Page 80 of Blackwicket
“Why isn’t he here doing this work with you?” I asked, noting the Inspector spoke of Chief Harrow in the past tense.
A beat of weighty silence followed.
“Barrick Harrow was murdered by a Brom agent connected to Grigori Nightglass, two years ago,” the Inspector replied at length.
The picture of the Inspector’s recent life became clear. The Brom he’d killed, the vicious scar, his loathing for Nightglass and all the people in it, and his contempt for William and those associated—all connecting back to what he’d lost. There was no softening of his eyes or tightening of muscles in his jaw revealing the pain of this confession, but the thread of wayward magic that broke free of its shackles, reaching across to me on instinct, contained his anguish.
He deliberately moved away to avoid psychic contact, butit was already too late; his power had summoned mine, and I’d involuntarily responded. It was bewildering to be near someone from whom you couldn’t shield yourself, who perceived and touched your deepest person, even against their own wishes. And because it was equal parts perplexing and unwelcome, we both strained to ignore it, determined to show no sign that we sensed the pull.
“I’m going to protect Jack,” I said. “I’ll die trying. I can’t keep looking on while William terrorizes the people of this town who can’t escape. Inspector, I have a unique set of abilities, and there’s no reason for you to reject my help with bringing the Nightglass dynasty to its end. William thinks he’s cornered me. All I have to do is pretend to give in.”
A darkness crossed the Inspector’s face, the tinge of gold in his eye more prominent. He grew icy, magic retreating, creating a void where it had once been.
“It’s a pretty offer, Ms. Blackwicket, but your seduction of William Nightglass isn’t required.”
Frustration and no small amount of offense sparked like a flint.
“Don’t twist my words. I don’t know what else to do to prove to you I’m trustworthy, that I’m not involved in any of this. I’ve lost family, was nearly murderedtwice, I’ve shown you the secrets of this house and bared my shame to you.”
I’d worked myself up, wanted to raise my voice, but lowered it instead, the words a vicious whisper.
His ire responded in kind, and he took a menacing step, pinning me with his next accusation, a true one.
“But you’re still lying to me,” he growled in return.
“What do youwantfrom me?” I demanded, the crack in my voice humiliating.
“Everything, Eleanora,” he replied. “And that’s the trouble.”
With no other warning, he reached for me, his hand catching my hair, tangling in the pins I’d haphazardly arranged as I’d rushed to dress that morning. His initial touch was rough, a loss of control, but when our mouths met, he didn’t devour, didn’t bruise my body with demanding hands. He merely held me, inviting me to respond, to mold my body to his.
I had every reason to resist and cared for none of them.
I fit against him as though we’d been made together, forged by the same hand in heartache and turmoil. It was true I was lying, but so was he, holding the truth behind his affliction close.
I didn’t care.
He was reminding me I was still capable of something other than rage and grief, and I wanted to explore what it meant to meet magic that felt like home the way his did.
It wasn’t the rising of the sinister part of him that broke the kiss, but his own regret, clear in his eyes, which lingered on my face as if to memorize me before he let go forever.
“I’m here to ensure that William Nightglass and everyone who enables him burns, Eleanora. You don’t need to be part of this. You simply need to stand a safe distance away and watch.”
He brushed the hair from my forehead with his thumb, tracing the trail of his finger across my temple with his gaze. He released me, my heels finding ground.
“You can’t do it alone, Victor. No matter how vicious you are, you’re one man. They’ll kill you.”
He smiled, such a rare thing to see, but even more uncommon was the resignation in it.
“Don’t waste gentle sentiments on me, Curse Eater,” he murmured. “Save them for the boy, and spend your time figuring out how you’re going to handle the Authority when they finally draw the connection between Nightglass and the Blackwickets. My suggestion would be to make damn sure they never find either of you.”
Chapter Thirty
I’d expected hell to return to Blackwicket House with haste, but it chose to wait in deadly silence, always just a breath away. Inspector Harrow departed following our discussion in the hall, warning me he wouldn’t be present during the day, never explaining where he was going. He returned each night before sunset, weary and evasive. He’d ask tersely about the boy, then disappear into his room. So, for three strange, peaceful days, my world revolved around Jack.
The boy remained weak, but on the third day, had enough energy for boredom. Although he’d asked, I couldn’t show him my sister’s room upstairs, with the curse-burned rug and splintered wardrobe. Instead, I took him to the parlor. The room, with all its grim history, felt brighter with Jack in it, and I enjoyed his enthusiasm for the books lining the cases flanking the fireplace.
“Oh, this one,” he said, reaching to grab a cherished edition. Its spine had loosened from the binding from all my childhood readings of it. I was pleased he’d chosen it.
