Page 40 of Wizard of Most Wicked Ways

Silas turned the penny over in his hand. Over and over, rubbing its smooth edges, tracing its imprints. He needed that water spell. One water spell, and everything would be as it had been. No one would touch him. No one would chase him, revile him, pity him.

Silas moaned, earning a disapproving look from a woman who immediately crossed the street to distance herself. He leaned heavily on the brick wall behind him, sipping cold winter air.

Slowly, Silas lowered himself to the packed dirt, rolling back and forth, listening to the creaking of wagon wheels and clopping horses—

Darkness.

Then, light.

He no longer sat at the street corner. No, now he sat on a wooden bench against a stone wall. Two scowling men, four stone walls, one narrow window, one heavy locked door.

He was in a prison.

No,no! He hadn’t lost control to theotherin weeks! He had dominated him! He had won! But no longer. He felthimsquirming, clawing, calling. What had the fool done to get them in here?

The fullness suffocated him as he tried to regain his hold on the body. Limbs trembled. He held his breath for nearly a minute before putting his head between his knees and vomiting.

A groan from another prisoner as he moved away. A second spat, “This half-shot loon just fouled up our room. Hey! Someone get in here and clean this up!”

Ignoring them, Silas pressed both hands into his chest and ignited his healing spell, which made him feel a little stronger, but onlyincreased the nausea in his gut. He stood, chunks of vomit rolling off his torn trousers.

“Ugh,” the second prisoner said. “Come near me and I’ll knock you into the wall.”

Silas glowered. “Enough out of you.”

And he kinetically shoved the man into the brick wall, cracking his skull like an egg. The other prisoner gaped wordlessly and backed away until the stone corner prevented him from retreating any farther.

Limping, stiff-legged, to the barred door, Silas wrapped both hands around its lock andcompressedit until it shattered. The chaocracy spell poured confusion into his mind. Dangerous, that. It gave theotheran upper hand. Even now, he fought for control.

Silas shoved him down, down, down. Beat him with iron fists and spat on the pulp.

He pushed the door open. Hobbled into the hallway.

He only had to kill two more people to escape.

Chapter 14

July 4, 1851, Waynesville, Ohio

The kinetic tram took them as far as Philadelphia before shutting off for the night; Fallon found a barn nearby with dry hay where they could stay until morning, though Owein slept fitfully at best. They boarded the first tram in the morning, riding it clear to Baltimore. With luck, more of the enchanted lines would eventually branch out west, but the magic needed to run them died out a little more every day. There would be plenty of people in England who could enchant the lines, but the United States was so stubbornly independent Owein didn’t know if such assistance would be requested anytime soon.

Silas Hogwood would have been able to enchant them. That thought rankled him during the train ride west. A ride that felt too slow, compared to the tram. Fallon kept to her hawk form, which meant she couldn’t talk to Owein. While she got a few curious looks from other riders, it might have been for the better. Owein didn’t know how to structure his thoughts into sense. He should have brought a book.

They took a steamboat from Pittsburgh toward Cincinnati, hopping off at Wilmington to avoid going too far south. Owein grabbed the last meat pie from a vendor closing shop. He quickly discovered a general lack of available transportation in these parts, but he managed to grab a seat on the last stagecoach heading north for the evening.The night coach required an extra charge, which Owein paid, and he boarded alone alongside a number of businessmen. He managed to finagle a seat by the window and leaned into it as the coach pulled away from its station. The coach had traveled about an eighth of a mile before Fallon swept through the air and landed on the ledge beside him.

“Is that a hawk?” someone asked behind him, but Owein ignored him.

“I’m not sure there’s a stop for where we want to go,” Owein murmured as he pulled a paper map from his pocket and opened it. “There’s a town called Waynesville on the route. Is that close?”

Fallon studied the map with her left eye, then nodded.

Owein held the map in front of him and watched the scenery pass by. He’d expected Ohio to be drier than Rhode Island, but moisture thickened the air. It washotduring the day. Uncomfortably so. Owein had never been this far west, only read about it, so he took the time to absorb what he was seeing, while the setting sun still allowed him to see it. Ohio was full of hills and farms and trees, and the farther north they traveled the smaller the towns got, until there were great swatches of untouched land between them. It was strange, looking out as far as he could in any one direction and not seeing the ocean. A little claustrophobic, in a way. It churned up old anxieties he used to have about leaving Blaugdone Island and punctuated the unfamiliarity of it all. He’d mention that, when he told Cora about this place.

The darkening skies unnerved him, but Fallon remained present, her sharp hawk eyes constantly scanning the countryside. The stagecoach did, thankfully, make a stop near Waynesville, where only one man boarded. Owein slipped away, the wings of a gray hawk beating overhead.

“Should we wait?” he asked when she flew down to his arm. They’d see better in the light of day, but the night would conceal them. In truth, he’d rather move than wait for dawn holed up somewhere, which would likely just be his back to a tree. They weren’t near any hotels orthe like. The prospect of their somewhat illegal future activities also suggested they might use the cover of night.

Fallon expressed agreement by pecking at his collar, as though pulling him. As soon as he started off, however, he heard a muffled voice coming from his pocket.

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