Page 13 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

Before the silence grew too awkward, Merritt said, “I take it you’re all magical in some sort of way.”

Hulda dropped her head. Apparently the wrong question to ask, but surely there was no harm in it.

Mr.Walker seemed unfazed. “In a way, but I fear you’ll be disappointed. I’m a conjurist, myself, though my bloodline is so diluted you would barely believe it.”

MissRichards chimed in. “And his magic is illegal.”

Hulda perked up at that. “Truly?”

Mr.Walker chuckled. “Indeed. In both Britain and the States. I can turn small things into gold. But I shan’t demonstrate.”

Merritt whistled. “Impressive.”

“Very small things,” he added. “And, like MissLarkin, MissRichards is an augurist.”

The black-haired woman folded her arms. “But my skill isn’t nearly as neat as yours, MissLarkin. I inherited luck, but it only works a little better than the average Jane. Wouldn’t have thought twice about it if it didn’t run in the family. But I am rather good at cribbage.”

Merritt turned to Alastair. “And you?”

The man frowned. “I’m not a circus performer, Mr.Fernsby.”

Mr.Walker clapped Alastair on the shoulder. “Hysterian, but like us, he has very little to show for it.”

“Huh.” Merritt didn’t know what else to say. He’d never met a hysterian before—a wizard of the emotions, and of pain. It might have made him worry, were this, oh, the year 600 and magic were still somewhat potent.

He reached for Hulda’s hand, only to have her withdraw and tuck it behind her back. He let his hand fall as naturally as it could to his side while his stomach dipped a little.

Hulda adjusted her glasses. “If there isn’t anything else, Mr.Walker—”

“Not for now. But I’m sure something will arise by tomorrow.” He nodded at Merritt. “Good to meet you, Mr.Fernsby. Alastair, attend me with the records, will you?”

The two took off down the hallway. Hulda headed straight for the stairs, so Merritt offered a quick wave to the others before following. She didn’t speak again until they were outside.

“We should be careful with public displays.” She folded her arms.

Merritt side-eyed her. “I’d hardly call it a public display. Besides, they were already assuming we were married.”

Her cheeks pinked. “Regardless, BIKER is a place of business—”

“Then I’ll hold Calvin’s hand next time for a broader sense of normalcy.”

She rolled her eyes. “Really, Merritt.”

“Really, darling.” He stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, took her hand, and pulled her knuckles to his lips. Met her eyes and held themuntil that flattering pink suffused her cheeks. Then he whispered, “Just let me enjoy you.”

She opened her mouth but failed to say anything, and something about the fact made Merritt desperately want to kiss her—but he knew such apublic displaywould sincerely embarrass her, so he restrained himself and headed in the direction of the kinetic tram station.

“What are the Brits doing here, anyway?” he asked.

“An audit,” Hulda responded. “And to look into the oddity with MissHaigh and Mr.Hogwood.”

Merritt sobered. “I see.”

“Wedid nothing wrong,” she amended. “But I’m worried about Myra. But.” She glanced around, then pulled Merritt off the road, toward a copse of oaks still holding on to most of their leaves. Turning her back to the road, she dug through her pocket and pulled out a folded telegram. “I found this at her home this morning,” she whispered, handing it to him.

Merritt read the brief message.Tell me where he is, or I will keep my promise.His gut twisted like someone was making challah out of his intestines. Handing it back, he murmured, “Sounds like a threat.”

“My thought as well. And the date is the same as her resignation.” She folded the telegram as tightly as the paper would allow before pressing it into the depths of her pocket. “I’d rather not think this way, but I fear it may have something to do with Mr.Hogwood.”

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