Spellmaker

Elsie gaped, caught herself, and closed her mouth with a click of her teeth. “O-Oh, I see.”

Opening her parcel, Miss Prescott pulled out a sheaf of papers and set them on a cabinet. Turning to Emmeline, she said, “My dear, do you have a pen on hand?”

Emmeline nodded and set the broom aside, hurrying to the cubbies beneath the desk to retrieve a pen and ink.

“I’ll just need you to fill this out.” Miss Prescott slid the papers to Elsie. A quick flip through the pages revealed they were filled with personal questions, about her age, appearance, height, et cetera, as well as her family history. Well, she couldn’t tell the board what she didn’t know.

Licking her lips, Elsie took the pen, reminding herself she needn’t be nervous; this was all part of the plan. Register, train for a while, be free. It might be nice, using her abilities openly. She’d make more money, certainly. Wouldn’t be as much of a burden on Bacchus.

Bacchus.

Elsie found herself writing his name on one of the lines and hurriedly scribbled it out, replacing it with her age.

Miss Prescott smiled. “I often forget my own years.”

Elsie nodded and moved on to the next page.

“Your family history will help us track magical lines,” Miss Prescott pressed.

“I’m an orphan,” Elsie said, unsure if it was true. She began filling out the second page.

Miss Prescott at least was polite enough to sound embarrassed. “Terribly sorry.”

She finished the paperwork and signed her name at the end. Miss Prescott signed hers as well, then organized the papers into a neat stack. “Could have called you in, but I know this is all new, so I thought I’d make the trip out here.”

Elsie straightened, rubbing at a spot of ink on her hand. “Thank you. That’s kind.”

“Though we’ll have to travel a bit for your training,” she continued. “To the atheneums, of course, so we can gather the spells you’ll need to practice breaking. On occasion we’ll have a spellmaker come to us, but they’re a busy lot.”

“I do work, Miss Prescott.”

She clucked sympathetically. “I understand that, though unfortunately this takes precedence. Magic, even simple spellbreaking, can be dangerous if unchecked.”

Simple spellbreaking. Elsie almost snorted. In her opinion, dismantling spells was far more complex than laying them. Spellmakers didn’t even know what their runes looked like. Couldn’t see them, smell them, nothing. But Miss Prescott was correct—the abilities could be dangerous if left untrained. Elsie’s ignorance of spellbreaking had indirectly led to her workhouse burning down when she was ten.

Her thoughts slid to Master Merton.

“Of course,” she said, trying to stay present. “It’s just that, well, I’m getting married within the month.” Her stomach clenched. They hadn’t actually set a date. Had she just pushed Bacchus into a tighter cage?

“Oh! Congratulations. Well, we can work around that.”

Emmeline added, “He’s a spellmaker, too. A master physical aspector.”

Now Miss Prescott’s eyes went wide. “Is he really?”

“Recently promoted.” It sounded more believable that she’d win the heart of an advanced aspector over a master aspector. The class difference wasn’t as stark. Though now that she would be a registered spellbreaker, her own status would improve. A spellbreaker would never merit a title, but the role carried prestige, nonetheless. Spellbreakers were necessary. But being a spellmaker . . . that term alone meant one had money.

“Well, perhaps we’ll be able to use his services.” She put the papers in her bag. “I’ll be contacting you shortly. I saw a post office, so I presume a telegram is fine?”

Elsie nodded.

Miss Prescott extended her hand once more, and Elsie shook it. “Lovely again to make your acquaintance, Miss Camden. And don’t worry—in a few years, you’ll be ready to take on the world.”

Elsie smiled, trying not to make her grip too tight. A few years?

God help her, this would be the longest ruse she’d ever pulled.

God help her.

CHAPTER 7

Late that night, after Emmeline went to bed, Elsie rapped on Ogden’s door.

She waited a long moment before he opened it, his hair mussed. “Sorry to wake you,” she said, “but I have an idea.”

Ogden sighed. “You didn’t wake me. I don’t sleep like I used to.” He glanced down the hallway to Emmeline’s room. “Let’s go downstairs.”

Shielding her candle, Elsie led the way to the kitchen. She understood Ogden’s predicament—she was pulling later nights and earlier mornings as well, kept awake by tumultuous thoughts with no end, wondering what happens if and what happens now. Yet she still felt sorry for him. His will was freely his own after ten years, and he seemed only to be suffering for it.

She lit two more candles in the kitchen before settling down, pulling a shawl tight over her robe. Ogden sat across from her, rubbing the thick stubble on his cheeks.