Page 76 of Wizard of Most Wicked Ways

He took the stairs up one at a time, listening for the creak of the fourth, fifth, and eleventh as he went. He could fix those, but he thought it gave the old place some character.

The door to Merritt’s office was ajar. Owein poked in his head, but the author was nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t in the library, nor in his room. Owein thought to check the kitchen when, out a window, he glimpsed the top of Merritt’s head outside, near the east coast of the island. So, as he was wont to do, Owein opened a door in the wall and hopped down, closing it up after him.

Reeds and yellow thistle crunched underfoot as Owein picked his way over, careful not to trample the larger plants—a habit Fallon had instilled in him over the years. He swallowed against thoughts of her, focusing instead on his many-greats-nephew.

He was on a grassy bump at the line where the island turned from greenery to rocks, an open book in his hands. Owein smiled at the familiarity of the scene.

There was just enough space on the grass for Owein to sit down beside Merritt, who, in response, closed his book and asked, “Are you ready?”

Owein drew in a deep breath of the sea, held it, and let it out slowly before answering. “As ready as I can be, I guess.”

“Fallon—”

“She’s gone.” Part of him had hoped she’d merely needed to cool off. That she’d come back and spend these last days with him before leaving for Ireland. It was better that she hadn’t, he knew, but it still squeezed his chest, his voice, when he added, “I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again.”

And that devastated him.

“I liked her.” Merritt stared out into the bay; in the distance, a few clouds seemed to skim the water. “She was ... refreshing. A little wild, I dare say. Private but kind. She laughed at my jokes.”

A soft chuckle wormed its way into Owein’s mouth and died behind his teeth.

“You made the right choice,” Merritt said.

Picking a long piece of grass, Owein weaved it between his fingers. “I know.”

If only beingrightcould make it hurt less.

“Might not seem it,” Merritt went on, “since the other one tried to kill us and everything. Then again, we’re very popular targets in that regard.”

Owein shook his head, ignoring the jest. “She’s not like that. Even then, she wasn’t like that.”

He felt Merritt’s gaze on the side of his face. Warm, like he was a second sun. “What is she like?”

Owein considered this, taking his time as an old man tends to do. He stretched his arms overhead before planting his hands behind him and leaning back, listening to the song of nearby insects carry on the breeze. “She’s thoughtful,” he answered. “Always asks about me, usually before she shares anything of herself. She’s smart and well read. Doesn’t get upset if your opinion differs from hers. She’s very judicious, when she needs to be. But inside, she has a spark. A passion for the world around her, for life, that burns so brightly it hurts. But she doesn’t know where to direct it. Not enough chimneys.” He smiled at his own metaphor. “She worries, but it’s because she cares. She’s careful, because she’s afraid. She’s a dreamer and a realist both. She’s weighed down by what she is and wonders at what she could be, always.”

Merritt set his hand on Owein’s knee. “I think you’re going to be okay.”

Owein nodded, watching the clouds, wondering what they looked like on Cora’s side of the ocean.

“I have something for you.” Merritt leaned toward him, pulling out a stack of papers he’d tucked under his leg. “I want your thoughts on it.”

Owein accepted the sheaf and thumbed through it. “This is your manuscript.”

“Unfinished,” he admitted. “And untitled.”

Owein snorted. “And how do you expect me to read it before ...” He hesitated. Merritt didn’t mean for him to read it now, but later. These pages were incredibly valuable to Merritt, and entrusting them to Owein was, essentially, a promise to keep in touch.

Owein smiled. “You’re putting an awful lot of faith in the mail system.”

Merritt shrugged. “I know you’ll be as loving to them as you can be.”

Lowering the papers, Owein said, “I’m going to miss you, Merritt. Maybe you most of all.”

“More than Beth? I’m honored.”

It was a joke, but Owein remained serious. “You told me, on the roof, that everything we have is because of me. But you’re wrong. Everything we have on this island happened because ofyou. You came. You saw me. You brought Hulda here, and Beth and Baptiste. You even attracted Silas Hogwood ... In a way, it’s because of that that I even had the opportunity to do ... this.” He gestured to the ocean.

Merritt considered this. “I suppose we should thank him for that.”

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