Page 106 of Blackwicket
He inhaled slow, deep, returning from whatever realm he’d been visiting in his mind.
“From what I can tell, any profound emotion: rage, grief, passion. Whatever riles my magic encourages the Drudge. I connected most with rage and grief as a boy—really the only emotions I was capable of. Barrick taught me how to cope with those. When I became a man, passion was a problem as well, and I frightened a few young ladies before realizing it.”
“You haven’t had any lovers since?”
He chuckled. “Passion isn’t a prerequisite for sex. I’m sure you have enough experience to know that. How much passion did you feel for Ben?”
It was intended to sound offhand, but the hint of tension surprised me.
“Surely, you’re not a jealous man, Inspector.” The counter was playful.
“What about me makes you think I wouldn’t be?”
Both of his brows raised, giving me a view of his face that I found even more alluring for its humanity. But I wasn’t naïve enough to believe it meant he was teasing. Victor had given me no reason to doubt the kind of man he was.
“Ben wasn’t passionate, he was safe,” I replied, rounding back to his question, “But he was also kind. I didn’t love him, but I regret hurting him. He must think I’m dead.”
“I’ll send him my condolences.” Victor’s quip was toneless. He was uninterested in my ex-lover’s feelings, and the shadow of his Drudge quivered in annoyance, the vibrations of it never letting me forget it existed. In the back of my mind, I continued to prod at the encapsulation of curses in my own bones, anxious over its lethargic nature. It didn’t behave how I’d expected it to, almost as though it lay waiting for something. Biding its time.
“What happened after you left Blackwicket House?” I asked, trusting Victor to know I meant the horrible day that had changed us both.
The silence drew on so long, I assumed he wouldn’t answer, but at length, he spoke, venturing into his worst memories.
“When Grigori realized I wasn’t dead,” he said, “he used everyone believing I was to his advantage. It gave him sway over Blackwicket House and an opportunity to continue his experiments on me unbothered.”
“He wanted to make you Drudge?”
Victor offered an affirmative noise.
“Grigori believed curse magic was most formidable, needing a human element to shape it into something commandable, a notion he acquired in the war.” He rested his hand on my waist, warm and harboring. “He’d been 26, already a high-rankingofficer in the agency responsible for creating cursed soldiers. But the Authority came to power, put a stop to it all.”
“For whatever good it did,” I muttered.
I gently touched a ragged scar the length of my thumb beneath Victor’s collarbone.
“Grigori thought he was doing me an incredible favor, building me the same way he’d once built soldiers. When the Drudge is in control, it enhances strength, makes me difficult to injure, quick to heal, but it’s unpredictable and burns through magic like tinder. His previous attempts needed to feed on magic outside themselves to survive, but even then, host vessels didn’t last more than a few weeks.”
“That’s why Grigori wanted Dark Hall children.” I made all the horrible connections. “How did you escape?”
He exhaled.
“William.”
The name turned something in my stomach, and I regarded the scarring on my wrist, experiencing such an intense surge of hatred that the curse forced upon me unfolded, curious, waiting to see how far my turmoil would reach. It began a slow climb, using my anger as stepping stones.
Victor moved his hand, placing it over the permanent mark his brother had bequeathed to me in his insanity, owning a piece of me even in death.
“Don’t feed it, Eleanora.” His caution only thickened the venom.
“Good advice coming from you.” The words emerged in a hiss.
“Ellie.”
Victor brought my ruined skin to his lips, placing a kiss on it. His use of my childhood nickname softened me, and my eyes welled.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Keep your meaningless apologies.” The words were harsh, but his delivery of them affectionate.
