The Last Writer by Adriane Leigh (books like harry potter .txt) 📕

Mother had allowed so many destitute children in, I was beginning to lose track, and she was feeding them dinner on shifts because there weren’t enough seats at the table for everyone at once.

I’d stopped remembering their names when the count hit nine.

Right now, though, the house was quiet. I imagined their tiny little fingers fast at work packing up lily bulbs and addressing and taping boxes before Walton packed up the wheelbarrow and stacked the shipments high, bringing them to the curb for the postman to pick up.

Mother had carved out a real business at Usher, in more ways than one.

“Oh, Zara, taste this—should I add more chicken flavoring? The butcher was short on cuts this week, so I’m trying to make broth with just water and seasoning.”

I frowned before catching myself, accepting the spoonful of broth she offered. “Tastes fine.”

“Good. So many mouths to feed, I told Walton to take the tiller to the back garden so we can plant some carrots and potatoes at least.”

“I can take care of the garden,” I offered quickly, eager for more outside work.

Mother smiled, patting me on the shoulder before turning back to her pot. “Such a good girl. To be honest, I’m glad that riff-raff teenager is out of our hair, I know you thought you were close to him, but boys like that don’t get close to people—they only use them. Did you know he’d been to jail? What a scandal he would have brought on Usher House, and just when we were getting our feet off the ground.” She shook her head, shaking a few more sprinkles of pepper into the bubbling pot of seasoned water. “He deserved a far worse fate than he got, as far as I'm concerned, we don’t have time for scandals at Usher, we’ve got bestselling books to write. I forgot to tell you—that literary agent has invited me to attend a Thriller Writers of America meeting this evening. They’re nominating authors for next season’s debut author award and he thinks I have the best shot just based on what he read in my book. He even said a few Hollywood types will be there and he’s going to put a good word in—can you imagine a movie deal, Zara? I showed him a few pictures of Usher House, I think he wants to pitch it to the movie companies to use in some of the main shots. I offered to send him a few reels of the garden and the cliffside—oh, wouldn’t it be wild if Usher were on the national stage like it deserves?”

I gulped. “It sounds like a dream.”

Mother turned the pot to a low simmer, then turned to catch my gaze. “Oh, dear, you look like you’ve seen a ghost, what’s the matter, Zara?”

I clamped my arms around my stomach, still stumbling over her words from just a moment ago.

He deserved a far worse fate than he got, as far as I’m concerned.

My vision blinked to the jagged window shard Walton had held in his hand earlier.

“I don’t feel well this evening.” I turned, mind reeling, tears biting at my eyelids as I suddenly began to rethink all of the last twenty-four hours and where exactly Nate had gone.

Dread settled deep in my bones.

NINE

Ryn

“The secret which the murderer possesses, soon comes to possess him…it overcomes him…” Yara lingered on the last word. “He feels it beating at his heart, rising to his throat,” she clasped her throat with long, red fingertips, “demanding disclosure. He thinks the whole world sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and almost hears its workings in the very silence of his thoughts. It has become his master.”

I waited, unsure what to say.

“She’s got a dramatic flare this morning, eh?” Thax commented at my side.

I nearly spit my espresso across the blue atrium tiles.

“I was quite surprised by your chapter.” She addressed me.

I smiled. “Thank you.”

Thax huffed at my shoulder, shuffling in his leather boots before taking a noisy sip of his espresso.

Yara’s eyes flickered to his, clearly annoyed.

I had to contain the smile fighting at my lips. My stomach twisted with the need to laugh, just to break the tension.

Being in the vicinity of Yara and Yarrow made me literally sick to my stomach. It was hard to discern what was worse—the stench coming out of my closet half the time or the way I felt in front of the Thornberry twins.

“Regardless,” she hissed, before looking back at me, “you’re on the right track. It feels alive, fresh, and terrifying.” Her eyes glimmered with her last words. “Were you scared when you wrote it?”

I swallowed, not expecting the way she was so suddenly engaged in anything about me. “Y-yes?”

“Good.” She bit her bottom lip, one pointed leather heel stepping toward me from beneath her black skirt before she seemed to think better of it and steeled herself. Measured as usual, she continued. “Real is always so much more terrifying than fiction.” A tiny grin wisped at the corners of her lips. “I’m glad you’ve found your muse.”

Thax, probably hopped up with the caffeine jolting in his veins after another all-night investigation, sat on the iron bench at the edge of the domed center atrium. Bright morning sunlight cascaded down on him from the glass ceiling tiles, birds flying in and out of tropical leaves before one landed a few tiles from the tip of his boot.

Yara’s eyes caught it, narrowing slightly before she cleared her throat and breathed. “Yours needs work. You’re on the right track, it’s better, but not by much. Keep writing, and…” Her forehead furrowed. “I suggest some sleep.”

Anger flashed across Thax’s features. He couldn’t hide an emotion if he tried; it was oddly endearing about him. Part of me felt bad that he had to endure her scorn, and that’s what it felt like—in the best of times the tension was thick