Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology #1) - Charlie N. Holmberg Page 0,91

Agatha’s house. She was sweeping off her porch.

“There you are!” she exclaimed when Elsie’s shadow drew near. She spied around her. “He’s not coming with you?”

Her lungs constricted, but she managed a quiet “No. Later.”

Agatha nodded. “Will you be staying the night? We can make you a space by the fire, unless you want to share a bed with the children.”

Stay the night. Would she? Elsie wanted nothing more than to be back in Brookley, in her own bed, the shutters drawn and the door locked. “I’m not sure.” Then, eager to shift the conversation from herself, she asked, “Why are so many mourning?”

A frown pulled at the woman’s lips, and she set the broom against the door frame. “Most terrible thing. Happened almost a week ago now, but they’re expecting the ashes anytime now.”

Elsie touched her chest. “Oh dear.”

Agatha nodded, a tear coming to her eye. She dabbed it with a rough knuckle. “Poor lad. He was only fifteen, and had such a future ahead of him. Got a sponsorship for aspection, he did.”

Elsie’s stomach sank, and she almost wished she hadn’t asked. She didn’t know how much more bad news she could take. “A sponsorship?”

“The Crumleys’ boy. Been studying for three years already. They pinned their hopes on him, and now it’s rubbish.” She shook her head. “Terrible way to go, too. Died in the fire at the academy. Weren’t too big a flame to start, we’ve heard, but the local firemen couldn’t put it out. Their water staffs had been disenchanted.”

Elsie rolled her lips together, then stiffened. Her breath caught in her throat, and it took half a second for her to push it out. “Water staffs?” she asked. Pre-enchanted tools that called up water from the ground and even the air. Hands cold, she added, “Y-You said this happened a week ago?”

“A week tomorrow.” Elsie’s expression must have been dire, for Agatha laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Terrible, isn’t it? Him and another boy, as well as one of their professors. To top it off, there ain’t even an opus to send home. Fire ate it up, too. Professor John Clive—that was his sponsor—sent his regrets himself, before he . . .” Agatha’s words caught, and she turned her head to clear her throat. “Sorry, lass, that one is still fresh.” Withdrawing her hand, Agatha took in a shuddering breath. “Still can’t believe it. None of us can.”

Elsie tried to swallow and found she couldn’t. “Agatha. Where . . . Where is the academy?”

She tilted her head, confused by the question. “Up in Colchester. Why?”

Elsie might as well have bled out on Agatha’s doorstep. It couldn’t be a coincidence. The same time, the same place, the same magic . . .

She had disenchanted those water staffs.

Which most certainly meant the Cowls had started the fire.

CHAPTER 21

Elsie stumbled back from the porch.

“Miss Camden?” Agatha followed her. “Are you all right?”

She couldn’t breathe. It couldn’t be true. It simply couldn’t be. Ogden was one of them, after all, and he didn’t have a foul bone in his body! And she . . . all those deaths . . . she . . .

“Just . . . too much today,” she muttered, sure she sounded intoxicated. “I need a moment.”

“There’s beds just upstairs—”

But Elsie shook her head and fled from the house. Fled so fast she was tripping over her skirts. She stumbled all the way to the well by the road, then gripped its sides and leaned over the dark pit, cool air from between the stones whispering against the sweat on her face.

It’s a misunderstanding.

“Oh dear, you look sick. Don’t turn up your stomach in there, though.” An older woman approached, hair pinned messily under a threadbare cap. “Take a sit here. You’re Agatha’s visitor, ain’t you?”

Elsie numbly allowed the woman to guide her to a nearby stump. To draw up some water for her to drink. Elsie swallowed the stale liquid until her belly hurt and she had to stop or suffocate. She spilled some on her dress, but couldn’t bring herself to care.

“There.” The woman set the bucket aside. She, too, had black on her, though her dress was a simple brown. She offered a soiled handkerchief, but Elsie waved it away. “Did you get some bad news, dear?”

Elsie cradled her aching head in her hands. “You could say that.” She could still feel the end of the pistol against her forehead. The touch of the weapons beneath her hands in Colchester. The