Page 29 of Blackwicket
“This room is off-limits.”
“The most inviting room in this house is off-limits?” Though his tone was mild, the question had sharp edges. He tucked a hand into his pocket and advanced a few steps, stopping by the piano.
“There are family heirlooms here. I’d rather they continue to be untouched.” I was proud of myself for not giving ground.
“Understandable.” He brushed his fingers along the keys,playing a single note, crystal clear, the same as before. I realized the instrument was tuned. When he regarded me again, there was an expression on his brow I’d come to recognize—a lock-jawed persistence to uncover the truth people kept hidden. “This house truly is a marvel, Ms. Blackwicket. The size of it alone, in such a beautiful location, would demand a fortune to build and maintain, and there are so many remarkable pieces here. This piano, for one, is extraordinary.”
“Do you play?” I asked pointedly, knowing he didn’t. A man like Victor Harrow didn’t have hobbies aside from terrorizing his quarry.
He offered a controlled smile, a breath through his nose that mimicked the beginnings of a laugh, but ignored my question.
“Curse Eating must have been a lucrative business for your family to live in such luxury, despite the inn struggling for most of Isolde Blackwicket’s ownership of it.”
“We aren’t a shop for black-market magic,” I replied. “Curse Eating was a revered profession. People came to my family for healing, and they were grateful and generous. Many of the things here were gifts; the rest was paid for with the wealth accrued by my grandmother. She owned a port in town.”
“Hm. It’s such a pretty tale. Your family home, full of love and grateful people, warm and bright, and safe. A bit like something from one of those fairy stories on your shelf.” He motioned to them.
“You can believe what you’d like.”
“I prefer to believe what’s true,” he said. “So, where is this wealth now?”
“I don’t know and have no interest in knowing.”
“No interest in wealth?”
“No interest in staying long enough to go through my sister’s accounting books to see how little our wealth benefited her.”
His regard remained steady, and with a jolt, I noticed he was standing on the deplorable spot that often led me to panic.
“Do you bake, Ms. Blackwicket?” the Inspector asked. When my response was to stare at him, he nodded in the general direction of the kitchen. “The jars.”
“Are you having a stroke, Inspector?” I replied, his abrupt change in subject unbalancing me.
A muscle tightened in his jaw, and I was pleased I’d annoyed him, but the movement came with a twitch of his lips. He was suppressing a smile.
“I take it you haven’t been through the house.” There was something in his voice, an amused tone he often adopted when he knew more than I did about something important.
“I haven’t,” I said flatly. “I keep getting interrupted by people who won’t mind their own damn business. But I don’t enjoy the kitchen and avoid it, so if you’re mentioning it with hopes I’ll cook something for you, you’re out of luck. You’ll have to go to town, you won’t be able to call for anything.”
“Yes, I noticed the phone,” he said.
The phone. Damn. I wasn’t painting a stable picture of myself, a necessity to survive this ordeal. My initial run in with the Authority had turned in my favor because they saw me as a plain woman, with plain hobbies, a boring but steady job, an uninteresting lover, and a small group of friends who had nothing to do with magic.
“Phone or not, no one will come here,” I said.
“Pity. They’re missing out on a gorgeous old place.”
“Gorgeous.” My echo sounded doubtful. I couldn’t determine if the word was sincere. The Inspector had limited ability to inflect emotion, unless it was menace.
“To be clear, I don’t need you to tend to me. I’m sure you’re busy with other things.”
He glanced to the ceiling, giving the impression he couldsee through to the secrets hidden in the beams. In a terrible moment of coincidence, the house creaked as if it were planning to walk itself into the sea. I felt a twinge of unwelcome fellowship with it.
If I continued to demand he avoid this room, he’d have all the more reason to snoop, a dangerous gamble considering the scar of the Narthex so near. Though it lingered undetectable to anyone who wasn’t looking for it, Inspector Harrow was someone who was always looking.
He started toward me and my hand twitched for the pocket where the pen was tucked. But he was coming nearer because I stood in the exit. I stepped aside to let him by.
“I’m going to see what I can dig up about all your sister was involved in these last few years.” Rather than moving past me, he stopped, positioning himself in a way that reminded me I wouldn’t have a snowflake’s chance in hell if I dared go toe to toe with him. “People are on guard now that there’s a Blackwicket back in Nightglass and that’s already made my job harder, so stay here. That’s not a request. Don’t leave this house.”
