He raises an eyebrow, as if I’m such an annoying little olive fork jammed into his side, he’ll need me to be more specific. I swallow the bad name I’d like to call him.
“About the poking around. I’m not trying to ignore your privacy, or make the Manor think it needs to go on the attack.”
“The house is not as scary a devil as you think. For now.”
This is more of an apology than I would’ve gotten a couple weeks ago, so I’ll take it.
“Are you and the house one and the same?”
“No. And yes. The house listens to me, responds to my magic. But it decides whom it allows inside, and what it shows us. It likes to play tricks. To a fault. And it does enjoy mimicking my emotions and moods.” He sucks in a breath. “I haven’t been around other people for a long time. Or lived with them. Not that this is an excuse.”
“We’re not as scary as you think,” I say. He doesn’t have a retort for that. “Can I be frank with you, Mr. Knight?”
“We both know you don’t need my permission for that.”
Well then. “You’re not sick, are you.” I don’t make it a question. “You’ve been cursed.”
His lips press together, teeth grinding.
The silence before was nothing compared with the suffocating vacuum enveloping us now.
No no no.
I was hoping Webb was only trying to crawl his way into my mind and lay eggs of doubt. But the Warlock’s face confirms my fear.
How the hell did I miss this? He’s anexperton curse magic, made it his field of study. I should’ve trusted my instincts all those weeks ago, when I first considered the possibility of a curse. But I tossed the idea because I was so sure that a Warlock wouldn’t bother getting involved with Witch magic.
The night hits me then, and I slump against the counter. I’m only going to drain myself further trying to keep up with the Warlock’s secrets.
“The cursemakesme sick,” he finally says, voice dark and low. “Those were the terms of the Witch who cursed me. Over the next year, my magic would diminish, my body would weaken, and eventually, well, death.”
“On the summer solstice?”
He nods.
“That’s why you don’t want me wandering.” Bad health, bad control. Bad house.
“One reason, yes. I’m no longer capable of managing the Manor’s behavior as I used to, so I can’t guarantee your safety.”
The Witch who cursed me.
“The Widow Witch!” I realize. “Shecursed you, didn’t she? Is that why she hasn’t—”
“First, no, I have no idea why she hasn’t stolen someone from the Holler yet this year. That has nothing to do with me. Second, the details change nothing.”
“They changeeverything. You hired a Farewitch. To cure an illness. Not lift a curse. You need a Hedgewitch, or a—hell, why did you even think I could help in the first place?”
“In my research, I’ve found evidence of Farewitches lifting curses that mimic illnesses, especially if the curse involves physical symptoms. Vague evidence, but it exists.”
“But that depends on the Farewitch and her specific affinity, the recipe, the patient…”
“Yes, perhaps it was an optimistic hypothesis.”
“A long shot, you mean.”
“This past year has been nothingbutlong shots,” he snaps. “I may practice the Language of Small Wishes, but I’ve studied curse magic my entire life, well before this. I should not have had to burden anyone else with it. Not Ms. Zeen, not Lazlo—” He bites down on the boy’s name. “And not you. This ismynightmare, one I should have been able to handle.Alone. But I couldn’t. So illness or curse, you are my last option. I have never lied to you about that.”
“Wish magic, curse magic—none of that’s my specialty. I’m a Farewitch. What exactly do you want me to do here?”
