Spellmaker, page 27
part #2 of Spellbreaker Series
It was dark, save for moonlight filtered through clouds. But it wasn’t much brighter in the barn. Her eyes took only a moment to adjust.
Balling up her skirts immodestly, wincing as they brushed the burn on her leg, Elsie walked around the barn, searching for another presence. Nothing. Her pulse raced, her body hurt, her hands and the dip of her spine perspired, but Elsie closed her eyes, imagining she was in Master Phillips’s cellar again.
Irene screamed.
Elsie ground her teeth and focused. Spells lit up like waking fireflies—physical, spiritual, and rational enchantments radiating from the barn. The building quivered with a physical spell threatening to destroy its walls. The floors shuddered with a quake.
But there was another spell, to the north. Away from the rest, in a copse of trees. Elsie moved around it until she could see the faintest silhouette of a woman. Until she could hear the slightest whisper of a song.
Her mind spun. Holding her breath, she approached. Her thoughts were a jumble of half-remembered missives on silver paper. Of clipped discussions at dinner tables, in prison cells, in cellars. They pieced themselves together a little more with every step.
She didn’t get too close before Merton snapped to attention and turned toward her.
“You were right.” Elsie rushed to speak first. She dropped her skirts and held up both hands in surrender. “I want to talk. Don’t hurt them. Just talk to me.”
It was too dark to see the expression on Merton’s face. “You always were a bright one, Elsie. That’s why I like you. No farther, mind you.”
“You know about my parents. My family.” A lump started to form in Elsie’s throat; she swallowed it down. “You lost yours, too.”
Merton didn’t respond.
“They left me,” Elsie whispered.
“They didn’t know what you were.” The silhouette turned, an opus spell ready in one hand, an array of spiritual spells ready in the other. Merton seemed a little distracted—she had to actively control Bacchus, after all, and present herself in a way that made her projection in the barn seem like the real her. All of which should work to Elsie’s advantage.
“I wish I’d known it was you from the beginning,” Elsie pressed, inching a little closer, moving so slowly—that burn hurt—she hoped it was imperceptible. “We’ve disagreed, yes, but you’re right. About everything. I fell in love with a rich man and didn’t want to see it anymore. The pain, the suffering, the unfairness. You only want to make the world better—”
“The world will be better.” Merton’s tone was firm. “I will make it better. I will pull that spell from Raven and make it better.” Her voice grew steely. “He’s a coward. I could have done it differently if he’d listened. He forced my hand.”
“But you don’t want to be alone,” Elsie guessed. “And you don’t have to be. I can help you bear that burden. I can help you.”
Merton paused.
Elsie got in another step. She was four paces from the woman now. “I wish I’d known it was you,” she repeated, softer, “because then I might have had a mother.”
No response. Elsie gained another inch.
“I don’t like the deaths. You know that.” Elsie needed to be careful with her words. She needed to sound genuine. “But you’re the only one who’s ever really been there for me. I realized it when I thought you’d died. Not my family, not Ogden, truly. Even my husband is only my husband because of some twisted sense of chivalry.” Another step. She pressed her hands to her heart. “You rescued me, Lily.” A few more inches. Elsie’s thumb dipped down into her corset. “You saved me from a life as a pauper in a workhouse. I wish you hadn’t hidden from me all these years—”
“I didn’t want to,” Merton said. Her posture was still stiff, but her expression had softened. “I couldn’t have loose ends. I had to know you were trustworthy. Not many will do what it takes to bring true unity to the world. True peace and equality. I had to test you. Train you. My dear, you exceed expectations. But you spent too long in that mason’s household. I never should have sent you to Seven Oaks. No farther.”
Elsie halted. “What can I do to you, Lily? I’m only a spellbreaker. If I wanted you out of that barn, I would have disenchanted the projection.”
She swallowed against the lump in her throat and let herself stew in the dark feelings she’d been suppressing. Her love for Bacchus, and the anxiety it instilled in her. Her fear that he, Ogden, Irene, and even Raven might be killed tonight. She reached even deeper: the shock of knowing her eldest brother had died without her ever knowing him. The grief of having a lost sister. Of knowing her parents had abandoned her. The guilt of having played a part, however unintentional, in the killing of so many aspectors.
Her throat squeezed, and the tears came. More importantly, they leaked into her voice. They sounded like conviction.
“Lily, please. I-I don’t want them to die. Of course I don’t.” Because no version of herself would wish that upon people she loved. “But . . . maybe we can start over. Maybe you can tell me your story. All of it.”
Another step.
“I want to understand you. Please.”
Merton’s shoulders slackened. “Only you know what it feels like. To be truly alone.”
Elsie nodded. “As you do.”
And she dared to close the gap between them. To embrace her enemy.
Merton didn’t stop her. Nor did she notice the whisper of paper as Elsie pulled it from her corset.
Elsie embraced Master Lily Merton. Let the woman feel the tears on her cheek. Pressed both her hands into her back.
And whispered, “Excitant.”
The opus spell vanished from her fingers. For a moment, Merton went limp in her arms.
The chaos in the barn quieted.
“Oh.” The older woman pulled back from the embrace. A sliver of moonlight fell upon them, and in Merton’s face Elsie saw surprise. Confusion. “Oh, my dear . . . Who are you?” She stepped back and took in the old farm. “Goodness, where am I? I . . . was just in my office at the atheneum . . .” She patted her cheeks, perhaps making sure she was all there. “Oh my. My dear, what is your name?”
“Elsie Amanda Kelsey,” Elsie said, every part of her wound like a spring.
“Elsie. A lovely name.”
Elsie swallowed. The master spell must have taken at least ten years off Merton’s memory if the aspector didn’t remember her. But it needed to be more if she were to forget the one person who mattered most.
“What year is it?” Elsie asked.
Merton blinked. “Why, it’s 1880, of course. Tomorrow is Christmas . . .” She spun around, taking in the cool summer night. A hand pressed to her mouth. “I . . . I don’t understand. Is this a temporal spell of some sort?”
Then she pulled her hand back and examined it, as though unused to the wrinkles there.
Heavy footsteps sounded behind Elsie. She turned, seeing a dark figure approach. But without someone upholding the other end of the control spell, it was as good as moot.
Elsie held up her hands. “It’s fine. She’s harmless.”
Bacchus stopped in his tracks. “Harmless? What do you mean?”
“Master Kelsey,” Elsie said carefully, “this is Master Lily Merton. The atheneum has been looking for her. You were right to check out here, but I’m afraid she doesn’t remember a thing.”
Bacchus’s eyes narrowed. Behind him, Ogden was coming out of the barn, holding the lamp high over his head. When he neared, Elsie grasped Merton’s hand to show she was harmless. “I didn’t throw all the spells in the Thames,” she admitted.
Bacchus’s brows drew only closer together, but Ogden understood, even without reading her mind. His eyes shifted between Elsie and Merton several times before he said, “Which did you keep?”
“Forgetfulness. She thinks it’s December of 1880.”
Merton tensed. “What . . . Who are you?” She looked between the new faces. “What am I doing here?” She touched her forehead with her free hand.
Elsie let out a shaky breath. “It’s fine now. Everyone is safe.”
“Not enough.”
Elsie turned, barely making out Raven’s shadow at the edge of Ogden’s light. “Fifteen years gone,” she said. “She doesn’t remember any of it. She doesn’t remember you.”
“Who?” Merton’s voice carried a note of anxiety. Elsie squeezed her hand.
But Raven shook his head. “She’s the same person with the same motivations. Having her forget isn’t enough. Your little spell doesn’t undo her crimes. It won’t bring my friends back.”
Merton was crying now. “What crimes?”
Elsie set her jaw. “Ogden, distract her, please.”
She felt a slight distortion in the air between Ogden, who stood still as an ancient tree, and Merton, whose breathing suddenly calmed. Her eyes slipped away from them, seeing something that wasn’t there, and her lips turned up. The image Ogden had pushed into her mind must have been beautiful.
Elsie turned her focus back to Raven. “She doesn’t remember.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he pressed.
“But in her mind she’s innocent—”
“Elsie.” Ogden’s voice was soft, his concentration on his spell. His eyes remained on Merton, but he said, “She isn’t innocent. I will—” His voice strained, and he swallowed. “I will never get those years back. I will never be able to forget.”
A sore ache bloomed over her heart. She blinked away a new tear. “Of course you won’t.” No one could ever forget their deepest hurts, only learn to better shoulder them.
Bacchus murmured, “We could take her to the authorities. But she won’t be able to confess.”
“She will if they know which questions to ask.” Raven stepped into the light, dry weeds crunching under his boots. Approaching Merton from behind, he put a hand on her shoulder, and a clear, sweet note rang out from the spell he cast. A strong note, a rich pitch—a master spell.
“What did you do?” Elsie whispered.
“I cursed her,” he said, and Elsie’s stomach tightened. “She can only speak the truth now.”
That gave Elsie pause. The song was similar to the truthseeking spell he’d used on her in Juniper Down.
“You want to take her to the police,” Bacchus guessed, “with a note containing incriminating questions. Anonymous, I presume.”
Raven merely nodded, his face stern.
Elsie took in a deep breath and let it all out at once. “I suppose it’s only fair. Perhaps you should write it, Raven. I think your handwriting will be the least easy to identify.”
“She’ll write it,” Ogden said, straightening. “I’ll guide her hand.”
Elsie looked at him, then lifted her gaze to Bacchus’s. His brow was resolute, but his eyes were sad. Elsie was sad, too, though this was the right thing to do. Still, not everything she’d said to Merton was a lie. They were similar, in so many ways. In another world, perhaps they could have been family.
“All right.” She rubbed her arms uneasily. “But make sure she confesses to everything. Including the control and framing of Master Phillips. We need to make this right.” She looked between them, a chill embracing her. “Oh God, Irene. Where is Irene?”
Ogden released his spell suddenly, and Merton startled. “Where am I?”
“Help me get Miss Prescott to the carriage.” Ogden gestured to Bacchus. “She needs a doctor.”
As the two men hurried back to the barn, Merton pulled her hand from Elsie’s—Elsie had forgotten she was holding it. “My dear,” she said, “I’m quite confused. Will you help me?”
Elsie gave her the best reassuring smile she could muster. “Of course.” She glanced to Raven. “We’ll get you to where you need to be.”
CHAPTER 24
Elsie hadn’t stayed to see Merton interrogated. None of them had. They’d swiftly taken Irene to a hospital, retrieved Emmeline and Reggie, and escorted Merton to the local constable’s home early the following morning. She carried with her a letter sealed with plain wax.
The story hit the newspapers two days later.
Forgetful Aspector Raised from Death Confesses to Murders, the headline read. It was the top story that day. Three days later, Master Enoch Phillips Acquitted replaced it as the leading headline. They all collectively let out a breath of relief. It was hard for Elsie to believe it was over, but it was. Merton was taken to Her Majesty’s Prison Oxford. Her state of mind would likely spare her the penalty of death. She could speak no lie; when she said she didn’t remember, it was true.
Though Merton would not remember setting her control spell on Bacchus, its song remained, and Elsie had promptly removed it the moment he returned from aiding Irene.
And like that, it was over, as though it had never begun. The remainder of the stolen opuses had not yet surfaced, as Master Merton did not remember where she had hidden them, but from Ogden’s sleuthing they knew the authorities were on the hunt, combing through Merton’s estate and local haunts as thoroughly as possible. The missing spells gave Elsie an uneasy feeling, like she was reading a novel with the last page missing. Like it wasn’t a true ending.
Master Quinn Raven disappeared before Merton’s story spread like wildfire through England, offering no goodbyes—but little more could be expected of a recluse who’d had no social ties for years. But weeks later, Ogden found an interesting article on the second page of Brookley’s local paper. The headline read, American Artist Honors British Compatriots with Gratitude. The article was brief and poorly written, switching back and forth between American and British English. There wasn’t even a picture of the “art” the article mentioned, but the author named himself Blackbird. Whether or not he would return to the public eye was yet to be determined.
Ogden fell behind on his commissions for a time, enough so that when he got his wits about him again, Elsie put in three days’ work per week for four weeks to help him catch up. Ogden didn’t talk about it, but Elsie suspected there was still need for healing, despite his abuser being behind bars. If anyone knew minds, it was Cuthbert Ogden. The last time Elsie visited, he was smiling again, and had finally hired her replacement—a rather charming young man from Aylesbury who seemed utterly enthralled by Ogden’s nonmagical talents and was an adept sketch artist himself.
Irene Prescott spent six weeks at home with a broken leg—such a thing can happen when one is sprinting in one direction and a sudden magical rise of a floorboard makes the bone surge in the opposite direction. Elsie had heard her scream, and knowing what caused it pained her. Not nearly as much as it pained Bacchus, whose guilt kept him from visiting the spellbreaker the first two weeks of her recovery. It had taken both Elsie’s and Irene’s reassurance to finally drag him to her townhome in London, where friendships were mended, “training” continued, and a recommendation for a maid was given.
As for guilt, or perhaps for the resolving of it, Bacchus did attend the Duke of Kent’s funeral with Elsie at his side. He stood beside the duchess and her daughters, and even said a few words at the duke’s graveside, not one of them limned with bitterness. The duke had been forgiven.
Bacchus struggled to accept his own forgiveness, however readily it was bestowed. He’d witnessed it all, of course. Merton’s spell affected the spirit, not the mind. He was aware of every attack on his wife and his friends, and for a week he wouldn’t touch Elsie, not when he could see the burn so prominently displayed on her leg. It wasn’t until Elsie’s patience snapped and they had their second-greatest argument yet—Elsie believed the struggle at their first meeting still took the cake—that he accepted her love and forgiveness, stopped being a stubborn lummox, and finally started bedding her again.
As for Master Enoch Phillips, he had been released from prison and exonerated of all charges, but his reputation would likely never recover. It had come as no surprise to anyone when he’d resigned from the London Physical Atheneum. Based on the rumor mill via Irene, he and his family sold his country estate and relocated to Paris. Much to Elsie’s and Bacchus’s delight, Master Ruth Hill replaced him as the head of the assembly, and even offered Bacchus the ambulation spell he’d originally come from Barbados to receive.
He, of course, accepted.
It was high time Elsie had a proper honeymoon. And what better place to spend the autumn months than under the sunny Barbadian sky?
Elsie crammed her last petticoat in her trunk, shoving it down despite knowing she’d wrinkle her entire wardrobe. She’d insisted she could fit everything in one trunk for easier travel, and this petticoat would not make her a liar. The lid refused to shut, so she turned around and sat on the blasted thing, bouncing to pack in every fold of fabric. She’d never traveled anywhere outside of England—how was she to know which dresses would be most comfortable on a tropical island? Obviously it was better that she pack all of them, to be on the safe side. She had just managed to get the latches secure when Bacchus strode in, come up from the carriage awaiting them outside.
He cocked an eyebrow at her, amused. “If I pick that up, will it explode?” His Bajan accent was at its fullest expression.
Elsie smirked. “If you can pick this up by yourself, I will be doubly impressed.” Reggie was due any moment now, come to help them get their luggage downstairs.
“Oh?” He strode across the room and bent toward her, placing one hand on either side of her hips. His nose brushed hers. “How impressed?”
She laughed and kissed him, his beard tickling her lips.
“It is a long way to Barbados,” he murmured against her mouth. “This may be the last opportunity we have to—”
Steps sounded up the stairs. Groaning, Bacchus pulled away and straightened himself just as Reggie popped his head into the bedroom, removing his hat and fanning himself with it. His eyes dropped to the trunk. “That thing is massive! Yer gonna kill me, Els.”
