Page 9 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

“That is,” he went on, “funds siphoning to an unknown location once a month. We’ve tried the usual methods to trace them, but thus far to no avail.” He sighed. “You don’t by chance know where those funds were transferred?”

Her skin cooled as though a pail of water had been overturned above her head. “Once a month?” Not Marshfield, then. “For how long?”

“Years,” he answered.

Hulda’s lips parted. For a moment, she’d wondered whether Myra had been keeping Silas on payroll. But she’d only been working with the man for months, not years. Piecing together her thoughts, she asked, “Do you have an inkling of where the funds went?”

Mr.Walker frowned, obviously disappointed with Hulda’s lack of knowledge—as was she. Myra had been keeping more secrets than she’d realized. “Unfortunately, no.”

Hulda studied his features for a moment before her stomach performed a half twist. “You think MissHaigh was embezzling?”Surely not. Please no, Myra.

Leaning back in his chair, he answered, “It’s a possibility, but we have no actual evidence.”

Hulda’s stomach righted itself.

“The thing is, MissHaigh didn’t just resign. She disappeared.”

Now it was Hulda’s turn to frown. “So I’ve noticed. I’m afraid I haven’t any idea where she is. I assume you’ve checked the obvious places? I certainly have.”

“That we have, that we have. We’ll check again, more thoroughly, now that we’re here.” Leaning forward, he drummed on his desk before fetching and opening another file. “And you’re an augurist, MissLarkin?”

Another unexpected turn. “I am.”

He smiled. “Do you think you could read for me?”

She started. That was certainly not the question she’d expected. “I ... I could try, Mr.Walker. But my abilities are temperamental at best.” She reached into her bag and pulled out her dice pouch. Her precognition was tied to patterns, such as those seen in tea leaves, fallen sticks, or dice. Handing them over, she said, “You can try with these.”

Suddenly gleeful, Mr.Walker took the pouch and poured the dice into his hand—seven in total. He kneaded them around a moment before saying, “Fascinating,” and letting them spill to the desktop. “And you can just read it in those?”

Hulda leaned forward and glanced at the dice. She didn’t actually do any mental work to find connections in patterns—her augury was a sort of sixth sense, and it kicked in automatically. Involuntarily. Or it didn’t. “Technically, yes. But like I said, it’s very temperamental—”

Her vision blurred as her magic kindled. Nowit works,she thought with dismay. An image flashed by her eyes. It lasted only a heartbeat before dissipating.

Mr.Walker leaned closer. “Did you see something?”

She thought she heard Mr.Baillie cluck his tongue behind her, but wasn’t sure.

Hulda blinked her vision clear and sat back. “Not anything of import, alas. But I would perhaps go sans mustard with your lunch today.”

Mr.Walker stared at her for a moment before laughing. “Is that so?”

She knit her fingers together. “I just saw some dribbling from a sandwich onto that very suit. You were on the street and not in the office.” In her experience, the future her augury showed would transpire, regardless of what she or anyone did to change it. It was as set as the past. She was willing to guess Mr.Walker would indeed get mustard on his sandwich, perhaps with the thought that he’d merely be careful. Alas, such was his choice. “I assume you’ll be staying here long enough to become comfortable and have meals delivered?”

Mr.Walker nodded. “Hopefully nottoocomfortable, for while Boston has its charm, I’m eager to return home. Alastair, come over here and roll the dice!”

Hulda pressed her lips together, unsure her magic would be kind enough to repeat itself.

But Mr.Baillie merely drawled, “No, thank you. I’d rather choose my future as it comes to me.”

Hulda peeked at him over her shoulder. He looked bored, yet there was a definite tension in his forehead. She couldn’t fault him—many people didn’t like to have their lives invaded by magic—one of many reasons so many were unconcerned about its preservation. There had been times in her life where Hulda had wished her augury would stay quiet. Nothing deflated hope quicker than a hopeless future.

The thought brought to mind Stanley Lidgett, the steward at Gorse End she’d once hoped to charm. Ultimately it was for the better thatthathadn’t panned out.

“Well.” Mr.Walker collected his folders and tucked them together. “We will be performing an audit, as I mentioned, and seeing BIKER running smoothly again. We are looking for someone to replace Myra Haigh. Do you know a Mrs.Thornton?”

Hulda nodded. “I believe she’s stationed in Denmark. She’s been with BIKER for ... two decades, I would guess.”

“Yes, she’s on our list, though the logistics of interviewing her are still in the air. And then there’s Alastair.”

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