Spellmaker

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.”

Elsie grinned. “I only have two books in there, if that garners any confidence. Thank you again for helping us.”

Reggie shrugged and stuffed his head into his cap. “What’s family for?”

Elsie pulled herself from the trunk. She was going to miss her brother. They’d visited frequently over the last two months, building up the relationship that had been so cruelly torn from them. “You’re still coming for Christmas?” Elsie asked. She and Bacchus intended to be back in London for the holidays.

“Of course.” He glanced to Bacchus. “I saw the carriage—I was going to wait until after we were done, but might as well do it before the heavy lifting.”

“Do what?” Bacchus asked.

Reggie dug into his jacket, pulling a newspaper clipping from an interior pocket. Elsie’s stomach clenched—she’d become wary of unexpected newspaper articles. What did this mean? Surely they’d put the whole Merton episode behind them.

He handed it to her, his grin throwing her off. “Look.”

Elsie turned the article about, holding it so Bacchus could read over her shoulder. It had been hastily torn, bearing the corners of other articles. The story at the center read, New Recruits for Newcastle upon Tyne Temporal Atheneum. A short list of names followed.

“And?” Elsie scanned down the list.

“Second to bottom,” Reggie said.

She skipped ahead. Her breath hitched.

There, the print clear, was the name Alice Camden.

Reggie had claimed their baby sister’s name was Alice.

“Don’t get your hopes up.” Her brother gingerly took the article from her fingers. “It’s not an uncommon name. But maybe.”

Elsie shook her head, trying to ignore the sensation of ants in her middle. “I . . . Alice was just a baby. She couldn’t have known her name.”

Bacchus rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. “She might not have been given up as an infant,” he offered, his tone awed and hushed.

Reggie nodded. “Maybe she was left with someone who knew it. Maybe she was never left.”

Never left. If that was the case, Alice would know where their parents were. Elsie wasn’t sure she was ready to meet them. Or her. If this even was her!