Page 5 of Boy of Chaotic Making

She folded the paper, and her thoughts broke when she noticed the steam over Merritt’s soup bowl looking rather ... cubical in shape. She blinked. “You’ve gotten rather good at that.”

The cube dispersed, letting the steam dissipate. “I’ve been practicing.” He did so again, over Hulda’s tea. The cube was smaller, and would have been unseen if not for the little wisps of steam licking its side. It didn’t quite form all the way before silently shattering.

Hulda almost asked if Merritt had been in contact with his half brothers—he had three from his biological father, and one had wardship abilities. But surely Merritt would have mentioned as much, andHulda didn’t want to needlessly remind him that he had family who didn’t know he was a part of them. Thus far, Merritt had kept his biological father’s secret. Perhaps he felt he owed the man, after Nelson Sutcliffe had so gallantly come their way to pay bail after their wrongful imprisonment. Perhaps Merritt didn’t want to risk wounding the innocent people who would be hurt. Or perhaps it was simply too much for him to take in. He’d only just reunited with his mother and sisters, and getting him to take the first step there had been ... difficult.

So Hulda didn’t ask. She moved to hand the paper back to him, then paused. “Do you mind if I keep this?”

Merritt chewed and swallowed a bite of bread. “Go ahead.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Going to brag about me to Sadie?”

Hulda rolled her eyes. “It might be useful for some letters I need to write.” If she could prove there was aneedfor further study in the realm of magic to President Polk or Congress, it might open up some avenues for Myra’s ... projects. She could cut out this article and anything else she found and mail them as evidence. Magic regulations in the States were lax, but they still existed. Hulda was the head of BIKER, however, and had a better chance of getting through to key legislators than most.

“Thoseletters?” Merritt asked. He knew the general direction she meant to take, but not much more. Safer for the both of them to keep it that way, for now.

“Those letters,” she confirmed, and slipped the paper into her bag.

“Letters, houses, résumés, assignments.” He sighed. Stretched a leg out so his foot touched hers. “If only the pastor would let you marry BIKER.”

Hulda snorted. “Perhaps I should ask him.” They had a Baptist pastor in Portsmouth who had agreed to come out for their spring wedding. They were to get married on Blaugdone Island, of course, just as the blooms were bursting on the trees—the ones Merritt hadn’t torn up in the discovery of his chaocracy spells.

It was a queer thing, contemplating—reallythinking—about the wedding. That it was actually happening. Her insides danced, mingling elation with ... uncertainty. Not about Merritt, no, but aboutmarriage.

Hulda had wanted to be a wife and mother since she was a little girl. She’d fantasized about romance and a babe in her arms throughout her adolescent years and into adulthood. She’d focused harder on her studies when she struggled to turn a beau’s eye, then dove into a very fulfilling career when it became apparent she was destined to live out her life as an old maid. Apparent for a time, at least.

Now, finally, at nearly thirty-five years old, she was tying the knot.Finallyliving out her dream. But she was so terribly used to being a single, independent woman that the idea of being someone’swifestirred anxiety. How much would her life change, once she was married? Once she had children?Ifchildren were even in her future ... The older she got, the less likely she’d get pregnant. She wanted children, of course, but she also wanted BIKER. One change she certainly wasn’t reveling in was the commute. Once she married and relocated to Whimbrel House, she’d acquire a two-hour, one-way commute to work. The best option for avoiding the inconvenience would be to move the office itself. Blaugdone Island was out of the question—BIKER had enough staff and clientele that moving so far out of the way would be discommoding, but perhaps she could find office space in Portsmouth. She’d need to run it all through LIKER, since it had proven wise in the past not to have a public face for the institute. All in all, it was a lot of communication and paperwork Hulda wasn’t looking forward to.

Perhaps she could invest in a faster boat.

Even now, the line of dedication between her career and her fiancé stretched to a delicate thinness. How could she possibly keep it from snapping altogether?

Merritt sipped his tea, and in doing so broke the tangled line of thought. There were certainlypleasantthings to look forward to in marriage, as Hulda recalled a premonition that had assaulted her fromMerritt’s tea leaves months earlier. It had involved a bed and other risqué things—

“What are you thinking about?” Merritt asked.

She cleared her throat. “Nothing.”

“Nothing doesn’t make you pink.”

Hulda took to folding her napkin, trying not to give attention to the blush beneath her skin, because minding it only made it worse. “No matter. I have every intention of standing across from you beneath the arbor.”

And she did. Worry aside, it still astounded her that she was getting married. It was ... surreal. Even now, she woke up in the morning wondering if Merritt were merely a figment of her imagination or she’d conjured his fondness for her in a dream. Why Merritt, why now, and not ... then? If only her augury were strong enough to let her understand how God had laid out the cards.

Hulda didn’t like showing affection in public. Admittedly, she struggled with expressing just how much she loved this man even in the privacy of his home. She’d buried her emotions and yearning for so long they seemed to prefer the metaphorical trunk in which she stuffed them. But not even the deepest box could contain all she felt in her heart. So, in a weak effort to show it, she reached across the table and laid her hand over his.

Merritt smiled coyly at her and asked her to talk about her day as he finished his meal; Hulda had already devoured hers. He made another wardship cube before his soup cooled off, and when they rose to leave, he knocked his knee on the table and hissed through his teeth.

He hadn’t hit it very hard, but the weakening of the body was a side effect of wardship. All magic had side effects, often something seemingly opposite to whatever the spell had been cast to accomplish.

Hulda touched his elbow. “Are you all right?”

He rubbed the spot. “Serves me right.”

They walked back to BIKER together, her hand in the crook of Merritt’s elbow—a place where she’d found much comfort. The air had a crispness to it, but the sun was bright overhead, teasing the onset of spring. They moved aside for a coach, then crossed the street and took a shortcut between two shops—a shortcut Hulda took only when she was in a great hurry or when she was accompanied, as it wasn’t the most unmolested alleyway in the city. They reached the hotel, then circled around its back to BIKER’s entrance, near a large tree bare of its leaves. Still, as they neared, Hulda felt a sudden thrill of daring. Glancing about, she ensured there were no onlookers, and just before Merritt reached for the door, she grasped his collar and kissed him.

She hadn’t realized how cold her face was until his warm lips pressed into hers. He caught his balance quickly, palm finding her neck as he deepened the kiss—only for a moment, before Hulda pulled back. Theywerestill in public, after all. But she hadn’t kissed Merritt for eight days, and, well, she’d wanted to.

“How uncharacteristic,” he murmured, looking at her with half-hooded eyes.Love eyes,she thought, and that earlier thrill swirled around her heart.

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I’m in charge here, remember?” She stepped back and fixed her hair, though her fingers found nothing out of place. “Who is going to tattle on me?”

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