Page 63 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

He rubbed his chin. “In the meantime, we let Baillie go.”

Her stomach tightened. “It doesn’t seem right, does it? Perhaps we should file a report with the watchmen. Or the local government. Andyet”—her insides shriveled—“how could he possibly know about Mr.Hogwood? And to indicate Myra ... I dare say he’s more informed than Mr.Adey.”

“I haven’t a clue.” He rubbed his eyes. “We have to move forward with what information we have.”

“The options do seem rather limited, don’t they?” Hulda slouched down. “Especially with MissTaylor in Canada. Mr.Baillie may truly be a victim. There’s no sure way to know unless we confront Mr.Walker. But I think it prudent to hold off on any confrontation until we know more.” She looked out the dark window, as though she could see across states to the Massachusetts coast. “And perhaps fall down the well a little farther. If Mr.Baillie spoke in earnest about Mr.Walker, then Mr.Baillie won’t admit his failure here. He’d be condemning himself along with us. If he was speaking falsely, well, he can take comfort in believing he’s fooled us.”

She felt Merritt’s eyes on the side of her face. Met them. He still looked tired, but ... better. Certainly better.

“What are you thinking, MissLarkin?”

Rubbing her hands together, she said, “We never saw what Myra did in that basement. I doubt there’s much left to see ... but I want to see it. I’ve wondered, perhaps, if that’s where she’s hiding. It worked for Mr.Hogwood ...”

“Tomorrow?”

“No.” She smoothed her skirts. “No, but soon. I don’t want to slip away too quickly and alert Mr.Baillie or Mr.Walker. I’ll look into the azurite first.”

He nodded before punching his thigh. “I just can’t believe that toad of a man is a victim in all of this.”

Careful with her words, she said, “But if he is ... he didn’t choose it, either.”

Merritt stilled. “Didn’t choose it.”

She flushed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

He waved away her apology. “Don’t apologize, Hulda. You should be a storyteller, the way you brought that around.” He eyed her, a spot of mischief glimmering in his tired eyes. “Might I assume you’re staying the night?”

She folded her arms and lifted her nose. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a sparkling reputation to uphold.”

“Says the woman who’s already shared my bed once.”

Mortification stripped her insides like turpentine. “That was not my doing, it was Owein’s! And I was technically still inmybed—”

Merritt beamed at her.This man!But if teasing her brightened his mood this much, she would let him torment her until the end of her days.

“Rogue,” she spat, standing and swiping the errant cups from his side table. “I’ll ask Baptiste to make you a light breakfast; I’m not entirely sure how much this all took out of you.”

“You don’t work here anymore,” he quipped. “You can’t tell him to do anything.”

“I chose my verb deliberately,Mr.Fernsby.” She strode to the door, glancing down at the cups as she went.

And in the tea leaves, she saw a pattern.

The room changed; it was the same room, but she was elsewhere in it, her back pressed to the mattress, Merritt’s hair against her cheek, the sensation of his mouth on her neck, and—

And—

Hulda dropped the cups. Two of the three shattered against the floorboards.

“Hulda!” Merritt leapt from the bed and rushed to her. “Are you all right?”

She blinked, but the vision was plastered behind her eyelids. She was most definitely unrobed, and so was he, and his hand was on her—

Dear Lord, what had she just seen? But that was a stupid question. She knewexactlywhat she had seen!

Merritt grabbed her shoulders. “Hulda! Are you hurt?”

Was that her future? But of course it was—she possessed no magic outside of foresight! And they were ... they were ...

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