Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology, #1)(17)

It didn’t have the effect she wanted—it didn’t hurt the blasted man, only surprised him. She made it all of two steps before his enormous hands grabbed her arms again. And Elsie could disenchant only physical spells, not physical strength.

“You talk of morals to me, yet you forbid your staff from leaving the house!” She pushed off the ground, trying to throw him off balance.

He took a half step back before hauling her upright. “That spell is a security measure. Against thieves like you.” He dragged her toward the back entrance.

“I am not a thief!” She tried to turn one way, then the other. Attempted to gouge his eyes. But his strength easily surmounted hers. Fight with magic and make this fair, you towering oaf!

“Who sent you?” he barked.

“No one did! Please, have mercy!”

He merely grunted. The door was in sight. Surely someone would hear them any moment, and her chance of escaping would become that much slimmer. It would take only one more man to apprehend her, and then—

“I’m not registered!” she hissed.

He paused only a moment. Surely he knew the penalty for working any sort of magic without registration was grave. It made the thieving accusation sound like afternoon tea.

“Please,” she pressed. “I’m not a criminal. I wanted to help the servants.” Pieces of loose hair fell into her face.

Another growl sounded low in the man’s throat. “Who hired you?”

Elsie pinched her lips shut.

His grip tightened. “Who. Hired. You.”

“I couldn’t tell you if I wanted to,” she muttered. Would the Cowls free her if she went to jail? But if her spellbreaking abilities went public, they’d never use her again. “My only crime is freeing the common man!”

“It’s a security measure,” her captor responded, and Elsie caught an unfamiliar lilt in the statement. Something about the sound snapped her senses into place. Whoever had her wasn’t the duke—Elsie knew him to be getting on in years, and he wasn’t an aspector, besides. In the streak of moonlight falling over them, Elsie noticed the darkness of her assailant’s hands. He was a foreigner.

“I won’t trespass again if you just let me go,” she pleaded, the fight leaving her. She couldn’t outmaneuver him. If she couldn’t barter her way out of this, she’d be staring at the inside of a jail cell for the rest of her life, which might be rather short.

Would they hang her?

But the spellmaker seemed to consider her words. Sourly. Sourness poured off him like the stink of brandy. “Common man,” he scoffed. “I don’t believe you. What does a secure door do to hurt the people inside? They are free to go as they choose. They contribute decently to society. Something you should learn.” He moved toward the door.

“Excuse me!” Elsie huffed as the man dragged her to her doom. Being silent no longer mattered, nor did attempting to pacify the brute. “I contribute to society! Do I look like a ruffian to you?”

He paused again. Looked her up and down. In the daylight, it might have made her self-conscious.

“You’d better explain yourself.” His voice was low, like a threat. But his grip loosened a fraction.

“Please. I’m an assistant to a stonemason. I was nearby to get paints. Someone told me the servants were being mistreated. I came to help. I’m begging you”—her voice choked; it wasn’t an act, but real fear strangling her—“let me go. Let me pay you for the spell. Or work off the price. I’ll sign a contract never to step on the grounds again!”

The man considered. “You’re a spellbreaker.”

Obviously. She nodded, hopeful.

He drew back his left hand, keeping hold of her with his right. Stroked the beard Elsie could just make out in the poor light.

“Tell me your name.”

Elsie pursed her lips.

“Tell me honestly, or the constable will have it.”

Lies pooled in her mind. Betty. I’m a baker. He was no spiritual aspector—he couldn’t detect the lie. Could he? And what if he did?

She deflated. “Elsie Camden. You can look me up. I haven’t lied.”

“You will work off the debt,” he said. “I have work that needs to be done, and spellbreakers are hard to find and expensive. Work for me. Or for your life. However you choose to see it.”

Elsie gaped. He released her, but she didn’t run. She’d been too honest to run.

“I already work full time,” she countered. And that was not including her missions for the Cowls.

He shrugged. “Not my problem.”

Elsie straightened. “I have to be home in the morning. But I can come back the day after.” Hopefully the squire’s work would hold out and Ogden wouldn’t notice her absence. Three employers . . . How would she make this work?

But she had to.

“Dawn.”

“I’m not local.”

He motioned toward the back door. On the second floor, someone lit a candle.

Nerves crawled over Elsie’s skin like beetles. “Fine. Fine. I’ll do my best. And who do I ask for?”

“Come to the servants’ door and ask for Kelsey.” He turned for the back door now, but without her in tow. “If you choose not to show, I will find you and ensure you are prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”