Page 39 of Wizard of Most Wicked Ways

“They’ll be mad.”

“Who?”

“Merritt and Hulda.”

Owein swiped away his map. “Merritt and Hulda aren’t my parents.” He stood, brushing off his hands, then his trousers. Still, he considered the ramifications. Fallon was right—it would have been too dangerous to leave the others unprotected if the Queen’s League of Magicians hadn’t been on the island. But they were here. For how long, they didn’t know, so time was of the essence. Mrs. Mirren and Blightree were powerful. Lord Pankhurst was undoubtedly the same, and there were more of them about, and watchmen on top of that. It was now or never.

Il vaut mieux demander pardon après que la permission avant,Baptiste had once said.Better to ask forgiveness than permission.

“I’ll tell them I have work with the millwright.” He spoke just above a whisper, not that anyone was near enough to hear him. Still, there were wizards on the island, and one never knew what to expect with them. “We can leave tonight.”

She nodded. Grasped his hand. Owein squeezed it back, then rose and broke into a jog toward Whimbrel House. Ash spied him and took off after him, jumping at his heels, losing interest once Owein reachedthe house’s back door. He slid through the kitchen, breakfast room, and dining room. People were talking in the living room, but he swept up the stairs and to his bedroom, repacking the same bag he’d taken to the Tanners’ home. This time, he’d need to bring some provisions, as well as his money box from the bottom drawer of his desk. He took out twice the cost of travel, just to be safe. Maybe he could raid Beth’s kitchen for food.

Unease worked its way into his chest. After throwing his bag out the window, he crept through the hallway to Hulda and Merritt’s room. Checked the dresser for Merritt’s communion stone, the one linked to Hulda’s, but couldn’t find it. Did Merritt have it on his person, or had he just misplaced it? Beth would know. But Beth wasn’t here.

Retracing his steps, Owein checked Merritt’s study, but no stone. So he pulled out a piece of paper and scrawled his excuse about a high-paying job in North Kingstown, saying he expected it to be a three-day venture and hadn’t wanted to interrupt the Queen’s League to debate about it—

“Where are you going, Owein?”

He jumped, leaving a large pen mark across the paper. William Blightree hovered in the doorway, his old but perceptive eyes taking in the writing implements as well as Owein. Calming himself, Owein signed his name and left the letter on the desk, easily found.

“Do you have a communion stone I can borrow?” he asked.

Blightree raised a gray eyebrow. “What do you need a communion stone for?”

“Communing,” Owein answered simply.

The necromancer snorted. Shook his head. But rooted around in one pocket, then another, and pulled out a slim cylinder of selenite, the stone associated with communion. Stepping into the room, Blightree spoke quietly. “Whatever you’re doing, boy, you’d better do it quickly, and without injury to that body I gave you.” He pressed the stone intoOwein’s palm. “I’m very attached to that body. As well as the spirit inside of it.”

A flash of guilt coursed through Owein’s chest at the indirect mention of Oliver, though the words warmed him. “They’re both fond of you, too, old man.”

Blightree chuckled. “You’ll get away with saying that here, but not back in London.”

“Noted.” He slipped the stone into his trouser pocket, fighting against his violent need togo. “Thank you.”

“It’ll go straight to me.” Blightree rubbed his arm and simply repeated, “Hurry back.”

Owein promised he would.

Chapter 13

February 16, 1848, Rutland, Vermont

Three Years Ago

A man tossed a penny at Silas’s feet.

A filthyquarrymantossed apennyat Silas’s feet.

Silas hissed through his teeth. Scrabbled at the brick wall behind him, breaking his short nails. The wall was for ... He couldn’t remember. He’d sat at so many corners, lurked in so many alleyways, he couldn’t keep them straight. Sometimes he didn’t choose them; theotherdid.

Silas refused to name him. Refused to give him power. Power washis. No one would have power over him again.No one.

Carnal need flared in his brain. Silas launched for the penny and pocketed it. Food. He needed food. He could steal food easily; his kinetic ability allowed him to do so from a distance. But it was hard to focus, with theotheralways breathing in his lungs, thinking in his thoughts, thwarting his goals. Sometimes Silas was still seen, or the magic witnessed. He’d been chased out by watchmen more than once. Torn down sketches of theother’sface posted in towns he dared not return to. Constantly moving, constantly hiding, constantly mufflinghispleas for help.

Trying to rub warmth into his knuckles, Silas planned. He had to get to Europe. It was the only way. But he had no money. No papers.People had begun to look at him with pity or disgust, sometimes both. This body was beginning to waste. And his mind—

His mind was fine. He needed to move closer to the coast. He could make it. He would get home, get help, and then return and make those infernal people pay for what they’d done to him.

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