Page 62 of The Curse of Indy Moore
He winked, devilishly charming as ever, prior to the circle coming to life. The sensation of flying returned, becoming bigger than the world, swimming through a warm river. Colors exploded in my vision, bleeding into one another and warping reality as I knew it, then we descended, faster and faster until solid ground appeared beneath my feet.
“Safe,” he said in the gardens.
I missed the sensation of his hands in mine, trying not to think about it as I clutched the handle of my bag. I held so tightly that my nails pressed against my palms. My jaw ached from the grinding of my teeth. I worried I’d fall at any moment, but my body didn’t feel entirely my own.
Miss Beamy dropped and gave a big stretch, then winced. Her old bones didn’t appreciate all that running around. Slate fell upon Mr. Hawthorne’s shoulder and shrieked. Miss Beamy gave the bird a cursory look while Mr. Hawthorne scowled. The bird continued, flapping his wings wildly.
“What is the matter with you?” he asked as my legs gave out. Mr. Hawthorne fell to a knee and pressed a hand to my shoulder that burned long before his touch. Something was horribly wrong.
“I… don’t feel good,” I blurted out, my voice hoarse as if my throat wouldn’t open properly.
My insides grew hot, like they had at night, before the change, but the sun hadn’t set yet. We were safe. We should have been, but Slate kept shrieking, flying above our heads, and Mr. Hawthorne went pale. He snatched me up, my body tense in his arms. His labored breaths echoed in my ears. I felt his heart pounding against my side, a nervous gaze flicking between me and the house as he ran.
I dropped the bag. I ruined the tiara, and I hadn’t even worn it.
“Look at me,” Mr. Hawthorne ordered. A door slammed somewhere. “We’re nearly there. Hang on a little longer.”
I didn’t have any say in that matter. My fingers twitched, then rang with pain as my nails grew into claws. Mr. Hawthorne flinched when my hand at his neck drew blood. I willed myself to let go, but nothing happened. I couldn’t control the clawspiercing his skin or the hand that slashed at his cheek. The moment I saw red, my mind went black.
18
Where Indy Faces Many Paths
Statuettes,oncebeautifullycarved,laid broken across the floor. A trail of blood led from the door to my fingers, where the dried flakes caught beneath my nails. I laid among the wreckage, breathing labored. The last memory I had was that of Mr. Hawthorne, my nails elongating to claws to slash his face. He wasn’t in the room, and I hoped that was a good sign. But I wasn’t in the room I should have been, and the blood was certainly his.
Careful not to step on the broken woodwork, I maneuvered to the door. My gaze focused on the doorknob, otherwise the dried blood on the floor would make me sick. The door remained locked.
If Mr. Hawthorne was horribly injured, he may be in bed, Otis at his side, the both of them wondering what to do next. If I truly hurt any of them, then was I worth helping? Not only had I made a poor decision for my family, but that decision led to violence against the very people who sought to help me.
Why was I here? Why did I say no?
“Miss Moore, are you awake?”
“Mr. Hawthorne.” I sighed, trembling hands caught against my chest. My voice hardly came out, and I had to repeat myself. “Are you… Did I hurt you terribly?”
“Not at all. I am handing in some clothes.”
The doorknob twisted. I accepted the offered dress to swiftly change. When I threw open the door, he waited on the other side, an utter liar. His left arm bore a sling, and a bandage ran from his neck to his cheek. He raised a hand before I could conjure an apology.
“Otis has seen to the injuries. They will be fully healed in a day or two. The sling is merely to ensure nothing reopens, although if there are any scars, I will be most upset. This,” he pointed to his face, “is irreplaceable.”
His joking mood didn’t lighten mine.
“I’m sorry,” I said, unable to look away from his injuries. The ones I caused.
“Don’t be. I have had far worse come after me with far scarier instruments of death. I could go into great detail if you need a confidence boost.”
“I don’t think I want to hear of them.”
“Are you sure? One involves a fork and a place it should never go.”
Admittedly, that brought a moment of hesitation and morbid curiosity. However, I did not give in to Mr. Hawthorne’s attempts, seeing as my self-loathing was at an all-time high. Our situation grew dire, more swiftly than expected. My change came too early. The sun had yet to set yesterday when I lost control. I hurt him, and if he didn’t lock me up in time, I could have hurt or even killed everyone in Ivory House.
“The curse is accelerating. Is there even enough time to discover a cure? What if I change in the middle of the day? What if I hurt someone again? I am becoming a monster,” I said between gasped breaths. My lungs ached, for it had grown unbelievably hard to breathe.
“I agree, I thought we would have more time.” Mr. Hawthorne turned his back to me. “But the expert I told you about has agreed to help. She will be here soon, actually.”
Hope dared to spark within me.
