Keeper of Enchanted Rooms(69)
“Indeed,” he mumbled, earning himself a curious side glance from Fletcher.
“Thank you, Mr. Portendorfer. I’m afraid the dressmaker mistook my order, but it fits, so I shan’t complain about it.” Her eyes shifted to Merritt. “In good news, Mr. Fernsby, I believe I’ve discovered the second source of magic in the house.”
“Second source?” Fletcher asked at the same time Merritt said, “Oh?”
“I discovered tourmaline deposits in the home’s foundation.” She smiled fully at the accomplishment, which only added to her allure. “Tourmaline is a stone associated with wardship. Whimbrel House was used to house necromancers fleeing Salem for several decades; it’s very likely some of those women also possessed wardship spells. The tourmaline would be the perfect substance to absorb them.”
He nodded slowly. “Makes sense to me.”
“Tourmaline, eh?” Fletcher set down his suitcase. “I heard about the whole gemstones and magic connection. My mother used to visit a doctor who used all kinds of stones to cure ailments, saying they linked to the various magics. I didn’t believe a lick of it.”
Merritt tugged his attention to Fletcher. “I recall that. Why not?”
He shrugged. “The one time I went, I ended up getting hives. Don’t you remember? We were fourteen. Took two days off school, and when I went back, the Barrett brothers were relentless about my ‘new freckles.’”
“I don’t remember, but I really wish I did.” Merritt laughed. “Same room as last time; I’m willing to share, but our dear housekeeper thinks it’s not hospitable enough. So she’s temporarily displaced our maid to her own room. Refuses to hear of anything else.”
Fletcher snatched his suitcase again. “Very kind. Let me put this down, and you can show me what you’ve done with the place.” He nodded to Hulda as he made his way to the stairs. Merritt followed, trying not to gawk at her. But he did, and a faint pink arch stretched across her nose.
Before Fletcher could reach the stair rail, however, the stairs began to shift. As did the floor, walls, and ceiling.
Merritt stumbled backward as the floor began to tilt upward, much as it had when Owein had moved Hulda’s chair in Merritt’s office. Except the incline became much steeper much quicker, and all the floorboards shifted at once.
Managing to stay on his feet, Merritt slid into the back corner between the portrait and the door. When his back hit the wall, he realized the entire room was rotating.
“Owein!” Merritt bellowed. “We have guests!”
And yet the declaration only incited the ghostly wizard to push his magic harder, and the room bucked to a full forty-five-degree angle. Fletcher dropped his suitcase, which went flying into the dining room, and grabbed the stair rail with both hands. Hulda shrieked, stumbled, and fell back toward the door.
Shoving off the wall, Merritt managed to snag her around the waist before she hit. The impact sent her glasses to the very edge of her nose.
But Owein wasn’t finished. The room tilted to fifty degrees, fifty-five, sixty—
Gravity slammed Merritt back into the corner by the portrait. He kept his hold on Hulda, which in turn slammed her into him. He wedged one foot into the doorjamb to keep their place.
“Never fear, Mrs. Larkin.” He smiled even as the room continued to churn. “In a moment we may be able to slip into a stationary room.”
Fletcher shouted something. Beth’s face appeared in the window, but it was difficult to open the door, angled and turning as it was. The room arched enough that Hulda was practically lying on top of him, and his body lit up everywhere she pressed, soft beneath the new dress, hard where the corset hid underneath.
He expected her to berate the house—Owein listened to her above anybody else—but instead she stared at him, her cheeks that lovely shade of pink, her spectacles barely hanging on, a delicate curl drooping over the side of her neck.
They’d reached ninety degrees when she blinked as though waking up and planted both hands on his chest—which he didn’t mind—and pushed herself as upright as she could, given the circumstances. “Owein Mansel! The threat of the library still stands!”
The house seemed to sigh around them. And poor Fletcher dangled from the stairway.
“I did say mostly tame!” Merritt pounded his fist into the wall behind him. “Come on now, or Fletcher will have to go home.”
With a groan, the reception hall slowly began ticking back into place, one degree at a time. Not quick enough for Hulda to be able to right herself with any sort of ease, so Merritt kept one arm encircled around her waist, ensuring she didn’t hurt herself.
She tried to straighten her clothes despite the position. “My apologies, Mr. Fernsby.”
“Hardly your fault.”
“Technically, it is.”
“It’s a very nice dress,” he offered, and she rewarded him with more of that rosy glow. She smelled like rosewater and rosemary . . . and wore roses on her dress. He wondered if she realized what a lovely metaphor she presented.
The room creaked into place. Hulda was slow to pull away from him, and Merritt was slow to let her go. It was not until Beth burst through the door, asking after their welfare, and Fletcher inquired whether the shifting of rooms would be a common occurrence during his stay that Merritt recalled they were not alone in their space, although he wished it were so. His hands fell from Hulda’s person. She brushed off her skirt, her hazel eyes dragging slowly from his. What would he have seen in them had her gaze lingered?