Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology, #1)
Charlie N. Holmberg
PROLOGUE
Abingdon-on-Thames, England, 1885
Elsie hadn’t meant to burn down the workhouse.
She hadn’t mentioned this to the constable when he’d come around to question her and the other children. She hadn’t said anything at all.
It wasn’t a matter of who had started the fire. Everyone knew it had been Old Wilson, whose knuckles ached when it rained and whose body trembled a little more every year. He’d dropped the lamp. Broken the glass. Spilled the kerosene. But that’s not why the rug and walls had lit up. It wasn’t why the big block of a building raged orange and yellow behind them, its smoke stinging Elsie’s eyes.
She hadn’t known the pretty rune on the wall was a fireguard. She hadn’t known it was important. She’d pointed it out to both Betsey and James, but neither of them could see it. She’d wanted only to touch it, trace it. And when she did, it had vanished beneath her fingertips. She hadn’t told a soul. Didn’t want to get into trouble. Didn’t want the workhouse to throw her away, too.
That had been a month ago. So when Old Wilson had dropped his lamp, there’d been no magic to stop the fire from eating up the whole place.
Elsie hated the workhouse. She didn’t feel so terrible watching it crumble, but she did feel bad that everyone had been put out of their beds, that the constable was being so mean, and that Old Wilson would get in trouble.
Elsie didn’t know where they would send her now. Another workhouse? With new people, or the same ones?
One of the boys beside her started to cry. Elsie didn’t know what to say. She wanted to help, but telling the truth wouldn’t help them—it would only hurt her. She didn’t want to give them a reason not to love her.
She stepped away. The police had told everyone to stay put, but the fire was so hot. Elsie didn’t go far, just a few steps, then a few more. Turning her face toward the tree-shadows behind her, she let it cool off in the damp air that smelled like storms.
She was picking out shapes in the shadows when a hand touched her shoulder. She flinched, sure it was the constable. Sure Betsey or James had tattled on her, saying she had seen a rune and broken it—
But it was a cloaked figure who stood beside her, face obscured by a cowl. “My dear,” the voice within said, “what is your name?”
Elsie swallowed, her throat tight. She glanced back to the fire, to the shouting men trying to contain it.
“Don’t mind them. You’re safe. What is your name?”
Elsie peered into that cowl, but the darkness hid any discernible features. The voice was quiet and feminine. “E-Elsie. Elsie Camden.”
“Such a pretty name. How old are you?”
The compliment took her by surprise. “E-Eleven.”
“Wonderful. Come with me, Elsie.”
Her feet were slow to move. “Are you taking me to another workhouse?”
The cowl shook from side to side, revealing a weak, fleshy chin. “Not if you do as I say. You’re very important, Elsie. I need your help to make the world a better place. I need to use that special talent of yours.”
Elsie dug her heels into the soft earth. She knew it. She knew she was one of them. A spellbreaker, born with one kind of magic instead of taught a hundred.
“If you register me, they’ll know I did it,” she whispered.
The hand on her shoulder squeezed. “Yes, they will. And you’ll get into a lot of trouble. Noose around your neck, no doubt. But I would never ask you to do such a thing. You’ll help me, and I’ll help you. We’ll keep you safe, and you’ll never be the government’s pet. We’ve a lot of good work ahead of us, sweet Elsie. Helping those who need it, not those in power. Come on, then. I know a good place to hide, and we’ll get you a bite to eat. How does that sound?”
The heat of the fire prickled Elsie’s scalp.
She was wanted? She was important? Her spirit felt too big for her body, blooming like a wild rose. Elsie smiled, and the cloaked woman led her away.
She never did see her face.
CHAPTER 1
London, England, 1895
Elsie could just barely hear the toll of Big Ben in the distance. Four o’clock. A decent enough time for breaking the law.
But when the law wasn’t fit, was it really a bad thing to break it?
Slipping around a corner, Elsie pulled the letter from her pocket. Although London was only an hour’s ride by omnibus or carriage from her home in Brookley, she was not familiar with this particular neighborhood. She usually burned the letters right away, but she’d feared she might get lost if she didn’t bring this one along.
The note had found its way to her despite the fact that it hadn’t been delivered by post. As always, the sender had not signed it, although the small seal of a bird foot stamped over a crescent moon was identification enough.
The Cowls.
That wasn’t their real name, obviously. But Elsie didn’t know what else to call them. She hadn’t seen any of them since she was eleven, ten years ago. But they kept in contact. More often than usual, lately. Either the world was getting worse, or they were on the cusp of making real change, and including her in that change.
At first, they’d given her small tasks, local tasks. She’d dis-spelled an unbreakable wall, magically fortified centuries ago, which had sat in the middle of farmland. The local tenants had spent months writing to their lords, petitioning for the spell’s removal for the sake of planting, but she was the one who’d helped them. Some of the early tasks she’d been given didn’t even require her fledgling spellbreaking. Delivering bread baskets to an orphanage had been the first to take her away from her home, and she’d managed it, getting lost only once. As her gifts improved, so the tasks she was given became bigger, more important. Elsie became more important, and the occasional coin or candy left with her missives told her the Cowls were grateful, that she was of real value to them.