Page 20 of The Curse of Indy Moore (The Cursed Duology #1)

Where Indy Prepares for the Wolves

Gold greeted me in my cell of shadows. Without windows, no light breached my confinement, yet a silhouette stood in the corner: Carline. She approached, her hands caught at her waist. My pulse beat a frantic rhythm of horror.

“You’re impressive,” she said, her voice a low, gravely sound. “I expected you to return, my wolf.”

I dared not move. The room had no exits, no windows or doors to ensure the wolf couldn’t break out. But that meant Carline shouldn’t have been capable of entering. Somehow, she found me even upon a castle in the sky.

Yesterday, was the reflection really her? Did she hide on the island, waiting for an opportunity to grab me?

“How are you liking it? My gift,” she said.

“Gift is hardly the correct term.” I kept a firm hold on the blanket around me. She caught me exposed, feeling weak and trapped, as if all Carline had to do was blow and I would be whisked away.

She shook her head, disappointed. “No one understands at first, but you will in time. You will grow stronger, faster, better, and you will savor that power.”

“Will I also grow a tail and fur? Because I am not loving the ears.” My voice shook when I wished it wouldn’t, when I needed to be strong.

“Pity. They suit you.” She tilted her head. “Fight if you wish, but if you return of your own volition, my offer still stands.”

My traitorous breath caught. Her lips curled into a smile.

“Return to me, and you will have your five wonderful years. You and your family will have more than they could ever deserve. Afterward, they will live on in that luxury, and you will be made a part of my pack, a new family that will love you as strongly as they had,” she coaxed in a smoother voice, motherly even.

The option weighed heavily, an option I hated to consider, but the thought was always at the edge of my mind. Like the morning glory vine, she grew within my garden, threatening to strangle any sense there.

“I will treat you as well as the others,” she said, sensing my hesitation, the desperation that clung to me like morning dew. “I am no monster, Indy. My wolves are my family. They are precious, and you will be, too. Don’t you want that?”

“I have a family.”

I strangled the fear coiling in my chest when Carline closed the space between us. As she knelt, her chest rose and fell, but no breath warmed my cheeks.

“You aren’t her daughter,” she whispered, frowning as if it hurt her to hear my whimper.

Then a window appeared, and light flooded the room.

Carline vanished, but her words remained.

They tore through my mind no differently than my other self tore through the room, leaving her mark.

I fell against the wall, cool against my sweat-covered back.

My shaking hands clung to the torn blankets.

She wasn’t real, but her words bore a smothering weight .

“Indy,” Otis called from a door that hadn’t been in the room moments ago. “Are you awake and… yourself?”

My voice wouldn’t work at first. I swallowed hard. “I am.”

“I have brought the clothes that were set out on your bed and tea,” Otis said when opening the door a smidge to reveal said clothes.

My clothes from my room, an unexpected comfort.

The familiar patchwork and the coarse fabric against my fingers grounded me, though they couldn’t lessen the fear strangling my heart.

I took the garments and got dressed then met Otis outside, where he presented a cup of steaming tea. I breathed in the scent, letting it warm my nostrils, then my stomach. It was comforting to hold onto a piece of reality after that frightening illusion.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, noticing my shaking hands.

“As well as I can.” I hugged the cup close to my heart. “But where’s Mr. Hawthorne?”

“Sleeping. He likes his beauty rest.”

As expected.

“I need to talk to him. I saw her,” I whispered. “Carline. Yesterday, I saw her reflection in the pond but thought I was imagining her. A moment ago, though, she was in my room, as an apparition, I think.”

Frowning, Otis took to walking toward the kitchen.

“That is rare, albeit not unheard of. Demons can be attuned to their victims. They have spoken through dreams before. Even artificers are capable of such a task, although it’s dangerous.

We’ll tell Rooke as soon as he wakes. He’ll want to hear of this, and we can double check everything once we’re in town. ”

That did nothing to settle my concerns. If Carline was attuned to me, did that mean she could see through my eyes or understood where I was?

Did she find us? We could be in danger, but I had to wait for Mr. Beauty Sleep to don his morning robe and sip on fresh coffee or the like.

Mr. Hawthorne was far too nonchalant about my potentially deadly curse, and he may regret irritating a woman cursed to maul at night .

Otis led me to the kitchen, where he started breakfast.

“I can help,” I said, to which Otis pointed at the island.

“You will do no such thing. Take a seat, and relax,” he ordered.

“But—”

“Sit, sit, sit,” he demanded, and I did so, mostly because he waved his cane in a way that said he knew how to use it as a weapon of war.

I typically made breakfast while Aunt Agnes handled dinner, since I worked at the tavern in the evenings.

It was odd to sit by, twiddling my thumbs while sipping on tea.

There had to be something I could do. Sitting around doing nothing made me itch.

At the scent of food, my stomach knotted from hunger that diminished slightly at a musky odor. I sneezed, then pinched my nostrils.

“Do you smell that?” I asked.

“I smell breakfast,” he replied, standing over the skillet, cooking sausages.

“I smell that, too, but there’s something else.” Something I couldn’t describe, a foul odor that left a coppery taste in the back of my throat.

A far too smug Miss Beamy hopped onto the open windowsill.

She had proudly caught a field mouse, her sweater dirty and torn.

She nearly dropped the mouse into the kitchen to present to us as a prize when Otis shouted, “Don’t you dare!

What did we tell you about bringing your kills into the kitchen? ”

Miss Beamy glared, the mouse clenched between her teeth. She was not exaggerating about being a killer of mice. She grumbled something inaudible, leaning over to drop the mouse again.

“Don’t!” Otis warned. “Take that outside. Indy and I are about to eat.”

Miss Beamy glanced at me. The cat froze, stuck up her tail, then leapt outside.

“She knows better, but Rooke lets her get away with everything.”

I had no doubt about that. A cat that proud meant she had been thoroughly spoiled.

The odor disappeared, overwhelmed by breakfast sizzling in the skillet. The kitchen door flung open. In walked a creature of questionable origins, wrapped tightly in a fluffy robe and feet stuck in feathered slippers. The hood was drawn, revealing little more than a pale chin.

“Do not look at me. I am unwell,” Mr. Hawthorne said dramatically, his hands clutching the robe like a protective shield.

“Are you sick?” I asked.

“No, he isn’t a morning person,” said Otis.

Mr. Hawthorne shuffled around the table, keeping a fair distance from me, to make his morning coffee.

The heady scent of coffee beans overtook the kitchen while Mr. Hawthorne stood at the counter, back to me, shivering and grumbling under his breath.

Then he poured a cup of coffee, large enough he needed two hands to carry the mug, and vacated the kitchen with haste.

Only to poke his head back in, still covered by a robe, but nothing could conceal his grimace.

Somehow, he gave me a slow once over with his eyes concealed. “What would you like to wear?”

“For what?” I asked skeptically.

“Our outing. We are going to the capital today.”

“Right, I will grab a dress from my luggage,” I replied. Otis sat our breakfast on the table. He made sausages, eggs, and fried potatoes covered in sage and cheese. The scent made my mouth water.

“You have nothing appropriate to wear,” said Mr. Hawthorne.

I scoffed. “You do not know what I brought.”

“Based on what I have seen, let me repeat myself, you have nothing appropriate to wear.”

“I don’t care what I wear. We have more pressing matters. Car—”

Mr. Hawthorne cut me off with a dramatic gasp.

“You must care! First impressions are important, particularly in this line of work.” He took a large gulp of his coffee, followed by a deep breath.

“The capital is full of wolves, Miss Moore, and I would think you have had enough of them. If you know what is good for you, you will dress well and proper and hold your head high; otherwise, we will be eaten alive.”

“I will wear my best dress, but may we discuss—”

“No, you will wear a dress I procure for you.” He took another drink, then deemed dressing me important enough to risk revealing his morning self.

He dashed to my side, set his coffee aside, and took me by the waist. His curled finger caught my chin to move my head from side to side. “How do you feel about red?”

“I’ve come to loathe it entirely,” I answered.

“Good. Red it is.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He caught my hand, then spun me dramatically.

I nearly fell, if not for him catching me beneath the arms. My back met his chest, firm even beneath that ridiculous robe, and he settled his chin on my shoulder.

I got a peek of him, the unkempt strands of his hair wild beneath the hood, eyes somehow brilliantly green when the light caught them right.

I had the abrupt and ridiculous urge to catch his hair in my fingers, wondering if it was as soft as it appeared.

“You cut a fine figure, and it is a shame to hide. Today, you shall be the most lovely woman in all of Eldari—thanks to my spectacular work, of course,” he said, sharing a smile unlike the others, crooked and elusive, imperfect.

“And if I do not wear this dress?” I challenged.