“That was unnecessary,” Bacchus growled, but his eyes remained on Elsie. Beside him stood Ogden, his lips pulled into a frown, his arms folded tightly across his chest in displeasure.
Lord knew she ought to be embarrassed to be seen like this, disheveled, dress wrinkled, curled up like a beaten dog, but all she felt was relief. She stood too quickly, which made her head swim, and only just avoided smacking her crown on the ceiling. Leaning on the wall to orient herself, she stumbled. “I-I thought I wasn’t allowed visitors.”
“Not poor ones, anyway,” the guard said, eyeing Bacchus. “Five minutes,” he added before strolling down the hallway and out of Elsie’s line of sight.
Ogden reached through the bars; Elsie crossed the tiny space, stooping, and grasped his hand. “It’s not so very terrible,” she lied. Then, to Bacchus, “I don’t suppose this was the meeting you had in mind.”
Bacchus scoffed. “At least they haven’t curbed your sense of humor.”
Elsie smiled at that . . . until she noticed her chamber pot only a few feet away. Her entire body pulsed crimson.
“I’ve caught him up,” Ogden said, referring to Bacchus. “He knows everything.”
Elsie swallowed. “She came, last night.”
Bacchus blanched. “Merton? Here?”
“A projection. Practically admitted to everything—finding me at the workhouse, controlling Ogden, turning me in. She offered to get me out if I came with her willingly.”
Ogden frowned. “She still wants you, then.”
At least somebody does, but the thought sickened her. After all, hadn’t Bacchus and Ogden gone to great trouble to be here?
Bacchus, practically squatting to see through the bars, murmured, “No one saw her?”
Elsie shook her head.
He considered a moment. “Your sole witness won’t convince anyone. But I’ve garnered an appointment with the magistrate to discuss your case. There may yet be a way to twist this in your favor.”
Elsie’s heartbeat skipped. “Truly?”
“There’s a forgiveness period for spellbreakers, since their abilities are inherent,” he said, his voice warm and quick. “I looked into it.”
A sour taste filled her mouth. Elsie had known she was a spellbreaker since she was ten. “How long is the leniency?”
“A year.”
She hugged herself. “Bacchus—”
“Let me speak with him,” he insisted.
Ogden said, “Have you admitted anything?”
“No.” At least there was that. “I haven’t said a word.”
A long breath passed over Ogden’s lips. “Good.” He rubbed stubble on his chin, considering. “I can almost picture it, the place I went when Merton made me run. Where the rest of the opus spells were hidden. If I could find it again . . . perhaps there’ll be evidence tying Merton to it. At the very least, we’d have spells to arm ourselves with, when she strikes again.”
Elsie glanced past the bars, looking for jailers, but Ogden spoke so quietly she doubted he could be overheard.
“Elsie.” For a moment Elsie thought Bacchus reached for her—and her heart leapt in anticipation—but instead his large hand wrapped around one of the iron bars. “We’ll get you out, one way or another.”
Chewing on her lip, she glanced at the small space behind her. “Perhaps, Bacchus. But not even a master aspector can erase the law.”
“Elsie, look at me.”
She did, the green in his eyes vibrant despite the shadows of the cell. This time it was she who was trapped, not he. For a fleeting moment, she let herself remember what his skin felt like under her lips. But she couldn’t run away from him—or what he made her feel—this time. She couldn’t do anything.
His gaze was fast and firm. “I will get you out of here, if I have to melt the castle down myself, do you understand?”
She stared at him, wanting so badly to believe him. Wanting to ignore the fear and anxiety festering beneath her ribs and give hope its way, but hoping had always hurt her. Still, she found herself nodding. Not hoping, exactly. Wishing, perhaps.
“Magic-related discipline tends to be swift,” Ogden murmured. “I’ll need to hunt the opuses down as quickly as I can. Find a way to pin them on Merton.”
Elsie nodded. “Go. Emmeline will be fine.”
Footsteps closed in on their huddle. “Time’s up!” barked the guard.
Ogden ignored him. “I leave it to you, Master Kelsey.”
Before Bacchus could say anything, the guard approached, and the two men stepped back from the bars. Elsie felt a thousand threads connecting her to them, a spell in and of itself, and she followed them as far as the heavy door would allow, wrapping both hands around the unyielding iron.
Bacchus put his warm hands over hers, driving back the chill for an instant.
“Be careful,” she whispered.
“Come on now.” The guard waved his club.
Both Bacchus and Ogden spared her a final look before walking away, and Elsie pressed her face against the slots in the door, watching them until she couldn’t see them anymore, then listening to their footsteps until they faded. The prison grew silent once more, save for the sudden, brief wail of a prisoner beyond Elsie’s chamber.
Elsie sank to her knees and found herself praying again, hoping God could muddle through her thorny thoughts better than she could.
Bacchus waited impatiently in the magistrate’s sitting room on the east side of Oxford. It was elaborately furnished in reds and creams, and he was sorely tempted to change the color scheme to give himself something to do. Granted, that wouldn’t play well. He needed this man to like him, and Englishmen seemed predisposed to think the worst of him. He looked the part of a foreigner, and so he was treated as one.
He tried to sit, first on a posh settee and then on an elaborately carved mahogany armchair, but time ticked slowly and his nerves ran hot, so he stood and paced, first before the unlit fireplace, then by the windows that looked out onto modest but well-kept gardens. Something he might have appreciated, were he not so focused on what to say and how to say it. He hadn’t even been this nervous when he’d appealed for his mastership at the London Physical Atheneum. Then again, he’d known precisely what he was doing at the time.
A servant came in, bringing a tray of tea. She set it down on a side table and lifted a cup, but Bacchus waved her off, so she simply poured some for the magistrate and departed. The liquid had to be nearly cold by the time the man finally showed himself.
Bacchus bowed lower than was necessary. “Lord Astley, thank you for seeing me.” The man was about Elsie’s height, average for a man, and looked to be sixty or thereabouts, with sagging skin on his cheeks and neck that spoke of heavy weight loss, though his stomach was still round beneath his satin cutaway. His hair was curled and receding, a few locks holding on to brown pigment, the rest varying shades of gray. A pair of spectacles rested on his nose.
“Master Kelsey.” He nodded toward him. “My butler tells me you’re here regarding the Camden case. Forgive my tardiness; I hadn’t yet read up on it, and my daughter was rather insistent I attend a picnic in South Park.” He rolled his eyes and gestured to the settee. “Please, sit.”