Spellbreaker

Elsie set her quarry: Duchess Matilda Morris, disgraced spiritual aspector, crop ruiner, face liar. The Cowls certainly wouldn’t like her.

Duchess Morris walked by a much smaller, plumper woman with gray-streaked curls bushing out from a hat. They seemed to be speaking about something astonishing.

Nobility gossip. How delightful. Though if the duchess had a companion, Elsie’s plan might not work.

Elsie stepped into the street, checking the way for horses before hurrying along. She thought she heard Bacchus snap something about being careful. But there was no need to give chase; the two women took the stairs right into the next shop—a millinery.

Slowing her step, Elsie followed, catching the door right before it closed. She feigned intense interest in the window display just inside the entrance.

“I still think it might be bad driving. But I’m beginning to worry. It’s not a long trip.” Duchess Morris glanced over a few hats with her lip curled in disgust.

“Alma is an aspector, she’ll be fine.” The woman with the ruddy cheeks picked up a spool of ribbon and laid it across the back of her hand, noting the color against her skin. There was something in her voice familiar to Elsie. She dared a closer glance.

It was Master Lily Merton, from the dinner at Seven Oaks. Elsie turned away quickly, not wishing to be recognized. Or did she? Could she get closer to Duchess Morris if she struck up a conversation with Master Merton first? Would Master Merton know enough about spellbreaking to notice what Elsie was doing?

Doubt crept up her spine. But if it would put Bacchus Kelsey in better spirits, he might let her go sooner. No more lying and slinking around without pay. No more being under his thumb. Elsie did not enjoy being a debtor.

And it might be nice to see him a little more chipper, besides.

“And what will she do if some highway robber accosts her? Bless him? I’m the one who convinced her to take a holiday. What an awful start.” Duchess Morris wrung her hands together. “She should have arrived by now. Her sister’s telegram was practically manic. Ugh, this place is no better than the last.”

Elsie watched from the corner of her eye. Does the squire know this Alma, too? she wondered, half-serious.

The owner of the shop stood right there, his brow wrinkling at the woman’s insult. Duchess Morris waved a dismissive hand and started back for the door. “I’ll send Marie for it. This is a waste of time.”

Master Merton returned the ribbon and nodded her thanks at the disgruntled milliner, but another trinket caught her eye. She wandered off, leaving Duchess Morris waiting by the door. Master Merton and the shop owner were distracted. No witnesses.

Elsie steadied herself with a deep breath. She just had to get the timing right. She waited until Duchess Morris grew impatient and headed for the exit, then Elsie turned suddenly—

“Oh!” she exclaimed, barreling right into Duchess Morris. They fell over together, crashing into a table of wares that barely kept them from toppling to the floor. A smattering of tiny temporal runes smelled so strongly they made Elsie gag, and a physical rune she wasn’t familiar with glimmered at her, already fraying at the edges. Perfect. It was cheaply made and would come apart on its own soon, anyway, so no one could point a finger at Elsie for its disappearance. In a feigned effort to get up, Elsie swiped her hand across the woman’s face, catching the physical rune with her thumb. It came apart so easily even another spellbreaker might not have noticed.

“Get off me, you clumsy hag!” Duchess Morris growled in frustration. She pushed Elsie away just as Elsie pulled the threads of a second rune apart. Only two—she hadn’t time for more, and there had to be at least a half dozen on the duchess’s face alone.

“Oh my!” The millinery owner grabbed Elsie and pulled her upright.

“Miss Camden?” Master Merton asked, wide-eyed.

Seeing Elsie was uninjured, the shop owner quickly sought to aid the woman of higher worth. “My lady, are you all right?”

Master Merton’s face pinched. Hushed, she said, “You’d best make yourself scarce,” and then pushed her attention to the duchess. “Oh, Matilda! What a bother!” She took Duchess Morris’s arm and helped right her. “What an unlucky thing.”

The sternness in Master Merton’s tone startled Elsie. Finding herself, she bowed her head. “My apologies! I wasn’t thinking.”

“Obviously.” Duchess Morris righted herself and adjusted her skirt. Her brows pulled together, yet they left no creases or wrinkles on her forehead—a spell must have concealed that. But her nose, her true nose, jutted from her face like the edge of a cleaver, pointed and sure of itself. Fine lines appeared on the corner of her mouth below it—but only one corner. The other was as smooth as a babe’s bottom.

Elsie bit the inside of her cheek and offered a curtsy. The milliner stared.