Spellmaker

Merton’s shoulders slackened. “Only you know what it feels like. To be truly alone.”

Elsie nodded. “As you do.”

And she dared to close the gap between them. To embrace her enemy.

Merton didn’t stop her. Nor did she notice the whisper of paper as Elsie pulled it from her corset.

Elsie embraced Master Lily Merton. Let the woman feel the tears on her cheek. Pressed both her hands into her back.

And whispered, “Excitant.”

The opus spell vanished from her fingers. For a moment, Merton went limp in her arms.

The chaos in the barn quieted.

“Oh.” The older woman pulled back from the embrace. A sliver of moonlight fell upon them, and in Merton’s face Elsie saw surprise. Confusion. “Oh, my dear . . . Who are you?” She stepped back and took in the old farm. “Goodness, where am I? I . . . was just in my office at the atheneum . . .” She patted her cheeks, perhaps making sure she was all there. “Oh my. My dear, what is your name?”

“Elsie Amanda Kelsey,” Elsie said, every part of her wound like a spring.

“Elsie. A lovely name.”

Elsie swallowed. The master spell must have taken at least ten years off Merton’s memory if the aspector didn’t remember her. But it needed to be more if she were to forget the one person who mattered most.

“What year is it?” Elsie asked.

Merton blinked. “Why, it’s 1880, of course. Tomorrow is Christmas . . .” She spun around, taking in the cool summer night. A hand pressed to her mouth. “I . . . I don’t understand. Is this a temporal spell of some sort?”

Then she pulled her hand back and examined it, as though unused to the wrinkles there.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind Elsie. She turned, seeing a dark figure approach. But without someone upholding the other end of the control spell, it was as good as moot.

Elsie held up her hands. “It’s fine. She’s harmless.”

Bacchus stopped in his tracks. “Harmless? What do you mean?”

“Master Kelsey,” Elsie said carefully, “this is Master Lily Merton. The atheneum has been looking for her. You were right to check out here, but I’m afraid she doesn’t remember a thing.”

Bacchus’s eyes narrowed. Behind him, Ogden was coming out of the barn, holding the lamp high over his head. When he neared, Elsie grasped Merton’s hand to show she was harmless. “I didn’t throw all the spells in the Thames,” she admitted.

Bacchus’s brows drew only closer together, but Ogden understood, even without reading her mind. His eyes shifted between Elsie and Merton several times before he said, “Which did you keep?”

“Forgetfulness. She thinks it’s December of 1880.”

Merton tensed. “What . . . Who are you?” She looked between the new faces. “What am I doing here?” She touched her forehead with her free hand.

Elsie let out a shaky breath. “It’s fine now. Everyone is safe.”

“Not enough.”

Elsie turned, barely making out Raven’s shadow at the edge of Ogden’s light. “Fifteen years gone,” she said. “She doesn’t remember any of it. She doesn’t remember you.”

“Who?” Merton’s voice carried a note of anxiety. Elsie squeezed her hand.

But Raven shook his head. “She’s the same person with the same motivations. Having her forget isn’t enough. Your little spell doesn’t undo her crimes. It won’t bring my friends back.”

Merton was crying now. “What crimes?”

Elsie set her jaw. “Ogden, distract her, please.”

She felt a slight distortion in the air between Ogden, who stood still as an ancient tree, and Merton, whose breathing suddenly calmed. Her eyes slipped away from them, seeing something that wasn’t there, and her lips turned up. The image Ogden had pushed into her mind must have been beautiful.

Elsie turned her focus back to Raven. “She doesn’t remember.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he pressed.

“But in her mind she’s innocent—”

“Elsie.” Ogden’s voice was soft, his concentration on his spell. His eyes remained on Merton, but he said, “She isn’t innocent. I will—” His voice strained, and he swallowed. “I will never get those years back. I will never be able to forget.”

A sore ache bloomed over her heart. She blinked away a new tear. “Of course you won’t.” No one could ever forget their deepest hurts, only learn to better shoulder them.

Bacchus murmured, “We could take her to the authorities. But she won’t be able to confess.”

“She will if they know which questions to ask.” Raven stepped into the light, dry weeds crunching under his boots. Approaching Merton from behind, he put a hand on her shoulder, and a clear, sweet note rang out from the spell he cast. A strong note, a rich pitch—a master spell.

“What did you do?” Elsie whispered.

“I cursed her,” he said, and Elsie’s stomach tightened. “She can only speak the truth now.”

That gave Elsie pause. The song was similar to the truthseeking spell he’d used on her in Juniper Down.

“You want to take her to the police,” Bacchus guessed, “with a note containing incriminating questions. Anonymous, I presume.”

Raven merely nodded, his face stern.