Spellmaker

Elsie perked, sensing the spell. Bacchus guided her into the study.

he thought back.

All the spells Elsie had mentioned were in Bacchus’s repertoire.

They wandered about the study, Elsie and he taking turns glancing out the door. Another pair entered the parlor, an older couple, neither wearing a pin. Possibly a local baron and his wife? Regardless, they needed to act quickly. The crowd would only grow.

The people who’d gathered in the library also stepped into the parlor, but they must have already looked at the opus, for they turned back for the hall.

Bacchus ran his hand over the smooth oak desktop. A price tag on it read, £100.

“Ogden,” Elsie whispered, so faint Bacchus barely picked up on it. His pulse picked up, but he forced himself to continue to wander through the room, looking over a few things, writing down, silver candlesticks, £2, on his bid card so he would not leave entirely empty-handed. Elsie’s grip on his arm tightened, but otherwise she hid her nerves well.

When they finally returned to the parlor, they spied Ogden on the veranda and Miss Prescott studying a grandmother clock on the far wall. The couple from before stepped into the library.

Mr. Ogden’s voice forced its way into Bacchus’s skull.

And suddenly the guards all looked up at once, squinting at something on the ceiling. Something only they could see.

Elsie rushed to the podium, her fingers picking at the air as though they spun a web. Bacchus hurried after her. It didn’t matter if the opus was fused with the podium. They didn’t need to take it, only look at it—

He jerked his hand away as though the book had bitten him.

Elsie reached for what he assumed was the rational spell.

“Don’t,” he whispered, gritting his teeth. Ogden was pushing himself to the limit, distracting five men at once. He might not have the chance to replace a rational spell as well.

Hand shaking, Bacchus grabbed the cover of the book and flipped it open. His heartbeat soared until it rattled in his skin. At least his clammy hands made turning the pages easier. He flipped to the back of the book, where the master spells were penned in surprisingly sloppy handwriting. Did Merton have an uneven hand? He couldn’t recall.

Heaven help him, the fear spell was like dipping his hand into the mouth of a snake. Elsie’s grip on his bicep helped steady him, even as his breaths came too fast. As long as her hand was there, he knew the guards were still distracted. His job was to read.

The fear helped him read faster.

He had to read several lines of each spell to assess what they were. A slew of curses and blessings, communications spells for plants and animals—

“Oh, I absolutely love your dress!” Miss Prescott’s voice rang out from the library. The couple must have been on their way back into the parlor. She was distracting them. “Wherever did you get it? The color looks so well on you.”

Bacchus’s shaking hands tore one of the opus pages. He winced, flipping past astral projection of oneself, and then a very similar spell allowing astral projection of another person.

Which was when he reached the back cover.

He slammed the book shut and reeled back, breathing hard as the fear spell released its grip. Wiping his forehead, he said, “It’s not hers.” There was no spell that controlled another person. Merton had faked her death with another spellmaker’s opus.

The sound of vomiting brought Bacchus back to the present.

“You! Stop!” Two of the five guards rushed to the veranda, where Mr. Ogden was doubled over and retching on the marble floor.

“Oh, you poor man!” Elsie exclaimed, acting a hair on the excessive side. “Here, now.” She handed him her handkerchief. Ogden’s skin was pale, his eyes hollow. “You should know better than to go out when you’re ill. At least it’s on stone, hmm?” She put an arm around Ogden’s shoulders. “My name is Elsie. Let me help you outside.”

Bacchus wiped the perspiration from his face with his own handkerchief and hurried over. Elsie’s hands were trembling. In addition to the vomit, Mr. Ogden’s nose was bleeding profusely. He’d extended himself too far.

Had Bacchus paged through the master spells any slower, he would surely have been caught with his hands on the opus.

He rushed forward, helping to steady Mr. Ogden as well. “Let’s get you home,” he said, then whispered, “It’s not her.”

Mr. Ogden shut his eyes as though overcome by heavy exhaustion. Validation. He had been right. But it also meant Merton was out there, somewhere, pursuing the heinous plans that had brought them all together.

“Oh dear, he’s with me. I’ve got him.” Miss Prescott gently took Elsie’s place. She apologized profusely to the guards, one of whom remained with them as they escorted Mr. Ogden out of the house. Bacchus pressed Elsie’s handkerchief to Mr. Ogden’s nose so he would not bleed on the carpet. It ruined the cloth, of course, but it hardly mattered. Elsie would need an updated handkerchief soon besides. One that read EK instead of EC.