Page 52 of Boy of Chaotic Making

He wasn’t entirely sure how to process this vision of Hulda’s. Could she have misread it somehow? But Hulda wasn’t a woman prone to flights of fancy. It had physically hurt him to see her cry, to see the look of betrayal in her eyes, even though he hadn’t yetdoneanything. And he wouldn’t. He’d made a mistake with Ebba, but even then, he’d been loyal to the woman he’d pledged himself to. Ready to own up to everything and be there for her and their nonexistent child.

He sighed. Climbed over a log while Owein squeezed under it. The only future Merritt wanted was with Hulda. He’d convince her of that, however long it took. Hopefully this Griffiths fellow would help her home in on the vision, though Merritt would prefer it if she didn’t relate too many details.

Hell, the way things had unraveled for him, maybe Merritt had a secret twin brother. He honestly wouldn’t be surprised at this point, though the revelation would be a little melodramatic for his taste.

After the missing contract debacle, Hulda had privately shared her sleuthing into who could possibly be breaking Cyprus Hall and why. Merritt had taken notes—stress aside, this would make for an excellent book. And it eased his anxiety, thinking it a work of fiction instead of his life. He really did hope no one was trying to kill him. Again.

He listened to the fall of his footsteps punctuated by Owein’s for several seconds, a rhythm just a little too off to be even.

But enough of his problems.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Merritt asked when the trees thickened. Owein would know what he meant. He’d had another nightmare last night, though he’d woken himself up from this one before he could do any unconscious magical damage.

Owein didn’t respond immediately. Merritt took in their surroundings, trying to picture the forest in the lush greens of summer. There was a deer nearby, listening to him as he listened to it. He sensed it more than heard it. No more guards this far out, but when he looked over his shoulder, he saw one patrolling in the distance. Fingers and magic ready, Merritt trudged forward. A trail wound through the trees, so he didn’t worry about getting lost.

I was alone a lot,Owein said.I would get so bored. I kept waiting for someone to take the house, to move in, and no one did.

“The witches?” Merritt asked softly.

They didn’t stay.Whimbrel House had been a safe house for women accused of ill deeds during the Salem witch trials—the only reason BIKER had known of the house’s existence in the first place.

They stepped around a mud puddle and ducked beneath a fallen branch caught on the boughs of another tree.

I watched them die. My parents, I mean.

Merritt’s stride slowed. “I’m so sorry, Owein.”

My dad went first, then my mom. I remember it, and I remember them, but at the same time, I don’t. But I think they were in my dream last night. Not their faces, not really. But they were there, and they were far away, and they were calling for me.

Heavy stuff. Merritt mulled it over.

Do you believe in heaven, Merritt?

“I do.” His voice took on its usual communion-induced rasp. “What’s the point of all of it if there isn’t something beyond? Seems life would be pretty dismal if it were strictly sealed cover to cover.”

Owein took a moment to consider that, which gave Merritt’s voice a chance to recover.I wonder if they’re there, waiting for me. My family.

“Maybe.” Merritt quickened his step and let his hand drop from his coat pocket so his first knuckles grazed Owein’s head. “And you have family waiting for you here.”

I miss Beth.

“You’ll see her soon enough. I—”

Wait.

Owein slowed, stopped. Merritt followed his lead. His nose pointed ahead and to the south, ears perked, tail erect. Tensing, Merritt readied a spell. How large could he make a wall? His practice was usually on a smaller scale—

A gray hawk flew through the trees ahead, landing on a branch, regarding them.

Merritt let out a breath. “Just a bird. Don’t scare me like that.”

A woman’s voice behind him said, “We don’t mean to be frightening.”

Both Merritt and Owein jumped. Merritt whirled and threw up an invisible wall. Two people approached, one a woman about Hulda’s age, another a man in his midforties. The first wore a gown that didn’t look warm enough for the weather, reminiscent of something one might find on a Greek statue. Her long, dark-blonde hair was loose down her back. She had large, deerlike eyes and full lips, which smiled at him. The man was tall, dressed as a dedicated hunter might be, in colors of the forest. The material of his clothes seemed foraged from everything and anything, patchworked to fit over broad shoulders and long legs. His hair was dark, and he wore a beard that fell about to his Adam’s apple.

Merritt backed away. “Who are—”

Merritt!Owein barked.He can hear me!

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