Chapter 2
June 13, 1851, Blaugdone Island, Rhode Island
Fallon smoothed out the wrinkles in the simple dress she had donned. Her dark skin, inherited from her Indian mother, contrasted with the linen cloth like the fissures of an aspen. Her wild hair puffed around her shoulders and cascaded to the small of her back, but any preened style wouldn’t have suited a Druid like her. Vivid green eyes shined with familiar mirth between rows of thick eyelashes, and her full lips curved with it. She was tall for a woman, of a height with him, and her dress fell just below her knees, showing half her slender legs. Perfectly modest, though Hulda would have fainted at the sight, surely. Fortunately, Hulda had never met Fallon. At least, not in human form.
Four years ago, Fallon, a Druid, had visited his family during their stay in England, though Hulda had only ever met the now-woman in hawk form. They’d returned to Blaugdone Island not long afterward, and unbeknownst to anyone in Owein’s family, Fallon had traveled across the entire width of the Atlantic Ocean to follow them there, merely because she found Owein interesting—or so she claimed. He had wondered, on occasion, if it was more than that. But it was speculation he never let himself dwell on. Fallon was kind, free spirited, and beautiful, but Owein had promised himself to someone else shortly after they met. So, in the end, her reasons didn’t matter, unless Cora decided to enact the mercy clause in their betrothal contract, allowing her to marry another wizard of her choosing, so long as he met her family’s approval, before she turned eighteen. If she had ... well, she’d kept it from her letters.
Cora would turn eighteen in August.
No one on the island knew Fallon was here. Sometimes she wasn’t; the Druid woman, a year Owein’s senior—physically—came and went as she pleased, sometimes staying longer, sometimes leaving for longer, either to explore the New World or to visit her kin back in Ireland. This time, she’d been gone nearly three months.
Owein understood Fallon’s need to roam, but he missed her, regardless. She was his dearest friend, had become one before he’d regained his ability to speak. She’d helped him overcome the darkness that had settled deep in his mind during his centuries as a house, stagnant, solitary, and anything but free. Fallon was an undimmable light, pure and simple.
Fallon grabbed her wrist and yanked down on her right arm, trying to get the deformation from her own alteration spell to vanish faster. Her magic worked differently from Owein’s; he could warp the objects around him, but Fallon could only warp herself. The Druids of old, so she said, could transform into any animal they desired. Fallon only had the two—a dog and a hawk—but that still made her incredibly strong. All the Druids were. Like the English nobility, they tended to keep to themselves and those like them, which had helped protect their magic over generations. Merritt’s magic could have made him a Druid, had he chosen that path.
Fallon’s shoulder popped into place. Sighing, she rolled her head one way, then the other. “What’d I miss?”
He shrugged and started walking toward the coastline. “Not much. Ellis is fat now—”
“So she’s finally cute?” Fallon jogged to catch up, clasping her hands behind her back.
Owein snorted. “She’s finally cute. I’ve read some books, studied some French”—worked on etiquette, but Fallon cared even less for table arrangements and hat tippings than Owein did, so he didn’t share. “Planted two almond trees.”
“Oh!” She danced forward and turned, walking backward on her bare feet so she could face him. “They’ll smell wonderful in the spring. Probably won’t grow fruit for a few years. How old are they?”
“Um.” Owein held his hand at his hip. “About this old.”
“Few years,” she confirmed.
“Bring me anything?”
“You know a boot is the most I can carry, and not that far.” She prodded him in the shoulder. Fallon could shift into a hawk, but not a large hawk. She couldn’t fly the entire way to Ireland and back; she usually stowed away on a ship. People didn’t ask birds for tickets.
Twisting on her toes like a ballerina, Fallon held out her arms and let herself collapse on a thick patch of grass and clover, startling a grasshopper as she landed. “Summer is better here.”
“Not summer yet.” Owein sat beside her, folding his legs in front of him.
“Semantics.” She wiggled over and rested her head on Owein’s knee. “The skies are wider, clearer. Bluer.”
Owein tilted his head back, looking into the depths of sky. He’d said something similar to Cora. What would she think of this place? Would she find it as enchanting as she’d imagined it, or would it be too quaint, too cozy, too simple?
He glanced down for a second, taking in his body. Oliver’s body. Had Oliver liked summers? Thoughts of the boy still crossed his mind, even four years later. Owein’s life affected a few, but how many had been broken by Oliver’s death? Did they feel betrayed that someone else lived on in his stead?
“I wonder,” he said, neck still craned, “where the blue ends and the black begins.”
“Where the stars nest, I guess.”
“It’s refraction,” he went on. “It’s all the same sky, but when the sun rises, its light refracts off particles in the sky, only giving it the illusion of blueness, really. Bright enough that the stars appear to vanish, but they’re all there still. And the out there is still infinitely black.”
When Fallon didn’t answer, he looked down, meeting her gaze. She lifted a hand and flicked his forehead with her thumb and middle finger. “You take the whimsy out of everything, Owein Mansel.”
The corner of his lip ticked upward. “It’s science, Fallon.”
“My point exactly.”
A small flock of blackbirds took off behind him. Twisting, Owein glanced northward, seeing the faintest movement on the short dock there. “Hulda’s home.”
Fallon’s head shifted in his lap, and by the time he looked back, she’d transformed into a terrier again, shaking back and forth to get free of the dress. Owein grasped it and pulled it off, shaking dog hair from it before folding it into a tight square. “I’ll leave this here for you.”
Fallon huffed.
“They won’t care.” Owein had said as much countless times before. It wasn’t Owein’s choice to hide Fallon’s identity. She valued her freedom above anything else, including the rules of society. And while they had more laxity in America, it might not do to have Owein spending so much time alone with a woman. Out on the island, in his room, in the dark ...
Still, only Hulda might mind, and she could be convinced. But Fallon wanted freedom, and so he gifted her secrecy for however long she wanted it.
Owein scratched behind her ear, and Fallon licked his cheek. Then he stood, brushed off his pants, and headed back.
Hulda stormed into the house, jostling Ellis in her sling nearly enough to wake her. Hearing the Babineauxs in the kitchen, she tempered her fury and stomped upstairs, one hand absently going to Ellis’s bottom to steady her where the fabric pressed the babe to Hulda’s breast, the other shoving her spectacles up her nose. The sound of Merritt playing with the children almost stalled her rage. Almost.
Thundering through the doorway to the girls’ room, Hulda bit out, “Merritt. Jacob. Fernsby. ”
Merritt, on his hands and knees, glanced up through his mess of hair. Henri, on Merritt’s back, babbled something incoherent, and Hattie ignored Hulda’s presence, patting Merritt on the shoulder like she was trying to mold a corn cake.
“Oh dear” was his only response. He proceeded to shake back and forth until Henri slid off with a screech and a giggle. Merritt caught him around the waist, then grasped Hattie’s hand. “Quick! Baptiste has cookies!”
A second screech erupted from the children, and they quickly ran from the room, stirring Hulda’s green skirt as they went. It would take them ten minutes just to make their way down the stairs, giving Hulda plenty of time to scold this ... this ... rogue .
He stood, but before he could question her, she pointed to her neck, to a blemish she had only found halfway through the day with a mirror after Miss Steverus asked about it. She knew her finger jutted at its precise center, for her every nerve had radiated around it ever since. “What. Is. This? ”
Merritt’s gaze shifted to the spot.
Then he grinned.
“Insolent man!” she spat. “How dare you let me go into town with this on my neck!” The red, speckled mark felt like it grew in size as she pointed to it, so Hulda whipped her hand away, instead pointing the accusing finger at Merritt.
He shrugged. “You didn’t seem to mind when I gave it to you.”
Her eyes bugged at him. Her dear, terrible husband didn’t make her blush nearly as much as he once did, but he still managed to shock her with pure audacity alone.
Glancing over her shoulder to ensure there were no eavesdroppers or small fingers that might get caught in the door, Hulda stepped into the room and kicked the door closed with her heel. “At the very least, you could have alerted me before I left the house this morning! Miss Steverus acted oblivious, but surely she knew what it was! She had to lend me her chemisette!”
Merritt burst out laughing. “Oh dear.”
After closing the distance between them, she smacked his shoulder. “I’m relieved you find the situation so jocular .”
Merritt took her hand, moved it out of the way, and pressed a kiss to her mouth. “I’m sorry, love. I honestly didn’t notice it. You know I pay attention to other things when you’re getting dressed in the morning.”
His charms alleviated her humiliation a fraction. She tried to thwack him again, but his grip tightened, stalling her.
“ And Ellis overwhelmed her diaper, if you remember. Kept me a bit busy.”
The logic wound her down to a reasonable level. Straightening, Hulda took a deep breath. Ellis wriggled against her, waking. “I ... do recall that. But still.”
With his other hand, Merritt brushed his thumb over the stain on her neck. “I’ll aim lower next time,” he offered. Then, grinning, added, “Or I can give you one on the other side to even it out.”
She snorted, half in anger, half in amusement. “Add a few in between, and I’ll convince Miss Steverus you tried to hang me.”
Leaning down, Merritt pressed a kiss to the mark, sending cool shivers down Hulda’s neck and into her shoulders. She loved how his touch still did that. Not that she would tell him in this moment. He was not properly chagrined.
Ellis mewed. Sighing, Hulda pulled away and, dropping the black bag on her shoulder to the floor, crossed the room to sit in the rocking chair at its corner, undoing the ties of the sling around her. “Anything exciting happen while I was away?”
He shrugged and started picking up the toys that had been slung around the room. “Wrote two chapters in my book—short chapters, but still two. Owein got a letter from Cora. Outside of that ... same as usual. You?”
“Are you going to read them to me?”
“Tonight.”
“The letter?”
Merritt shrugged. “He hasn’t mentioned what it said, if he’s read it. He’s been pretty closed off about the letters the last few months.” He glanced toward the window. “I wonder if he’s nervous, though he still sends out just as many as he receives. Admittedly, I’m tempted to sneak in there and read them myself. I know he saves them.”
“But you are far too honorable a person to snoop in his belongings.” Hulda unbuttoned the front of her dress as Ellis began to wail.
“Unfortunately.” The corner of his lip ticked upward. “And if he caught me, he could destroy me with a tip of a hat.”
“Fortunately, or unfortunately, Owein has adopted your distaste for millinery.” She repositioned herself, Ellis finding the breast quickly, silencing her cries. The babe sucked like she hadn’t been fed all day, even though she’d eaten on the tram on the way to Portsmouth. Hulda considered for a moment. “Perhaps I’m being too hard on him.”
But Merritt shook his head. “He needs to learn these things. The more he knows, the better he’ll fare. I should talk to him. Again.” He knelt on the carpet beside the chair and gently clasped her ankle. “How are you faring?”
Hulda glanced to the door, but the hallway outside remained quiet—an increasingly rare occurrence in this house. “Myra is preparing for the annual inspection of the facility.”
The “facility” had been Myra Haigh’s surreptitious—and very illegal—project while she’d been director of the Boston Institute for the Keeping of Enchanted Rooms, or BIKER for short. It was a ghastly place carrying on clandestine research regarding the hopeful synthesizing of magic. It also housed the remains of Silas Hogwood’s corpse. Though the Ohio laboratory had been sanctioned by the US government two years ago, they kept its existence strictly confidential, and Hulda didn’t speak of it where anyone outside Merritt could hear. Myra wasn’t even listed as an employee on any documentation, not for BIKER and not for the facility. Not only because the world believed her to be dead, but because her name had been tied to misuse of funds with BIKER before Hulda had taken over. The discovery of Myra’s involvement was the only thing that could still get Hulda in trouble, though Hulda only went out to the place once or twice a year and could feign ignorance on the matter. “Otherwise, we’ve maintained the customary.”
“What exciting lives we lead, hm?”
She met his eyes, then twisted a lock of his hair around her finger. He’d nearly cut it last year, but she’d grown so attached to the unfashionable style that she couldn’t bear the thought of it sheared, though his mother insisted he should look more professional, since his books had become popular enough to beg his attendance at readings. “I would much rather have routine than disarrangement. We’ve both had enough exigency for a lifetime.”
He laughed. “I’m sorry, what?”
She rolled her eyes. Sometimes she wondered if he really didn’t understand her or if he merely enjoyed pestering her. “Enough trouble, danger, perilous adventure, what have you.”
“But it makes for such good inspiration.”
Indeed, the villain in Merritt’s latest novel, which he’d yet to title, was a necromancer. Though the differences between her and Silas Hogwood ended there. Better safe than sorry, in any situation, and though the Fernsbys were well out of the mire, they both preferred not to hint at any ties to the magic-stealing necromancer of their past.
The thought of necromancy pulled Hulda’s mind toward Owein. He—or, rather, the body he’d inherited—came from a strong necromantic family. Technically, he was a second cousin of Silas Hogwood, and nephew of the queen’s necromancer, William Blightree. But Owein had yet to discover any sort of necromantic spells in his person, and he’d certainly tried. Usually, when one was aware of their magic—she glanced at Merritt—it manifested by puberty. Then again, it wasn’t uncommon for magic to skip generations, even in powerful families. Nelson Sutcliffe, Merritt’s biological father, had no spells to speak of. Neither did Danielle, Hulda’s sister.
“I was thinking of adding an enchanted house into the mix,” Merritt added.
Pattering feet on the stairs announced Mabol—Hattie couldn’t run with an even rhythm yet—and she fumbled with the knob before pushing the door open. “Babby says dinner is ready and come downstairs.”
Hulda smiled at the child’s nickname for their loyal cook. Meeting Merritt’s gaze, she said, “I’ll be right down.”
Merritt nodded, stifling a groan as he rose back to his feet, then promptly stuck his head out the window. He lingered there a moment before coming back in.
“Winkers out there?” she asked, referring to the mourning dove Merritt had made friends with several springs ago, when she’d built a nest right outside his office window. She’d returned to it every year since, and he’d trained her to recognize the family, though he’d keyed her mostly to Owein, who often tromped about the island to Lord knew where. He knew sighting the dove was a signal to come home.
“Indeed she was.” Crossing over to her once more, he placed a gentle kiss atop her head before following their very impatient eldest daughter downstairs. “I’m coming, I’m coming!”
“If we’re not on time, the table will break ,” Mabol insisted, and Hulda clucked her tongue. The child had shown some affinity for augury, but once she’d realized it was special, she had developed the tendency to invent future events, usually in an attempt to get something she wanted.
Leaning back, Hulda rocked for a few minutes until Ellis released her latch, then brought the babe to her shoulder while she made herself modest. Patting Ellis’s back, Hulda made her own way downstairs just as Owein came through the front door.
“How are your studies?” Hulda asked.
Owein merely shrugged. “Want me to take her?”
“I’m all right, thank you.”
The others were already seated—including the Babineauxs—and Hulda took her place at Merritt’s right, while Owein sat at the far end of the table. After her parents insisted she do so, Mabol offered a quick grace:
“Lord, thank you for potatoes and bugs and blue dresses, amen.”
Hulda was about to chide the child, but Mabol got a distant look in her eyes as Merritt served himself a helping of carrots. It lasted only a moment before she blinked. While it was still unclear if Hattie or Ellis had inherited any magic from their parents, Mabol had garnered a portion of Hulda’s augury—she’d been correct with her predictions too often for it to be happenstance.
“Sorry about your owie, Papa.” She frowned.
Merritt, hand halfway to a bowl of mashed potatoes, paused. “What owie, Mabol?”
But the girl had already interested herself in the chicken Beth had spooned onto her plate and offered no answer. Hulda frowned. “Perhaps watch your toes this week,” she offered, noticing from the corner of her eye Owein placing some chicken on a second plate, which he stowed away on his lap. But when she craned to get a better look, the second plate had vanished.
She wouldn’t put it past him to have hidden the thing beneath the floorboards. It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed such behavior. But Owein was a private child—no, that wasn’t right. A private man , however hard it was for her to accept the notion. And pestering him about it would only drive him away, so Hulda let it go. As long as there was enough food to go around and all the china made its way back to the cabinets, she’d be content.
Baptiste passed the carrots to her, and like mother like daughter, she nearly dropped it as the pattern the vegetables made in the bowl ignited her augury. But she didn’t see any “owie,” or even Merritt—she saw a man walking past their vegetable garden, coming toward the house.
“Hulda?” Beth asked.
Hulda blinked. She’d never been strong in her gift, but she’d garnered better control of it over the years. She stared at the carrots, willing the image up again, but it resisted her, and she wasn’t going to forbid the rest of the table root vegetables just so she could play with them and incite her soothsaying.
“A man on the island,” she said. “I didn’t know him.”
“Solicitor?” Merritt asked.
She spooned carrots onto her plate, distracted. “No. He wasn’t dressed well ... but ... there was something vaguely familiar about him.” She turned her thoughts over, trying to place what she’d seen of his face, but to no avail.
“Time will tell.” He took the carrots from her.
Time would tell, indeed. And yet a small, niggling feeling in Hulda’s chest had her worried she might have jinxed herself with her earlier comment about routine. Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, she cut into her chicken and focused on casting both work and magic out of her mind.
At least, she would until she finished her supper.