Page 48 of Boy of Chaotic Making

In it, she saw Merritt standing in the depths of a forest. Hanging off his neck, pressed together chest to chest, was a woman she didn’t recognize, naked as the day she was born.

Chapter 18

March 5, 1847, London, England

The hairs passed out of sight, color blending with the surroundings, and the vision ended. And Hulda ... Hulda had stopped breathing. She stared at a spot just past Merritt’s shoulder. Her back and shoulders were so erect, so tight, they began to ache.

“Hulda?” Merritt waved a hand in front of her face. “What’s wrong?”

Slowly, like her eyes were pestles grinding in their mortars, she met his gaze. His face began to blur as though painted on a wet canvas. Then she blinked, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

Too good to be true,a quiet thought creaked.

Merritt blanched. “Hulda, what?”

She still wasn’t breathing. She didn’t know how to answer. Shecouldn’tanswer. This ... why did she have to seethis? Why couldn’t the magic just let her be happy a little longer?

Merritt reached for her. His fingertips grazed her sleeve just before she turned from him and stalked back through the hall toward the stairs that led up to the rooms. Long, desperate strides that finally demanded she inhale or pass out. Her shoes clacked loudly on the floor, or perhaps that was just the sound of a slow-breaking heart.

“Hulda!” Merritt ran after her and grabbed her elbow. She tugged it free. Grabbed her skirt and rushed up the stairs.

But damn that man, he was faster than she was. Hulda had made it only halfway up the flight before Merritt swung in front of her, blocking her retreat. She tried to step around him, but to no avail. Her skin heated with embarrassment as another tear escaped. One would think she’d be tough as iron by now. Heaven knew she wanted to be tough as iron, but that awful image of him andherhad tattooed itself on her eyelids.

He grasped her shoulders, locking her in place. “Damn it, Hulda, what’s wrong? What did you see?”

“The future,” she spat, hating the way her throat constricted the words. “Because that’s how it works, Merritt. I see the futureas it is, not how itmightbe.Always.” She wrenched free, but gained only a stair before he snatched her wrist.

“Did someone die?” His voice took on an edge. “Did I do something? What did I do? For heaven’s sake, Hulda, at least tell me the crime before you punish me for it!”

Gingerly trying to dab her eyes with her free hand, Hulda attempted to respond, but a sore, hard lump had formed in her throat and forbade it.

A voice downstairs—one of the servants—neared.

Releasing a sigh but certainly not his grip, Merritt said, “Let’s go somewhere private.” When he led her upstairs, she followed, each step zapping her strength, turning her into little more than a rag doll.

Hulda’s room was closest, so they went in there. Merritt shut the door with more force than was necessary. She fled to the far window when he did, grabbing a handkerchief off her dressing table and desperately trying to dry her eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop. She pulled off her glasses and set them on the windowsill.

“Talk.” His words were much gentler now as he crossed the room to her. “Please, Hulda.”

It took her a good minute of deep breaths and biting the inside of her cheek to manage anything coherent. “I saw you.”

“I figured as much.”

“In the forest.”

Merritt’s brow ticked. “All right ...”

“With a woman.”

He waited.

Hulda drew in breath until her chest threatened to pop. “With anakedwoman draped over you like she was a sinner and you were theMadonna of Bruges!”

He reeled back at that, his features slackening. “Pardon? What? Who?”

“I don’t know!” she snapped, hiding her face with the handkerchief. “I’ve never s-seen her before.”

“Hulda, I wouldnever.” He touched her shoulder. She wanted to lean into the weight of his hand and rip away at the same time. The latter won out. “I mean,” he went on, “in aforest? I think I’d be a little more circumspect than—”

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