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But he was about to lose them, too, wasn’t he? Everyone but Baptiste...
Finished with the salt—it had taken the entire bag—he returned inside as the sun shrunk beyond the horizon. Beth and Baptiste lingered in the dining room, peeking out as Hulda worked. She’d set out eleven stones, which had to represent the eleven magics. Merritt’s eyes flitted from bloodstone to turquoise to a purple one near his foot.
“What is amethyst for?” he asked. He didn’t touch it; he knew Hulda wouldn’t like her efforts to be interrupted. “Conjury?”
Hulda paused, looking surprised that he even knew what the stones were for. Well, magical or not, he hadn’t grown up in a ditch. “Augury, actually.”
He nodded.
She gestured for him to join up with Beth and Baptiste, and he noticed the hateful wheel had been moved to the dining room floor. Baptiste murmured, “Is the ghost... comingout? Should I leave?”
“If it were dangerous, she would have told us,” Merritt assured him. Unless Hulda was more frustrated with him than he realized. But surely she wouldn’t risk any harm to Beth.
She pulled out a piece of paper. “This is an alteration and wardship spell. The first will change the house to something uninhabitable for the wizard, and the second will counter the spells the wizard used to attach herself. I will perform for Dorcas first; if that doesn’t work, Crisly.”
“But,” Merritt hesitated, “you aren’t also an alterist and a wardist, are you?”
“I am not. But these spells were preprepared by wizards who have those talents.”
A slight popping sound emanated from behind Merritt. He whirled around to see his manuscript on the floor where the wheel had been. Euphoria filled him from heel to head as he scooped the thing up, hurriedly flipping through pages to ensure it was all there. It was.
“Oh blessed Lord.” He hugged the book to himself. “Look, Mrs.Larkin! The house gave it back!”
She nodded sadly. “Probably because the spirit doesn’t want to leave.”
Merritt frowned. “Well, if that isn’t a nail in the reinvigorated fountain of my joy.”
Surprisingly, Hulda smiled. Just a small smile, no teeth, but it was there. “Quite metaphorical, Mr.Fernsby. You should be a writer.”
She turned to her spells, and Merritt’s gut tightened.
It happened very quickly—Merritt had envisioned something long and drawn out, full of shadows and guttural chants and the constant spraying of holy water. But Hulda’s reading of the spells was quiet and quick. The stones remained in place. The candles burned with consistency. The house didn’t even creak.
Hulda set the paper on the stairs. “Not Dorcas, then.” Frowning, she retrieved an identical paper from her bag. One set of spells per exorcism.
Beth shifted her weight, making the floor creak. “It’s been excellent working with you, Mr.Fernsby.”
His gut tightened further.
The dining room turned black.
“Mrs.Larkin,” he began, but he didn’t put enough effort into the name. She didn’t hear him.
She enacted the spell, using the full name, Crisly Stephanie Mansel.
And... nothing happened.
Merritt’s insides were strange. Anxiety bloomed from his navel. His chest was tight. And yet... relief oddly loosened his shoulders.
Hulda shook her head. “I... I don’t understand it. It couldn’t have been the parents. They didn’t have the right...mix.”
Beth said, “Maybe itisthe youngin.”
Hulda sighed. “I did purchase enough for experimentation.” She pulled out a third sheet. Enacted the exorcism again, this time for Helen Eliza Mansel.
Nothing happened.
“I know these stones are good!” Hulda stamped her foot, abandoning her post to check the rocks.
