Keeper of Enchanted Rooms

The house groaned and clicked, sounding much like the lavatory had before closing in on them. She ignored the gooseflesh parading up and down her arms.

Mr. Fernsby reached out and let some of the paint plop on his hand. “Is it?”

“Is there anything painted red in this house? It could be moved from that, then ‘melted,’ as the furniture was.”

He glanced at her like he was seeing her for the first time. “I . . . I’m not sure. It’s been . . . dark.”

She offered him what she called a “business smile,” and his shoulders relaxed. “I will know for sure when I finish my report. How many bedrooms?” Reaching into her bag, she withdrew her umbrella and unfurled it over their heads before heading left.

“F-Four, I think.”

The first of which, fortunately, had an open door. It was fortunate because it had no floor.

Hulda held up her light, but the seemingly bottomless pit sucked it up.

Mr. Fernsby stumbled back. She closed her umbrella. “I’m sure the floor will return. Houses dislike being incomplete.”

“Do they now?” Sarcasm punctuated the question, which Hulda disregarded.

They moved toward the next room, and again the house slammed the door, though Hulda had expected that. She moved on. The room at the end of the hall was presumably where the central bedchamber lay.

Ensuring the door would not take off her head, Hulda peeked inside. At first glance, it looked like a perfectly ordinary bedchamber. No shadows, no cobwebs, no rats . . . one of them would need to clean those up, because based on the smell, Hulda was certain they weren’t illusionary, which would fall under the second school of magic: psychometry. Indeed, the space looked quite pleasant. The sun shined through a rain-spotted window, the bed was made, the floor relatively clean—

Mr. Fernsby cursed, startling Hulda.

“Whatever is the matter?”

He strode into the room, a much more confident man than the one who had answered the door. “My notebooks were right here on this side table!” He ran his hand over the furniture. Opened a drawer, revealing some sort of pistol within. Searched the four-post bed and swept his hand beneath it, revealing a musket. Goodness, how many firearms did a man need? And he hadn’t even moved in yet! “I know they were. I was writing in one shortly before you arrived.”

Fishing into her bag, Hulda retrieved her dowsing rods and held them before her gently, keeping her fingers steady. She walked heel to toe, first toward Mr. Fernsby, then toward the other side of the room. The rods slowly pulled apart.

She prodded a lump in the carpet with her toe. “I believe they are here.”

Merritt stared at the lump like he was missing his spectacles, then marched over and inspected it. “But . . . how? The carpet is nailed in! How am I supposed to retrieve them?”

“I believe you have three choices. Pull up the carpet, cut them out, or wait for the house to return them.”

He gaped at her, but before he opened his mouth, she added, “I would recommend restraint when it comes to disparaging the house. We need it to be our ally.”

“Right. Ally.” He rubbed his palms into his eyes. Let out a long puff of air.

She gave him a moment to collect himself before asking, “And the rest of the house? Other than the fourth bedroom.”

He slowly stepped away from the books. “Um. Bedrooms, yes. Sitting area. Library. Be careful of the library.”

“What happened there?”

“It threw books at me.”

Hulda bit down on a smile. When Mr. Fernsby saw it, he did the same. At least there was still some humor left in the poor man.

“Threw them at you?” She headed back into the dark and dreary hallway. “Or did you simply get in the way of the throwing?”

Mr. Fernsby did not answer.

Utilizing the umbrella, they passed through the dripping hallway again, past the stairs, and headed straight into the library. Indeed, books flew from shelf to shelf, seeming to pick up speed under Hulda’s scrutiny. More portraits hung on the walls here; one with a sailboat in the bay appeared to be leaking water. The one of a poppy field had the flowers swaying in the breeze, but the only “wind” came from the flying books. Another sign the house likely didn’t possess any elemental spells.

Attempting reason one last time, Hulda said, “Come now.” She rubbed the interior wall of the library. “Settle down. This is no way to treat a guest.”

The books continued flying.

She toed into the room. “You may not like him, but I am reasonable, am I not?”

For just a moment, it seemed the books slowed. Only a moment, but that was a win in Hulda’s book.

Mr. Fernsby also noticed, for he said, “I take offense.”

The fourth bedroom’s door was open, revealing a bubbling carpet. “This would make an excellent office.”

“I wish I had your optimism.”

“Soon enough.” She turned to the final door. “Then I suppose this is the sitting room?”

“I only had a glance.”

“Only a glance?” She tested the knob.

“You may recall my story about nearly losing my nose—”

It took her last few wards, but Hulda got the door open. The sitting room was as dark as the rest of the house, though not from shadows.