Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology, #1)(74)

Elsie lifted both hands. The letter fell to the ground. “I work for a stonemason!”

“You’re an aspector. And I’m telling you now that you won’t have it.” His arm tensed.

“Stop!” she shouted again, half hoping someone would hear, but the road remained empty. “I-I’m not! I’m a spellbreaker, I swear it.” Dangerous, to offer her secret to a man holding her at gunpoint, but it was the only thing she could offer to prove he’d mistaken her for someone else. “I’m only looking for my family. They left me in Juniper Down when I was a girl. That’s why I have a workhouse record. I swear it!”

He lowered the gun again, which fountained cool relief up Elsie’s stomach. “Prove it.”

She opened her hands. She needed a spell first.

He stepped forward; she retreated. He raised the pistol. Elsie held still.

He touched her forehead, and Elsie felt a spell seep into her skin, the same one the truthseeker had used. A spiritual aspector, then. The spell crept over her skin like a worm, and she tried her best not to cringe.

“I’ve never published a newspaper or magazine article in my life.” She was glad for the spell if only because it verified her words. “I haven’t the faintest idea who you are.” Then, reaching up, she felt for the threads of the rune and pulled it apart, relieved when its magic dissipated.

The man holstered his gun. “An unknowing pawn.” He shook his head. “Watch yourself. If our paths cross again, I won’t be so forgiving.”

He headed for the road.

“Wait!” Elsie charged after him. “Tell me what you—”

His gun reappeared in his hand. “I will shoot you if you follow me.”

Stopped in her tracks, Elsie held up her hands in surrender. She kept them there until the mysterious foreigner turned for the woods. He vanished, and moments later, the galloping of horse hooves swept into the distance.



Elsie stood by the plum tree for a long time, staring at the bit of road where the man had vanished. She stood until her spine and knees ached. Then she dropped to her knees like a dress freed of its mannequin. Her head filled with the complaints of crickets, and a spot on her cheek started to burn where sunlight scissored through the leaves. Confusion simmered like tea in the back of her mind, but its pungency was nothing compared to the hard truth rooting her.

Mr. Hall had been right. They were never coming back.

Her tongue felt swollen in her mouth, her ribs bruised, her stomach empty. All of her, empty.

Had it been so foolish to hope? To think someone from her faded memories had remembered her, thought of her, determined that she wasn’t so unlovable after all, and come looking for her? She’d been ready to give them everything—forgiveness, understanding, kinship, and every penny she’d saved since she was eleven years old.

But they hadn’t come. He had.

Blinking her eyes to clear her vision, her thoughts sluggishly turned toward the American. What did he mean, a pawn? A pawn of what? Newspaper articles, under her name? And they had to be traceable to England, and to this area, if he’d known where to look up her workhouse records. Where to find the Halls. And it was her name, not a pseudonym. What exactly did the articles say? And why her?

Why all of it?

She finally moved—rubbing her eyes to alleviate a headache pounding beneath her skull. Would the Cowls know? Ogden? More kindling to add to her fire of questions. So many questions.

It was her corset that finally got her moving. It wasn’t comfortable, out in this heat and in that position. Her skirt was thoroughly wrinkled, too. So Elsie stood, her legs shaky, and dragged herself back to Juniper Down. The echo of her footsteps sounded hollow to her ears. Her mouth was dry. Her back hurt.

The little town seemed to have forgotten her as she approached. She spied another family in all black and gray, among them an older woman, a mother perhaps, with a drawn face. Elsie felt for her and her loss. She felt it keenly.

She spied two others dressed for mourning before reaching Agatha’s house. She was sweeping off her porch.

“There you are!” she exclaimed when Elsie’s shadow drew near. She spied around her. “He’s not coming with you?”

Her lungs constricted, but she managed a quiet “No. Later.”

Agatha nodded. “Will you be staying the night? We can make you a space by the fire, unless you want to share a bed with the children.”

Stay the night. Would she? Elsie wanted nothing more than to be back in Brookley, in her own bed, the shutters drawn and the door locked. “I’m not sure.” Then, eager to shift the conversation from herself, she asked, “Why are so many mourning?”

A frown pulled at the woman’s lips, and she set the broom against the door frame. “Most terrible thing. Happened almost a week ago now, but they’re expecting the ashes anytime now.”

Elsie touched her chest. “Oh dear.”

Agatha nodded, a tear coming to her eye. She dabbed it with a rough knuckle. “Poor lad. He was only fifteen, and had such a future ahead of him. Got a sponsorship for aspection, he did.”

Elsie’s stomach sank, and she almost wished she hadn’t asked. She didn’t know how much more bad news she could take. “A sponsorship?”

“The Crumleys’ boy. Been studying for three years already. They pinned their hopes on him, and now it’s rubbish.” She shook her head. “Terrible way to go, too. Died in the fire at the academy. Weren’t too big a flame to start, we’ve heard, but the local firemen couldn’t put it out. Their water staffs had been disenchanted.”