Page 65 of Blackwicket
“That’s good.” Mr. Farvem wrung his hands. “I heard what happened. Well, I expect we should discuss your father’s arrangements.”
I wasn’t ready to consider my father’s burial.
“I’ll leave you to your preparations, Ms. Blackwicket. My condolences once more for your loss,” Harrow said, and there remained something simmering, a warning that none of this was over. He nodded goodbye to Mr. Farvem, who stepped well out of his path. I watched the Inspector go, a glut of discomfort making my skin feel stretched too tight. The house was restless, but retreated as the tap of magic closed.
“I’m so sorry to intrude,” Mr. Farvem said, tired. “But could I trouble you for a glass of water, my dear? I walked here rather quickly, and at my age, well.”
I was shocked by the man’s interest in coming inside, but opened the door wider.
“Of course,” I replied. “You’re welcome at Blackwicket House, Mr. Farvem. Come in.”
Inspector Harrow’s car roared to life as the old morticianhobbled over my threshold, the first guest I’d invited across since Thomas.
I hoped the house’s sudden silence was a good sign, but I very much doubted it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“You can wait in the parlor, Mr. Farvem,” I said.
While I was still uneasy about the room, I had no alternative. The kitchen was still filled with Fiona’s blackberry jam.
“You’ll be comfortable there. I’ll bring you some water.”
He touched my wrist to delay me.
“My Patrick’s dead, you know.”
The hush of his voice was heartbreaking, and my tender response was for Mr. Farvem’s sake, not Patrick’s, although I wondered if he’d been aware of the type of person his grandson had been. Either way, it was irrelevant now.
“I heard. I’m so sorry. It’s too much tragedy for one town.”
“During the war, that’s how we killed the Curse Eaters.” He confessed, as if I hadn’t spoken. “We slit their throats, let their corrupted magic flow out with their blood.”
A ripple of alarm swept down my spine.
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“I was part of a special unit. The Veil. It was our job to eliminate the most formidable magic users, prevent them from spreading their curses across borders. Our men were so tired, filled up to the gills with tainted sludge. So many died. When the war ended, I vowed I’d do everything in my power to make sure nothing like that ever happened again.”
He hadn’t been looking at me before, choosing a distantspot beyond my shoulder, but now he caught my gaze in his, and he sighed.
“Then the Brom began to grow.”
A shout erupted from outside, followed by a thunderous explosion that rattled the house, windowpanes shaking, flakes of ceiling plaster falling on us from overhead. The chandelier rocked back and forth, the crystals clinking, and a deep moan, like a steel boat hull adjusting under pressure, resonated through the house as the Drudge inside it moved.
“What was that?” My voice warbled. “What’s happened?”
I made to run for the door, but Mr. Farvem halted my momentum by seizing my hand.
“Don’t look, my dear.” He pulled me back. “You don’t want to see. It’s a shame. The Inspector made successful strides in eradicating the Brom, but men like him no longer fit here. We need to learn to take care of our own problems. No magic, just utility.”
I withdrew my hand from his, adrenaline spiking through my limbs.
“You should’ve been in that car, Eleanora. It would have made this easier.”
Farvem produced a scalpel from his sleeve. It slid into his palm in a sleight of hand that mimicked Patrick’s disappearing trick with the trench knife. My eye was distracted long enough for him to bring the weapon in a close arc towards my throat. I reeled backwards just in time, nearly tripping, and the instrument glanced the underside of my chin.
I screamed in pain and horror, and the undertaker reached for me, gripping the collar of my shirt, which tore as I jerked aside, the top buttons popping free. He swung at me again as I fled, and I felt the blade in my hair.
