with everything happening.” She offered a weak smile. She still couldn’t believe the attack was related to the ones previously in the papers—Ogden was a feeble spellmaker. Yet the incident had still left a mark on her nerves. “No need to worry. I’ve avoided shackles once again.”
“Good.” He averted his eyes in thought. “I wonder if it is only one person. There’s such a breadth to the crimes, and no real evidence to speak of. If we start connecting every crime in the aspector world, we’ll never solve anything. The academy, for example.”
That gave her pause. “What academy?”
“The aspection academy that filters into the atheneums.” When she didn’t react, he continued, “A wing of it burned down, killing a professor and two apprentices.” He frowned. “Their opuses weren’t recovered, but that’s to be expected in a fire. And yet even that is being attributed to this bandit.”
She tried to ignore the gooseflesh rising on her back and arms. “That’s . . . terrible.”
Rubbing his beard, Bacchus hummed his agreement.
Elsie wondered if the squire had been to the academy on one of his trips to London. He’d need a reason to visit, having not a magical hair on his body. Perhaps Bacchus was right, and it wasn’t one great murdering criminal, but several wayward souls trying to cause a storm. Or perhaps the uprisings of the seventeenth century were upon them once more, the magicless and downtrodden attacking aristocrats, stealing their opuses so they could have some semblance of power for themselves. “Ogden may be right about journalists,” she offered. “And about him being a target for his opus. He barely knows more spells than my shoe, really.”
His lip quirked at that. If only he would smile at her, fully, one more time. But she couldn’t bring herself to ask, nor to be witty enough to merit it.
“Give my best to the duke, Bacchus.” She touched his sleeve, then instantly regretted it when her cheeks warmed. “Take care of yourself, and . . . let me know if I can help.”
It was a foolish offer. If their acquaintance deepened, he might discover what Ogden and Emmeline still had not. He might catch sight of her wrongness.
He nodded. “You as well. I . . . might place a few wards on my way out.”
“I would like that, thank you.”
They stood there awkwardly for a moment before Elsie opened the door. “I don’t mean to insult you by sending you out the back—”
“I’d rather not interrupt Mr. Ogden’s business.” He offered her a nod, the hair gathered at the nape of his neck bouncing slightly, and departed. Just like that. Elsie forced herself not to watch him go. She needn’t stand in the doorway like some lovesick pup.
I’m not lovesick, she snapped at herself, closing the door a little too hard. Bacchus was merely an adventure. A fancy. Proof that she read too much fiction.
Perhaps she should switch to scientific journals for a while. She couldn’t think of a better medicine for her twisted insides at the moment besides warm milk.
The studio door opened and closed. Best she help the next customer.
But when Elsie stepped into the studio, it was empty, save for Ogden hacking at a lump of clay in the corner.
“Did Emmeline leave?” she asked.
“I believe she’s in the dining room.” Ogden’s focus stayed on the clay.
Elsie glanced to the door. “Didn’t someone just come in?”
Looking up, he shrugged. “I didn’t hear anything.”
Odd. Perhaps her mind had merely sought out an excuse to change the pattern of her thoughts.
“Elsie”—Ogden turned his stylus in his hand—“is that man courting you?”
Her cheeks burned. “Goodness, no. I barely know him.”
He nodded halfheartedly. “It would be good for you, after . . .” He didn’t dare say Alfred, not when that wound was so newly opened. “Though I’d hate to see you heartbroken again, my dear. And heartbreak is inevitable across the class divide.”
He might as well have taken that carving tool and stabbed it through her breast.
“I’m well aware.” She forced the words to be light. “But like I said, I barely know him. And he’s off to Barbados soon, besides.”
“Is that where he’s from? I didn’t know if it was rude to ask.”
Elsie rolled her eyes.
Ogden paused. “Hand me that order, would you?” He gestured weakly toward the counter. Fortunately, Elsie knew what he meant. She strode over to retrieve the latest work order—
A gray envelope poked out from beneath it.
Her breath caught. How?
Perhaps she hadn’t imagined the opening and closing of the