Spellbreaker

At first, they’d given her small tasks, local tasks. She’d dis-spelled an unbreakable wall, magically fortified centuries ago, which had sat in the middle of farmland. The local tenants had spent months writing to their lords, petitioning for the spell’s removal for the sake of planting, but she was the one who’d helped them. Some of the early tasks she’d been given didn’t even require her fledgling spellbreaking. Delivering bread baskets to an orphanage had been the first to take her away from her home, and she’d managed it, getting lost only once. As her gifts improved, so the tasks she was given became bigger, more important. Elsie became more important, and the occasional coin or candy left with her missives told her the Cowls were grateful, that she was of real value to them.

Mind returning to the present, Elsie rechecked the address. A young woman hawked roses from a basket on one corner, and across from her was a small shop with a bright-blue sign reading WIZARD OF ALL TRADES. Elsie rolled her eyes. Not at the boldness of the color, but at the idea of being a wizard-of-all-trades. Only someone needing a very small spell or someone with no comprehension of magic would visit such a place. For when a person learned magic in all four alignments, they would be very weak in each of them, no matter how much magical potential they possessed. There was a reason people specialized.

Not that it pertained to Elsie. Specializations were only for spellmakers.

Pulling her eyes away, she crossed at the next intersection. This neighborhood was so large and so winding . . . she was sure she’d passed her turn. But she couldn’t retrace her steps. Couldn’t do anything to draw suspicion. So she shoved the letter back into her pocket and strolled, enjoying the sunshine, trying not to think too hard on the novel reader she’d finished just before getting this latest missive. Oh, but it was hard not to think on the mystery! The baron in disguise had just confided his secret to Mademoiselle Amboise, completely unaware that she was betrothed to his enemy! There were so many ways the plot could unwind, and the author had cruelly ended the piece right there, forcing Elsie and thousands of others to wait for the continuation. Were it Elsie’s novel—that is, she was no writer, but if she were—she would have Mademoiselle Amboise get into some sort of trouble. Perhaps with a highwayman? The lady would be forced to relinquish the information before she could give it to the villainous Count Neville, only to later learn the highwayman was actually the baron’s long-lost brother and rightful heir!

And to think she had to wait another two weeks to read what happened next.

Oh, wait, here she was. Swallow Street. She glanced up at the rows of large houses, thinking on how many families could fit into one of the behemoths, before walking down the road. The elaborate homes on one side of the street were guarded by wrought iron fences. The houses on the other side were closed in by a high brick wall. She found Mr. Turner’s house easily enough on the brick side. It was three stories high and white with navy tiles, windowed on all sides. Black shutters, blue drapes, a large elm growing up along its east side. Bold white cornices, bay windows, everything a wealthy person could want.

These folk didn’t want the poor traipsing around their doorstep, that was for sure.

Elsie hid her frown as she approached the end of the street, then turned onto the next road and looped back to approach the Turner home from behind. Despite the crowded nature of the city, these estates didn’t have a second row of buildings at their backs. The wealthy demanded nice gardens to accompany their nice houses. Meanwhile, their tenants worked their land and paid their dues without so much as a cheers! sent their way.

Which was precisely why Elsie didn’t feel bad about breaking the law.

It would be sneakier to do it at night. Surely a burglar or the like from one of the tales in her novel reader would have acted at night. But Elsie was already a single woman venturing about on her own; she needn’t ruin herself by doing so after sundown. Times were changing, yes, but people’s minds were slow to keep up.

A man passed by her, tipping his hat in greeting. Elsie smiled and nodded back. Once he’d left, Elsie touched the brick wall encircling the Turner home, letting its roughness pass beneath her fingertips. Searching for anything magicked.

A few feet ahead of her, a rune shimmered once and shied away, as though embarrassed by Elsie’s scrutiny. A physical spell, if she could see it. Different spells manifested themselves to her in different ways. She could feel rational runes, hear spiritual ones, and smell the temporal. Physical spells, however, liked to be seen. They were the dandies of the magic world.