Page 66 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

“Not all deceased wizards inhabit their residences,” Hulda murmured. “Enchanted dwellings would be far more common. And I don’t think Mr.Hogwood would want to haunt something so rundown and isolated. Be trapped inside it for Lord knows how long.” She took a deep breath. “I came in that way.” Changing the subject, she pointed to a room that opened to the hallway. “The pipe led into there.”

“Naturally or magically?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Merritt shivered. “This place is going to give me nightmares.” He strode forward carefully, listening, holding the light high. Without Silas’s lights, it was dark as pitch outside the reach of the lantern.

They came into the large room where the fight had happened. When they entered, the light fell onto a skewed, warped door made of iron bars. The shrunken people Silas had siphoned magic from had once been tucked behind those bars. There was no trace of them now. Not there, nor on the cobbled floor, nor on the broken shelves. The bench was still there—the one Owein had been tied to—and no one had cleaned up the shattered glass.

“Watch your step.” He pointed to the glass.

Hulda slipped by him, staying in the ring of light, and looked around. Her hands were tight around the dousing rods, skin stretched over her knuckles. She walked the length of the room once before saying, “There was magic here, but not anymore. Which we already knew.”

Merritt nodded. “I wonder what they did with the dolls.”

Hulda shuddered. “I’m not sure I want to know.” She turned slowly, taking in the space. It wasn’t as large as Merritt remembered it being. “I doubt anyone has been here since that night. Myra is ... thorough.”

Merritt walked in a little farther, the light highlighting burn marks from Silas’s fire spell. “What exactly did she do here?”

“What indeed, Myra.” Hulda touched one of the marks and frowned. “I admit ... I’d hoped maybe this had been her hideaway. It’s nonsensical, but nothing else reasonable has panned out.”

“I’ve a feeling MissHaigh is too classy for dungeons.”

Hulda’s lip ticked upward, but not enough to form a smile. She started down the next hallway, and Merritt followed, coming up on the cramped room where he’d been bound. A shiver like the legs of a dozen beetles crept up his backbone. They came around the corner, back to the stairs. And that was that.

“Do wizard spirits sleep?” Merritt whispered.

She shook her head. “Why would they need to?” She took several seconds to think. “I’m positive he isn’t here, Merritt. Perhaps Myra made sure of that, too. She would have exorcised him, surely.”

He heard the rat again. Reached out to it.What happened here?

Hide. Hide. Smell? Search.

Merritt rolled his lips together. Hulda reached over and took the light, then retraced their steps back to that main room. He followed her, his steps squelching all the way.

Light. Light.

A new voice. A moth? No, it felt like ... a spider, although not quite like the one in his room.What happened here?He pressed.What did you see?

Human. Humans. Light.

He pressed back.The human in black. The one with magic. He died here.He tried to imagine the scene—Silas crumpled on the floor, Hulda’s crowbar in his hand.What happened after?

Humans. Humans.

“I wonder,” Hulda said, “what they did with him.”

With whom?Merritt tried to say, but found his voice gone. He cleared his throat, garnering Hulda’s attention. “Silas?” he rasped.

She nodded. “I wouldn’t mind seeing his grave. Just for closure.”

“Is death not closure enough?” He sounded like a frog.

“Not with him,” Hulda answered, and retreated back into the hallway, taking the light with her. “Not with him.”

The edge of the lantern’s glow glimmered off something that caught Merritt’s eye.

“Hulda.” He moved toward a large stone near the ruined iron grate. “Hulda, come back this way.”

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