Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology #1) - Charlie N. Holmberg Page 0,65
again, slower this time.
There.
The threads were as fine as strands of hair, and the last one had been tucked artfully under the others. Like the aspector who had placed it did have a knowledge of runes and had crafted the spell in order to deliberately conceal its beginning and end. This confirmed her suspicion: whoever had set this spell had not intended for it to be found.
Pausing, she met Bacchus’s eyes once more. He studied her intently. “Are you sure?” she asked.
“Yes.” His pulse was like a hummingbird under her hands. “Please.”
She tugged at the thread. It took her just as long to find the second, and then third, but the more she unwound, the easier it was to locate the next loop. As she got to the end of the knot, the rune finally sparkled.
Then it vanished.
Bacchus gasped and stumbled backward.
“What?” she asked, whipping her hands back like she’d angered a snake. Her eyes moistened. Oh God, I’ve killed him, I’ve done something terrible, I’ll never forgive myself! “What, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
Master Pierrelo rushed forward to steady him. Bacchus’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Stray strands of hair fell from the tie at the nape of his neck.
He inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring.
“Bacchus?” Elsie squeaked. Her hands trembled.
He held up a hand in reassurance. “I’m not hurt, Elsie. It’s fine.” He straightened and, somehow, was taller than he’d been before. His back stood straighter, his shoulders squarer.
Her eyes darted between Bacchus and Master Pierrelo. “Then what?”
“It was like . . . like something punched me.” Bacchus touched his diaphragm, right where the second spell had been. “But . . . in a good way.”
“Are you well?” Master Pierrelo asked, going as far as to touch Bacchus’s forehead.
“I am.” He shook free of the temporal aspector’s hand. “I’m . . . very well.” He lifted his hands, flexed them. They looked darker, their tan color richer. And . . . yes, it was the same for his face as well. As though he’d just spent the entire day in the July sun. His eyes were remarkably bright as well; so clear, so green.
Elsie’s brain was a jumble of vines. “What do you mean?”
“I mean.” He lifted his arms, lowered them. “I feel like I’ve finally rested. Like my body has been working at half capacity until this moment. I’m not . . . I’m not tired anymore.”
Elsie’s lips parted. Bacchus had often looked fatigued, although he had explained it to be a side effect of his disease.
“Mr. Kelsey,” Master Pierrelo began slowly, “I am no doctor, but . . . I do not think you have polio.”
Bacchus snapped to attention like the man had thrown water in his face. “What?”
Master Pierrelo rubbed his chin. “Do you feel sick?”
He paused. “No. I . . . don’t think I’ve ever felt this hale in my entire life.” He ran his hands down his chest, up his arms, as though his body were completely new to him. His eyes were round and wondering, more amazed than a child’s on Christmas Day. Elsie’s skin prickled like feathers danced beneath it. She had done that.
“Hmm.” Master Pierrelo thought for several seconds. “Whoever put this first spell on you did it before you ever received my administrations . . . I suggest you take the young lady’s drawing and see if you can determine what it was.”
Desperately needing something to do, Elsie grabbed her drawing and handed it to him.
Bacchus’s fingers trembled ever so slightly as he took the page and studied the charcoal rune. He let out a long breath, perhaps trying to orient himself into this new way of being. “Then we’re off to London.”
He said we.
Elsie clasped her hands together. Certainly Bacchus could get her into the Physical Atheneum. She could get her hands on those runes as well. Help Bacchus, and perhaps help herself to a few spellbreaking books at the same time. Everything she knew, she had taught herself.
“I think that wise. If you want me to redo the spell . . . ,” Master Pierrelo offered.
But Bacchus shook his head. “No. No, not yet. I need to know what this is. As soon as possible.”
He folded the paper and stuck it in his trouser pocket, then grabbed his shirt and tugged it over his head. Elsie handed him the remainder of his garments, eyes averted. Something about watching him dress felt just as scandalous as watching him undress.