Page 58 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

Wished Hogwood had kept his damn mouth shut about his magic.

He wished he’d never gotten this house.

But that wasn’t quite right. Without the house, there wouldn’t be Hulda, and Owein would still be an angry spirit, and Baptiste might be on the streets—

His lungs tightened. Fluttery, clammy sensations lapped over his skin. He couldn’t breathe. What was wrong with him?

“Merritt?” Hulda’s voice sounded far away, like she stood on the roof and called down through the ceiling.

His pulse beat too fast, too erratic. His heart was in his skull, pounding, pounding,pounding. The room was slowly spinning; he was about to snap at Owein to knock it off, but Owein wasn’t in the walls anymore. He wasn’t even inside the house.

Merritt struggled to breathe. His stomach turned, threatening to upend its contents.

“Merritt!” Fingers touched his shoulder, burning into him like pokers left too long in the hearth. He jerked away from them. Dropped the rock. Thethudof its landing echoed in his ears.

Everything was closing in on him. The walls, the books, his clothes, hisskin. He had to get out. He neededout.

He didn’t remember moving, but suddenly he was in the hallway, bolting like the house was alive again, like the shadows were chasing him, like the walls had grown spikes and sought to crush him. Panic surged up his throat. He was sure the front door would stick, that it wouldn’t let him out—

He wrenched it open. A million voices filled his ears, like every blade of grass and dying leaf rushed to speak to him at once, whispering in a language he didn’t understand, hushing each other, climbing over one another, and Merritt couldn’t run fast enough. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t do anything.

Trapped. He was trapped, and his bones were the bars of his prison.

The fire grew and grew, pushing back the November chill. He ran until the smoke choked him, until his legs ached, until he couldn’t take another step.

Merritt collapsed, falling to his knees.

And the whole island exploded.

Chapter 13

November 16, 1846, Blaugdone Island, Rhode Island

He lay in the midst of a strange world.

He didn’t know where it was or what it was called. He couldn’t remember his name. It was all so ... confusing.

He lay back, looking into the sky. It was snowing, but the snow was violet and tumbled from the heavens like down feathers. The trees were upside down. The ground had shifted into sharp, uneven steps. Plants were uprooted and lying on their sides, but a few of them danced. He blinked, trying to understand, but they continued to dance. Wilted reeds moved on legs made of twisted roots and hopped around, spinning and dipping and teetering. Everything else was so quiet. No bird call, no rabbit thumps. Just silence under the lazy lavender snow.

Merritt lay there, watching everything, for a long time. Trying to puzzle it out, but his brain was like ... like what? There was a simile that would describe it, he just couldn’t narrow in on it. Something sweet. Sugar? Cookies ...

Oh, molasses. His brain was like molasses.

The cold slowly seeped in, pressing between the fibers of his clothing. It was getting darker, which made the snow take on a more plumlike hue. His breath clouded in uneven spheres above his lips beforewhisking away. A few of the reeds grew tired and stopped dancing, toppling over to rest.

He felt like he had to do something. Go somewhere, talk to someone ... but it was so cold. His fingertips were starting to throb.

Slowly he sat up. Globs of mud fell from his back. The purple snow turned a dirty white.

There was a dog in front of him.

“Hello.” His voice sounded rough, scratchy. “Who are you?”

The dog stared at him, then whined like it was trying to say something.

Merritt blinked. “Are you lost?”

The dog barked at him. Hesitated. Whined again, then took off.

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