Page 100 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

The sound of his voice zipped over Merritt’s skin like rotary cutters. “Rose, what are the Gorringes ... Oh, who’s this?”

Merritt gripped the sides of his chair.

His mother stood. “Now, Peter, it’s been a long time. It’s time to let it go—”

“What are you talking about?” Peter Fernsby’s voice grew an edge. “Who is—”

Slamming his palms onto the armrests, Merritt stood up and turned around. His father’s hairline had receded a few finger widths and grayed over the temples. He’d lost weight. It took a second, like it did with everyone, but recognition quickly dawned on Peter Fernsby’s face.

And just like that, Merritt understood where all his own anger had come from.

“You!”Veins in Peter’s head rose and pulsed; he’d been holding a leather satchel, which he threw on the floor. “How dare you stepfoot into this house!” His gaze whipped to his wife. “How dareyoulet him!”

Tears filled Rose’s eyes. She held up her hands as if staying a wild animal. “Peter, listen to me! It’s been thirteen years!”

“I threw you out once,” his father snapped, barreling into the dining room. “I’ll throw you out agai—”

His words cut off as he slammed into an invisible wall. He reeled back as though shocked, his hand coming up to his bloody mouth. He’d bitten his tongue.

“Don’t speak to her that way,” Merritt said, and despite his own anger rising, his words were steady. “And don’t speak to me that way, either.” He met his father’s eyes. “I’m not a little boy anymore.”

Wide eyed, Peter reached out and touched the shield. Prodded it. Punched it.

“What is that?” his mother asked, grasping Merritt’s elbow.

Merritt’s eyes narrowed at Peter. “Consider it a gift from my father.”

His mother’s grip loosened. The veins in Peter’s forehead pulsed all the harder. “How dare you—”

“I ran into Ebba in Pennsylvania.” Merritt refused to break eye contact. “I know everything. I know you bribed her to make a pregnancy claim. I know you paid for her schooling.”

“Wait, what?” His mother came around, nearly pressing against the wardship spell, to face Merritt, who still refused to look away from the man who’d raised him. “Ebba Mullan? Bribe?” She whirled around. “Peter?” She touched the shield in wonder. “Merritt ... this is magic, isn’t it?”

“You shut your dirty mouth,” Peter warned.

“Or what?” Merritt asked. He stepped forward, and the shield moved with him, shoving Peter back. He nearly lost his footing. “You’ll switch me?”

“Merritt, don’t.” His mother grabbed his arm. “This won’t help anything.”

Although he was trying to relax, Merritt didn’t trust himself to let down that spell. He finally broke his gaze from Peter and looked at his mother. “I figured it out from the Genealogical Society for the Advancement of Magic. Or, Hulda did.”

His mother covered her mouth and shook her head, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He managed a smile, which quickly vanished when Peter reasserted himself.

“Get out of my house. Off my property,” he spat. “Or I’ll—”

“What?” Merritt whirled on him. “Call theconstable?”

Peter sputtered.

Merritt let out a long breath. “But I’ll go.” To his mother, he said, “If you think you’ll be safe.”

Rose nodded without hesitation. “Of course, Merritt. Your father”—she gestured to Peter—“has never lifted a hand to me. I promise you that.”

Peter Fernsby simmered on the other side of that shield. Exhaustion began to bite at Merritt’s limbs from holding the spell so long.

He nodded, comforted by that fact. But such was not true for Merritt. “Back off,” he warned.

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