Page 80 of The Curse of Indy Moore
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.”
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.”
