Page 42 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

Mr.Baillie penned something else.Calm down,Hulda told herself, but if anything, her emotions were heightening. Surely this wasn’t all in her head!

“What does this have to do with MissHaigh?” she pressed. Strain was entering her voice. Hulda prided herself on staying professional and collected at all times—like Danielle had said, she’d mastered it. Something was wrong. She felt it in her gut.

“What is your personal relationship with Myra Haigh?”

Her hands closed into fists. “If you wish for me to repeat myself, she has been my employer for several years, and yes, I consider her a friend.”

“Do you know her location?”

It was getting hard to breathe. Why could she not breathe? “I’ve already stated to the entire department that I do not.” A headache was blooming at the base of her skull. She swallowed. “Why are you doing this?”

“It’s my job to—”

“Not the questioning. Why are you using magic on me?”

He glanced up. “You’re mistaken, MissLarkin.”

She shook her head. “I am not. I am ... I shouldn’t feel this way.” She was too hot under her dress. Panicked and frustrated ... No, not frustrated. Angry. She was angry. Frenetic. So frenetic her eyes were moistening.

Mr.Baillie lowered his file. “If you can’t control yourself, we can postpone until morning.”

Hulda stood. Too quickly, for her head spun. “I cancontrolmyself just fine,” she ground out as her nerves unraveled. “Stop this at once, or I’ll report you!”

Closing the folder, Mr.Baillie set it on his desk and calmly rose to his feet. “MissLarkin, I’m afraid you’ve become quite hysterical.”

Her breathing was coming hard, like she’d run here from the port. Her skin was flushed. The knife in her heart twisted, fire stoked, and she began crying. She covered her face, humiliated, only to be slammed with a wall of mortification—

And through her closed fingers, she thought she saw the corner of Mr.Baillie’s lip tick upward.

“Stop!” she shouted. She hadn’t meant to shout, but she couldn’t control ... she couldn’t make it stop ... she couldn’t—

The slightest breeze whisked past her. Something hit the wall.

And suddenly the knife pulled clean from her chest, and while she emotionally bled, the feelings dissipated, leaving dusty traces in their wake. Pulling her hands down, Hulda gasped.

Merritt was there. Merritt was there, and he had Baillie shoved up against the closest office wall. The lawyer’s glasses were askew, but his face was as unreadable as a bronze bust’s.

“What. Thehell. Are you doing?” Merritt growled.

Mr.Baillie tried to straighten, but Merritt shoved him against the wall again. Mr.Baillie was the taller man, but he was thin, lightweight. “Unhand me, Mr.Fernsby.”

“Answer the question and maybe I will.”

“I am merely asking MissLarkin about Whimbrel House.”

“And leaving her blubbering in the office?” he snapped. “We could hear her from the reception room!”

Humiliation churned in her gut, but at leastthatsensation felt natural. Removing her glasses and wiping her eyes, she said, “Merritt, let him go.”

Mr.Baillie added, “I suggest you do as she says if you don’t want legal repercussions.”

Merritt visibly seethed. “Says the hysterian unwinding a colleague in his office.”

“You are mistaken,” Mr.Baillie said plainly.

For a moment Hulda thought she saw a flash of red from the corner of her eye, but when she glanced over, there was nothing there. The door, however, had been left wide open.

“Merritt,” Hulda warned.

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