Spellbreaker

Well, that’s . . . firm, she thought, ignoring the warmth creeping up her neck. There was the temporal spell, its scent like a sunlit forest floor. But there was a layer under it. A tightly knitted spell that made her think of the runes sown in the fields. Nestled away, out of sight. Just as before, she couldn’t see, hear, smell, or feel it, but she sensed it in a way she couldn’t describe. Whatever it was, it was powerful, to call to her in such a way. To conceal its alignment.

She took her hand away. “You can’t feel that?”

He shook his head and sighed. Had he been holding his breath?

“There are two spells on your person, Bacchus Kelsey.” She met his gaze. “One layered under the other. I cannot decipher what the first is without removing the temporal spell, but I am sure as a gun that it is there.”

Mr. Kelsey lifted a hand and placed it where Elsie’s had just been. “You must be mistaken.”

“I am not.”

But he shook his head. “There is no other spell on me. It would have interfered with the temporal spell.” He sounded like he doubted his own words.

“The aspector who slowed the polio wouldn’t have sensed it. Have you never worked with a spellbreaker before?” She lowered her voice. “A legal one, I mean?”

“No.” He sounded almost defensive. Or simply confused. “No, I haven’t.”

She rubbed her hands together. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not—” But he turned away, not finishing the statement. He rubbed his eyes. “You are untrained.”

She folded her arms. “You determined that by my wildly unsuccessful work, did you?”

He clutched his books. “I’ll . . . look into it. Thank you, Miss Camden.”

The words might as well have been a whip, the way they snapped through the air. Elsie stepped back as though she could avoid their sharpness. He really didn’t know. The temporal spell was of such a sensitive nature . . . perhaps she shouldn’t have told him of the second, not in his moment of vulnerability. But it was too late to do anything about it now.

Unsure what else to do, Elsie nodded, and Bacchus Kelsey turned for the estate, disappearing behind its wall.

CHAPTER 13

He did not believe Elsie Camden had lied to him.

But he also did not want to trust her.

Bacchus stood in his bedroom, looking out the window at the grounds below. He did not spend a lot of time in this space; he used it merely for sleeping—something he needed too much of lately, thanks to the stunted polio. There were always things in need of doing, tasks in need of completing. Standing still was bad enough. Soon he would be forced to sit still.

But here he was, pensive, staring out the window like an invalid, lost in his own thoughts.

He still remembered the day his father had brought him to Master Pierrelo. He’d been almost seventeen, already taller than his father. They had just returned from his mother’s funeral in Portugal. His father had made sure she was comfortable all her years, but he’d never truly involved her in Bacchus’s life, outside a single visit and a handful of letters. Whether or not she wanted to be part of Bacchus’s life, he wasn’t sure; but as a bastard, he would have lived a more affluent life with his father than his mother. Regardless, Bacchus had been sick from the loss of his mother, the travel over the sea, and the onset of his disease.

He remembered everything the temporal aspector had said. Remembered the spell warming his skin. This is not a cure, Master Pierrelo had cautioned. Only more time.

Bacchus had taken that warning to heart. He’d researched, studied, and worked until he had a plan in place. A plan that revolved around a spell he had not yet obtained. A spell that might help him move his legs once paralysis set in. If not, it would be an extension of his hands, allowing him to work without ever needing to stand.

If pity would have swayed the physical assembly, Bacchus might have shared his story with them. But men determined to be uncaring were never persuaded otherwise.

He touched his chest. He could still feel the prints of Miss Camden’s fingers there. He hadn’t thought her touch would affect him, yet the pressure of her hand lingered like she’d cast her own spell. In that brief moment, he had seen more of her than she usually revealed—sadness limning her eyes, frustration creasing her brow. But the certainty with which she’d declared the existence of another spell, one he had no recollection of, had dissipated any tender feelings.

He didn’t know how large the rune was, but Miss Camden insisted on its presence. How long had she known? Had she learned of it that first night, when he’d caught her discharging his spell? During the re-enchanting of the wall? Or perhaps at Isaiah’s dinner, when he’d escorted her into the dining room. Perhaps he’d let his guard down, allowing the lighting and her sharp blue eyes to put him at ease—