Keeper of Enchanted Rooms(96)

The dog had cried out moments ago. Was Mr. Hogwood hurting Owein? Had he already begun?

“We need to hurry.” Merritt took the lantern from her. “Beth and Baptiste—”

“Are fine enough. A doctor should be reaching them by now.” She shook her head at his hopeful look. “Later. Where’s Owein?”

He pointed north. “Around there, I think.” He paused, head cocked. “There are . . . others. I hear voices.” He winced, shook his head. “I don’t understand, I—”

His lips moved, but his voice cut out.

Hulda pressed a thumb to his lips. Any other time, the gesture might have sent a wave of red through her body, but her nerves were otherwise occupied with the situation at hand. “You’re using communion.” She barely put any air into the words, keeping them hushed. Muteness was a side effect of communion—he must have unknowingly been pushing the spell hard to have already garnered a side effect, though it should last only seconds.

Lines dug between his brows, but he removed his shoes and crept down the corridor in perfect silence, shielding the lantern light with his body. Hulda shouldn’t have been surprised by his presence of mind—this was just like something out of his novel. Whether they’d get a happy ending remained to be seen.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she hugged herself to keep her fear localized and followed him.

As they neared the end of the passageway, that same light Hulda had noticed earlier spilled into view. Her heart pounded at the back of her skull, warning her. If it came to her versus Hogwood . . . any of them versus Hogwood . . . they would lose.

Passing back the lantern, Merritt poked his head into the adjoining room. Holding her breath, Hulda spied under his arm.

The space was relatively large, about one and a half times the size of the living room at Whimbrel House. Shelves stacked with ropes, chains, and all sorts of tinctures, potions, and bandages took up the walls. Two barrels sat in the corner, near an iron grate that—

Oh God. Hulda’s stomach clenched. Behind it were the shrunken, mutated victims . . . but she didn’t have long to study it, for her eyes fell onto a straight bench in the center of the room. The dark terrier strapped to it convulsed silently as Mr. Hogwood pressed both his palms into it, enacting the slow-moving spells that would suck the animal—Owein—of his power and turn him into one of the pruney dolls that had haunted Hulda’s dreams for eleven years.

But Mr. Hogwood hadn’t noticed them yet.

Hulda grabbed Merritt’s elbow—what was their plan?—but Merritt didn’t budge. He stood there, stiff as granite, his eyes not on Mr. Hogwood or Owein, but on the shriveled monsters behind the iron bars.

And he trembled.



Moans. Cries. Screams.

They filtered through Merritt’s head like a gentle winter wind. The suffering felt very far away yet omnipresent, and it came from that corner, where the masses that looked like old, dehydrated cacti sat on shelves behind bars. Heaven help him, were they still alive? Alive and suffering, pleading for death—

Owein whimpered.

The magic cut off abruptly, leaving Merritt in blissful silence. He blinked his eyes, trying to reorient himself—

A wall of fire burst to life behind him and Hulda.

Silas Hogwood had risen from his macabre spell-winding. He glared at Merritt and Hulda with dark, furious eyes. His hand extended toward them, his fingertips . . . frosty? Owein whined but tilted his head to see. He was still all right. He was still alive.

But Merritt had a feeling he and Hulda soon would not be.

“You think you can thwart me?” Silas’s dark gaze slunk from Merritt to Hulda. The fire behind them burned hotter, forcing them into the revolting laboratory. “Nobody will have power over me. Not family, not BIKER, not even the Queen’s League.”

He eyed Hulda up and down, sneering, then flung out a hand, sending her flying across the room. Merritt burst forward, but not quickly enough to catch her. She slammed into the shelving on the wall opposite the mutated dolls, ripping free a wooden plank, knocking over half a dozen bottles that shattered when they hit the stone floor. Merritt dropped to his knees at her side, picking her up. Blood from several shallow cuts smeared his fingers.

Anger and fear warred within him. “We don’t want power over you,” he spat. “We want nothing to do with you. Just let us go.”

Silas’s mouth split into a foul smile, parting to release a chuckle. “Release you? No. Chaocracy has such beautiful enchantments, and I’ve craved them for a long time. The one thing that could make me truly untouchable.” His lips curled. “Even for the royal family. And you two are rife with it.”

Merritt blanched. Two? Owein and . . . him? Chaocracy? “You’re mad.” He still struggled to believe he had any magic, even though he’d seen and heard evidence. But chaocracy?

Hulda pushed herself upright. Her eyes flicked to the dolls.

Merritt’s gaze followed but didn’t linger. The dolls. They were important. Hadn’t Hulda said Silas got his magic from the people he did that to? So if they could destroy them . . .

Hulda stood; Merritt rose next to her. Owein writhed, his straps slowly turning into glass marbles . . . a sluggish chaocracy spell to free himself. Merritt pointedly kept his gaze on Silas so as not to give the dog away.

“Mr. Hogwood, please,” Hulda begged. “I know you can be reasonable. Let me strike a deal with you, just as Myra did—”