Page 37 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

She paused. “Isn’t Mr.Sutcliffe in Cattlecorn?”

“I went to Cattlecorn,” he amended, “but I didn’t go home.” His elbows returned to his knees. “I didn’t see my mother. My sisters ... though they’ll have moved out by now.”

He looked so sullen. Hulda tried, “How old are your sisters?”

He thought for a moment. “Scarlet would be thirty-three, Beatrice twenty-seven.” Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, he added, “Misery me, I don’t even know if they’re married. Scarlet was seeing a fellow ... but I don’t know.”

He reached for his collar, and Hulda noticed he was wearing that worn striped scarf of his. The one his sister—Scarlet?—had made him. The one that had gotten him trapped in that hole in the kitchen shortly after they’d met.

She reached for him. Hesitated. She didn’t have anything like this in her life ... Her parents were sensible people with good heads on their shoulders, affectionate enough while being firm with discipline. She’d always been close with her sister; the longest they’d been apart was justover a year, when she was stationed at Gorse End, Hogwood’s former estate, and couldn’t get home for the holidays. Her upbringing was quite normal, magic aside. Quintessentially normal. Never a source of conflict.

“I’m sure they’re ... doing well for themselves,” she tried.

Merritt dropped his hands. “Yes, I’m sure.” He stood, stretched his back. “I might turn in early. Traveling was tiring.” Managing a weak smile, he said, “Good night, Hulda.”

Hulda stiffened. He was leaving. She wanted so badly to support him, but he was leaving, and his tone had changed from solicitous to tired ... Had she said the wrong things? She was trying to find the bright side, but perhaps that wasn’t what he wanted. But how was she to know what he wanted? She couldn’t begin to empathize with the situation. It was all so over her head—

He was moving toward the reception hall.Show him,Danielle had said.Crack the shell on the egg.

But how did she do it? How did she stop being a statue?

He was nearly gone. Her breathing quickened as her mind tumbled, searching for something,anything—

“I picked the stitches on my sister’s dress!” she bellowed. Heat flushed from her hairline to her breasts.

Merritt paused in the entryway. Turned. “What?”

She worked her mouth for a moment, trying to sort through her thoughts. “I ... that is, when I was in my teen years ... I was so hurt that Danielle was invited to a local dance and I wasn’t, especially because she’d been asked by a boy my age whom I fancied ... that is, I was jealous, and I picked the stitches on the back of her dress, and I wasn’t there, but the bodice popped open halfway through the night, and Danielle ran home, bawling. I felt horrible afterward, but I never told a soul. Not her, nor my parents and friends.”

He stared at her, lines etched in his forehead, for several heartbeats. “Hulda ... why are you telling me this?”

She took in a deep breath. “I ... I’m trying to be vulnerable. I know I struggle with it.” Averting her eyes, she clicked her nails together. “Danielle pointed out to me that I have these walls of stoicism—she referred to them more poetically—and while I know I can’t empathize with you, I cansympathize, and I don’t mean to be an iron rod in a dress, it’s just how I’ve always dealt with these things. But I don’t want you to have to deal with them alone. I’m ... I’m learning how to bend.”

She glanced up. A subtle smile had formed on his lips, bolstering her courage.

“Thank you,” he said, gentle and sincere. He pressed a palm into the side of the entryway and leaned on it. “I appreciate it. And I wouldn’t say you’re an iron rod ...”

“Just a statue,” she suggested.

He shrugged. “A statue made of softer clay than you realize, I think.”

Her flush receded. “I can work with that. And ...”Click,click,clickwent her nails. “I would appreciate it if you could tell me ... how you wish for us to proceed with this ... that is, what you would like me to do. I want to support you, Merritt.”

His stance relaxed. After pushing off the wall, he crossed back to her and offered a hand, which she took. He pulled her off the couch and embraced her.

“You are,” he murmured. “I notice the effort. I appreciate it. I’m ... honestly not sure what else there is to do. Unless you want to move back in.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “I don’t think that’s wise. Not with this audit. And what Ihavesaid of Whimbrel House, it’s not in need of a magically inclined housekeeper.”

He sighed. “I know.”

She drew her hand down his back. He didn’t pull away. This was acceptable, then. Up and down a few times, before pulling away. A few of Owein’s hairs clung to his sleeve; she reached to pull them free, but before making contact, her vision shifted, augury flooding her senses.

There he was, in front of her, wearing his navy coat, unbound hair flying behind him—running. He was running.Theywere running. Through ... it looked like Boston, but Hulda couldn’t pinpoint where—

And the vision dissipated, just like that. She refocused on the hairs but couldn’t conjure it up again.

“What did you see?” Merritt asked.

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