Page 47 of The Curse of Indy Moore (The Cursed Duology #1)

Mr. Hawthorne caught my wrist. The strength of his tug had me careening forward.

He pinned my wrist to his chest, using the hold to keep me close, trapped under his gaze.

A muscle feathered in his jaw, the one mistake in his charming act.

The rest of him was seemingly perfect, so still, smiling like Carline, eerie as could be.

He carried a pressure like no other, breathing the air from my lungs as he spoke, “Do not speak of things you do not understand, Miss Moore.”

“I would understand if you explained. Magic should not be used on the living, and an enchantment such as the one on Miss Beamy must be a horrid creation.”

His eyes fell to my lips, where they lingered for a moment that felt like an eternity.

My heart raced, beating so loudly I feared he could hear, that my pulse could rumble the floorboards beneath our feet.

Then he released me, though neither of us moved, perfectly capable of separating, but we stayed, as if to challenge the other to make a move. Although I wasn’t sure what kind.

“Stay out of the office. We have work to do, and you will only get in the way.” He threw open the door and slammed it in my face.

My heart continued its irritating palpitations long after his departure.

I steadied a hand on my chest that did nothing to settle my pulse.

I still felt him here, a breath away, his hand on my skin, and the way his eyes lingered.

I wasn’t sure how long I stood there, calming down, before I brought myself to leave the room.

I wasn’t sure what I expected. If he hadn’t let go of Miss Beamy by now, he wouldn’t because I said anything. But I still hoped he would see reason, that he would deny it and prove he hadn’t done what I feared .

Though he ordered me out of the office, I was tempted to tell Professor Kumir everything—and Otis if he somehow didn’t know.

Bringing back the dead was unheard of. There were tales spun by bards that I never saw as anything more than entertainment.

However, perhaps they rang true, songs of a partner so distraught by loss that they raised the dead, only to be met by a creature not quite the same, monstrous.

Tales of parents willing to do anything to see their child, even if that meant they suffered for the remainder of their lives.

And Miss Beamy, even if she moved about now, I couldn’t imagine her story ending much better.

Standing outside the office door, I waited for Mr. Hawthorne to come make things right or for me to make up my mind.

“Indy.” Miss Beamy sat at the end of the hall, her sweater bunched around her midsection. “Come with me. Let’s talk.”

She sauntered off in the direction of my room. I followed at a slow pace, continuously searching over my shoulder for Mr. Hawthorne’s familiar figure. He never came, and we made it to my room, where Miss Beamy jumped on the bed. That time, she didn’t hide her wince. She no longer had any reason to.

“Let me adjust your sweater,” I said.

She remained motionless, allowing me to gently tug the sweater over the worst of her wounds.

Being that close without her swatting gave me an opportunity to inspect them further.

The spiral runes were on either side of her, identical in proportions.

The hair she had remaining lined her spine, whereas her abdomen was naked and irritated.

With the sweater, all was hidden, and she appeared to be a healthy cat.

The odor of her remained, hardly muffled by the sweater.

Wiping the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand, I fell on the bed. “I should have noticed this before.”

“You would have, but Rooke has been enchanting my sweaters, except he has been too busy, and I have worn this sweater for days. I need a new one,” she explained.

The image of those runes seared into her flesh wouldn’t leave my mind. How her skin rotted away, the unnatural way it sagged on her bones, as if she’d fall apart at any moment .

“He used necromancy on you, didn’t he? I asked him, but he wouldn’t outright say it.”

She wouldn’t either. Her tail merely twitched.

“Are you in pain?” I tried with still no reply. “Why am I here if you aren’t going to talk?”

“I have a story to tell, if you will listen.” She walked onto my lap, where I ran my thumb over her head as she spoke, unsure if I was trying to comfort her or myself.

“Once, there was a lonely and sick kitten separated from her mother. This kitten found shelter in a barn, stuck between two beams, when a boy came along. He was so enamored by her beauty, as she was the most beautiful of cats, and offered her kitchen scraps.”

“Mr. Hawthorne,” I said.

She stomped her little paws. “Shh, no interrupting.

This boy who fed her also scooped her up in his jacket on the cold, rainy day and ran all the way home.

He stayed up day and night, bottle-feeding the dying kitten until she was nice and plump and healthy.

He named her Miss Beamy, an illustrious name, and the name of her savior, her master and best friend, was Luther.

“Miss Beamy and Luther were never separated. She followed him to the stables every day and slept in his bed every night. She loved him and his older brother and his parents and, soon, his youngest brother, Rooke, the absolute troublemaker. Luther promised to watch out for him always, and so Miss Beamy promised too. She protected them from mice and snakes and bad dreams.”

Her ears fell, and her voice grew low. “But she could not protect them from everything. Luther died. He could not keep his promise, but she could, and she still is.”

Her eyes had a distant look about them, as if she could recall every moment of her tale in vivid detail.

“I kept my promise for as long as I could manage, but age caught up with me. Two years ago, I passed in my sleep, though I do not recall it. All I remember is waking in Rooke’s arms with these runes on my side.

I must wear this sweater so no one sees the consequences of the magic. ”

My teeth gnawed on the side of my cheeks. “That will lead you to your death anyway. Magic on living creatures always has side effects, none of them any good. He is prolonging the inevitable.”

“Would you not do the same for those you love?” she asked.

I thought of Mom, what I would have done in that moment when I found her.

The day before, she was too weak to eat or drink.

She smiled at me that morning after I spoonfed her breakfast, telling me she loved me and she’d join me at work soon.

When I got home, Mom laid in bed sleeping, her hand stretched out as if to welcome me home.

I thought she was asleep, so I was quiet as I took off my shoes and took to making dinner, but she never stirred.

When I took her hand to check on her, she was cold.

No one believes the truth at that moment.

You think it isn’t true, that this couldn’t happen to you.

That in a moment, their eyes would open and all would be normal.

I actually laughed, fooling myself into believing it was a prank, even as I shook her to no avail.

No matter how much I begged, her eyes wouldn’t open.

If I could have brought her back, if I had the power to…

I probably would have. I’d like to think that I wouldn’t keep her around if it meant suffering, but I was a child. She was my mom. I wanted her. I needed her.

“I didn’t know Mr. Hawthorne lost a brother,” I said instead, my voice unsteady from tears spilling over.

Miss Beamy nudged her head against my palm. “Rooke was twelve when Luther died. The family doesn’t talk about it often.”

“You loved him very much.”

“I love them all. We’re family,” she said.

I laid my hand on her back, unable to forget the markings below. “Are you suffering? You wheeze. You limp. You hide it from the others, especially him.”

“I am happy to take care of him. That is all that matters.” She didn’t answer the question, and she didn’t let me ask again. “Please, don’t tell Professor Kumir about this, nor mention anything to Otis. He has lectured my boy plenty. ”

So he did know about it. If Mr. Hawthorne wouldn’t listen to Otis, he wouldn’t listen to me, either. That hurt more than I would ever admit.

“I won’t.” But I worried for her and especially for Mr. Hawthorne, who clung so desperately.