Page 35 of The Curse of Indy Moore (The Cursed Duology #1)

I opened my eyes to see exactly what that little girl wanted, a grand and otherworldly woman, even if the tiara didn’t match the clothes I wore.

Inlaid with crystals and pearls, it sparkled atop my head, rounded with a star shape at its center.

There was a sense of beauty and wonder that made one short of breath, that put a wet sheen in my eyes.

“What would I ever wear this for? It serves nothing,” I asked, even if I was in awe, even if I wanted to cry because Mom wasn’t there to see. I finally had something that childhood me so desperately wanted, that Mom tried so hard to achieve, and she would never be there to witness it.

“It serves you. Isn’t that enough?” he replied.

I wasn’t so sure. I felt like I was playing right into her hands, that accepting I wanted anything like that meant I was considering Carline’s offer .

He leaned in so our cheeks brushed. Seeing us side by side in the mirror, I dared to believe we made quite the pair.

“Get the tiara, Miss Moore. It will not be the death of you. In fact, it might spare you.”

I wasn’t confident in that. I wasn’t confident in anything of late, but I took the tiara to the counter, where the shopkeeper accepted Mr. Hawthorne’s payment.

While the tiara was wrapped, he disappeared to gawk at a pair of earrings that belonged to him the moment the shop owner said, “Oh, those are on sale, dearie!”

The earrings and a new ring fell on the counter to be wrapped, too. Seeing him purchase them so easily made me a little sick, even more so after the shopkeeper handed over the bag with a ribboned box. I imagined dropping the tiara, watching the jewels shatter, or losing it entirely.

Taking a deep breath, I willed my nerves to steady. Mr. Hawthorne exited the shop first, where the low-hanging sun garnered our attention. Mr. Hawthorne tried hailing a carriage, but the streets were packed, and no one paid us any mind. He took my hand after curling Miss Beamy under his arm.

“It seems we will have to run,” he said.

“I am too old for this,” Miss Beamy grumbled, but snuggled closer to his chest.

With that, Mr. Hawthorne went into a sprint.

I stumbled over my feet, holding the box close to my chest as he took us through the streets.

Slate flew ahead, dropping here or there to steal treats from people’s hands, and snatched a sock off someone’s laundry line.

But we made it to the transit hall without issue and with time to spare, halting upon the summoning circle that would lead us back.

Mr. Hawthorne took both my hands, his palms so soft against mine. “Next time, I expect you to shop on your own.”

“But you have far more expertise in matters of fashion. It would be a shame not to put your knowledge to use,” I argued.

He gave my favorite crooked smile. “I love flattery, but it won’t always work.”

“I think it will. ”

He winked, devilishly charming as ever, prior to the circle coming to life.

The sensation of flying returned, becoming bigger than the world, swimming through a warm river.

Colors exploded in my vision, bleeding into one another and warping reality as I knew it, then we descended, faster and faster until solid ground appeared beneath my feet.

“Safe,” he said in the gardens.

I missed the sensation of his hands in mine, trying not to think about it as I clutched the handle of my bag. I held so tightly that my nails pressed against my palms. My jaw ached from the grinding of my teeth. I worried I’d fall at any moment, but my body didn’t feel entirely my own.

Miss Beamy dropped and gave a big stretch, then winced. Her old bones didn’t appreciate all that running around. Slate fell upon Mr. Hawthorne’s shoulder and shrieked. Miss Beamy gave the bird a cursory look while Mr. Hawthorne scowled. The bird continued, flapping his wings wildly.

“What is the matter with you?” he asked as my legs gave out. Mr. Hawthorne fell to a knee and pressed a hand to my shoulder that burned long before his touch. Something was horribly wrong.

“I… don’t feel good,” I blurted out, my voice hoarse as if my throat wouldn’t open properly.

My insides grew hot, like they had at night, before the change, but the sun hadn’t set yet.

We were safe. We should have been, but Slate kept shrieking, flying above our heads, and Mr. Hawthorne went pale.

He snatched me up, my body tense in his arms. His labored breaths echoed in my ears.

I felt his heart pounding against my side, a nervous gaze flicking between me and the house as he ran.

I dropped the bag. I ruined the tiara, and I hadn’t even worn it.

“Look at me,” Mr. Hawthorne ordered. A door slammed somewhere. “We’re nearly there. Hang on a little longer.”

I didn’t have any say in that matter. My fingers twitched, then rang with pain as my nails grew into claws.

Mr. Hawthorne flinched when my hand at his neck drew blood.

I willed myself to let go, but nothing happened.

I couldn’t control the claws piercing his skin or the hand that slashed at his cheek.

The moment I saw red, my mind went black.