Boy of Chaotic Making (Whimbrel House, #3)

by Charlie N. Holmberg

Hulda had wanted to be a wife and mother since she was a little girl. She’d fantasized about romance and a babe in her arms throughout her adolescent years and into adulthood. She’d focused harder on her studies when she struggled to turn a beau’s eye, then dove into a very fulfilling career when it became apparent she was destined to live out her life as an old maid. Apparent for a time, at least.

This past Christmas had been one of the best in Merritt’s life, in part because he hadn’t spent it alone, and in part because Baptiste Babineaux was an absolute god in the kitchen.

Have you ever used an enchanted commode? It will change your life.”

I’ll marry a toad if it means getting my body back. Or a body back.

Owein mulled it over for a moment. He’d never really imagined himself as a father. Then again he’d never imagined himself as a dog, either.

When a vision had concluded, and moved itself from future to past, did its warnings still pertain to futurity?

“Nothing could keep a door from being tantalizing more than the presence of an apperceptive canine.” Merritt smirked. “I love it when you speak dictionary to me.”

It’s easier to deal with it, when I’m just a kid.

Anything past the nipple line would be excessive.

He really did hope no one was trying to kill him. Again.

“A man who can hear the thoughts of the creatures around him can never truly step out of their world.”

Sometimes, the gift of future-seeing is not seeing.”

“Nothing is really scary. We just make it that way in our heads. That’s what my mom said.” She glanced into the cave. “She’s dead now, but she wasn’t scared when she died. She was brave. So I’m always going to be brave. And Owein? Life is a lot easier being brave than being scared.”

“I mean, I’m not always brave. A lot of times I have to pretend. But pretending is kind of like practice. And the more you practice, the easier it gets.

Darkness, I mean. It’s just a part of the world. Part of life. It makes sense to me now. And my darkness . . . that’s a piece of my story, like a chapter in one of your books. I’m not supposed to tear it out. It makes me stronger. It adds to what I’m facing now, and what I’ll face in the future. It’s part of me, just like my legs or my magic or my mind.

“I am not laughing because another man has noticed you. I’m laughing because you’re so adorably uncomfortable about it.”

“Men are not usually interested in me.” “You surround yourself with foolish men. Which I thank you for.”

But he and Hulda were perfectly shaped cogs in a slightly eccentric clock. His future was and always would be with her.

Nothing in the States was as old or as regal as the things they passed, and he had a funny feeling they never would be. America was new and innovative, always looking to build quickly and expand, while England was a place that dug its roots deeper and deeper, so that nothing—a conqueror, a tsunami, an asteroid from space—could ever wipe it out.

Dogs didn’t cry. Not really. Not unless pollen, a fly, or the like flew into their eyes. But deep inside, a little boy remembered having hands, and he passed out of the cave and wept for sight of day.

She wanted to spend her life with a man who would challenge her, forcing her to stretch and evolve. Someone who made her think differently, who argued the other side, who made her laugh.

A person—or a dog—could learn a lot simply from listening.

“As I bind your hands, so are your lives bound in a union of love, trust, and devotion. Like the stars, your love should be a constant source of light, and like the earth, a foundation from which to grow.”

“May this knot remain forever tied, and may your hands always hold one another. Hold tightly during the storms of life, and be gentle as they nurture one another. I summon the spirits of the four quarters of our world, that this binding may be blessed by the powers of all creation. So let it be, amen.”

“I intend for her not to be happy for a good while. Perhaps I shall take her on as a ward.” She turned, directing the idea to Blightree. “Let her follow me around and do my bidding for a year or so. Give her a true taste of responsibility. I think she’ll not complain about her duties after that.”

“Ah, the joys of puberty. You haven’t gotten to experience that yet. What a way to greet humanity.”

“Hulda, I am a better man because of you. I am a found man. You have changed everything in my life for the better. I honestly don’t know how I lived before you. I want your face to be the first thing I see in the morning, and your voice to be the last I hear at night, forever and always. I will gladly haunt this house with you for eternity.”

“You have written me a happy ending, and I cannot fathom a better story than ours.”

It was probably the best day of Merritt’s life, but he was all about progress and intended to have even better ones to come.