Page 72 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

Owein pressed his right front paw onto the letterE, then looked up at Baptiste.

The two were in Merritt’s office, Hulda’s mud-spotted letterboard spread out on the floor. The large Frenchman had taken up residence in Merritt’s chair and folded his burly arms across his chest. A simple nod told Owein he was correct.

He lifted his paw a fraction, then set it down on theEonce more.

“A,”Baptiste corrected.

Why would there be anAintea? Shaking his head. Owein lifted and replanted his paw on theE.

Baptiste leaned forward. “Is spelledT-E-A. Tea.”

Owein pawed theE.

The chef grunted. “Why would it be spelledT-E-E? That is nonsense.”

Because that’s what it sounds like,Owein wanted to say, but Baptiste couldn’t hear him, so Owein continued to paw at theE, the paper threatening to tear beneath his nails.

“Stop.Stop.” Baptiste nudged him off with the tip of his boot. “Try, uh.” Baptiste rotated his wrist, trying to think of a simple enough word. “Leg. Doleg.”

Owein looked at the letterboard, sounding out the first letter in his mind.

Legs skittering over the floor, infested but alone.

The thought pushed into his mind like a nightmare, dark and thick. Owein shook his whole body like he was wet, and it faded away.

“Owein.Leg.”

Lifting a paw, Owein touched down onL, thenE, and thenEagain, followed byV.

“Leev?” Baptiste asked. “No, it’s ... oh, leave. You want to be done?”

Owein shook his head. Started over.U-L-E-E-V, he spelled, then whined.

It took Baptiste a beat to understand, which probably meant Owein had spelled it wrong. Baptiste clasped his large hands together and leaned his elbows on his knees. “No, I am not leaving. I do not plan to.” He paused. “I am not a strong swimmer.”

Owein huffed at the poor joke.

He felt a tendril of that worry, that darkness, simmering in the back of his skull.

It was getting worse, somehow. Owein had woken during two nightmares this last week. Nightmares he could barely explain, let alone spell. Visions of being cold and dark and twisted and lonely. He didn’t know how to tell Baptiste. And Merritt ... Merritt always smelled sad or angry, and when he didn’t, he was off somewhere with Hulda, doing whatever they did across the bay. Owein didn’t want to make everything worse. He didn’t want to make Merritt sick again, like he’d been when he broke the island.

So Owein focused on his letters, spelling outL-E-J, which Baptiste corrected with aG.

As for the rest ... he’d just have to wait for it to go away. He’d get better.

Eventually.

Hulda was exhausted as she pushed open the door to her room on the second floor of BIKER headquarters, checking the ward as she went.Today was an absolute mess. Her mind had been elsewhere, meanwhile Mr.Walker had directed her and MissRichards to comb through financial records all day. Mr.Walker was a wolf on the hunt, determined to figure out where the missing funds had gone ... or, perhaps, to keep the women distracted while he dealt with other enchantments, if Mr.Baillie was to be believed. Between assignments, Hulda had snuck to her carefully placed azurite crystals and recorded their changes. She thought the one in the records room looked a little different, but she’d gone three hours later than she would have liked, and it could have been a trick of the lighting. She didn’t have an opportunity to bring it closer to the window, because Mr.Baillie had walked in just then, acknowledging her with nothing beyond an apathetic glance.

Hulda sighed. What was truth, and what was lie?

Attempting to rehash it now made a painful headache spring between her eyes. After tossing her black bag onto her bed—it landed on its side and spilled half its contents—she sat on the mattress, massaging the sore spot. What she wouldn’t give for some lemon drops and a nice book right now. She was in the mood for fiction, oddly enough. She missed the days of sneaking into Merritt’s office to read his latest work. She missed Whimbrel House. She missed Mr.Babineaux and Owein and MissTaylor. And she missed Merritt.

She still got to see him, yes, but it wasn’t quite the same. Her head hurt, and her heart hurt, and she wished she could just fall asleep and snooze through all of tomorrow, but alas, at this rate, Mr.Walker would have her working through Saturday again. She would do it, for BIKER.

What if he never intended to give her BIKER, regardless of her work?

Groaning, Hulda pulled her hands away and arched her back, stretching it out. Reached over and shoved things back into her bag—ledgers, a file, pens and paper, the communion stone, some postage, an apple she hadn’t eaten, the communion stone—

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