,” I whispered.

Susannah poked her head out first. The twins had Uncle Fern’s wild red hair, always sticking up at odd ends. Her bottom lip trembled, making her chin full of wrinkles. “We’re sorry about ruining your dress, Indy.”

“Yeah, we were wrestling,” Maude said from under the blanket.

“You needn’t worry about that. Now, go to sleep.” I moved over to tuck them in, but Susannah shook her head.

“I can’t sleep without Dolly.”

Dolly was not as the name implied. It was the amalgamation of a bear and a cat stuffed animal, parts Susannah scrounged from the neighbors and insisted I piece together. She rarely went anywhere without the ugly thing.

“Why isn’t she in bed with you?” I asked .

“Mom got upset earlier ‘cause of the dress,” Maude explained. “She made us get a bath, and we couldn’t go back outside.”

“So, Dolly is still in our fortress,” Susannah finished with a longing look out the window.

With hands on my hips, I declared, “I sense you have a request.”

“A deal.” Susannah held out her hand. “We will make your bed for a whole week if you bring her home.”

“ You will make her bed,” Maude corrected.

I bit back a laugh. “Make it two weeks, and we have a deal.”

Susannah nodded, and I shook her hand.

Aunt Agnes had already gone to her room, so I made it outside without a fuss.

She wouldn’t want me going out to get Dolly.

“Demons seek souls in the dark, Indy, so you must not venture into the woods at night,” she would say.

Those were tall tales said to children to prevent them from wandering too far after dark.

The Misty Woodlands at our backs were nothing more than a wondrous place to play and lay in the shade on the hottest summer days.

After tugging on my cloak and relighting the lantern, I wandered toward the woodlands, where the trees grew thin and high.

I stopped once to glance over my shoulder, feeling like I was being watched, and I was—by a cow hanging its head over a fence.

Giggling, I continued into the woods, where deer stripped the lowest limbs, leaving their pale white trunks bare.

The underbrush crowded beneath the shade.

The golden leaves cast the forest in a hue of dawnlight even at night, muted by the mist for which it was named creeping in.

Maude and Susannah’s fort wasn’t too far from the house.

If one squinted from the field, they would see the hut made of fallen branches stacked between a grove of trees.

Uncle Fern built it for me when I came to live with them after Mom died.

Kneeling among the grass, I peered inside to find Dolly snug in the blankets.

She had mismatched eyes and ears, so she remained in a perpetual state of confusion.

“There you are.” I snatched her as a stiff wind rushed by .

Shivering, I clutched my cloak tighter. Something wet hit my cheek. Feeling the first rain was a bad omen. After the week I had, I wasn’t in the mood for worse. But then a snowflake danced in front of my eyes. It hadn’t rained, after all. Snow fell when it was hardly the fall season.

“Strange.” I had to get home before a storm blew in.

When I turned around, the cottage wasn’t there, nor any of Westshire. The mist rolled in, as high as my knees, and the forest darkened. Raising the lantern high, I took a step from the fort. All that met me was a vast sea of trees.

“What…?” I whispered, mortified when I faced the hut, only to find it missing, too.

My heart leapt into my throat. I opened my mouth to call for help, then it came: a howl followed by another and another and more than I could possibly count.