Spellmaker

Mr. Ogden, arms folded across his chest, kept his temper. “I assure you that is not the case.”

“She’s been hiding for some time,” Elsie said, picking at the hem of her sleeve. She did that when she was nervous, but Bacchus didn’t think she was aware of it. “First she retired, then she moved, then she faked her death. She won’t reveal herself unless absolutely necessary.”

Bacchus said, “We’ll need to bait her.”

Master Raven scoffed. “She wants the woman, doesn’t she? Perhaps you should dangle her from that enormous clock of yours.”

Ogden leaned forward. “I believe you would be a more enticing target.”

Master Raven didn’t miss a beat. “Absolutely not.”

“You’re the one she truly wants,” Elsie pressed. She sounded desperate. Bacchus ran his thumb along her forearm before settling a hand on her thigh.

“Do you know what I’ve sacrificed?” The image shifted as Master Raven moved his weight from one leg to the other. “I have been running for over a decade. I’ve never stayed anywhere longer than a month. I forfeited my property, my livelihood, my studies—”

“Don’t you want to rest?” Bacchus risked interrupting him. “We will protect you. We will work together to disarm her, and then you can settle wherever you’d like.”

The spiritual aspector didn’t seem convinced.

Miss Pratt, softly, said, “It would make a wonderful story.”

Elsie perked. “It would. That is, if you wanted it, Master Raven. An esteemed spellmaker, returned from the dead, saves the world!”

Master Raven clicked his tongue. “Preposterous.” And yet, despite Miss Prescott’s testament that the man was a recluse, Bacchus thought he detected a hum of interest in the American’s voice. Eleven years alone was a long time, particularly for a man who must have been accustomed to acclaim and recognition.

“How would we use him?” Mr. Ogden rubbed his chin, speaking as though Master Raven had agreed to play the lure. “How do we get through to Merton? Would she notice newspaper articles geared toward her?”

“She might not get the paper where she is,” Elsie said. “She hasn’t responded to anything we’ve published to get Master Raven’s attention. She doesn’t know he came to England.”

“Mr. Ogden,” Bacchus said, “do you happen to know the spell for visual illusions?”

Mr. Ogden’s gaze narrowed. “I do, but it’s only an intermediate spell. I . . . was never able to find or purchase anything more.”

“Illusions?” Master Raven repeated. His blurry eyes shifted to Elsie. “You told me he was with the Physical Atheneum!”

“He is,” Elsie shot back. “Legally.”

Master Raven laughed. “What am I going to say about it? Heaven forbid there be some competence in this group.”

Bacchus tried not to take the comment to heart. “How big of an illusion can you create?”

Mr. Ogden looked around. “Perhaps something the size of this room, if it were simple enough.”

“How simple are birds?”

The artist’s forehead crinkled, then smoothed. “You want me to make ravens?”

“If we put on enough of a show in the right place, people will talk,” Bacchus offered. “Master Merton may be in hiding, but if she’s still searching for Master Raven . . . she’ll find out, one way or another.”

“Where?”

Bacchus considered. “I can think of a few places where a sudden flock would draw attention.”

Miss Pratt said, “But won’t they know he’s the one doing it?”

“Not if he never leaves the carriage,” Elsie chimed in. “In fact, we had plans to purchase one, didn’t we?” She passed Bacchus a conniving smile that made her blue eyes brighter.

“Indeed.”

Master Raven grumbled something under his breath.

“Pardon?” Elsie asked.

“Fine.” The word was a bullet. “But don’t be stupid and get caught ahead of time. And don’t move. I’m coming to you.”

Elsie shot up from her seat. “You are?”

“Don’t get your skirts twisted. But if you’re going to announce me to the world, I intend to do my part. I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

Spells of luck and blessings, most likely—they were the most popular spells requested of spiritual aspectors.

Mr. Ogden said, “But we don’t just want Merton’s attention. We want her. We need to draw her out to a safe place, somewhere we can apprehend her. Without witnesses.”

Quiet settled for several seconds before Miss Pratt said, “What about the Thornfield barn?”

“Pardon?” Mr. Ogden turned in his chair to better see her.

Miss Pratt flushed. “That is . . . it’s a large, run-down barn on the road to Aylesbury. I pass it on my way home. The owner died some ten years ago, and only half his farm is still being run. The barn isn’t on it.”

“We could start in Rochester, perhaps.” Elsie’s hand covered Bacchus’s, and she gripped his index finger, perhaps seeking courage. “Send up the ravens near the estate, and again in London. Until they make the papers.”

Bacchus added, “And then start over again, making a trail toward the barn.”

“Where I’ll be hanging on a meat hook,” Master Raven grumbled.

“I’ll stay with you,” Elsie offered. “Bacchus could drive the curricle.”

“Leave me with an amateur spellbreaker while the two useful people are far away?”