Spellbreaker

She tugged at the thread. It took her just as long to find the second, and then third, but the more she unwound, the easier it was to locate the next loop. As she got to the end of the knot, the rune finally sparkled.

Then it vanished.

Bacchus gasped and stumbled backward.

“What?” she asked, whipping her hands back like she’d angered a snake. Her eyes moistened. Oh God, I’ve killed him, I’ve done something terrible, I’ll never forgive myself! “What, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

Master Pierrelo rushed forward to steady him. Bacchus’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Stray strands of hair fell from the tie at the nape of his neck.

He inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring.

“Bacchus?” Elsie squeaked. Her hands trembled.

He held up a hand in reassurance. “I’m not hurt, Elsie. It’s fine.” He straightened and, somehow, was taller than he’d been before. His back stood straighter, his shoulders squarer.

Her eyes darted between Bacchus and Master Pierrelo. “Then what?”

“It was like . . . like something punched me.” Bacchus touched his diaphragm, right where the second spell had been. “But . . . in a good way.”

“Are you well?” Master Pierrelo asked, going as far as to touch Bacchus’s forehead.

“I am.” He shook free of the temporal aspector’s hand. “I’m . . . very well.” He lifted his hands, flexed them. They looked darker, their tan color richer. And . . . yes, it was the same for his face as well. As though he’d just spent the entire day in the July sun. His eyes were remarkably bright as well; so clear, so green.

Elsie’s brain was a jumble of vines. “What do you mean?”

“I mean.” He lifted his arms, lowered them. “I feel like I’ve finally

rested. Like my body has been working at half capacity until this moment. I’m not . . . I’m not tired anymore.”

Elsie’s lips parted. Bacchus had often looked fatigued, although he had explained it to be a side effect of his disease.

“Mr. Kelsey,” Master Pierrelo began slowly, “I am no doctor, but . . . I do not think you have polio.”

Bacchus snapped to attention like the man had thrown water in his face. “What?”

Master Pierrelo rubbed his chin. “Do you feel sick?”

He paused. “No. I . . . don’t think I’ve ever felt this hale in my entire life.” He ran his hands down his chest, up his arms, as though his body were completely new to him. His eyes were round and wondering, more amazed than a child’s on Christmas Day. Elsie’s skin prickled like feathers danced beneath it. She had done that.

“Hmm.” Master Pierrelo thought for several seconds. “Whoever put this first spell on you did it before you ever received my administrations . . . I suggest you take the young lady’s drawing and see if you can determine what it was.”

Desperately needing something to do, Elsie grabbed her drawing and handed it to him.

Bacchus’s fingers trembled ever so slightly as he took the page and studied the charcoal rune. He let out a long breath, perhaps trying to orient himself into this new way of being. “Then we’re off to London.”

He said we.

Elsie clasped her hands together. Certainly Bacchus could get her into the Physical Atheneum. She could get her hands on those runes as well. Help Bacchus, and perhaps help herself to a few spellbreaking books at the same time. Everything she knew, she had taught herself.

“I think that wise. If you want me to redo the spell . . . ,” Master Pierrelo offered.

But Bacchus shook his head. “No. No, not yet. I need to know what this is. As soon as possible.”

He folded the paper and stuck it in his trouser pocket, then grabbed his shirt and tugged it over his head. Elsie handed him the remainder of his garments, eyes averted. Something about watching him dress felt just as scandalous as watching him undress.

If this wasn’t a novel reader come to life, she didn’t know what was.

Clothed, Bacchus said, “Let me pay you for your time.”

Master Pierrelo stayed him with a raised hand. “You’ve not yet taken up a quarter hour of it. I’m sorry you’ve traveled so far only to not need my services. Go. And let me know what you discover, if only to satiate my curiosity.” He eyed Bacchus. “This is a mystery more than ten years in the making.”

So it had been ten years since Master Pierrelo had laid his spell. How long had the other one been in place?

Bacchus shook Master Pierrelo’s hand again, and Elsie did the same, despite it being a masculine gesture. Why shouldn’t she? She was a professional spellbreaker, as far as he knew, and it was not nearly as scandalous as putting her hands all over the bare chest of a virile bachelor, now was it? And because it wasn’t every day she met a master magician, she thought she might also attempt to get some information.

“Master Pierrelo,” she said, “what do you think about the opus crimes in London?”

The spellmaker frowned and released her hand. “They aren’t only in London. I don’t know much; the less I’m involved, the safer I am.”