Page 19 of Once Charmed, Twice Cursed
He waves a gloved hand as if to brush aside this line of questioning. “The point is, I need you to stay here for a little while. In this room, close enough that she can soak up your luck. So she can beat the odds and get better. Please.”
I nod along. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. I’ll bring you meals every evening. And anything else you need. Once she recovers, you can go...”
Home, my mind supplies. Only nothing about the word entices me. Brendan will only send me back to the duke.
“...wherever you want,” he finishes.
I clear my throat. Wherever I want.
Really, if I had my way, I’d stay lost. I’d sooner lie in bed and read all these books—which are so numerous the shelves sag in the middle—than see the duke again. Much less endure his touch. “Okay. That doesn’t sound so bad. But where will you be? While this is happening?” Not here, clearly. If Jack sticks too close, he’ll nullify my luck and leave his...whoever she is...unprotected.
He inclines his head toward the window. “Out there.”
I frown. “In the woods?”
“I’ll sleep just far enough away for your luck to work. But not so far that you should consider running.”
“I wouldn’t,” I say, a tad crisply. “If a life needs saving, of course I’ll do it. You didn’t even have to kidnap me. You could’ve just stopped the carriage and asked. I would’ve gladly come with you.”
“The duke’s man would never have let you go. So yes. I did have to kidnap you.”
Silence descends as I absorb that, because he’s right. On the far side of the wall, bedsprings creak, followed by someone coughing. It’s deep and hacking and sounds like it’s tearing their lungs apart.
I wince. So does Jack. As if reminded of his purpose, he breaks away and goes to the fireplace. He kneels and fiddles with some kindling in silence.
I rub at my bare arms again, trying to generate some heat. Now that night has fallen, it’s getting chilly. The countryside around Pine’s End is often like this in early September—comfortable during the day, nippy at night. And yet the fireplace looks immaculate. As if no one has used it in a while.
While Jack works, I wander toward the bed and sit. The mattress feels every bit as welcoming as it looks. “That’s the cleanest hearth I’ve ever seen. Do you not stay here, usually?”
Jack grunts. It’s not a friendly sound, but it’s not exactly unfriendly, either. How strange to think that, just minutes ago, I had his tongue in my mouth. Had the hard length of him pressed against my core.
“I live here,” he says. “Away from... Well. Away. But I don’t usually use the fireplace. Something always goes wrong. The chimney clogs and smokes up the whole cabin, or a freak gust blows sparks through the room. One time a hawk flewoverhead and dropped a rabbit down the chimney. It wasn’t alive anymore, but...it still made a mess. Fur and embers everywhere.”
His gaze strays to a mark on the floor, barely visible in the budding firelight. A patch the size of my palm has been charred into the plank.
“I learned my lesson after that,” he rumbles. “But with you here, it should be fine.”
A pang circles my heart, then pulls tight. I’ve known. Ever since meeting Weston, I’ve understood that while I sail through life, Nulls meet with struggle after struggle. And at times, I’ve come within spitting distance of cursing Fortuna, because I don’t understand why the goddess would give to her flock with one hand while taking with the other. It seems...spiteful. Petty.
Yet something about the naked resignation in Jack’s voice accesses a whole new level within me, some basement horizon that opens onto regret.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “That you’ve had to deal with that your whole life. It’s...not fair. I’ll never understand it, honestly. Why Fortuna does this to us.”
He pauses and looks at me.
I gnaw at my lip. Nulls and Charms probably don’t typically discuss this. Even Weston and I always avoided the subject, though I couldn’t say exactly why.
“You don’t like being a Charm?” he finally says. A note of wariness threads his tone.
I consider. The answer to that question is one I’ve never admitted to anyone. The closest I’ve ever come was with that Null woman in the marketplace, when I was eleven.
But something about this stranger, this anonymoushighwayman in his black mask, frees my tongue. He could be anyone. I could be anywhere, talking to the sky or the woods or simply myself.
“I hate it,” I say.
Jack drops the log he’s holding. I swear it happens more slowly than gravity should allow. The wood hits the hearth with a hollow thunk. “How’s that possible?”
