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She frowned at him. “I’m beginning to fear that only magic will get you out of this, Mr.Fernsby. And as I said, the house has no power outside of itself, and you are outside of the house. It might not be able to do anything.”
“And it might drop one of these support beams on my head and finish the job,” he countered.
Shaking her head, Hulda said, “At least you see the importance of good staff, hm?”
“Yes.” His tone hardened. “As I plan on falling into pits regularly, it would be good to have some wizards-in-servitude available to fetch me out.”
“You needn’t say it like that,” she protested. “Servitude is the best way for the unfortunate to rise in their station and procure good wages for themselves and their families.”
Merritt chucked the sandwich cloth at the dirt. “You talk like a politician.”
“You seem to enjoy pointing out my idiosyncrasies.” She pulled her tool bag over and rummaged through it, but Merritt already knew there would be nothing in there to help him. “Despite our current conundrum,” she went on, “wewillfetch you out. In the interim, I’lllower down a blanket and food. My movers will arrive tomorrow, and we’ll enlist their help.”
“Can they also break down the front door?”
She closed her bag. “The place merely requires a firm hand. I assure you that with some time and effort it will be quite livable—”
“Mrs.Larkin.”
She eyed him.
Pulling on the ends of his hair, Merritt asked, “Why is it so important to you?”
She hesitated. “Why is what so important to me?”
“This house. My staying. All of”—he waved his hands—“this.”
She opened her mouth as though to deliver a smart retort, then closed it again, thinking. The orange of the sun dimmed, and the enchanted lamp cast shadows on the walls—the parts Merritt could see.
“Magic,” she began carefully, “is a dying art. Magicked homes even more so. They’re crucial to our history. They preserve what we cannot, spells long lost to the whims of genealogy, for when magic has no fallible body, it cannot fade or dissipate. In the modern world, magicked homes provide endless study for scholars, wizards, and historians alike. They are museums of the craft.”
Merritt folded his arms. “That’s why they’re important, yes. Not whythishouse is important toyou.”
She hesitated. Shifted. For a moment, Merritt thought she was going to leave, but she didn’t. She smoothed her skirts. Adjusted her glasses. Smoothed her hair.
“Because this is my life, Mr.Fernsby,” she said, softer. “And because I do not have and will never have anything else.”
His arms loosened. “That’s a dreary thing to say.”
“Hardly. It’s realistic.”
His lips quirked. “Don’t you think someone with magic powers should, I don’t know,notbelieve in realism?”
“Just because magic is rare does not make it unreal,” she countered.
They were both quiet for several seconds.
“I have made a career of caring for these wonders.” She gestured to the kitchen. “And when the wonders stop, so will my career. I enjoy what I do, Mr.Fernsby. I’m good at it. I would not give you the guarantee if I weren’t.”
“I don’t doubt your abilities.”
“Don’t you?” she questioned, and Merritt shifted his weight from foot to foot. “You wish to know why I care about this house? I see opportunity here. Opportunity that can be seized and tamed and made into progress.”
That last word caught his attention. Hadn’t he been thinking of that very thing?
She considered a moment. “If you leave this house behind, Mr.Fernsby, what would your next step be?”
He shrugged. “I could donate it to BIKER.”
