Keeper of Enchanted Rooms(40)

Hulda forced herself to relax. “All true, of course. I half wish you could just pluck them from my skull and let me live in blissful nescience.”

Myra chuckled. “Unfortunately, not something I can do.”

Sighing, Hulda got to her feet. “I’d best go.”

“Be sure to ask Miss Steverus for your mail.”

Hulda paused. She didn’t often get mail to BIKER, but it wasn’t unheard of. “Thank you, Myra.”

“Keep me updated, Hulda. Please.” She offered a warm expression.

Hulda returned it, grabbed her bag, and saw herself out. Before she even had a chance to ask, Miss Steverus turned about in her desk and said, “Pulled this for you!” and handed her a crisp envelope. “Looks important.”

“Indeed it does.” She turned it over in her hand. There was a return address she didn’t recognize. “Would you put in a request for a pair of communion stones?”

“Right on it; need to pull some files, anyway.” Standing, the receptionist moved down an adjoining hallway to the records room. Hulda sat on one of the available chairs. Might as well read this missive before applying herself to a fruitless hunt in the small BIKER library. Breaking the seal and pulling out the letter, she read,

Dear Miss Hulda Larkin,

My name is Elijah Clarke, and I’m the chair for the Genealogical Society for the Advancement of Magic.

Hulda rolled her eyes. Of course she was being solicited. Still, she read on.

We discovered you through your great-grandmother Charlotte “Lottie” Dankworth. As you know, she was a famous carnival diviner and astrologist along the East Coast. We were very excited to see she had descendants!

If you’re not familiar with GSAM, let me take a moment to introduce the organization.

Hulda was well aware of what the society did.

Our goal is to study the heritage of magically capable people in hopes of pairing them together to form magically beneficial unions. We believe you have a significant portion of your great-grandmother’s talents, given your pedigree, and would love to speak with you further on the matter of propagating magic for generations to come. It is a needful and blessed resource that continues to rapidly decline; we want those of the future to benefit from it as we have.

Please send your reply at the below address. I would love to speak to you about your abilities, options, and future. You will be compensated for your efforts, of course.

Sincerely and with great hope,

Elijah Clarke

Hulda rolled her eyes again—a bad habit she’d formed as a child and was hard pressed to overcome. While the Genealogical Society for the Advancement of Magic had the most magnificent ancestry records in the Western Hemisphere, it was also a glorified organization for arranged marriages. Groups like it had existed for centuries, ever since mankind had realized magic wasn’t an unlimited resource. Ultimately, their mission was noble. Yes, the world would prosper from the continuation of magic. It provided energy, pushed public transport, grew crops . . . where it still existed, anyway. It was simply unfortunate that the only way to increase its presence in the world was through selective bedding.

Still, perhaps it was hasty of Hulda to dismiss the letter so readily. It felt somewhat invasive to be traced on her great-grandmother’s pedigree, but it wasn’t like Hulda would ever make a match on her own. She was thirty-four years old and had never even been kissed by a man, let alone courted by one. Peradventure she should hear this Mr. Clarke out, while her body was still capable of creating offspring.

“I don’t know,” she murmured aloud. “It’s just so . . . awkward.” And the process would likely be rife with disappointment. She couldn’t stand the thought of being paired with a man who would regard her with disgust or disdain. Her heart might shatter.

“My goodness, has someone died?”

Hulda stiffened, smoothing her face and folding up the letter at the sound of Myra’s inquiry. “Not at all. I was just thinking.”

“Glad I caught you. I have a free hour; would you like help in the library?”

Hulda smiled. “Yes, I would. Thank you.”

“Not a problem at all.” Myra turned, but Miss Steverus was coming their way, and Hulda didn’t have time to warn either of them. The women crashed into one another, sending papers flying.

“Ms. Haigh!” Miss Steverus exclaimed. “I’m so sorry!”

Hulda quickly stood from her chair. “It’s all right, let’s pick them up.”

Myra laughed. “You’d think I’d be able to ‘hear’ you coming, Sadie.” She bent down to pick up papers.

Hulda crouched to reach for one, but her mind registered an odd pattern in the parchments. Before any of them could pick up the first document, a vision flashed through Hulda’s mind.

A wolf. A wolf in a . . . library?

Miss Steverus grabbed several papers, destroying the premonition before it had fully manifested. Hulda blinked, trying to recall the shapes and colors. The animal had appeared large, black in color . . . not unlike the wolf she had seen on Blaugdone Island. Then again, wolves didn’t have a lot of variety among them, did they? But what on earth would a wolf be doing in a library? Her premonitions were finnicky, but they were unambiguous. She was no dream reader; what she saw was what would be seen, in some indeterminate amount of time. But this was just outlandish. Perhaps, had the papers gone undisturbed, it would have made sense.