Page 90 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

None of them liked this new “house” on the dock, but at least they were together again.

Judge nodded. “Indeed. I apologize for this ... though I will need to see identification and make an official record. I’ll have to call in the gentleman overseeing this case as well. Do you mind waiting here?”

She nodded. “Of course not.”

He returned the nod and stepped down from the desk, disappearing through a side door Owein hadn’t noticed.

Now Myra pulled out another stack of papers from her coat and set them on the desk.

What’s that?Owein asked.

“Everything they’ll need,” she said so quietly even Owein’s dog ears had a hard time hearing it. “Affidavit that I’m alive, a copy of my identification, information on Alastair Baillie.” She turned from the desk and started for the door.

We’re not waiting?

She shook her head. Opened the door, checked the hallway, then slipped out, Owein at her heels. “I left a means of contacting me if absolutely necessary,” she murmured.

Owein frowned as well as he could with his muzzle as they approached the stairs.But I didn’t get to magic anyone.

That was the reason anyone took him anywhere in the city.Just in case,they said, over and over and over. Owein was just better at magic than everyone else.

“That’s a good thing, Mr.Mansel.” They took the stairs quickly.

Owein didn’t think he’d ever been called Mr.Mansel in his life, but it triggered a memory. His dad had been called that. His dad ... he couldn’t really remember what he looked like. Taller than him. Mustache.

Cherries.His dad had always smelled like cherries. Dried cherries. A jar of dried cherries on the table—

The harder Owein tried to grasp at the memory, the more it faded, until it was little more than a strange taste in the back of his throat. A taste that made him sad. A taste that fed that buried darkness in mind, just a little.

They stepped outside, the morning sun blinding. Myra’s pace quickened, and Owein jogged to keep up. She didn’t say anything more, even though she kept her head downcast. Led him as far as that one wide road that led down to the docks.

Then she turned toward the trees and vanished, leaving Owein to trot the rest of the way to the hideout on his own.

Hulda stoked the tiny fire with the sticks Baptiste had collected during the night.God help us,she prayed. Not with the fire, but everything else. Could Silas not have made his move in the summer? It would haveshifted up the timeline for all this nonsense, and she’d be hiding out when it wasn’t so wet outside. Boston usually wasn’ttoochilly this time of year. By midday it was really quite pleasant. But the nights got cold, and the sea didn’t make it any better.

She’d nearly finished breaking sticks over a bruising knee, ignoring the state of her dress, wondering how long she’d need to endure this lifestyle, when MissTaylor slipped into the space. “Oh!” Hulda said, then chided herself for her volume. Dropping the stick and wiping her hands on a skirt that may never again be clean, she amended, “Please tell me you got it.”

MissTaylor smiled and held up a folded piece of paper. Relief washed over Hulda like the tide.

They gathered around one of the barrels as MissTaylor opened the note.

Bless you, MissSteverus!

MissTaylor had contacted the secretary yesterday, and MissSteverus had obliged them by leaving a copy of Mr.Walker’s and Mr.Baillie’s schedules in a tree nook. Heads pressed together, Hulda and MissTaylor read over it. There was a note that MissRichards would be departing for England that weekend. Hulda’s stomach dropped. Did that mean Mr.Baillie had officially secured the director’s position?

Worry about one thing at a time.She pointed at the notations under Monday. “This might be the best time to do it. It means suffering here a little longer, but the office will be emptier, and it looks like they might have some overlap here. This will be easiest if we can get them into a room together.”

They’d enacted a plan devised by Merritt, one that seemed sensible one moment and incredibly absurd the next. He’d been bouncing back and forth between the two all day. Yet no better ideas had struck the others, and the date of their trial was quickly approaching. If Myra did her part, that would help immensely. The rest was up to them.

“Three o’clock?” MissTaylor asked, bringing the paper a little closer. “Or el—”

The wrinkles in the note stood out like they’d lifted themselves from the page, detailed like a geometric spiderweb. Hulda’s augury took hold, and she saw the two men as clearly as if they stood right in front of her, Mr.Walker at his desk, Mr.Baillie leaning over it. A clock ticked on the wall. The curtains were drawn on the window, hitting the bookshelves with yellow sunrays. A wisp of Merritt was in her peripheral vision. She was there, walking into the office.

She blinked, and the vision ended. Tiny bumps riddled her skin, and not from the cold.

“MissLarkin?”

Hulda shook herself and smiled. “Finally.”

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