Page 59 of Wizard of Most Wicked Ways

Owein pulled down his sleeve. “Out,” he demanded curtly.

The wizard raised an eyebrow. “We are here under the queen’s orders, looking after—”

“Thepipe, man.” Owein strode to the door and whipped it open. “Beth doesn’t like people smoking in her house.Out.”

The man blinked, looking somewhat chagrined, then assented and stepped out onto the porch. Owein stepped out with him, taking one of the chairs, while Pankhurst leaned against the porch railing, staring out at the island. Owein followed his gaze, then searched for himself, from the coastline out to the willow copse. Fallon had shifted into adog again—she, Aster, and Ash bounded through the summer-ripened grass, chasing each other, nipping at haunches. Even Fallon needed a respite from the stress, and this was one of the ways she got it. Honestly, Owein wished he could join her, just for an hour or two. Wished he could have four legs again and bound carelessly across the grass and goosefoot, enraptured by the million scents of a world closed off to him, no worries other than where he would sleep and how he’d get the mud off his paws before Beth scolded him for it.

“No one speaks to me like that in England,” Pankhurst said between puffs, then chuckled to himself. “Back home, I’d frankly be insulted. But here, for some reason, I find it oddly refreshing.”

A small smile pinched Owein’s cheeks. “Happy to help.”

He checked his pocket for the grease pencil yet again. Still there. Owein was ready, yet he wasn’t. How could a person prepare for a fight that might not happen, on terms he couldn’t read, with science he didn’t understand? Leaning forward in his chair, he glanced at the kitchen window, but Lisbeth had drawn the shutters.

All he could do now was wait.

Owein took the night shift. There were four members of the Queen’s League of Magicians in Narragansett Bay, or such was his understanding—Lord Pankhurst, Mrs. Mirren, Jonelle, and Lion. Others were farther inland, tracking Silas’s whereabouts, working with local watchmen and the government to bar him from moving on. Owein’s shifts weren’t organized with the Queen’s League nor law enforcement, merely with himself. He’d walked the length of the island and back already, returning to Whimbrel House just as twilight ended. Now, he sat on its roof, scanning the dark swathes of the ocean between moonlight and lighthouse. His bones felt too sharp for his body, his muscles like leather pulled taut over a frame. His head hurt, but it was the kind of ache he could ignore. He scanned the sky for the body ofa gray hawk. He was endlessly grateful for the amount of exhausting work Fallon put into surveillance on the island. She never complained about it. Still, Owein wished she were here with him, just for a little while. Then again, he worried he was becoming too dependent on her. She tied him up in beautiful Celtic knots, and he didn’t want to be free of them.

It must have been near midnight when a shuffle announced Merritt on the roof, climbing carefully over the shingles. He perched on the gable beside Owein, sitting there in the quiet with him for several minutes. It wasn’t until Owein turned to stare at a new chunk of the bay that Merritt spoke.

“You should rest, Owein.”

He didn’t answer.

Merritt sighed. “I can watch for a while, if that will settle you.”

But Owein shook his head. “I can’t decide which is better. Staking ourselves out here so he’ll find us and get it over with, or hiding on the mainland so he never does.”

Merritt planted his elbows on his knees. His familiar aroma of cloves, ink, and petitgrain always had a calming effect on Owein. “I’ve had the same thoughts. The same worries. At least it’s not foggy.”

He referred to Hulda’s premonition about the island. “We don’t know if that’s Silas’s return, or an instance afterward,” Owein countered. Thus the reason he continued to scan the sea on clear nights like this one. “He’s out there.” Owein dared to scan near the lighthouse, despite knowing it would hamper his night vision. He saw nothing.

“They’ll find him.”

“They haven’t yet.” Owein’s tone whipped harder than he’d intended. “They never find him. He always finds us.” And Silas was a lunatic now, which made him even less predictable. Bile licked the base of Owein’s esophagus, burning.

A shadow passed over the moon, wings and tail. Fallon, hawk, landed on the gable. Ruffled her feathers before allowing them to settle.A warning call from a mourning dove—Winkers—cut through the air. Fallon made the poor bird nervous.

“Anything?” Owein asked.

The hawk shook her head in the negative.

Leaning forward, Owein pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Owein,” Merritt said, softer, “rest.”

“I couldn’t if I tried.”

“Hulda’s already made a draft for you.”

But Owein shook his head. “I’ll stay out here.”

He felt Merritt’s frown. Felt Fallon mirroring it, as much as a bird could. A minute passed, and she took off again, flying another circle, searching the darkness in a way Owein couldn’t. He hated that he couldn’t.

Merritt clasped a hand on Owein’s shoulder. “This isn’tyourburden, Owein.”

Isn’t it?he thought.

Merritt let out a long exhale through his nose. “Whatever happened to that eternal child living in the walls of my house?”

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