Page 86 of Blackwicket
I entered further, footfall muffled by the nothingness that still existed under me, holding my weight by hope alone. As a child, I’d taken advantage of expanding my magical ability, enjoying how easily things came, creating toys that moved on their own, paper butterflies that took to the air. My favorite pastime had been smuggling my beloved book, still tucked inthe parlor’s bookcase, and reading a story aloud to a pretend audience, bringing the scenes to life in a misty, miraculous world of shapes, much like a puppet master. It had been lonely, and I’d often attempted to convince Fiona to accompany me, longing to share it with her. But she’d been afraid of the Fiend, and no matter how I worked to convince her it only bothered people who kept curses inside of them, she’d never risk it.
“What if I have a curse I don’t know about?” she’d argued.
“Don’t you know when you eat them?” I’d groused, disappointed that she wouldn’t try to find the courage to keep me company.
“You don’t have to eat a curse to have one, Ellie. You can make them on your own, by accident. What if I made one and didn’t know?”
She’d remained anxious about creating something terrible for the remainder of our life together, never enjoying the freedom and delights of Dark Hall. Yet here was a portal I hadn’t known about. One I’d never seen in all the voyages Fiona and I had made to the tower to play. She’d made it herself, and she’d done it to do terrible things.
As my surroundings improved, I navigated forward, the tops of doors appearing in succession, steps from each other. All were inactive, each Narthex systematically destroyed by the Authority. I’d tested each, all either locked or opening to blank walls. The hallways branched in various directions, and I’d likely explored them all, eventually reaching the end of what Curse Eaters had built, where the architecture of Dark Hall faded to pitch black, punctuated by sparks of untethered magic mirroring bioluminescent life.
At some point, the architects of the hallways had become creative, and soon I would see the decorative paper, stripes ofemerald green and ivy, and petaled arms of sconces holding dewdrop globes. Beneath my feet would stretch blue carpet runners, speckled with stars that mirrored the night sky over the sea. The world-building magic used to fashion these things had been called upon so often that Dark Hall remembered them.
The first new thing I noticed, alerting me to the possibility the hall had changed since I’d last set foot there, were the tips of green, leafy creepers that emerged clinging to doorframes, strung across sconces like string, the stalks bearing couplings of red bell flowers. They rang as they formed the tinkling music charming. I smiled despite myself, wondering if Fiona had given in to sentiment and made them grow. I stroked one, its petals silky, and it chimed.
Aware of the sliver of Drudge I’d torn from Auntie during our tussle, I kept a tight hold on my magic, so as not to give the Fiend anything to sense, though it seemed nowhere near. I stepped on something unyielding, and it rolled underfoot, producing a sharp crack as I tumbled into the blackness that still pooled below my waist, landing heavily on one knee with a slight twinge in my ankle. My hand rested on another peculiar thing, long and smooth against my palm.
My burgeoning curiosity about what these shapes were was waylaid by a tremble of power, like the flutter of butterfly wings, rippling to meet me, distinct from the portal tingling behind me, but familiar enough. Another Narthex existed nearby. I sat back on my heels to stand, keen to follow this thread, when the hallway bled the darkness away, completing its transformation and leaving me nestled in a copse of bones. Human bones. Dozens of skeletons sat either propped along the walls or sprawled over the ground, bringing to mind a looted catacomb. Each exhibited different stages of decay, dressed in evening finery and wrapped in dense, climbing plants, the trumpet flowers sprouting from eye sockets and open collarbones. Thething I’d stepped on had been a leg, its anklebone fracturing under my weight. The body it belonged to had long been stripped of its flesh and appeared nearly artificial, unreal. But the cadaver I’d touched wasn’t clean. Remains of gray flesh still clung in clumps to its joints, wispy blonde hair hanging in small sprays from its skull. And pinned to the breast of its black cap-sleeve evening gown was a peacock feather brooch.
Blessedly, there was no smell, magic censoring the horror of death. Still, I gagged, gathering myself, stumbling as my stomach heaved, knowing beyond a doubt these were the bodies of the missing in Nightglass, whose articles of clothing now lay carefully folded in a chest in the tower. Dread caused my psychic ramparts to buckle, and the curse remnant shivered.
Then came that terrible sound. The sound I’d heard the night Thomas had been attacked, when I’d barely dragged him free of Dark Hall as the fiend sought to take him. I hadn’t known Thomas Nightglass was full of curses. He’d hidden it so well, and I’d never bothered to look.
I retreated shakily, panic toying with my senses. I needed to exit the portal and pull my magic free, removing the key. The door had closed, and when I yanked it open, there was only bare, lime-washed wall. I slapped my hand against it, running along to locate the seams, but the portal that had existed here had been closed for a long time. The hallway had moved.
I sprinted to the neighboring door, locked, unyielding, even as I sent a course of magic into it, begging for entry.
I glanced over my shoulder as the noise echoed again, a ship’s hull creaking before its collapse. Red fog filled the space in a rush, a swirling wave of diabolical magic that set to work unweaving the hallway that had just materialized. The surrounding darkness swelled as I tried a door, another, finding no escape from my terror. I only needed to close my eyes to sense the wavering portal outline, but fear held me captive, and themonster approached, eager to rip me apart for daring to bring fetid power into its domain.
I stumbled sideways, grasping one last handle. It gave, and I plunged in. I was upside down, discombobulated by the lack of gravity and light, and I reached frantically for the other side, sure that just touching it would mean safety. Cold slipped around my ankles, even as someone grabbed hold of my fingers and pulled. I was wrenched out of the Narthex, back into Blackwicket House, and I wrested my magic from the portal. The wall solidified, bowing with the strain of the creature struggling to enter.
My rescuer hauled me forcefully around a vice grip upon my waist, and I found Inspector Harrow. He was shirtless, hair a disheveled commotion, eyes golden embers, half-lidded.
“I was sure you told me you couldn’t access Dark Hall, Ms. Blackwicket,” he murmured.
Chapter Thirty-Two
I pressed my hands to his chest, his skin hot against my palms, magic pulsing unrestrained, confounding my senses.
“There are bones. There’s never been bones,” I said, shaking my eyes wide, pleading with him to understand what I couldn’t say. He didn’t release me.
“You were adamant that people with no curses shouldn’t be afraid. So why were you running?”
“I took one from Auntie when she attacked Jack! I…”. My breath stuck. The Fiend would devour a curse carrier with no discrimination or pity. All Fiona had to do was feed her victims the curse and introduce them to Dark Hall.
“The clothes.” I twisted to look at the array of items scattered on the floor, hanging upon the lip of the wicker chest. “They belonged to the people my sister murdered.”
Fury over this new blow, over still being restrained, drove me to pound a fist against the Inspector’s chest, “Let me go, I need to think!”
He pulled me closer, his heady, faunish magic merging with my adrenaline, turning my body into a pyre.
“Was it really Fiona?” he asked.
“What?”
“Your sister’s dead, but people keep disappearing, and here I am finding you in Dark Hall. All of this chaos coincides with your arrival in town.”
“Think what you want, Victor.” I snarled, ready to bite, embracing my volatile emotions, tired of being stalked and accused by someone who’d done things as terrible as I had.
