Spellmaker

Setting her jaw, Elsie moved to the far wall, running her hands along the stone, searching for anything—gaps, loose rocks, spells. She searched high and low, then scoured the next wall, finding a knit blanket tucked into the shadows beneath it. She ignored it. Investigated the third wall, then the fourth, and finally picked over the floor.

Nothing. Nothing.

So she returned to the locked basement door and screamed as loud as she could, deep into the night, until she tasted blood.

CHAPTER 16

It was late evening by the time Bacchus jerked back on the reins of Master Hill’s horse, slowing the cabriolet on the main road to London. He and Mr. Ogden both were speckled with rain and mud thanks to their speed. The enchanted lights fastened to either side of the carriage swung wildly as the horse staggered to a stop, highlighting the obstruction in the road and the handful of people around it, two of whom wore blue police uniforms.

Two carriages, one in the middle of the road, one pulled off to the side. The latter appeared to be occupied; two men, one in a driver’s livery, lingered nearby, talking quietly. One of the policemen waved his hand and approached Bacchus, who slid from the cabriolet into the rain.

“Turn around or go around,” the policeman said. “This is a crime sce—”

“Was there a woman in that carriage?” Bacchus interrupted.

The policeman paused. “Are you missing someone?”

“Elsie Camden,” Mr. Ogden interjected, pulling his coat closer. “She hired a carriage to go into London hours ago and hasn’t been seen.”

The policeman pursed his lips. Wiped rain from his upper lip. “No woman here, only a dead driver.”

A chill colder than the rain sank into Bacchus’s bones. “Dead driver?”

He nodded. “Shot through the neck and trampled.” He tilted his head back. Thanks to the storm, the night was especially dark, but Bacchus spied a blanket-covered mound near the first carriage.

He stepped forward only to have the policeman splay a hand on his chest and urge him back. “This is a crime scene.”

“Is there any evidence of a passenger?” Bacchus pressed, impatience bubbling up. “A driver’s log, a shoe—”

Mr. Ogden, without looking at Bacchus or the policeman, said, “A reticule.”

The officer stiffened. Emmeline had mentioned a reticule, but judging by the policeman’s reaction, Bacchus had to wonder if Mr. Ogden had searched his mind for clues. “There is a reticule,” the officer said, hesitant. “We found one in the grass.”

“With gray blossoms printed on it,” Mr. Ogden guessed.

The officer set his jaw, then nodded.

Bacchus cursed loudly enough that the other witnesses broke from their conversation to gawk at him. Mr. Ogden said quietly, “I take it they’re the ones who found the body and summoned the police?”

The policeman nodded. “Indeed.”

Bacchus stepped forward, his sheer size causing the officer to back up. “That reticule belongs to Elsie Camden, my fiancée. Please. Let us take a look.”

The man sighed and glanced to the other policeman on duty. “Wait here,” he said, before returning to his partner.

Bacchus put a hand on Mr. Ogden’s shoulder. “I don’t care if you listen in, but wait for them to answer before you start twisting their minds. Let’s do this legally.”

Mr. Ogden didn’t answer, merely stood there, a glowering stone of a man.

Several minutes passed before the first officer waved them forward. Bacchus rushed to the abandoned carriage, taking one of the enchanted lights with him. It was empty. He searched for signs of struggle and found none. Any prints leading away had been washed out by the rain.

He felt sick enough to empty his stomach.

Mr. Ogden had retrieved the reticule from the officers and searched through it. “Nothing of use.” He tucked it into his jacket.

Grabbing fistfuls of hair, Bacchus turned a slow circle, peering into the darkness for any sign of her, any clue, anything. “Do you have any evidence of where the murderer might have gone?”

The second officer said, “Not yet. Perhaps there will be more in the daylight, but with this rain . . .” He shrugged. “We’ll do what we can, but the weather will stall us.”

Bacchus tried not to let their response throw him into a rage. It wouldn’t benefit Elsie for him to lose his head now.

Quietly, Mr. Ogden murmured, “They don’t know anything. None of them do.” His voice was a hammer against a rusted nail.

Bacchus growled and turned to the officers. “I’m a master physical aspector. Is there anything I can do?”

The policemen glanced at each other. The first said, “Not unless you can stop the rain and make the sun come up, but even that will be of limited help.”

Cursing again, Bacchus stepped off the road into the wild grass, searching with his enchanted light. He walked east, then south, coming around to the west, then north. Moved about in larger and larger circles, searching futilely for any sign of her.

Soaked through and shivering, he shouted her name into the night.

No one answered.