Page 27 of The Curse of Indy Moore
“Carved works fine,” my aunt replied.
Mr. Hawthorne retrieved a sharpened tip to connect to the end of his scepter, then he took to writing sideways along the window’s edge. I wasn’t sure if he did that out of necessity or to hide the rune, considering one may not notice if they didn’tsearch for it. As he wrote, silver light filled the spaces. None of the lines made sense. The language of enchantments had a jagged and harsh cut to them, like someone slicing out blindly, but each mark was made with careful deliberation.
“What does that do?” Charlotte asked.
“This is an enchantment that will make your home invisible to anyone seeking to cause your family harm.” Mr. Hawthorne carved the same rune on the left side of the kitchen, then pointed toward the bedroom doors. “I’ll need to place a rune on each side of the house.”
Aunt Agnes took him into the bedrooms, where he finished the inscriptions. Susannah and Maude followed like young chicks, gawking at the magic pouring from his fingers. I worried he would comment about our lackluster abode, but to Mr. Hawthorne’s credit, he remained professional and never said more than what he was asked. Then they returned to the kitchen, where Mr. Hawthorne stashed the scepter in his cloak.
“The enchantment will last as long as the runes remain intact. Should there be any damage, write to me, and I will return to fix them,” he explained while opening the front door.
My aunt would have thanked him even more had she not been stunned into silence. Four bodies moved in perfect synchronization toward us. The sun reflected off their porcelain skin that wasn’t skin at all. The mannequins Otis spoke of arrived donning plain trousers and blouses. None bore a face, making them uncanny. The mannequins came to a halt at the door, their hands settled politely at their waists.
“Your helping hands, Mrs. Shepherd,” said Mr. Hawthorne. “They can perform everyday tasks, such as cleaning, cooking, mucking out the stables, and such.” He peeked at one’s arm. “And can carry up to two hundred pounds, so leave any heavy lifting to them.”
“I, uh.” Aunt Agnes gulped, equally perturbed by them as I was. “Please tell your colleague that we appreciate all his effort. How do they work exactly?”
“Simple. Tell them what to do. When you aren’t in need of one, tell them to rest, and they’ll be kept out of the way, though I recommend keeping them insideat night. These are what I had around the house, so they’re simply made and could be destroyed by bad weather,” he said that so nonchalantly, like anyone would have mannequins that could be enchanted to do housework lying about.
“Shall we get going?” he requested, his polite way of saying we had to go.
I hugged my family for what I hoped wasn’t the last time. Charlotte assured me she would do everything she could to help her mom, which had been what I hoped to avoid as long as possible. She should enjoy the last of her teenage years rather than worrying about finances and chores. The twins said they’d never go into the woodlands again, which I hoped wouldn’t remain true. The woodlands were such a wonderful place for the children of Westshire to play. Now, they would be fearful of it.
Then Mr. Hawthorne and I set off. I looked back, watching Aunt Agnes—and the helping hands—wave goodbye. Miss Beamy strutted between us, muttering about not having the time to catch one of her beloved field mice. Slate landed on Mr. Hawthorne’s shoulder, where he proudly displayed his achievement of having stolen two kitchen utensils on this outing. What an odd little bird.
Mr. Hawthorne cast a sidelong glance at my suitcase. “Is that all you have?”
“I have my clothes. That’s all I need,” I answered.
“What of comfort? Something from home. You may be gone for some time,” he explained, sounding serious. “There are steps we must follow. I imagine you are aware that no artificer may enchant someone without their consent.”
“Unless ordered by the sovereign.” Or done so in secret to those without an important enough voice to listen to.
“Yes, war times are exceptions.” Mr. Hawthorne smiled, unbothered by the sentiment, or good enough of a liar to feign not to be. “But here, I must follow these steps, then we must conduct our experiments. Those take time, and depending on how those experiments go, this may take weeks rather than days.”
Weeks away from home, the life I had always known, stuck with strangers and treated as an experiment because there were no other options. In the end, he maynot discover a solution. We both knew this, and he was willing to say it. I saw it in his eyes, the way his lips fell, preparing to speak their poison.
“Don’t.” I feared what I may do against his honesty. “I know what this means. I’m prepared for whatever the outcome is.”
“Good. When we return, tell me everything. From the beginning, spare no details,” he said.
“I will.”
“Will you?” he challenged, his eyes taking on that dark hue of curiosity.
“Yes.”
Because I refused to let Carline get her way. Because I had to return home, if only to prove to myself that I made the right decision about refusing Carline’s deal.
8
Where Indy Suffers Questioning
Mr.Hawthorne’sofficecarriedIvory House’s chaos. Books and scrolls spilled from the shelving lining the facade. Three windows stretched to the ceiling at the back of the room, decorated by a cat chasing a stream of fish. The light filtering through the panes illuminated the back of the desk chair and the desk itself, I imagined, seeing as it was hardly visible under the mountain of text and scrolls.
A nook beneath the window spoke of many naps, and a steaming teapot floated nearby, prepared to pour a drink once the cups maneuvered out of whatever rubble they were trapped under. Chalk marked the floorboards in shapes of runes and patterns that meant nothing to the untrained eyes. On the ceiling, the decorative crown molding matched in color to the pale wood floorboards, while the shelving and furniture were a slightly darker hue. The walls were painted a cool, light green tone that brought the outside in.
Mr. Hawthorne took to clearing off his desk. He set aside previous work to reveal the mahogany desk with rounded edges engraved with crows. Speaking of, Slate landed on a perch, a preserved tree branch, jutting out from the top of the desk. A nest fit between the branches, filled to the brim with trinkets, where he stashed his newly acquired utensils. Those bright green eyes of his observed, and unlike Miss Beamy, he didn’t so much talk as scrutinize. Miss Beamy hadn’t joined us. Upon returning, she had yawned and announced herself in need of a nap. She disappeared around a bend to find herself a place to sleep.
