Page 21 of The Curse of Indy Moore (The Cursed Duology #1)

“You will.” He pushed me toward my seat and grabbed his mug to drink then smacked his lips together.

“We must prepare ourselves for battle, especially if we may run into a Thatcher.” He meandered out of the room, slightly hunched, as if the weight of the day already unsettled him.

“And we shall purchase more suitable attire for you in town, something marvelous and grand, in case we are in need of it.”

“I do not need new dresses!”

“A dozen more, at least.”

“Mr. Hawthorne!” He was gone, the sound of his flopping slippers dissipating into nothing.

I made way to follow him when Otis declared, “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you. He is especially crabby if one dares to interrupt his face care routine.”

“He has a face care routine?”

“A thirty-minute one, at least. ”

That didn’t surprise me, either.

I fell into my seat to eat breakfast, which tasted delicious, but I was too busy angrily grumbling to compliment it.

“We should talk about Carline, not what dress I am about to wear because we may or may not run into someone…” I looked across the table at my companion.

Otis ate quietly, even as I stared at him. “Thatcher.”

He took a sip of tea.

“This Thatcher we may run into. Are you related to them?”

“I am.” Otis sighed like a man who had too much to tell. “My sister is Rosalind Thatcher, the High Artificer and Grand General to Her Royal Majesty.”

I choked on my breakfast. Otis offered a napkin.

“As Rooke said, it would be best if you avoid her,” he added while I heaved. “But if you are forced to make her acquaintance, it would be easier to tolerate her if you’re dressed to impress. She is quite judgemental, a viper disguised as a human.”

“I take it the two of you aren’t close,” I said against the napkin that muffled the last of my coughs.

His eyes hardened in a manner unlike him. “Not in the slightest, and I hope you never have to learn why.”

“I will do my best to avoid her, then.”

If she could make one as kind as Otis so unsettled, I understood why she should be avoided.

However, that didn’t stop me from wondering about their relationship.

To be related to the Grand General, it seemed Otis came from one of those noble artificer houses.

He certainly didn’t look it, and I meant no offense by that.

Nobles had an air about them not so dissimilar from artificers.

They knew their place in society, believed it was what they were owed, and they walked the streets as if they paved each stone themself.

The few aristocrats I stumbled across in Cavehallow would sooner lose a finger than offer aid to anyone as Otis had.

Otis dabbed his mouth, having finished his breakfast. He rose to take his plate to the sink. “Take your time with breakfast, and take a nap if you wish. The face care routine is only one part of his morning.”

“Should I ask about what else he does? ”

“That is a mental image I promise you can live without.”

After breakfast, I went to my room. The thought felt strange, being in the room was even stranger.

I didn’t know what to do. My cousins didn’t forget to put their toys away.

The bed was made, and the room was clean.

I had nothing to do, so I laid on the rug in the center of the room and spread out my arms and legs.

My fingers and toes didn’t touch any of the furniture.

I stretched like a yawning cat and still nothing.

A giggle left my throat, silenced soon by guilt.

There I was enjoying myself when Aunt Agnes worried at home, where she worked alone and had to plan her days without help. I rose to the desk, where paper and ink waited. Otis must have brought it in, or the house itself.

I sat at the desk to write my first letter, expressing that I would go to the capital with Mr. Hawthorne and Otis.

I asked about her and the girls, if they were alright, hoping that they could make do without me, and omitted Carline.

They didn’t need to worry, so I kept the explanation brief, that Mr. Hawthorne had talked to me and we were well on our way to discovering a cure.

Then there was Baxter, whose letter sat empty for far longer.

With no idea what to write, I essentially gave him a briefer explanation than the one I would send to my aunt.

I didn’t know how to sign the letter either.

Yours? Your love? Your partner? None of it felt right.

I sat there a while, contemplating a simple sign off, and ultimately scribbled my name and put it in an envelope.

Upon finishing the letters, the closet door rattled then swung open.

Inside, a brilliant red dress stood out among the rest that wasn’t one of my own.

My suitcase sat beneath it unopened. A letter fluttered out of the closet to land on my desk.

Miss Moore stamped the front, written in elegant writing.

Pursing my lips, I opened the letter, where the same writing filled the page.

Many would spill blood for my enchantments, but you are the one ever so lucky to have a dress touched by my hands. You wouldn’t dare set aside my good graces, would you?

Signed ,

An Artificer of World Renown Who Will Not Be Seen With You In That Outdated Dress

I threw the note on the floor. He was ridiculous, as was the dress!

I went to the closet, reaching out to run my fingers over the white sleeves, long enough to hug my wrists.

A cute bow tied around the neck, and the underbust had white buttons, distinct against the apple red of the skirt.

The dress had a shimmer to it, as attention seeking as Mr. Hawthorne would want.

But that wasn’t me. I couldn’t afford such lavish attire. It was charity, nothing more.

I laid the dress on the bed and went to my closet.

The door shut. I tugged on the knob, but it wouldn’t open.

The door creaked when I settled a foot by the knob and tried again, to no avail.

When I went to the dresser to search for other options—Mr. Hawthorne had clothes stashed everywhere after all—the drawers shut and locked.

“Oh, you stop this!” I pointed at the ceiling. “Ivy, this is… I can’t wear that.”

But the house refused to budge, leaving me with the choice of wearing the plain dress I had on or the one Mr. Hawthorne made.

I was half-tempted to trudge down to the summoning circle in my worn clothes, but Mr. Hawthorne would probably drag me back to my room.

It would be a waste of our time, which I couldn’t afford.

“Fine!” I threw my hands skyward. “I will wear Mr. Hawthorne’s dress. Happy?”

Nothing happened. I tugged on the closet door again, groaning when it wouldn’t budge.

Ivy was rather smart for a house, forcing me to undress and don the attire Mr. Hawthorne enchanted.

I wondered who this belonged to, what person had their heart broken by his impish smile and wild eyes, if they wondered about this dress and what happened to it.

The full-length mirror by the closet shifted.

I caught my reflection. Beautiful, the type of girl in town that would catch the eye of most. She had a brightness about her, the dress fluttering in a summoned breeze, the color dazzling from every angle, enchanted to be so.

I felt as if I was separated from my body, suspended to gaze upon a stranger.

“Indy, we are ready to leave,” Otis said from the other side of the door .

I averted my eyes, refusing to look upon the reflection or let my hands touch the dress. The smooth fabric made my skin break out with goosebumps.

I grabbed a straw hat from the rack and tucked my ears into the bowl. Using the string, I knotted it around my chin to keep the ears hidden, even if they were crushed enough to make me cringe. Hopefully, I wouldn’t get used to the feeling. Then I threw open the door.

Otis waited in the hall wearing a better-fitting petticoat in a plain emerald tone to match his trousers and top hat. He looked every part the gentlemen, save those crooked glasses I would argue made him even more charming.

“My word,” he said and offered his arm. “The dress suits you. You are absolutely stunning.”

“It isn’t too much?” I asked nervously. “I don’t feel like I should wear it.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve never… These are not the type of dresses for a peasant girl. I couldn’t afford anything this nice.”

“What of it?” He squeezed my hand. “If you must be eased, think of the dress as a tool to be used for the day, to impress those who would look down upon you for the smallest slight, though I do hope a day comes when you can look in the mirror and be as wowed as the rest of us.”

“You are too kind,” I said and repeated to myself that this wasn’t a life to grow accustomed to. Once Mr. Hawthorne figured out my curse, this would end and I would return to my so-called outdated attire.