Spellmaker (Spellbreaker Duology #2) - Charlie N. Holmberg Page 0,58

now did—they’d told him an aspector crook was at large and Quinn Raven might be able to help find her.

“Don’t give them any reasoning if you don’t have to,” Elsie added.

“And be careful,” Emmeline interjected.

Reggie managed a lopsided smile at the last request. “Makes me feel sort of like a vigilante. But a good one.” He counted the individual papers. “I’ll see what I can do. Couple might need to be in the same paper, but I can do different dates.”

“Perfect.” Elsie kissed him on the cheek. “It will be such a help to us. To me.”

Reggie shrugged. “Not a problem. Anything for my sister.”

Elsie beamed as brightly as if a gas lamp burned behind her smile. She saw Reggie back out to his mount—he’d ridden on horseback instead of taking a cab—and hurried back in to find Irene pinning her hat into her hair. She always had on a different hat. Perhaps when Elsie became fully certified, she’d have a plethora of hats of her own.

“With luck, they’ll be in Monday’s paper.” Irene hung her umbrella over her arm, though yesterday’s storm was long gone.

“With luck,” Elsie repeated. They’d had plenty of it, hadn’t they? She still struggled to believe they’d found such a friend in Irene, but Ogden had declared her trustworthy. And Elsie so desperately wanted to believe it. “I’ll repay you.”

Irene waved her hand. “I might not be a spellmaker, but I’ve a good salary in my own right and no family to spend it on.” There was a sad note at the end of the confession, but the spellbreaker merely smiled. “I’ll check in with you on Tuesday.”

“Perfect.” Elsie saw her to the door, then went up to her room to rest. She heard the scratching of a pencil as she opened the door, and spied on her table the enchanted green pencil dancing as though held by a ghost. Hurrying over, she read the script pouring out onto the blank page she’d left beneath it, noting that the pencil was in need of sharpening. She and Bacchus had been corresponding for much of the day about the attack on Ogden and its aftermath, plus Master Hill’s health. The tail end of their last conversation took up the top quarter of the paper.

His message from earlier caught her eye first: It would not be a problem for me to stay there.

Her reply: Why, so he can have two opuses if he returns? Ogden is looking into it. I don’t think he’ll try again. Especially not with Irene here so frequently.

Bacchus’s script had turned dark, as though he’d pushed on the pencil too hard. Assumptions like that are how villains get the upper hand.

She skipped the material she’d already read and focused on the new words still writing themselves down: Elsie, Bacchus’s fine script spelled, I’ve been contacted by the duke. He wants to talk, but—the pencil paused for a moment—I’d prefer to have you with me. I do not believe the duke or anyone in his household intends me harm. Nor do I think there will be any nonsense with spells. But I’ve not yet sorted through my feelings regarding the revelation about the siphoning spell, and I believe your presence will help me remain steady.

Elsie’s heart softened like butter. Help him remain steady. Smiling, she reached for the pencil, but it moved again, and she stayed her hand.

He wishes to see me tonight. I do not expect you to rearrange your plans for this. I’m prepared to reschedule. I believe he will do as I wish; if the duchess’s letters are to be believed, Isaiah feels guilty for the part he has played in this. I am happy to provide transport—

Elsie grabbed the pencil and wrenched it out of Bacchus’s invisible hand. She felt the moment he let it go, and beneath his half-finished sentence, she wrote, Of course I’ll come, you lummox. You don’t need to beg me. What more important thing could I possibly have to do?

She set the pencil down and waited. A few seconds passed before it rose and tilted, nub pressing to the paper.

Lummox?

She chuckled. It’s a term of endearment.

The pencil jerked in her hand—Bacchus had started writing before she could set it down. Then you find me endearing.

He’d underlined the word. Something about the smooth stroke brought heat to her face. Taking the pencil, she touched its tip to the paper, ready to scrawl out a snarky response, but something held her back. Pulse quickening, she found herself