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.
&nbs
p; 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.
CHAPTER 16
For a time it seemed the cab could not go fast enough. Elsie was sure she’d see the Duke of Kent’s carriage outside her window, or worse, following her. But Bacchus honored her request and did not pursue her. Which strangely made her wish he had.
No matter. She’d cashed in the banknote and now rode privately, her valise on the bench across from her. Cabs didn’t always go long distances, so she did have to change two more times before finding a boardinghouse to stay in for the night, and she left early the next morning to make it to Colchester.
Once there, she had the driver leave her off at a local hotel, suspecting it might be noticed if the carriage left her off at the address on the note. Best not to take chances.
After leaving her bag in the room, she took a casual walk past the shed. It was guarded not by spells, of course—that would have been too easy—but by peop
le. The true nature of the money in the envelope dawned on her. She’d need to stay in Colchester until she learned the guards’ schedule. Perhaps they’d be particularly God-fearing guards and the Sabbath would send them home, but she couldn’t rely on that.
That first day, Friday, she strolled past the shed three times. The second time, four hours after the first, there was a new man at the entrance, and he was replaced by two men come evening. She didn’t recognize the guard on watch the next morning, but did recognize the one that afternoon. She never caught them changing shifts.
The Cowls wouldn’t assign you a task you’re unable to complete. Not without sending help.
The local church started at nine in the morning. Thirty minutes past that, a siren sounded a ways off. Its whine struck fear into her heart, and she stayed where she was for a solid ten minutes. When no one came after her, she crept back to the shed, surprised to see it unwatched. Surely it wasn’t a coincidence. A Cowl must have set off the alarm or caused a distraction of some sort, knowing she’d be there.
She itched to follow the sound of the alarm, to find a Cowl or, perhaps, someone else who worked for them, but time was of the essence.
She moved quickly.
The room was hot and dim, but she saw enough to make her cringe. All sorts of weapons and tools hung on the walls. How many of these were used against the poor, especially those driven to crime by starving bellies and desperation? The thought made her shudder. She nearly sprinted along the walls, running her hands across handles, avoiding blades. She found the enchanted weapons quickly; they were in the back, sharing a wall.
She didn’t recognize the spells on them except for a temporal rune for preventing rust. She undid everything, untying knot after knot until her wrists itched. Then, her bodice sticking to her chest with perspiration, she fled. She thought she heard a man yell after her as she went, but she ran until her corset became suffocating and sweat dripped from her hairline, and by the time she looped back to her hotel, she had no pursuers.
She departed for Brookley the same day.
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