Page 22 of Boy of Chaotic Making

“Perhaps because they areprivate.”

Now Danielle rolled her eyes. Their mother had always hated the habit, and Hulda wondered, briefly, if Danielle had gotten the foiblefrom her. “Give it a year or two and we’ll have late nights talking all aboutprivate things, just you wait. You’ll be dying to have me as a confidant.”

Merritt will be my confidant,she thought of retorting, but determined it might be too harsh. Her younger sister was, well, a younger sister, and an eccentric one at that. But Hulda loved her and had no desire to hurt her feelings.

“We shall see,” she settled on instead. “In truth, I have had a vision, but I couldn’t make much of it. As is usually the case with the trickle of magic I have.” She allowed herself to slouch. “But Merritt seemed to be in a dangerous situation. Or at least an uncomfortable one. And I can’t yet reach him, and it’s putting me out of sorts.”

“Ah.” Danielle’s hand found Hulda’s knee. “Well, I’m ... sure it’s nothing too terrible.” She hesitated. “Would you read for me while you’re here? You have such a calming voice, and you never mispronounce anything.”

Hulda’s lips ticked upward. She knew Danielle meant only to distract her. In truth, Danielle hated the way she read. Not enoughinflection. But Hulda was not one to turn away a diversion. Not tonight.

“Why don’t you select a book, then?”

Danielle grinned and leapt to her feet. “I know just the one! Bought it last week because the cover was so lovely. You’ll be the first to crack the spine. I know you’ll like that.”

She did. Fresh spines and the smell of clean pages. And so Hulda took the book, opened it, and began to read. She read well into the night, even after her sister had fallen asleep on the sofa.

Chapter 9

March 2, 1847, London, England

The darkness had claws.

A room with no walls, no floor, no ceiling. Just shadows cast without light. Water and soot sloshing and staining, and low, black claws on crooked pitch fingers, too many to be a real hand, reaching and bending like spider legs. Reaching, reaching—

Owein startled awake. Found himself shivering despite the blankets on the enormous bed in his room. It was still dark, but it wasn’t mind-dark, because pale-blue moonlight whispered through the window. Lady Helen had drawn the curtains. He’d opened them back up.

A whimper escaped his throat as he nosed deeper into the covers, hunkering there until the shivering stopped. Then he poked his head out and looked around. Searched for anything crumbled or broken. Maybe he’d woken up before his spells kicked in this time. He didn’t feel any of their effects. His mind was keen (Hulda had taught him that word) and his body normal. So he scratched behind his ear with a back paw, laid his head down, and waited.

Sleep didn’t come.

He waited a quarter hour, or so was his guess, before sliding from the heavy blankets and dropping to the enormous rug upon which his enormous bed sat. Everything was enormous, like the people who’dmade this house had forgotten how to build things small. He walked to the door and rose on his hind legs, pushing down the handle with his paws. It gave, and he slipped out into a hallway with no traces of window-screened moonlight.

He paused, seeing a dozen inky claws in the back of his mind. Swallowed a whimper and trotted with his side brushing the stone wall. His dog eyes could make out the doorframes and sconces just fine in the dark, but there was comfort in touching something solid. When he reached Merritt’s door, he stood on his hind legs and pawed at the knob. This time, however, he couldn’t get it to turn. Maybe it was locked. So he melted himself a hole. Slipped inside silently, save for the faint clacking of his nails on the stone.

Merritt’s room looked just like his, but in reverse. It even had the same trimming, which in the candlelight had looked cream and gray, although Merritt had told him the gray was actually burgundy—Owein had a hard time seeing burgundy, though he remembered what it looked like. In the dark, especially with the curtains closed, everything looked black and gray.

Another chaocracy spell forced the curtains open a little roughly, but some calming moonlight streamed in. Merritt stirred in the bed. He woke up fully when Owein jumped onto the high mattress.

“Owein?” he asked blearily, then a calloused palm stroked Owein’s shoulder. After letting loose a yawn, Merritt mumbled, “Nightmare again?”

Huffing, Owein folded all four legs beneath him and set his dog chin on Merritt’s stomach.

The petting continued. Owein liked being petted. Or maybe it was the dog part of him that liked it. Silas Hogwood hadn’t bothered clearing out the terrier’s body before shoving Owein inside of it, but Owein’s soul overwhelmed the simplicity of the animal’s soul. Still, sometimes the dog made its preferences known, and its instincts had a mind of their own. “You’re fine to stay here.”

So Owein did. Settled in for about two minutes, long enough for Merritt’s breath to start an even pattern. Then he asked,What will it mean to be married?

Merritt startled. Yawned. “You’re very aware of what marriage is.”

For other people. Not for me.

With a soft groan Merritt sat up, slightly displacing Owein. He stretched his arms overhead. “Is that what’s keeping you up?”

Owein shook his head. He knew Merritt could see it, because he’d opened the curtains.

Merritt frowned. Considered. “It means when you’re old enough ... old enough in body, I suppose ... you’ll come back here to England and marry Lady Cora.Ifyou agree, of course.”

I will,he said.I want a body.

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