Page 12 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

“No.” He spoke hard enough to garner a concerned look from Beth. “No, I won’t ... that is ...” He ran a hand back through his hair. “Go ahead and send it. When you have a chance.”

Owein whined.

Her gaze switched from him to the dog. The letter slipped into her apron pocket, and Merritt found himself oddly relieved not to have to look at it anymore. “I’m coming.”

Owein shot into the hallway. Beth hurried after him, dishes in hand. Merritt followed, then stopped in the doorway. Turned to a pencil on his desk. Focused on it, squinted at it, scowled at it. He thought of it floating, or melting, or breaking—all the chaotic annoyances Owein had performed while enchanting these walls. But the pencil remained unchanged.

Letting out a long breath, Merritt pushed the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder and left to grab his coat.

Merritt wasn’t sure if he should knock once he arrived at the unmarked entrance of BIKER headquarters. He supposed it was always better to knock than not to knock, so he rapped lightly and waited a full minute for an answer. Receiving none, he tested the knob—unlocked—and let himself in. He was somewhat familiar with the place, having given himself a small tour yesterday. He started toward the office. Seemed things were running again, judging by the voices coming from that direction.

Reaching the third floor, he spied Sadie Steverus—the secretary who had given him Hulda’s sister’s address after he’d gotten the splendid idea to woo her via manuscript—behind her desk, along with a black-haired woman, their heads pressed together as they looked over something behind the tall front shelf of the desk. To his left was a small sofa, upon which sat a man. A small side table that had once held a plant had been dragged in front of him, at least a dozen files scattered over it.

“I believe there’s more office space that way.” Merritt jutted his thumb to the right.

The man startled. “Oh! Hello.” He bashfully glanced down the hallway. “You know, I’m sure there is. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”

The black-haired woman, a few years Merritt’s junior, jumped from her seat. “Hello!”

Simultaneously, she and Sadie asked, “May I help you?” The newcomer glanced apologetically at the BIKER secretary.

Merritt smiled at them. “Just here for Hulda Larkin.”

Sadie nodded to the other woman, apparently giving her permission to take over. “She’s right this way.” She came around the desk, checking the clock as she went. “Goodness, they’ve been in there a long time!” She knocked on the door to what Merritt believed to be Myra Haigh’s office and stuck her head in. “There’s a guest here.”

“Oh, we’re well and finished,” sounded a baritone voice from within, and seconds later a very robust man in his late forties exited, Hulda in his shadow, a skinny fellow right behind her.

The black-haired woman perked up suddenly, head swinging from Hulda to Merritt. “My apologies! You must beMr.Larkin!”

Merritt laughed, altogether amused by the woman’s enthusiasm, Sadie’s blanching, and the bright shade of red swallowing Hulda’s face. She blushed so easily. “Something like that.”

Spine stiff as a brick wall, Hulda marched over to him. “This is Mr.Merritt Fernsby.” Her mouth twisted. “My ... associate.”

Associate?Merritt glanced sideways at her. She didn’t meet his eyes but stood so erect he thought her spine might snap, or she’d at least pull a few stitches in her shoulders. He glanced back to the newcomers. Who were they?

Not wanting to make Hulda uncomfortable—she’d explain later—he extended a hand to the first man. “Nice to meet you.”

The robust man had a good grip. “Calvin Walker. These are my colleagues, Megan Richards and Alastair Baillie.”

Hulda cleared her throat. “Mr.Walker is the head of foreign affairs with LIKER, the parent company of BIKER.”

“LIKER?” Merritt repeated.

“London,” she clarified.

He nodded. “All of you have truly terrible acronyms.”

Hulda pinked a little more, but Mr.Walker grinned. “That we do.”

Merritt put his hands in his pockets. “So ... why is the London institute in Boston?”

The skinny man answered, “A matter not important to thoseoutsidethe organizations,” like he was tired and had better things to do than make new acquaintances.

Merritt eyed him. “But perhaps important to their clients?”

“Mr.Fernsby is the owner of Whimbrel House,” Hulda quickly added. “BIKER’s newest addition. Located in the Narragansett Bay.”

She did not mention that the house was no longer magical, and Merritt chose not to disclose the information. Myra’s wishes aside, Owein should have some semblance of privacy, so disclosing how Silas had sucked the boy’s spirit right from the floorboards seemed in bad taste.

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