Page 65 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

Hulda touched her neck. “You think so?” She was genuinely curious.

“Oh, yes. It might be interesting to test how it reacts to you.” She grasped the door in the back of the Bright Bay Hotel and held it open. “After you.”

Hulda nodded her thanks and headed in. She’d get started on her files right away, then at lunch venture into the city to a tiny magical supply shop she frequented on behalf of BIKER. If they didn’t have the azurite she needed, surely they could point her in the right direction.

The azurite was set.

She’d purchased very small crystals of it and placed them in strategic locations around the office, even managing to sneak one behind a book in Mr.Walker’s office. She’d tucked another into MissSteverus’s pencil jar, one in the stairwell, and one in each room on the third floor. Two in the area where Baillie often worked. He had, indeed, returned to Boston, though Hulda had seen only glimpses of him. Either Walker had him hard at work or he was avoiding her.

Walker.What Merritt said had, well, merit. Mr.Baillie had insisted he was able to speak freely because the bond between he and Mr.Walker had weakened over time and distance. Why, then, would he return to his tormentor’s sphere of influence? It seemed suspicious to say the least, and yet Hulda knew that many hard situations were inherently complex in nature. By all means, would it not be easier for her to run away? To write off Myra, or forfeit her knowledge of Silas Hogwood? Granted ... if Mr.Baillie had been truthful, then Mr.Walker was one of thelast people she should confide in. Indeed, she kept some azurite on her own person. She’d jump in the bay before she let any psychometry spells—feigned or real—control her.

Hulda had also purchased a clean ledger and documented the shape, weight, color, and placement of each stone. In truth, the work was very similar to what she might do for the testing of an enchanted house. It was just that most enchanted houses were very forthcoming about being magicked, and thus didn’t require such a scientific approach.

On her last page of notes, she detailed a single carnelian crystal, which had been notably more expensive than the azurite. Carnelian was the stone associated with hysteria. While the azurite would stay in her pocket, the carnelian piece hung from a thin cord around her neck, long enough that she could tuck it into her bodice. If Mr.Baillie was going to play spell games with her, she wanted to know—and have proof if she needed it.

In fact, when she did pass him in the hall toward the end of the day, she subtly pulled out the cord to let the carnelian show. He said nothing of it, nor did he speak to her at all. He only pressed the side of his index finger to his lips, signaling secrecy.

Oh, I’m very interested in your secrets, Mr.Baillie,Hulda thought as she slid into the records room.And I intend to uncover every last one of them.

Merritt had never really gotten a good look at the place of his temporary captivity. The only time he’d been to Marshfield was on his involuntary adventure with Silas. In truth, there wasn’t a lot to see—at least, not in the area he and Hulda had ridden through. BIKER owned a small stable, but for this unsanctioned trip, Hulda had taken Myra’s personal horse, which, while stabled on BIKER property, belonged solely to her.She’d left it behind when she disappeared, leaving another jagged puzzle piece to her disappearance that didn’t quite fit with the rest.

Merritt hadn’t realized how run down Silas’s house—if it was even his—was. The roof was partly caved in, several windows were broken, and the wood paneling was splintering if not missing entirely. The place was made of a dark, aged wood, making it look positively foreboding.

“Right out of a storybook,” Merritt commented before pulling up the reins. He’d walked the last mile, having relearned that God had not built his buttocks for Western saddles. He helped Hulda down, then found a tree surrounded by some patches of grass the beast could snack on for a bit. Merritt didn’t intend to stay long.

After securing a knot, he closed his eyes and listened. He still hadn’t mastered this, but he was certainly getting better at it. He felt Hulda’s cold fingertips touch his elbow in question, and he’d nearly given up when the grass ahead of him whispered,Sleeeeeeeeeeep.

He opened his eyes. “I don’t think anything excitable is here.”

Hulda nodded, her gaze dragging to the two-story structure. “I have a feeling it’s abandoned.” She eyed the canal. “Let’s try the front door.”

Merritt smirked as they headed that way. “Remind me again how you made it down there last time?”

She swatted his arm with the back of her hand. “There was a wardship spell surrounding the place. I had little option.”

Letting the joke slide, Merritt walked with his hand outstretched, but it never connected with any spell. The magic was well and truly gone from this place.

The porch creaked precariously underfoot. The front door was askew, likely kicked in by the watchmen who’d come to rescue them. A chunk of the door had splintered off and stayed secured to the frame where the handle had been. Hulda retrieved her enchanted lantern and lit it; the sun was still up, but inside, the walls loomed dark.

The place didn’t look lived in—no clothes, no furniture, no signs of life. In truth, it looked very much the way Merritt had expected tofind Whimbrel House when his grandmother’s lawyer bequeathed it to him. The interior was almost as weathered as the exterior. The staircase was missing two consecutive steps, and everything smelled of mold and mice.

Hulda wordlessly handed him the lantern, then retrieved her dousing rods. She walked the length of the room with care, testing each step before shifting weight onto the forward foot. The rods never reacted. She shook her head—no magic here.

“Hulda.” Merritt spoke just above a whisper. They were alone—there was no reason to believe they couldn’t chat normally—and yet there was an intensity in the air, perhaps created only by memory, and it felt dangerous to disturb it. “Can’t powerful wizards inhabit houses postmortem?”

Hulda froze. “They ... can.” She swallowed. “Those dolls should have been destroyed, but”—she shook herself—“Mr.Hogwood was naturally very powerful.”

More powerful than Owein, who’d inhabited his dwelling for centuries. They exchanged a long look. Gooseflesh rose on Merritt’s arms.

“My dousing rods detect nothing here.” There was a slight rasp in her voice. Still, she dug into her bag and pulled out a single ward—it seemed to be all she had with her. “Stay close.”

Evidence indicated Silas had only occupied the basement, accessed by a stone stairway that connected to the main room. Merritt led the way down on stiff legs, the smell of mold intensifying with each step. It wasn’t hard to determine why—there was about an inch of standing water on the floor. From the pipes, rainwater, or Silas, they would probably never know.

A rat skittered off to the right. Merritt listened for it, but either his communion didn’t want to cooperate or the rat had nothing to say.

They waited at the bottom of the stairs for several seconds, listening. Outside of the rat, there was only a steady dripping a ways off.Merritt glanced back to Hulda, who checked her dousing rods. “Still nothing,” she said, and encouraged him onward with a nod.

He stepped into the grimy water and wondered if he’d be able to wear his shoes again after this. A strange, sad pang for Beth radiated through his chest. The upkeep—or lack thereof—of his things always made him think of her, of how well she’d taken care of all of them without making it seem like work ... and of the lack of answers he had for her departure. Owein, too, missed her terribly.

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