Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology #1) - Charlie N. Holmberg Page 0,40

he was used to turning in early, or Elsie’s conversation was dull.

Obviously it was the former.

They returned to the house, where Elsie waited in the vestibule while Mr. Kelsey obtained the carriage. Elsie wondered how many the duke owned.

When it came around, Mr. Kelsey escorted Elsie to the door, even offering a hand to help her in. His hands were large but not unwieldly. Warm.

She pulled hers free the moment she had her balance.

“Until Thursday.” He nodded and shut the carriage door.

The horses jerked forward, and Elsie gripped the seat to remain upright. Something crinkled under her hand. A piece of paper had been left on the cushion.

She picked it up, just making out the bird-foot seal in the moonlight.

The Cowls.

CHAPTER 9

Bacchus had heard of the increased homicides among aspectors in Europe, England in particular, but the security swarming Christie’s Auction House would make Buckingham Palace envious.

A uniformed officer pushed through part of the gathering crowd, waving away pedestrians with frantic arms. Another officer near the door asked for the names of arriving bidders before allowing them entrance.

Rainer, who had braved the crowd while Bacchus waited for the queue to move, reappeared at his side. “Spoke to a footman. There was an attempted theft last night.”

Hence the security—the rumors had some heft to them, then. Apparently, the criminal or criminals at work were just as chuffed to steal the opus of an already deceased aspector as they were to kill a living magical worker. Bacchus peered up toward the auction house’s rectangular windows. “Here?”

Rainer nodded. “They didn’t catch the person, so they’re being careful.”

Interesting. A policeman blew a whistle nearby; it was deafening.

“Move along!” shouted the frustrated officer from before. His eyes landed on Rainer and Bacchus. “Don’t you speak English? Move along.”

Bacchus’s eyebrows drew together. “I believe I’m in the correct line.”

The officer looked genuinely confused. Bacchus tried not to let irritation mark his features—this was just the way of things. He would never be fully accepted into high English society, not with the way he looked.

The sooner he left England, the better. With any luck, he’d get what he needed at this auction. Earn his mastership and book his passage home, the coveted ambulation spell written on his soul.

“This line is for the auction house,” the officer stated dumbly.

“I’m aware,” Bacchus replied.

The officer paused for a moment, then distracted himself with an older couple who had stopped to gawk at the fanfare. “Move along!”

The crowd shifted, and Bacchus finally reached the front of the line. Rainer spoke for him. “Bacchus Kelsey.”

The large man with the ledger eyed them for a moment before scrolling through the paperwork. He drew a line across the page with a pencil. Tipped his head toward his companion.

The second, shorter man said, “Turn out your pockets, please.”

Bacchus gritted his teeth—he didn’t recall those before him being asked to do this—but obliged. He didn’t carry a lot on him, and Rainer had his coin. An exorbitant amount of money saved for years for this very purpose. Money he would have gladly given the Assembly of the London Physical Atheneum were they not pompous hornswogglers.

His belongings were rifled through, and Bacchus kept his eyes on each gloved hand, ensuring nothing slipped into the wrong pocket. The officer then instructed Bacchus to lift his arms to be searched.

It was incredibly tempting to put the man in his place. To freeze him with a spell, or turn him green. To reprimand him for not respecting his betters, however much Bacchus hated the very notion. Once he had a title, such things would be easier to evade, but he’d been hesitant to take the master test. Until he did, there was always the chance the assembly members might change their mind and allow him to use the ambulation spell for his advancement rights. A slender chance, to be sure, but a chance, nonetheless. One he hoped he would not need to rely on. Master Bennett’s opus was to be one of the first items up for bid.

So Bacchus submitted silently, and security did its job quickly. His things were returned to him, along with a blue paddle marked 18, denoting him as an aspector. Only those with blue paddles were allowed to bid on magical items. Withholding a sigh, Bacchus proceeded inside.

He took a seat in the middle of the auction room, a large gray-walled space decorated with a few portraits and a tasteful amount of décor, while Rainer waited in the back with the other servants. Bacchus wanted