Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology, #1)(44)

“I see.” Her gaze dropped to his torso. As a youth . . . How long had the spell been there? Ten years? Fifteen? Aspecting could do a lot for one’s health, especially if one had the money to afford it. But it couldn’t cure something as severe as polio. Just as it couldn’t stop aging. Only slow it.

“My condolences.”

“I will not subjugate you to unwanted sympathies if you will return the favor.”

She nodded. “Of course.” Paused. “And what of the other?”

“Pardon?”

“The other spell.”

His brow knit together. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Her hands went to her hips. “Really, Bacchus. And here I thought we were being friends.”

He took another step toward her, almost close enough for discomfort. Close enough for her to smell the temporal spell beneath his clothes. “What do you mean?” he asked again.

She gawked at him. “But I know I felt it . . .”

Confusion glimmered in his eyes.

She rolled her lips together. Swallowed. Lifted a gloved hand. “May I?”

It took him a moment to understand, but he nodded.

And so Elsie, after checking the street for onlookers, reached forward and splayed her hand against his chest, just over his diaphragm.

Well, that’s . . . firm, she thought, ignoring the warmth creeping up her neck. There was the temporal spell, its scent like a sunlit forest floor. But there was a layer under it. A tightly knitted spell that made her think of the runes sown in the fields. Nestled away, out of sight. Just as before, she couldn’t see, hear, smell, or feel it, but she sensed it in a way she couldn’t describe. Whatever it was, it was powerful, to call to her in such a way. To conceal its alignment.

She took her hand away. “You can’t feel that?”

He shook his head and sighed. Had he been holding his breath?

“There are two spells on your person, Bacchus Kelsey.” She met his gaze. “One layered under the other. I cannot decipher what the first is without removing the temporal spell, but I am sure as a gun that it is there.”

Mr. Kelsey lifted a hand and placed it where Elsie’s had just been. “You must be mistaken.”

“I am not.”

But he shook his head. “There is no other spell on me. It would have interfered with the temporal spell.” He sounded like he doubted his own words.

“The aspector who slowed the polio wouldn’t have sensed it. Have you never worked with a spellbreaker before?” She lowered her voice. “A legal one, I mean?”

“No.” He sounded almost defensive. Or simply confused. “No, I haven’t.”

She rubbed her hands together. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not—” But he turned away, not finishing the statement. He rubbed his eyes. “You are untrained.”

She folded her arms. “You determined that by my wildly unsuccessful work, did you?”

He clutched his books. “I’ll . . . look into it. Thank you, Miss Camden.”

The words might as well have been a whip, the way they snapped through the air. Elsie stepped back as though she could avoid their sharpness. He really didn’t know. The temporal spell was of such a sensitive nature . . . perhaps she shouldn’t have told him of the second, not in his moment of vulnerability. But it was too late to do anything about it now.

Unsure what else to do, Elsie nodded, and Bacchus Kelsey turned for the estate, disappearing behind its wall.





CHAPTER 13



He did not believe Elsie Camden had lied to him.

But he also did not want to trust her.

Bacchus stood in his bedroom, looking out the window at the grounds below. He did not spend a lot of time in this space; he used it merely for sleeping—something he needed too much of lately, thanks to the stunted polio. There were always things in need of doing, tasks in need of completing. Standing still was bad enough. Soon he would be forced to sit still.

But here he was, pensive, staring out the window like an invalid, lost in his own thoughts.

He still remembered the day his father had brought him to Master Pierrelo. He’d been almost seventeen, already taller than his father. They had just returned from his mother’s funeral in Portugal. His father had made sure she was comfortable all her years, but he’d never truly involved her in Bacchus’s life, outside a single visit and a handful of letters. Whether or not she wanted to be part of Bacchus’s life, he wasn’t sure; but as a bastard, he would have lived a more affluent life with his father than his mother. Regardless, Bacchus had been sick from the loss of his mother, the travel over the sea, and the onset of his disease.

He remembered everything the temporal aspector had said. Remembered the spell warming his skin. This is not a cure, Master Pierrelo had cautioned. Only more time.

Bacchus had taken that warning to heart. He’d researched, studied, and worked until he had a plan in place. A plan that revolved around a spell he had not yet obtained. A spell that might help him move his legs once paralysis set in. If not, it would be an extension of his hands, allowing him to work without ever needing to stand.

If pity would have swayed the physical assembly, Bacchus might have shared his story with them. But men determined to be uncaring were never persuaded otherwise.