“Perhaps I’m getting better at eavesdropping or reading the news, but it seems a good deal is happening here.” She knit and unknit her fingers over her lap. “I ran into Master Merton again on Sunday.”
“Is she well?”
“Well enough. She was a bit frazzled. Quite a few opuses had been stolen or misplaced by some acolytes at the Spiritual Atheneum. They were dismissed, of course, and she was covering for one of them, I believe.”
Bacchus—Mr. Kelsey, that was—frowned. “Interesting.”
“Is it?”
He folded his arms over his broad chest. “There was a constable at the duke’s last week, asking questions about a Mr. Shaw, who recently won a copy of an opus at an auction. He, too, was robbed. Though he still has his life, unlike others.”
“That’s unfortunate,” she said. “Was he a friend of the family?”
“No. But I was seen talking to him, so I was a suspect.”
“You’ve been absolved?”
“Apparently so.”
She nodded slowly. Tugged on the curtain, hoping for more light. She got little. Rain pattered against the carriage roof.
“Will your man be all right out in this?”
“He insists he will be. He doesn’t like tight spaces.”
She smiled at that. “You went to this auction? For an opus, or something else?”
A soft growl came up Bacchus’s throat. “For the same opus that was stolen from him. It contained a master spell I wish to learn.”
“You’ve tested already?” Something in her abdomen squeezed. Master aspectors were eligible for titles. Upper class. Just like the rest of the toffs.
But he shook his head. “Not yet. I wish to advance with that spell in particular. Because I know you’ll ask, it’s an ambulation spell.”
“Ambulation?”
“It would allow me to move the objects around me without touching them.”
She blinked. “That’s . . . fascinating.” To think how much easier it would be to organize the shelves! She wouldn’t even need a ladder. But no amount of aspiring would ever grant Elsie such a spell—spellbreakers were unable to learn aspection.
“I’m sorry you lost,” she offered.
He shrugged. “It is something I’ll revisit after we meet with Master Pierrelo.”
She licked her lips. Glanced to the opposite window. “Are you sure he won’t ask after my certification?”
“Does anyone ask after Mr. Ogden’s?”
“Well, no . . .”
“You’ll be fine. I’ll ensure it.”
“Thank you.” She looked at him, the way he filled a good half of the carriage. “Why is your hair down?”
His eyebrow quirked. “Why are you concerned with my hair?”
She bristled, embarrassed, forcing her eyes away from the long, dark, sun-kissed waves. “Well, you certainly aren’t. It’s hardly fashionable.”
He snorted. “It’s annoying to wear back for long trips. I can’t rest my head against the wall.”
Elsie rested her head back to test the statement. Before her hair could get in the way, however, the back brim of her hat hit it. Yes, that would be aggravating for a trip of this length, wouldn’t it? Elsie hadn’t taken a multiday ride in a carriage since the workhouse had burned down.
She pulled the pin from her hat and removed it, setting it on the bench beside her. She rested back. It wasn’t too bad, but a hairpin jabbed her scalp. “I see what you mean.”
“Hmm.” Bacchus glanced out the window. They were passing by a squat little village with sad houses. Elsie wondered whose stewardship it was to maintain. “Thank you,” he added, “again, for agreeing to this.”
“The women’s school offer was quite clever. But I’ll need to have some sort of new math skill to show off when I return, if it’s to be believed. You also owe me five shillings.”
His lip rose into a half smile. “I’ll see what I can teach you, and you’ll be reimbursed. I’m also more than willing to cover your services, this time around.”
She smirked at that. “Also, you’re welcome.” She stretched out her legs as much as the cramped space would allow. “I admit I’m curious to know about the spell myself. You’ve really no idea what it could be?”
“None.” He sighed. “It’s kept me awake at night, trying to sort it out. If it’s beneath the temporal spell, then it happened in my youth, before . . .” He touched his chest.
“You have seemed tired.”
“I usually am. It’s a symptom.” His eyes took on a brooding look as he dropped his hand.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I can be sorry if I want to be, Mr. Kelsey. It’s a nice change to have the upper hand, besides.”
His lip quirked again. “I suppose that’s what this is. I’m in your debt now.”
A tremor of guilt wound between her breasts. “I didn’t mean it that way. I . . . want to help you. Truly. I won’t even charge you for it.”
He glanced at her, his eyes almost the same color as the hedges outside. “You are a confusing woman, Miss Camden.”
She mulled that over. “I think if you leave off the part about trespassing, I’m rather easy to understand.”
He chuckled. “I’d have to agree.”
Content, Elsie rifled through her bag for her novel reader. There was just enough light to make out the words.
She finally managed to finish it.
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?”
Spellbreaker Page 16
