Spellmaker

The bread and cheese. Someone had to replace those, didn’t they?

Either way, Elsie intended to put up a fight.

The spell was practically screaming at her with its nearness, though she heard nothing. Bolting across the room, Elsie grabbed the bottle—it was about the length of her elbow to the tip of her middle finger—and stretched back onto the floor, pulling her blanket over her, careful not to touch the spiritual spell embedded in the glass. Worried her expression might give her away, she turned her back to the small enchanted light on the ceiling.

Breathe. Breathe! she urged herself, trying to deepen and slow her breaths as the spell came ever closer.

She lay there, counting heartbeats, focusing on deep breaths and the spell . . . which was so close now. So close. She hadn’t heard a single footstep or the creaking of the doors, but Elsie could have sworn the carrier of that spell was in the cellar with her—

Mute spell. She thought she could sense it now. Just like the spell that had sucked all the sound from Ogden’s attack.

Her heart flipped, and it took all her effort not to let her breathing hitch. He’s in here right now. And I can’t hear him. Was this why Merton wanted to keep her unconscious?

Closer, closer. Over to the tray. Did he notice the missing bottle? The spell stalled for just a moment. Elsie’s heart lodged firmly in her throat. Then the person passed by her.

Gritting her teeth, Elsie pushed herself up off the floor and whirled around, colliding into another body. She barely registered it as a man before she swung the bottle with all her might into the side of his head.

He crumpled to the ground, soundless.

Her hands slick on the bottle’s neck, Elsie gasped for air, her hair wild around her face and shoulders. He wore all black, along with a high collar that might have been pulled up over his mouth if he’d had the mind. A large nose, slender shoulders . . . he looked to be a little younger than Elsie.

She took a step back. His build was wrong, and his eyes. This wasn’t her abductor.

There was bread on the tray, and a tin pitcher beside it.

A servant of some kind. Another Nash. She swallowed and, keeping one hand on the bottle, knelt next to him, searching for . . . yes, a rune glimmering through his black sleeve.

Cringing, Elsie grabbed his wrist and pulled back the cloth. She untied the spell, and suddenly the lad’s breathing touched her ears. A little strained, but even. There was a sizeable goose egg growing behind his ear. But no compulsion spell, and he wasn’t armed.

And the left basement door was open, a ladder set against it.

“Sweet merciful heaven.” Abandoning the servant, Elsie bolted to the ladder, picking up her skirts so she could climb it. It was difficult with the bottle still in hand, but it was her only weapon, and she wasn’t going to give it up anytime soon.

A cool night wind caught her hair as she climbed out. The first thing she noticed was the untamed grass nearby, and the dark silhouettes of tall trees. Then the light in a window not far from her.

She’d been right—there was a house. A big house, belonging to some nobleman or another. She might have scoffed at it at another time, but right now she needed to flee before the servant woke and spread the alarm.

Setting the bottle down, she grabbed the ladder with both hands and hauled it out of the basement, then carefully shut the door so it wouldn’t slam, just in case the mute spell she’d sensed earlier wouldn’t cover that noise.

Taking the bottle in hand, she ran.

Away from the house. She didn’t care where she was going as long as it was away. The terrain was smooth enough, the moon high but partially shielded by clouds. She carried the front of her skirt in her arms in a very unladylike manner, pumping her legs, running, running—

She nearly ran into the stone wall, it was so dark. She skidded to a stop right before it.

“No,” she whispered, pressing a hand against it. It was about ten feet high.

Cursing, she followed the wall in one direction, then the other, but she couldn’t see where it ended. So she dropped the bottle and wedged her fingertips between layers of weathered stone, but there wasn’t enough of a lip for her to get a strong hold. She tried in several spots, her fingers always slipping.

So she jumped, trying to reach the top of the wall to pull herself over—but she didn’t come close to breaching it.

Her breaths were hoarse now. “Oh God, help me,” she whispered, turning back, the partially lit mansion looming in the distance. If she kept moving away from it, who knew how long she’d be wandering around. Many houses this large had extensive properties.