Spellbreaker

Mr. Kelsey shook his head. “She’s a jealous woman. Envies Duchess Abigail a great deal. Perhaps she’s cross about Master Merton’s interest in Miss Ida; rumor is she’s topped off on her magical potential and it’s made her bitter.”

Topped off. Elsie thought of Ogden’s struggle to learn a new physical spell. He was only a novice-level aspector, and he had already emptied his magical cup. She understood discussing one’s magical potential was a taboo topic in polite society.

“As far as I know,” Mr. Kelsey continued, “she’s been forgotten by the Spiritual Atheneum. I honestly can’t think of anyone else with motivation.”

“She must be a rather self-motivated woman, to come out here and get in the dirt herself.”

“She has done as much before. In other ways.” He rubbed his half beard. Unfashionable as it was, Elsie thought it suited him rather well. What did those whiskers feel like? “I’m sure I have something in my repertoire to return the favor.”

Why on earth are you thinking about his facial hair? She focused on the conversation at hand. “I didn’t think you the petty type.”

He scowled. “If these people only understand dirty politics, then I’ll speak their language.”

“While you mimic it quite well”—she stepped over some plants to get better footing—“I fear any sort of similar revenge will only hurt the duchess’s tenants, and I’m sure they stay far from the political game.”

He glanced at her, the scowl dissipating. She raised an eyebrow.

“You’re right, of course.” He sighed.

Hands on hips, Elsie scanned the field. She was nearly in the center of it. If there were more spells, she imagined they’d be at either of the far ends. She checked the sky. If she left in the next half hour, she could get home without the need to explain her absence. And yet . . . she found herself disliking this spiritual aspector who had turned her jealousy into a weapon wielded against the innocent. She didn’t need a directive from the Cowls to see justice done.

“I presume the Duke of East Sussex is in London with the rest of Parliament, since his estate is not a comfortable ride away?”

He folded his arms. “I believe so.”

“Then his duchess would be there as well.”

His eyes narrowed. “Your point?”

“I assume your reference to her wearing spells would mean those of vanity? Physical and temporal, perhaps? Those are rather simple spells. Quite easy to unravel. I need only run into her, and she might not even notice.” She smiled. “It might be enough of a message.” Elsie was feeling a little reckless.

And she would very much like to stay busy today, if only to keep her thoughts where she wanted them and not allow them leave to stray to Alfred. Or her parents.

Unlovable.

She rubbed her hands together, cleaning them as best she could, before pulling on her gloves. “I’ll even do it free of charge.” She’d have to find an excuse for her absence if Ogden noticed. She really needed to be more careful. While she doubted Ogden would turn her out, she wanted him to be glad to have her.

Mr. Kelsey’s lips quirked. “We sound like children, don’t we?”

“Have you never noticed that children have a much happier disposition than adults? Perhaps you might know where the naughty Duchess of East Sussex is staying.”

He considered that a moment. “Let’s check the rest of the field. And then you will ride in a duke’s carriage, Miss Camden.”

“And you will ride on horseback outside of it.” She offered her fakest smile. “For the sake of propriety.”

He accepted the offer with a nod, though oddly enough, Elsie found herself wishing he’d fought her on it.

Elsie stood in a short, sunny alleyway, feeling like she was eight years old again. Perhaps they were being foolish, immature, even reckless, but she could not deny she was excited. Her work with the Cowls was always so precise and clandestine. So impersonal.

She could get caught. In fact, if the situation seemed too dangerous for her to act, she would not. Petty revenge certainly wasn’t worth the noose, however much the woman deserved it. But if the spells were simple enough, she could work swiftly, invisibly. She’d done it before.

Honestly, it was a soft punishment for a woman trying to starve an entire village.

“There.” Bacchus peered onto the main street beside her. The word was especially rich, and Elsie realized he’d said it in his Bajan accent. She tried not to smile as he gestured subtly toward the road. They stood close, half-masked by a small shop for used book and leather repair. A tall but plump woman exited the ribbon shop Bacchus had indicated, dressed in scarlet almost too bright to be tasteful. Was that velvet? Goodness, the jacket alone would cost a fortune. She had black hair curled and pinned under a matching hat. Her features were quite lovely, her eyes large and nose small, lips red without paint. She looked too young for a woman in her fifties, which was the age Bacchus had guessed her to be.