Spellbreaker

CHAPTER 15

Aspecting was different from other professions in most European countries. It was the only means for a poor person to change his fortune completely.

That is, few members of the lower class could afford the tutelage, let alone the drops each spell cost. But if a man showed enough promise, and showed it to the right people, he could get a sponsor. And if he excelled to mastership, he could make a good deal of money doing magic, and even earn himself a title.

He, Elsie thought, because women of the lower class were never given such opportunities. Only elite ladies were considered for aspecting, as with the Duke of Kent’s daughter.

She considered this as they entered a modest house just outside a sugar-beet farm in Ipswich. Master Jacques Pierrelo was a master aspector at the Temporal Atheneum. That meant he was wealthy. But this was not the home of a wealthy man. There weren’t even warding spells around the place to protect it—and given the recent rise in crime against spellmakers, that was unwise.

The estate belonged to Master Pierrelo’s brother, who was a wainwright and not a spellmaker. It was Bacchus’s—Mr. Kelsey’s—understanding that the brother had inherited it from their deceased father. Which meant this was likely the home Master Pierrelo had grown up in. It wasn’t a run-down house, or a small house, really. Not like the cottages dotting the Duke of Kent’s land. It was just a little smaller than the stonemasonry shop and all its adjoining rooms, and while its architecture was old, the furniture was nice. Elsie couldn’t help but think the master aspector had been responsible for that.

That made her like him a little more.

Their guide, a cheerful woman in her fifties, introduced herself as Mrs. Pierrelo, but Elsie suspected she was the aspector’s sister-in-law rather than his wife.

“Oh yes.” She ushered Elsie and Mr. Kelsey deeper into the living area. “He mentioned you might come.” She looked at Mr. Kelsey when she said it, but her eyes flitted to Elsie, silently assessing the reason for her presence. The question in them faded into a jolly sort of warmth.

She’d likely concluded they were married. Well, Elsie wasn’t going to bother correcting her. Better let the falsehood lie than explain the truth, especially since they had no chaperone.

“He’s just outside,” said Mrs. Pierrelo. “Make yourselves comfortable in the parlor, and I’ll let him know you’re here.”

If the family had children, they had grown up and moved out already. The parlor Mrs. Pierrelo led them into looked to be a small bedroom converted into a sitting space. Elsie’s own bedroom was a mite larger, but this space was comfortable. It had been used recently, for red embers burned in the little hearth, driving back the chill of the rain. Mrs. Pierrelo dropped two quarter logs on it before hurrying on her way.

“Cozy.” Elsie selected a wooden rocking chair to sit in. Had Mrs. Pierrelo used this very chair to rock her babes to sleep?

Bacchus eyed her.

“What?” she asked.

“I’m trying to determine if you’re jesting or not.”

Elsie stuck up her nose. “I do think it’s cozy. Comfortable. Quaint, in the best of ways. I’m not the one living in a duke’s mansion, Mr. Kelsey.”

He nodded, bemused. After spending two days and a night in a carriage together—they’d stayed at a small inn, in separate rooms, the night before—Elsie was starting to understand his subtle tones and nuances. For instance, three days ago, she might not have translated his fairly stoic countenance as bemused.

She had not told him, but from Colchester to the Highwoods, he had slipped into his Bajan accent.

Mr. Kelsey’s bemusement wore off quickly, however. He paced the room, rubbing his hands together as though cold. Nerves.

“It will be quick.” She noted a loose thread on the cuff of her left sleeve. “I’ll see what it is, take it off if necessary, and the spell will be back on swift as a blink.”

She expected him to retort that he was aware, or that he was not a child, but his only response was a barely perceptible nod. His lack of a reaction only made her more nervous for him.

Elsie’s heart jumped when footsteps sounded on the stairs. She rose from her chair, clamping her hands in front of her. Dropping them. Clutching them behind her.

She dropped them again when a well-dressed man roughly the age of Mrs. Pierrelo entered the room. His hair was a faded brown and thinning, his eyes dark and large. He must have been handsome as a youth.

Bacchus met him instantly, extending a hand in greeting. “Master Pierrelo, thank you for meeting with me.”

“Of course. The plans were already laid; it’s of little inconvenience to me.” He spoke with the slightest trace of a French accent, which made Elsie even more curious about his life story. Glancing at Elsie, he added, “I see you’ve married since I last saw you.”

Elsie glanced away, but Mr. Kelsey was not perturbed. “No, you are mistaken. This is the spellbreaker I’ve hired to assist us.”

Elsie pasted on a smile and offered her best shallow curtsy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Master Pierrelo. Don’t mind the dress; I’m afraid I’m the only one the institution could spare at such short notice.”

The older man paused for just a moment before nodding. “Of course, Miss—”

“Camden,” she said, trying not to let her voice sound tight. There was less of a chance either she or Mr. Kelsey would slip up if she used her own name, and besides, this man wasn’t going to investigate her. He had no reason to.

“A second spell, you believe?” He turned to Mr. Kelsey.

“Yes. A spellbreaker visiting the Duke of Kent noticed it. But we cannot determine what it is until your spell is removed.” He hesitated. “You’re sure it is not one of yours?”

Master Pierrelo shook his head. “As I said in the letter, I only placed one spell.” Then, meeting Mr. Kelsey’s eyes, he added, “Your father didn’t pay me for any more, lad. Though I suppose you’ve outgrown that term, hmm?”

He smiled at his own joke. Mr. Kelsey was a full head taller than the master aspector and a good deal wider as well.

“All right, then.” Master Pierrelo cracked two of his knuckles. “This shouldn’t take long, I presume. Would you prefer to sit or stand?”

“Standing is fine, thank you.” He moved away from the fire. Looked at Elsie. There was something new in his gaze, although she couldn’t quite decipher what it meant.

“Right,” she mumbled, moving in front of him. He nodded his permission, and Elsie touched his chest. His heart was racing; he was nervous. And—

“Oh dear.” Her cheeks warmed. She hadn’t quite thought this through, had she?

“What’s wrong?” asked Master Pierrelo.

Lowering her hand, Elsie cleared her throat. “Well, I didn’t think of it before, Mr. Kelsey”—she tugged on that loose thread on her sleeve—“but I’m afraid . . . I’ll need you to remove your shirt.”

Her ears warmed. She stepped back to give him space. “That is, I presume the spell is on the skin.”

“Of course,” said Master Pierrelo.

Once again, Bacchus moved easily with the change in tide. If he felt awkward, he didn’t show it. He slipped off his coat and draped it on the nearest chair. Then unbuttoned his waistcoat. Laid it atop the chair as well.

Elsie wanted to look away, but she couldn’t bring herself to. Because I’m a professional, she reminded herself.

Or at least, she was pretending to be.

He pulled off his ascot, then tugged off his linen shirt by grabbing the back of its collar.

Oh my.

Elsie put both hands on the back of her neck to cool her flush. If she let her cheeks redden, she would look an absolute fool before both of them!

The only man Elsie had ever seen shirtless since the workhouse was Ogden. And while he was stout and in good health . . . it wasn’t the same.

Bacchus Kelsey was not bad looking in the slightest.

She glanced at the floor, giving herself a few seconds of composure. When she thought she had it, she straightened her back and forced nonchalance into every fiber of her person.

“My apologies,” Bacchus whispered.

Her gaze flitted to his face and away again. She waved a dismissive hand. “All part of the job, Mr. Kelsey.” Taking half a step forward, she attempted to sense the spell. Bacchus’s masculine scent, the one edged with citrus, was strong, but so was the earthiness of the temporal spell. It was a master-level spell, certainly. And though she couldn’t see it with her eyes, she knew it was a large rune that began halfway down his chest and ended an inch above his navel. The start of a trail of dark hair sat just above the waist of his trousers—

Good God, woman, focus! She placed her hand on the rune. Bacchus jerked just slightly—her hands must have been cold. She focused on the chill in her fingers so she wouldn’t think of the warmth of his flesh or its firmness, because if she thought about those things, the blush would only worsen. But of course Elsie’s thoughts strayed as they were wont to do, her mind moving from the temperature of her fingers to the mesmerizing contrast of their skin tones—hers fair and almost peachy, his a rich bronze. The spell buzzed beneath her touch, as though it knew its demise was nigh. Beneath it lay another. Something she could sense like a person watching her, but couldn’t yet see, hear, smell, or feel.

“Expertly made, Master Pierrelo.” She focused her attention on the work at hand. “I feel almost sorry to remove it.”

The compliment did its job; the master smiled.

“Ready?” she whispered.

Bacchus nodded, his gaze never leaving her.

She ran her fingertips down the length of the rune, testing the metaphorical knot and searching for the start of the pattern that would unwind it. Bacchus’s skin pebbled under her touch.

Don’t think about that. Focus.

It took her a moment longer. There. Bottom left. Then bottom, center, top left, top right. It took her a few heartbeats to find each thread, and she paused between the sixth and seventh—this was a master spell, after all, and the Cowls had never hired her to vanquish something so complex. The spell resisted her, complacent in its roost on Bacchus’s skin. It was as though it grumbled, No, I’m helping him. See? But Elsie picked at it, bringing up her other hand to finish the job.

To the eyes of the two aspectors, it probably looked like she was playing make-believe. But the unwinding had done its work—the rune’s scent soured before it pulsed a faint shimmer she could just barely see as it gave up its life.

A second, darker symbol appeared beneath it, a faded blue tinted green from the pigments of Bacchus’s skin. No shimmer, as though someone had laid it in reverse, and the glow was beneath the skin, not above it.

“Oh.” She took a half step backward, looking at it. It was unlike any other rune she’d ever seen. It sat almost like a child’s drawing that had failed to wash clean. It was a third of the size of the temporal spell. Elsie didn’t need to touch it to see it was a master-level spell. And the fact that she could see it meant it was physical.

“What is it?” Bacchus asked, his voice strangled. She thought she could hear his heartbeat now.

“I don’t know,” she confessed. “I’ve never seen its like before. And it doesn’t . . . There’s no light to it.”

“Light?” asked Master Pierrelo.

Elsie nodded. “Physical runes have a sort of shimmer to them. This one looks like it was smeared on with wet chalk. I . . . Do you have something I can write with?”

“Physical?” Bacchus asked, touching the rune Elsie knew he couldn’t see.

The master aspector ducked away from her peripheral vision, but she didn’t follow him with her eyes. She didn’t want to look away from the rune. It didn’t pose any danger to her, but it was strange. She didn’t like it.

“What’s wrong?” Bacchus asked.

She shook her head, trying to get her thoughts around it. Before Master Pierrelo returned, she whispered, “It’s like someone didn’t want you to find it.”

His muscles tensed.

“Here.” Master Pierrelo handed her a piece of stationery and a charcoal nub. Backing up to the chair that had half of Bacchus’s wardrobe slung over it, she leaned on the armrest and sketched the rune to the best of her ability.

“Do you recognize it?” She held up the drawing so both men could see.

Both brows furrowed. “No,” Bacchus said.

Master Pierrelo shook his head. “One doesn’t need a knowledge of runes to use magic; they’re just an invisible force to mark that it happened. They’re the language of magic itself, I suppose.”

“Information about them is freely shared?” Elsie asked. “I could research this?”

Master Pierrelo nodded. “I believe so, yes. At one of the atheneums.”

Atheneums that Elsie didn’t have access to. Biting her lip, Elsie set the drawing down and approached Bacchus once more. She didn’t bother asking for permission this time; she planted both hands atop that dark rune.

Firm, indeed.

She hesitated.

“What’s wrong?” Bacchus’s voice leaked genuine concern.

“This is one hell of a knot,” she said. Master Pierrelo clucked his tongue in disapproval at her language. “Perhaps we should return to London and learn what it is before I try to remove it.”

Try. Although she was quite sure she could. Elsie had never met a spell she couldn’t untie. Some just took more effort than others.

“No.” Bacchus’s voice was sharp. “No, I want it gone. It was hidden and placed without my knowledge. I cannot see how it would be beneficial.”

Master Pierrelo shrugged. “Perhaps it was instituted by your parents for good reason when you were a child.”

But Bacchus shook his head. “I want it gone.”

Elsie looked up at him. This close, with her hands still pressed against his skin—it felt intimate. And yet it didn’t bother her. No, just the opposite.

But seeing the trepidation in Bacchus’s countenance, she pulled free of the reverie and set to work, prodding the rune, searching for its end. It was well hidden, blast it. She carefully moved her fingers toward its center, searching. She probably looked like a new lover who didn’t know what she was doing, but she had to find the end. She tried again, slower this time.

There.

The threads were as fine as strands of hair, and the last one had been tucked artfully under the others. Like the aspector who had placed it did have a knowledge of runes and had crafted the spell in order to deliberately conceal its beginning and end. This confirmed her suspicion: whoever had set this spell had not intended for it to be found.

Pausing, she met Bacchus’s eyes once more. He studied her intently. “Are you sure?” she asked.

“Yes.” His pulse was like a hummingbird under her hands. “Please.”

She tugged at the thread. It took her just as long to find the second, and then third, but the more she unwound, the easier it was to locate the next loop. As she got to the end of the knot, the rune finally sparkled.

Then it vanished.

Bacchus gasped and stumbled backward.

“What?” she asked, whipping her hands back like she’d angered a snake. Her eyes moistened. Oh God, I’ve killed him, I’ve done something terrible, I’ll never forgive myself! “What, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

Master Pierrelo rushed forward to steady him. Bacchus’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Stray strands of hair fell from the tie at the nape of his neck.

He inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring.

“Bacchus?” Elsie squeaked. Her hands trembled.

He held up a hand in reassurance. “I’m not hurt, Elsie. It’s fine.” He straightened and, somehow, was taller than he’d been before. His back stood straighter, his shoulders squarer.

Her eyes darted between Bacchus and Master Pierrelo. “Then what?”

“It was like . . . like something punched me.” Bacchus touched his diaphragm, right where the second spell had been. “But . . . in a good way.”

“Are you well?” Master Pierrelo asked, going as far as to touch Bacchus’s forehead.

“I am.” He shook free of the temporal aspector’s hand. “I’m . . . very well.” He lifted his hands, flexed them. They looked darker, their tan color richer. And . . . yes, it was the same for his face as well. As though he’d just spent the entire day in the July sun. His eyes were remarkably bright as well; so clear, so green.

Elsie’s brain was a jumble of vines. “What do you mean?”

“I mean.” He lifted his arms, lowered them. “I feel like I’ve finally rested. Like my body has been working at half capacity until this moment. I’m not . . . I’m not tired anymore.”

Elsie’s lips parted. Bacchus had often looked fatigued, although he had explained it to be a side effect of his disease.

“Mr. Kelsey,” Master Pierrelo began slowly, “I am no doctor, but . . . I do not think you have polio.”

Bacchus snapped to attention like the man had thrown water in his face. “What?”

Master Pierrelo rubbed his chin. “Do you feel sick?”

He paused. “No. I . . . don’t think I’ve ever felt this hale in my entire life.” He ran his hands down his chest, up his arms, as though his body were completely new to him. His eyes were round and wondering, more amazed than a child’s on Christmas Day. Elsie’s skin prickled like feathers danced beneath it. She had done that.

“Hmm.” Master Pierrelo thought for several seconds. “Whoever put this first spell on you did it before you ever received my administrations . . . I suggest you take the young lady’s drawing and see if you can determine what it was.”

Desperately needing something to do, Elsie grabbed her drawing and handed it to him.

Bacchus’s fingers trembled ever so slightly as he took the page and studied the charcoal rune. He let out a long breath, perhaps trying to orient himself into this new way of being. “Then we’re off to London.”

He said we.

Elsie clasped her hands together. Certainly Bacchus could get her into the Physical Atheneum. She could get her hands on those runes as well. Help Bacchus, and perhaps help herself to a few spellbreaking books at the same time. Everything she knew, she had taught herself.

“I think that wise. If you want me to redo the spell . . . ,” Master Pierrelo offered.

But Bacchus shook his head. “No. No, not yet. I need to know what this is. As soon as possible.”

He folded the paper and stuck it in his trouser pocket, then grabbed his shirt and tugged it over his head. Elsie handed him the remainder of his garments, eyes averted. Something about watching him dress felt just as scandalous as watching him undress.

If this wasn’t a novel reader come to life, she didn’t know what was.

Clothed, Bacchus said, “Let me pay you for your time.”

Master Pierrelo stayed him with a raised hand. “You’ve not yet taken up a quarter hour of it. I’m sorry you’ve traveled so far only to not need my services. Go. And let me know what you discover, if only to satiate my curiosity.” He eyed Bacchus. “This is a mystery more than ten years in the making.”

So it had been ten years since Master Pierrelo had laid his spell. How long had the other one been in place?

Bacchus shook Master Pierrelo’s hand again, and Elsie did the same, despite it being a masculine gesture. Why shouldn’t she? She was a professional spellbreaker, as far as he knew, and it was not nearly as scandalous as putting her hands all over the bare chest of a virile bachelor, now was it? And because it wasn’t every day she met a master magician, she thought she might also attempt to get some information.

“Master Pierrelo,” she said, “what do you think about the opus crimes in London?”

The spellmaker frowned and released her hand. “They aren’t only in London. I don’t know much; the less I’m involved, the safer I am.”

He seemed resolved not to say more, so Elsie nodded and wished him well. Perhaps the fear of being struck down was one of the reasons Master Pierrelo had traveled back home for a time. Still, it would have been nice if he’d said, I rather suspect a certain squire. Would you like to hear about it?

She nearly had to run to catch up with Bacchus. His stride was longer than usual. So eager was he to leave for London he nearly forgot to thank Mrs. Pierrelo for her hospitality, and he completely forgot to acknowledge her husband, Mr. Pierrelo, who sat shining his shoes in the corner. Elsie waved her apologies in his wake and followed him back to the road.

“Elsie.” He turned around suddenly, the carriage only a few paces away. Rainer and John weren’t there; they’d likely taken off to tour the town.

Elsie barely noticed their absence. She was too entranced by the fact that Bacchus had used her given name, now for the third time.

He grabbed her upper arms, and his lips parted in a true smile, his teeth white as pearls. “You’ve saved me, Elsie.”

She grinned, heart turning over backward. “I wouldn’t say that so soon; you don’t know what that thing was.”

“But I feel the difference.” For a terrifying moment she thought he would lift her in the air, but his hands tightened only a fraction before releasing her, and she felt strangely sad for the separation. Bacchus raised his arms, then grabbed his hair, staring up at the drizzling sky like he looked into heaven itself. “I feel . . . amazing. Whatever it was . . . you’ve cured me.”

Her chest warmed at the compliment. Although she did a great deal of good under the guidance of the Cowls, her role was never acknowledged. She’d never been thanked before. “You’re very welcome, Bacchus.”

Her tone wasn’t exactly jubilant, so he paused in his celebration to look at her. “What’s wrong?”

She tugged on that stubborn loose thread on her sleeve. “Do you know who did it? Who could have put such an awful spell on you?”

He sobered almost instantly, and Elsie regretted being the cause of it. His green eyes shifted back and forth, as though reading his memories like lines in a book. “No. No, I don’t.” He frowned.

“Well, we know what the rune looks like.”

He nodded. “The London Physical Atheneum should have what we’re looking for.”

“You said we.” She stuck her finger out as though accusing him. “That means I’m coming. A gentleman doesn’t recant his word, Mr. Kelsey.”

His lip quirked. It wasn’t as warming as his true smile, but Elsie would take what she could get. “Of course. I certainly won’t strand you here. Miss Camden, I may very well owe you my life.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” But she flushed despite her words. “I’m rather tired of that carriage, but I would like to leave as soon as possible.”

“Yes.” He turned. “As soon as we find John and Rainer.”

“We’ll have plenty to do while we wait,” she said and, when he turned back, added, “You have a great deal of accounting to teach me, Mr. Kelsey, if our story is to be believed when I return home.”

He smiled at her, halfway between a lip quirk and his full, beaming smile. “You’re correct. How good are you with ratios?”

The thread on her sleeve bothered her now, so she strode to the valise on the back of the carriage to retrieve her sewing kit. “I don’t use them often, so I suppose we can start there, and I’ll sound very educated to Mr. Ogden.”

Unclipping her valise, Elsie cracked it open—the last thing she needed was Bacchus peeking over and seeing her underthings or the like. She rifled about for her miniature sewing kit and, specifically, the pair of scissors inside it. Her finger touched a sharp corner, and she grabbed it, but it was too narrow to be the kit, and her novel reader was at the top of her belongings. Curious, she grabbed the thing and pulled it free.

All the blood that had ambled into her face during the last half hour sank back down. She knew this gray parchment. Didn’t even have to check the seal before opening the letter.

Did they follow me here?

She hadn’t seen the letter at the inn last night, but she hadn’t exactly rooted through her valise when getting dressed this morning.

There is a weapons shed in Colchester with enchanted arms. The constable there is unkind to those who can’t pay his bribes. He would do well with less power.

There was an address and a five-pound bill—five pounds!—in the letter as well. Elsie’s pulse picked up. She’d already passed through Colchester. Had her mysterious contact intended for her to do it then?

They’d pass through again, on the way home. But what excuse could she give Bacchus for having to make a stop, and without his company? Five pounds . . . this was to cover all her expenses privately.

Her heart sank. She wanted to know about Bacchus’s rune. Wanted to unravel the mystery beside him. Wanted to share his carriage. It was a strange feeling . . . In the past she had never been anything but excited to carry out the Cowls’ orders. But right now . . .

“What is that?” Bacchus asked, peering over her shoulder.

She shoved the letter beneath the waistline of her skirt. “Oh, Mr. Kelsey, I’m afraid I won’t be able to go after all.” Disappointment dripped down her limbs like the misty rain surrounding them.

Mr. Kelsey came around the carriage. “What do you mean? What was that letter?”

She puffed out her chest and put her hands on her hips. “It’s private correspondence.”

“But you only broke the seal now?” He looked over her head—following his gaze, Elsie spied Rainer at the end of the road.

Ignoring the comment, she said, “I need to go to . . . Hadleigh. I forgot to mention it. It came up after your visit on Sunday.” She tugged her valise free of the carriage.

“Hadleigh?” His brows drew together. “Where is that?”

“West. Out of the way.” She turned toward him, the handle of her valise clutched in both her hands. “I’ll take a separate cab.”

His look was incredulous. “How far west? I’m sure it wouldn’t be too much of a bother—”

“You need to get to London,” she insisted, quieter. Looking at him with tense eyes. Just do it, she pleaded. “You need to find out what that spell is. And I have to do this alone.”

He frowned. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

“I don’t believe you have a say in the matter.”

Those words added a hard line down the center of his forehead. “What I mean is, it’s not safe to travel alone.”

“Then I’ll take an omnibus instead. Or the train.”

“I don’t und—”

“Bacchus.” Her voice was hard but hushed, and she stepped in closer to be sure he heard her. “Please. I need to do this, and I cannot explain. I will get home safely. I’ll even send a telegram. I’m asking you not to fight me on this.”

He hesitated, looking her up and down. “This has something to do with the doorknob, doesn’t it?”

The doorknob with the heat spell. The one she’d been unraveling when he caught her.

She said nothing.

He stepped back, pinching the bridge of his nose as though a headache had erupted there. “Elsie—”

“You said you’d pay me for my services, no? This is the payment, letting me go on my own without complaint and with the utmost understanding.” She forced a smile. “Here comes Rainer. No need to keep waiting. It’s a mystery ten years in the making, remember?”

She turned from him and stepped around the carriage, heading in the same direction from which Rainer came. She paused, looking back over her shoulder, and pasted on a smile. “Take care of yourself, please. And let me know what you find.”

Quickening her step, Elsie took the first turn she could without getting hopelessly lost, just to break away from his line of sight.

Bacchus Kelsey, blessedly, did not follow her.