Page 20 of Wizard of Most Wicked Ways

After that she had a good cry in the sunroom and got back to work.

She went to bed late, nursing a splitting headache, but with a sliver of confidence. After piecing together subtle clues in her foresight, she determined Whimbrel House would be safe for, at least, the next three days. She’d had two visions of Silas, one that felt nearer and one that felt farther, and while she couldn’t identify exactly where he was or whathe was doing, he was in a city both times. Not here. Not on Blaugdone Island.

It didn’t abate the fear.

Merritt stayed in bed all day; Hulda assured it. She also made sure he ate when he was alert, and then drugged him heavily in between, ensuring rest and healing. She tried to focus on the future and not the past, as was her specialty. Still, every time she spied a contusion, she saw him flying through the air again, crumpling up against the house like a sack of onions, his desperate wardship spells turning his bones to eggshells. It was a miracle he wasn’t more broken. A miracle he was alive.

She loved him so fiercely it hurt. A future without him was not a future she could abide.

Still, per his wishes, she did not give him any of the heavier medications on Monday morning. He had insisted on coming to the city with her and the kids, and while Hulda called him a fool, she was inwardly glad for it. She needed him near. As though keeping him near would ensure his protection. As though bad things could only happen if she looked away. Before they left, Baptiste came upstairs and helped him sit up, then bound him even further, ensuring his right arm would not move, nor his left arm above the elbow.

Ultimately, they all went to Portsmouth, including the Babineauxs and Fallon. The Druid woman had avoided Hulda and Merritt, even when Hulda sought her out to question her, and to thank her. Even now she avoided them, maintaining her hawk form and staying perched on Owein’s shoulder—he’d thickened the fabric with an alteration spell so her talons wouldn’t dig into his skin.

“I would be happy to lend you some garments” was all Hulda said. If Fallon replied, Merritt did not translate it. But there were more important matters at hand than Owein’s paramour. Much more important matters.

Owein went straight for the post office with little word. Beth filed her own police report, then offered to take Hattie with them on theirerrands to lighten Hulda’s load. Hulda graciously took her up on it. She then filled out a police report, as Merritt couldn’t write. She scribed everything as he spoke to the constable, who seemed rather alarmed by their story and the fact that it matched the one Beth had just given. Neither of them held anything back. Yes, they were wizards. Yes, the fight had involved magic. Yes, they believed the attacker to be the necromancer Silas Hogwood in the body of another man.

That last part was slightly more believable when Hulda explained she was the director of BIKER.

To her relief, they were taken seriously. Hulda offered what little she knew of Silas Hogwood’s future whereabouts from her visions. The constabulary had a telegraph, so she sent a brief message to Ohio, where Myra would intercept it.

He is back. Man behind the glass. Assault on island. Need to speak.

At that point Ellis began to cry. Taking a deep breath to steel herself, Hulda began rocking her. “I’m going to step outside.” There was a bench near a little park where she could sit and collect herself.

Merritt nodded, rubbing the knuckles of his right hand. “We should buy some ammunition.” His tone turned dark. Catching it, he cleared his throat and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll be right out.” Pulling his wallet from his pocket, he turned to their oldest daughter. “Mabol, can you count these coins for me?”

Focusing on her breathing, Hulda slipped out of the constabulary as Ellis’s fussing grew more insistent. Patting the babe on the back, she made it to the bench, set down her faithful black bag, and unbuttoned her dress so the babe could eat. She’d need a change after this, which Hulda hated doing in public, but she’d figure out something. Merritt certainly wouldn’t be changing any diapers anytime soon. It was all up to her.

Closing her eyes, Hulda drew in a deep breath to steady herself.We’ve gotten through worse, haven’t we?But she wasn’t sure she believed the sentiment. It was different now. The children made it different. Made it desperate. It took all Hulda had not to let her emotions spiral. She’d always had a knack for objectivity, for logic. Where was that propensity now?

At the very least, from what Hulda understood, Silas Hogwood couldn’t be the same Silas Hogwood she’d known. The wizard with more magic than Queen Victoria herself. She’d done a lot of reading on Silas Hogwood, both during her original assignment to Whimbrel House and after discovering Myra’s illegal experimentation on his body in Ohio. Mr. Hogwood—though he didn’t deserve an honorific, she thought—had a rare mixture of spells that had allowed him to draw magic from another person into himself. Lethal for the victim, yet not permanent for the thief. What had allowed him to keep the magic was a water spell, which he could have gotten only from an enchanted house in England. That spell had allowed him topreservethe bodies of his victims, and in so doing, he’d managed to keep the magic he stole. But souls only clung to the magic they were born with. When Hogwood had died the first time, he’d lost theextramagic.

Meaning he had only what he’d been born with, which was still a great deal. But unless he stumbled upon another house or artifact or nonliving thing with an elemental water spell, he would be unable to preserve any spells he stole. And there were no enchanted homes in North America with water spells, she knew. Hulda tried to find peace in that.

They would need to send word out to Marshfield to confirm, or attempt to confirm, Merritt’s idea about this watchman. Perhaps if they could identify the body Hogwood had stolen, it would help them locate him. If that soul was still in there ... if he could overthrow Hogwood ...

Letting out a long breath, Hulda searched the area around her—the gravel on the road, the weeds growing up around the bench feet, the copse of trees to the north—searching for a pattern that might enlighten her on her situation. Not that these patterns would be of any use to her. They generally needed to be connected to a person for her to see that person’s future. It was simply how divination worked.

As though in ironic pity, Ellis unlatched long enough to spit up, and in that, Hulda’s magic saw the impressive bowel movement the child would be having later that evening. Sighing, Hulda cleaned herself up with a handkerchief, and Ellis suckled away contentedly once more.

Footsteps announced Merritt’s approach. He held a heavy jute sack in his free hand, his face strained with the effort of it. Mabol pattered beside him, her hand clenched on the lip of his trouser pocket. Hulda stood to help him, but Merritt shook his head, winced, and dropped the bag beside the bench.

Hulda’s heart thudded. “Ammunition?”

“Papa got gun food,” Mabol announced.

Hulda rolled her lips together before asking, “Do we need so much?”

With a grunt, Merritt lowered himself beside her. “You tell me.”

Her eyes stung. “I wish I could—”

Regret instantly filled his blue eyes. “I’m sorry, Hulda, I didn’t mean it like that.” He clasped his hand over her knee.

She swallowed. “We’re all a bit ... harrowed.”

“What’s harrowed?” Mabol asked.

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