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Merritt closed his eyes and formed fists with his hands—
The wall stopped short, sending a gust of air over him, blowing his hair back. When Merritt opened his eyes, it was an inch from his nose.
He waited for the house to do more. To grow spikes, to buck, to crush him.
It waited. Itbreathed.
When his heart settled back into his chest, Merritt whispered, “Aren’t you lonely?”
The wall rippled before him. He didn’t step back. Neither did the house.
“That’s the point of being a house, isn’t it?” he asked, nails digging into his palms. “To be lived in. Last resident was in the 1730s, wasn’t it? So aren’t you lonely?”
Patterns of light and dark danced over the wall as shadows slipped across the window.
“I am.” His voice was barely audible, but he knew the place heard it. “I’ve been lonely for a long time. Sure, I’ve had friends, colleagues, so I’m not isolated. But I stillfeelit. It’s the deep, lasting kind of loneliness. The hollow kind that settles in your bones.”
His muscles were so stiff his arm jerked when he moved it. Carefully he pressed fingertips, then fingers, then palm to the wall, his knuckles sore from clenching.
“I’ll be good to you if you’re good to me,” he promised. “Maybe... Maybe we couldbothuse a fresh start.”
The room stilled.
He waited. Swallowed. Waited some more.
“I’ll admit”—a coarse chuckle worked up his throat—“that the rats were a nice touch.”
The room creaked. Merritt’s pulse picked up, but the wall shifted backward, away from his touch. Back, back, back, until itclickedback into place. The furniture jellied and reoriented itself, though the carpet remained overturned. Cautiously, Merritt picked up its end and smoothed it down. When he looked up, he saw a multicolored knitted scarf lying on the floor.
And the shadows disappeared.
Chapter 9
October 29, 1833, Liverpool, England
Silas felt like he could finally breathe.
He’d left it all behind. The house, the staff, the city, the memories. The transition had been smooth, nearly without conflict. These walls held no portraits of lords past, nor of the lost. No painted eyes followed him, and the walls sang with magic that he would incorporate into himself. Yes, he’d left it all behind, except for the bodies. They were stowed away safely now, where no one would ever find them.
And that included the staff the London Institute for the Keeping of Enchanted Rooms had insisted on inflicting on him. He’d accepted the bare minimum of staff, for if he’d refused any help, it would be deemed peculiar. Gorse End was a notable estate registered with LIKER, so it would look well to play by their rules. For now.
He strode down a hall with east-facing windows, taking in the crisp autumn morning, the bright white of the sky. Hands clasped behind his back, he smiled, breathing in the cool air seeping through open panes.
He was at home here.
The sound of approaching footsteps gave him pause. Turning, he saw Stanley Lidgett, his steward, approaching. Lidgett was the only staff member he’d kept from Henspeak—he’d discharged the rest into the city. He wanted a skeleton staff here, only those whose presencewas absolutely necessary. And Lidgett—he’d always trusted Lidgett. He understood more than others did.
When the steward reached him, he bowed. “Sorry to disturb you, but the housekeeper from Boston arrived early.”
“Oh?” Silas gestured with a hand, and the two men walked back the way Lidgett had come. He knew LIKER had a child company in the States—they must have been overburdened to bring in someone from Boston. Silas hid a smile—all the better for his purposes, to have a housekeeper who wasn’t local. He wasn’t entirely put off by the obligation; aspects of Gorse End were still unfamiliar to him. Once he fully understood the nature of the house’s magic and had resided there for the required length of time, as established per LIKER’s regulations, he would carefully dismiss their employee. He didn’t want any nosy would-be wizards detecting that the spells had suddenly vanished from the house and embedded themselves in Silas’s person.
They went down the stairs to the morning room. No footman waited to open the door, which made Silas smile inwardly. Stepping inside the white-and-green-furnished room, his eyes fell upon a young woman on the settee.
She immediately rose, but before Lidgett could make the introduction, Silas said, “You’re a little young for a housekeeper, are you not?” Early twenties, mid at most. Another blessing—she was inexperienced.
The woman gave him a patient smile. “I assure you I am well trained both in housekeeping duties and in enchantments, Lord Hogwood.”
Lidgett cleared his throat. “The housekeeper, Lord Hogwood. Mrs.Hulda Larkin.”
