Spellmaker

Reggie’s eyes widened as Elsie greeted him in the studio with a stack of twelve handwritten articles, all brief and stylized like the ones she and Ogden had found in the British papers. “You weren’t having a laugh about this, were you?” Reggie said. Each article had a clue buried in the headline, and each one mentioned ravens. Reggie glimpsed at the first.

“Don’t worry about what they say,” Elsie insisted. Like Merton’s articles, they were vague unto the point of meaninglessness, the messages hidden within. “Just get them published. Front page if possible.”

Beside her, Irene handed Reggie an envelope. “In case you need to purchase the space.”

“As soon as possible,” Ogden pressed.

Reggie didn’t know everything, not in the way Irene and Emmeline now did—they’d told him an aspector crook was at large and Quinn Raven might be able to help find her.

“Don’t give them any reasoning if you don’t have to,” Elsie added.

“And be careful,” Emmeline interjected.

Reggie managed a lopsided smile at the last request. “Makes me feel sort of like a vigilante. But a good one.” He counted the individual papers. “I’ll see what I can do. Couple might need to be in the same paper, but I can do different dates.”

“Perfect.” Elsie kissed him on the cheek. “It will be such a help to us. To me.”

Reggie shrugged. “Not a problem. Anything for my sister.”

Elsie beamed as brightly as if a gas lamp burned behind her smile. She saw Reggie back out to his mount—he’d ridden on horseback instead of taking a cab—and hurried back in to find Irene pinning her hat into her hair. She always had on a different hat. Perhaps when Elsie became fully certified, she’d have a plethora of hats of her own.

“With luck, they’ll be in Monday’s paper.” Irene hung her umbrella over her arm, though yesterday’s storm was long gone.

“With luck,” Elsie repeated. They’d had plenty of it, hadn’t they? She still struggled to believe they’d found such a friend in Irene, but Ogden had declared her trustworthy. And Elsie so desperately wanted to believe it. “I’ll repay you.”

Irene waved her hand. “I might not be a spellmaker, but I’ve a good salary in my own right and no family to spend it on.” There was a sad note at the end of the confession, but the spellbreaker merely smiled. “I’ll check in with you on Tuesday.”

“Perfect.” Elsie saw her to the door, then went up to her room to rest. She heard the scratching of a pencil as she opened the door, and spied on her table the enchanted green pencil dancing as though held by a ghost. Hurrying over, she read the script pouring out onto the blank page she’d left beneath it, noting that the pencil was in need of sharpening. She and Bacchus had been corresponding for much of the day about the attack on Ogden and its aftermath, plus Master Hill’s health. The tail end of their last conversation took up the top quarter of the paper.

His message from earlier caught her eye first: It would not be a problem for me to stay there.

Her reply: Why, so he can have two opuses if he returns? Ogden is looking into it. I don’t think he’ll try again. Especially not with Irene here so frequently.

Bacchus’s script had turned dark, as though he’d pushed on the pencil too hard. Assumptions like that are how villains get the upper hand.

She skipped the material she’d already read and focused on the new words still writing themselves down: Elsie, Bacchus’s fine script spelled, I’ve been contacted by the duke. He wants to talk, but—the pencil paused for a moment—I’d prefer to have you with me. I do not believe the duke or anyone in his household intends me harm. Nor do I think there will be any nonsense with spells. But I’ve not yet sorted through my feelings regarding the revelation about the siphoning spell, and I believe your presence will help me remain steady.

Elsie’s heart softened like butter. Help him remain steady. Smiling, she reached for the pencil, but it moved again, and she stayed her hand.