Spellbreaker

CHAPTER 19

Elsie did not like doing her job at night. It made her feel like a criminal. Which she wasn’t. At least, not at the heart of the matter. What God-fearing person, for example, would call Robin Hood a criminal?

It really was a matter of perspective.

She shivered, though it wasn’t terribly cold in London. Wasn’t even raining. With excuses of being lost and feverish, or perhaps looking for her cat, in her back pocket, Elsie approached the massive Physical Atheneum.

It had guards, yes, but not many of them walked the grounds. Like many wealthy places, the atheneum relied on magic to guard its doors. Magic did not require an hourly wage, nor did it fall asleep on the job. That, and the atheneum was never empty. There was always someone out and about, studying or prepping or snoozing at his desk. Still, the Cowls had given her instructions for how to proceed, and she followed them with exactness. She would very much not like a repeat of the doorknob incident in Kent. If she was caught here, she doubted her captor would be as lenient as Master Bacchus Kelsey.

She needed to be swift, regardless, for she did not want to risk connecting him to this in any way, even if it was for the good of the people. The atheneum certainly wouldn’t see it that way. In truth, Bacchus might not, either.

Tonight’s task involved a great deal of walking, but Elsie came at the atheneum from behind—the northwest side. She found the lounging garden mentioned in her letter, a long path covered in pale stone, studded with benches and potted bushes trimmed to look like spheres. She approached carefully, favoring the long shadows cast by the half moon, searching for the first spell.

She spotted it right before she stepped in it—a night-activated spell that caused the ground to surge up around anything that put pressure on it. She undid it easily, having unraveled the very same enchantment at the duke’s estate. She found the next one less than two feet away. Crouching, her skirt bunched between her knees, Elsie crept along that way, ignoring how the runes made her itch.

She was not surprised at the Cowls’ reasoning for sending her here. Magic was a tool that could help all of society. Or hurt it, as was the case with the curse in the duke’s fields. But magic helped plants grow, tamed animals, eased transportation. It kept bodies working, children healthy. And so anyone who hoarded it for pride and profit hurt those who lacked access to it. Even Bacchus had been denied a spell he’d needed, and he was one of them.

Elsie wondered how many useful spells were hidden in the library of the great fortress before her, withering away, unused and forgotten, helping no one. Once her work was finished, others more daring than she would sneak in, copy the spells, and distribute them. Perhaps if spellmakers were not so bloody gluttonous, they wouldn’t be robbed or murdered in their beds. This way, there would be more for all . . . if the lower classes could obtain the necessary drops to absorb magic as well. But sharing the wealth of the spellmakers would be another task for another day.

The “suction” spells—Elsie hadn’t a better name for them—ended when the stone did. She proceeded even slower than before, pausing once when she thought she heard something nearby . . . but silence settled, minus her rapid-fire heartbeat. There was another spell here, somewhere, although she saw nothing on the ground—

There. For a moment she thought it was a spiritual spell, for she heard it, faintly, like a mosquito close to the ear. But as she neared two identical statues standing across the path from each other, she spied glimmering physical runes on each of them.

The barely audible sound made sense. She’d undone an enchantment like this once before, a few years ago. The two sister spells formed an invisible barrier that if broken, let out a horrible noise. It was an alarm, likely activated by darkness as the suction spells were.

If she set off this alarm, she didn’t think she’d be able to run far enough to hide before someone found her. Reaching one hand out carefully, ensuring her fingers never passed the inside of the rune, she loosened one end. Then the opposite end. A small loop in the center, then the bottom, until the spell let out a weak croak and vanished. She needn’t worry about the sister rune—without anything to connect to, it would be harmless.

Still, Elsie held her breath when she passed between the statues, sighing in relief when nothing happened. Her chest felt too warm beneath her corset, but when she searched for other alarm spells, she found none. Nerves, then.

Approaching the building, Elsie glanced up at the nearest window, which started about a foot above her head. If the Cowls were correct, there was one spell left—one that forbade passage through all ground-floor windows from the outside. Once she eliminated that, the Cowls could sneak into the library, copy the spells they needed, and flee. If she lingered long enough, would she see one of them?

And what explanation will you give Ogden if you’re not in your bed come morning?

Given the assault he’d suffered, he was liable to contact the authorities at once. Which would require her to answer questions best left unasked. No, she needed to be quick.

Retreating into the garden, Elsie tipped over a pot, dumping out its soil and flowers. She froze over the mass, hearing footsteps nearby. She listened closely to them until they faded and her calves burned from her prolonged squat. Heaving the pot up, she carried it back to the window and stood on it.

The spell came alive beneath her fingers, beckoning her. Elsie worked with both hands, having to jump up twice to reach the top of the rune. She felt exposed, and sweat slicked the curve of her spine. When the spell broke apart, it took every ounce of discipline she had not to bolt away. She needed to replace the pot in case the Cowls’ man did not come until tomorrow night. She couldn’t give anyone a reason to be suspicious, else she’d have to do this all over again. And if her work was discovered, there would be patrolling guards.

Feeling oddly stronger than she had moments before, she carried the pot back and shoved dirt into it, heedless of what it did to her dress. The unrooted flowers were a mess, but she stuck them into their beds, anyway. No one would notice unless they looked closely. She swept loose soil into manicured grass and crept, with painstaking slowness, out the exact way she had come.

As far as she knew, no one followed her.

Elsie stepped out of the way as Squire Hughes exited the post office. Not out of deference, but because she was sure the man would simply mow her over if she did not. He neither held the door for her nor made eye contact. He simply charged past, nose held high, and headed toward his horse, which Elsie noted was newly respelled.

Biting the back of her tongue, Elsie slipped inside the post office. One of the post dogs whined in the back, and Martha Morgan shuffled around a few letters in the cubbies against the wall behind the desk.

“Good afternoon, Martha,” Elsie said.

Martha peeked over her shoulder. “Oh, Miss Camden! One moment, if you would.” She finished organizing the small stack of envelopes in her hand before giving Elsie her full attention. “How can I help you?”

“I need to send a telegram to Brixton, addressed to Mr. Allen Baker.” She unfolded the note in her hands where she’d written Ogden’s instructions. “The piece will be ready tomorrow.” Elsie fished out the appropriate coin and laid it on the desk.

Martha scrawled the message down. “I’ll send it straightaway.”

“Thank you.” Elsie folded the paper and turned for the door.

“Miss Camden.” The voice came from Mr. Green, the postmaster, as he strode in from the house connected to the post office. “Good timing. I’ve just received a telegram for you.”

Martha smiled and lifted her eyebrows, as if to comment on the timing, before heading to the back room.

“For Mr. Ogden?” Elsie clarified.

“For you.” He handed her the envelope.

Elsie did not like opening her private post in public, but curiosity got the better of her. Hoping it might be from Bacchus, she opened the brief message.

Her heart skipped. Not Bacchus. Juniper Down.

Elsie. We were wrong. Someone is looking for you. Come as soon as you can.

The message was only that, and yet it was everything.

She must have blanched, for Mr. Green asked, “Is everything all right?”

Elsie nodded dumbly. “It’s . . . perfect. Thank you.”

And then she ran from the post office as though on the wings of a storm.

“Ogden!” Elsie screamed the moment she rushed into the house. “Mr. Ogden!” She turned around the corner and nearly ran into Emmeline. It was a short distance from the post office to the studio, but Elsie wheezed like she’d run miles. “Where is he?”

“S-Studio.” Emmeline gawked. “What’s happened?”

But Elsie couldn’t bear to delay. She hurried to the studio, Emmeline on her heels. Ogden was standing, his painter’s smock half-untied.

Fear blanched his face. “What’s wrong?”

Elsie practically leapt at him, grabbing his upper arms in her hands. “I got a message from Juniper Down! Someone is looking for me! Ogden, it must be my family!”

He gaped at her and let out a long breath. “You’re sure?”

Emmeline squealed.

Elsie smiled. “Who else would go to that out-of-the-way place and ask for me by name? Please, I’ll do anything, but let me go. I must leave immediately. I’ll take the train, make it as far as Reading—”

He worked his mouth. “You just heard of this?”

Fishing out the telegram, Elsie handed it to him. He read it, and as he considered, Elsie passed it to Emmeline.

“This is incredible.” Emmeline grinned. “Oh, Elsie, you’ve waited so long!”

“I’ll pay for temporary help,” she said to Ogden. “Whatever you need—”

Ogden, somewhat baffled, shook his head. A small smile played on his lips. “That won’t be necessary. If you leave now, you can be on a train before nightfall.”

Elsie laughed and kissed Ogden on the cheek. “Oh, thank you, thank you. Goodness, I need to pack.”

Emmeline chirped, “I’ll get your laundry off the line,” and ran from the studio.

Elsie darted to the stairs, taking them two at a time up to her room. Pulling her valise from beneath her bed, she laid it open on the mattress and rummaged through her wardrobe. She liked to take care with how she packed for a trip—especially a trip of an undetermined amount of time—but all she could think of was getting to Juniper Down.

They’d wait for her. Surely they’d wait for her! We’ve waited this long, what is another day? And she could do it in a day if she slept on the train and in the cab. Only a day between herself and her family! Who was it? Her mother? A brother? She dared not hope it would be all of them.

Emmeline came up shortly with Elsie’s laundry, which was mainly underthings. Thanking her, Elsie folded what she thought she’d need and crammed it into the valise. Just as the valise was getting full, Emmeline returned with a cloth-wrapped parcel.

“So you don’t get peckish.” She set it in Elsie’s hands.

“Oh, Emmeline, thank you.” She straightened. “I’ll need my savings passbook.” Money for the train ticket, the travel . . . and she had no idea who had come for her. What if they were destitute and needed help? “Ogden!”

“He just stepped out! To the post office, I think, to inquire about replacing you for the week.”

“Of course.” She barely registered the remark. God help her, she had so many questions and no time to think them.

“I’ll get you some more cheese.” Emmeline hurried back down the stairs, her footsteps eager. Elsie followed after her as far as Ogden’s bedroom, which she entered unabashedly. She used to clean it, after all.

“Passbook, passbook,” she whispered, looking over his sparse furniture. He kept all their savings passbooks in here, often added to them himself, out of generosity. Elsie hadn’t needed to use hers for quite a while. Where is it?

She moved to his desk and opened the top right drawer, searching through the pens and papers within. Several had large scribbles on them, connecting random dots. Something about the drawings seemed almost familiar, but she couldn’t think of why. They lacked Ogden’s usual artistic eye.

The drawer beneath it held various bottles of blue aspector ink, and the third was filled nearly to the brim with old ledgers. In the left drawers, she found receipts—had he given those to her to document yet?—framing tools, and old letters.

Bother. She retrieved his key from beneath his bedside table and went to the cupboard where he kept his drops, opening the door and sorting through the contents of the locked cabinet. No passbook. Where on earth could it be? She needed to get to London before the last train left, or she’d waste an entire day—

Locking up the cupboard, she returned to the desk and checked its drawers once more. She rifled through receipts, lifted ledgers. Pulled open the drawer of inks and pushed them forward and back. Nothing.

She closed the drawer hard and heard a chink! Fearing she’d broken a bottle, she opened it again, ready to find a blue mess staining the wood. But the bottles were fine.

She shut the drawer again, the chink! sounding again, but a little softer this time. She paused. It didn’t sound like glass hitting glass . . . so what was it? Not her passbook, certainly, but curiosity had her opening the drawer again. Nothing but ink bottles, one nearly empty, three full, one half-full. She shifted the drawer back and forth, hearing the high-pitched chink! even though the bottles were not hitting one another.

She shifted each vial, one at a time, until she found one in the back that was empty. It looked half-full, but upon closer inspection, the glass had been tinted blue halfway up the bottle. She shook it, hearing something rattle beneath the glass. What on earth?

Uncorking the thing, she turned it over, and a long, metal-tipped stamp fell into her palm. What purpose would Ogden have for hiding a seal—

She stopped breathing when she saw the image at its end. A bird foot over a crescent moon.

The symbol of the Cowls.

Her jaw dropped. Then, as though the thing were a live ember, she shoved it back into the bottle, corked it, and replaced it in the drawer. She slammed the drawer shut and retreated two steps.

The Cowls . . . Ogden was one of them?

But it made so much sense. How their letters had always found their way into her most personal spaces, without a trace. Like their deliverer knew precisely where she’d find them. Besides which, he’d always been so generous with her time, as if he knew she was putting it to good use.

Had Ogden always been one of them, or had he converted to their cause after hiring her? Had he discovered something she had not, and been inducted into their fold?

He undoubtedly knew one thing . . . He knew she was a spellbreaker.

Gooseflesh prickled her arms and legs. All the questions she’d wrestled with since the night of the workhouse fire flooded back. Why had he kept it a secret? For Emmeline?

It struck her that Mr. Parker probably wasn’t involved at all. Ogden had said, The squire has his hands in all sorts of nefarious affairs. Was that what his steward had been hiding? Not his penmanship, but a letter trying to sort out one of Squire Hughes’s misdeeds?

But of course it was Ogden! He was an artist. It wouldn’t be hard for him to disguise his handwriting . . .

She needed to think on all of this, to decide the best path forward, and yet it felt as if she’d opened a new book with too many pages. She had to get to Juniper Down now.

But the Cowls . . .

“Elsie?”

She jumped at Emmeline’s voice. Smoothed the sides of her hair. “Emmeline. Do you . . . know where Ogden keeps our savings passbooks?”

She considered for a moment. “Did you check under the bed?”

“I . . . no.”

Jittery, she crouched by the bed and pulled out a wooden box of documents. Sure enough, all three of their passbooks were stored near the top. Elsie grabbed hers and held it to her chest. She didn’t know how much money she’d need, so she would withdraw all of it. There were still bandits about—

Juniper Down. The Cowls. Her family. Ogden.

Her head was going to explode.

Hurrying to her bedroom, Elsie stuck the passbook into her chatelaine bag and closed her valise, noting a second cloth package of food tucked within it.

“Thank you, Emmeline.” She hauled the valise into the hallway. She dragged it down the stairs and set it on the table, then worried her hands as she waited for Ogden to return. He came through the door less than a quarter hour later.

“I’ll take you to London,” he said the moment he stepped into the dining room. He took her valise in hand. “Send us word as soon as you can.”

Elsie nodded, unsure of what else to say.

She hoped he didn’t notice her awe.