Page 30 of Boy of Chaotic Making

Her tone was light, but there was a slight edge to it. One Merritt might not have picked up on had he not breakfasted with her twice. Had he not seen how cool she was to the Baron von Gayl, her husband. It didn’t take a scholar to know that marriage had been arranged, just as Cora and Owein’s would be.

“I’m sorry,” Merritt offered.

“It is what it is. It’s been only a few months. Who knows? Perhaps we’ll learn to care for one another.” The statement was devoid of hope. “We’re very ... different,” she went on. “But he does have an excellent magical pedigree.”

A kineticist, if Merritt remembered correctly. His pace slowed a bit.

Would someone with strong kinetic powers be able to collapse the ceiling of a house?

Gooseflesh rose over his skin. Merritt returned his hands to his pockets. Realizing he should speak or else draw attention to the revelation, he said, “Hulda is an augurist.”

“Is she?” Briar latched on to the change in subject. “I am, too. Not exclusively, but I’ve a streak of luck. Proves useful, at times.”

Merritt looked her way and waited for her to meet his gaze. “Perhaps you need only give it time for it to be useful again.”

Pinching her lips together, Briar looked away. “Thank you. I should remember that.”

“Hulda is a soothsayer—sees flashes of the future. Frustrates her, though. She’s not as rich in the ability as your family seems to be.”

She perked up. “I know a great teacher I could put her in touch with, if she’s interested. Magic is all in the blood, yes, but understanding how to wield it can multiply its effectiveness. Such has been the case in my learning, at least.”

“Mine as well. I’ll let her know, thank you.” He had a feeling Hulda would appreciate the opportunity to study.

Briar clapped her hands. “I’ll write to him as soon as we return to the house.”

LIKER’s headquarters were seated on the Thames, just across Westminster Bridge, almost parallel to Big Ben. While it was no Palace of Westminster, it was far more eye-catching than the Bright Bay Hotel in Boston. Gothic in design, the narrow four-story building had dark-ribbed vaults and pointed arches around its doorways. It resembled a cathedral but without any spires or stained glass to beautify it. From the outside it looked a thing of the past, and from the inside it appeared entirely modern. The tiles underfoot as she entered were blue and yellow, where they weren’t covered in scrolling Indian rugs, and there was an alarming number of large potted plants, nearly enough to qualify the place as a jungle. The hallways and reception area were tastefully beige with the occasional flourish of fleur-de-lis, while individual offices and rooms sported a variety of patterned wallpapers. The place had twice the space and far more people than its Boston counterpart.

It was good to see a familiar face as Hulda approached an overlarge, polished oak reception desk. “Miss Richards, it’s a pleasure to see you.”

Miss Richards, whose attention had been split between an open novel and a cup of tea, startled, spilling a few drops of the latter onto her skirt. She didn’t seem to notice as she stood. “Miss Larkin! You certainly travel fast. Are you wanting to speak with Mr. Walker?”

“That would be lovely, if he’s available. I realize I’m arriving outside his normal schedule.” Her own schedule had been decimated by the time change.

The secretary checked the clock. “I think you’re fine to go up. It’s been a slow week.” She set down her teacup before resituating herself in her chair. “Anything else I can help with?”

“Yes, actually. I need materials for an exorcism.”

“Exorcism?” She thumbed through several open files before her.

“I’ll be sure to make a full report.” She pushed her glasses up her nose; no matter how tightly the arms were adjusted or how large her nose grew, the lenses never would stay in place.

“I’ll get right on it; I cataloged the stones just last month, so I know we’re flush.” She turned the novel upside down on the desk to mark her place. The secretary jaunted off toward one of the materials closets.

Hulda knew her way around, so she set off down the corridor behind the desk, heels clacking on tiles, and took a spiraling staircase up to the second floor. A muffled noise from her ever-present black bag caused her to pause and fish out her communion stone, which glimmered with a smooth, unbroken sheen as she pulled it into the light.

“Come again?” she asked.

“Lady Briar says she knows an augury professor in London.” Merritt’s voice was a little garbled, but Hulda understood him, and her pulse picked up as he spoke. “I thought you might be interested—”

“Very much so.” She cleared her throat, lowering her volume. “Yes, please get his—her?—information, and I’ll send a contact card immediately.”

“Already have it.” She could hear his smile. “I’ll leave you to it.”

The stone quieted. Hulda clasped it in her hand. A professor! Would he—or she—be willing to meet with Hulda? Surely it was a possibility, or Lady Briar would not have suggested it. Perhaps God had heard her quiet prayers and was sending her a much-needed boon.

Bolstered by this revelation, Hulda continued on her way. Mr. Walker’s office was just down another hallway. She couldn’t help but tense as she passed the one for LIKER’s lawyer, though a new face lingered over the desk, buried in work and unaware of her presence. Mr. Baillie, of course, no longer worked at LIKER. Or anywhere, unless they were giving him unpaid tasks to complete in prison.

Mr. Walker’s door was open, but she knocked anyway. The man was halfway through a crumpet.

---