Page 66 of Wizard of Most Wicked Ways

Silas’s murderous charge ended abruptly as he ran into an invisible wall. Blood sprayed from his nose. A sound like glass breaking echoed. The wardship spell dissolved, and Silas whipped toward Merritt, throwing him back into the chicken coop before Merritt could raise a second wall.

Owein sprinted through the distraction and leapt onto Silas, knocking them both to the ground. Silas’s sleeve rose with the tumble, revealing his blackened arm. The stench of it was nearly overwhelming. Owein seized it with both hands, pushing out through Oliver. Rot poured from his hands as the necrosis spell took hold. Silas shrieked and beat Owein with his other hand. Wincing, Owein held on, held on—

Kinesis kicked him in the chest and sent him flying. He tumbled across glass—no, another wardship spell—before teetering off its edge. He fell, but the spell had slowed him just enough for him to land on his feet.

His stomach turned. Not just from the tumble and the use of necromancy, but from Silas’s necrotic hand clenched in his. The rot had melted straight through the bone of his forearm.

Owein dropped the appendage, bile rising—

Kinesis bruised his ribs and sent him flying again. Not as far this time; he landed on the path to the dock on his backside. He looked up just in time to see Pankhurst strike a match.

With a cupping motion of his hand, the British wizard—apparently anelementist—expanded the tiny flame into a large ball of fire, a spell similar to what Silas had used in that dark basement in Marshfield so many years ago, before the death of his dolls. The fireball shot from Pankhurst to the deranged Silas, who looked up from his missing limb only just quick enough to duck beneath his cloak. The fire coursed over him, catching the very edges of the fabric. But from luck, or had the man condensed the fabric to make it less flammable?

Pankhurst’s cold breath puffed in the air. Owein struck out with random subterfuge before Silas could recover, but the fickleness of thespell merely made the grass rise, root and all, and spin in place. Silas evaded it easily, moving closer to the other wizard even as his healing spell soothed the scorch marks on his forehead.

Owein focused on his own arm as the inevitable confusion tickled his mind, the black grease letters stark against his skin.He is Bad. Fight Him.

If Owein could get close enough, hold on to Silas’s neck or head long enough, the necrosis could end this once and for all.

A second fireball zoomed past. Silas dodged it entirely—luck—and flung out his hand with a kinetic spell, a narrow, targeted one that struck Pankhurst’s matches and shattered them.

Owein ran back into the fray, igniting a spell of discordant movement. It seized Silas’s cloak and jerked him backward, then upward, just as gunshots rang through the air.

Jonelle. She’d taken up position on the porch and clutched a revolver. The muzzle sparked as she shot again, missing, missing, missing—but even Silas’s luck couldn’t hold out forever. The fifth shot struck him in the bicep.

Silas roared and made a ball of his remaining fist; the revolver condensed into a sphere of metal. Merritt used the opportunity to throw up another wardship spell. Owein tackled Silas from behind, shoving him into the unseen wall, hearing a satisfyingcrunchfrom the madman’s nose as he did so. Ignited necrosis, but the spell didn’t take through Silas’s clothes. Stomach sour, Owein animated Silas’s cloak, which began twisting and choking him, and reached for the sliver of neck above the cloak. Silas threw back a sharp elbow into his ribs before shattering the wardship wall. Owein stumbled. Silas fumbled a gun of his own and fired twice. Either Silas was left-handed or he’d flared his luck spell, for Jonelle screamed as blood spurted out from her leg. Merritt, in front of the house, fell near silently, crimson blooming at his hip.

Owein’s gut lurched.No. No, no, no—

Hulda screamed. Owein was close enough to hear Silas spit, “—kill you once and for all.”

Lunging, he grabbed the madman around the knees, knocking him down. Pushed an alteration spell into his clothes, but not enough before Silas shoved kinesis into him once more, breaking his grip and sending him rolling toward the docks, bruising hips, shoulders, elbows, and knees. The earth spun and thumped, spun and thumped. Owein’s clawed fingers in the weeds helped slow him not far from his family’s graves, until he could plant his palms against the soil and shake himself, willing the dizziness to abate.

“You. Are. Making. This.Difficult,” Silas hissed, marching toward him, cradling his rotted stump against his stomach.

Owein looked up and spied his shovel within arm’s reach—the same one he’d used to dig up his grave. He grabbed it, rolled, and swung, infusing the tool with alteration as he did so, tripling the size of the spade by the time it came around and smashed into the side of Silas’s head. Shots from Pankhurst wheeled overhead.

Owein bit down on a scream, thinking at first that Pankhurst had shot him, then realizing the alteration magic had bent his left elbow backward. He dropped the shovel and grabbed his left arm with his right hand, as though he could correct the joint, but he couldn’t. Now, of all times for the cost to be this debilitating!

Silas’s broken nose dribbled, torn cheek swelled. Blood matted his hair, and his jaw had a sizable dent in it that popped back into place as the madman’s necromantic healing took hold. With one hand, Owein swung again, but Silas used a breaking spell, exploding the shovel handle into splinters. Silas spat out teeth. Teetered back, looking confused.

Pankhurst wasn’t. He opened fire on the man. Owein heard at least one bullet hit. But would it hit hard and deep enough to make a difference before Silas’s innate healing saved him?

Utilizing the distraction, Owein crawled over to Merritt, trying not to put weight on his left arm. Merritt was alert, hissing throughclenched teeth and wincing, both his hands pressed to the bullet hole in his hip. He lay supine, framed by tall summer grass.

Owein didn’t have time to treat the injury, or even stanch it. Sounded like Pankhurst was out of bullets. So he pressed his hands to Merritt’s clothes and turned them the same shade of green as the grass, camouflaging him the best that he could. Viciously, his fingers twisted in retribution. Owein bit the inside of his cheek, tasting blood. Stood and moved away from Merritt. He didn’t see Pankhurst. Silas moved toward him, bleeding and spitting and enraged—

A swarm of flies flew at Silas from nowhere, zooming from all directions, buzzing darkly around his face. Owein gaped. Merritt’s doing?

Regardless, Silas stumbled back, right onto the Mansel family graves.

Owein didn’t think twice. He reached deep and thrust out discordant movement once more. The magic seized the tombstones and made them dance, tilt, and shift, tripping up the wizard’s feet. Silas fell to his knees. The impact loosened a dead, black chunk from his forearm.

Owein’s elbow popped into place just in time for him to use another alteration spell, seizing Silas’s collar as he had before, shrinking it, choking him—

And, just as before, Silas used a breaking spell, shredding the garment to pieces.

Owein panted as the magic made his ribs change, confusion threatening him once more. He looked at his arm.Kill Silas.It had smeared, was barely legible. Owein shook his head, trying to orient his thoughts. The first he grasped wasIf I’m not thinking clearly, neither is he.The second wasMerritt and Jonelle are bleeding out.

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