Spellmaker

“It’s no use, so you might as well save your strength.”

Elsie whirled around at the voice, nearly dropping the bottle. A ghost stood near the light—no, not a ghost, but a projection. A fuzzy projection, lacking detail and color, which meant the spiritual aspector casting the spell was some distance away.

Even so, Elsie would have recognized this particular aspector anywhere.

“Merton,” she spat, setting the bottle down and standing, pressing her crown into the stone overhead. If Merton was fuzzy, that likely meant Elsie was fuzzy to her, too. So Merton probably couldn’t see clearly enough to know whether Elsie had touched her sleeping spell or whether it was working. Elsie would have to talk carefully to avoid giving herself away.

“Are we dropping titles now?” the apparition asked. “I worked very hard for that master, I’ll have you know.”

“Yes, all the way from the workhouse.” That gave the projection pause. Good. “What do you want?” Elsie grasped her anger, preferring it infinitely to fear, then tried to make herself sound tired. “Where am I?”

“I’m giving you another chance, dear,” Merton replied. “I really would love to have your company. I’ve grown so fond of you.”

Elsie shook her head, disbelieving. “You say you’re fond of me, and yet you’ve had me incarcerated, drugged, abducted, and now caged in some . . . some cellar?”

The faded ghost shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d listen if I came to you in person.” The words were a little garbled, but Elsie understood them.

She rubbed a chill from her arms. Merton must have noticed, because she said, “There should be a blanket in there. I don’t want you catching cold. Why don’t you rest? You must be exhausted.”

Elsie choked back a scoff, then feigned a yawn. “Who is your puppet now? The physical aspector?”

The features on the blurred face shifted just enough for Elsie to detect a frown. “That’s the problem with the powerful ones. They so like to fight back. Your artist did the same for the first few months, you know. Until he finally gave in and cooperated.” She sighed. “Although he didn’t have the dexterity necessary to accomplish all I needed. I never was fond of that ruffian you left all over the Duke of Kent’s dining room floor.”

Stomach acid burned in Elsie’s gut. She referred to Nash, Ogden’s “business partner” and the man who had carried out Merton’s murders. “You talk about murder like it’s a cup of tea.”

“Oh hardly, my dear. But it is necessary. You’ll understand soon enough.”

Elsie paused, sensing an opening. “Couldn’t you help me understand now? If you want me to come with you.” She barely remembered to sound sleepy.

Another frown. “No, dear. I don’t trust you just yet, and I’ve been planning too long to have it all upset now. But a few deaths are nothing compared to the lives I will save, I’ll say that much.”

Elsie wanted to goad her, and Quinn Raven’s name danced on her tongue. But any advantage they currently had—and it didn’t feel like they had much of one given she was once again a prisoner—would be demolished if Merton learned Elsie had met the very man Merton had been pursuing for years.

No. If Merton wanted Raven so badly, Elsie could not help her find him. And who knew what sort of methods Merton—or her puppets—might enact to get the information from her. Or from Bacchus, Ogden, Emmeline, or Irene.

So many are involved now, she realized. She had to keep them safe. Thank the Lord Reggie was still in the dark.

“Let me out,” Elsie pleaded, clasping cold fingers against her breast. “I’ll talk with you, face-to-face. I’m not armed.”

The projection laughed. “Oh, I know.”

It was then Elsie realized her reticule was gone. Her pockets were empty. Even her hat was gone, and her hair fell freely in uneven curls about her shoulders, every last hairpin stolen from it.

Panic seized her as she pressed her hands to her corset, but the slight rise of the opus spell gave her some relief. Relief that she still had the spell, however useless in this situation, and relief that the man who’d taken her hadn’t undressed her. Then again, who would think an unsuspecting woman would hide anything beneath the boning of her underthings?

Straightening her spine, Elsie repeated, “Please.”

“Not yet, dear Elsie,” Merton said, familiar. Elsie wondered how much of her life Merton had witnessed through Ogden’s eyes, if any. She didn’t understand how the control spell worked, only how to untie it. “I’ll keep you safe until I’m ready for you. You’ll have ample time to consider my offer. It’s not like you’ll be giving anything up. A lousy job working at a stonemasonry shop? A family who left you behind? An unwanted marriage?”

Elsie did not feel the need to correct the woman. She merely scowled, hoping the expression came through their murky connection.

“You won’t starve,” the spiritual aspector promised. “With luck, it won’t be long now.”