Spellmaker

Balling up her skirts immodestly, wincing as they brushed the burn on her leg, Elsie walked around the barn, searching for another presence. Nothing. Her pulse raced, her body hurt, her hands and the dip of her spine perspired, but Elsie closed her eyes, imagining she was in Master Phillips’s cellar again.

Irene screamed.

Elsie ground her teeth and focused. Spells lit up like waking fireflies—physical, spiritual, and rational enchantments radiating from the barn. The building quivered with a physical spell threatening to destroy its walls. The floors shuddered with a quake.

But there was another spell, to the north. Away from the rest, in a copse of trees. Elsie moved around it until she could see the faintest silhouette of a woman. Until she could hear the slightest whisper of a song.

Her mind spun. Holding her breath, she approached. Her thoughts were a jumble of half-remembered missives on silver paper. Of clipped discussions at dinner tables, in prison cells, in cellars. They pieced themselves together a little more with every step.

She didn’t get too close before Merton snapped to attention and turned toward her.

“You were right.” Elsie rushed to speak first. She dropped her skirts and held up both hands in surrender. “I want to talk. Don’t hurt them. Just talk to me.”

It was too dark to see the expression on Merton’s face. “You always were a bright one, Elsie. That’s why I like you. No farther, mind you.”

“You know about my parents. My family.” A lump started to form in Elsie’s throat; she swallowed it down. “You lost yours, too.”

Merton didn’t respond.

“They left me,” Elsie whispered.

“They didn’t know what you were.” The silhouette turned, an opus spell ready in one hand, an array of spiritual spells ready in the other. Merton seemed a little distracted—she had to actively control Bacchus, after all, and present herself in a way that made her projection in the barn seem like the real her. All of which should work to Elsie’s advantage.

“I wish I’d known it was you from the beginning,” Elsie pressed, inching a little closer, moving so slowly—that burn hurt—she hoped it was imperceptible. “We’ve disagreed, yes, but you’re right. About everything. I fell in love with a rich man and didn’t want to see it anymore. The pain, the suffering, the unfairness. You only want to make the world better—”

“The world will be better.” Merton’s tone was firm. “I will make it better. I will pull that spell from Raven and make it better.” Her voice grew steely. “He’s a coward. I could have done it differently if he’d listened. He forced my hand.”

“But you don’t want to be alone,” Elsie guessed. “And you don’t have to be. I can help you bear that burden. I can help you.”

Merton paused.

Elsie got in another step. She was four paces from the woman now. “I wish I’d known it was you,” she repeated, softer, “because then I might have had a mother.”

No response. Elsie gained another inch.

“I don’t like the deaths. You know that.” Elsie needed to be careful with her words. She needed to sound genuine. “But you’re the only one who’s ever really been there for me. I realized it when I thought you’d died. Not my family, not Ogden, truly. Even my husband is only my husband because of some twisted sense of chivalry.” Another step. She pressed her hands to her heart. “You rescued me, Lily.” A few more inches. Elsie’s thumb dipped down into her corset. “You saved me from a life as a pauper in a workhouse. I wish you hadn’t hidden from me all these years—”

“I didn’t want to,” Merton said. Her posture was still stiff, but her expression had softened. “I couldn’t have loose ends. I had to know you were trustworthy. Not many will do what it takes to bring true unity to the world. True peace and equality. I had to test you. Train you. My dear, you exceed expectations. But you spent too long in that mason’s household. I never should have sent you to Seven Oaks. No farther.”

Elsie halted. “What can I do to you, Lily? I’m only a spellbreaker. If I wanted you out of that barn, I would have disenchanted the projection.”

She swallowed against the lump in her throat and let herself stew in the dark feelings she’d been suppressing. Her love for Bacchus, and the anxiety it instilled in her. Her fear that he, Ogden, Irene, and even Raven might be killed tonight. She reached even deeper: the shock of knowing her eldest brother had died without her ever knowing him. The grief of having a lost sister. Of knowing her parents had abandoned her. The guilt of having played a part, however unintentional, in the killing of so many aspectors.

Her throat squeezed, and the tears came. More importantly, they leaked into her voice. They sounded like conviction.

“Lily, please. I-I don’t want them to die. Of course I don’t.” Because no version of herself would wish that upon people she loved. “But . . . maybe we can start over. Maybe you can tell me your story. All of it.”

Another step.

“I want to understand you. Please.”