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“Heather?”

“My wife,” he clarified. “I was talking to her—don’t remember what about—while she was in there, and then suddenly she couldn’t get out and I couldn’t get in. You know”—he laughed—“I didn’t even think it was magic. Magic’s all but dead. I thought ... I mean, a ghost is more believable, ain’t it? Newton’s the one who said, ‘Maybe it’s magic.’ He came over after I hurt myself trying to bust through the spell with a hammer. He’s close by. We’re all pretty close by.”

“What with the kinetic tram and all,” Merritt supplied.

Sheepishness softened Hiram’s features. “I said that, didn’t I?”

“You’re nervous. It’s fine. It’s new.” Merritt brushed a fly off his knee. Glanced up just in time to see Fallon, still in her hawk form, dive in a perfect line to the island. A beat later, she took off again, a mouse clutched in her talons. “I was really confused when it happened to me. Came at a stressful time, too. I had a tutor come in from Boston trying to help me, but ... it was a mess.”

He glanced at the younger trees on the island, replacements for the ones he’d ripped out in his unexpected, potent bout of chaocracy when he was thirty-one. It still boggled his mind, that. He had so little of that magic in his system, and even at thirty-six, he struggled to use it at all. It was too diluted, too confusing. All the magic built up over three decades came out all at once, and ever since, he could barely bend a spoon. “Wardship was actually the easiest for me to get a handle on.”

Hiram’s eyes widened. “You havemore?”

“Communion, yes. Took me a long time to get that one under control.” Now he only heard the voices of nature if he wanted to, unless they were speaking directly to him, as in the case of Fallon, or, often, Owein’s dogs when they were bored, or Winkers telling him to get away from her nest. “A little chaocracy, but not enough to note.”

Hiram whistled. “Wow. Think I have those?”

“My wife would love to dig through your family tree for any notable markers. She works at the Boston Institute for the Keeping of Enchanted Rooms.”

“Never heard of it.”

“I’ll get you her card before you leave.”

Hiram ran a hand back through his hair. “Maybe one thing at a time. So. Wardship?”

Merritt leaned back, considering. He hadn’t had a lot of time to prepare, what with the reappearance of Silas Hogwood. Sitting here, looking out over the reeds and cherries, life felt normal again, minus the occasional blue uniform passing by the house or sailing in the bay.“For me, the magic was tied to my emotions. For wardship, specifically to my protective instincts. It would flare up when I felt them. Have you experienced anything like that?”

“Honestly, I’ve only been able to repeat it a few times.”

“What were you doing when you locked—Heather, was it?—in the pantry? Can you recall any more details?”

Hiram drummed his hands on his knees. “Not really.”

“Try,” Merritt pressed.

Hiram continued drumming, but he closed his eyes. “It was early. Already milked the cow, though. We were talking ... about something. I don’t know what. I think her parents were coming in. I remember her panicking about what to serve them.” He smiled. “But at least I knew she wouldn’t starve, it being the pantry and all. We had a lot to do; they live in Vermont, and we hadn’t seen them since the wedding. We don’t have kids, you know, and that’s always been a sore spot for Heather. Only been married a few years, but it’s a sore spot for her, because kids should come sooner, yeah? So she wanted the visit to be perfect for them. I think she feels like a failure, and she wanted everything to look perfect for them at the house, for stones to be laid in the walk and all sorts of stuff. At least, that was the issue at hand before it became being locked in a pantry by a magical buffoon.”

Merritt considered this. Thought back to Gifford, the scholar from the Genealogical Society, and how the man had helped him. He had no clinical research on hand for his half brother to read, however, and he’d never found the research all that useful, besides. “Do you get along with her parents?”

“Oh, sure. They like me well enough, anyway. I think.” He swallowed. “I mean, Heather says they like me. I don’t ... I don’t know. It’s just, her pa was real quiet when I asked for her hand. Real quiet for a long time, like he was thinking about any other options they had. Heather’s the oldest in her family. And sometimes he still gets really quiet like that. And her mother looks at me a certain way. I wish I couldshow you. But if I did, you’d probably think I was imagining things. She tells me I’m imagining things. Heather, I mean.”

That was when Merritt noticed the fly had returned, but it wasn’t flying. Just sitting midair, running its front legs together as flies do.

“Hiram,” he murmured.

“But yeah, sure, they like me well enough. Didn’t like Heather moving to New York, but that’s New York’s problem, ain’t it?” He laughed softly.

“Hiram.”

“Yeah?”

Merritt gestured to the fly.

It took Hiram a beat to see it. “What about it?”

Patiently, Merritt leaned forward and knocked his fist on the small wardship spell that had formed, startling the fly away.

“Huh.” Hiram paused. “Oh, I did that, not you. Yeah?”