Page 2 of Blackwicket
“If it weren’t Grigori, it would be the Authority.”
My anger flared, fueled by the cataclysm of sorrow and hurt.
“You’re only complacent about Grigori’s wickedness because you’re hoping someday the hand around your throat will be William’s,” I snapped.
Even in the paltry circle of candlelight, I could see the furious flush on my sister’s face.
“Fiona,” I said softly, regretting my remark. “Why are we still trying to hold up this town, this house, when the people we help don’t even want us to exist?”
“Wedon’t hold it up.” I’d never heard such venom in hervoice, and it penetrated deep. “You spend all your time in the garden, pretending nothing ever happened.”
“Mother started that garden to help with the curses, to…”
“You should go,” she said abruptly. “Somewhere far away, like you’ve always dreamed of.”
“I want us to leavetogether,” I reached for her hand, but she pulled away.
Fiona shook her head, hugging her arms around herself.
“The Authority will find us. If you’re alone, you’ll have a better chance, and so will I. Grigori has offered to sponsor my license.”
“He knows you can eat curses?”
“He has for a long time, Ellie. He’s cruel, not stupid.”
“You have to refuse!” If Grigori Nightglass sponsored Fiona, her life would belong to him, just as our mothers had.
“It means protection for the house and the town.”
“At what cost?”
“I don’t have the luxury of considering the price I’ll have to pay because ofyou!”
It was the final slap, the severing of everything we were, of all the dreams we’d once had to escape this life. I withdrew, simmering with offense and grief, and rushed back to our shared bedroom in the eves to pack a small bag, filled with enough things to sell for the money I’d need to start somewhere else.
Fiona was in the foyer when I came down, and it looked as though she might say something. I waited, pleading silently for her to change her mind and go with me, but she only stepped to the front door and opened it to the night.
With tears on my cheeks, I left Blackwicket House and my sister, beginning the long walk into town, where I’d catch the first train, no matter its destination. When I reached the gate, I paused, looking up the cliffs, dressed in their white autumn thrift, toward the house. The full moon hung proudly above it,my mother’s garden of peculiar flowers drinking in its glow.
In my sixteen years, I’d learned enough to know that the darkness that devoured people from the inside out was often their own. But for a Curse Eater, for my family, it was the darkness that didn’t belong to us, the darkness we borrowed. My sister had chosen this future, but I refused.
I would never come back to this house again.
Chapter One
Galton’s department store, the largest in the city of Devin, roiled with chaotic life, each of the five floors packed with last-minute shoppers and onlookers who’d come to ogle the enchanted displays. Every year, alongside the first icy promises of snow, winter brought the temporary softening of laws prohibiting the use of magic. With the proper licensing and plenty of donations, Galton’s had obtained permission to provide a bit of extra wonder to the season and more than a bit of additional profit to the store. Not that it needed any more money.
My uncharitable thoughts rankled me, and I fiddled with the ruffled collar of my blouse, laying the starched white frills neatly over the uniform jacket assigned to all of the girls in the cosmetics department. I had been working the perfume counter for a year, condemned to wear the heinous Galton Girl ensemble: a stiff skirt and jacket set in variations of soft blues and grays that did nothing for my complexion, which a recent Authority report had described aswan.
I tilted my head to dislodge the memory, but it held tight. My powder blue kitten heels were pinching, and I had a run in my stocking, dangerously near the hem of my skirt. I willed it to remain content in its place and venture no farther south. I was poised to spend the evening uncomfortable, contemplating all the ways my life had recently gone terribly wrong.
Sleep had eluded me for weeks, and my appetite was inconsistent. Yet to anyone looking, I was chipper-faced and clean, my hair freshly curled and pinned into controlled waves at my neck, no strand amiss. I’d kept my makeup subtle to avoid attracting unwanted attention from husbands who’d wandered away from their wives in Women’s Clothing across the aisle, and I wore no scent on my skin but lavender soap. Galton’s dress regulations prohibited perfume, and I was tempting fate with the lavender, but being the best saleswoman they had came with some liberties. I mulled over my status as the lead clerk, such a normal, safe thing to be.
Humanity undulated around my counter: youths hunting for small tokens to give to sweethearts, men in their trilby hats and wool suits rushing to purchase gifts they had left for the last minute, and women in their best winter day dresses, pulling behind them sugar-addled children, faces still sticky with sweets from the confectioners one floor below. I visited the sweet shop often myself to enjoy their enchanted display. It consisted of red licorice and cream taffy, stretched and molded into the form of a Clydesdale-sized candy elephant, which periodically raised its trunk to trumpet sparks through the air. This golden glitter transformed into wrapped tarts and jellies, raining in pinpoint form into perfect rows of silver foil boxes. Magic of this complexity was the work of dozens of people, all from various prominent families whose abilities hadn’t completely atrophied over the decades since the ban. They’d each offered what they could, but it was still the barest of scraps. Though I craved an opportunity to participate, to stretch muscles long unused, there were rules for people who lived their lives in hiding, ones I’d chanced breaking a few too many times already.
I spared a glance at the disappointing spectacle constructed for my department: a series of poufs rising from their gold compacts in graceful arcs, twirling to release a powdery scentbefore descending again, compact lids snapping shut and reopening to repeat the performance. I’d have wagered it more a feat of engineering than magic, but a faint power still buzzed pleasantly, and I lowered my guard a little to enjoy it.
Immediately, a cold tremor twitched through me, slinking into my shoulders, an unfortunate sign that more than whimsy visited Galton's today. I shut myself up again hastily.
