Keeper of Enchanted Rooms(92)

“Silas Hogwood has attacked Whimbrel House!” Hulda set her lantern on a short bookshelf. “Merritt Fernsby has been captured. I don’t know how to track them!”

Myra stared at her, openmouthed, for several seconds, then shook her head, her loose hair bobbing about her shoulders. “Surely . . . Surely not.” She lowered herself back onto the bed as though standing had become too much of an effort.

“You cannot continue to deny it.” Hulda marched over and grabbed the bed post. “He nearly killed Miss Taylor and our chef! Miss Taylor confirmed his identity.”

“He wouldn’t have left witnesses.”

“Mr. Fernsby is a wizard, Myra!”

The woman’s breath hitched.

“Yes,” Hulda pressed. “I researched it myself. That’s why I left. The second source of magic wasn’t the tourmaline, but Mr. Fernsby! Through his paternal side.” She crouched to better see Myra’s face. “Mr. Hogwood must have figured it out . . . he may have psychometry spells. Perhaps he sensed it when he attacked me.” She shuddered at the thought of Merritt pinned down, suffering the same—no, worse—fate. They were running out of time. “At the least, Mr. Fernsby has both communion and wardship spells in his blood. He warded Miss Taylor.”

Myra shook her head yet again. “Too soon. Not like this.”

“Not like what, Myra?”

Myra stood, forcing Hulda to do the same so she wouldn’t be stepped on. “Maurice would never—”

“Maurice?” Hulda repeated. “Myra, are you awake? I’m talking about Silas Hogwood!”

But then she stopped short. She knew that name. Maurice. Maurice Watson.

She remembered Merritt holding a letter. A Watson fellow is inquiring about purchasing the house.

Miss Taylor had chimed in, Odd feeling about this one. Can’t explain what, but . . . doesn’t sit right with me.

And there was Miss Steverus’s interruption the other day. I just received a notice from Mr. Maurice Watson. He wants an appointment today.

Hulda had augured premonitions about a wolf on Blaugdone Island and at BIKER. And with an alteration spell, any wizard could take a beastly form.

Hulda was talking about Silas Hogwood.

But so was Myra.

Merritt . . . Merritt had always been the target.

Hulda backstepped. “You knew.” Her hand went to her chest. “You knew the whole time that Silas Hogwood was alive. That he was here. That’s why you tried so hard to assure me otherwise.”

Myra paled. “It’s not what you think—”

“How is this not what I think?” Hulda was shouting now. “You . . . You traitor!”

Myra rushed for the door and slammed it closed. “Keep your voice down.”

Hulda’s tone darkened as the shadows when she said, “Tell me one reason why I should.”

“I had nothing to do with your attack,” she hissed, but her energy puffed away, leaving her face drawn and shoulders slouched. “I was sick, Hulda.”

Hulda gaped. “What do you mean . . .” She paused. “That was years ago, Myra.”

Myra nodded. “I know. But it wasn’t simply a passing illness. I didn’t want to tell you, or Sadie, or anyone.” She kneaded her hands. “But I was sick, and Mr. Hogwood is a powerful necromancer.”

Hulda’s breath caught. “He healed you.”

Myra nodded. “I bartered with him. I would help break him out of jail, out of England, in exchange for the cure.”

“You helped him.” She felt light-headed. “You used your powers . . . BIKER . . . to falsify those records.”

Myra waved the accusation away. “I knew he would keep his word. I read his thoughts. He was trustworthy.”

Hulda closed the space between them and grabbed Myra’s shoulders. “He. Is. A. Murderer!”

Myra tugged free. “Because of him, I survived. And so did BIKER.” She looked away. Rubbed a chill from her arms.

“Tell me everything,” Hulda pressed. “I can’t read your mind, Myra. Tell me, or else I’ll—”

“Don’t.” She cut off the threat. “Don’t.” Rubbing her temples, Myra paced the length of the room and back.

Hulda stamped her foot. “I do not have time for this. Merritt is in danger. I’ll never forgive you if he dies. I will never—”

“New favors came up,” Myra croaked. “My sister got sick, too. A friend of mine, her husband was a drunk . . . She needed wardship to protect herself. I knew Maurice—Silas—could do it all. I knew he would always hold up his end of the bargain. He’s a man of his word.”

Hulda scoffed.

“So I went back to him a few times. Always in exchange for something. A new identity, new papers . . . and BIKER was on the brink of ruin.”

Hulda pulled off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “You never said anything.”

“We were losing funding. Magical houses are increasingly rare, especially in the States. Silas agreed to travel around and infuse high-potential dwellings with spells so we could stay in business. So you could stay here.”

Hulda slapped her glasses back on. “Do not pretend you did this for me.”

Myra waned. “For his next payment, he wanted Whimbrel House. I don’t know how he knew about it. He must have read my mind, or dove into our records.”