Page 35 of Blackwicket
William’s composed presence altered, and he appeared pained for a moment. He observed the crowd, the tightness of his expression belying some inner battle.
“So much,” he replied at length, reverence ringing with a sadness I felt more than heard. It wound from him, dark and dense. He pulled himself together, one man becoming another in the blink of an eye. When he met my gaze, the tenderness was gone, and he was once more William, Grigori Nightglass’ heir. “But the world moves on and leaves us holding our grief alone. Whether we allow it to drown us is our own choice. People depend on me, on Thea, and we won’t forsake them.”
Thea remained silent throughout the entire conversation. Sipping her drink, she observed her band as they finished their set and prepared for the next, to the light applause of the crowd. At the mention of her name, a muscle near her ear twitched, as though she were clenching her teeth.
“We’re missing something,” William said, holding my gaze, the ghost of a grin on his handsome mouth. He resembled a man prepared to tell me a secret I didn’t want to hear. “We’re sorely lacking someone familiar with the ins and outs of the darker side of this beautiful project.”
I had no reason to pretend I didn’t know what he meant.
“You need a Curse Eater.”
“Thea, unfortunately, never learned how to do it.” Here, Thea finally engaged, beginning to protest the criticism. William held a finger up, halting her. “While I’m confident you’recapable, Eleanora is a stronger candidate, and you know it.”
Thea James leveled an acrid look on me. She did know it, and she wasn’t happy.
Discomfort and disgust crowded together too tight to stay in me any longer. Laughter seemed the safest way to express it, so I let out a chortle that mismatched the emotional weight of this meeting. “I’m not going to curse eat for the Brom.”
I looked between them, my bravery gathering as rage simmered.
“You’re insane believing you could tell me you’d been using my sister as your filtration system for all of thisbullshityou’ve been shoveling in this godforsaken town, and expect me to jump in and fill her position as eager as a bitch in heat.” My volume intensified, and several heads turned our direction. “You’re a fool, William Nightglass. Whatever you were to Fiona, I know it ended, and now I can clearly see why.”
“Hm.” It was William’s only reply to my pronouncement. He stood, using his cane for support, and I maintained my glare as he walked to my chair, lifting a hand as he approached. A slinking, luminous magic gathered on his fingers, growing from William in a way I’d never seen him capable of. The smoky edges of it formed the amorphous shape of a flower, solidifying into a bloom, silky white petals gleaming. Despite my rage, the action mesmerizing me. I’d deprived myself too long of the little pleasures of creating, of bending magic to build small, meaningless tokens. My mother had done it often, for no other purpose than to spread goodwill and joy. Resentment lived in my heart for the ways even such minor miracles were denied to Fiona and me by the changing landscape of magical law. I battled the awe attempting to upend my contempt, the draw of something that once meant everything. William caught sight of my weakness, ever observant.
“This is how it could be, Eleanora. We could all feel thisagain,” he said, twirling the blossom between his fingers before gingerly tucking it in the curl near my ear. The magnetism of his magic attracted even more attention to our table, a testament to how void human life had become. To my further surprise, he bent, pressing a tender kiss to my temple, murmuring, “Consider it, and please continue to visit and experience what good we do. You’ve been sorely missed.”
He straightened, nodding to Thea his goodbyes.
“I’m sorry to leave you both so soon, but I have an important matter to see to. Enjoy your evening.”
He departed in his steady, stiff gait, practically every eye in the place following him.
“What a mess you’ve walked into, Eleanora,” Thea said softly, her thorny exterior melting a fraction. She massaged her forehead against an oncoming headache.
“You were Fiona’s friend.” I gave her no room to deny it.
“I was,” she replied, taking up my abandoned drink. She knocked it back in three long pulls. I regarded her with a mix of horror and fascination as the shadowy curse slipped into the darkness of her mouth. She swallowed. The involuntary pull of breath came at last as the curse found its way. She held it, as though waiting for something ecstatic. After a heartbeat, her lips parted, and a white mist rose like glittering smoke. It dissipated, vapor rising from a stormy sea.
Thea James could curse eat.
“Apparently, William isn’t aware you can do that,” I said. The unraveling of the tainted magic had been smooth, uncomplicated, and well-practiced. Fiona had indeed been a good teacher.
“What William doesn’t know can’t hurt me.” Her red lips twisted slightly. “This drink truly is disgusting.”
As I was about to challenge why she’d so readily agreed to give it to me, she leaned close.
“Listen, it’s important you’re aware the Nightglass family is starving for adept Curse Eaters. I’m sure you’re aware there aren’t many left, and that makes you the most delicious thing to cross their path since Fiona. If I were you, I’d hop on the next train, and I’d do it right after you walk out the door of my club.”
She’d already looked away, dismissive, when I took the photos from my pocket, sliding them across to her. She glanced at them, stiffened, her spine straightening as though a steel rod had been shoved through the top of her neck.
“My sister’s son,” I asked, low. “Where is he?”
“Fiona didn’t have a son,” Thea replied tersely, less composed, scanning the clientele in search of danger.
“Then whose child is this?” I tapped the photo, demanding.
Thea stood, the table rocking with the suddenness of the motion, and she smiled, the expression bright, unwavering, and perfectly painted. She ran a touch down the length of her beaded dress, as though smoothing it, but this motion signified more. It was a pose, body angled to accentuate the line of her waist. She hummed, not a song, but a single note of music. The minute pulse of magic that emanated from the sound encouraged the nearest tables, which had yet to fully lose interest since my outburst, to relax and return to their conversations and drinks.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” she said, false cheer in her voice to match her face. “Leave and stay gone. Your sister’s dead. There’s nothing left for you here.”
