Page 15 of Boy of Chaotic Making

Still, Prince Friedrich obliged with a nod. “This way. And afterward, we do have a very fine lavatory for the rest of you. Have you ever used an enchanted commode? It will change your life.”

The tour of the house was, indeed, impressive. Actually,impressivedidn’t seem to be the right word for it. It didn’t seem to encompass what he was seeing. But he didn’t have his well-worn thesaurus with him, so he couldn’t, for the time being, find a better term.

Hulda would know,he thought absently as they passed through the hall that had christened the tour. The walls were hung with dozens of portraits of varying sizes, some that could fit in a pocket and others that were taller than Merritt, who was neither notably tall nor notably short.

A great deal of horses and mantels were featured.

With the same pleasant enthusiasm she’d exuded on the house tour, Lady Helen led them into a sitting room off the dining room. The scents of dinner hung in the air, reminding Merritt that he was hungry. The size and expense of the house made him quite eager to see how the food fare compared.

“Please, take a seat.” Lady Helen gestured to an array of settees and armchairs. When Owein hung back, Merritt crossed the room to the far side, choosing a scarlet settee with elegantly carved armrests and legs—something Hulda would certainly remark upon, were she here. It was comfortable, and he settled in. Owein settled on the floor beside him.

“Oh no, that won’t do.” Lady Helen took a plush pillow off the settee and set it before Owein. “I know, well, this is a little awkward. We’ve never hosted a pup like yourself in this capacity. But please, make yourself comfortable.”

Owein’s dark eyes glanced at Merritt. He nodded, and Owein resituated himself on the cushion.

All right?he tried. Shorter messages tended to have fewer side effects.

Owein didn’t answer; Merritt masked a frown. He’d tried speaking with him on two other occasions since they’d begun the house tour, and he hadn’t responded either time.

Once their small party settled, William Blightree approached. “If you don’t mind”—he had the decency to address Owein directly—“I’d like to examine you.”

A slight whimper slipped from Owein’s throat, but he stood.

Blightree stepped back immediately.

Reaching a hand over, Merritt stroked Owein’s back. “Forgive him, we had a ... negative experience with a past necromancer.”

Blightree’s forehead creased with the raising of his eyebrows. “Hm? Who?”

Merritt simply shook his head. Best not to dropthatname anytime soon.

You’re safe,Merritt assured Owein, who, after a few seconds, settled down again.

After approaching with caution, Blightree knelt on the carpet and gently took Owein’s canine head in his hands. If he did anything, Merritt couldn’t detect it. In truth, he just looked like an aging man enamored with a mutt.

“It’s true,” the necromancer said after a moment, pulling his hands back. “He’s no Druid. This is indeed a human soul trapped within a dog.”

“Goodness.” Prince Friedrich leaned forward from his own armchair. “I suppose I didn’t quite believe it!”

Merritt met Blightree’s eyes. “I’m sorry. Druid?”

Blightree’s knees cracked as he rose to his feet. He settled himself on the settee, taking the seat closest to Merritt, before answering. “Druid, yes. They’re a dwindling group of people, mostly hailing from Ireland. Shape-shifters and wood-speakers. I haven’t heard of any covens in the United States, but one never knows.”

Alteration and communion spells,Merritt figured. All those dry essays on magic Gifford had tasked him to read were proving surprisingly helpful.

Blightree continued, “You yourself would be eligible to join their ranks, should you ever have the urge to shun polite society.” He smiled, not unkindly.

Merritt leaned back in his seat.

“Forgive me.” He gestured to Owein. “My family line has a psychometry spell that allows us to read spells in others. That’s how Iconfirmed Mr. Mansel’s present state ... and the details of yourself, when I shook your hand. I should have asked first.”

“Well.” He shrugged. “It’s not really a secret.”

“Americans are very open people,” Lady Helen explained to her husband.

Again, Merritt’s thoughts shifted to Hulda. “Not all Americans.”

Lady Helen turned. “Pardon?”

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