Spellmaker

They would skip the empty pleasantries, then. Good. Bacchus didn’t know if he had enough serenity to ask after the man’s health and family. He noted there were no chairs in the room other than the one Master Phillips occupied. Either he didn’t take meetings in his office often, or he insisted his guests stand. Fortunately, Bacchus preferred standing. He liked having the height advantage, not that he would have lost it upon sitting.

“I have decided to join the atheneum as a free agent,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. As it was, he was technically still registered as a student, something that barred him from doing aspector work for pay in England.

Master Phillips raised an eyebrow. “There is a formal way to go about this.”

“I was never one for ceremony.”

He pushed his half-finished letter aside. “You don’t merely walk in and declare yourself part of the London Physical Atheneum, Master Kelsey. You must have a sponsor, for instance—”

“Master Hill is my sponsor,” Bacchus slipped in. “And I’ve acquired the appropriate paperwork as well. In truth, all I lack is approval of the head.”

Master Phillips considered this for a moment, his mouth sour. He picked up his pen, tracing circles on his desk with its uninked end. “I thought you’d sailed back to that island you hail from. What was it again?”

Bacchus’s shoulders tightened. “Barbados.”

“Right, right. I think it might be better if you returned to your holdings, Master Kelsey. I’m sure Barbados is in dire need of spellmakers.”

The comment grated down to his bones. He wondered if Master Phillips would be so bold if Bacchus had called a meeting of the assembly. Then again, others of the assembly might have agreed with Master Phillips, which would have made Bacchus’s path forward more difficult.

“My intention is to stay in England,” he said, tone even. Some travel back and forth to Barbados would be necessary, but Master Phillips needn’t know that.

Irritation twitched along the sides of Master Phillips’s eyes. He seemed to be a man who was not accustomed to being told no. “And why ever would you do that?”

“Because I’m marrying an Englishwoman.” He leaned his weight to one side. “A spellbreaker, actually.”

Master Phillips smirked. “Is that so? You managed to coerce someone into matrimony? Congratulations are in store, then. But I’ll not be accepting your request at this time.”

Bacchus glowered. “Or at any time, I dare say.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” He straightened in his seat. “I’m not fond of you, Master Kelsey.”

“We hardly know each other,” Bacchus interjected.

Master Phillips merely shrugged. “I’m not fond of what you represent. An . . . otherness, so to speak. Master Hill is enough of a pain in my side. I needn’t have a second. Do you understand?”

Bacchus’s stomach tightened, but he nodded. He had been preparing for this conversation since his meeting with the magistrate, and even more so since last night. “I do. But I think you will approve it. Especially if you insist on these games.”

He looked incredulous. “Are you threatening me, Master Kelsey? You might best me in size, but my magic is far superior.”

“I have no intention of harming your person,” he clarified. “But I recently came across quite the revelation. You knew my father, yes?”

Master Phillips eyed him. “I vaguely recall the man.”

“And I suppose you vaguely recall performing a siphoning spell on his son to preserve the welfare of the Duke of Kent?”

Master Phillips’s forehead creased. “You’re twisting the wrong arm. Such a spell is perfectly legal with parental consent. You were underage.”

“Ah, but you must also recall that my father has been deceased for some time.” Bacchus took a single step closer to the desk. “And therefore you’ve no witness to say he consented.”

The man’s brow lowered. “You forget the Duke of Kent.”

“You forget that I am as a son to him, and he will not speak out against me. Especially considering that the siphoning spell has since been removed.”

His eye twitched again. Bacchus needn’t tell the man that the duke had found a new pawn to suck life from, likely a commoner boy looking to make extra coin for his family, not that Bacchus had ever seen a farthing for his own unwilling contributions. The duke was old; he wouldn’t last forever, with or without magic to aid him.

Bacchus closed the distance between himself and the desk, placed both his palms on the wood, and leaned forward. “There are no laws that would forbid you from denying my enrollment in the atheneum based on my ethnicity or nationality, Master Phillips. But there are also no laws to keep me from involving you in the court system for illegally bespelling a minor. I believe the jailtime for such an offense is significant, and even if you’re not convicted, I can’t imagine what it would do to your reputation.”

Master Phillips looked like a dog protecting his bone. “So you do intend to threaten me.”

“I don’t intend, Master Phillips.” Bacchus enunciated every word. “I am.”