Keeper of Enchanted Rooms

“It’s smaller.” He shook his head. “It’s older. How is this a fair trade?”

Reaching over, Silas calmly collected the papers, ensuring he folded them along the proper creases. “It’s an enchanted house.”

“So what?”

So what? Such a simple question. Gorse End was an enchanted home with spells he had previously never even dreamed of possessing. Spells he feared simply taking, for while the place wasn’t among the holdings of the King’s League of Magicians, it was documented by the London Institute for the Keeping of Enchanted Rooms, an institution with which the previous tenant had been friendly. If Silas wanted those spells, his best bet was to reside at the estate so he could feign its magical ability should the law ever come around to check. Besides, he had to live somewhere, did he not? There would be no snooping soldiers in Liverpool, and the estate was away from everything, a perfect hideaway for him as he sorted out his future and built his invisible walls. It was a place he could tuck into and rest. A place he would feel safe. A place that would let him move on and forget, for his father’s presence still haunted the shadows here. And, sometimes, his mother’s.

He eyed his brother. The King’s League had been working hard to recruit Christian as well. Now that his brother’s studies were finished, it was only a matter of time before he joined. Before he unwittingly became another chain Silas would have to break.

Frustrated by Silas’s lack of answer, Christian kicked the desk, jolting it.

“Really, Chris.” Silas sighed.

“A portion of the estate belongs to me.” His brother’s voice took on a dark edge. “It’s in father’s will. I’ll get a solicitor and block the sale.”

Silas’s stomach clenched. “You will do no such thing.”

“You don’t lord over me, Lord Hogwood.” His nose creased like he smelled something disgusting. “You are not the sole benefactor. You are not—”

Silas stood abruptly, causing his chair to skid over the hardwood. Collecting his ledger, he headed for the door. “Keep your portion, then,” he said. “You can hunker down in your precious little cottage on the south end and suck up to the King’s League for your maintenance.”

He had nearly reached the door when a kinetic pulse clipped his shoulder and slammed it shut.

His father shoved him into the wall, screaming obscenities so slurred together Silas couldn’t determine what they were. The next blow hit his stomach so hard, he vomited.

Silas whirled around.

Christian lowered his hand, the fingers stiff. “I am not finished.”

“Oh yes, you are,” Silas growled. “You dare to use our father’s magic against me? I haven’t felt that sting for fifteen years.”

“I didn’t mean to—” Christian slashed away the words with a swipe of his hand. Paused. “What really happened to him, Silas?” A shadow spawned on his face. “What really happened to Mother?”

“Why do you keep. Asking. Me.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “Why do you think I know? I wasn’t there. Her body was never recovered. It doesn’t matter. She was—”

“Dying anyway. So you always say.”

“So you always question!” Silas countered. “You discovered her missing first. Why don’t you tell me what happened to her, hm? How a servant snuck her away under your nose?”

“You always turn it around on me.”

“You always point the finger first!”

“You were the last to see her!” Christian shouted.

“In a house that employs seventy-eight, you fool!” Silas didn’t often raise his voice, but it ricocheted off the oak walls. “And what does it matter? She’s at peace. Stop digging up the dead—”

“At peace?” Christian marched toward him. “At peace? How would you know?”

His jaw worked so tightly Silas thought he might break a tooth. Getting right into his brother’s face, he said, “I. Don’t.” And he turned for the door.

“You do.”

Silas ignored the accusations. Wrenched the door open.

“You do!” Christian shouted, and another kinetic blast ripped the door from Silas’s hand and slammed it shut.

“I don’t!” Silas screamed as he whirled around, sending out a kinetic blast of his own. It struck Christian in the chest and sent him hurtling backward, toward the fireplace.

Silas’s stomach lurched into his throat, but his body couldn’t move fast enough to stop it.

His brother crashed into the mantel, smashing his head onto the marble. He crumpled to the floor, leaving a bloody streak above the embers.

For a moment, Silas just stood there, watching.

Then he ran to his brother’s side. “Christian. Christian.”

His brother didn’t respond. He was breathing, but his eyes wouldn’t open. Silas patted, then slapped, Christian’s cheeks. Peeled back his lids to see rolling eyes and dilated pupils.

“Blazes.” He shook his brother, but he didn’t respond. How would he explain . . .

He looked toward the desk. Gorse End. It had taken so long to find that estate, and now his brother was going to . . .