Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology, #1)(53)

“Light?” asked Master Pierrelo.

Elsie nodded. “Physical runes have a sort of shimmer to them. This one looks like it was smeared on with wet chalk. I . . . Do you have something I can write with?”

“Physical?” Bacchus asked, touching the rune Elsie knew he couldn’t see.

The master aspector ducked away from her peripheral vision, but she didn’t follow him with her eyes. She didn’t want to look away from the rune. It didn’t pose any danger to her, but it was strange. She didn’t like it.

“What’s wrong?” Bacchus asked.

She shook her head, trying to get her thoughts around it. Before Master Pierrelo returned, she whispered, “It’s like someone didn’t want you to find it.”

His muscles tensed.

“Here.” Master Pierrelo handed her a piece of stationery and a charcoal nub. Backing up to the chair that had half of Bacchus’s wardrobe slung over it, she leaned on the armrest and sketched the rune to the best of her ability.

“Do you recognize it?” She held up the drawing so both men could see.

Both brows furrowed. “No,” Bacchus said.

Master Pierrelo shook his head. “One doesn’t need a knowledge of runes to use magic; they’re just an invisible force to mark that it happened. They’re the language of magic itself, I suppose.”

“Information about them is freely shared?” Elsie asked. “I could research this?”

Master Pierrelo nodded. “I believe so, yes. At one of the atheneums.”

Atheneums that Elsie didn’t have access to. Biting her lip, Elsie set the drawing down and approached Bacchus once more. She didn’t bother asking for permission this time; she planted both hands atop that dark rune.

Firm, indeed.

She hesitated.

“What’s wrong?” Bacchus’s voice leaked genuine concern.

“This is one hell of a knot,” she said. Master Pierrelo clucked his tongue in disapproval at her language. “Perhaps we should return to London and learn what it is before I try to remove it.”

Try. Although she was quite sure she could. Elsie had never met a spell she couldn’t untie. Some just took more effort than others.

“No.” Bacchus’s voice was sharp. “No, I want it gone. It was hidden and placed without my knowledge. I cannot see how it would be beneficial.”

Master Pierrelo shrugged. “Perhaps it was instituted by your parents for good reason when you were a child.”

But Bacchus shook his head. “I want it gone.”

Elsie looked up at him. This close, with her hands still pressed against his skin—it felt intimate. And yet it didn’t bother her. No, just the opposite.

But seeing the trepidation in Bacchus’s countenance, she pulled free of the reverie and set to work, prodding the rune, searching for its end. It was well hidden, blast it. She carefully moved her fingers toward its center, searching. She probably looked like a new lover who didn’t know what she was doing, but she had to find the end. She tried again, slower this time.

There.

The threads were as fine as strands of hair, and the last one had been tucked artfully under the others. Like the aspector who had placed it did have a knowledge of runes and had crafted the spell in order to deliberately conceal its beginning and end. This confirmed her suspicion: whoever had set this spell had not intended for it to be found.

Pausing, she met Bacchus’s eyes once more. He studied her intently. “Are you sure?” she asked.

“Yes.” His pulse was like a hummingbird under her hands. “Please.”

She tugged at the thread. It took her just as long to find the second, and then third, but the more she unwound, the easier it was to locate the next loop. As she got to the end of the knot, the rune finally sparkled.

Then it vanished.

Bacchus gasped and stumbled backward.

“What?” she asked, whipping her hands back like she’d angered a snake. Her eyes moistened. Oh God, I’ve killed him, I’ve done something terrible, I’ll never forgive myself! “What, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

Master Pierrelo rushed forward to steady him. Bacchus’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Stray strands of hair fell from the tie at the nape of his neck.

He inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring.

“Bacchus?” Elsie squeaked. Her hands trembled.

He held up a hand in reassurance. “I’m not hurt, Elsie. It’s fine.” He straightened and, somehow, was taller than he’d been before. His back stood straighter, his shoulders squarer.

Her eyes darted between Bacchus and Master Pierrelo. “Then what?”

“It was like . . . like something punched me.” Bacchus touched his diaphragm, right where the second spell had been. “But . . . in a good way.”

“Are you well?” Master Pierrelo asked, going as far as to touch Bacchus’s forehead.

“I am.” He shook free of the temporal aspector’s hand. “I’m . . . very well.” He lifted his hands, flexed them. They looked darker, their tan color richer. And . . . yes, it was the same for his face as well. As though he’d just spent the entire day in the July sun. His eyes were remarkably bright as well; so clear, so green.

Elsie’s brain was a jumble of vines. “What do you mean?”