Spellbreaker

“It’s a security measure,” her captor responded, and Elsie caught an unfamiliar lilt in the statement. Something about the sound snapped her senses into place. Whoever had her wasn’t the duke—Elsie knew him to be getting on in years, and he wasn’t an aspector, besides. In the streak of moonlight falling over them, Elsie noticed the darkness of her assailant’s hands. He was a foreigner.

“I won’t trespass again if you just let me go,” she pleaded, the fight leaving her. She couldn’t outmaneuver him. If she couldn’t barter her way out of this, she’d be staring at the inside of a jail cell for the rest of her life, which might be rather short.

Would they hang her?

But the spellmaker seemed to consider her words. Sourly. Sourness poured off him like the stink of brandy. “Common man,” he scoffed. “I don’t believe you. What does a secure door do to hurt the people inside? They are free to go as they choose. They contribute decently to society. Something you should learn.” He moved toward the door.

“Excuse me!” Elsie huffed as the man dragged her to her doom. Being silent no longer mattered, nor did attempting to pacify the brute. “I contribute to society! Do I look like a ruffian to you?”

He paused again. Looked her up and down. In the daylight, it might have made her self-conscious.

“You’d better explain yourself.” His voice was low, like a threat. But his grip loosened a fraction.

“Please. I’m an assistant to a stonemason. I was nearby to get paints. Someone told me the servants were being mistreated. I came to help. I’m begging you”—her voice choked; it wasn’t an act, but real fear strangling her—“let me go. Let me pay you for the spell. Or work off the price. I’ll sign a contract never to step on the grounds again!”

The man considered. “You’re a spellbreaker.”

Obviously. She nodded, hopeful.

He drew back his left hand, keeping hold of her with his right. Stroked the beard Elsie could just make out in the poor light.

“Tell me your name.”

Elsie pursed her lips.

“Tell me honestly, or the constable will have it.”

Lies pooled in her mind. Betty. I’m a baker. He was no spiritual aspector—he couldn’t detect the lie. Could he? And what if he did?

She deflated. “Elsie Camden. You can look me up. I haven’t lied.”

“You will work off the debt,” he said. “I have work that needs to be done, and spellbreakers are hard to find and expensive. Work for me. Or for your life. However you choose to see it.”

Elsie gaped. He released her, but she didn’t run. She’d been too honest to run.

“I already work full time,” she countered. And that was not including her missions for the Cowls.

He shrugged. “Not my problem.”

Elsie straightened. “I have to be home in the morning. But I can come back the day after.” Hopefully the squire’s work would hold out and Ogden wouldn’t notice her absence. Three employers . . . How would she make this work?

But she had to.

“Dawn.”

“I’m not local.”

He motioned toward the back door. On the second floor, someone lit a candle.

Nerves crawled over Elsie’s skin like beetles. “Fine. Fine. I’ll do my best. And who do I ask for?”

“Come to the servants’ door and ask for Kelsey.” He turned for the back door now, but without her in tow. “If you choose not to show, I will find you and ensure you are prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”

Elsie swallowed. Knit her fingers together. The man said nothing more, only disappeared into the house.

Another candle lit in a third-story window.

Heart jumping, Elsie ran, avoiding the hunting trail. The woods swallowed her.

She didn’t want to anger the Cowls, but she very much believed Mr. Kelsey’s threat.

If she didn’t show, his punishment would be swifter than theirs.

CHAPTER 6

“Elsie, could you hand me that pitcher? Elsie?”

Elsie blinked, climbing out of the mental hole she’d fallen into. She leaned against the wall in the kitchen, staring blindly into nothing. She noticed Emmeline standing over the stove, watching her. Spied the pitcher of water near the sink.

“Sorry.” Elsie retrieved the pitcher and handed it to Emmeline, who poured its contents into the pot she stirred. Calf’s foot jelly, one of Ogden’s favorites.

“You’ve been absent this morning,” the maid said.

Elsie merely nodded. She was tired, yes. Last night, she’d spent an exorbitant amount of money on a midnight carriage to drop her off at the edge of Brookley, and although she’d snuck into her room for a few hours’ sleep, she’d had to leave again before the household awakened so she could pretend to arrive at the appointed time. She’d started on Ogden’s financial ledgers only to find the numbers swirling before her eyes. Her brain was tied up in Kent.

Could Mr. Kelsey really track her down? Her name wasn’t listed in any directory, she was certain. Her workhouse records had burned to ash long ago. What would he do, stop at every post office in the country until her name popped up?