Page 67 of The Curse of Indy Moore
She couldn’t be that much older than me, but I rolled my eyes and let her have her win.
“Thank you for your wise words.” My finger ran back and forth over her head. “But haven’t you been asleep all day?”
“Quiet,” she said with a flick of her tail. “I am blessing you with my presence. You should be honored. My purrs are healing, you know.”
“Is that so?” I hummed while running my hand over her side. I smelled something foul. My nose curled then Miss Beamy flinched, and I released her.
“Pat my head,” she said. “I am achy in my old age.”
Her purring grew louder when I scratched her head or under her chin. Eventually, she settled her head in my hand. Her purrs tickled my fingertips. Whatever I smelled vanished, and we sat comfortably in the sunlight, letting the warmth wash over us.
“Rooke will work this out,” she reassured me again. “He has been a good boy all his life.”
Her eyes fluttered closed. Miss Beamy didn’t lie. Her purrs were healing, so much so that my fear dwindled and I drifted into sleep with her, wanting more days like that instead. Days spent in Ivory House, comfortable in the sun, a cat on my lap, with the scent of coffee and paper filling the halls.
19
Where Indy Regrets Gardening
Bythethirdday,we remained without answers, and I had yet to tell my family about the dwindling timeframe. The tail returned for hours at a time. I spent my days in the library, the garden, and a full day in the kitchen cooking. Miss Beamy was an excellent and enthusiastic taste tester until she passed out from overconsumption. Slate was less interested in eating and more interested in stealing my ingredients.
Sitting still had never been my strong suit. Waiting around doing nothing was far worse than Carline’s abrupt appearances, which were scattered throughout my days. At times, she spoke to me, usually in a soothing manner, continuing to try to convince me to return to her. I wouldn’t deny the temptation, how I struggled to find anything to keep me preoccupied; otherwise, I might give in.
The letter that dropped into my lap didn’t help.
I took to the gardens that morning, tending to the flowers in Otis’s stead. He wasn’t giving them the same attention since he focused on my curse. The least Icould do was ensure his beloved flowers retained their shine, although a handful of them he had to care for on his own. They weren’t exactly in the everyday garden, and I wasn’t interested in testing if any of them could maul me. I had been through enough—maimed or death by plant wasn’t on my to do list.
After wiping the sweat from my brow, I sat in the grass for a break and drank from the water jug that followed me when the letter appeared. A letter from Baxter, based on the way my name was written on the envelope.
My first letter to him had been information shared through my aunt, who had replied yesterday. She updated me on the situation in town. Those who traveled to Cavehallow to warn them returned safely with supplies. The sovereign sent soldiers from the capital to travel around the woodlands, ensuring the secondary roads were safe. Guards from Cavehallow patrolled the village to keep an eye on the woodlands, but so far, Carline didn’t cause any issues.
That was relieving and gave me plenty of ways to reply that didn’t involve saying anything about my deadline. However,the letter in my lap gave me a bad feeling for some reason. Which was why I didn’t open it until my shoulders ached from the sun. Ivory House traveled further south, based on the heat. If we were in Westshire, there would be more of a nip in the air.
Getting up, I dusted myself off and sat on the stone benches beneath the trees, basking in the shade. Then I reluctantly opened the letter.
Dear Indy,
I’m writing to you out of worry. You never replied to my first letter, though your aunt visited to update me. She let me know the artificer has officially taken your case, which is great, but does not quell my concerns.
I don’t like you being there alone with him. Artificers aren’t trustworthy. I hope he isn’t keeping you from writing to me or anyone else. If anything is wrong, you have to let us know. Artificers aren’t invincible. We can work out whatever the problem is. Please write back to me. I was serious about us picking up from where we left off. I just hope you are as serious as I am.
Love,
Baxter
Love again. I couldn’t contain my snort or the unusual anger bubbling in my gut.
He hoped I was as serious as he was? I was always the serious one. He dropped me first, only to get protective after I was in danger. It felt like he cared more that I was alone with a man than anything else, which was utterly ridiculous. If Mr. Hawthorne were a woman, there would be as much of a chance. Not to say I was attracted to Mr. Hawthorne. He was conventionally attractive in the sense that many would find him nice to admire, but that wasn’t the same as other kinds of attraction. I preferred my men a little more on the rugged side, certainly not someone obsessed with himself who spent so frivolously.
Sure, he was easy on the eyes, and he could be kind when he wanted to be. He took great care of his animals and had a sense of humor. He wasn’t bad, and if we weren’t colleagues, I might have been attracted—
No. It was stupid for Baxter to care. He was needlessly jealous. My anger simmered, becoming something a little more in between. No one had gotten jealous over me before. I wasn’t the first choice. That never bothered me. What bothered me was when I ended up being no one’s choice or the disappointing one.
“Indy, good morning.” Professor Kumir walked the pathway shaded under a purple parasol that matched her dress.
It was early morning. Mr. Hawthorne and Otis were asleep because Professor Kumir lectured them yesterday about skipping two nights in a row. I heard her whacking Mr. Hawthorne over the head from the kitchen, saying he would be useless with a ragged mind. Ivy had opened the door that morning, and a pair of clothes waited for me in the hall, so I took that as a sign that the others were asleep.
“Good morning.” I made space for her on the bench.
