Page 66 of Boy of Chaotic Making

“You’re smiling.” Professor Griffiths sounded amused.

Withdrawing her hands, Hulda picked up her glasses and propped them on her nose. She didn’t have to focus on being unfocused when her eyes did so naturally. “It worked! I saw myself exiting this very building.”

“Without any trouble, I hope.”

“None at all.” She’d had more visions since arriving in London than in the last month, maybe even two months, combined. “To think how much more concentrated this ability would be if I’d met you earlier!”

“It is certainly unfortunate.” He held a pipe in his hand with the tip just in his mouth, though it wasn’t lit. His eyes dropped down to Hulda’s left hand. “When did you say you were getting married, Hulda?”

The question took her aback, as did the use of her first name. Was this the first time he’d used it? She couldn’t recall. But the man had been nothing short of a blessing, especially with his willingness to meet with her on the Sabbath. “April 12,” she answered.

“That’s quite a ways out, still. Banns take only three weeks. Is it a complicated affair?”

“Not at all.” She swept her hair up; it felt silly to have it just lying there in plain sight. “I’ve a lot of responsibility with BIKER. I only recently became its director; there’s quite a bit to reorganize.”

“Of course. I’m sure it’s in most excellent hands.” He reached over and collected a stack of cards upon a stack of newspapers in the crowded room beside his office. Shuffled them, then began laying them on the table face up; the cards were either black or white and had simple shapes upon their faces: circle, star, oval, square, and so on. “Remind me of his name?”

It wasn’t unusual for them to share conversation during these visits, but outside of her first arrival, Professor Griffiths had never showed an interest in her upcoming nuptials. “Merritt Fernsby. He’s a writer.”

“A writer? That is precarious employment.” He said it in a friendly tone, not looking up from the cards as he started a second row. “And he’s American?”

“About as American as one can be.”

He chuckled at that. “And you two went to school together, was it?”

“Hardly.” She nearly snorted and inwardly congratulated herself when she didn’t. “He inherited a magicked home last September and used BIKER’s services to tame it.”

“Only this past September?” He glanced up. “So you haven’t known him long.”

That gave Hulda pause.Haven’t known him long.Many couples wed in a much shorter time frame. By all means, were it not for BIKER, they’d probably have held the ceremony before Christmas. But she also reflected on his remark about Merritt’s being a writer. Yes, it wasn’t asteadyincome, but Merritt lived comfortably. And Hulda’s employment sealed any concern for—

For . . .

She completely lost her train of thought, and this time it wasn’t a side effect of augury. Professor Griffiths was single—he was a widower. He always seemed happy to see her. He was even willing to come into the office to meet with her on a Sunday. And now he was interrogating her over her fiancé, hinting at subtle negatives ...

Surely Gethin Griffiths wasn’t ...interestedin her ... was he?

Of course he isn’t!What a bizarre place for her thoughts to go.No onewas interested in Hulda, save for Merritt Fernsby. Merritt was a complete and utter anomaly in her life. Literally the only man who had ever, in all her nearly thirty-five years, returned her feelings. Merritt was kismet. The dangling carrot at the end of averylong rope. No one else had ever or would ever suit her.

To be fair ... had she never met Merritt, Gethin Griffiths would certainly be the kind of man she’d aspire to know better. He was a little older, yes, but healthy and well kept, with a highly esteemed profession and keen mind. Not unlike Silas Hogwood’s steward Stanley Lidgett, before Hulda realized the man was a humbugger.

Professor Griffiths laid down a third row of cards. What was it he had asked? Oh, September. “We’ve been through a great many ordeals together.”

He simply nodded. “I do hope this Mr. Fernsby isn’t causing you any undue stress.”

Another pause. Why would he suggest something like that? Hulda certainly never had ... though her upcoming vowsdidcause her some anxiety, and there was that awful vision she’d had of Merritt withanother woman. She really didtrynot to dwell on it, but it was etched in her brain. She’d even dreamed about it the other—

The shapes on the cards highlighted a pattern of triangles, and Hulda’s augury kicked in. Not for Professor Griffiths, who’d laid the cards, but for herself. And Merritt, being forefront on her mind, immediately swirled into it. And that was Whimbrel House, specifically the north wall of his bedroom, and he had Hulda pressed up against it with his hands under her skirts—

“Dear me.” Her own voice sliced through the vision, killing it instantly, and her entire body grew hot as a whistling kettle. She fanned herself, touched cool fingers to her cheeks and neck, desperate to cool the instantaneous flush consuming her entire body. The thought of burning red as an apple in front of Professor Griffiths only increased the heat, and therefore her utter humiliation.

The professor stood. “My dear, are you quite all right?”

She cleared her throat. “I will be in just a m-moment. Some water, if you don’t mind.”

He thankfully swept from the room, giving Hulda an opportunity to fan herself to the extreme.

At least she was fairly certain she still had Merritt’s ring on in that premonition. Oh, heaven help her. She needed to stop thinking about himperiodduring these lessons. How embarrassing! Professor Griffiths was going to ask what she saw, because surely he knew she’d seen something.

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