Page 67 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

The circle of light shifted as she stepped toward him, until it fell across a smooth stone a foot and a half across, egg shaped. In the shadows, it had looked like another gray rock, which the basement was full of. But the light revealed half of its body was pale and translucent; the half they would have seen only in reversing their path. That’s what had caught the light.

Crouching by the rock, Merritt ran his hand over it until he found a large rune engraved on it, confirming his suspicion. “Communion stone,” he murmured.

Hulda gasped and knelt beside him, setting down the lantern. “My goodness, it’s the largest I’ve ever seen!” She hesitantly touched it. “Where could they have found such a prodigious chunk of selenite?”

“I wonder if he made it himself,” Merritt offered. He touched the rune—which was the size of his hand—on the side—

“Don’t—” Hulda warned.

“How else will we know?” Merritt asked.

Hulda held her breath, her body still as the selenite chunk in front of them. Merritt kept his hand on the rune.

He hummed a note of disappointment. “Perhaps he hadn’t made its pair yet. Or it was destroyed.”

Hulda shook her head. Opened her mouth to speak—

“Master?” came a male voice from the stone, slightly garbled. “Master Hogwood? Is that you?”

Merritt froze as though he, too, were made of the crystal. Hulda’s eyes rounded to the size of matzo balls.

“Devil’s blaze, Silas! We’ve not heard from you for—”

Hulda’s hand whipped out and pulled Merritt’s fingers from the rune, breaking the spell. The stone fell quiet.

His heart thundered like he’d been running. He looked at Hulda. “What? Too dangerous to ask questions?”

Hulda, pale as selenite, shook her head. “I-I know that voice. I know who’s on the other end of the stone.”

Turning his hand around, he clasped hers. “Who?”

She swallowed. “Mr.Lidgett. Stanley Lidgett, the man who is ... was ... Mr.Hogwood’s steward.

“He knew Silas was here.”

Chapter 15

November 18, 1846, Marshfield, Massachusetts

Hulda paced across the wet, stony floor, suddenly unaffected by the chill in the dungeon-like basement of Silas’s abandoned hideaway. She chewed on the knuckle of her right hand, thinking.

“His steward?” Merritt asked, standing but remaining stationary. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “I worked with him. I’m sure.”

He worried his lip. “It’s been ten years—”

“I know his voice!” she snapped, then paused, taking a deep breath to settle herself. Offering Merritt an apologetic look, she said, “I know his voice. I ...” Her flush drove the chill back even further. “I fancied him, once upon a time. I know his voice.”

“Oh.” The surprise on Merritt’s face morphed into something bordering mischievous. “Did you, now?”

She would not give him the opportunity to tease. Not now. Not after this new revelation. “It must be why the stone is so large.” Her boots clacked as she returned to it, but she didn’t dare touch it again. “It has to carry across the Atlantic. Unless Mr.Lidgett is in the States, which I doubt.” She gnawed on her knuckle again, caught herself, and tore her hand from her mouth.

Merritt touched her elbow. Gently, like she was a wild animal. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

After drawing in another steadying breath, Hulda explained, “I’d wondered, after the arrest, if Mr.Lidgett knew of Silas’s ... actions. Mr.Hogwood kept only a skeleton staff, and he interacted with his steward more than anyone else. Understandable—Mr.Lidgett was responsible for the upkeep of the estate. But still.” She flexed her fingers. “What if Mr.Lidgett is still working for him but doesn’t know he’s dead?”

“Right. Right.” Merritt’s grip tightened. “Let’s slow down. Mr.Lidgett would be working, possibly, at Gorse End, for the new owner?”

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