Page 49 of Wizard of Most Wicked Ways

They sat there in silence for nearly a minute.

“I went to the laboratory”—Owein managed to sit up, though light-headedness forced him to lean against the wall at his back—“because I knew I wasn’t strong enough to defeat Silas on my own.”

Hulda’s face fell, like she was about to cry. “I thought that might be the case.”

“I was only going to ask you about it, as Fallon said. But the opportunity presented itself.”

Hulda held out her hand. It took Owein a moment to understand before he placed the handkerchief in it. Hulda dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

“It wasn’t Fallon’s doing,” he added.

“Oh”—some of Hulda’s earlier fury returned—“Fallon is a woman perfectly capable of making her own choices. I blame both of you.”

Then she crumpled, pressing the handkerchief to her face to hide it as one sob, then another, coursed up her throat. “I thought I was going to lose all of you.”

Owein stiffened. “All of us? Mabol? Merritt?”

Fallon squeezed his hand so hard it hurt.

Hulda wiped her eyes and nose. “They are safe. Silas targeted BIKER first.” She swallowed. “However much I hate this, it was a godsend you came when you did. There are watchmen outside, waiting to question you. For better or for worse, this has aggrandized beyond the borders of our family.”

A soft knock sounded at the door. Hulda frowned. Owein wondered if Jonelle had been eavesdropping. “Say nothing about the serum, understand? I’d rather the three of us avoid prison,” she whispered, before turning and calling, “Come in.”

Jonelle let herself in and resumed her seat on the far chair. “I have a few questions for you.”

Owein nodded. Fatigue dragged at him—he could sleep a whole day—but he knew the value of his information.

Jonelle said, “It was awfully brave, what you did.”

Hulda bristled.

“You found me,” Owein said. “But did you find him?”

The wizard frowned. “Not yet. But I will. I’m good at tracking people.”

Again, Owein eyed her uniform. “Is that your skill, then? Your ability?”

That hopeful smile, still not reaching her eyes, returned. “I’m a communionist. A magical polyglot, if you will. I’m fluent in several languages, but the ones I’m not? I just use my magic to understandwhat’s being spoken. I can’t speak it back, but I learn quickly. The rest is just natural talent.” She winked.

“Amazing,” Fallon murmured. “Ansin, an féidir leat mé a thuiscint?”

“Indeed I can.” She glanced at Fallon. “You know, you would be an excellent resource for the Queen’s League as well.”

Fallon scoffed.

Pulling out a roll of paper and a pencil, Jonelle continued, “A few questions before Blightree interrupts us. Let’s start from the end and work backward. Where was the last location you saw Charlie Temples, also known as Silas Hogwood? Be as specific as possible.”

Hulda desperately wanted the day to end. The clock on her bedroom wall reading a quarter to eleven promised they were almost there, and yet unlike in a fairy tale, she knew the stroke of midnight would change nothing.

They’d made it back to Whimbrel House, at least. After sundown. Mr. Blightree’s hurried trip to Providence had proven fruitless; John Mackenzie perished an hour before his arrival, and the necromancer’s abilities had no effect on Owein, other than healing the gash Silas had inflicted on his chest with a knife. Hulda’s best theory was that the malady, as caused by the serum, was magically based and therefore resistant to magical intervention. She couldn’t fathom anything else. But Owein still lived, and however Hulda might feel about Fallon, she was grateful to have her as a nursemaid. Grateful someone loved Owein enough to stay by his bedside all night long, in case his symptoms worsened.

She didn’t know if they would worsen or not. Myra might have known.Oh, Myra.Her heart crumpled and her gut soured. Their friendship had never been the same after Myra’s resignation, but Hulda still cared for the woman deeply. Still trusted her, despite earlier betrayal. Myra had come to Providence to help, and Silas Hogwood hadmurdered her without fanfare. Would have murdered Hulda, too, if not for Owein’s intervention.

She paced the length of the room, her lone candle casting long shadows. “He cannot do it again,” she said aloud. “The toxins might be additive in nature. There’s not enough research to know!”

Merritt watched her from where he sat on the long trunk at the foot of their bed, a steady and quiet presence through all of this upheaval. “What will you do with the laboratory?”

“I don’t care about the damn laboratory.”

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