Page 33 of Wizard of Most Wicked Ways

Wiping water from his face, he countered, “Because we’re not animals.”

“Aren’t we?”

Moonlight took a devilish gleam in her eyes. She sank into the water until even her hair disappeared. Seconds later, she resurfaced five feet away. Glanced back at him, then dove again, this time swimming the length of the pond.

Owein smirked as he watched her, but the lightheartedness of the moment slowly warped into guilt.

He cared for Fallon. Deeply. But his talk with Merritt niggled at his mind. He was supposed to marryCora. He’d signed his name on the contract himself.

Fallon had argued before that it was only a piece of paper, but it was more than that, wasn’t it? Then again, as Merritt had pointed out, there was nothing in his marriage contract that had stipulated he needed to stay away from other women, or even stay abstinent. By all means, Victoria just wanted his seed to bolster the aristocratic line.

That thought sank the guilt deep into his chest, edging it with shame.Cora doesn’t want you for your “seed,” you idiot,a quiet voice in the back of his head chided him.

He thought of the letter she’d sent him. Of the honesty in it. She didn’t owe him any of that, but she’d given it freely. They both did.

But Cora wasn’t here. She was neverhere. Her life was so very different from his, and so very far away.

Fallon resurfaced again, and Owein felt a pull toward her like Odysseus must have felt toward the sirens. In that moment, the Druid woman could have asked anything of him, and he would have given it to her. But Fallon said nothing, merely skipped a rock across the surface of the pond. It bounced five times before sinking.

So Owein let it go—all of it—and swam in the moonlight, letting the water and the wood and the open sky absorb him until he was so weary he dressed in his trousers only and padded barefoot to bed, a dark-furred terrier trotting faithfully beside him.

Chapter 12

July 2, 1851, Cambridge, Massachusetts

Days had never passed so slowly. When Merritt wasn’t working on his book, he was entertaining the children, and Hulda exhausted herself with dice, teacups, and divining rods, trying to foresee dangers in their future. Even when Owein had been a house alone on the island, days had never dragged this slowly. Back then, he could turn himself off, in a way. Slumber without sleeping. It wasn’t a cure-all; no amount of sleep can repair years of loneliness, with only ants and the occasional rat to keep him company. But waiting for word from the Queen’s League of Magicians was excruciating. They all took turns with the communion stone that connected them to Blightree—him, Hulda, Merritt, and even Fallon. The latter had introduced herself briefly to the Tanners and then avoided Danielle and John completely, though she enjoyed running around with the younger boys. Owein spent most of his time with the children and with Fallon, often outside, to avoid interrogation from Danielle.

He only went back to that pond with Mabol or Hattie in tow, and only during the day. Otherwise, he shadowed the groundskeeper, desperate for work to get his mind off the waiting, though physical labor distracted him by half at best. Fallon proved the sole person who could truly divert him, either with conversation or the soft press of her lips.He was eternally grateful she’d come, even if her new closeness tore at him when he thought about it too much. But his mind could only handle so much stress, and after a few days, he let it go. Gave himself permission to be happy, when everything else was so ... fraught.

Hulda, who had grown sharp and antsy being away from BIKER, finally announced after a late arrival to dinner that Blightree was calling them home. “None of the lures have worked.” Her shoulders slumped, and poor posture on Hulda Larkin Fernsby was never a good sign. “They’ve searched for him, readied the island for him, but there’s been no sign of Silas Hogwood, nor Charlie Temples.”

“Charlie Temples?” Owein asked.

“The watchman whose body Silas is ... borrowing.” Hulda frowned at her own choice of word. “They found out who he was. He has, indeed, been missing these past five years, ever since ...”

She paused, glancing at her wide-eyed sister, her alert brother-in-law, and their sons, who were more interested in their pheasant than in the conversation of adults. Still, Owein didn’t think the details of Silas’s initial demise had been shared with the Tanners.

“Ever since Silas became a problem,” Merritt filled in for her, dabbing the corner of his lip with a napkin. He didn’t look up from his plate. “Perhaps we should focus on the positive aspects of the situation. Maybe he’s lost interest in the island and moved on to bigger fish.”

Danielle asked Hulda, “Have you foreseen anything else?”

“Nothing of note. Not involving him.” She worked her hands together. “I’ve dedicated every morning and evening to it. But nothing yet. Which should please me, but it doesn’t. I want to know.”

Owein did, too. Still, he was grateful to go home, which they did the next morning, sending word to the Babineauxs, though Beth and her family planned to stay away a little longer. Owein couldn’t blame them, but his heart cracked further.

By the time they dragged the family to Narragansett Bay, the children ornery and everyone tired, Owein wanted nothing more than toflee into the wild of the island by himself, to recollect his thoughts and figure out what his next steps would be. But Blightree, Mr. Mackenzie, Lord Pankhurst, and Mrs. Mirren sat everyone down to go over all the information they already had, and the repetition of it grated on Owein’s nerves, building up a pressure like he’d experienced in the brief moments when he’d shared Merritt’s body. Fallon tried to assure him with a hand on his knee, but it wasn’t enough.

He got up and started pacing the length of the room.

“Oh, Mr. Mansel.” Mrs. Mirren reached into a satchel, paused, and searched through a second bag by her chair leg. “A letter came for you.”

His steps halted immediately. “To the house?”

She shook her head. “We’ve been in Portsmouth, trying to lay crumbs.” She sighed, but held out a crisply folded missive.

“Thank you.” He took the letter and swept from the room, not bothering to excuse himself. Not bothering to shelter in his room, either; he sat on the stairs in the reception hall and broke the Leiningen family’s seal, sending bits of brittle wax to the floor. Beth wasn’t there to sweep them up. The reminder of her indefinite absence soured Owein all the more.

My Dear Owein,

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