Pulling on the dwindling politeness within him, Bacchus nodded. “I hoped you would forgive the intrusion.”
“Intrusion indeed.” He folded his arms. “Whatever have you disturbed me for?”
They would skip the empty pleasantries, then. Good. Bacchus didn’t know if he had enough serenity to ask after the man’s health and family. He noted there were no chairs in the room other than the one Master Phillips occupied. Either he didn’t take meetings in his office often, or he insisted his guests stand. Fortunately, Bacchus preferred standing. He liked having the height advantage, not that he would have lost it upon sitting.
“I have decided to join the atheneum as a free agent,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. As it was, he was technically still registered as a student, something that barred him from doing aspector work for pay in England.
Master Phillips raised an eyebrow. “There is a formal way to go about this.”
“I was never one for ceremony.”
He pushed his half-finished letter aside. “You don’t merely walk in and declare yourself part of the London Physical Atheneum, Master Kelsey. You must have a sponsor, for instance—”
“Master Hill is my sponsor,” Bacchus slipped in. “And I’ve acquired the appropriate paperwork as well. In truth, all I lack is approval of the head.”
Master Phillips considered this for a moment, his mouth sour. He picked up his pen, tracing circles on his desk with its uninked end. “I thought you’d sailed back to that island you hail from. What was it again?”
Bacchus’s shoulders tightened. “Barbados.”
“Right, right. I think it might be better if you returned to your holdings, Master Kelsey. I’m sure Barbados is in dire need of spellmakers.”
The comment grated down to his bones. He wondered if Master Phillips would be so bold if Bacchus had called a meeting of the assembly. Then again, others of the assembly might have agreed with Master Phillips, which would have made Bacchus’s path forward more difficult.
“My intention is to stay in England,” he said, tone even. Some travel back and forth to Barbados would be necessary, but Master Phillips needn’t know that.
Irritation twitched along the sides of Master Phillips’s eyes. He seemed to be a man who was not accustomed to being told no. “And why ever would you do that?”
“Because I’m marrying an Englishwoman.” He leaned his weight to one side. “A spellbreaker, actually.”
Master Phillips smirked. “Is that so? You managed to coerce someone into matrimony? Congratulations are in store, then. But I’ll not be accepting your request at this time.”
Bacchus glowered. “Or at any time, I dare say.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” He straightened in his seat. “I’m not fond of you, Master Kelsey.”
“We hardly know each other,” Bacchus interjected.
Master Phillips merely shrugged. “I’m not fond of what you represent. An . . . otherness, so to speak. Master Hill is enough of a pain in my side. I needn’t have a second. Do you understand?”
Bacchus’s stomach tightened, but he nodded. He had been preparing for this conversation since his meeting with the magistrate, and even more so since last night. “I do. But I think you will approve it. Especially if you insist on these games.”
He looked incredulous. “Are you threatening me, Master Kelsey? You might best me in size, but my magic is far superior.”
“I have no intention of harming your person,” he clarified. “But I recently came across quite the revelation. You knew my father, yes?”
Master Phillips eyed him. “I vaguely recall the man.”
“And I suppose you vaguely recall performing a siphoning spell on his son to preserve the welfare of the Duke of Kent?”
Master Phillips’s forehead creased. “You’re twisting the wrong arm. Such a spell is perfectly legal with parental consent. You were underage.”
“Ah, but you must also recall that my father has been deceased for some time.” Bacchus took a single step closer to the desk. “And therefore you’ve no witness to say he consented.”
The man’s brow lowered. “You forget the Duke of Kent.”
“You forget that I am as a son to him, and he will not speak out against me. Especially considering that the siphoning spell has since been removed.”
His eye twitched again. Bacchus needn’t tell the man that the duke had found a new pawn to suck life from, likely a commoner boy looking to make extra coin for his family, not that Bacchus had ever seen a farthing for his own unwilling contributions. The duke was old; he wouldn’t last forever, with or without magic to aid him.
Bacchus closed the distance between himself and the desk, placed both his palms on the wood, and leaned forward. “There are no laws that would forbid you from denying my enrollment in the atheneum based on my ethnicity or nationality, Master Phillips. But there are also no laws to keep me from involving you in the court system for illegally bespelling a minor. I believe the jailtime for such an offense is significant, and even if you’re not convicted, I can’t imagine what it would do to your reputation.”
Master Phillips looked like a dog protecting his bone. “So you do intend to threaten me.”
“I don’t intend, Master Phillips.” Bacchus enunciated every word. “I am.”
Bacchus waited at the carriage for Master Ruth Hill later that afternoon, softening and hardening a rock in his hand to pass the time, occasionally molding it into a tree or a fish, though his artistic skill was somewhat lacking. When she came out, she asked, “How did it go?”
He smiled. “Quite well, actually. I think we may have misjudged Master Phillips—he is far more reasonable a man than I had expected.”
Master Hill did not hide her disbelief. “Really? You’ll have to tell me about it on the way.”
And Bacchus did, though only the slivers of truth regarding Elsie he kept safely to himself.
Bacchus hunched over a monstrous desk in Master Hill’s study late that night, scrawling letters across paper with rich black ink. His cramping fingers were making his handwriting sloppy, but he’d rather get these letters finished while they were on the forefront of his mind than leave them until morning. That, and he wanted to be out of Master Hill’s way as much as possible. She had told him she had no use for her study at midnight. Granted, it was now an hour past.
The letters were destined for Barbados, some for his steward and others for his land managers, dictating what he wanted to see done with his house and his holdings, as well as asking for updates on his finances. He liked being current, and he hadn’t been since his initial arrival in London. Fortunately, thanks to his loss at the auction house, he still had the savings he’d intended for the master ambulation spell, and those alone would see him and Elsie comfortable for some time, even if his holdings flooded and Master Phillips could not be swayed. The letter he penned now was meant for his housekeeper. He didn’t know when, exactly, he’d be visiting again, but he wanted to make sure everything was adequate for his new wife. He chuckled to himself, imagining the frenzy the woman would go into upon reading that.
A soft knock sounded on the study door. “Come,” Bacchus said, setting aside his pen and flexing his hand. He set the letter down on the finished paperwork for his atheneum registration.
Rainer, one of Bacchus’s friends and servants from Barbados, stepped in, and the poor lighting—only two candles—made him blend with the shadows. He noticed the paperwork and asked, “Do you want me to make sure that gets posted tomorrow?”
Bacchus nodded. “Thank you, but you should be in bed.”
Rainer smiled. “Never have gotten used to the time change.”
Over their heads, a woman gasped. During the day, Bacchus might not have heard it. But with the house quiet as it was—