Page 17 of Wizard of Most Wicked Ways

“But it wasn’t all white,” Merritt tried, doubt creeping into his voice. “Silas has been dead for four and a half years. He can’t have suddenly taken over a body. Right?” He looked at Hulda for confirmation.

“It wasn’t just at the roots,” Owein said. “I think he’s been in the body longer, but the original spirit is still in there, like with me and the dog.” He shuddered. “There was something ... wrong about him.”

Hulda scoffed. “There has always been somethingwrongabout that man.”

“Even so.” He pushed off the bedpost and slid his hands into his trouser pockets. “He was ... insane. In a different way. The look in his eyes ... You didn’t get close enough to see the look in his eyes.”

His gaze found the window again, searching the darkening gray sky beyond it, as though it might have the answers he sought.

Quiet seconds ticked by before Merritt spoke again.

“Regardless, thank you.” A slip of emotion leaked into his voice. “Without you ... we’d be dead without you.”

“I didn’t realize,” Hulda added, not looking at him, “how strong you were. I mean, Iknewyou were, but I didn’t realize ...” She let the sentiment trail off.

His hands clenched into tight fists in his pockets. “Not strong enough.” He blew hair out of his eyes. “That’s something else that proves to me this was Silas. He camehere. Barely anyone knows this place exists, let alone that it’s inhabited. No one has a reason to come uninvited. But Silas knew. He knew we were here, and he attacked. What for, if not revenge?”

Hulda’s skin turned a dull shade of white.

“And he’sstill alive.” The words ground out of Owein like stubborn peppercorns. “I let him get away.”

Merritt countered, “You didn’tlethim—”

“Which means he can come back,” Owein interrupted. “We’re not safe here.”

“Maybe”—Hulda’s voice was a near whisper, and she held Merritt’s hand so tightly her knuckles went white, too—“maybe he realized he’s outmanned. Maybe he won’t return.”

Owein frowned. “Are you willing to bet your life on maybes?Theirlives?”

He needn’t specify whom he meant. They all knew: Mabol, Hattie, Ellis, Henri. They were innocents.

If only Owein had pushed a little harder, thought a little smarter, moved a little faster. If only he had shrunk the man’s collar enough to cut off his head, or sent a tree branch through his torso. If only Owein had killed him, then this cold, brewing fear in his belly wouldn’t be there.

He rubbed just below his sternum, as though he could massage the anxiety away.

Owein hadn’t been enough.

“We need to file a police report,” Merritt said. “We can go tonight.”

Hulda blinked rapidly, fighting tears. “Youare not going anywhere. You need rest.”

“I need to protect my family.”

Hulda opened her mouth to speak, but judging by the redness growing around her eyes, she didn’t trust herself to do so with dignity. Instead, she looked away.

“I’ll keep watch tonight,” Owein offered. “Me and Baptiste.”

Hulda nodded. Owein didn’t comment on the tremor coursing down her arms. She was trying to be strong. He let her.

Owein returned to his room, closing the door behind him. More so to give Fallon privacy and not start Hulda worrying over the fact that there was a woman in his bed than for anything else. He glanced out the window, then formed a new one in the wall, the size of his hand, just so he could scan the north shoreline again. It’d be dark soon. He could go out and ... what? What preparations could he possibly make against a wizard who could heal himself on command and break things with a thought?

He should be glad for the toll of magic. Not even a healing spell could abate the forgetfulness, nausea, and stiffness consuming Silas. He’d been stiff as the boat when he fled. One more spell and he wouldn’t have been able to run at all.

Toll.Magic.

Licking his lips, Owein’s gaze fell onto Fallon, curled around his pillow, then his desk.

He crossed the room and sat, pulled out a clean piece of paper, and began to write.

---