Page 61 of Cursebreaker

“You sound like you’ve been chatting with Margaret,” Owen says, a sly smirk curling his lips.

Henry nearly misses the onion he’s chopping.

I let the steps creak underfoot, announcing my arrival.

I make a show of inhaling deeply. “Stew again. Lovely.”

Henry shoots me a glare over his shoulder. “Actually,” he drawls, “we’re having roast chicken.”

“Thought the crew could use a little pick-me-up,” Owen adds, flipping his knife in the air and catching it behind his back. “Moondancer gifted us enough poultry to feed a small army. One little feast won’t hurt anyone, aye?”

I can’t argue. “Good,” I say, “one more bowl of stew and I might have—”

Something rustles inside the crate to my left. Owen and Henry point their blades at the wooden box marked PROPERTY OF THE MOONDANCER.

“Shh!” A muffled hiss.

I open the lid of the crate, my heart in my throat.

“Surprise?” Elsie offers a weak grin, waving up at me from the bottom of the crate.

My little sister tumbles out of the wooden box and throws herself at Owen—he barely has enough time to set the knife aside before she tackles him.

“I’m sorry—” Elsie hiccups, weeping. “I was eavesdropping and”—she wheezes, tripping over her words—“I didn’t believe them!” She wipes her snotty face on Owen’s shirt. “They said you were alive and—”

Owen sinks to a crouch, eye level with our youngest sibling, smiling at her as if I’d opened the crate and a little star had leaped out.

“It’s you!” Elsie’s bottom lip quivers, her eyes bright. “It’s really you!”

She clings to him, burying her face in his shirt.

I think of the scar on Margaret’s forearm, the burn that won’t heal. I think of Annie, her eyes glowing red, surrounded by Underlings.

“No!” I shout, even though my voice cracks. “We have to take her back. She can’t stay.”

Owen looks up at me, nodding slowly. “She’s right,” he says to Elsie. “They need you back at home. Albert needs you.”

She pushes away from Owen, glaring at me, her face as red as the tomato Henry has taken to slicing. “I’m coming with you!” she says. “I invoke the rights of the stowaway!”

I glance at Owen. He shrugs, brows lifted, and mouths, “Pirate.” A grin tugs at my lips, but I smother it with a scowl.

“And what rights are those?” I inquire, playing along.

Elsie clears her throat. “Um… well, there’s the right to earn my keep!” She nods eagerly. “And the right to tend to the chickens! And swab the deck, and…”

“And?” Owen prompts.

“And…” Elsie furrows her brow, clearly thinking hard.

Just then, a slender calico springs from the open crate and lands in Elsie’s arms.

She grins sheepishly. “And the right to supervise Rooster?”

Elsie and the cat—Rooster—both look up at me with pleading eyes.

Owen joins in, his bottom lip jutting out in a mock pout.

I huff a sigh. “You do exactly as I say.” I point at Elsie and Rooster in turn. “No arguing. If you’re going to be part of this crew, you’re going to take orders like everyone else.”