Spellmaker

Sighing, Elsie leaned back and closed her eyes, feeling the familiar bumps of Brookley pass beneath the carriage wheels. As they pulled out of town and merged with the main road, she leaned forward and opened her reticule, counting the notes in it. She’d spent a large percentage of her life savings on her trip to Juniper Down and Reading. The rest, save some change, had been returned to her account at the bank. She had just enough for this trip.

Ogden’s earlier comment about income surfaced in her thoughts. Was it too early for her to take on spellbreaking assignments herself? Perhaps if Irene came with her . . . Of course, she’d be a married woman soon. Her finances would be taken care of, and Ogden would have one less mouth to feed until he hired her replacement. Still, Elsie itched to make her own way in the world. She adored and trusted Bacchus, but given that she had a lucrative gift, she didn’t need to be dependent on him. Or she wouldn’t need to once the bother with this “training” was finished. Then she could help him, Ogden, Reggie, Emmeline, and anyone else occupying space in her heart.

Her thoughts quickly turned to Bacchus. Soon she would be Mrs. Kelsey. It had a nice ring to it, so long as her first name was omitted. She should ask Reggie if she had a middle name! Perhaps it was her mother’s given name. Did he remember that? He hadn’t been able to find them, so perhaps not. Or maybe they had changed their names, or wandered so far that no one could find them. Who knew if they were still in Britain at all.

She frowned at the familiar ache that always accompanied thoughts of her parents, but she pushed it away. Elsie Amanda Camden. Amanda Kelsey, she tried. That sounded well. So did Elsie Elizabeth. Was that too many E’s for a name? Elsie Mary. Hmmm . . . no.

Perhaps Bacchus had a name he was fond of. Though he was just as likely to tell her Elsie Kelsey wasn’t silly at all and she should keep it. Elsie rolled her eyes. He would.

Her gaze fell to the sapphire ring on her finger, and she tilted her hand, letting it catch a wink of sunlight coming through the window. It sparked patterns across the carriage wall, like a cluster of fairies.

Did Bacchus love her? She couldn’t imagine it. She tried to picture the words coming from his lips, honest and earnest in his Bajan accent, but her mind refused to stitch the daydream together. She couldn’t be the first to admit it. What if they went years without saying it, even after they married, and she finally mustered up the courage to tell him how she felt, only for him to look at her with pity and say something ridiculous, like You’re a good woman or I’m glad, and Elsie was left feeling like a fool for the rest of her years, exposed like a half-healed wound, a stranger in her own house?

She thought of Alfred. He’d told her he loved her. Multiple times. But he’d never once meant it.

Elsie covered the ring with her other hand, snuffing its sparkles.

She dared to hope, but hoping hurt. It was only wise to keep it in check. To let no more than a thin trickle seep in until she found better footing.

But whatever Bacchus felt for her, whether it was affection and friendship or something more, she loved him. She knew it, and it hurt like she’d drunk too-hot tea that had scalded her throat. Like her heart was somehow too big and too small for her body. Like it pulsed his name, and anyone who listened would be able to hear it.

Sighing, Elsie glanced out the window just as a man on horseback rushed toward it, perpendicular to the road. A dark-brown cloak billowed behind him, and a dark mask covered his face.

Then he raised a pistol and fired.

Elsie screamed. The horses whinnied and jerked, and the carriage bucked, as though rolling over something large. It took a moment for Elsie to realize the rider had shot her driver. He must have fallen from his seat and . . . and . . . God help them, if the bullet hadn’t killed him, the trampling would have.

It felt like Elsie’s spirit had abandoned her body, leaving her skin and bones numb, like they were someone else’s. She barely registered the highwayman whisking by her window to slow the horses, but she had enough sense to push herself to the other side of the carriage, feeling for a door handle. Of course there was only one door, and the highwayman, still mounted, was already wrenching it open.

Elsie gathered herself enough to throw her reticule at him. Part of her feared he was no simple thief, but she had to try. “Take it, please! Just leave me be!”

The highwayman’s eyes—the only part of his face she could see—narrowed. And in that moment she knew for sure. She’d last seen those eyes in Ogden’s bedroom. The glimmer of a spell caught her attention as the air froze around her, forbidding her to move.

Nausea turned sharp in her stomach. Her lungs weakened, and she strained to breathe.