Page 21 of The Curse of Indy Moore
“If you had, that was Ivy’s doing, and I don’t see a door opening into another field, so this is the best option for your sudden request,” he replied.
“And the most fun,” said Miss Beamy, then he stepped off the cliff.
I screamed.
We didn’t fall. We floated, down and down, gentle, with Mr. Hawthorne’s arms tucked beneath me. His cloak fluttered at his back like wings. A silver light appeared within the stitching, revealing runes all over the cloak. I pinched the fabric around his neck. A pulse rippled beneath my thumb, breathing life into my fingers. Miss Beamy raised her head high. Her paws made biscuits on Mr. Hawthorne’s shoulder. Slate dove past us, becoming a blur of black across the fields below. But as beautiful as it all was, as safe as we were growing closer to land, my stomach still churned.
“I might get sick on you,” I warned.
“Dare to, Miss Moore, and I will drop you,” he replied.
6
Where Indy Shares Bad News
ThemomentMr.Hawthornetouched the ground, I surged out of his arms.
“And people call me dramatic,” he chuffed.
“Forgive me for having a natural fear of falling to my death,” I said, hands on my knees and head between my legs.
I have gotten the urge to be sick far too frequently of late, and I’d appreciate it if the world ceased this endless sick-inducing nonsense.
“Oh, hush now, young one. You are quite alright.” Miss Beamy rubbed against my shins, though the wild flicking of her tail warned of a potential thrashing if I dared to pet her. Truly rude because what else was I to do with a fluffy cat so near? It was furiously teasing.
Standing up, I hugged myself, wishing I had a jacket or my cloak. The fall afternoon brought a chill, reminding me of the woodlands. The trees of the Misty Woodlands stood tall, their low branches bare, but thesun didn’t reach within. A darkness overtook the lands, threatening of who lived within. At the very least, Westshire hadn’t changed when I half expected to find rubble and ash. Carline’s wolves could have torn through the cottages and dragged the villagers into the forest with little of a fight.
Though relieved to see the village intact, I grew curious as to why and what it meant.
Miss Beamy sleuthed through the high grass in search of her beloved field mice. Townsfolk crowded on the road to gawk at the bizarre flying man. Francesca certainly never showed magic of that caliber. I wouldn’t blame any of them for believing they were under attack. Then one stepped closer and closer, a hand raised.
“Indy!” Baxter leapt a fence to cut across the field.
He often kept his blonde hair brushed back. However, that day, he had a wild look about him, as if he had been racing about without ever bothering with his appearance. I liked it. I liked how he was running toward me, worried, as if I wasn’t the first page in a book he cast aside. Baxter caught me in a warm embrace. The hug shouldn’t have made my heart skip, nor the care in his voice, and yet, my body betrayed me.
“How did you come out of the sky? What is happening? Where have you been? We were looking…” He released me to give Mr. Hawthorne a slow once over. “Who is this?”
Baxter had been a haven for me, a garden where I thought the blossoms of love would grow. That feeling hadn’t changed entirely. I wanted to lean into his muscular arms and tell him all of what had transpired, hopeful that he would kiss my cheek and promise that our future was certain and bright. But the logical side of my mind reiterated that he ended things, and to cling to someone so uninterested would be humiliating. I had been abandoned, and I wouldn’t debase myself by pretending that hadn’t pained me.
Correction, I wouldtrynot to debase myself.
I wished my frown remained when looking up at him. The worry in his eyes, such a refreshing blue it would make the sky envious, fooled me into believing hecared as much as before, that he realized his mistake and we could write a new book belonging to the both of us.
Pressing a hand to his chest, I pushed to no avail. “It’s a long story, but I must get going. I’ve been gone all night. My aunt—”
“Received a strange message yesterday saying you were safe and on your way home, but it came flying into the house, so she said. The villagers are meeting at the tavern now,” he interjected, while looking at my ears. The curious additions flattened from embarrassment. That would be annoying.
“She pounded on all our doors through the other night saying you had gone out to grab your cousin’s toy and hadn’t come home. What is on your head?” he finally asked, like all this time he expected the ears to disappear.
“She’s alright then, and the girls?” I half asked, half shouted.
“Yes, they’re at the tavern, too.”
“We must get going! I have to see them.”
In my rush, Baxter’s hold slipped, but he latched onto my wrist. He tugged me back into him.
“Explain what’s going on first and where you came from with this,” he waved his hand toward the silent Mr. Hawthorne, glancing between us and our connection, “stranger.”
