Spellmaker

Elsie’s mouth opened, working on a retort, but she couldn’t find a decent one. She was used to doing things herself; she was quite capable, usually. Yet she found herself more appreciative than put out. So she relaxed into her chair and allowed Bacchus to answer the door. She wondered how often he’d had occasion to answer doors. Given he usually spent his time at estates like Seven Oaks, Ruth Hill’s home, and his plantation in Barbados, he likely always had a servant doing it for him.

Elsie heard Irene’s voice almost instantly and stood, ankle be damned.

The spellbreaker’s rushed footsteps sounded through the hallway, and she appeared in their kitchen dressed head to toe in pale violet, one hand on her hat to keep it atop her head. Her cheeks were flushed and her chest heaved with each breath. Bacchus appeared behind her.

Ogden stood as well. “Miss Prescott, what’s happened?”

She swallowed, wetting her tongue. “I came as soon as I heard.”

Elsie offered a weak smile. “As you can see, I’m quite all right.”

Reggie glanced between the two spellbreakers. “You mean yer ankle?”

But Irene shook her head, trying to catch her breath. “No, not . . . your ankle?” She licked her lips and refocused. “I was at the London Physical Atheneum today. I—” Eyes straying back to Reggie, she hesitated.

Elsie felt the air shiver with a rational spell. A moment later, Ogden said, “Tell us. He’s safe.”

Elsie bit the inside of her cheek. Seemed that her brother would be involved in this after all. A relief in a way; she wanted to be open with him, but she didn’t want to endanger him.

“The police came to arrest Master Phillips.” Irene grabbed the back of the free chair. “He’s an accomplice.”

Elsie exchanged looks with Bacchus and Ogden. “We know. We didn’t know how to proceed.”

Reggie began to say something, but Irene talked over him. “You know? When?”

Bacchus said, “As of last night.”

“He’s being controlled, too,” Elsie offered, passing a sympathetic look to Ogden.

Irene’s brow furrowed. “But that can’t be right.”

“She need only touch him,” Bacchus reminded her. “She’s had plenty of opportunities to find him and do so.”

But Irene shook her head. “No, you must be mistaken. He must have acted of his own accord.”

Hard lines creased the skin around Ogden’s eyes and mouth. “What are you saying?”

Irene’s eyes flitted to each of them in turn, her confusion obvious. “I stayed for the aftermath, after they took Master Phillips away. I was there when the message came in to the constable.”

“What message?” Bacchus asked.

“About Merton,” Irene clarified. “She’s dead.”

CHAPTER 18

The woman might as well have slapped Cuthbert in the face.

“Pardon?” A mind-reading spell—an intermediate one, subtle, skimming the surface—went out almost of its own volition, scanning her for truthfulness. But that was exactly what he got. Honesty. Shock. Emergency. Her emotions were strong. Her information rang true, at least to her.

“Master Lily Merton is dead,” Miss Prescott repeated, and this time, instead of a slap, it felt like a bullet to his chest, right where that bloody spell had been all those years. “I . . . They didn’t know much. I was eavesdropping. She was an older woman, yes, but seemingly in good health. Still, it might have been natural causes, or the murderer could have struck again—”

“She is the murderer!” Cuthbert slammed his hand on the table hard enough to make the plates rattle. Elsie gaped at him. Emmeline squeaked, then touched Reggie’s shoulder and whispered to him. The two left the room, giving the others blessed privacy. Hopefully Emmeline would explain what the boy needed to know so Cuthbert wouldn’t have to. He was sick of reviewing what they already knew without adding to it.

“Many of the stolen opuses were found in Master Phillips’s London home—”

“Of course they were. But they didn’t find all of them, did they?” Cuthbert pulled his hand back and ran it down his face, feeling old. “There is no doubt it’s a ruse, Miss Prescott. What better way for Merton to hide herself, to assuage any guilt, than to fake her own death?”

Miss Prescott looked as though she might cry. “But, Mr. Ogden. She left an opus.”

“What?” Elsie blurted.

“That’s what I heard. She had a summer home she recently purchased in Rochester—”

Rochester. So she hadn’t been far.

“—and her neighbors heard a clatter while passing by. Called the local police, and they found her opus . . . along with shattered windows and”—she grimaced—“well, signs of a struggle. Blood. There will be an investigation, of course.”

Master Kelsey growled, “If someone murdered her, they would have taken the opus.”

Cuthbert nodded, frustration boiling beneath his skin.

“Unless she had fortifications to stop him, or defended herself before giving up the ghost.” Miss Prescott met Cuthbert’s eyes. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t wish to cause you grief. I’m merely repeating what I heard.”

Elsie hugged herself. “Master Phillips in jail and Merton dead? But surely she’s the one who arranged his arrest, just like she did with me!”