Page 15 of Wizard of Most Wicked Ways

The vise tightened still.

Who are You?the spirit railed, and another impact, like Silas had been struck by his own kinetic blast, rammed into him, this time knocking him off his feet. Pain radiated up his hip from where he’d struck the floor.

Get. Out.Silas pressed back, relieving some of the pressure. He cast his spells again, trying to pull the spirit away. Trying to force it into the house, into hell, intoanywhere else.

But the spirit didn’t move. The otherness of it didn’t stop.

Silas couldn’t move his own spirit within his human body. He’d known that. But with a sinking horror, he realized he couldn’t move this other spirit from within his human body, either. The limitations of mortal flesh applied to both of them.

“Charlie?”

Two consciousnesses whirled around, blinded by the sudden appearance of lamplight. Another watchman held it up, frowning. “What are you doing in here?” he asked.

Silas pushed, stretched,dominated. For a moment, the unwanted spirit quieted. “Thought I heard something,” he said. The voice was not his. A little too high. A little too rough. This new tongue accented the words halfway between American and English, like it was used to the first, but Silas only spoke the second.

“We’ve checked out the rest. All of it’s downstairs.” The watchman motioned, then walked away, expecting dear Charlie to follow.

Silas’s right foot moved forward to do so. Silas hadn’t been the one to move it.

You are mine now.Silas bolstered, stretched, magicked.Leave.

Wrong,came the retort.Get Out. Wrong.

A splitting pain cracked through Silas’s mind. He drew blood from his tongue holding back a scream.

When he gained control again, he was standing outside, the night calm and cool, with no recollection of how he’d gotten there. But he was out. He was free.

Silas ran, the pressure in his body building, building, building ...

Chapter 6

June 14, 1851, Blaugdone Island, Rhode Island

Owein sat on the edge of his bed, where Fallon had collapsed, exhausted from her long trip to Portsmouth and back to fetch a doctor. Merritt would be all right, albeit in pain and somewhat immobile for the next several weeks. Necromancers, with or without healing magic, were hard to come by and expensive, meaning Merritt would have to recover the old-fashioned way.

Necromancers.Owein’s left hand formed a fist even as his right pulled the blanket up over Fallon’s shoulder. Her linen dress had been left outside somewhere, likely drenched from the torrent, so she wore his clothes. They fit her lengthwise, though the shoulders of the shirt were too wide. Regardless, she was dressed, she was warm, and she was safe. They were allsafe, for now.

Owein smoothed back a dark tendril of hair from her face. A soft sigh escaped her, but her eyes didn’t open.Thank you,he thought, as though he could push the words into her mind the way he used to do with Merritt.

After rising carefully so as not to wake her, Owein stepped out of his room, closing the door softly behind him. He heard Mabol downstairs with Beth, playing as if nothing had happened. Oh, to have the memory and the trust of a child again. Owein wouldn’t mind forgettingabout the wreckage outside for an hour or so. Wouldn’t mind believing it wouldn’t happen again.

Merritt and Hulda’s door stood ajar, but he rapped on it softly with a single knuckle. The doctor had left only a quarter hour ago; Merritt lay in bed, propped up with every pillow he owned. His right arm hung in a sling, which was bound to his bare chest with a copious number of bandages. Dark bruises were forming all over his clavicle, across his chest, and onto his shoulder. His hair was damp and combed back, his eyes tired. Owein picked up scents of iodine and chamomile in the air. Hulda sat next to him, chair flush with the mattress, her lips tight and her forehead crinkled. Upon hearing Owein’s knock, she pushed up her glasses and straightened.

“How under is he?” Owein asked, noting the assortment of medicines and cups on the bedside table.

“Not narcotized enough to avoid lecturing you,” Merritt croaked, and Owein imagined his tone would have been sharper had he not been dosed with pain medication. “You’ve beenhiding a woman?”

Owein blinked. “We’re going to talk about that, and not Silas?”

Hulda flinched.

“One thing at a time.” Merritt’s hand closed around Hulda’s, as though he sensed her discomfort. “Fallon. She’s the Druid from England?”

“Ireland, but yes.” Owein closed the door softly and approached the bed, leaning against the post at its foot. “She came back with us after we left.”

Hulda stiffened. “That long?”

“She comes and goes.” They’d remarked on occasion about not being able to find Owein’s third dog, but when Owein hadn’t acted concerned, neither had they.

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