Keeper of Enchanted Rooms

For a moment, he thought he heard a cracking, like man splitting stone in two, but when he looked back toward the house, nothing seemed amiss. Curious.

Leaning up against the elm, Merritt closed his eyes and breathed in the beauty of the island, letting it unwind the muscles in his arms and shoulders, soothe the lining of his lungs, dance across his lips. Spots of sun glimmered through the tree’s thinning crown, driving back gooseflesh raised by the shade. The breeze spun around him, sounding like the whispers of dozens of children, flitting shyly around his ears.

He opened his eyes. The leaves and grasses had gone still, which gave him pause.

No breeze.

No more whispers.

Strange. He glanced back to the house. He must have missed a school of cicadas or some such.

“Merritt!”

Whirling around, Merritt spied a dark figure dressed smartly in gray moving toward him, hand raised in greeting.

He grinned and walked to meet him. “You’re late!”

“I’m late?” Fletcher repeated. “You live in the middle of Godforsaken nowhere, and you’re going to accuse me of being late? Show me your watch.”

Merritt patted his side, only to remember he hadn’t worn a vest, and he never donned his watch without a vest pocket to slip it into.

Fletcher raised his eyebrows. “And the accused rests his case.” He glanced over Merritt’s shoulder. “Seems . . . tame.”

Merritt embraced him, patting him firmly on the back. “It is, mostly. Thank you for coming out again. I need a break from words.”

“Am I allowed to read it?”

“Only if you get bored with our other festivities.” They started toward the house.

“Then yes,” Fletcher said. “I’ll be reading it.”

They reached the house; Beth was hanging laundry, so Merritt introduced Fletcher, who tipped his hat to her. Inside, the portrait craned to get a better look at their guest before waving.

“So strange.” Fletcher leaned forward to study the animated painting.

Hulda came down the stairs. “Greetings, Mr. Portendorfer. I trust your travel was pleasant. I’ve your room prepared for you. Any other needs can be addressed to myself or Miss Taylor, our maid.”

Merritt, after closing the front door, glanced to Hulda and paused.

Fletcher spoke for both of them when he said, “You look nice, Mrs. Larkin.”

She was wearing a new dress, a bright straw-colored thing with a pattern of dark-maroon roses and three-quarter sleeves. Whereas all her other dresses buttoned up clear to the chin, this one had a wider collar, actually exposing her neck and collarbones. Her hair was done up as she usually did it, but . . . there was something different Merritt couldn’t quite put his finger on. She looked . . . radiant.

“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.