Page 46 of The Curse of Indy Moore (The Cursed Duology #1)

Where Indy Uncovers Something Nefarious

Demonology would be an area of interest if I had any magical capabilities.

A book the professor brought spoke of a turtle demon prowling the seas that attacked ships captained by men and carrying any type of spices.

The demon followed the vessel then rammed the bow and sank the ship.

If anyone escaped on lifeboats, the turtle would find the captain and drag him to the depths.

However, if the ship kept a torch on deck burning all day and night, the turtle would never attack.

If the seafolk fed the turtle peeled oranges, it would accept a rope and tug them along for days, cutting their sailing time in half.

“Miss Moore, could you grab these books for me from the library?” Mr. Hawthorne passed a sheet of paper containing five titles. Our fingers brushed, and my mind wouldn’t relent in its questioning of whether he had done so on purpose.

Calm yourself .

The last few days, I spent more time in the office.

With my time waning, Otis had taken to pursuing possible ways to stall the curse.

He spoke of talismans that could prove useful, if we had to resort to such measures.

While I appreciated the notion, I didn’t want to think about our last resorts.

They must have understood that; otherwise, there was no reason for me to be another pair of eyes.

I didn’t understand most of this. They weren’t in need of an errand girl because Ivy supplied the books they required.

However, grabbing books and snacks made for great distractions, so I wandered off to the library that I knew the route to by heart.

It was strange thinking about my initial reaction to Ivory House. The winding halls, pointless staircases, and useless windows had perturbed me. I had found the space claustrophobic and weird, but now it was a haven of charm. Even with Mr. Hawthorne’s questionable taste and unworldly hoarding.

On the way to the library, a horrid smell hit my nostrils, like mold on old wood. The more I walked, the worse the stench became.

Had Miss Beamy caught a mouse and left it to rot? I wondered.

I risked my life by investigating rooms, where narrowly slamming doors spared me from being buried alive beneath mountains of board games, of all things.

There were no carcasses or questionable blood stains anywhere, although I admit I couldn’t survey most of the areas in their entirety without risking loss of limb.

Then I discovered the cat in question sleeping in her room.

What once must have been a type of lounge was converted into a cat sanctuary with ledges on the walls to create various pathways and tunnels looping around to keep Miss Beamy entertained.

Each corner had a cat tree, and another grew from the center of the room to connect all the tunnels on the ceiling.

A sitting area led me to believe that Mr. Hawthorne took time to read in there with her in his lap, but he was busy so she slept on the wide window sill in a literal bed made for her size.

“Miss Beamy, you shouldn’t leave dead mice lying around. I can smell—” My lecture died off upon hearing a pained wheezing sound.

Miss Beamy’s breathing was labored. I hurried to her side. The stench had me gagging. I covered my nose and called for her a second time, hoping she simply hadn’t heard me.

She didn’t answer.

Was she sick? I should take her to Mr. Hawthorne or perhaps bring him there. I wasn’t sure if I should move her.

Before I left, I gave calling for her another chance, that time also laying my hand on her side. “Miss Beamy?”

Her sweater was wet. Blood? Panicked, I looked her over, fearful of an injury. Her sweater pulled up slightly in her sleep, revealing wet, matted fur. It wasn’t blood. The substance smelled wrong, putrid, like a fish left out to bake in the hot sun for weeks on end.

Slipping a finger under the sweater, I pried up the fabric and gasped. Her fur fell away, revealing pallid skin, irritated to a pale pink hue around a spiral of runes scarred into her flesh. I didn’t need to be an artificer to understand something was horribly wrong.

Miss Beamy clawed my hand. I stumbled back with a yelp. The cat stood, wide awake, the little hair on her back at attention, but the damage was done. Her sweater curled under her front paws, revealing the rotting flesh circling her entire abdomen.

“Begone with you!” she yowled, her pupils dilated to thin slits.

I cradled my injured hand to my chest. “I’m sorry. I called for you, but you weren’t waking. I thought something was wrong… Something is wrong, isn’t it?”

Snarling, she leapt from her bed and landed poorly.

Her legs weakened on her. When I tried to scoop her up, she hissed and bolted, leaving me in the aftermath of a grave discovery.

I didn’t know as much about magic as the others, but I understood Mr. Hawthorne had done something horribly wrong and he was trying to hide it under that sweater.

How hadn’t I realized before?

Storming out of the room, I returned to the office without the books.

Professor Kumir and Otis read over their research.

Mr. Hawthorne patted an empty space he made on the floor, believing I had his materials.

Seeing him made me think of the harsh cuts on Miss Beamy.

My hands clenched into trembling fists, nails pressing crescent shapes against my palms.

“Come speak to me outside for a moment, Mr. Hawthorne,” I said as calmly as I could muster.

“Can it wait? I’m nearly done with this chapter.” He flipped a page, so enamored he didn’t notice me leaning in.

“Now.” I curled my hand under the lapels of his shirt. His words were strangled by my rough yank.

Otis and Professor Kumri were too wrapped up in their reading to notice or care.

Mr. Hawthorne stumbled out of the room, where I released him but continued onward, away from the office.

I wasn’t sure why. If I faced him in front of Otis and the professor, he would be forced to tell the truth.

Alone, he could try to wiggle his way out of any accusations or questions.

But I kept moving, hoping that he would be honest. I wanted him to be honest with me.

“What must we possibly talk about that is more important than our studies?” he asked once we entered the crowded stuffed animal room a hall over.

There was enough space for us both to stand in. Mr. Hawthorne had his back to the toys while I shut the door for privacy, then whirled on him.

“Look at this.” I raised my hand, where Miss Beamy’s old blood stained my fingers.

Ever the great actor, he feigned ignorance by taking a gentle hold of my wrist to investigate. “Did you cut yourself? There are medical supplies in the bathroom.”

“I smelled something putrid, so I followed the scent. Can you guess where it led me?”

Still nothing, even if I gave him a long moment to admit the truth. He stood there, head tilted in oblivious curiosity that could fool anyone. Even after what I saw, I dared to wonder if he actually didn’t know, but I shoved an accusatory finger against his chest .

“I found Miss Beamy sleeping, wheezing horribly, and I feared for her, so I checked. I saw the symbol on her, her wounds. They’re runes, aren’t they? You put them there.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why don’t you take a rest?” He gestured at the doorway.

“Don’t speak down to me. I may not be an artificer, but that does not make me a fool.”

“I would never imply such a thing.”

“Then don’t try to run away from this. Don’t lie to me. She’s…” I reacted so fast that I hadn’t considered what the runes were. In that moment, as I caught the scent of Miss Beamy’s blood on my hand, as I saw how dark it was, the truth hit me with a painful blow. “Miss Beamy is dead, isn’t she?”

There, for the briefest second, his eyes darkened. He composed himself so perfectly, I dared to consider my eyes deceiving me. But that was what he wanted, to hide behind a calm disposition.

“Are there necromancy enchantments? A spell to keep her alive and”—I threw a hand at the door, realizing more—“That’s why she didn’t go to Wyvern Spire with us. That’s why she is never around Professor Kumir. The other artificers would know as soon as they saw anything suspicious.”

Mr. Hawthorne settled his hands at his back. He looked down at me, his eyes sharp and cold. “You must have been frightened. I will check on Beamy’s injury and tend to her, but I am sure there is nothing to worry about.”

His deflections irritated me further, treating me like I didn’t understand, like I didn’t deserve his honesty.

“I think I should worry because if you’re concerned other artificers will figure this out, then Otis certainly knows. He must have said something. He wouldn’t let Beamy be in pain.”

He took a step closer, enunciating every word. “She is fine.”

I kept my hand on the door handle. “You are a liar, a fool, or both, to believe that. ”

I thought of her wheezing, how she struggled to run, and the times I caught her limping around the house, when Maude hugged her and she winced, when I pet her side and she cringed.

All this time, I thought her to be an old, weary cat on her last leg that Mr. Hawthorne did everything he could to make comfortable. But the truth was much worse.

“You are selfishly keeping her around,” I said when grabbing one of the stupid toys. I threw the toy at him, hitting him in the chest. “Just like all this junk. You refuse to let go of anything, including an ailing cat that you rather have in pain.”