Hell's Eyes

HELL'S EYES

waved his hand, motioning down the hall. “Y-yes, please. I apologize, I-I haven’t been myself lately.” Again, Mr. Noblémyn dragged a hand over his face, as if he could wipe away his obvious exhaustion and refresh himself in an instant. But alas, Elsie knew he was no Caster, and while she’d often been suspected of weaving magic into her baked goods, she was but a master of sugar and flour and nothing more. But perhaps Mr. Herman Basil—the town’s Healer and resident herbalist—could be of some help. A sleeping draft, or— Elsie nearly dropped her basket as her eyes fell upon the papers scattered over Mr. Noblémyn’s darkened sitting room. Tacked to the walls, covering the table in dilapidated piles, and littering the floor, Elsie could just barely make out the same harried depiction on the ones she could see in full. “Oh,” Mr. Noblémyn started, “um…please, pardon the mess. I…I wasn’t e-expecting company.” “Please,” Miss Elsie said, taking a step into the room and clearing a spot on the low coffee table for her basket, “don’t worry yourself about it. After all, I should probably be apologizing to you for calling on you without so much as a telegram to announce myself.” Putting her hands on her hips, she surveyed the room once more, wondering just what to do with it all—and how to handle Mr. Noblémyn. She’d expected to find him bedridden, not skittish beyond his wits. Soup couldn’t cure his affliction, and neither could any herbal remedy she knew of. Considering whether or not she could leave Mr. Noblémyn for a few moments to fetch Mr. Basil, Elsie found herself guiding him to a seat and handing him the cinnegal. “Now how about we let some light into t—” “No!” Mr. Noblémyn gasped, shooting to his feet and nearly throwing the cinnegal across the room. “Please, you mustn’t open the windows!” Elsie stopped, frozen in her efforts to throw the shutters open by

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