Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology #1) - Charlie N. Holmberg Page 0,42
couldn’t become powerful aspectors because their bodies lacked the ability to hold enough spells. Topping off was usually kept private. Shaw was either barely a master or he’d paid handsomely to get that blue paddle.
Did he even have the paperwork to own a copy of an opus?
Right now, the man’s reasons didn’t matter.
Mr. Shaw took his time finding his way out, choosing a side door instead of fighting through the crush at the back. Bacchus stuck his manners in his pocket and pushed his way through the crowd, taking long strides once he was free. He met Mr. Shaw at the turn of the hallway.
He bowed. “Mr. Shaw, congratulations on your wins. I hope to strike up a matter of business with you.”
The older, smaller man lifted a monocle to his eye and studied Bacchus for an instant. “I’m listening.” He sounded unsure.
“The opus you won,” Bacchus began.
“The copy, you mean. Yes, you did a good job of driving up the price.”
That’s how auctions work. “I would pay a fair sum just to read one of the spells within it. I’m ready and willing to provide you with the proper certificates.”
Mr. Shaw’s eyebrows climbed into the brim of his hat. “Is that so? I don’t know every spell it contains, mind you, only what was listed in the description.”
A description that had not been released until after Bacchus entered the auction house. “I seek the master ambulation spell.”
The Englishman’s countenance fell slack. “That’s illegal.”
“I assure you it is not; I am a registered aspector and have the necessary clearance.”
“I will not sell any of the master spells.” Mr. Shaw took a step forward, but Bacchus stopped him with raised hands. His pulse hammered in his wrists.
“Allow me only to memorize it. It is for my own progress. I will pay handsomely.”
He was offering the man a silver tea platter with cups full of gold. He’d give it all just to know what made that spell work. He needed it.
“Two thousand—”
“No.” Mr. Shaw cut the overly generous offer into pieces. “I have plans for the master spells, plans that are more lucrative even than your coffers. I must decline.”
He stepped around Bacchus.
Bacchus spun. “You are a man of business. Surely you must see reason—”
Mr. Shaw paused only long enough to spit, “Ask me again, and I’ll alert security.”
Bacchus froze and watched the petulant, rich Englishman stalk away. The urge to pick him up and throw him into a wall—no magic required—burned in his arms. His pulse sang in his ears.
First the assembly, and now this. He couldn’t wrap his mind around all the stuff and nonsense. Had England changed so much in the few years since his last visit? Was there some sort of political thread he wasn’t cutting? Why was this so bloody hard?
To frustrate matters further, he was already growing tired. He moved his hand to his diaphragm, to the spell etched into the skin there. It wouldn’t hold forever. Bacchus had only so much time. Time that spilled through his fingers like sand.
Ripping his hand away, he balled it into a fist. He would not give up. If he had to travel all of Europe, scour the Americas . . . he’d find a way somehow.
He barreled out of the auction house with Rainer on his heels, ignoring the whispers that followed them.
CHAPTER 10
If all three of Elsie’s employers ever demanded her attention at once, she would be in quite a pinch. As it was, Mr. Kelsey was preoccupied, the stonemasonry shop was in shape, and Ogden was busy, giving Elsie a rare chance to redeem herself to the Cowls.
The letter that had been tucked into her things after her dinner at the duke’s residence had not mentioned the door spell at all, to her surprise. Instead, she’d been given another task. She was to disenchant a carriage that had been hired to transport local poachers to court. It was a time-sensitive matter, and so Elsie moved quickly, even when it meant cutting through traffic or overpaying a cab driver to run his horses wild. Her personal funds were depleting quickly, but the Cowls hadn’t sent coin for travel in their last missive. Perhaps this was to be her punishment.
Not that it mattered. If no one intervened, men, boys, would be hanged for hunting animals on land owned by rich men. They just wanted to feed their families, and yet the neck of a human was priced the same as that of a pheasant. If Elsie could help