He lowered the résumé. “You’re moving in?”
“Only if you wish it, Mr. Fernsby, but I come highly recommended.”
He glanced from her to the résumé and back. “I’m sorry, I’m still coming to terms with the idea of this place being livable.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Do you doubt my abilities?”
He shook his head. “Hardly. But I don’t know how you’ll bring your things here if the house won’t let you leave.”
“We’ll see about that.”
He nodded. “But yes, if you can keep this beast in line . . . of course I’ll take the help. I . . . am about to be in a housing predicament—goodness, I am in a housing predicament”—he eyed the walls and ignored the gooseflesh pebbling his arms—“and . . . well, I don’t want to see the house and land go to waste.”
Admittedly, if the spells hadn’t kept him indoors, he might have burned the place down and fled back to New York. But seeing Hulda’s ability to control the place, and her calm demeanor while doing it, had sparked hope for the future. Maybe this was a blessing. Maybe it could turn into something great.
To think, he’d be a homeowner. A landowner. He could increase his fortunes and make a good life for himself. Write his next book and then another after it.
The floor shuddered. He gripped his armrest.
“Excellent choice.” She recovered the wards and stood, putting hers over her neck and handing the other two to Merritt. “You may hold on to these. Be careful with them. They’re expensive.”
He nodded.
She walked with confidence to the door, though she had to utilize the crowbar once more to see it open, and then out came the umbrella as they passed through the . . . paint. The ward on the stairs held the banister in place. Merritt focused on the back of Hulda’s head so he wouldn’t see the portrait in the reception hall watching him.
To his surprise, the house allowed Hulda to open the door, revealing late-afternoon sun . . . beautiful sun. It filled the reception hall and banished the shadows, and Merritt breathed easily for the first time since he’d arrived.
Hulda poked through the doorway with her umbrella first, then, clasping her ward, stepped through.
And nothing happened.
He let out a deep sigh. “Thank goodness.” But the moment he tried to follow her, the doorway snapped and shrunk to the size of his torso, barring him from leaving.
A sob threatened to leave the base of his throat. “You blasted thing!” He pushed one of the wards against the wood. It didn’t budge.
“Do not antagonize the house, Mr. Fernsby,” Hulda warned, running a hand over the shrunken doorway. “There’s a great deal of magic in these walls, and for whatever reason, it does not want you to exit.” She patted the warped door. “I also would not suggest crawling through this.”
He had the grisly image of his body pinching in half, and shuddered.
“The thing is,” Hulda continued, “I came out only to give the place a gander. I don’t have my belongings with me, just a small suitcase.” She tapped her chin. “I have your current address in New York on file. I will see your things brought in. Between making those arrangements and packing up more of my own things, I will need two days.”
Two days. “I can’t survive that long.”
“Be kind to the house,” she said. “And keep your wards.” She considered. “Perhaps one day. Do you have enough to eat?”
His shoulders slackened as he recounted what he brought. “I’ve some cheese and gingersnaps.” He wouldn’t starve to death, at least. Merritt paused. “Wait, can you post something for me?” He’d started a letter to his friend Fletcher, currently living in Boston, in his notebook, but that was currently under the carpet . . .
“Of course.”
When he didn’t move, she retrieved her notebook from her bag and flipped to a clean page before handing it to him. He was tempted to read what she’d written in there, but . . . priorities.
Leaning on the doorway, he penned a hasty letter informing his friend of his predicament, though he made it sound lighthearted. Bad habit of his. He signed it, folded it, and handed everything back to Hulda.
“Please hurry,” he begged.
“I do not dawdle,” she said, lifting her nose. But her eyes softened. “And of course. I will aim to return by tomorrow evening.”
She turned to leave, paused, and turned back, rummaging through her sack until she pulled out a tin lunchbox. She passed it through the shrunken door without word, then started for the coast.