Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology, #1)(68)

“Did Emmeline leave?” she asked.

“I believe she’s in the dining room.” Ogden’s focus stayed on the clay.

Elsie glanced to the door. “Didn’t someone just come in?”

Looking up, he shrugged. “I didn’t hear anything.”

Odd. Perhaps her mind had merely sought out an excuse to change the pattern of her thoughts.

“Elsie”—Ogden turned his stylus in his hand—“is that man courting you?”

Her cheeks burned. “Goodness, no. I barely know him.”

He nodded halfheartedly. “It would be good for you, after . . .” He didn’t dare say Alfred, not when that wound was so newly opened. “Though I’d hate to see you heartbroken again, my dear. And heartbreak is inevitable across the class divide.”

He might as well have taken that carving tool and stabbed it through her breast.

“I’m well aware.” She forced the words to be light. “But like I said, I barely know him. And he’s off to Barbados soon, besides.”

“Is that where he’s from? I didn’t know if it was rude to ask.”

Elsie rolled her eyes.

Ogden paused. “Hand me that order, would you?” He gestured weakly toward the counter. Fortunately, Elsie knew what he meant. She strode over to retrieve the latest work order—

A gray envelope poked out from beneath it.

Her breath caught. How?

Perhaps she hadn’t imagined the opening and closing of the door, after all. Had they just delivered this? But how could it have escaped Ogden’s attention?

Grabbing the envelope, Elsie bolted around the counter and out the front door, ignoring Ogden’s alarmed cry that followed her. She ran out onto the street, turning, looking everywhere there was to look.

She’d been too slow. No strangers lingered around the house, no one in hiding. Not that she could see.

Pinching her lips together, she stole away to the shade at the back of the house and brought the crescent-moon-and-bird-foot seal to her face. Broke it. Read the name of her next target.

The London Physical Atheneum.





CHAPTER 19



Elsie did not like doing her job at night. It made her feel like a criminal. Which she wasn’t. At least, not at the heart of the matter. What God-fearing person, for example, would call Robin Hood a criminal?

It really was a matter of perspective.

She shivered, though it wasn’t terribly cold in London. Wasn’t even raining. With excuses of being lost and feverish, or perhaps looking for her cat, in her back pocket, Elsie approached the massive Physical Atheneum.

It had guards, yes, but not many of them walked the grounds. Like many wealthy places, the atheneum relied on magic to guard its doors. Magic did not require an hourly wage, nor did it fall asleep on the job. That, and the atheneum was never empty. There was always someone out and about, studying or prepping or snoozing at his desk. Still, the Cowls had given her instructions for how to proceed, and she followed them with exactness. She would very much not like a repeat of the doorknob incident in Kent. If she was caught here, she doubted her captor would be as lenient as Master Bacchus Kelsey.

She needed to be swift, regardless, for she did not want to risk connecting him to this in any way, even if it was for the good of the people. The atheneum certainly wouldn’t see it that way. In truth, Bacchus might not, either.

Tonight’s task involved a great deal of walking, but Elsie came at the atheneum from behind—the northwest side. She found the lounging garden mentioned in her letter, a long path covered in pale stone, studded with benches and potted bushes trimmed to look like spheres. She approached carefully, favoring the long shadows cast by the half moon, searching for the first spell.

She spotted it right before she stepped in it—a night-activated spell that caused the ground to surge up around anything that put pressure on it. She undid it easily, having unraveled the very same enchantment at the duke’s estate. She found the next one less than two feet away. Crouching, her skirt bunched between her knees, Elsie crept along that way, ignoring how the runes made her itch.

She was not surprised at the Cowls’ reasoning for sending her here. Magic was a tool that could help all of society. Or hurt it, as was the case with the curse in the duke’s fields. But magic helped plants grow, tamed animals, eased transportation. It kept bodies working, children healthy. And so anyone who hoarded it for pride and profit hurt those who lacked access to it. Even Bacchus had been denied a spell he’d needed, and he was one of them.

Elsie wondered how many useful spells were hidden in the library of the great fortress before her, withering away, unused and forgotten, helping no one. Once her work was finished, others more daring than she would sneak in, copy the spells, and distribute them. Perhaps if spellmakers were not so bloody gluttonous, they wouldn’t be robbed or murdered in their beds. This way, there would be more for all . . . if the lower classes could obtain the necessary drops to absorb magic as well. But sharing the wealth of the spellmakers would be another task for another day.

The “suction” spells—Elsie hadn’t a better name for them—ended when the stone did. She proceeded even slower than before, pausing once when she thought she heard something nearby . . . but silence settled, minus her rapid-fire heartbeat. There was another spell here, somewhere, although she saw nothing on the ground—