Page 6 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

Hulda pulled out the drawer, finding an old Bible, a pencil, a couple of ticket stubs, and a handkerchief. Frowning, she closed the drawer and looked under Myra’s pillows. Walked to the small set of shelves and perused the books. Nothing. A sigh pressed past her lips. “Where are you?” she asked, turning and scanning the room. “What have you done?”

Of course, Hulda knew what Myra had done. She’d helped Silas Hogwood slip from jail and used his repertoire of magic to enchant homes so that BIKER would flourish. She’d unleashed an insidious criminal on the world and on Hulda, and on the staff of Whimbrel House. But she’d come back to resolve the crisis. And she had managed it with aplomb—not a whisper of Silas Hogwood had touched the papers. No constable or reinforcer had come sniffing around Blaugdone Island. It was as if nothing had happened.

But Myra hadn’t debriefed Hulda, either. Was the entire interaction with Mr.Hogwood to be kept secret? If so, why? Merritt had landed the killing blow, yes, but it had been in self-defense. There had been witnesses to the aftermath—local authorities. What had Myra told them? Did they realize what they’d stumbled upon?

What was Hulda supposed todo?

Releasing a shrill sound of frustration, Hulda sat on the edge of the mattress. Her spiraling thoughts were interrupted by the subtle crunch of paper.

Curious, Hulda repeated the maneuver, standing and then sitting in that same spot, and received an identical result. A cursory search revealed some letters wedged between the side table drawer and the bed. Hulda grabbed the slim stack and pulled it into the light.

It felt wrong to thumb through them, but if Myra could be located at any of these addresses ... Hulda could spare the apology. One was of a business nature and two others personal, from friends, or so Hulda guessed. She would send telegrams to these places and ask after Myra.

Hulda frowned. If the letters could lead to Myra, she wouldn’t have left them to be found. Unless she’d done it intentionally, knowing Hulda would come snooping. Then again, if Myra had wanted Hulda to find her, wouldn’t she have left a communion stone or sent a windsource pigeon?

Sighing, Hulda plopped onto the edge of the bed. Gathered the letters together and tossed them onto the floor, trying to create a pattern to incite her augury. She repeated the action two more times, with little luck.

Well, at least she had addresses to write to. She really should be getting to BIKER; she’d yet to update Whimbrel House’s file ... though how would she accurately record that the place was no longer enchanted without mentioning the involvement of Silas Hogwood? Hulda frowned. She’d done nothing wrong, yet Myra had her feeling like a criminal.

She stood, but this time she heard a slightthumpof the bedframe against ... well, she wasn’t sure. It didn’t touch the side table. Peering between the table and bed, just past the letters, she spied a book that had toppled there, like it had been resting against the bedframe and was knocked asunder by Hulda’s jouncing. Reaching down, she pulled it free.

“Oh,” she said. She knew this book—she had gifted it to Myra last Christmas. It was a gray book with a green leather spine and corner protectors. The front read,MissLeslie’s Directions for Cookery. One of the many receipt books Hulda had read. She’d especially liked this one.

Myra had dog-eared a few pages. Flipping through, Hulda glanced at the recipes she’d marked. As she neared the last, she spied a piece of paper wedged inside, perhaps a scrap used as a bookmark. Still, Hulda pulled it out. It was small, folded, and—

It was a telegram. Curious, Hulda unfurled it and read the short message.

The receipt book fell from her lap.

Tell me where he is, or I will keep my promise.

Her fingers went cold. Was this ... Was this a threat? Hulda flipped the telegram over, searching for another clue, but there was none. She carefully turned each page of the receipt book, but there was nothing else tucked within.

Was someone threatening Myra? Who, and why? And why hadn’t she said anything? Why keep this telegram and not report it to the watchmen?

Because she’s already on tricky ground.Hulda didn’t know what bargain she’d made with the watchmen in Marshfield after Silas Hogwood perished, but ...

Silas Hogwood. Hulda’s eyes went to the time filed on the telegram. October 26.

The same day Myra resigned.

“Oh, Myra. What have you gotten yourself into?” She looked over the message again, this time shivering as her skin pebbled with internal cold.Tell me whereheis.

Surely ... Surely the sender of this telegram couldn’t mean Silas Hogwood?

Hulda dropped onto the mattress again, fighting the nausea building in her stomach. “What did you do?” she whispered, as if the telegram could answer back. Hulda doubted Myra would have reported the message, and the sender must have felt confident its meaning would not be interpreted by the post office employee who’d typed it. But ... had Myra left it here, in a book received from Hulda, because she wanted Hulda to find it? Or was it just coincidence?

Ithadto be coincidence. Silas Hogwood was dead. Hulda had watched the life flee his eyes and the breath leave his lungs. The message likely referred to someone else. A contractor for BIKER, perhaps? Or this was sent from a long-lost lover searching for a bastard child. Or perhaps a lost pet. But it was certainly sent to Myra, which madethose assumptions ridiculous. Then again, perhaps her work with Silas Hogwood was not her only secret.

Hulda forced herself back to the present. “I’m being too dramatic.” Yet uncertainty pricked her. She’d show it to Merritt, get his thoughts on the situation. Granted, Merritt’s imagination was wilder than her own ...

Reaching into her bag, Hulda ran her thumb over the communion stone there, the one paired to the stone in Merritt’s possession. Withdrew and grabbed her pouch of dice instead. Strode to Myra’s kitchen table, which was only large enough to seat two, and sat.

She shook the dice in her hand and scattered them over the table, letting her vision shift out of focus.

Nothing.

“Could you workoncewhen I need you, and not when I’m performing parlor tricks?” Hulda set the telegram on the table and gathered the dice. Threw them again.

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