Page 38 of The Curse of Indy Moore (The Cursed Duology #1)

“Good. Remember, demons are peculiar with the strangest customs. I once met a water demon who couldn’t walk a straight line and a frog demon that passed out if you pinched his back.

” Professor Kumir laughed at the memories.

“Carline is formidable, but she is a demon, and the answer to her curse is how she acts and who she curses, which is why Indy is our best learning device of all. That is why we need the specifics. The answer is, literally, right in front of us.”

Professor Kumir snapped her fingers at Mr. Hawthorne. “Bring a stack of books, boy.”

“I am a grown man, not a boy,” he dared to argue but deflated at her cold stare. “I thought you cared that I was injured.”

If the professor heard, she didn’t care and went about ordering me, “You, take a walk and think. If there is anything more you believe you should tell us, do so, but until then, keep out of here. We need to focus.”

Otis leaned over to whisper, “She means no offense in banishing you.”

“I know.” But that didn’t make me feel better.

I left the artificers to their books, feeling more useless than ever.

Utterly incapable of saving myself, stuck in this castle far from my family who needed me.

I didn’t want to rely on artificers to save me.

Although my interactions with them thus far hadn’t all been bad.

Otis was kind, and Professor Kumir didn’t need to help.

She got nothing out of this, but she came because she could, and Mr. Hawthorne was a better man than I initially thought.

I would never admit that aloud—otherwise, he would annoy me half to death—but he was considerate and performed his job admirably.

But we didn’t have enough time.

I leaned against the walls, thinking of Carline’s offer.

Our lives made infinitely better, five years I could enjoy while my family would have it forever.

If I returned willingly, the offer remained.

We couldn’t achieve a cure in two weeks.

Could I pass up the opportunity on such a slim possibility?

I should tell them, should go to my room to write a letter, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Aunt Agnes and the girls would worry. For the next two weeks, they would fret, as would I. They didn’t need that stress, and I simply couldn’t think of what to say that made any of this manageable.

Dragging my feet, I turned into a random room, where a chair faced a wall of windows pointed toward the garden. Falling in the chair, I sank into despair, considering my limited options.

Would it be so bad to have five wonderful years then give myself to Carline? Would I even remember myself? It would practically be like death. In the end, I would thrive off knowing my family was safe and happy without me there to muck everything up.

“Were you kicked out of the office?” Miss Beamy rounded the chair and hopped into my lap. She didn’t weigh as much as she looked.

“Yes, I’m not of much help to them.” I wouldn’t understand most of what they read, and frankly, I was too panicked to do anything. My mind couldn’t sit still, combing over possibility after possibility.

Miss Beamy made dough in my lap. “You look stressed.”

“I imagine most cursed people are stressed.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“I fear I cannot be as optimistic as you are.”

“I’m not optimistic. I just know my boy,” she said proudly, continuing to make a batch of biscuits. “He can do this, and now he has even more help. Don’t give up.”

She looked at me as if she knew my thoughts.

As an animal, she may have. Carline could do the same.

Dogs, cats, even the horses in Westshire.

They sensed a person’s mood. When the little neighbor girl, Scarlet, wanted to learn to ride her papa’s horse, he set her on the saddle, and the horse wouldn’t move.

“She’s nervous because you’re nervous,” her father laughed while I watched from our chicken coop .

“I’m scared,” Scarlet admitted. “What if she throws me off?”

“We treat our animals with kindness, and they do the same, sweetheart. They understand us without us having to say a word. She would never purposefully hurt you, although there are ways to get hurt. You must learn to ride, to trust her, and to trust yourself,” he said.

I was scared, too, when Uncle Fern put me on my first horse. Even at thirteen, the horse felt so large, powerful enough to feel their muscles beneath your legs. But like Scarlet’s horse, she hadn’t moved until I calmed down because animals simply understood.

“I’m not giving up,” I whispered dejectedly.

“You are considering it,” Miss Beamy countered. She stood on my chest to rub her cheek against mine. She smelled like coffee, like her favorite boy. “We shouldn’t let others choose a path for us. You must make a choice of your own for your own reasons, not out of fear or desperation.”

“Speaking from experience?” I teased half-heartedly.

She settled into my lap, curling into a little ball. “Believe it or not, I have experienced much in my long life.”

She couldn’t be that much older than me, but I rolled my eyes and let her have her win.

“Thank you for your wise words.” My finger ran back and forth over her head. “But haven’t you been asleep all day?”

“Quiet,” she said with a flick of her tail. “I am blessing you with my presence. You should be honored. My purrs are healing, you know.”

“Is that so?” I hummed while running my hand over her side. I smelled something foul. My nose curled then Miss Beamy flinched, and I released her.

“Pat my head,” she said. “I am achy in my old age.”

Her purring grew louder when I scratched her head or under her chin. Eventually, she settled her head in my hand. Her purrs tickled my fingertips. Whatever I smelled vanished, and we sat comfortably in the sunlight, letting the warmth wash over us .

“Rooke will work this out,” she reassured me again. “He has been a good boy all his life.”

Her eyes fluttered closed. Miss Beamy didn’t lie.

Her purrs were healing, so much so that my fear dwindled and I drifted into sleep with her, wanting more days like that instead.

Days spent in Ivory House, comfortable in the sun, a cat on my lap, with the scent of coffee and paper filling the halls.