Keeper of Enchanted Rooms

A shiver coursed up Merritt’s neck. “Hello?”

Sssssshhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeee . . .

“Owein! Where is she?” He trudged through thistles, voice hoarse. “She! Where is she?”

Ssssssshhhhhhheeeeee, the air wheezed, and in his head, Merritt saw a coastline far from where he was standing.

He ran.

Hulda’s face pressed into reeds. Her wrists stuck together with nothing but a spell, stronger than any manacles. The sun abandoned her, leaving her to the darkness and Silas Hogwood’s hands, one of which stayed at the back of her head, shoving her mouth into mud.

She felt the exact moment a necromancy spell oozed beneath her skin, beckoning her life force away.

She jerked, trying yet again to free herself. Her panic was overwhelming. Suffocating. She couldn’t breathe! She writhed, bending her glasses. Managed to buck up one hip.

Mr. Hogwood’s grip tightened, pulling hair from her scalp.

“It’s not worth fighting. Even without magic, I could overpower you,” he murmured. Her muscles heated with his spell, while her skin turned icy. “I should have taken you out first the last time. I’m not making that mistake again.”

The statement rang alarms in her head. She tried to talk, to plead, but it only pushed muck against her teeth.

Something buzzed in her blood. Her thoughts flashed to the basement of Gorse End, to the shriveled, blackened bodies of people, no longer recognizable. She screamed. The marsh absorbed the sound.

Mr. Hogwood’s knee pressed into the small of her back, sending a wave of pain up her spine. Tears leaked from her eyes. “This takes a while.” He was so quiet she could barely hear him over her thundering heart. “But you know that, don’t you?”

His nails dug into her scalp. Hot breath brushed her ear before he said, “But do you know how? Hm? How I’ll suck up your life force, break apart your magic, and move it from this worthless sack of flesh? I’ll make you even uglier than the rest. But your eyes . . . I will try so hard to preserve your eyes. I want you to see how wretched you are.”

He leaned onto his knee in her back. Hulda screamed into roots and earthworms as lightning coursed through her body, overwhelming the subtle pull of the spell. Her backbone was going to snap.

“Hardly worth it.” He pulled back, unaffected by the sobs shaking her chest and shoulders. She gasped for air and sucked up dirt, barely able to cough it out. She tried to kick, but the spell restraining her wrists also glued together ankles and knees.

She was going to die. God help me, I’m going to die.

“I thought about you every day.” A new spell jolted through her, one that truly felt like lightning. She cried out as it burned the backs of her thighs. Was this part of the draining, or just a means to torture her? Grit clung to her eyelashes and melded with her tears. “Every day in that Godforsaken place.” He shoved her head down again, burrowing her face so deep in the muck there was no air to be had. She struggled, twisted, jerked. “Never thought it would be—”

Thunder exploded. It crashed into Hulda’s head and made her ears ring.

Suddenly the unbearable weight on her head and back lifted. Hulda wrenched away, tears streaming down her face. Her arms and legs, unexpectedly free, prickled from lack of blood. She fell back into the grass. Picked herself up again. Her glasses hung off one ear.

Through a single lens, she saw a shadow approaching.

And Mr. Hogwood . . . Mr. Hogwood was gone.

“Show yourself!” The demonic and grating words sounded in Merritt’s voice. Thunder ripped through the air again, and Hulda’s hands rushed to her ears. Some distant piece of her recognized it wasn’t a storm she’d heard, but a firearm.

The shadow rushed across the grass, swinging the butt of a musket like a sword. Heart in her throat, Hulda twisted, searching the marsh for Mr. Hogwood, but it was as if he’d never been there. And with the repertoire of spells that man possessed . . . he could truly be gone.

“Hulda.” The edge of the voice dissipated as the shadow dropped down beside her. Her frenzied mind managed to recognize it.

Bloodied lips struggled, “M-Mister . . . Merritt?”

His hands cradled her jaw. It was so dark she could barely see his outline against starlight. He felt so warm against her cold skin, his touch nearly scorching. “You’re hurt. You’re—”

A rustle in the grass, likely only a hare, but panic shocked Hulda from crown to heel. Merritt leapt to his feet, musket in hand.

Nothing but the wind greeted them.

“Baptiste!” Merritt bellowed. “Baptiste, bring the light! I found her!”

Hulda gawked at him, shaking, teeth chattering, her mind a flurry of disjointed thoughts and fears. Her body still burned from spells.

She didn’t see or hear what he did with the gun. But Merritt Fernsby crouched beside her and drew her trembling body into his arms, lifting her from the shallow grave of muck and reeds. Far in the distance, a lantern swung, slowly making its way toward them.