Spellmaker, page 25
part #2 of Spellbreaker Series
He ran his thumb along hers. “I’ve decided to be myself.”
And if that didn’t spread a warm glow through her . . .
The carriage pulled northward, heading into London. Although they were moving into their new home, they’d agreed to spend the majority of their time at the stonemasonry shop until they stopped Merton. Bacchus had moved in to protect Elsie, yes, but also to protect Ogden, who was just as likely to be attacked or waylaid by the spiritual aspector. But it was also their wedding day.
Wedding day. How surreal.
They arrived at the townhome without fanfare; it was about five miles west of Parliament Square and had a small garden walled off from the street. The irony wasn’t missed on Elsie. She had once thought such nasty things about the wealthy and their walls, and now she was going to live behind one. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
They stepped through the veranda, and Bacchus unlocked the door. Rainer pulled away with the carriage. It seemed, for now, they were to be alone.
Elsie’s nerves returned in full force. She clutched the temporal opus to her chest.
The door opened onto a short hallway, a set of stairs to its left. Bacchus gestured to the room on the right. “The parlor,” he said, then, taking her arm through his, led her down the hallway. “The dining room, and the kitchen is through here.”
The rooms all held appropriate furniture—the parlor could do with another chair—but the walls were scant and in need of decoration, as was the mantel. Bacchus led her back through the hallway.
“I think this wall could do with a portrait,” she said.
He nodded. “I leave all of that to you. Decorate however you see fit.”
Elsie scanned the wall, unsure what to say. She certainly wasn’t going to ask about the budget. Not now. All the better when she’d be able to contribute to it properly.
They walked upstairs, where Bacchus continued the tour. He pointed to an empty room. “I thought this could be a study, unless you’d like it for the library. There’s a larger space this way if you want a sitting room like the one at the stonemasonry shop. It has west-facing windows.”
He showed her the spaces, and together they walked the perimeter of them. There were a few trunks, but these rooms were bare of furniture—an empty canvas for them to paint together. The walls bore outdated wallpaper. Elsie tried to imagine something more floral, with a fine settee and perhaps even a gaming table, but the cylinder of her imagination wasn’t firing. It was far too distracted by the man on her arm, and the rooms that lay upstairs.
They reached the third floor. There was a small chamber near the stairs.
“A guest room, or a servants’ quarters,” Bacchus suggested. “I do think it would be prudent to have a maid. Perhaps Emmeline would hire on?”
Elsie shook her head. “I couldn’t possibly steal her away from Ogden.” And leave him alone in that house. “And I would think your study could be here, and any help we bring in could sleep downstairs. For . . . privacy.”
Bacchus nodded and showed her a second chamber, then a third at the far end of the house, which was larger than the others. This room was furnished, a bed with a sea-green coverlet already made up, side tables beside it, a glass-top breakfast table nearby. It boasted a large wardrobe and additional dresser, as well as a white bookshelf. Elsie’s trunks sat at the foot of the bed, which was most definitely large enough for two. She set the opus gingerly on top of one.
Bacchus rubbed the back of his neck. “John got drapes that matched the coverlet. I hardly mind if you change them.”
Elsie crossed the room and ran her hand down the drapes, which were closed over the window. “Fortunately I know a spellmaker who can easily change the color for me. It’s one of his favorite pastimes.”
Bacchus chuckled. “He sounds like a dandy.”
When he said nothing more, Elsie turned around. His expression had grown serious, and he absentmindedly traced his beard.
Before she could say anything, he dropped his hand and said, “Elsie, I’m more than aware that our union has not been . . . ordinary, or at all conventional. Of course there are expectations between a man and wife . . . What I mean to say is that I will not require anything of you, if you want time to acclimate.”
Elsie’s nerves danced under her skin like fairies. She felt her pulse in her stomach. “How utterly respectful of you, Bacchus.” Her chest felt too light as she garnered courage. “But you cannot kiss a woman the way you have and then not expect her to be fully prepared for her wedding night, even eager for it.” She feigned interest in the windows, ignoring the burning of her cheeks. “Even if it is still daylight.”
“I see.” His voice was lower, seductively rich. She dared a glance at him and saw his eyes looked darker than usual.
Elsie ran her hands down her bodice. The secret page was not beneath her corset today, but stowed in the lining of her smaller trunk. She turned her back to him. “I would greatly appreciate your help with this dress.”
Her heart flipped when Bacchus crossed the room, his fingers grazing the base of her neck, pushing aside a few curls there. She could feel his breath in her hair as his fingers deftly unhooked the first button, then the second, then the third. For better or worse, the dressmaker had sewn a great many buttons onto this dress.
Elsie pressed her hands to her chest, both holding up her dress as it loosened and attempting to calm her racing heart, which seemed to quicken with each brush of his fingers against her chemise. Surely Bacchus could feel it. This time it wasn’t anxiety that made it race, but excitement. Not once since arriving in London had she worried about Merton or Master Raven or any of it.
She clung to her courage as Bacchus reached the small of her back. Squeezing her eyes shut, she murmured, “I love you.”
His fingers stilled. Silence settled.
Panic rose.
Elsie held her breath, keeping the anxiety at bay. Waiting, listening, hoping. It was hardly wrong, making such a confession now, of all times! Yet the seconds felt like minutes, felt like hours, and her stomach tightened in fear and anticipation, so much so that they quickly became unbearable.
“Bacchus?” she whispered.
His strong arms encircled her, pulling her against him. His mouth found the groove of her neck, its presence shooting shivers up her skull. His hair tickled her cheek.
“Of course I love you, you precious, wonderful woman.”
Tears sprang to Elsie’s eyes.
“I love you more than Barbados, more than magic, more than myself. You are all I think about. And now you are mine. I love you, Elsie.”
With those words, he helped her out of her dress, out of her corset, and out of her chemise.
And showed her.
CHAPTER 22
There would be no honeymoon, of course. Not yet. Not while everything else in their lives was so unsure.
But they certainly made the best of their first night together. Enough so that had they employed servants—that was, servants besides the men Bacchus had brought from Barbados—Elsie might never have left the bedroom. But such was not the case, and things needed to be done. The world would still turn even if Elsie didn’t want it to.
She wanted to hold on to this intoxicating bliss for as long as the universe would allow it.
Bacchus, ever the responsible one, faced the day first. Watching him dress was nearly as tantalizing as watching him undress. It was evident he’d made a full recovery from whatever the siphoning spell had taken from him. With his hair still loose and his cravat dangling on either side of his neck, he returned to the edge of the bed and kissed her, slowly and sweetly. All of it was genuine, for true to his word, he had not a single spell on him. Elsie had checked. Thoroughly.
“If we want to eat, we’ll have to venture out of doors,” he said.
“I’ve heard fasting can be a healthy practice,” Elsie countered. That earned her a smile and a second kiss, but Bacchus moved toward the door anyway.
“I’ll see that we hire a maid and purchase a curricle this week.” He ran his fingers through his dark waves, still sun-kissed on the ends, before pulling the locks back into a tie. “We’ll need both, with all the travel back and forth to Brookley.”
Elsie sat up, holding the sheet to her, her own bed-mussed hair falling over her shoulders. Without Emmeline’s help, she’d be wearing it simply today. Nothing a good hat couldn’t hide. “Perhaps it’s for the best. Another, oh, three years of falsified training will see me contributing to the expenses.”
Bacchus smirked. “I’ll remind you it’s unnecessary. I’m perfectly capable of keeping a wife.”
She loved the way that word sounded on his lips. Wife. “And I’m perfectly capable of keeping a husband.”
His eyes dropped momentarily to her half-covered breasts. “Indeed you are.”
Elsie flushed.
Chuckling, Bacchus excused himself to the privy. With a yawn and a stretch, Elsie let herself out of bed and padded to her larger trunk, finding in it a clean chemise. She picked up her corset off the floor. It laced in the front, so she pulled it on herself. Then, from the smaller trunk, she retrieved her crinkled opus spell and tucked it into the boning.
With her new life situation, a corset might not be the smartest place to hide the thing. Did she need to keep it at all? The worry that had compelled her to carry it around for so long had faded, but it wasn’t as though she could sell it. Perhaps Ogden could make some use of it, if he didn’t already know the spell—
The sound of scratching drew her attention to one of Bacchus’s trunks, as though a mouse had hidden beneath its lid and was desperate for escape. She moved toward it and lifted the lid, listening for the scratching. She moved two shirts and a pair of shoes before the sound stopped, but she managed to find the culprit.
It was a pencil, a tiny, silvery rune glimmering on its end.
She’d left its green partner with Emmeline. Pulling the pencil free, she searched for parchment, but couldn’t find any. Sighing, she took it to the white-painted window ledge. She’d clean it later. In small print, she wrote, Please repeat. I didn’t have paper ready.
Two seconds ticked by before Emmeline’s familiar script wrote, Raven appeared again! He agreed to come back in three hours’ time. He wants to talk to you.
The door opened behind her. “I would say the purple dress, but I rather like this look on you.”
Elsie, clad solely in her underthings, turned about. “We need to go to Brookley right away. Master Raven has agreed to meet with us.”
When Quinn Raven appeared this time, his image was much clearer. This was a phenomenal sign, for it meant he dared to move closer to the stonemasonry shop. Admittedly, Bacchus wasn’t entirely sure how far an astral projection spell could stretch. It likely depended on the strength of the person casting it. And given Master Raven’s previous revelations, he was in the top tier of spellmakers.
“We’ve been unable to locate her,” Mr. Ogden was saying. They’d all pulled up chairs to watch the somewhat murky middle-aged man in the corner. He hovered a few inches above the floor and wore dark clothing. He had a beard coming in and wore a hat. His features were just sharp enough that Bacchus could make out a large nose above a firm scowl and narrow jaw.
“Then you’re not looking hard enough,” spat the American.
Mr. Ogden, arms folded across his chest, kept his temper. “I assure you that is not the case.”
“She’s been hiding for some time,” Elsie said, picking at the hem of her sleeve. She did that when she was nervous, but Bacchus didn’t think she was aware of it. “First she retired, then she moved, then she faked her death. She won’t reveal herself unless absolutely necessary.”
Bacchus said, “We’ll need to bait her.”
Master Raven scoffed. “She wants the woman, doesn’t she? Perhaps you should dangle her from that enormous clock of yours.”
Ogden leaned forward. “I believe you would be a more enticing target.”
Master Raven didn’t miss a beat. “Absolutely not.”
“You’re the one she truly wants,” Elsie pressed. She sounded desperate. Bacchus ran his thumb along her forearm before settling a hand on her thigh.
“Do you know what I’ve sacrificed?” The image shifted as Master Raven moved his weight from one leg to the other. “I have been running for over a decade. I’ve never stayed anywhere longer than a month. I forfeited my property, my livelihood, my studies—”
“Don’t you want to rest?” Bacchus risked interrupting him. “We will protect you. We will work together to disarm her, and then you can settle wherever you’d like.”
The spiritual aspector didn’t seem convinced.
Miss Pratt, softly, said, “It would make a wonderful story.”
Elsie perked. “It would. That is, if you wanted it, Master Raven. An esteemed spellmaker, returned from the dead, saves the world!”
Master Raven clicked his tongue. “Preposterous.” And yet, despite Miss Prescott’s testament that the man was a recluse, Bacchus thought he detected a hum of interest in the American’s voice. Eleven years alone was a long time, particularly for a man who must have been accustomed to acclaim and recognition.
“How would we use him?” Mr. Ogden rubbed his chin, speaking as though Master Raven had agreed to play the lure. “How do we get through to Merton? Would she notice newspaper articles geared toward her?”
“She might not get the paper where she is,” Elsie said. “She hasn’t responded to anything we’ve published to get Master Raven’s attention. She doesn’t know he came to England.”
“Mr. Ogden,” Bacchus said, “do you happen to know the spell for visual illusions?”
Mr. Ogden’s gaze narrowed. “I do, but it’s only an intermediate spell. I . . . was never able to find or purchase anything more.”
“Illusions?” Master Raven repeated. His blurry eyes shifted to Elsie. “You told me he was with the Physical Atheneum!”
“He is,” Elsie shot back. “Legally.”
Master Raven laughed. “What am I going to say about it? Heaven forbid there be some competence in this group.”
Bacchus tried not to take the comment to heart. “How big of an illusion can you create?”
Mr. Ogden looked around. “Perhaps something the size of this room, if it were simple enough.”
“How simple are birds?”
The artist’s forehead crinkled, then smoothed. “You want me to make ravens?”
“If we put on enough of a show in the right place, people will talk,” Bacchus offered. “Master Merton may be in hiding, but if she’s still searching for Master Raven . . . she’ll find out, one way or another.”
“Where?”
Bacchus considered. “I can think of a few places where a sudden flock would draw attention.”
Miss Pratt said, “But won’t they know he’s the one doing it?”
“Not if he never leaves the carriage,” Elsie chimed in. “In fact, we had plans to purchase one, didn’t we?” She passed Bacchus a conniving smile that made her blue eyes brighter.
“Indeed.”
Master Raven grumbled something under his breath.
“Pardon?” Elsie asked.
“Fine.” The word was a bullet. “But don’t be stupid and get caught ahead of time. And don’t move. I’m coming to you.”
Elsie shot up from her seat. “You are?”
“Don’t get your skirts twisted. But if you’re going to announce me to the world, I intend to do my part. I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”
Spells of luck and blessings, most likely—they were the most popular spells requested of spiritual aspectors.
Mr. Ogden said, “But we don’t just want Merton’s attention. We want her. We need to draw her out to a safe place, somewhere we can apprehend her. Without witnesses.”
Quiet settled for several seconds before Miss Pratt said, “What about the Thornfield barn?”
“Pardon?” Mr. Ogden turned in his chair to better see her.
Miss Pratt flushed. “That is . . . it’s a large, run-down barn on the road to Aylesbury. I pass it on my way home. The owner died some ten years ago, and only half his farm is still being run. The barn isn’t on it.”
“We could start in Rochester, perhaps.” Elsie’s hand covered Bacchus’s, and she gripped his index finger, perhaps seeking courage. “Send up the ravens near the estate, and again in London. Until they make the papers.”
Bacchus added, “And then start over again, making a trail toward the barn.”
“Where I’ll be hanging on a meat hook,” Master Raven grumbled.
“I’ll stay with you,” Elsie offered. “Bacchus could drive the curricle.”
“Leave me with an amateur spellbreaker while the two useful people are far away?”
Elsie’s brows drew together. “I’m not an amateur.” Her expression relaxed. “But if you want spellmakers”—she glanced to Bacchus—“then Master Kelsey can guard you as well. I happen to know someone who is rather adept at driving a carriage.”
“Who?” Mr. Ogden asked.
“Irene, of course.” Elsie grinned. “And then we’ll have two spellbreakers ready to thwart Merton’s magic. And if Miss Pratt can alert the local police near the end, we’ll have their assistance as well. Ogden and I will make ourselves scarce before they arrive.”
Miss Pratt nodded eagerly. “I can do that.”
“Let’s think on it, and speak in person.” Mr. Ogden looked to Master Raven’s projection. “We’ll be waiting for you.”
CHAPTER 23
The Thornfield barn was visible from the main road but not close to it. Wild grass and weeds swept Bacchus’s knees as he walked to it; he couldn’t imagine how bothersome it would be in a skirt. Elsie kept a firm grip on his elbow as they headed toward the run-down, abandoned building, which looked to have been blue at one time but had faded to a shade of gray that matched the overcast sky. Master Raven walked a few paces ahead of them, his strides sure. He expected the terrain to yield to him, not the other way around.
