Divine Rivals (Letters of Enchantment, #1)(44)

I’m sending you a bundle of these letters. The addresses are typed at each footer, and I wanted to see if you would you be willing to place them in envelopes, address and stamp them, and drop the letters in the post for me? I promise to repay you for the postage. If you’re unable to, please don’t worry. Just send them back over the portal to me and I’ll mail them with the next train.

P.S. Do you happen to have a typewriter that looks ordinary upon first glance but has a few quirks that makes it unique? For instance, its ribbon spools might sometimes chime like a musical note, the space bar might gleam in a certain slant of light, and there should be a silver plaque on the underside. Can you tell me what’s engraved there?

She gathered the soldiers’ letters and sent them over the portal. She paced the room while she waited for his reply, which came sooner than she anticipated:

Of course, I’m more than happy to do this for you. I’ll drop the letters in the post first thing tomorrow morning. No need to repay me for postage.

And yes, my typewriter has a few quirks. It was my nan’s. She granted it to me on my tenth birthday, in the hopes I would become an author someday, like my grandfather.

Before your letter, I never thought to check the underside. I’m shocked to find the silver plaque you described. The engraving is as follows: THE SECOND ALOUETTE / MADE ESPECIALLY FOR H.M.A. Which are my nan’s initials.

I’ll have to ask her more about this, but I take it your typewriter is also an Alouette? Do you think this is how we’re connected? Our rare typewriters?

Warmth welled in her chest, as if she had breathed in the firelight. Her theory was confirmed, and she quickly began to reply:

Yes! I just recently learned the legend of these Alouette typewriters, which I’ll tell you in a moment because I think you will find it quite intriguing. But my nan, who was a solemn woman full of poetry, gave me hers on my

The haunting wail of a siren stopped her mid-sentence.

Iris’s fingers froze above the keys, but her heart was suddenly pounding.

That was a hound siren.

She had three minutes before they reached Avalon Bluff, which was plenty of time to prepare herself, but it felt as if Dacre’s wild hounds would leap from the shadows any moment.

With a tremble in her hands, she hastily wrote:

I haver to go! Sorryy. More latwr.

She wrenched the paper from the typewriter. The bottom half of the page tore, but she managed to fold it and send it over the portal.

Quickly, she thought. Cover the window, blow out the light, go to Marisol’s room.

Iris strode to the window, the siren continuing to wail. It made gooseflesh rise on her arms, to hear the keen of it. To know what was coming. She stared through the glass panes, into the dark pitch of night. The stars continued to wink as if nothing was amiss; the moon continued to shed light with its waxing. Iris squinted and could just discern the sheen of the neighbor’s windows and roof and the field beyond them, where a gust raked over the long grass. Her bedroom faced the east, so chances were the hounds would come from the other direction.

She yanked the curtains closed and blew out her candle. Darkness flooded around her.

Should she grab anything else? She began to reach for her typewriter, fingertips tracing its cold metal in the dark. The thought of leaving it behind made her feel like the wind had been knocked from her.

Everything is going to be fine, she told herself in a firm voice, forcing her hands to leave the typewriter on her desk.

Iris took a step toward the door and proceeded to trip on the rug. She should’ve waited to blow out her candle until she was with Marisol. But she made it into the hallway and nearly collided with Attie.

“Where’s Marisol?” Iris asked.

“I’m here.”

The girls turned to see her ascend the stairs, holding a rushlight. “The downstairs is prepared. Come, to my room, the two of you. You’ll spend the night here with me.”

Attie and Iris followed her into a spacious chamber. There was a large canopied bed, a settee, a desk, and a bookshelf. Marisol set down her light and proceeded to shift the heaviest piece of furniture against the door. Attie rushed to help her, and Iris hurried to close the window curtains.

It was suddenly very quiet. Iris didn’t know what was worse: the siren, or the silence that came after it.

“Make yourselves comfortable on the bed,” Marisol said. “It might be a long night.”

The girls sat against the headboard, cross-legged. Attie finally blew out her candle, but Marisol still had her rushlight lit. She opened her wardrobe, and Iris could see her shoving aside dresses and blouses to find a flashlight and small revolver.

She loaded the gun and extended the flashlight to Iris.

“If the hounds manage to get inside, which they shouldn’t but there’s always a possibility … I want you to shine the light on them so I can see them.”

So she can shoot them, Iris realized, but she nodded and studied the flashlight, finding its switch with her thumb.

Marisol eased onto the edge of the bed, between the girls and the door, and she blew out her rushlight.

The darkness returned.

Iris began to count her breaths, to keep them deep and even. To keep her mind distracted.

One … two … three …

She heard the first hound on her fourteenth inspiration. It howled in the distance, a sound so chilling it made Iris’s jaw clench. But then the sound grew closer, joined by another. And another, until there was no telling how many of them had reached Avalon Bluff.