Page 48 of The Spellreader and the Phoenix

It was perhaps fifteen or twenty seconds before the door was pulled open. An imposing-looking woman was standing there, her graying hair pulled back, her eyes and skin dark. She was dressed in a long navy-blue dress. The buzz along Rory’s skin told him that she was a witch.

Her voice was low. “Yes?”

Rory held out his hand. “Hello! I’m Rory and this is Max. Mr. Jones and Mr. Holcroft are expecting us. Well, not expecting to see us tonight because it’s way too late, and I hope we didn’t keep you up. If we did, I’m sorry. But the bookshop doesn’t close until eight on Fridays, and we left just as soon as it closed, and here we are!”

The woman blinked at him, seeming to take a moment to process everything that Rory had said, and then she reached out, offered a brief handshake, and then stepped back. Her expression was a little less severe than it had been.

“Sirs, I’m Mrs. Davenport, the housekeeper. Mr. Holcroft did indeed relay that you were on your way. Please come in. We have a room prepared for you.”

Rory and Max entered the house. This side entrance was bigger than most of Max’s apartment, and it appeared to be a sort of… mud room? Was that the right word? Rory made sure to wipe his shoes against the mat on the way in, and Max did the same.

“This way,” Mrs. Davenport told them.

They followed her into a dimly lit kitchen that was large and cavernous. Everything looked scrupulously clean, and there were some appliances on the counter that Rory could just make out and would have liked to ask questions about, but now didn’t seem to be the time.

They passed through the kitchen and into a hallway, and after a couple of turns, they began to go up a set of narrow stairs. They went up three flights and then emerged into a hallway that was decorated with various vases and paintings and sculptures. The light was dim again, and Rory wondered if the entire house was set to “light saver mode” at night or something like that. It wouldn’t have felt out of place for Mrs. Davenport to be carrying a lamp that they needed to follow.

“This must be quite a bit to keep clean!” Rory told Mrs. Davenport. “Max and I just have to contend with the bookshop and the apartment above, and that seems like quite enough.”

“We use an array of cleaning spells that help a lot,” Mrs. Davenport informed him, having either caught the magical buzz from them or having already been informed of their nature. “But you’re right, it’s quite a large house to keep tidy.”

“Well, everything looks lovely,” Rory assured her.

“Thank you, sir,” she said. “We do try.”

Down two more corridors, and Rory was hopelessly lost—he was quite good with directions outside!—but the housekeeper opened a door on their right.

“Here we are,” she told them, flipping a light switch so that the room was flooded with light, which seemed quite bright compared to the dimness of the hallways.

The room was about the size of Max’s living/dining room and kitchen. There was a large four-poster bed, an old painting in an ornate frame on the wall opposite, and large windows that had curtains pulled across to keep out the night. Mrs. Davenport pointed out the closet, the bathroom, and the phone—another old-fashioned one with a cord!—they could use to call for service at any time of the night or day.

“We’re just going to go to bed,” Rory assured her. “But if we needed to call in the morning, do you think someone could direct us to where we’re meeting Mr. Jones? Unless Max is way better at directions than me, we have no idea where we are right now.”

“You’re welcome to have breakfast first, if you wish. It’s available as of 6:30 in the kitchens, and we can have someone direct you whenever you’re ready. Just call down.”

“Will do,” Rory said cheerfully. “Thank you.”

That was an excellent idea. It made way more sense to go to the meeting on a full stomach and not risk interrupting anything with loud stomach growls.

“Yes, thank you,” Max echoed. “We appreciate your hospitality.”

Poor Max sounded a bit stiff and awkward, but he’d been very polite.

Mrs. Davenport inclined her head and then left the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

Max blew out a breath. “I feel like we walked back into the 1800s.”

“There is something about the place that gives that sort of feel,” Rory agreed, though there were also numerous elements that put the lie to that possibility. “I’m very grateful for the excellent indoor plumbing.”

Laughing, Max agreed, “Oh, yes, absolutely. While I’m interested in time travel on principle, I assume that it’s actually a lot more uncomfortable than it’s usually portrayed.”

“You’d have to get used to a lot,” Rory said. “Expectations change, you know? And technology develops.”

“And while I might not like every modern invention, indoor plumbing, coffee machines, and modern medicine are kind of essential to my everyday existence,” Max continued.

Rory smiled. “Yes, exactly. We can learn to live without rather a lot, but it’s much nicer when we can be genuinely comfortable.”

“Though we don’t need this,” Max pointed out, gesturing around at the large room.