Keeper of Enchanted Rooms(5)
Swallowing, Merritt bolted for the front door.
It swung shut and locked just before he reached it.
Chapter 2
September 6, 1846, Boston, Massachusetts
Hulda Larkin sat in the smaller foyer in the back of the Bright Bay Hotel, which was specifically sectioned off for the Boston Institute for the Keeping of Enchanted Rooms, or BIKER for short. The bench was backless, but pushed up against a wall to compensate for it, and had a false rosebush off to one side and a real potted fern off to the other. She was going through her latest purchase—a receipt book full of seafood recipes—inserting tabs on the most sensible meals. She had just returned to Boston yesterday after a six-week assignment in Canada, overseeing the preservation of a well-warded longhouse off the shore of Lake Ontario. She’d been called down to the office only an hour prior.
She didn’t have to wait long. Miss Steverus, the young receptionist, bounced in as Hulda placed the third tab, announcing, “Ms. Haigh will see you now.”
Closing her book and stowing it away, Hulda stood and shook out the ruching on her skirt before offering a polite nod and heading into the office. It was a fairly large room with expansive windows backlighting a heavy desk and the petite, elegant woman who sat behind it. One wall was covered in shelves like a library, while the other was completely bare.
“Myra,” Hulda said with a nod and smile.
“The timing is perfect.” Myra Haigh stood from her chair and walked over, swiping a folder off the corner of her desk with the grace of a ballerina. Her black hair was curled and pinned meticulously, crowning lightly tanned skin, one of the few things that gave away her Spanish heritage. Although she was nearing her fiftieth year, she looked younger, perhaps because she was always at the ready, always available, and always aware. She never went on holiday or rested when ill, save for a bout of fever in 1841 that had had the institute pleading for her quick recovery. Myra Haigh was BIKER, more than any library or office space ever could be.
“I have a new assignment for you,” Myra declared.
Hulda blinked. “Already? Overseas?” Her trunks had only arrived that morning. Though BIKER was based in Boston, they often took on international work, especially when their parent organization, LIKER—the London Institute for the Keeping of Enchanted Rooms—was shorthanded. Magicked homes were far more common in Europe than the States.
“No, actually. A new resident has inherited Whimbrel House.” She opened the folder and handed it to her. “My sources say he moved in yesterday.”
Blueprints and a single sheet of information stared up at her. “Whimbrel House? I’m not familiar with it.” She read. “Rhode Island?”
“Indeed. It’s long abandoned for obvious reasons. Used to be a safehouse for necromancers during the mess with Salem.” She clucked her tongue in distaste. “I got the telegram late last night. The new owner’s name is Merritt Fernsby.”
Hulda scanned the information sheet. The house had been inherited from an Anita Nichols.
“It looks to be a raw trade,” Myra added.
Hulda let out a long breath. “Oh dear. Those are always interesting.” A nonwizard moving into an enchanted house was a delicate situation. She turned back a page. “This is a very thin file.”
“I’ll credit that to my predecessor,” she said with a tone of apology. “It’s a lone house out of the way, sparsely inhabited over the years, and its denizens hardly carved their names into the walls.” She knit her fingers together. “I know you’ve only just returned, but could you leave today? It’s only two hours by tram and boat. I’d rather not let it sit.”
Sit and risk the resident damaging the house, or the house damaging the resident. Hulda nodded. “My things are still packed away, so it’s no bother.” Though for the initial review, she’d just bring her handy black bag. She never went anywhere without it.
Myra clapped her hands. “God bless you. I couldn’t send anyone else, Hulda. You really are our best.”
Hulda rolled her eyes, though the praise warmed her. “Only because Mrs. Thornton is still in Denmark.”
“Pah.” Myra set her hand on her shoulder. “It’s a bit out of the way. Take the kinetic line into Providence. BIKER will reimburse you.”
Nodding, Hulda turned toward the door, still poring over the small file.
“And, Hulda.”
She paused.
Myra knit her fingers together. “Do be careful.”
Pushing her spectacles higher on her nose, Hulda said, “I always am.”
Whimbrel House was rather charming. Enchanted buildings tended to be, but this one’s appeal was amplified because it was swathed in nature, wild grasses tipped with afternoon sunlight, an unseen egret crying in the distance. The smell of the ocean clung to everything, and it cooled the breeze, which would be very pleasant in the height of summer. Granted, it was already September, and Hulda would not be here long enough for the year to turn and come back to July, but it was a nice enough thought.
The place had a steeply gabled roof and a variety of windows, big and small, circular, circle topped, and rectangular. Oak shades stained darkly, blue shingles that glimmered teal beneath the direct sun. It wasn’t a particularly large house, which meant it would require a smaller staff. In truth, that would make matters easier, both for hiring and for the new owner’s pocketbook. It was hard enough for BIKER to find people adequately familiar with magic to hire, let alone ones who were employable.