Page 4 of The Curse of Indy Moore (The Cursed Duology #1)

Carline had yet to eat. Worried whether she waited for me or for conversation, I offered a polite smile and said, “Thank you for the meal and saving me from those wolves.”

“There is nothing to thank, dear. I am relieved you are safe.”

I took to cutting the rolls in half and buttering them for the both of us. “Are you a dressmaker by trade?”

Carline claimed to be a new resident, but it was rare for one to move to Westshire.

Baxter was the first new resident in about seven years, and he was the talk of the town for months.

I would understand relocating to a city like our neighbor, Cavehallow, but being alone in the woodlands was a bizarre choice.

There were rumors of illegal passings between our kingdom of Sidore and our less-than-friendly northern neighbor, Arestat, as the woodlands provided an excellent path from one kingdom to the other.

Priests of Arestat brought war to Sidore countless times in their attempts to spread their theocracy.

Being alone in the woodlands wasn’t necessarily dangerous.

However, one wouldn’t consider an isolated cottage in the woods to be a homely location, considering how easily one could be mistreated or lost.

“What makes you ask that?” Carline pressed a hand over her laughing lips, as if embarrassed. “No, I enjoy the art of fabrication, that’s all. Dresses and jewelry to don myself from time to time. We all deserve such extravagance, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I would not know. I like what I am wearing well enough.”

After handing Carline her roll, I twirled a spoon in my soup full of chunks of meat, carrots, and thick noodles, engulfed by the scent of thyme and garlic.

Meals this heavy and rich were rare, the herbs overpowering in the best of ways.

There was so much, too much even, but my appetite returned and I wanted to consume every morsel until my stomach ached .

“Do you? What one wears says much about how they perceive themselves and others,” she challenged.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

She settled her elbows on the table, hands steepled.

Her nails were sharpened to fine points.

“Events, my dear, dates, funerals, weddings. Do you not wear what is deemed appropriate? It proves you care to consider the meaning of your clothes, who you may wear them for, and why. My word, have you never been on a date?”

I swallowed hard, recalling the disappointed scowls on my partner’s faces when I wore patched pants to our dates or worn boots.

“I have been on plenty of dates,” I replied bitterly.

“Then I imagine they didn’t go well,” she said, making me cough.

“I do hope you do not take offense. I mean nothing cruel by it.” She rose, and her fingers ran over the breasts of the dresses, one by one.

“I, myself, prefer red. A rich color, elegant and divine.” She detached a red gown from its string to present. “What about you?”

“I don’t know. That one is quite pretty,” I muttered.

There was no reason to dress in silk and velvet.

They were uselessly expensive. I had dresses at home.

They were good enough to wear into town, even if a past partner said I looked a mess.

Even if that partner left me for someone with money, like Father had left us.

I repeated I was better off without people like her and my father, that she was cruel for the sake of it and my father was a fool.

I looked fine. I didn’t stand out, but that was not a bad thing.

And yet, I couldn’t stop my hands from running over the fabric of my skirt, wishing I could be like a gem in the rock, waiting to be uncovered.

“Stand up. Take a better look,” Carline suggested.

I would have said no if I hadn’t invaded her home. Setting aside my meal, I picked up Dolly because, for some reason, I didn’t want her too far from me. She and I had to return home together.

I met Carline, who pressed the dress to my chest. The sleeves hung low on the shoulders, and the train dragged on the floor.

A silver gem rested between the breasts, lines of silver interlocking to form a corset.

The smooth fabric caught in my fingers, unlike the coarse overalls and weathered skirts that lay under my bed.

The garment was beautifully constructed for one who wasn’t a dressmaker by occupation.

“Pretty,” Carline whispered. “Ridiculous.”

A chill crawled up my spine. The dining room darkened.

A mirror appeared, the girl within unrecognizable, my warm white cheeks plump and flushed, lips a bloody red, and curves caught in the dress I once grasped.

The image was identical, yet uncanny, beautiful as a princess, brown hair curled and a tiara caught on my temple, glimmering brightly.

Strangers danced in the background, their faces obscured by white masks painted with inhuman smiles.

Luxury adorned them, their necks heavy with gems, fingers caught by rings, and pearls tangled in their hair.

“What is this?” I whispered, feeling a breath on my back, withered fingers on my shoulders, and in the mirror, a pair of gleaming yellow eyes watched. “Demon.”

“Demon?” Carline laughed. The vision faded, replaced by reality, where we stood in the dim light of the cottage. She didn’t hide her smile, revealing canines so sharp they dared to pierce her lips. “Is that any way to speak to your host?”

“My host, or my captor?” I countered, my voice little more than a whisper.

The thickening mist, the abrupt blizzard, getting lost, those wolves, and…

the door, it was unlocked. I should have suspected something nefarious.

The wolves never caught me when they could have, especially after my tumble.

I shouldn’t have made it to the porch. The wolves let me.

They taunted me, howling around the cottage as one, knowing their master had her prey.

“Captor is a cruel world,” she said. “I much prefer host, and have I not been gracious? I kept you from the wolves, fed you, and offered you clothes.”

“But you are the one who brought me here, aren’t you? Why? Why me?”

“Why not?”

I held my breath when she moved, gliding around the table to take a seat.

She had no care, no worry that I may run or grab the scissors.

Neither would mean much in the face of her power.

To guide me there, to make that vision, she was magic itself, and I knew little of magic, other than it could be as deadly as it was useful .

Unlike artificers, who used scepters to write enchantments of magic, a demon didn’t.

Demons had command over magic in ways we couldn’t fathom, conjuring storms from their laughter or raising the dead with a scream.

They were what our parents warned us about at night as they tucked the blankets beneath our chin, spinning fearsome tales of creatures in this world capable of the unpredictable.

Each story was more than a rhyme. They were lessons and re-imaginings of the truth that we had to take to heart, otherwise we would risk the same fate.

“Sit. Finish your meal, dear,” Carline said with a gleam in her golden eyes.

“I’m not hungry.” The dress I wore in the mirage returned to my hands. I clung to it so fiercely, the grip threatened to rip the fabric.

I had to escape. The cottage had windows, multiple exits, one in the dining room, but she was closer, and the wolves circled. They moved through the thinning mist and snow, matted dark fur and gleaming eyes, watching, waiting for me to risk the woods.

“What a liar you are, to yourself most of all,” she said, her smile wicked as the devil she was.

On nights when I begged to play outside a moment longer, Uncle Fern wove stories of demons dwelling in the dark.

They toyed with their prey, uninterested in slaughter, for they craved more, a soul or a promise that took more than you bargained for.

If those stories held any truth, I shouldn’t die for being defiant.

Carline’s nature gave me time to consider my options.

“If it is my soul you are after, you cannot have it,” I declared, wishing my voice wouldn’t shake.

“What if I do not ask for your soul now?”

“I don’t care what you want or when.” I retreated to a better vantage point, closer to the door so the dining and living room were visible.

“Let me go,” I demanded, surveying the living room that had a potential answer to my dilemma, albeit a foolish one.

I shoved Dolly under my arm. She was too big to fit in my cloak pocket. Susannah would be distraught if I lost her .

“But I can give you what you want, Lucinda Moore.” Carline stalked closer, her hands outstretched.

I froze at my real name, Lucinda after the aunt on my father’s side who passed before I could walk. As a child, the name felt like a curse. I wondered if I’d die young too, so I insisted upon nicknames. Indy sounds sweet, don’t you think? My father suggested. The nickname was all he left me with.

“How do you know that name?”

Carline snickered. “I know everything about you, Indy. I know your Aunt Agnes and the girls and, oh my, that charming lad Baxter. Those blue eyes of his are simply delightful. I could eat him right up, and because I know all that, I know what you want.”

The tales Uncle Fern wove were not as fearsome as the truth looming closer.

“What do I want?” I clutched the dress. The skirt was long and wide, thick and sturdy. It might work.

“Exactly what you say you don’t. Exactly what you think you don’t.” Carline held out her hands, and the dresses fluttered in a summoned breeze.

I laughed, trying to keep her following me further into the living room. “You are a poor excuse of a demon if you believe I want dresses and jewels.”