Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology, #1)(60)

“Why, hello.” She set the broom against the wall and moved to the bag attached to the dog’s neck. She pulled out two letters, one addressed to her and one addressed to Ogden. She studied the handwriting on the first, but it didn’t match that of the postmaster in Juniper Down. Her heart sank just a little—Mr. Hall had meant every word, hadn’t he? She wasn’t ever going to hear from them again.

But who else would have written to her?

Her breath caught as hope flared in her chest. She pet the dog on the head. “No treat on me today, Ruff. Off you go.”

The dog turned around and trotted back toward the post office.

Forgetting the broom, Elsie ran inside. She set Ogden’s letter on the kitchen table and took the stairs two at a time, diving into the privacy of her room.

She ripped the letter open and read the bottom of it first:

Sincerely,

Bacchus Kelsey

Thank you for the telegram. I just received it.

Her heart fluttered. He’d found the rune. Or at least, he’d gotten home safely.

Just read it, she chided herself.

Miss Camden,

I hope this letter finds you in the privacy for which it is intended. I was successful in finding the rune in question. You were correct—it’s of the physical nature. It is the mark of a siphoning spell, one that I was not aware existed. It appears to be complex and rare.

I believe it is the cause of my symptoms. I continue to feel well. I owe that to you.

Her skin warmed. Despite herself, she smiled.

I have been in contact with Master Ruth Hill of the London Physical Atheneum. She has offered me the choice between a gem spell and a substance spell to complete my mastership. Once I choose, the rest of my repertoire will need to be earned on my own.

I thank you again for your help during this trial. I pray you are well.

Sincerely,

Bacchus Kelsey

Thank you for the telegram. I just received it.

He didn’t mention her abrupt departure. Kind of him.

So why was she crying?

Lowering the letter, Elsie dabbed at her eyes with her sleeves. She hadn’t yawned, and there was no dust in the air. Had she picked up a head cold while traveling? But she didn’t feel stuffy. Or achy. That is, not achy in the manner of a head cold. No, this ache was centered in her chest.

She reread the letter. Sniffed. It was a goodbye, in a sense. She no longer had a debt to repay. He no longer needed her services. And he was testing to be a master aspector. Once that happened, he’d be titled, putting his rank far above her own. Which hardly mattered, anyway. He’d likely return to Barbados once he had what he’d come for. There’d be an entire ocean between them.

It’s better this way, she told herself, dabbing another tear. She managed to keep the crying light, the way heroines always cried so prettily in novel readers. But it left a hard lump in her throat, one that dug in with claws. But it was better this way. Whenever Bacchus thought of spellbreaking, or perhaps of polio, he would think of her. And he would think of her kindly, of the way she’d helped him, or perhaps her humor. She would forever live in his memory as a likeable acquaintance.

It was better that he leave, because that meant he would never get close enough to her to discover that utterly unlikeable something that drove everyone else away.

The Camdens aren’t coming back.

She thought of Juniper Down and the workhouse. Of Alfred, hand in hand with another woman. It was miraculous that Ogden had yet to kick her out.

She folded the letter and slipped it between the books on her shelf. A stray tear dropped off her jaw and onto her hand, but she wiped it off with her skirt. Yes, it was better this way.

The lump dug in, hard.

Really, Elsie, she thought, since she could not speak. What were you expecting, romance? From a man who thinks you’re a criminal? Who could be a baron next month, for all you know?

She thought of the depth of his laugh. The way his skin felt beneath her fingers.

No. Stories like that were meant for novel readers, not real life.

It really was better this way. The loss of her family, her siblings, Alfred . . . It still hurt, and it had been years. How much worse would the sting be to have a man like Bacchus in her life, only to be discarded by him, too?

She drew in a sharp breath, which eased the lump. Drove it down deeper, where it was a little easier to ignore. She had too much to do today to sit up here wallowing in self-pity.

“Elsie?” Emmeline called up the stairs.

She rubbed her arm across her eyes. Cleared her throat. “I’ll be right there!” The volume helped keep her voice even. She needn’t give Emmeline a reason to reject her as well, though the maid seemed to like everyone, Nash aside. Hurrying to her small table, she dumped out what little water was left in her pitcher into her washing bowl and dotted it on her eyes and cheeks, cooling them. Then she stood erect and forced herself to take a big gulp of air. Repinned part of her hair.

If Emmeline noticed anything amiss, she didn’t mention it.



Elsie woke to a thumping chest. The tendrils of the strangest dream curled beneath her skull. She’d been trapped in a room full of kitchen supplies, all the exits blocked by stacks upon stacks of bowls. In her desperation to escape, she’d knocked over the largest stack—

Something clamored down the hallway.

Not a dream.

Leaping from bed, Elsie called, “Are you all right?” not knowing if it was Emmeline or Ogden. Practiced hands struck a match and lit a candle. “Emmeline, is that—”