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Beth nodded. “I’m a contractor with them.”
“Does one have to have magic to work with BIKER?”
“Of course.” Beth didn’t even blink when the stairway flashed bright red. “But my talents are small. I’m only eight percent.”
“Eight... what?” he asked.
“Miss Taylor, it’s distasteful to share your ancestral composition with your employer,” Hulda chided.
Merritt paused at the top of the stairs, wary of the ceiling, which remained dry at present. “Ancestral composition?”
“Really, Mr.Fernsby.” Hulda pushed past both of them. “As you will now be dealing with magic on a regular basis, you should educate yourself on the matter.”
“I’ll educate myself when and if I decide to write a book on it,” he countered. “But since the distaste has passed”—he offered Miss Taylor a smile—“what do you mean eight percent?”
Miss Taylor glanced to Hulda.
Hulda sighed. “It is an estimation, based on genealogy, of what percentage of your ancestry was magical. The higher the percentage, the more magic—or stronger magic—one is likely to have.”
Merritt leaned on one foot. “What’s the difference?”
“It’s in the spells, Mr.Fernsby,” Beth chimed in. “Sometimes a person might possess only one spell, but they have a lot of it, so they can do that one thing very well. Sometimes a person has many spells but only a little of each, so they do a lot of things poorly. Most times, families with a history of magic get their children tested for it.”
Merritt nodded. “Isn’t it just a case of math, then?”
Hulda shook her head. “Genetics are a tricky thing, Mr.Fernsby, and magic is recessive. My sister, for example, hasn’t an iota of magic in her, but our parentage is the same.”
Merritt processed this. “Interesting. So what percentage are you, Mrs.Larkin?”
She frowned. “As I said, it is distasteful to discuss. This way. You’re in the second room here, next to mine. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to knock. But given that Mr.Fernsby is the sole occupant of Whimbrel House, your duties will be simple.”
“Is it on your résumé?” Merritt pressed as he followed. “Can I see it?”
Hulda ignored him. “I’ve already turned down the bed for you. Mr.Fernsby tends to sleep in late, so you may visit his room last in the mornings.”
“I’ll tell you mine,” Merritt continued. “Zero. Now you go.”
Beth chuckled. Perhaps itwasbeneficial to have others about the house.
Hulda cast both of them a withering look. “If it is so important to you, Mr.Fernsby, BIKER calculated me to be a twelve. High percentages are very rare among common folk.”
He nodded. “What do you think the queen is, then? Fifty?”
Rolling her eyes, Hulda took the suitcase and laid it on the bed. “Miss Taylor, let’s start in the library.”
Merritt followed them down the hallway. “Sixty? Goodness, it’s notseventy, is it?”
Hulda ignored him again, opening the door to the library, where books were flying. He highly doubted she would do anything to stop him from being whapped in the side of the head by a soaring volume, so he begrudgingly left the women to their business.
It wasn’t until he returned to his notebooks—thankfully all in one piece—that he realized he’d forgotten to ask whatkindof magic Beth had.
Pulling out a new piece of paper, he wrote himself a note to visit the closest public library the next time he left the island. He was going to check out a few books on magic.
Miss Taylor toured the house, asking appropriate questions, and set to work the moment she was done, stating, “I can unpack when everything is clean.”
Truly, Hulda had not heard more beautiful words in some time.
Thankfully, Miss Taylor had basic kitchen skills, which was one of the reasons Hulda had hired her, Myra’s recommendation being the other. Later that evening, she prepared dinner with minimal assistance from Hulda and announced that she would venture to Portsmouth in the morning to gather a new batch of supplies. Everything was beginning to run smoothly.
