Page 34 of Wizard of Most Wicked Ways

Yes, you are not what you were. Your magic is not limitless, nor will it ever be again. I understand your frustration. But is it not a remarkable thing, to have it gone? To be mortal once more?

I was tempted to mail back to you previous letters you’ve sent me, from earlier on in our correspondence. Has the ability to touch the grass grown so monotonous already? Or to smell the sea breeze, or describe the blue sky as beautifully as you do? These are all things we as mortals take for granted, becausewe have always had them. I certainly do. I take for granted the most wonderful things, like storms and chocolate and warm embraces, because they have always been there. But your experience is utterly unique. You know what it is to be without. Would you give up the true sounds of laughter and music to effortlessly alter color within four walls? Would you lose the weight of your nieces in your arms for the chance to hurt one man without hurting yourself?

Owein took in a shuddering breath and rubbed his eyes. She was right, of course. He knew she was right. It was a comfort, and yet it wasn’t, because there was still no solution to their problem. Owein didn’t believe for a second that Silas Hogwood was finished with them. The Queen’s League didn’t, either. He could hear it in their voices, see it in the lines of their shoulders and the doubt when they met each other’s eyes. If they believed the island safe, they would have left by now. He would be back. It was merely a matter of when.

I am glad you are human again. I am sorry for Mr. Blightree’s loss. I always will be, just as you are. But I am glad it brought you about again, that it’s given you a voice with which to speak and a hand with which to write to me. Your letters are the highlights of my weeks here, where everything so easily turns monotonous. You remind me of my privilege and encourage me to do better. To be better. I wish I could be beside you now, to help you through this time, to lend a hand where I can, but duty forbids me from leaving, however much I beg to. You know my mother.

He did, indeed. He wondered if Lady Helen was the way he remembered her, a woman who’d accepted and even doted on a boy trappedin the form of a canine, or if this new form would make her think of him more as Danielle did.

I worry for you. You are capable, however much you may feel otherwise. But I worry for you. Please take care of yourself. I will never forgive you if you deprive me of the chance of seeing you again. And you are well aware of my excellence in holding grudges.

A sore chuckle bumped up his throat.

I’ve written out my thoughts on Frankenstein. You are free to refute or expand on them. Let us not allow a deranged murderer to hold up our little cross-Atlantic book club.

Sincerely,

Cora

The following two pages were filled with thoughts on the Mary Shelley novel for him to peruse. Tonight, perhaps, when he was less wound up, the household had settled, and he was on watch.

He walked up to his room, keeping his steps light, and closed the door behind him. Picked up a sheet of paper and dipped his pen to start his letter, then found himself staring at the empty page before him as though nothing in the world existed but that off-white grain, and he’d gotten lost between the fibers.

A drop of ink fell from his pen, splashing the paper just off its center.

I need to tell you about Fallon.The words burrowed through his mind, but his fingers only twitched around the pen as the ink spot slowly spread.She’s a Druid. I’ve mentioned her before—

Only once or twice. He had a letter in his armoire from Cora talking about how much Druids fascinated her, though she’d never met one, only read about them, and how they were often a point of politic contest.

Owein lowered his pen. Felt his pulse in his neck. Redipped the pen and brought it to the upper corner of the paper. Stalled again. Another drop of ink fell, unformed, to the page.

He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t write the words, whatever they were supposed to be. A confession, perhaps. A question. His heart. He couldn’t tell Cora about Fallon.

Just like he couldn’t tell Fallon about Cora. Yes, Fallon knew who she was. Yes, she knew about the contract. But that’s all Cora was to her—a contract. And all Fallon was to Cora was a name on a page in an older letter.

Owein set the pen down and pressed his face into his hands. God help him, it hurt no matter what he did. If Silas were out of the picture, maybe he could sort it out better.

If you were here, Cora, maybe I could sort it out. Or maybe you’ve used your clause and are too afraid to tell me, just like I’m too afraid to mention any of my uncertainty to you.

What a mess he was making. Every hope was laced with fear, every joy with sadness. He remembered living inside the walls of this house and watching Merritt and Hulda struggle with their feelings. Did they realize howeasythey’d had it, with just the two of them to worry about?

Regardless, he couldn’t write to Cora now. There were too many words in his head for him to piece together a coherent sentence, so he left the ink-stained paper on his desk and retreated back downstairs.

“We’ll stay in the area,” Blightree was promising as Owein returned, refolding Cora’s letter and slipping it into the back pocket of his trousers. “We’ve a few others patrolling the area—Lion, whom you saw on your arrival, and a few soldiers on the southern bay. More of the queen’s men will head this way, and we’ve of course alerted both national andlocal governments. There are watchmen stationed throughout Rhode Island, Massachusetts, and Connecticut with detailed descriptions of Charlie’s person and Silas’s magic. They are on the lookout for both. It is an international affair now. Our presence alone makes it so, but the United States is well aware of the danger that is Silas Hogwood.”

Hulda worked her hands again. She’d been doing that a lot, judging by how pink her knuckles had become.

“I’m happy to hear it.” Merritt leaned forward in his chair. “Thank you, truly, for all of this.”

“We have good reason to protect your family.” Blightree again glanced at Owein. “Not only for your connection to the Leiningens, but to the Boston Institute as well. And I personally find you quite amiable.”

Merritt smiled. “The feeling is mutual, my good friend.”

“A boat is approaching,” Mr. Mackenzie commented, his gaze out the window.

Lightning shot down Owein’s spine. Everyone in the room stiffened; Mrs. Mirren and Hulda rose instantly. While the others moved to the window, Owein rushed for the door, opening it, blinking as his eyes adjusted to sunlight. Fallon raced past him, shrinking in her dress until she flew out the neck hole as a hawk, listing to the right as the toll of alteration magic clipped her wing. She circled out, then back again. Swooped toward the house, catching the railing of the porch with her talons and flapping her wings.

Behind him, Merritt said, “It’s not him. She says it’s not the same man.” He listened a moment. “And there are two of Blightree’s men with him.”

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