Thieftaker (31 page)

“No, I think she intended to kill me this time, but I got away with help from a minister and Sheriff Greenleaf.” He smiled self-consciously. “That sounds a little strange, doesn’t it?”

She blinked. After several moments, she shook her head, allowing herself a small, breathless laugh. “The crazy thing is I believe you.”

“Well, I should hope so.”

“And I should hope that after all this you would give up your inquiry and keep yourself alive. But that’s probably too much to ask, isn’t it?”

“Do I even have to answer that?”

She took a breath, her blue eyes never leaving his. “No,” she finally said. “So then why don’t you tell me what you know so far?”

He smiled and she took his hand. He began to tell her what he had learned from Janna and Pell about killing spells and the death of the boy. He also told her about his conversations with Hutchinson and Derne, and with Adams and his friends.

“This conjurer is really that strong?” she asked when he was done.

“Do you remember Nate Ramsey, the speller who escaped me a couple of years ago?”

Kannice nodded.

“This man makes Ramsey seem weak.”

She took a long breath, her cheeks blanching. But her voice remained steady as she said, “And now you think he’s used the lives of this boy and Jennifer Berson to cast his spells.”

“He may have used a third person, too. I’m not sure. And they’re not just any spells. They’re control spells. I think he’s using the deaths to get others to do his bidding.”

“Do you think that he’s using them for whatever he needs done at the time, or do you think there’s a larger purpose behind the murders and the spells?”

Ethan considered this. It was a fine question, one he himself hadn’t thought to ask. Kannice did this for him: She forced him to see things differently. Talking to her about his jobs was often like playing a game of chess and in the middle of it, rotating the board and looking at the pieces from his opponent’s perspective.

“I think they are connected,” Ethan finally said. “I couldn’t tell you how, though, or even why I think so. I’ve been trying to put myself in this conjurer’s mind, but I can’t get myself to think as he does.”

“I would have been surprised if you could.” She gave his hand a squeeze and got up from the table. “Eat. I’ll come by again later.”

“Hey, wait,” he said, stopping her. “Did Diver say if he would be coming by tonight?”

“Do you mean when he was here last night?”

“No, today. This afternoon.”

“He wasn’t here today.”

“Well, of course—” He stopped, narrowing his eyes. He hadn’t actually seen Diver enter the Dowser; they hadn’t reached it yet. And Diver told him at the time he hadn’t intended to come to the tavern at all. Still, his friend had acted strangely throughout their encounter.

“Are you worried about him?” Kannice asked.

“This is Diver we’re talking about. I’m always worried about him. But I’m sure it’s nothing.”

She went back to the kitchen, and Ethan finished his ale and bowl of stew. Kelf brought him seconds of both, and Ethan finished these as well, sopping up the last of the stew with an end of fresh bread.

As he ate, he considered what Ebenezer Mackintosh might gain by committing these murders and making enemies of men on both sides of the Stamp Act conflict. So many believed that Mackintosh was guilty; perhaps it was time that Ethan spoke with the Commander of the South End, not only to hear what Mackintosh might say in his own defense, but also to see if he could determine whether the man was a conjurer. He was still pondering this sometime later when Kannice joined him at his table.

“Feeling better?” she asked.

“I am, thank you.”

She stared at her hands. “Are you going to stay?”

“I’d like to,” he said. “But I shouldn’t. Not while this conjurer is after me.”

“You’re here now.”

“Yes, now, when the tavern’s crowded with people. But staying the night could be dangerous.” He brushed the hair from her forehead. “If something happened to you because of what I’m doing…” He shook his head. “I probably shouldn’t stay until all this is over.”

“Wouldn’t you be safer here?” she asked. “Sephira and her toughs beat you in your home. You said the conjurer found you in the lane not far from Henry’s shop. They know where you live.”

“I’m not worried about me.”

She leaned forward and gently touched her lips to the bump on his temple. “I know,” she whispered. “That’s probably why you look such a mess.”

Ethan cupped her cheek in his hand and they both smiled. He kissed her lips and she returned the kiss hungrily.

Eventually Ethan pulled away. “I want to stay,” he said again. “But I think I have to go. Now. Before you convince me not to.”

Again she smiled. “All right. Come see me tomorrow.”

“Of course.”

Ethan stood and kissed her brow before leaving the table. He raised a hand as he passed Kelf on his way to the door, and pulling his coat tighter around his shoulders, stepped out into the street. The rain was falling harder now, though the air was warmer and the wind had died down.

He walked swiftly through the center of the city toward the South End, passing the prison, the Town House, and the Old Meeting House. Tense, watchful, he started at every sound he heard. The closer he got to his home, the more uneasy he grew, until he felt that every muscle in his body was coiled, ready for a fight. Still walking, he reached for the pouch of mullein leaves Janna had given him. He pulled out three leaves and a few dried flowers, and held them ready.

“
Veni ad me.
” Come to me.

The air hummed and Uncle Reg appeared beside him, his expression grim, his fists clenched. Not a good sign.

They turned onto Cooper’s Alley, and Ethan froze, the blood draining from his face.

All the windows on his street were dark; with the sky covered over and the rain falling there was precious little light. But Anna stood in the middle of the street, blocking his way, glowing faintly in the darkness, her hair clinging to her forehead as if soaked, a hard look in her pale, overlarge eyes.

Ethan backed away, knowing that he couldn’t fight her. He had the mullein, but that wouldn’t be enough against the conjurer.

But before he could flee, the girl shook her head. “Stay where you are.”

“So you can kill me? No, thank you.”

“I think you will.”

Light flared so brightly that he had to shield his eyes. When he looked again, he saw that a flame hung over the street just behind her, as if suspended by some unseen hand. Beneath it, in the dancing golden glow of the fire, something lay on the rain-soaked cobblestones.

Not something, someone.

Holin.

Chapter

S
IXTEEN

E
than’s first thought was that the boy was dead, murdered just as Jennifer Berson and the Brown child had been. Holin didn’t move. His face was deathly pale, his mouth locked in what Ethan feared was a permanent grimace, his eyes squeezed shut as if he was in pain. Rain ran over his cheeks like tears. His hands were rigid and clawed. One might have thought that he was struggling to move, to break free of whatever spell the conjurer had placed on him.

But Anna—the conjurer—had wanted Ethan to stay. She—he?—was using Holin as bait, to lure Ethan to the wraith so that she could use the full weight of her power to destroy him. It was the only hope Ethan had for the boy; Holin had to be alive.

“You didn’t listen,” Anna said, walking toward him slowly. “You didn’t…” She cocked her head to the side and sniffed the air. A moment later, she laughed. “Mullein!” she said, sounding delighted. “You think that a few leaves of speller’s herb will help you stand against me?” She shook her head, her mirth vanishing as quickly as it had come. “You’re a fool, Kaille.”

“
Tegimen!
” Ethan barely even breathed the word. “
Ex verbasco evocatum!
” Warding, conjured from mullein!

The leaves and flowers in his hand melted away, like sand in seawater, and the cobblestones beneath his feet sang with power. He felt the warding coil up his legs like twin snakes, wrapping itself around him, enveloping him.

“A warding,” the girl said, as the protection reached his waist, his midriff, his chest. “How quaint. I could kill you where you stand, despite your spell and your herbs and whatever else you might think to try against me.” She leaned her head to the side, the glow of her skin ghoulish. “But I’ll give you one more chance before I do that.”

“What spell did you use on him?” Ethan demanded.

The little girl smiled. “One of my own, one that you could never do.”

Ethan pushed up his sleeve, intending to cut himself and try to revive the boy with a spell.

“Don’t,” the girl said. She didn’t raise her voice at all, but Ethan stopped with his blade poised over his forearm. “If you try to free him, I’ll kill you both. There’s only one way you can save his life, and you already know what that is.”

Ethan glared at her, finally responding with one curt nod. “You want me to forget about Jennifer Berson.”

“I’ve told you as much before. You should have listened to me. I would be within my rights to kill the boy as punishment for what you’ve done.”

“Punish me. Not the boy. He’s done nothing to you.”

“But what if I can punish you by hurting the boy? That accomplishes much for me. I would like to kill you, Kaille. I’m tempted to kill you right now. But if I do, it will raise suspicions. Berson knows what you’re doing. He’ll wonder if your death has something to do with his daughter.” She shook her head. “No, I need for you to go back and tell him that it was Folter all along, that he was working for Ebenezer Mackintosh. I need you to say that you were wrong, that Folter was a speller after all, that there was no one else who could have done it. And when you’ve done that, I’ll release the boy.”

“No,” Ethan said. “You’ll release him now. Or I swear to God, I’ll find you and I’ll tear you apart with my bare hands.”

Anna laughed, a high tinkling sound, like the laughter of any small girl. “Fool,” she said.

He felt the pulse of the conjuring an instant before it slammed into him.

The next thing he knew he was on the ground, writhing so violently that he could feel his head and hands and arms flailing painfully against the cobblestones. He could do nothing to stop himself. It felt as if someone had sliced him open from sternum to gut and poured molten iron into his body. He heard a scream echoing off the buildings around him, realized it was his own. But there was nothing he could do to stop that, either.

She had laughed at his warding, at the mullein, at his empty threat. Now Ethan understood why. He had never before sensed such power; he had never felt so helpless, so utterly betrayed by his own conjuring abilities.

And then it was over. Ethan lay on the stone, panting, rain washing over his face. In that moment he would have done anything the conjurer asked for a simple promise that he would never endure such blazing agony again. He was sure that was exactly what the bastard wanted.

He forced himself up, staggered, but quickly righted himself. His ghost watched him. Normally Reg would have been laughing at his failure, or shaking his head in disappointment. Not this time. The ghost actually looked scared.

“If you think,” Ethan said to Anna, “that I’m going to let you have him just because you managed to hurt me a little, you’re—”

Gods! Weren’t mullein and a warding worth anything? Ethan was on the ground again, his back arched, his teeth clenched so tight he thought they would shatter. Red-hot iron flowed like blood through his limbs, his body, his head. He wanted to scream again, but couldn’t. He wanted to tear his skin open to get the iron out, to let that rainwater cool him. He could imagine it sizzling, turning instantly to vapor. He could—

Breathe. He could breathe, again. He opened his mouth to let in a few drops of rain, coughed, and sat up too quickly. When his head stopped spinning he climbed to his feet once more.

Tegimen,
he thought.
Ex verbasco evocatum.
Warding, conjured from mullein. He used more of the leaves this time, hoping for a more potent casting.

“Another warding won’t help you,” the girl said. “It doesn’t matter how many leaves you use. My power flows too deep for the likes of you.”

More than anything in the world just then, Ethan would have liked to punch this conjurer in the mouth. Obviously he was enormously powerful. But how did he know so much about Ethan’s gift? The conjurer had to be close. The last time Ethan had seen the little girl—far from here at the town gate—the conjurer had barely been able to maintain the illusion. That wasn’t the case tonight. In fact, the conjurer had managed to attack Ethan with one spell while maintaining that image of Anna. Ethan couldn’t have done that; he wouldn’t even have known how to make the attempt.

“Then you’ll have to kill me,” Ethan said, stalling now. “Because I won’t let you have Holin.”

Too often during these encounters with the girl, Ethan allowed himself to think about the conjurer’s power, and how weak he was by comparison. The time had come to consider what he could do, not what he couldn’t. He had tried a finding spell the second time he saw the girl, and it had failed. But why did he need a finding spell at all? Why not let an attack spell find the conjurer for him?

He still had his knife in hand and now he held it up for the girl to see. She gazed back at him, frowning in confusion. As she watched, Ethan fitted the blade back into its sheath, guiding it in with the other hand. But as the knife slid in, he allowed it to cut the skin between his thumb and forefinger.

Discuti!
Shatter! The word echoed in his mind as blood began to flow from the wound on his hand.
Ex cruore evocatum!
Conjured from blood!

Again, Ethan felt the conjuring, and he knew that the conjurer had as well. But he hoped that the conjurer wouldn’t be expecting an attack when Ethan had yet to try a finding spell, and that watching him through Anna’s eyes, the man hadn’t noticed the blood on his hand and so would be expecting a weaker spell.