Page 27 of The Curse of Indy Moore (The Cursed Duology #1)

“I imagine you would. Our world is foreign to you, but I assure you I am saying this with your best intentions in mind. Mr. Hawthorne has an undeniable talent. I wouldn’t dare deny that.

He has done so much for the kingdom, and we appreciate his numerous achievements.

Her Majesty wouldn’t have let you work with him at all, otherwise.

However, he is not a demonologist. He doesn’t have that skill set.

When it comes to curses, time is of the essence.

You can’t afford to be led astray even for a moment,” she explained in a softer voice, reminding me of Carline.

“At least consider speaking to some of our demonologists while you’re here.

I know a great deal of them, and they will set aside time for you.

They’re from families with powerful lineages. ”

“Spreading more lies, Rosalind?” Otis marched over, his cane tapping hard against the floor. His typically smiling mouth had fallen into a pinched scowl that Rosalind may not mirror, but her eyes took on an unwelcoming hue.

Rosalind showed the briefest hint of irritation, overshadowed by a congenial smile. “Lies?” she repeated. “I do not know what you mean, nor should you have the audacity to say such a thing to your High Artificer.”

“You will always be my sister above all else.” Otis stood beside me, his presence welcome as I realized how tense I had become.

My hands fisted in my lap, leaving crescent imprints of my nails against my palms. With his calming scent that I had come to recognize as fresh earth, I settled and flexed my fingers. They were starting to tingle.

“There is no proof that magic follows bloodlines, for magic knows not loyalty or pride. You are born to it, or you are not, and we know that better than anyone,” Otis said darkly.

Rosalind sneered, losing all sense of propriety for a moment of blistering anger. A wrinkle formed in her brow, deep and dark and warning of a storm. That storm never came. It was little more than clouds upon the horizon, washed away by a breeze.

She stood, proper and quiet, completely composed, and her eyes never left his.

There was a moment where one may speak, where Rosalind’s ruby red lips parted and Otis stood taller in preparation.

Then she faced me, polite as can be, while retrieving a card from her dress pocket.

Pinched between her fingers, she held the card out.

I tentatively accepted while knowing I would toss it the moment she was gone.

“Should you have further questions or change your mind, you may send a letter here.” Rosalind nodded. “Good day to you.”

“Good day, High Artificer,” Otis and I said in unison, watching Rosalind’s back until she vanished from our view.

Though gone, her frigid atmosphere lingered.

Otis sat at my side, no less discomforted. “Here I am again, wanting to apologize to you, this time for my sister’s poor behavior and extremist beliefs.”

I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You shouldn’t apologize for her, but this has confused me. Does magic follow some bloodlines or not?”

“That is the wondrous truth about magic, Indy. Magic cannot be tamed, bought, or coerced. It grows where it wishes, how it wishes, and no royal or peasant can change that.” He gave a proud smile and laid a hand on his satchel, where his scepter likely presided.

“Those in positions of power want the populace to believe otherwise. They claim their blood is pure, that they are capable of more, but there has been no proof, so they prune the weeds as frequently as they can, but ultimately, magic will always be against them.”

He looked after Rosalind, his gaze distant. He laid a book on the table, gripping the edges tightly enough to make the leather creak beneath his fingers.

“Thatcher is a name known to all artificers. My family always prided themselves on our bloodline. When my parents were alive, they were proud of their three artificers and conveniently forgot to mention the other four children they had who still live in the shadows,” he whispered.

“That is terrible,” I said, then thought otherwise. “I did not mean any offense by it—to your parents, I mean.”

“I hope you did. They were rotten to their core,” he interjected bitterly.

He took a slow breath, eyes shut and bottom lip trembling.

Much as his sister had done, the emotions vanished in an instant.

“In short, no, magic has nothing to do with your lineage. You may be born with or without it, nothing more.”

That somehow made it feel even more mysterious. Magic truly seemed to have a mind of its own.

Otis flipped open his book. “If I may make a request, do not mention Rosalind or Lone Oak Academy to Rooke. Preferably, forget this interaction took place.”

“I wasn’t planning on telling him.”

As it was obvious what the others meant by saying Mr. Hawthorne wasn’t capable of handling my case.

He wasn’t from a noble bloodline, although that evidently didn’t matter, but they made it matter out of their greed for power and recognition.

He didn’t go to Lone Oak Academy, which shouldn’t matter, either.

But Otis was his teacher. Rosalind must not have taken well to his career choice.

“Trinity Schoolhouse is considered a lesser establishment for the artificers born of poverty,” I summarized bitterly.

“It is.” Otis flipped a page so hard, the paper nearly caught.

He carefully smoothed it out. “There are multiple artificer academies, but Trinity Schoolhouse has always been the cheapest, a way for the nobles to claim they are helping the so-called less fortunate by offering a more affordable academy that, you can imagine, isn’t well-handled or considered of much use here.

Most who graduate from Trinity Schoolhouse do not make it far. ”

Meaning Mr. Hawthorne had been through a lot to reach his station and questioned every step of the way. That ego of his made more sense.

“Why did you work there, then? I imagine your family wasn’t okay with that, if they shared the same belief as your sister,” I asked.

His shoulders slouched, and he looked to the glass dome, where the sun caught on the glass.

“I grew tired of walking the path expected of me.” The feeling passed, and he set his usual smile on me.

“Why don’t you find Rooke? He can lose himself in these halls, and we wouldn’t want to be here too late. ”

I didn’t have the heart to ask what he meant, so I didn’t. “I’ll go look for him.”