AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Sighing, Hulda went to Mr.Fernsby and grasped his shoulder. “Try to calm down.”
“It’seatingme!”
“It’s simply having a tantrum.” She grabbed one of the stool’s legs, though it was soft as warm wax, and pulled. Despite its liquid state, the stool was still onething, and it gradually slid off Mr.Fernsby’s arm. When Hulda released it, it plopped onto the floor like a mud pie. She reached into her bag for a ward, but the stool reshaped itself on its own.
Before it could change its mind, she placed it beneath the chandelier. “If you could spot me, Mr.Fernsby.” She didn’t want the thing deliquescing while she stood atop it.
He stepped to her side, eyeing the stool. “You’re very cavalier about this, Miss Larkin.”
“Mrs.Larkin will do.” She stepped up.
He glanced at her bare left hand. “You’re married, then?”
She focused on the chandelier. “It is proper to call a housekeeper byMrs.regardless of her matrimonial state.” She pulled out her magnifying glass and ran a finger around its rim. It, too, was enchanted, and refocused itself to suit her needs. Mr.Fernsby inched behind her to get a better look, letting out a weak whistle.
Ignoring him, Hulda focused on the flames. “See how they’re not actually extinguishing? Likely Whimbrel House does not possess elemental magic.” She made a mental note and stepped off the stool. There was an enclosed porch just behind the kitchen, but with the floor bubbling like tar, she determined it best not to explore it at this time.
The house creaked significantly as they returned to the reception hall. Wielding her lamp, Hulda opened the door by the stairs to find the toilet. She stepped inside, examining the mirror, but found it ordinary.
When she moved to the far corner, Mr.Fernsby following behind, the door slammed shut, startling her, and all six walls, including the floor and ceiling, began to crush inward, warping the toilet and sink as though they were made of clay. Piping shoved Hulda into Mr.Fernsby, who caught her by the shoulders as the wall behind them grew spikes.
For the first time since arriving, fear curdled in her stomach.
“Stop this at once!” she shouted, but the house had already proven itself unreasonable. The sink pushed the two of them together; she tried to wrench back, but the room gave her little space to do so, and it was still shrinking, forcing Mr.Fernsby to stoop as the ceiling buffed his hair.
Fresh spikes formed on the opposite wall, catching the edge of Hulda’s bag, inching closer, closer—
Mr.Fernsby hissed through his teeth as one pressed into his backside. He desperately tried to open the door. The lock jammed. He threw his shoulder into it once, twice—
The door grew spikes fine as needles.
“Mr.Fernsby!” Hulda shouted.
He reeled back before puncturing himself—reeled back intoher. Spikes whispered against her neck.
Think, think!She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, noting that Mr.Fernsby smelled of ink, cloves, and the light, floral addition of petitgrain.
She searched through her bag, her knees threatening to buckle as the floor pressed upward. A spike jabbed her elbow, and—
She’d forgotten she’d packed that.
Yanking her hand out, she shouted, “Hold on, Mr.Fernsby!”
And threw her bomb at one of the spiked walls.
The lavatoryerupted. False smoke filled the space. The walls, floor, and ceiling all snapped into place, the force of which expelled both Hulda and Mr.Fernsby from the room. She landed hard on the reception floor, but with little injury other than a bruised knee. Coughing, she dropped her bag and checked her hair. Darkness or no, she would not look frumpy while performing her job.
Mr.Fernsby was slower to rise. He blinked rapidly and puffed hair from his face. “What the hell wasthat?”
Given their circumstances, Hulda did not rebuke him for his language. “A chaocracy mine. Very—”
“Expensive,” he finished for her, shaking out his shirt and finding his feet. He offered her a hand, which she took, then glanced back toward the lavatory. The lamp, still lit, lay on the floor just outside the door, illuminating a very normal-looking space and toilet.
He shook his head. “Chaocracy... It should be in shambles.”
“A common misconception.” She cleared her throat, forcing the slight tremble in it to smooth. “Chaos is disorder, but if something isalreadyin chaos, then its disorder is order.”
He glanced at her. “Where did you say you were from again?”
