Page 37 of Wizard of Most Wicked Ways

Merritt nodded. “I have a feeling we’ve something in common.”

Hiram drummed again. “You think I’m protective of my in-laws?”

“I think your wardship might be connected to your emotions. To your ... self-consciousness, specifically.”

“Oh.Oh.” Leaning forward, he ran a hand over the spell. It was only about a foot across. “How do I get it to stop?”

“Practice,” Merritt jested, but seeing Hiram’s crestfallen countenance, he said, “Uh, try not being self-conscious. Think of something you’re really good at?”

“Something I’m really good at.” He considered a moment. “I’ve always been a fast runner, for what good it is.”

“Adding a caveat defeats the purpose, I think.”

He nodded. “I’m a good runner. Pretty good with numbers, too. Um, let’s see ... Heather says—” He suddenly flushed. The hand that had been on the wardship spell fell, the magic having dissipated.

“I won’t ask.” Merritt chuckled.

Hiram rubbed the back of his neck. “Ha, thanks. This ... This has been helpful. Real helpful.”

“I’m glad because I was worried I’d be no help at all,” Merritt admitted.

Hiram shook his head. “When you’re feeling better, you should come home. Meet Heather. Maybe reintroduce yourself to the others ... Thad will come around. And my mom ... she doesn’t blame you, you know. I don’t know how she feels about Rose. Uh.” The flush returned. “No offense.”

“It is what it is.”

Hiram looked him over again. “You’re like Newton, you know? Real mature about it all.”

Merritt snorted. “Oh, believe me, it’s taken me time to come to terms with our colorful reality. Maturity is not one of my strong suits.” Hulda could testify to that. Though something about the notion gave him an idea. “If you have time, I’d like you to meet someone.”

“Your wife?”

“Her, yes. I’ve a few little ones, too. Your nieces.”

Hiram lit up, and Merritt’s insides warmed.Brother,he thought. Maybe his family would continue to expand. Maybe he wasn’t simply a one-time tutor for a stranger in need.

“But there’s another person you’re related to. It’s quite the story, if you want to hear it.” Merritt heaved himself off the chair. Hiram followed. “Back at the house. Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“Heather’s not expecting me back until tomorrow,” Hiram confessed. “It’s a little out of the way, this place. I, uh, already got lost once.”

They talked easily, Merritt happy to let his younger brother dominate the conversation as they trekked toward Whimbrel House, Merritt scanning the grounds for a head of brilliant white. However, upon arriving, it seemed that Owein had already absconded, and not a soul seemed to know where he’d gone.

Owein sat with his back against a willow tree in the copse not far from Whimbrel House, the heel of his boot crushing a grape fern. He had one knee up, his forearm propped on it, and idly watched the sun-splotched shadows of leaves shift across the wild grasses and earth around him. Ash plowed through the willow’s whiplike branches and deposited a slobbery ball at Owein’s hip, tail wagging excitedly for its return. Aster, lying beside him, lifted her head, but sleep enticed her more than exercise, and she laid it back down. Owein couldn’t blame her; he’d always been more tired as a dog than as a human.

Owein snatched up the ball and threw it, watching the bundled leather soar through the willow leaves and out of sight. Ash took off for it gaily, startling grasshoppers as he went. Owein waited for Ash to return, but the dog didn’t reappear. Likely caught a whiff of a squirrel, or maybe a snail. Canine minds were so simple, yet so remarkably fast. Easily distracted, motivated by instinct more than anything else.

Leaves rustled and wings flapped overhead. Without looking up, Owein said, “Dress is behind me.”

The hawk soared down to the other side of the willow; she’d been on surveillance duty for hours. The natural sound of bugs, Aster’s snores, and the rustling of willow branches masked the stretching and popping of alteration. A minute passed before Fallon stepped out. Either she’d taken her time getting dressed or she’d had a particularly unpleasant malformation as a result of her magic. The worst Owein had ever experienced was the twisting of his gut. For a solid minute two years ago, he’d felt sure he would die from it.

“Trap didn’t work,” Owein commented. He yearned for the ball to throw. It occupied him. Any distraction was a welcome one.

“Not with them crawling all over the place like ants,” Fallon retorted. “Then again, between them and the watchmen, maybe—”

“Silas is dangerous.” Owein lifted his shoe off the grape fern and brought his knee up with the other. “Even if he can’t steal magic, he’s still powerful.”

“So are you,” she countered softly.

He forced his jaw to relax. “The only time I’ve ever felt truly helpless was with Silas.” He thought of the shock of having a new flesh-and-blood body for the first time in two centuries, after Silas had sucked his spirit from the walls of Whimbrel House. The confusion of being trapped alongside the soul of an animal ...

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