Heir of Uncertain Magic (Whimbrel House) by Charlie N. Holmberg

Author:Charlie N. Holmberg [Holmberg, Charlie N.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: 47North
Published: 2023-04-10T16:00:00+00:00

“I’m not interested.”

Hulda and Merritt sat in a modish soup-and-sandwich shop not far from the docks, at a table wide enough for public decency near one of several slat windows letting in sunlight. The air smelled of bread and beer. The place operated off an elementally enchanted oven, created by a renowned Dutch elementist in the late seventeen hundreds. The wizard was now deceased, but the magic still held strong, pumping heat through the brick building and keeping the draft from the windows at bay.

Merritt, who had spoken, stirred his spoon through his clam chowder, waiting for it to cool, blinking sleep from his eyes. He’d come to Boston for lunch, both to make any necessary apologies and to hear what had happened with Mr. Walker. Hulda had relayed the whole of her morning’s experience to him, ending with Mr. Walker’s job offer.

“I didn’t think you would be.” Her chowder was untouched. She pulled her roll apart to butter it. Something about the soup shop reminded her of England—the brickwork, perhaps, or the low ceiling. Perhaps it was merely the dreariness beyond the windows, like it might rain any moment. England was beautiful, yes, but it certainly rained frequently.

Merritt set down his spoon. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Hm?” It was all she could manage with food in her mouth.

He propped his elbow on the small table and leaned his head against his fist. “As you said, I assaulted the man. Why not report me?”

She swallowed. “I think he did.”

“Did he? Did you ask what he said?”

She retraced the conversation with Mr. Walker. “No, I didn’t.”

“Baillie doesn’t seem the forgiving type. So why not prosecute? Why not get revenge?”

Perhaps we’ve misjudged him, Hulda thought. And yet . . . after what happened in that office, Hulda was positive she hadn’t. But that vision she’d had—the one of Mr. Baillie perspiring, retreating, and scared—nagged at her.

She related it to Merritt, who frowned. “Who was he retreating from?”

She shrugged. “I haven’t a clue. Augury delights in being vague. At least, mine does.”

Shaking his head, Merritt stirred his soup again. “None of this sits right with me.”

Hulda watched the shifting of his expression as she blew on a spoonful of soup, giving him a moment to work out whatever was in his head. She wished she had Myra’s ability to read thoughts. What was he thinking right then?

Sighing, he sat up. Ate a spoonful. At least his appetite had returned. She’d noticed he wasn’t eating well—at least not during the meals she’d shared with him. She tried to keep an eye on his waistline to see if he’d lost anything there, but it was hard to tell under vests and coats and improperly tucked shirts. Perhaps she’d ask Baptiste. She would have preferred Miss Taylor, but she wasn’t an option at the moment.

The change in appetite didn’t have anything to do with her, did it? The thought made nerves spark in her stomach.

Don’t be foolish, she chided herself. Not after he kissed you like that.

Her cheeks warmed.

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