Spellmaker

Elsie’s chest tightened. Won’t be long? Until what? What did Merton plan to do? As close as they’d come to piecing the puzzle together, she still didn’t know.

The ghost began to fade. Elsie had to keep her talking. “Which workhouse was it?” she blurted.

Merton paused.

“Which one did they take you to?” she reframed.

Several seconds passed. Elsie was sure Merton would refuse to answer, but she said, “Abingdon-on-Thames, of course.”

Elsie stiffened. Same workhouse as herself.

“Is that how you found me?”

Merton sighed, but it sounded weary rather than exasperated. Until now, the woman had chosen her words carefully. But perhaps Elsie could convince her to talk more openly. If she managed to create the illusion of a bond between them, something Merton might want if she’d truly wished to adopt Elsie, she could use it to her advantage.

“I’m a spiritual aspector, of course. I have the ability to help those with less.” She cupped her hands together. “I visited all the local workhouses, leaving blessings where I could. Where I was allowed to.” She scoffed. “And of course I went back to Abingdon. I know what it’s like, dear Elsie.”

“I never saw you.”

“If you did, you wouldn’t remember. They rarely let me interact with the children. As for finding you”—she tilted her head—“you nearly found me. I was nearby when that fire lit. I came quickly to help. I asked questions. Your name came up.”

Elsie bit her lip. She’d told two children about the rune. She’d always assumed they hadn’t tattled on her. Then again, a spiritual aspector could elicit the truth from anyone with a spell.

“I saw myself in you.” She spoke quietly. “Young and impoverished, no one to turn to, with untapped talents.”

Elsie dared to reveal her hand—if Merton thought she could trust her, perhaps she’d release her. “Duchess Morris said you won sponsorship in a lottery.”

Merton frowned—or at least Elsie thought she did. It was hard to tell, blurry as the projection was. “Yes, there was a selection for aspectors nearby. I walked nearly eight miles to get there. I had promise, but not as much as the postmaster’s son.” She scoffed again. “A boy who had more than anyone else in the village. Whose profession was guaranteed. I didn’t even have a pair of shoes to wear.”

Elsie held her breath, waiting for the story to unravel.

“The recruiter took me in, but I had to beg the sponsor to choose me, Elsie.” Merton looked her squarely in the eyes. “He easily could have sponsored two, but such a thing was absurd to him. It was so obvious I was destitute, that I had nothing, but he made me beg for his help. For his money. Even then, he only relented because I agreed to siphon a portion of my pay to him after I reached my mastership. Of course I agreed. I would have agreed to nearly anything. I hadn’t eaten all day. I was desperate.”

A portion of her pay. Duchess Morris had said Merton had supported her sponsor in his later years. Had that support been forced?

“That’s terrible.” And it was. Elsie needn’t pretend.

Merton nodded. “The rich are entitled, Elsie. They always will be. He was entitled, and his children were even more so. When he died, they took me to court to try to force me to continue paying the estate. So they could live off my earnings in addition to their inheritance.”

Elsie’s chin dropped.

Merton waved a blurry hand. “It didn’t take. I could afford a good solicitor by then. But you must understand, Elsie. The problem is so much greater than what you’ve seen. We are at war. Not across country borders, but in our very streets. The lower classes must fight for everything. Food on their table, employment, right of way, their very dignity.” Her voice was strained. “We even fight each other. If there’s one pattern history teaches us, it’s that the rich start the wars and force the poor to soldier them.”

Elsie took a deep breath, then another, processing all of it. She didn’t want to agree with Merton about anything, but there was no denying the cruelty of the class system. She’d experienced the pain it caused firsthand. It didn’t surprise her that Merton saw it as war. Merton had grown up in war. And seeing it that way would help her to sanction violence. Murder.

“Once you marry that spellmaker, you’ll become just like them. Complacent to others’ struggles. It saddens me that I have to explain this to you,” she added.

Mention of Bacchus made her stomach clench. Was that why he’d been one of Merton’s targets? “No, I understand.” She approached. “I do understand you. Please, come speak to me in person.”

But the projection shook its head. “I know you do, dear, but not enough. Not yet. All you need is a little more time, hm?” The image began to fade.

Pulse racing, Elsie ran to her. “Merton, wait! Lily, listen to me—”

The projection puffed away like smoke, leaving Elsie alone once more.