Page 54 of Boy of Chaotic Making

“What?” Merritt asked aloud.

“Please?” The boy, Kegan, clasped dirty hands in front of his chin. “We’ve been travelingforeverand I’mboredand can we please play?”

The hawk screeched from the branch.

Merritt rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “This is bizarre.”I don’t know if it’s a good idea.

Please, Merritt?

Merritt suddenly remembered what they’d been talking about before the newcomers’ arrival. Death and darkness and loneliness. In truth, Owein needed more friends. Friends who weren’t adults trying to care for him, teach him, and corral him. Even before Owein had died and joined his spirit with Whimbrel House, he’d been cloistered on that island.

He eyed the Druids. “I don’t suppose you’re part of a secret murder plot, are you?”

Sean’s brows drew together. Morgance asked, “Pardon?”

Merritt sighed. To Owein, he said, “Go on. Not too far.”

Owein barked and took off into the trees, followed by Kegan and Fallon.

Once the children were gone, Merritt asked, “So what interest do the Druids have in blokes like us?”

“We are always interested in our own kind,” Morgance said, dropping to the dirt and smoothing her skirt around her legs.

“Owein isn’t your kind. He has alteration spells, yes, but not the sort I imagine that hawk possesses.”

“Yes, I can see that, but I spoke ofyou. You speak to them. Animals.”

“Only animals?” Sean asked.

Merritt chewed on the inside of his lip, wondering how much to share.

“You have nothing to fear from us. We might not like the rule of Britain,” Morgance murmured, “but neither are they our enemies.We simply ask for peace and freedom—not much different from the pilgrims who settled your own country. We mean no ill to the Crown or the Leiningens.”

“Do they know you’re here?” Merritt asked.

“Land cannot be owned,” Sean countered. “At least, it shouldn’t be.”

Merritt searched his face, seeing no malice there. Letting his shoulders relax, he said, “I can also hear them.” He tipped his head toward the tree Fallon had been perched in. “They’re not saying much. Still waking up.”

Morgance smiled. “How wonderful. You would fit in with us well. Teach us what you know.”

He snorted. “I don’t know much. Only discovered the abilities some months ago.”

“Oh?” Her brows rose. “Perhaps we could teach you, instead.”

“Let the children play,” Sean said, crossing the trail to sit on a half-rotted log. “And we’ll talk. If we only accomplish one thing today, it will be to earn your trust.”

“You’re one of us, Merritt Fernsby, even if you don’t live the way,” Morgance offered. “A man who can hear the thoughts of the creatures around him can never truly step out of their world.”

Chapter 20

March 6, 1847, London, England

“It bothers me,” Hulda clarified, again sitting at the cluttered table in the back room of Mr. Griffiths’s office. “It was a critical occurrence. Someone was injured, nearly killed! Why did I not foresee it?”

“Even if you had”—Professor Griffiths adjusted his glasses—“you would not have been able to do anything about it. Attempting to change the future is all part of the future.”

“But I could have been prepared,” she countered, stabbing the table with her index finger. “The repair crews could have been ordered, a doctor would be on call!”

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