Chapter 20
July 9, 1851, Boston, Massachusetts
Mabol screeched in delight as Merritt bounced her on his back. They were playing alligator, a game Mabol had invented after determining that a simple horse was not enough, though the child had never actually seen an alligator. Merritt, on his hands and knees, played the alligator, though he thought he still looked more like a horse. He wasn’t allowed to bite, only tickle. And if Mabol or Hattie could stay on his back long enough, it would put him to sleep, giving them a chance to run and hide.
No one had claimed Myra’s house yet. As far as Hulda knew, Myra had possessed no will the first time she’d died, let alone the second. A worry for another day. The empty home, small and covered in dust from neglect, provided a reprieve for the day. As for the game, there weren’t a lot of places for the children to hide, and not a lot of carpeting, which was murder on Merritt’s knees. So Mabol had determined that the alligator could not reach up on any furniture, and the chairs and single sofa were safe spaces. Needless to say, the others had evacuated the area fairly quickly.
He played because he didn’t want the children to worry. And truly, it got his mind off matters as well. Merritt was desperate for the time to pass and for someone in a uniform to walk through the doors and announce it was finally safe to return home.
Mabol clung to his neck, laughing in his ears while Hattie jumped on the sofa, and Merritt dramatized lethargy before collapsing on his stomach. Mabol rolled off him and climbed onto the sofa, telling Hattie rather loudly what their next strategy would entail.
That was when Merritt noticed Pankhurst entering through the back door, his face ghostly pale.
Merritt launched to his feet in an instant, earning a loud whine of protest from Mabol. “What’s happened?”
The question immediately drew Hulda’s, Owein’s, and Fallon’s attention—the three were in the kitchen, trying to put together some form of lunch. Ellis slept on Myra’s bed.
Pankhurst swallowed. He clutched a long column of selenite in his hand. “They found Silas.” His voice crept just above a whisper, and quavered. “But Blightree ... he cast out the wrong soul.”
Hulda gasped. “Charlie ... is gone?”
“Silas attacked. It’s Queen’s League, so of course we overwhelmed him.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his forehead. “Silas has left the Narragansett area. Fled south. He’s being followed.”
Mabol continued to complain, but thankfully fell silent when Merritt held out a hand to her. “But?”
“Blightree. He’s gravely injured.” More dabbing. “Gravely. Mirren said they’re taking him to Whimbrel House; it’s the closest refuge they have. She’s ... not sure he’s going to make it.”
“Not Blightree,” Owein murmured, leaning against the counter, sinking in like a flour sack with a hole in the bottom.
“You’ve no necromancers to help him,” Merritt stated. It wasn’t really a question.
“Powerful ones are quite rare.” Pankhurst folded the handkerchief into smaller and smaller portions. “Blightree’s sister may be of assistance, but we would have to send for her, and hope she makes it before Blightree passes. And she may not be able to come. The crown requires a royal necromancer. If they lose one, they will not want to lose the other. And ... Mrs. Mirren made it sound like it wasn’t a normal injury. I don’t know. I’m waiting to hear more.”
Merritt pressed his lips into a thin line. Sister. Was that perhaps Owein’s mother? Or, rather, Oliver Whittock’s mother? Yet it didn’t seem appropriate to ask.
“Surely there are doctors.” Hulda’s stiff voice quavered only a little.
“Yes, yes, we will do what we can.” Pankhurst looked at the handkerchief, seeming unsure what to do with it.
“Silas Hogwood is a formidable opponent.” Hulda fully bridled her business voice, though worry lines marred her forehead, and her eyes glimmered. Merritt wanted to comfort her, but she wouldn’t want that right now, especially not in front of the others. So he sat on the sofa with the girls, who had fortunately occupied themselves pulling small feathers from a pillow. “Even without his ... dolls , for lack of a more definitive term, he was bred to be strong. And now he’s insane.” She straightened even more—so much so it had to be uncomfortable. “Myra ... before she passed, she commented on it. If I understand madness, I’m not sure it will abate with the separation from Charlie Temples, may he rest in peace.”
“I fear,” Pankhurst added, “that Charlie’s spirit in that body acted as a sort of binding on Silas.”
“And now he’s gone,” Owein muttered, arms folded across his chest, eyes downcast.
Fallon gingerly touched his shoulder. Looked to Hulda, then to Merritt. “The Druids will take you in,” she offered again. “All of you.”
“Thank you, Fallon.” Hulda smoothed her own worry lines. “But I fear nowhere is safe. Anywhere we go, we put others at risk, unless Silas Hogwood has finally learned to value his own life over revenge. But I find that very unlikely. I researched homes with water spells before. To see if there was any way that man might regain his magical thieving.”
“Did you find anything?” Pankhurst asked.
“It’s not common,” she said. “There is one in Canada with the enchantment, though I don’t believe it’s the right spell for preserving his victims. There’s another in Belgium.”
Pankhurst nodded. “I will send word as soon as I am able and ensure both are heavily guarded. As soon as another of my colleagues arrives here. I’m under strict orders not to leave you alone. Mr. Mansel, particularly.”
Owein bristled at the comment. “While I appreciate Cora’s concern—”
“My boy,” Pankhurst cut in, “those orders are straight from the queen herself.”
Pressing his mouth into a thin line, Owein occupied his gaze with Myra’s countertop.
“Hulda ...” Merritt worded his inquiry carefully. “When Silas came to BIKER ... is there any chance he knows about Myra’s research?”
Hulda frowned. “No. Surely not. And even if he did, he wouldn’t know how to access it.” She glanced at Fallon. “I will send word, however. It will be difficult without Myra as a liaison, but I can reach one of the employees there, if the government hasn’t already.”
They stood in silence for a moment, save for Hattie giggling when Mabol tickled her with a feather.
We have to move the children, Merritt realized. His insides turned to oil at the thought, but there was no dismissing it. They can’t stay with us until Silas is handled.
His eyes stung. He glanced to Hulda. Wondered if she could read it on his face, with the way tears danced above her lower eyelashes. But where could they go where they’d be safe?
“Hulda.” Owein pushed off the counter. “I need to talk with you. Privately.”
Tearing her eyes from Merritt, Hulda nodded. Stepped into the bedroom where Ellis slept. Owein squeezed Fallon’s shoulder before following.
He shut the door so quietly Merritt couldn’t hear it latch.
Hulda wrung her hands together, staring at Ellis until she saw the baby’s chest rise and fall. The windows were locked. She had checked. She’d even blocked them with pillows. Had kept the door open so she could see her youngest daughter at a glance from the kitchen and ensure she was still safe. They were all still safe, but for how long?
Owein spoke gently, his back to the door. “The serum enhances existing magic, and it’s derived from bones, yes?”
Hulda turned, ignoring a chill. “Owein, now is not—”
“Hulda.” His sober countenance matched the austerity of his tone.
She sighed. “From what I understand, yes. I’ve no active role in the research. It was Myra’s ...” Her throat closed on the name.
“And if the magic matches, the enhancement is stronger?”
She drew her brows together. “The blood has to match to avoid what you went through, theoretically. The magic ... yes. Silas’s serum would do nothing for me, because he has no soothsaying ability, unless I had something latent in my bloodline that matched with his. Which I do not.”
“But Merritt believes magic is tied to spirit first and blood second.”
She searched Owein’s pale face, his hard gray eyes. “Why, Owein? What are you thinking?”
He took a step away from the door. “I have an idea that will help us. That won’t hurt anyone else.”
Hulda balled her hands into fists. “You are not going back to Ohio.”
But he shook his head. “No, I want to make my own serum. Something that will give me an edge over Silas, when he comes back.”
When he comes back, not if . Shivers coursed up Hulda’s spine. Exasperated, she asked, “How, Owein? We can’t very well draw it from your soul and amplify it.”
“We won’t need to. We’re going to make it from my body. From my first body,” he clarified. “I want to go back to Blaugdone Island and dig up my grave.”