Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology, #1)(84)

The beasts were tired by the time they neared the pier. Bacchus slowed, and Elsie quickly adjusted herself for as much modesty as she could manage, though it was hardly one’s first concern when chasing a traitorous murderer. Her heart panged again at the thought. Ogden . . . She never would have guessed it to be him.

Even now, she struggled to believe it.

A gaping loneliness yawned inside her, but she couldn’t dwell on that now.

They trotted by a hospital, and the large warehouses of the pier came into sight, each six stories high and built of sturdy yellow brick. She noted two dockworkers by a gaslight up ahead.

“I don’t see him.” She was breathless and sore, despite the horse being the one who’d done all the running.

“It’s a big place,” Bacchus whispered, pulling back on his reins and turning his animal about, scanning the area.

Though the ground seemed a little too far away, Elsie dismounted, floundering but managing to stay on her feet. Her thighs instantly burned in protest, but she ignored the discomfort, removing her shoes and starting for one of the docks. Bacchus called after her, but she ignored him. She may not have been an experienced horsewoman, but she did know how to slink about unnoticed.

The docks were long and cool underfoot. She strode beneath the eaves of the warehouses, passing dark windows and locked doors. She dared to jog, her legs protesting. Holding her shoes in both hands to keep them from knocking together, she peered about the next corner. There was only one boat tied up here, a small one with its sails up. The area was fairly well lit, but shadows clustered around the blocky warehouses. She heard the subtle movement of water and her own pulse in her ears.

Turning the corner, Elsie jogged again, trying to hear beyond herself, wishing she had sharper eyes to see through the shadows. There was another dockworker across the way; he didn’t seem to notice her. Footsteps followed, but she didn’t bother to check them—the stride, the heaviness, that was Bacchus, with a slight limp likely due to the lightning that had grazed his leg. The knowledge that he was close gave her courage.

She reached a wooden bridge connecting two of the docks and started across it. Perhaps it was an angel tilting her head or merely a stroke of luck, for she spied movement in the shadows on the dock opposite her, across the water. She’d spent so many years with Cuthbert Ogden, days and nights, rain and sunshine, that despite the darkness and the distance, she recognized him.

“There!” she hissed, and pointed. The shadow vanished into one of the warehouses. Panicked, she spied around for a boat or raft that could carry her over—by the time she paddled her way there, he’d be long gone!

The bridge shifted as Bacchus stepped onto it. He dropped to his knees and reached down into the water. Elsie caught the edge of a shimmer.

A bridge of ice crackled across the river to the very place she had pointed.

“Oh, you wonderful, brilliant man,” she whispered, hurriedly replacing her shoes. Bacchus dropped onto the makeshift bridge first, found his footing, then helped her. The ice was rougher than it was slick, but Elsie dared not sprint. Still, she moved as fast as she could, keeping her arms out to maintain balance.

They reached the other dock, Elsie managing to heft herself up before Bacchus could offer her a hand. Her pulse thundered through her limbs. She took off immediately in the direction Ogden’s shadow had gone, and Bacchus followed without complaint. Bless him. Sentimentality aside, after seeing what he did in the duke’s dining room, Elsie was grateful to have him with her.

She wondered as she wrenched open an unlocked door—perhaps a lock-picked one—if she should call out to Ogden. She’d spent nine years in his household. She didn’t understand him, now that she knew the truth, but this was the same man who’d consoled her when she was sad, who’d put money away into her savings account, who’d teased her at dinnertime. Would the sound of her voice be enough to make him pause, or would he flee all the faster?

The only lights in the warehouse came from the glow of gaslights through the windows. The air smelled slightly of mold, and as Elsie dashed down a long hallway, her footsteps almost in rhythm with Bacchus’s, she noted stacks of linen, or perhaps cotton, bundled and ready to ship.

They paused at an intersection. The faintest sound of footsteps echoed in another hall.

“This way,” Bacchus murmured, taking her hand and pulling her to the left. Despite the limp, he was fast and surprisingly nimble as he ran; Elsie sprinted on her toes to keep up. They were getting close now. They were the pursuers, while Ogden was trying to find a path to flee or somewhere to hide. That would slow him down. It would—

She sensed it only a moment before they reached it. “Bacchus, stop!” She yanked back on his hand, but his momentum was too great. Their fingers pulled apart, sending Elsie sprawling onto her backside. Meanwhile, Bacchus nearly flew out of his boots when his shoes, of their own volition, slowed down significantly.

“What on earth?” He waved his arms to keep balance.

Elsie’s chest heaved with heavy breaths. That spell could have broken his leg.

“Let me find it.” She hurried forward on her hands and knees, sniffing for the earthy spell. Not here, but . . . up and to the left?

She found the temporal spell on a support beam against the wall. She’d never seen one set like a trap before—

As she unraveled the spells, her stomach sank. “Opuses. Bacchus, he’s using opus spells.” Yet more damning evidence against him.