Page 79 of The Curse of Indy Moore
“Good.” He tugged a pocket watch from his jacket. “We have another hour or so before we should leave. Shallwe stay here?”
“Yes, I’d like that.” Even though we shouldn’t. We shouldn’t have come out here at all because, as we walked and the sun caught in Mr. Hawthorne’s eyes, I had the horrible, horrible thought;oh, I like him quite a lot, don’t I?
And it felt like a heartbreak worse than any other.
22
Where Indy Uncovers Something Nefarious
Demonologywouldbeanarea of interest if I had any magical capabilities. A book the professor brought spoke of a turtle demon prowling the seas that attacked ships captained by men and carrying any type of spices. The demon followed the vessel then rammed the bow and sank the ship. If anyone escaped on lifeboats, the turtle would find the captain and drag him to the depths. However, if the ship kept a torch on deck burning all day and night, the turtle would never attack. If the seafolk fed the turtle peeled oranges, it would accept a rope and tug them along for days, cutting their sailing time in half.
“Miss Moore, could you grab these books for me from the library?” Mr. Hawthorne passed a sheet of paper containing five titles. Our fingers brushed, and my mind wouldn’t relent in its questioning of whether he had done so on purpose.
Calm yourself.
The last few days, I spent more time in the office. With my time waning, Otis had taken to pursuing possible ways to stall the curse. He spoke of talismans that could prove useful, if we had to resort to such measures. While I appreciated the notion, I didn’t want to think about our last resorts. They must have understood that; otherwise, there was no reason for me to be another pair of eyes. I didn’t understand most of this. They weren’t in need of an errand girl because Ivy supplied the books they required. However, grabbing books and snacks made for great distractions, so I wandered off to the library that I knew the route to by heart.
It was strange thinking about my initial reaction to Ivory House. The winding halls, pointless staircases, and useless windows had perturbed me. I had found the space claustrophobic and weird, but now it was a haven of charm. Even with Mr. Hawthorne’s questionable taste and unworldly hoarding.
On the way to the library, a horrid smell hit my nostrils, like mold on old wood. The more I walked, the worse the stench became.
Had Miss Beamy caught a mouse and left it to rot?I wondered.
I risked my life by investigating rooms, where narrowly slamming doors spared me from being buried alive beneath mountains of board games, of all things. There were no carcasses or questionable blood stains anywhere, although I admit I couldn’t survey most of the areas in their entirety without risking loss of limb. Then I discovered the cat in question sleeping in her room.
What once must have been a type of lounge was converted into a cat sanctuary with ledges on the walls to create various pathways and tunnels looping around to keep Miss Beamy entertained. Each corner had a cat tree, and another grew from the center of the room to connect all the tunnels on the ceiling. A sitting area led me to believe that Mr. Hawthorne took time to read in there with her in his lap, but he was busy so she slept on the wide window sill in a literal bed made for her size.
“Miss Beamy, you shouldn’t leave dead mice lying around. I can smell—” My lecture died off upon hearing a painedwheezing sound.
Miss Beamy’s breathing was labored. I hurried to her side. The stench had me gagging. I covered my nose and called for her a second time, hoping she simply hadn’t heard me.
She didn’t answer.
Was she sick? I should take her to Mr. Hawthorne or perhaps bring him there. I wasn’t sure if I should move her.
Before I left, I gave calling for her another chance, that time also laying my hand on her side. “Miss Beamy?”
Her sweater was wet. Blood? Panicked, I looked her over, fearful of an injury. Her sweater pulled up slightly in her sleep, revealing wet, matted fur. It wasn’t blood. The substance smelled wrong, putrid, like a fish left out to bake in the hot sun for weeks on end.
Slipping a finger under the sweater, I pried up the fabric and gasped. Her fur fell away, revealing pallid skin, irritated to a pale pink hue around a spiral of runes scarred into her flesh. I didn’t need to be an artificer to understand something was horribly wrong.
Miss Beamy clawed my hand. I stumbled back with a yelp. The cat stood, wide awake, the little hair on her back at attention, but the damage was done. Her sweater curled under her front paws, revealing the rotting flesh circling her entire abdomen.
“Begone with you!” she yowled, her pupils dilated to thin slits.
I cradled my injured hand to my chest. “I’m sorry. I called for you, but you weren’t waking. I thought something was wrong… Something is wrong, isn’t it?”
Snarling, she leapt from her bed and landed poorly. Her legs weakened on her. When I tried to scoop her up, she hissed and bolted, leaving me in the aftermath of a grave discovery. I didn’t know as much about magic as the others, but I understood Mr. Hawthorne had done something horribly wrong and he was trying to hide it under that sweater.
How hadn’t I realized before?
Storming out of the room, I returned to the office without the books. Professor Kumir and Otis read over their research. Mr. Hawthorne patted an empty space hemade on the floor, believing I had his materials. Seeing him made me think of the harsh cuts on Miss Beamy. My hands clenched into trembling fists, nails pressing crescent shapes against my palms.
“Come speak to me outside for a moment, Mr. Hawthorne,” I said as calmly as I could muster.
“Can it wait? I’m nearly done with this chapter.” He flipped a page, so enamored he didn’t notice me leaning in.
“Now.” I curled my hand under the lapels of his shirt. His words were strangled by my rough yank.
