Page 21 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

Bad dog!Merritt shot.

I’m boooooored.

Then go outside!

It’s coooold.

So help me, I will sell you to this man as a science experiment. How would you like that?

Merritt’s right ear rang—another side effect of communion. He stuck a pinkie in it. Owein whined, and the floorboards settled before Gifford lifted his head.

“Excellent. We’re making great progress.”

Merritt leaned on his fist. “Are we?”

Gifford nodded. “Let me read you this most excellent essay on chaocracy ... that is, unless you’d like me to leave it for you?”

Merritt straightened. Anything to make the torment end. “Yes, that would be best. But in your own studies, have you come across anything about controlling commu—”

A soft knock sounded on the door. Merritt paused. “Yes, MissTaylor?”

Beth opened the door and stuck in her head. “Sorry to interrupt, but might I have leave for the rest of the day? I’ve been summoned to Boston.”

Merritt stood. “BIKER?”

She nodded. “I assume LIKER wants to question me.”

Merritt pressed his lips together. While MissTaylorhadwitnessed Silas Hogwood’s attack on Merritt, she hadn’t had any interactions with Myra Haigh during that time ... other than being assigned to Whimbrel House, and that had been handled by Hulda. “If they want to bother you so badly, they should come here.”

Beth smiled. “I don’t mind.”

Sighing, Merritt pushed his hands into his pockets. “All right. Mr.Gifford, I don’t suppose you would mind seeing my maid to themainland safely? You can leave the essay here. And do bring me anything you can conjure up on communion, if you would.”

Gifford closed his ledger. “Wouldn’t that be a spell! A conjurist who could summon information.” He chuckled. “But I would be delighted. In fact, I would love to learn more about you, MissTaylor. Everything about the Boston Institute intrigues me.”

Beth offered him a small curtsy. “I’ll gather my things, then. Just in case it goes long.”

The next morning, Merritt found himself pacing from the dining room, through the camber top entryway, into the reception hall, then into the living room, and back. Owein had taken to following him for a time, then got bored and lay by the beveled oak stairs with his head resting on the first step. Baptiste occasionally popped out of the kitchen, his hairy arms floured up to his elbows, and peered out the large dining room window.

Beth hadn’t come home last night.

She’d mentioned the meeting might go long, but she hadn’t taken much with her, and BIKER had windsource pigeons—birds enchanted to fly at near bullet speeds—did it not? Not so hard to send word. Merritt had even tried his selenite communion stone with Hulda, which she’d finally answered around eight, saying she was unaware Beth had come to Boston and would check up on her. There hadn’t been a single update since. Merritt was likely overthinking things, but his stomach didn’t feel good and his limbs had too much energy. Hence the pacing.

I should work on my articles,he said to himself.I’m acting like an overprotective father.

Not that he had any experience with such.

Sssssshhhhheeeeeee,the reeds whispered distantly. Merritt tripped on his feet and spun around.

“There she is.” Baptiste’s low and heavily accented voice pierced the quiet of the house. Merritt turned on his toe and hurried to the dining room window, where the Frenchman, even leaning against the glass, stood a full head taller than he.

Sure enough, a feminine figure was picking her way through the wilting reeds. The bright, autumnal sun reflected off the frost coating the island, making it hurt his eyes to look so far. When he squinted, he noticed a new boat at the dock before identifying the familiar silhouette.

“It’s Hulda.” He pushed his way to the front door and wrenched it open. Sans coat, he sprinted out to meet her. Worries crowded his head. Hulda wasn’t really one to do a surprise visit, nor was she one to jog. Merritt met her halfway up the path, his breath clouding around his mouth.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, but the attempt at mirth melted when Hulda met his eyes and he saw the strain around hers.

“MissTaylor,” she answered, breathless. “She’s been transferred.”

---