Page 17 of The Curse of Indy Moore
“And you kept it?”
“Not on purpose! And I’ll have you know she left with one of my favorite blouses, so I’d said we’re even,” he added, sounding genuinely offended by the loss of said blouse.
With the dress secured, I opened the door, one arm hugging my waist. The dress wasn’t my style, the skirt and sleeves being too short, the fabric soft and extravagant, far more than I could afford, and thus brought about a paranoia that I would ruin it.
In the hall, Mr. Hawthorne had forgone the suit for a white blouse, unbuttoned at the collar, and a pair of navy blue trousers with a slightly darker shade of stitching that wove around his legs in spiral patterns. His earrings matched, little blue gems that peeked out of his hair, drawn back in a low ponytail. He was made for city life, for attention and recognition. Honestly, it was mildly irritating.
“Red suits you, little wolf,” Mr. Hawthorne said smoothly, in the way of a charmer who never knew failure. His looks were deceitful, and he no doubt knew it.
“What happened last night?”
“You do not remember? Nothing at all?”
The memories wouldn’t resurface, no matter how much I willed them to. “I lunged at you. You shut the door. That was the last of it.”
Mr. Hawthorne nodded down the hall. “We should talk somewhere you can get more comfortable.”
“Tell me now.”
“I’m not catching you if you faint.”
“I doubt you could, even if you tried.”
At the challenge, he stood taller. “I am stronger than I look.”
“Of course you are.”
Mr. Hawthorne’s heart-shaped lips curled. “Should you be mocking the person who can give you answers about your curse?”
“You already said you won’t, so I see no reason to play nice,” I replied, meeting his stern attention. That amused him, though, as he chuckled deep in the back of his throat.
“I prefer this version of you, honest and so beautifully disheveled,” he said, then hesitated, and that fanned the flames of fear already gnawing at my heart. “You shift into a wolf at sunset and, as you can see from the room, you are not in control of that wolf. We are lucky you did not escape through the window.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. His claim was so ridiculous, but he didn’t laugh with me. Mr. Hawthorne stood there, nodding toward the room, the gnawed furniture, ripped-up cushions, and ruined walls. My laughter died to a whimper, because why would he lie about that? How could I ignore the truth staring me in the face?
The memories caught me in a current—Carline chasing me through the woods, the ground beneath my feet, my hands, the mud all over me—I changed in the forest, before I got to Ivory House, to… that door there in the field. I lost my clothes in the woodlands and came tearing through the castle. That was Carline’s curse, what she promised.
“This is…” My throat went dry. My legs weakened. “Can I come to control this change?”
Mr. Hawthorne shrugged. “Unlikely. Demons aren’t known for their charity.”
That meant, every night from dusk to dawn, I would be a danger. If I strayed too far from the house, stayed too long in the fields, if I shifted in front of my family, they and anyone in town would become prey. A wolf, unknowing of herself, would stalk them, could hurt them, could kill them.
Was that what Carline meant? I would return because I had to, because the one place I may not cause harm to everyone I loved would be at Carline’s side. Accept her deal and my family would have more than they could ever want. Disobey and I could end the life of that family entirely.
“What can I do?” I asked pleadingly, foolishly.
“What did the demon offer you?”
“What does that matter?” I snarled, taken aback that he dared to ask, but there was little care in his eyes. He spoke like a noble, too prideful and stubborn to see the world outside the box he created.
“A great deal, in fact. Some demons offer fairly agreeable contracts, but you are right. As it isn’t my deal, it does not matter.” Mr. Hawthorne flicked his finger, beckoning. “Come now, we reached Westshire last night, and I fear how many of the townsfolk may have gone into shock after seeing Ivory House. They are so quick to sue, as if I am at fault for their weak hearts. If anything, they should be amazed by such grandeur.”
Mr. Hawthorne wandered away, continuing his tirade that didn’t reach my ears.
My family was down there. I hardly had more answers than I did yesterday, and they had done little more than worsen the situation. Carline’s curse wasn’t one I could break on my own. I needed help, and like Mom, I couldn’t get it. Mr. Thatcher hadn’t spoken to him. Artificers didn’t keep their promises. He couldn’t come through for me, so I had to do what I could, anything.
“Wait!” I rushed forward to catch Mr. Hawthorne’s wrist. He flinched and cradled that wrist to his chest.
