Page 89 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

“If they aren’t connected to Mr.Baillie’s desperation for power, perhaps not.”

“They’ll be called as witnesses, regardless,” Hulda said. “I’d be shocked otherwise. And Mr.Baillie will know this, too. He’ll be working on them.” She threw her hands in the air. “I just ... I don’t understand it. He would have to manipulate so many people. How does he keep it all straight? It sounds exhausting.”

Merritt deliberated over the conundrum a moment before something sparked in his brain—something like an excellent story idea, but this was very much rooted in reality. “That’s it.”

“What?”

“How talented could the man possibly be?” Merritt asked, a smile forming on his mouth. “I think we have to test it. But we’re going to need as much help as we can get ... and Myra’s assistance.”

She studied his face for a few seconds. “I’m listening.”

Chapter 20

November 26, 1846, Boston, Massachusetts

The city was still scary, especially during the day. There were so manypeople, and so many ways to go. Owein couldn’t keep track of it all. But it was less scary when someone went with him, like Baptiste or Merritt. Today, though, he was with the new lady, who had been introduced to him as MissHaigh but whom everyone seemed to call Myra. Owein went with the latter, since it was shorter.

He’d waited at the lamppost, as instructed, for almost an hour—or what felt like an hour—before she came along at the cusp of dawn and summoned him with a snap. He didn’t need to be summoned with a snap, but the dog part of him liked it. He fell in step with her, and they walked far enough that Owein’s paws were starting to hurt by the time they reached a two-story building that Owein might have thought was big before he’d wandered so much of Rhode Island and Massachusetts with Baptiste. Myra slipped through a side door, telling Owein, “Light on your feet,” as they went.

Owein glanced at his paws to check, then realized she hadn’t meant his feet were glowing.

They passed an office that appeared to still be closed. Owein stared at the sign, making outR-E-G-I-S-T-E-RO-Fbefore having to quicken his step to keep up. His nails tapped lightly on the floor, so he tried walkinga little funny to keep them quiet. He didn’t know how to trim his nails as a dog. Maybe not even as a human, not anymore, though he’d seen Merritt do it enough times that, should he grow thumbs, he could copy it.

Maybe one of these days an alteration spell side effect would give him thumbs. To think of all the things he could do then!

They went up a narrow flight of stairs that smelled like wood, mold, and something clean Owein didn’t recognize, then down a hall to a room with a few short rows of chairs and a high desk on the far end. Myra pulled her hat down and sat as far away from that desk as she could, then gestured for Owein to lie down next to her, leaving him nearly out of sight.

Owein grumbled and obeyed. He’d already lain down a lot. He wanted to run and chase whimbrels. But he also understood this mission was very important, so he tried to focus.

They waited averylong time.

A couple more people trickled in, only one looking Myra’s way, though they sat in the front. Then two more, a man and a woman, and finally a guy in a wig and dark robes came and sat at the too-high desk. They all started talking, using words Owein wasn’t entirely familiar with, likeinfidelityanddivorcement, sounding angry sometimes, and he quickly lost interest. He dozed off for a while, jerking awake at a loud sound, like two pieces of wood smacking together. No one else in the room looked startled. Must have been a normal sound, then. A few people walked out with papers. The room grew quiet. When the guy in the wig started to stand, Myra did the same.

“If I might have a moment of your time, Judge Maddock.”

The man glanced over. “There are no animals allowed in the building.”

Owein paused. Should he leave?

Myra held out a staying hand to him and approached the desk. She pulled a newspaper from her coat. “I will be brief.” She set the paper down. “Have you heard of this scandal?”

Judge looked over it. “I have.”

“These two persons have been accused of the murder of Myra Haigh.”

He frowned. “Madam, are you trying to sell me a newspaper?”

“I am Myra Haigh.”

Judge paused, his eyebrows—which did not match his wig—crawling up the ridges of his forehead like caterpillars.

“I ... see.” He picked up the paper.

“It’s all a misunderstanding,” she explained, calm and smooth. She hesitated a moment before saying, “You know how the wizarding system works. A lot of hullaballoo about nothing. Trying to make a case for themselves for relevancy.”

Owein tilted his head. He remembered Myra could read minds—she could hear what he said, anyway. He wondered if she was doing that now.

It’d be pretty nifty to read minds. What was the side effect for that? He’d have to ask Hulda.

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