Page 29 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

“Communionists?” Merritt asked.

“Wardists, both of them.”

If Merritt were made of glass, a slim crack would have climbed up him at that comment, ankle to knee. He needed the wardship help, too, but ... but he wasso tired. He just wanted to turn it off. He needed some semblance of peace, even for justone night—

“But,” Sutcliffe lingered, “say I just recommended them ... if you would. That is ... I don’t want Mary hearing about this. You’re what, thirty, thirty-one now? It’s been a long time, but for her it would be a new wound ... you understand.”

Merritt ground out an “I understand.” Poison churned in his gut as he processed Sutcliffe’s underlying meaning.You have an entire family out there, but do be careful what you say to them, or they’ll know my secret.

What would his half brothers think—what would these people on this paperthink—if they knew who Merritt was? If they knew heexisted?

“I wanted you, boy.” Sutcliffe’s voice was nearly a whisper. “Couldn’t have you, but I wanted you.” He rubbed the back of his neck and paced toward the sofa but didn’t sit. “I’m sorry. For my part in all this trouble. If I could make it right, I would.”

“Would you, though?” Merritt asked, barely audible to himself, but the way Sutcliffe stiffened, he knew the constable had heard it. “Would you reach out to my mother? My father? Would you tell mybrotherswho I am? Would you makethatright?”

Sutcliffe stood there, utterly crestfallen, without an answer.

And that was how Merritt left him.

Chapter 7

November 7, 1846, Blaugdone Island, Rhode Island

Owein was bored again.

Before, when he was a house, he’d make mischief when he got bored. Find new ways to use his spells to entertain himself, especially if he had a resident. He enjoyed finding ways to rile people or create puzzles for them to solve. When there was no one—when it was dark and lonely, which was often the case—he’d resort to startling doves on his eaves or playing with ants on the porch.

But he couldn’t do that now. Not if he didn’t want to feel sick. He loved having a body and wouldn’t trade it for anything, but it also reacted poorly to spells. Contorted when he used alteration, which hurt, and his mind went cuckoo when he used any of his four chaocracy spells. What was the point of having spells when they came with such burdens?

Baptiste had gone into town, Merritt had left for New York, and Hulda and Beth didn’t live here anymore.What if they don’t come back?

Owein whined and tried to occupy himself. He sniffed around Merritt’s room, then the office. He’d spent the morning staring at letters on the mat Hulda had made for him, practicing the sounds of the ones he recognized. Later, with nothing better to do, he headed into the library. Couldn’t read anything in there, not yet, but some of the books had pictures. Not that he could reach most of them.

He sniffed around the spines, stopping when he found an interesting scent, and pulled a few off the shelves. He could hear Beth’s voice in the back of his head, scolding him, warning him not to slobber or leave teeth marks, but she wasn’t here. Maybe if he damaged a few spines, she’d somehow sense it and come back. He’d rather be scolded by Beth than be unscolded and alone.

At the end of the first wall of shelves, he pulled out a cracked leather book that smelled oily and old. A paper fell out next to it. Blank, but Owein had noticed some shadows on the other side as it fell. Abandoning the book, he sniffed the paper, pawed at it, then licked its edge until it turned over.

Owein’s breath caught as the image became clear. A small painted portrait. He stepped over to see it right-side up.

It wasn’t in color—or maybe it was, and his dog eyes couldn’t tell—but it was so familiar to him. The set of the eyes, the breadth of the cheekbones, the bow of the lips. He knew that face. Where did he know that face?

It took several seconds before his mind whispered,Mother.

A new whine came up his throat, weaker and higher pitched than the last. Owein’s ribs felt like they were closing in. He walked a circle around the portrait and returned to his starting point. Tail whapped the floor a few times before he lay down, muzzle on his paws, nose inches from the little painting.

Mother was never coming home. None of his family were.

Merritt is family,he reminded himself.

He lay by the portrait for several minutes before padding to the window and pressing his paws to the sill so he could look out over the island and wait for his family to come home.

Hulda was miserable, and it was not due to the necessity of working on a Saturday.

She’d been unhappy since Merritt left Thursday night. Truthfully, if there was a way to pluck her brain from her skull and deposit it elsewhere for safekeeping, she’d do it. She’d analyzed and reanalyzed every single moment of that exchange, to the point where her mind was beginning to fester with insanity. What if she messed things up? What if Merritt wouldn’t see her anymore after this? What if she never got another chance?

She didn’t know how to handle ... this. This kind of mistake, this kind of hurt, this kind ofrelationship. It was so new and different. She had no experience to guide her. Her résumé was greatly lacking, practically a blank paper with her name scrawled at the top and nothing more.

Part of her feared she’dmeantto push Merritt away. She was a master of that—shoving aside any thought of love so she could manage life without disappointment. So she could achieve that which she could control. Now she had love, or at least she hoped she still had it, and she didn’t know how to turn those safety measures off.

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