Page 10 of Wizard of Most Wicked Ways

Not a cage of her choosing, obviously. No onechosethose kinds of restrictions for themselves. She was no longer Victoria’s ward, but her father was a German prince and her mother, the daughter of a marquess. In the vast scale of British nobility—which Owein still couldn’t keep straight—she was a heavyweight, which meant she was leashed by the rules of the aristocracy. The very rules Hulda had been pushing so hard for him to learn.

But Cora was also honest and earnest. He understood now how desperate she must have felt when they first met, because causing harm of any kind contradicted her character. She was good; that much came through in her letters. She was accomplished, well educated, and a lover of books, just like Owein. Fallon could read, but she didn’tdelightin reading. She preferred to experience the world as it was, not as it was written.

The two women couldn’t be more different. They evenlookeddifferent. Fallon was long and lithe and dark, and from what Owein recalled, Cora was pale and small, though, he supposed, her hair was dark.

Cora had been assigned to him. And Fallon ... Fallon had chosen him.

Owein pinched the bridge of his nose and opened his eyes. A gust of wind from the growing storm rattled the window behind him. Storms didn’t frighten Fallon; she basked in them.

He wanted to bask in it, too.

He stood and headed toward the door, but before he lifted his hand to the knob, he heard Baptiste say, “Ça va mon amour?”

Owein turned around, spying Beth halfway down the stairs, Henri balanced on her hip, Baptiste following her. She’d paused there, hand on the railing, searching inwardly. After a few seconds, she came downstairs. Owein was sure she’d sensed his feelings and would ask about them, and like in the copse, he didn’t know what he’d say. Yet her eyes weren’t drawn to him, but toward the window Owein had been sitting beside.

“An uneasy feeling just now,” she murmured, searching. Owein followed her gaze but saw only the island and the storm.

Baptiste came up behind her and placed a large hand on her small shoulder. “Perhaps it is a bad storm.”

But Beth shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She frowned. Shifted Henri higher on her hip. Her grip on the boy tightened, and suddenly Beth’s trepidation became Owein’s.

“What does it feel like?” he asked.

She worked her lips, as if trying to form her thoughts into something coherent, and failing. “Something is out there. Something ... bad.”

Baptiste pulled back. “I will go.”

“Let me.”

Both Babineauxs turned toward Owein, who still watched the reeds and willows dance in the wind. Baptiste was physically stronger, yes, but—

“We both know I’m the better choice” was all he said. All he needed to say. Finally pulling his eyes away, he met Baptiste’s gaze.

Baptiste frowned but nodded. “Let us know what you see.”

Owein opened the door. The wind pushed on it, nearly sending it into the wall behind, but Owein’s grip held, and he stepped onto the short porch, closing it behind him.

He hadn’t gotten very far when a dark canine trotted up to him. Ash, Aster, and Fallon all looked remarkably similar, but he knew Fallon instantly. She hadn’t run from him, only waited. Something about the fact soothed him, despite his rising anxiety about Beth’s words.

“Beth sensed something off,” he explained, grateful to have something else to focus on. “She doesn’t do that often.” He followed the trail between the two homes, Fallon trotting beside him. “I can’t think of the last time she did that.” He considered. “Stay a dog. You have more bite in this form than the others. Just in case.”

The quickening breeze tousled his hair, first out of his eyes, then into them. Owein scanned the island slowly, north to south, south to north, occasionally checking over his shoulder. The oncoming storm had silenced the wildlife, making his search feel more ominous.

“Maybe itisjust a bad storm,” he muttered to himself, though he found little comfort in it.

He walked and walked, searching. Peering through the trees, listening to the wind. The storm completely blocked the sun now, casting everything in shades of gray. And—

Boat.

Off to his left, Owein could just barely make out a small two-passenger boat on the shore, not unlike the little skiff they still used if the larger dory was already out. Two oars lay across it—it was the oars that had caught his attention first—both their vessels were kinetically enchanted. Not near the dock. The dock had been built in a convenient spot for anyone coming to the island from the north; Blaugdone was too out of the way for visitors from the south. So why hadn’t this person used the dock?

Who would need to come here, anyway? Sadie Steverus and Myra Haigh used hired boats on their infrequent visits. Could this be the man Hulda had foreseen?

Owein’s stride quickened. He stepped off the trail, searching, holding his hair back to keep his vision clear. A minute later, Fallon growled. Owein turned and spied a man thirty paces away, wearing a dark hat and a dark cloak. Pulse racing, Owein approached cautiously, keeping his eyes glued to the newcomer, who had his face pointed toward Whimbrel House.

“Hey!” he called, ten paces closer. “Who goes there?”

The man’s head turned slightly. Owein didn’t recognize him. He was a white man who looked to be in his late forties, with a large nose and gaunt face. Tall but startlingly slender. Wind swept through the dark hair at the nape of his neck, matching the dark stubble splotching his face.

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