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ForAlexandErin,wordscannotbegintoexpressmy

love

ChapterONE

Boston,ProvinceofMassachusettsBay,

February21,1770

Ethan Kaille slipped throughshadows, stepping from onesnow-crusted cobble to thenextwith the care of a thief.He held a knife in one hand,his fingers numb with cold.The other hand he trailedalong the side of a brickbuilding,steadyinghimselfasa precaution against theuncertainfooting.

Dimpoolsoflightspilled

onto the street from candlelitwindows. Flakes of snowdusted his coat and hat, andmelted as they brushedagainsthisface.Everybreathproduced a billow of vapor,rendering his concealmentspellallbutuseless.

Theairwasstill—asmallmercy on a night as cold asthis one—and a deep silencehad settled over Boston, like

a thickwoolenblanket.Eventhe harbor, herwaters frozennear to shore and placidwhere they remained open,offered not a sound. In thehush that enveloped the city,Ethan’sstepsseemedas loudasmusketfire.

Will Pryor, who hadstolen several gemmednecklaces and bracelets fromthehomeofamerchantinthe

North End, lived here onLindal’s Lane, in a roomabove a farrier’s shop.Ethanhadfollowedthemanfortwodays,andthoughhe’dnotyetseen the jewels in Pryor’shands,hehadlittledoubtbutthat the pup still possessedthem, andwasmerelybidinghis time until he could sellthem without drawing undueattention to himself. Ethan

was determined to keep himfrom finding a buyer. Hefeared, though, that theunevensoundofhisfootstepswould be enough to wakePryor from a sound slumber,muchlessalertthethieftohisapproach.

Ethan reached the wornwooden stairway leading uptoPryor’sroomandbegantoclimb, wincing at every

creak, eyeing the window,which glowed faintly. Itwasn’t until he heard themurmur of voices, however,that he thought to examinethe steps with more care.Leaningforward,squintinginthe murky light, he felt hisstomachclench.

Footprints in the snow.Severalpairs.

Seconds later, an all-too-

familiar voice called out,“Come and join us, Ethan.We’vebeenwaitingforyou.”

“Damn it!” he muttered,teethclenched.

He kept still, snowsettlingonhis shoulders, andhe pondered his options.Realizing that he had none,he pushed up his sleeve, cuthis arm, and whispered anincantation to remove his

concealmentspell.A glowing figure

appeared beside him, russetlikeanewlyrisenmoon,witheyes as bright as flames. Hewas the ghost of an ancientwarrior, tall, lean, dour, anddressed in chain mail and atabardbearingtheleopardsofEngland’s Plantagenet kings.Hewas also Ethan’s spectralguide, the wraith of an

ancientancestorwhoallowedEthan access to the powerthat dwelt at the boundarybetween the livingworldandthe realm of the dead. Foryears, Ethan had called theghost Uncle Reg afterReginald Jerill, his mother’swaspishbrother,ofwhomtheghostremindedhim.

Reg regarded Ethan withan expression that bespoke

both amusement anddisapproval.

“I didn’t know she washere,”Ethansaid.

Regscowled,as if tosay,No,butyoushouldhave.

Ethancouldhardlyargue.For years, Sephira Pryce, theso-called Empress of theSouth End, Boston’s mostinfamous and successfulthieftaker, had been

interferingwith his inquiries,swooping in at the lastmoment to take for herselfitems he had been hired torecover, stealing his clientsand with them the finder’sfeestheypaid.Shereveledintormenting him, althoughmost times she seemedcontent to taunt and ridicule.On occasion, she set hertoughsonhim,allowingthem

to beat Ethan to a bloodymess. And every now andthen, she threatened to letthem kill him, and dump hisbody in the leas of Boston’sCommon.

Thatsheandhermenhadreached Pryor first shouldhave come as no surprise atall.

“Don’t stand out therepouting, Ethan. It’s only a

few pounds. Mister Wellsshould never have gone toyou in the firstplace.Amanof means, of culture. Heshouldhavebeenmine.”

EthanglancedatReg.“I’dgladlypaya fewpounds if itmeantamoment’speaceandanendtohermocking.”

Reg grinned and fadedfromview.Ethancuthisarmagain before climbing to the

top of the stairway andpushingopenPryor’sdoor.

Three of Sephira’s menstood before him, blockinghisway.Oneofthem,abrutenamedAfton,wasaslargeasaBritishfrigateandalmostaswelcoming. He had dark,stringy hair and a broad,homely face. Next to him,smaller, also dark-haired,stood Nap, a flintlock pistol

in his hand, full-cocked andaimedatEthan’sheart.

The third man held ablade instead of a pistol. Hehad pushed up the sleeve onhisleftarm;atrickleofbloodranfromacutonhisforearm,twin to the gash Ethan hadcarved into his own skin.GasparMarizwas a conjurerlike Ethan, and though inprivate conversations he had

declared himself Ethan’sfriend, he still answered toSephira. Ethan had no doubtthatifsheorderedhimtokillEthanwith a spell, hewouldattemptit.HestaredatEthan,his expression grim, thelenses of his spectaclescatching the lightofacandlesothattheyappearedopaque.

Behind these three werethree others. Will Pryor,

lanky, youthful, with yellowhair and dark eyes, sat in achair,bloodseepingfromhisnose and split lip, aswell asfrom a raw wound on histemple. He watched Ethan,clearly uncertain as towhether his arrival presagedan escape from hispredicament or a worseningof it. Another brute loomedoverhim:Gordon,asbigand

asuglyasAfton.Andbesidethese two, a look of smugsatisfaction on her lovelyface,stoodSephira.

There could be nodenying that she wasbeautiful; even Ethan, whohadasmuchcausetohatethewoman as anyone inBoston,had to admit as much.Ringletsofshiningblackhairfell over her shoulders. Her

eyes,brightblueanddancingwith mischief, shone in thecandlelight. A black cloakthatheassumedmustbehers—it was far too fine to bePryor’s—lay on the thief’sbed.Sheworeherusualstreetgarb:blackbreeches, awhitesilk shirt opened at the neck,and a black waistcoat thathugged her curves with theardorofalover.

But though she wasexquisite and alluring, herbeauty put him inmind of acut diamond. She was hard,remote, cold, and sharpenough to draw blood. Hehad never met anyone moreruthless or better suited to alife of thuggery anddeception.Shecouldbecruelas well as charming; he hadknown her to be shrewdly

calculating one minute andutterly capricious the next.Therewasnopredictingwhatshemightdounderanygivencircumstance,whichwasonereason why she could be soconfoundingasarival.

Another reason: she—orat leastmen inheremploy—boreresponsibilityforagoodnumber of the thefts sheinvestigated. She stole from

the wealthy and then tooktheir money as reward forreturning their property, allthe while basking in theirpraise. “She can solve anycrime,”theysaid,theirpraiseas fatuous as itwas fulsome.“NothiefinBostoncaneludethe Empress.” Those likeEthan, who encountered herin the streets, knew her forwhat she was: a brigand,

bonny and winsome, butvillainous. To the rest of thecity, however, including itswealthiestandmostpowerfulcitizens,shewasaheroine.

And tonight she hadbested Ethan yet again; shewould claim as her own thethree pounds Mr. Wells hadpromised him. Ethan feltreasonably sure that thiswould be the extent of his

loss for the evening. But hecouldn’tbeentirelyconfidentthatthenightwouldn’tendinhisdeath.SuchweretherisksofanyencounterwithSephiraPryce.

She smiled at him as shewould at an old friend, butthen her gaze fell to the cuton his arm, and her mienturnedicy.

“Youshouldn’thavedone

that.”“And you shouldn’t be

surprised that I did. You’regoing to have Nap take myknife. All your men arearmed.Didyouexpectmetowalk in here without anymeansofprotectingmyself?”

Sephira stared daggers athim,butthennoddedoncetoNap, seeming to concede thepoint.

Nap stepped forward andtook the blade from Ethan’shand, all the while keepinghis pistol trained on Ethan’sheart.

“Will, how are youbearingup?”Ethanasked.

The thief swallowed. Hecastawide-eyed,fearfullookEthan’s way, but a secondlaterhisgazewasdrawnbackto Nap’s pistol. At last he

gave a tentative shrug. “Idon’tknow.”

“He’s quite the intellect,”Sephira said, regarding Willwith unconcealed scorn. “Ifind it hard to believe heeluded you for as long as hedid.”

“Aye, well thieves areeasier to findwhenyouhaveanother thieftaker doing allthe difficult work for you.

Why are you here, Sephira?HavetimesgrownsodifficultthattheEmpressoftheSouthEnd must abandon thewarmth and comfort of herhome for a mere threepounds?”

Shetippedherheadtotheside,acoygrinonherlips.“Inever see you anymore,” shesaid,purringthewords.“I’vemissedyou.”

Ethan offered noresponse.

Sephirabegantopacetheroom. As she strolled pastWill, she traced a fingerlightlydownthebridgeofhisnose.Thepuplookedtobeonthevergeofwettinghimself.

“Wells is one of thoseclientsI’mnotsureyououghttobeworkingfor,”shesaidatlast. “You’ve seen his estate,

you know the sort of menwho live on his street.” Shehalted, her eyes findingEthan’s. “I thought I hadmade myself clear on thispoint.”

“You have,” Ethan said,histonelight.

Arguing the point wouldhave been useless. Sephirahad told Ethan more timesthan he cared to remember

thatsheexpectedhimtolimithis thieftaking to a clienteleof her choosing. He couldwork for families of limitedmeans, while leaving thewealthierclientsforher.Andhecouldwork for thosewhocame to him explicitlybecause they believed theirpropertytohavebeenspiritedawaybysomeonewithaccesstothesameconjuringpowers

that he possessed. This washer notion of an equitablearrangement. She appearednottocareintheleastthathehad never agreed to herterms, despite her threats ofbeatings at the hands of hermen should he violate their“agreement.”

“Yet, you took on theinquiry anyway,” shecontinued, “without regard

formywishes.Willhereisnoconjurer, so I know that youdidn’t take the job becausewitchery was involved.Therefore, I canonlyassumethat you deliberately ignoredmypreviouswarnings.”

“That’sright.”“And still you ask why

I’mhere.”Itwashisturntoconcede

the point. He did so with a

shrug. “So have I earnedanother beating?” he asked.“Ordoyouplan todoworsethistime?”

“Neither, actually. I’lltake the gems, which Willwascleverenoughtohideontop of that table there. AndI’ll claim your fee fromMisterWells.I’lldothesamewith your next job, and theone after that. Perhaps, with

time, you’ll decide thatworking without being paidmakes little sense, you’llconcede that I’ve beaten youin this, as in everything else,andyou’ll start takingon thesort of clients I’ve beentelling you to work for allalong.”

Ethan watched her,waiting for more: for thethreats, for an order to Nap

and his companions tobludgeon him a bit. But shesaidnothingelse.Shemerelystaredbackathim.

“What?” she asked inunfeigned innocence—odd inand of itself coming fromSephira.

“That’s surprisingly …restrainedofyou.”

“I can have them beatyou, if you’d prefer,” she

said,soundingbored.“No.Thankyou,though.”

He tipped his head towardWill,whowaslisteningtoallthey said and looking moreanxious with every word.“Whatabouthim?”

“You know what MisterWellswouldsay.”

“Ido,”Ethansaid.Wells, like others who

had hired him to retrieve

stolen items, would want tosee the pup punished asseverely as the law allowed.Indeed,ifhewasasvengefulassomeforwhomEthanhadworked, he wouldn’t careabout the limits of the law,and would want Will killedforhistransgression.

“What?” Will asked, hisgaze darting from one ofthem to the other. “What

wouldhesay?”Before either of them

could answer, several thingshappenedatonce.Apulseofconjuring power hummed inthe floor; Ethan couldn’t saywithanysuretywhenceithadcome. He thought he saw aflash of light as well, but hehad no opportunity to seewhatitwas,ortoaskMarizifhehadfeltthespell.

Because at that moment,Gordon, without uttering aword, or giving anyindicationofwhatmighthaveprovoked him, steppeddirectly in front ofWill, andbegantobeatthepupwithhiscobble-like fists. A blow tothe side of the head nearlyknocked the lad from hischair. A second broke hisnose, so that blood gushed

over Will’s mouth and chin.One more, and the pup fellover, his chair toppling withhim.

But Gordon wasn’tthrough. He aimed a viciouskick at Will’s side—Ethanheardribsbreak.

At first, it seemed all ofthemweretooshockedbythesudden assault to do morethan gape. For seconds that

might as well have beenhours,noneofthemmovedtointervene.

Sephira was the first toact.

“Gordon!” she shouted,thenameechoinginthesmallroom.

No response. The brutekicked Will a second time,then wrapped one fist in thepup’sbloodstainedcollarand

hoisted him to his feet, hisotherfistdrawnbacktostrikeagain.

By this time, though,Afton, Nap, and Ethan hademerged from their stuporand were converging on theman.AftongrabbedGordon’sarm. Nap and Ethan wrestedWill from the tough’s graspandsethimbackinhischair,which Sephira had set

upright.Thepup’sheadlolledto the side. He wasunconscious;Ethan fearedhemightbedead.

Gordon struggled to freehimselffromAfton,theroomquaking as the twobehemoths wrestled eachother.

Sephira planted herself infront of them. “Gordon, stopit!”

Butstillhefought,asifinablindrage.

Another conjuringthrummed, this one comingfrom within the room.Gordonstaggered,slumpedinAfton’s arms. Afton easedhimtothefloor,wherehelaystill, his chest rising andfallinggently.

“Is he alive?” Sephiraasked,turningbacktoWill.

Nap knelt beside the pupandputahandtoWill’sneck,feeling for a pulse. “Barely,”hesaidafterafewseconds.

“Whatdidyoudo?”They all turned toMariz,

who alone among them hadnotmoved, though the bloodhad vanished from his arm,expended in the sleep spellthatsubduedGordon.

He glared at Ethan, his

knife poised over his arm,ready to cut himself andconjureagain.

“I don’t know what youmean,” Ethan said, knowingthathesoundedslow-witted.

“What did you do tohim?” Mariz repeated, hisaccentthickeningashisangerflared.

Sephira snapped herfingers. Immediately, Nap

stood once more and raisedhispistol.

“You’resayingthatKailleusedhiswitcheryonGordon?That’swhy—?”

“Ididnot!”“I sensed a conjuring,

Kaille,”Marizsaid.“AndforjustaninstantIthoughtIsawyourspectralguideappear.”

Ethan shook his head,even as he considered the

magickhehadsensedandtheflash of light he thought hesawbeforeGordonstruckhisfirstblowatWill.Hepointedto his forearm, which wasstill red with blood. “Look,”he said, holding it out forMariz and Sephira to see.“Theblood’sstillthere.HadIconjured,itwouldn’tbe.”

Mariz blinked once, hisbrowcreasing.

“Mariz?” Sephira said.Ethan sensed that she wasseconds away from orderingNaptopullthetrigger.

“Thereareotherwaysforhimtoconjure.Butthebloodon his armwould have beeneasiest.”

Sephira appearedunconvinced. “Unless hewanted to hide what he wasdoing,isn’tthatright?”

Mariz shook his head.“Even then I would see hisguide,andfeelhisspell.”

“Butyousaythatyoudid—you saw theghost and felta conjuring. That’swhat yousaid.”

“I thought his guide hadappeared. It was there, andthenitwasgone.Imighthaveimaginedit.”

Sephira frowned. Since

the previous summer, whenEthanandMarizhadworkedtogether to defeat a conjurernamedNateRamsey,shehadbeen distrustful of theirfriendship. Mariz’suncertainty was onlymakingmattersworse.

“Why would I makeGordon beat the lad?” Ethanasked her. “I’m thesentimental one, remember?

That’swhatyoualwayssay.Iwas prepared to plead forWill’s life. It’s you whousually argues on behalf ofvengeancefortheclient.”

She didn’t answer, butinstead turned toMariz oncemore. “How long will hesleep?” she asked, dippingherchintowardGordon.

“Notlong.Butifwewakehim,Icanoffernoassurance

that he will not resume hisattack.”

“I want him to tell uswhathappened.”

“He can,” Ethan said.“Andwedon’t have towakehim.”HeandMariz sharedalook. “A revela potestatemspellwouldshowthecoloroftheconjuringthathithim.”

“It will show my sleepspell,”Marizsaid.

“Aye, but if you word itcorrectlyitwillalsoshowthepreviousconjuring.”

“Whatareyoutwotalkingabout?” Sephira asked, thewordsclipped.

“You’ve seen the spellbefore; more than once. Wecan use a conjuring to showwhat spells have been usedagainsthim.You’llseethatIhad nothing to do with what

happened.”She made a sharp,

impatient gesture that mightormightnothavebeenmeantto indicate her acquiescence.Ethan didn’t ask her toclarify.

“Omniasmagias,”hesaidto Mariz. “All magicks.That’sthewording.”

“Yes, I know it,” Marizsaid, and cut his arm. Blood

welled; he put some on hisfingertipanddabbeditacrossGordon’s forehead and downthe bridge of his nose to thebase of his neck. When hehad finished doing this, hespoke the incantation.“Revela omnias magias excruore evocatas.” Reveal allmagicks, conjured fromblood.

The spell rumbled in the

walls and floor. Mariz’sspectral guide, a young manin Renaissance clothing whoresembled the conjurer andglowed with a warm beigehue, appeared beside him.The radiance of a conjuringappeared on Gordon’s body,butinonlyonecolor:Mariz’sbeige.

“What did that mean?”Sephira asked, sounding

cross. Ethan knew that sheneitherunderstoodnortrustedspells and spellmaking. Andshe hated being at adisadvantagewhenEthanwasanywherenearher.

“There was nothing,”Mariz said. “No color at allaside from mine. Nothingfrom Kaille, nothing fromanother conjurer.”He lookedupatEthan, the lensesofhis

spectacles flashing again.“Perhaps there was no spellafterall.”

Sephira’s scowl hadgrownmoresevere.“So,nowyou’re not even sure that aspellwascast.”

“I felt something,” Ethantold her. He turned back toMariz. “We both did. Andboth of us thought we sawsomething,aswell—alightof

somesort.Itcouldhavebeenthe spectral guide of someotherconjurer.”

“Or it could have beennothing,” Mariz said.“Lightning from outside, orthe gleam of some distantconjuring.”

“Maybe.HasGordoneverdone anything like thatbefore?” Ethan askedSephira.“Hasheevertakenit

uponhimselftobeatsomeonewithoutawordfromyou?Forthat matter, have you everknownhimto ignoreadirectorder, as he did when youtoldhimtostop?”

“No,”shesaid,andwhileshe had sounded unsure ofherself when speaking ofspells,therewasnohesitationinthisresponse.“Hemaynotbe the smartest of my men,

buthedoesashe’stold.”“I thought as much.”

Ethan looked down atGordon, and then at Will,who had yet to regainconsciousness. There hadbeen something odd anddeeply chilling aboutGordon’sbehavior.Hisattackon the pup had been savage,and yet devoid ofprovocation.Andwithoutany

evidence to indicate that aspell had been cast, it washard to imagine what couldhave caused him to losecontrolsosuddenly.

“Perhaps Pryor saidsomething we did not hear,”Mariz said, echoing Ethan’sthoughts.“Ormaybehemadesomerudegesturetowardthesenhora that we did not see.Gordon is very protective of

her.”Ethan frowned. “Yes,

maybe,” he said, unable tokeepanoteofdoubtfromhisvoice.

Sephira said nothing, butshe regarded Ethan, Mariz,andGordon in turn, seemingin thatmoment to trust noneofthem.

ChapterTWO

LikeMariz,Ethanalsofeared

that if they woke Gordon inthe presence of Will Pryor,the brute might attempt torenewhisassault.AndthoughtheroombelongedtoWill, itseemed easiest to move himrather than risk stirringGordon. Not to mention thefact that with the possibleexceptionofAfton,therewasno one there who could liftSephira’sman.

Ethan and Mariz drapedthe lad’s arms around theirshouldersandborehimdownthe stairway to the icy street.There they both cast healingspells to repair some of thedamage Gordon had done inhis unexplained rage. Ethanmended Will’s broken ribs,while Mariz tended to thepup’s jaw and nose, both ofwhichwerealsobroken.

“Howconfidentwereyouthat you caught sight of myspectral guide?” Ethan askedastheyconjured.

Marizglancedhisway.“Icannot say.When I saw it, Iwas quite certain. But in …What is your word? Inretrospect, I am less sure. Itlastednotevenasecond—theblink of an eye. Nothingmore.Iamsorry.Ishouldnot

haveaccusedyou.”Ethan shook his head.

“That’snotwhyIwasasking.As I said, I spottedsomething,too,andI’mnotatall convinced that it camefromthewindow.”

“Did you see a figure?Acolor?”

“No. I saw a flicker oflight.That’sall.”

“Do you still believe it

wasaspellthatmadeGordondothis?”

Ethandidn’tknowhowtoanswer. Sephira’s man hadbehaved as would one underthe influence of a controlspell.Butcontrol spellswereamong the most powerful ofconjurings, and Ethancouldn’t imagine how aconjurer might conceal onefromanomniasmagiasspell.

The door to Will’s roomopenedandclosed,andbootsscraped on the landingoutsidetheroomandthenonthe snow-dusted stairway.Seconds later, Sephira joinedthem on the street, her blackcloak draped over hershoulders.

“He’sawake,”shesaid.What little light reached

thatcornerof thestreetcame

from Will’s window, aboveandbehindSephira.Itmadeahalo of her shining curls andleftherfaceinshadow.

“And?”Ethanasked.She shrugged. “And he

seemsperfectlynormal,oratleast as normal as Gordongets. He rememberspummelingthenoddy,buthecan’t recallwhat set himoff,nor can he explain why he

wouldn’t stop. He keepsapologizing to me forignoringmyordertostop,butwhenIaskhimwhyhedidit,he merely shakes his headand tells me again that he’ssorry.”

Ethanwasn’tsurewhattomake of this, and to makematters worse, he wasn’tentirely certain whether hecouldtrustwhatshetoldhim.

Shehadnoreasontolieaboutthe episode, but his mistrustof her ran deep, and oldhabits were not so easilybroken.

“Do you think that if hesawWill,hewould tryagaintoattackhim?”

“I don’t know,” Sephirasaid.“Idon’tthinkweshouldtakethatchance.”

Mariz looked up. “I

agree.”“How is he?” Sephira

asked.“Anotherblowortwoand

Iexpecthewouldhavedied,”Ethansaid.“Asitis,hewon’tbedoingmuch thievingforawhile.”

“Then, I suppose somegoodcameofthis.”

Hecouldn’ttellifshewasjoking.

“If you’ll take Gordonbacktoyourhome,MarizandIwillreturnWilltohisbed.”

“Yes, all right.” Shestarted to turn away, butstopped herself. “I believeyou and I have more todiscuss.”

“No, we don’t, Sephira.You’ll be watching me, Iknow. And you’ll bedispleased if I take on other

wealthy clients. I’ve heard itbefore.”

“Very well, Ethan. Butone day, after you’ve onceagain ignored my warnings,you’ll find that my patiencehas run out. When thathappens, you’ll have no oneto blame but yourself.” Shelooked at Mariz. “Whenyou’re done here, return tothe house. I have more

questionsforyou.”“Ofcourse,Senhora.”She climbed the stairs to

Will’s room and called toNap and Afton from thedoorway. Ethan and MarizmovedPryorashortdistancedownthelane,sothatGordonwouldn’t see the lad as heleft. Once Sephira and theothersweregone,theycarriedWillbackuptohisroom.

“You did not answer myquestion before,”Mariz said,as theysettledthepuponhisbed. “Do you still believeGordon acted under theinfluenceofaconjuring?”

“I don’t know. It was allratherstrange,andeverythinghappenedquickly.Ifonlyoneofushadfeltaconjuringandseen that light, I’dbewillingto dismiss it as coincidence,

or something imagined. Butboth of us…” He draped ablanket over Will andstraightened. “Sephira isgoing to ask you the samequestion. What will you tellher?”

“ThatIamunsureofwhatIsawandwhatIsensed.Thatmy spell indicated noconjuring had been usedagainst Gordon. And that I

am convinced you hadnothing to do with whateverhappenedtohim.”

“You’ve told me in thepast that our friendship hasmade Sephira and her othermen less trusting of you. Isthatstillso?”

“It is,” Mariz said. “Shedoesnotlikeyou,Kaille.Andyet she speaks of you withmore respect than youmight

think.Ibelieveifshehadherway, you would be workingforher,notI.Yoursisanoddrelationship.”

“Aye. That much Iknow.” He proffered a hand,whichMarizgripped.“Thankyou.”

“Forwhat?”Ethan gestured toward

Will. “For helping me healhim. And for telling Sephira

that I wasn’t responsible forthespell.”

“IbelieveIsuggestedfirstthatyouwere.”

“Aye, that you did.But Iprobably would have donethesame.”

Theyletthemselvesoutoftheroomandclosedthedoorbehindthem.

At the bottom of thestairway, they parted ways.

Ethan intended to go to theDowsing Rod, the tavern onSudbury Street where hespentmuchofhistime.First,however, he walked throughCornhill to MarlboroughStreet and turned southward.At the corner of WinterStreet, he turned up a smallwalkway and followed it tothe door of a modest housewith a gabled roof. Candles

shone in the windows, andpale gray smoke rose fromthechimney.Ethanrappedonthedoorwiththesimplebrassknocker.

Themanwhoopened thedoor was tall, though hisshoulders were stooped. Hehad deep-set eyes, aprominent nose, and long,powderedhairthatheworeinaplait.

“Yes?What can I do foryou?”

“Forgive me fordisturbing you so late in theevening, Doctor Church. MynameisEthanKaille—”

“Ah, yes! The thieftakerwho doesn’t wish to beassociated with SamuelAdams or the Sons ofLiberty.”

Ethan offered a wan

smile.“I’msurprisedthatyouremember,sir.It’sbeensometime.”

Severalmonthsbefore,asEthan tried to rid Boston ofNateRamseyandhisarmyofwraiths,hewassummonedtothe Green Dragon tavern bySamuelAdams.Therehemetwith Adams, BenjaminChurch, James Otis, JosephWarren, and Paul Revere,

who thanked Ethan forconjuring attacks onwarehouses belonging tomerchants who had nothonored the nonimportationagreements. Theseagreements, which wereintended to halt the sale inBostonofBritishgoods,werethe work of Adams and hisallies, who believed thatEthan had thrown in with

their cause at long last. ButEthanhadnothingtodowiththeattacks; it turnedout theywereRamsey’sdoing.Andatthat meeting, as on previousoccasions, Ethan refused tojoin with Adams and hisalliesintheirstruggleagainsttheCrown.

“Yes,well,”Church said.“It’s not every day that onemeets a man with the

gumption to say no toSamuel.”Hestoodtothesideand waved Ethan into thehouse.

Ethan removed his hatand entered. Itwas blessedlywarm within; a hearty blazeburnedinthehearth.

“If I remember,” thedoctorwenton,“thatwasnotour firstmeeting.TrevorPellbroughtyoutomesomeyears

ago.Youhadbeenbeatenandshot, but most of yourwounds had already beenhealedwithwhatsomemightcallwitchcraft.”

Ethan recalled thatevening vividly as well.Sephiraandalargeretinueofher toughs had taken Ethanout to the Common, fullyintent on killing him. Onlythe timely intervention of

Reverend Pell, with theunwitting cooperation ofSheriff Stephen Greenleaf,had saved Ethan’s life. Hehad healed the worst of hiswoundswithspells,andwhileDr. Church had beensurprisedbythis,hisresponsehad been notably measured.This was why Ethan hadcometothedoctortonight.

He took a breath and

faced the doctor. “Aye, sir.That’s my memory as well.Again, I’m flattered that youhave such clear recollectionsofourencounters.”

“Can I offer you somewineorsomethingtoeat?”

“No,thankyou.”Church looked Ethan up

anddown.“Youappeartobein a far better state thisevening than you were that

night. Is this a social visitthen?”

“No, sir. There’s a ladwho lives above a farrier’sshop on Lindal’s Lane. Hisname is Will Pryor. He’staken a terrible beating, andwhileI’vedonewhatIcantohealtheworstofhiswounds,Iwashopingyoumightgotohiminthemorningandmakecertainthathe’sonthemend.

Iwouldpayyou,ofcourse.”“I see,” Church said, his

voice hardening. “And wereyou responsible for thebeating?”

“No,Iwasn’t.”“Then why would you

payme?”“BecauseIwasn’table to

prevent the assault, andbecausemyabilitytocarefortheladislimited.”

The doctor consideredhim. “Very well, MisterKaille. I’ll go to him firstthingtomorrow.”

“I’dbemost grateful, sir.HowmuchshallIpayyou?”

“One and ten should beenough.”

Ethan narrowed his eyes.“One shilling, ten pence.That’sall?”

Church lifted his

shoulders, a small grintuggingathislips.“Itsoundsas though you’ve alreadydone most of my work forme.”

“Butsurely—”“It’s all right, Mister

Kaille.” He gestured in amanner thatencompassed thewhole of the sitting room. Itwas comfortably furnished,its appointments tasteful if

not lavish. A pair ofupholstered chairs stood nearthe hearth, and a sofa satalong the far wall, before alowoakentable.“Asyousee,I’mnotabouttogohungry.”

“Thank you, sir.” Ethanpulled out his worn leatherpurse,removedthecoins,andhanded them to the doctor.“Thereyouare.”

Church pocketed the

money without bothering tocountit.

Ethanstartedbacktowardthe door. “I’ll leave you toenjoyyourevening.”

“Pryor, you said?” thedoctorasked,followinghim.

“Aye. Will Pryor. OnLindal’sLane.”

“Above the farrier’sshop.”

“Just so. Again, my

thanks.”After the doctor saw him

out, Ethan turned once moreontoMarlborough Street andfollowed it toward theDowser, satisfied that hehaddonewhathecouldforWill.

As had been his habitsince the beginning of theBritish occupation of Bostonin the fall of 1768, Ethanfollowed a somewhat

roundabout route to theDowser so thathewouldnotpass too close to theintersection of Brattle StreetandHillier’sLane,where theregulars of the Twenty-ninthRegimentwerebilleted.

Still, Ethan could notavoid entirely the Britishmilitary presence in the city.Regulars patrolled the streetsnight and day, and with

tensions rising, everywherethey went they encounteredthe taunts of young meninflamed by drink or simplythefollyofyouth.

Walking on TreamountStreet, he could hear cries of“Damn the king and hismen!” and “You have nobusiness here, you bloodybastards!” aimed at thesoldiers stationed a block

away near the Town House.He heard as well the usualinsults: “red herring,”“lobsters,” “thieving dogs,”“bloody-backed scoundrels.”Each time he was abroad inthe streets, he expected thesejeerstobemetwiththereportofamusket,butmiraculously—so far—the city had beenspared that sort of tragedy.He didn’t approve of the

occupation, and he had longsince stopped referring tohimself as a loyalist, or aTory,asmenofsuchthinkingwere called. But there couldbe no denying that thus farthesoldiershaddemonstratedremarkableforbearance.

Treamount met SudburyStreetabitnorthofwherethesoldierswerebased,andfromthere itwas but a shortwalk

totheDowsingRod.Upon entering the tavern,

Ethan was greeted by theusualsavoryaromas.KanniceLester, the tavern’sproprietor, and Ethan’s loverfor nearly seven years,madethefineststewsandchowdersinallofBoston.Tonight,shewasservingthefishchowder;Ethancouldsmellthecod,aswell as the bay and thyme

Kannice used in her recipe.The aroma of the chowderwas overlaid with the scentsof fresh-baked bread androastingchestnuts.

Theairwithinthetavern’sgreat room was warm andwelcoming. A thin haze ofpale pipe smoke hung overthe tablesandchairs, and theincomprehensible din oflaughter and dozens of

conversationsbroughtasmileto Ethan’s lips. He rented aroom above Henry Dall’scooperageonCooper’sAlleyin the South End, but foryears now, this tavern hadbeenasmuchahomeashe’deverknown.

He crossed to the bar,squeezing past thewharfmenand shipwrights who sippedaleswhile tradingstoriesand

jests, and caught the eye ofKelf Fingarin, Kannice’smountainofabarman.

“Good evenin’, Ethan,”Kelf said, as always runninghiswords together in a rapidjumble.

“Wellmet,Kelf.I’llhavetheKent pale, and a bowl ofthechowder.”

“Ale’ll be right up.Chowder should be out in a

fewminutes.”Ethan dropped a half

shilling into the man’smassivehand.

Kelf nodded toward thebackof thegreat roomas hefilled Ethan’s tankard withthe Kentish pale ale Ethanpreferred. “Diver’s in hisusualspot,withDeborah.I’llbringthechowdertoyou.”

“All right. Where’s

Kannice?”Kelf reddened to the tips

of his ears. “She’s in backcookin’.” Abruptly thebarman wouldn’t look Ethanintheeye.

“I take it she’s stillangry.”

“Imindmyownbus’ness,Ethan. You know that aboutme.”Kelf placed the tankardinfrontofhim.

Ethan grinned, though ittook some effort. “Thatwouldbeayes,then.”

“Not for nothin’, but Ihappen to think she’s rightaboutthis.”

“I never said she wasn’t.AllIsaidwas,acove’sgottowork,andtimesbeingastheyare I can’t be turning downany jobs. You understandthat,don’tyou?”

Kelf’s crooked grinconveyed more than a bit ofsympathy.“Aye.Butshecanbe hard sometimes. Youknowthataswellasanyone.”

“Aye.”Ethantookhisale.“My thanks, Kelf.” Hepushedawayfromthebarandwaded through the throngtoward the back wall of thetavern,wherehisfriendDiver—DevrenJervis—usuallysat.

As he wound past tablesof workers and artisansdrinking flips or Madeirawine, and eating oysters andchowder, he sawmany facesherecognized.Kannice’sfinecooking had earned her aloyal clientele. But thoughmost of these men had seenEthanheredayafterday,fewof them offered anything bywayofgreeting;mostrefused

tomakeeyecontact.Forasmuchastheycared

forKannice, theythoughttheworst ofEthan.He supposedtheyhadcause.

As a young man, abouttheageofWillPryor,hehadputouttoseaassecondmateaboard the Ruby Blade, aprivateering vessel. Theinitial legs of the ship’svoyage went poorly, and

before long the first mate, asilver-tongued ruffian namedAllenFoster,hadtalkedmuchof thecrew, includingEthan,into mutinying. SomehowFosterhadlearnedthatEthanwas a speller, and heconvinced him to use hisconjuring abilities on theirbehalf.Onlyafter thecaptainand his supporters had beensubdued did Ethan come to

realize that Foster was crueland arbitrary, a worsecommander by far than thecaptainhadbeen.Ethanfreedthe captain and helped himretaketheship.

That act of repentancesavedEthanfromthehanginghe probably deserved. Itcould not keep him out ofprison.Heservedforclosetofourteenyearsasalaboreron

a sugar plantation inBarbados.There, in a hell ofbackbreaking toil, disease,unbearableheat,andbrutalityat the hands of theplantation’soverseers,helostpartofhisfoottoastrayblowfromacaneknife.He lostaswell his first love, MarielleTaylor. She broke off theirbetrothal upon hearing of hisinvolvement in the mutiny,

but she was even moreappalled to learn that hewasa conjurer, somethinghehadconcealed from her duringtheircourtship.Hardestofall,EthanlostthebrightfutureheandEllihadplannedtogether,as well as any chance ofrealizing his ambitions ofbecoming a successfulmerchantcaptain.

He had done all right for

himself in theyearssincehisrelease from servitude, andamong those who knew himsolelyasathieftaker,hehadareputation for honesty andcompetence, not to mentionthe notoriety that came withpitting himself againstSephiraPryce.

But to many who spenttheireveningsintheDowsingRod, he was littlemore than

anex-convict,anunrepentantmutineer, and a man doggedby rumors of witchery. Heunderstood why Kannice’spatrons shunned him andwhispered that she was toogood for him. Half the timeheagreedwiththem.

The one person whowelcomed him back toBoston after his release, in1760, was Diver. Ethan

would never haveremembered him—Diver hadbeen but a boy working thewharves when Ethan sailedfromBostonaboardtheBlade—but Diver rememberedEthan, and didn’t seem tomind at all that he was aconvict and a reputed witch.In those early days afterEthan’s return from theCaribbean, Diver was the

onlyfriendhehad.Theinterveningyearshad

beenkindtohisfriend.Asidefrom a few strands of silverhair amid his dark curls,Diver had conceded nothingtoage.Hestillhadayouthfulface,aleanbuild,andasmilethatcouldhavewontheheartof thequeenconsort.On thisnight, he sat near the backwall of the tavern with

Deborah Crane, a red-hairedbeauty Diver had beencourtingformorethanayear.Heheldherhandinhis,theirheads close together as theyspoke.

Ethanclearedhisthroatashe approached their table.Thetwoyoungloverslookedup.

“AmIintruding?”“Not at all, Mister

Kaille,” Deborah said,favoringhimwithasmile.

Diver nodded to Ethan,but therewas something stiffinhismanner.Ethantookthechairoppositehisand sippedhisale.

“Something on yourmind,Diver?”

Deborahglancedbetweenthem,appearinguneasy.

“Nothingthatyouhaven’t

already heard from Kannice.If she can’t convince you,whathopehaveIgot?”

Ethan took a breath, hiseyes fixed on his ale. “Shetoldyou?”

“She asked me to speakwith you. But to be honest,I’m so furious that I don’tknowwhattosay.”

Ethan had expected asmuch.Hewantedtobeangry

—whowasDiver to tell himwhich clients he could workfor and which he couldn’t?HehadnomorerightthandidSephira. But he couldn’tbring himself to look theyoungermanintheeye.

In the past, Ethan hadtakenonbutoneclientatanygivenmoment,butthesewerelean times, and evenwealthymen like Josiah Wells

weren’t paying as much tothieftakersastheyhadinpastyears.Ethanhad little choicebut to work for whomeverwouldhirehim.

In recent months, asdissatisfaction with theoccupation and Britishpolicies deepened, thenonimportation movement inthe city had grown stronger.Agreements to eschew all

imports from Britain hadbeen circulated amongBoston’s merchants, andthosewhorefusedtosigntheagreements faced increasingpressure from the Sons ofLibertyandtheirallies.Manyhad been harassed in thestreets. The shops ofnoncompliant merchants hadbeen vandalized, and mobsthreatenedworse.

Ethan had beenapproached by severalnoncomplying merchantswho wanted protection, and,needing the work, he hadagreed to help one of them.Kannice, who had long beensympathetic to those whoresistedtheCrown’sattemptsto impose ever-greater feesonthecolonies,madeitcleartoEthanthatshedisapproved.

Now it seemed she hadenlistedDiverinhercause.

“I’m not helping anyoneviolate the agreements,”Ethan said, his voice low.“I’m merely trying to keepshops from being burned totheground.Isthatsobad?”

“Someofthemdeservetobe burned out,” Diver saidwithquietintensity.

“You don’t mean that,”

Ethansaid.“Violenceis—”“Violence is all we’ve

got. If thesemerchants breakthe agreements, then themovement fails and we’restuck with the Revenue Actsandallthatcomeswiththem.Isthatwhatyouwant?”

Deborah had been goodfor Diver. In their timetogetherhehadmatured, andhad managed to find steady

employment as a clerk in ashop near where she lived.But, likeKannice, shewas asupporter of Samuel Adamsand his friends, and at herurging Diver had joined theSons of Liberty. Ethanenjoyed the company of thenew, mature Diver; he wasless sure about this politicalDiver whowas so fervent insupport of a movement he

hadallbutignoreduntilafewmonthsbefore.

“I’ll tellyouwhat Idon’twant,” Ethan said. “I don’twantanypartof‘liberty’ifitmeans that those who don’tagree with you and yourfriends can have theirbusinesses destroyed, whilethose who do the deed gounpunished. And I think ifyouwere to consider it even

briefly, you’d agree withme.”

Diver glowered at him,butsaidnothing.

“Ibelieve,MisterKaille,”Deborah said after a briefsilence,“thatDerreyfearsforyou.”

“Whyisthat?”She hesitated, seeming to

search for the right words.“People see you with these

men, and they assume thatyou’re in agreement withthem, that you think they’rerighttodefytheagreements.”

“And then they see mewith you,” Ethan said toDiver, his choler rising inturn. “And they think theworst of you, aswell. Is thatit?”

“People know where Istand,” Diver said.

“Deborah’sright:I’mworriedaboutyou.”

“SoamI.”Ethan swiveled in his

chair. Kannice stood behindhim, a toweldrapedoverhershoulder, loose strands ofauburn hair falling over herbrow.Therewasafinesheenofsweatonherface,andhercheeks were flushed. Shelookedlovely,asalways.

He could smell thelavender in her hair, and thefaint scent of Irish whiskeyon her breath. It was acombination he had come toknow and love in their yearstogether. He hoped that shewould stoop and brush hislipswith hers, as she usuallydid when she greeted him.Butshemerelygazedbackathim, a pained expression in

herperiwinkleblueeyes.It had been over four

weekssincelastEthanstayedthenightwithher.Inalltheiryears together, this was thelongesttheyhadgonewithoutmaking love, and Ethan hadlittle hope that she wouldinvite him back into her bedany time soon. Unless hegave up working for thenoncomplyingmerchants.

“Do you think it’s right,”Ethan asked, looking fromKannicetoDiver,“thatmobscoverthewindowsanddoorsofthesemen’sshopswithdirtand shit? Do you think it’sright that the merchantsshould be so afraid for thesafety of their wives andchildren that they can nolonger live in their ownhomes,but insteadmusthide

in the houses of the fewfriendstheyhaveleft?”

“Ican’tsayifit’srightornot,” Diver said. “But I doknow that they brought thisonthemselves.”

“Isthatwhatyouthinkaswell?” Ethan asked Kannice.“IfToriesdid those things totheDowserandjustifiedtheiractions by saying that youbrought it on yourself when

youcastyourlotwithSamuelAdams and his fellowradicals,wouldyouagree?”

She opened her mouth,closeditagain,thelookinhereyes hardening. After amoment, she turned on herheel and stalked back to thebar.

Ethancoulddolittlemorethanstareafterher.

“You don’t want people

thinkingyou’reoneofthem,”Diver said. “And I can tellyou that people are alreadytalking.”

Ethan continued towatchKannice, though shesteadfastlyrefusedtolookhisway. “Of course they are.That’s what people aroundheredobest.”

“Ethan—”“And what are they

saying?”HefacedDiveroncemore. “Are they calling meanex-convict?Amutineer?Awitch?”

“They’re calling you atraitor.”

“Odd, isn’t it, that I canbe a traitor and a loyalist atthe same time? Except thatI’m neither. You and I bothknowthat.”

“You make it hard for

peopletobelieve.”Ethantookalongdrinkof

ale before setting down histankard smartly. “They’llbelieve what they want to,regardlessofwhatIdo.”

“What if they come byyourplace,anddotoHenry’scooperagewhat they’ve beendoingtotheshops?”

“How are they going tofind me, Diver? Are you

going to tell them where Ilive?”

“That’s not fair, MisterKaille!” Deborah said, hercheeks reddening, her eyesshining with candlelight.“Derreydefendsyouateveryopportunity.I’veheardhim.”

Before Ethan couldanswer, Kelf arrived at theirtable with Ethan’s chowderandasmallroundofbread.

“There ya go,” thebarkeep said, placing thebowl and bread in front ofhim.“Anythingelse,Ethan?”

Ethanshookhishead.Thebarkeep looked at each ofthem in turn before startingback toward the kitchen, afrown on his broad face.Long after Kelf left them,Ethancontinuedtoregardhisale.

“I’m sorry, Diver,” hesaidatlast.“Ishouldn’thavesaid that.” The younger mandidn’t answer. Ethan lookedup.Diverwasstaringdownathis tankard, much as he hadbeen.

“Ineedthemoney,”Ethansaid. “Surely you canunderstandthat.Inmylineofwork, I don’t always get tochoose my clients. They

choose me, and if they’reoffering coin, I can hardlyrefuse.”

“You could refuse this,”Diver said, sounding moresadthanangry.

Ethan knew therewas nopoint in continuing theirargument. He had said hispiece, as had Diver. Hepicked up his spoon andbegan to eat, though his

appetite had long since lefthim. He scanned the tavernfor Kannice and spotted hernearthebar.Shewaschattingamiablywithamanhedidn’trecognize,amanyoungerandtaller and better-looking thanhe was. At one point shelaughedatsomethinghesaid,andlaidahandlightlyonhisarm. Ethan looked away,fighting a powerful surge of

jealousy.She could do better than

him. Ethan had known thatforsometime.Shewassmartand strong and beautiful andaskindasanyonehehadeverknown. He knew that anyman in his rightmindwouldwant her. This might finallyhaveoccurredtoher,aswell.

“Maybe you could workfor Adams and the rest,”

Diver said, after severalminutes.

Ethan glanced up at him,not bothering to mask hisskepticism.

“I’m serious.Maybe theyhave jobs that you could do,andthenyouwouldn’t—”

Deborah laid a hand onhis arm. “Have done,Derrey,”shesaidsoftly.“It’senough.”

He pressed his lips thinand sat back in his chair.“Anyway,” he said after abriefpause.“It’sgetting late.Weshouldprobablygo.”

It couldn’t have beenmuch past eight in theevening, which had neverbeen late for Diver before.But Ethan didn’t try to stopthem.

Diverstood,andDeborah

didaswell,herbrowcreasedwithconcern.

“Goodnight,Ethan.”“Diver.”Ethan’s friend began to

wend his way to the door.Deborahlingeredatthetable.

“He really is frightenedforyou.You’re like anolderbrothertohim.”

“Iknow.”“Mister Kaille—” She

broke off, appearing to thinkbetter of whatever she hadmeanttosay.“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,Deborah.”She offered a sad smile

andhurriedafterDiver.Ethan watched them go

before turning his attentionbacktohisfood.Heateabitof his chowder and a fewbites of bread. He chewedslowly, making himself eat,

oblivious of taste. Hecouldn’t even bring himselftofinishhisale.

Kannice still stood nearthebar.Themanwithwhomshe had been speaking wasnowhere to be seen, but shecontinued to avoid Ethan’sgaze. Once he had givenDiver and Deborah timeenough to put good distancebetween themselves and the

tavern, he stood and left aswell. He was sure thatKannice saw him leave; hefelt her watching him as hecrossed to the door. But shemade no effort to stop him,and Ethan gave her noindication that he wished tostay.

ChapterTHREE

Ethan slept poorly.His room

wascold, andhe spentmuchof the night bundled in hisblankets,hoveringattheedgeof sleep and drifting in andout of dreams in which hearguedoncemorewithDiverandKannice.Heawoke tiredandhungryandchilledtohisverycore.

He dressed with haste,donning his heaviest woolenstockings and shirt, a

waistcoat and coat, andpulling on an old woolengreatcoat over all of that.Hewould be hard-pressed topush up his sleeve for bloodshouldheneedtoconjure,buthehadnotyethadtorelyonspells for this job, and hedidn’t expect that he wouldtoday, either. Still, beforeleaving his room, he slippedintohispocketafullpouchof

mullein,apowerfulconjuringherb, and he strapped on hisblade.Last,he sethis tricornhat on his head and slippedhis hands into fingerlesswoolengloves.

He had thought his roomcold, but when he steppedoutside onto the woodenstairway that led from hisroom down to the street, heshuddered. The sky had

clouded over as he slept,leaving it as white as thesnowy rooftops. The airremained bitterly cold, andeven the gentle breezeblowing off the harbor wasenough to make Ethan’scheeksacheandhiseyestear.

A large gray and whitedog waited for him at thebottom of the stairs,seemingly unaffected by

winter’sgriponthecity.Shewagged her tail as Ethanapproached, her tonguelolling. Henry Dall, thecooper, had adopted Shellyyears before, along with hermate,Pitch,abeautifulblackdog with long, silken fur.Pitch had died several yearsago. More accurately, Ethanhadkilledhim,usingthepoordogforwhatconjurerscalled

a killing spell, a casting thatdrewuponthelifeofanotherfor its power. The conjuringsavedEthan’slifeandthatofa boy, the son of Elli, hisformer betrothed. But to thisday,hewasn’tsurethattheseends excused what he haddone. Of all the dark deedsEthan had committed in hislife, including those that ledto his imprisonment, casting

that spell was the one heregretted most. It had beennigh on five years, but still,upon seeing Shelly, Ethanhad to resist the urge toapologize to her for takinghercompanion.

“Wellmet,Shelly,”Ethansaid, squatting down toscratchherhead.

Shelickedhishands.“I’venofoodforyou,”he

said. “Nor for me, for thatmatter.Myapologies.”

He straightened andstartedtowardtheNorthEnd.Shelly trotted alongside him,perhapshopingthathewouldbuy them both a bit ofbreakfast if she stayed withhim long enough. As heneared the Town Dock, sheseemed to decide that Ethanwouldbeprovidingnomeals;

she turned and started backtowardthecooperage.

The closer Ethan drew totheNorthEnd,theheavierhisstepsgrew.The truthwas, inallhisyearsasathieftaker,hehad never harbored greatermisgivings about takingon ajob. His words to Kanniceand Diver notwithstanding,he wasn’t entirely convincedthat the merchants who

violated the nonimportationagreements deservedprotection.Thosewhoarguedthat the Townshend Dutieshelpedtopayfortheongoingoccupation of Boston byBritish soldiers, anoccupation of which Ethandisapproved, made acompelling case. But Ethandidneedthemoney,andjobswereashardtocomebynow

ashecouldremember.Making matters worse,

Theophilus Lillie, themerchantwhohadhiredhim,was among the mostoutspoken of the importers,and, as a result, one of themost despised men in all ofBoston. He owned a drygoodsshoponMiddleStreet,ashortdistancenorthofMillCreek, where the North End

began. In person, he wasquiet,polite,andunassuming.Buton thoseoccasionswhenhe chose to write in defenseof his stand against thenonimportation agreements,as he had most recently themonth before in the BostonNews-Letter, he could beevery bit as acerbic as themost talented Whig writers.ToEthan’smind,muchofthe

abusedirectedathisshopwaswell deserved. Of course, hekeptthisopiniontohimself.

When Ethan reachedMiddleStreet,hefoundLillieoutsideinthelane,surveyingthe latest indignities heapedupon his establishment. Thewindows of the shop hadbeen smeared with tar andfeathers, and a largewoodensign in the shape of a hand

had been attached to one ofthe iron posts in front of thebuilding. The sign, whichappeared to be pointingtowardLillie’sdoor,read,“Avery inoffensiveman, exceptin the offense ofimportation.”

A second sign, this onebearing effigies of fournoncomplying merchants,including Lillie, had been

erectednearby.The signboards were

annoyances; the tar on thewindows could be removedeventually,althoughprobablynot until the air turnedwarmer.

Ethan was far morealarmed by the presence inthe street of several dozenyoung men. They stoodtogetherashortdistancefrom

the shop, their hands in theirpockets, their shouldershunched against the cold. Afew of them glanced towardthe shop and Lillie, butmostly they talked amongthemselves, punctuating theirconversationswithoccasionalbursts of laughter. Ethanfeared, however, that theywouldnotbecontentforlongtomindtheirownaffairs.

Ethan halted a few feetfrom the merchant, his eyesonthemob.

“I suppose I should beflattered that they think meotherwise inoffensive,” Lilliesaid, frowning at thedamagedone to his windows. Heleaned in closer, peering atthe besmeared glass over therims of his spectacles. “Thattarwon’tcomeoffeasily.”

“No,sir,atleastnottodaywith it being so cold. Fornow, I think you should gobackinside.”

Lillie glanced at Ethanandthentowardthecrowdofyoung men. “Yes, you’reprobably right.”Heheaved abreath. “Could you havepreventedthis?”heasked.

“Idon’tknow.”“Ihiredyoutoprotectmy

shop, my family, and me.Andyet, theymanaged todothis despite the money I’mpayingyou.”

“If you remember, youhiredme towatch your shopby day. I told you what itwould cost to hire me atnight; you balked at theamount.”

“Youwereaskingforalotofmoney,”Lilliesaid,facing

him.“Bethatasitmay.”Lillie scowled and

surveyed the windows oncemore. “It might well havebeenworththeexpense.”

Ethan held his tongue,hopingthemerchantwouldn’tchangehismindandaskhimto work past sundown. Asbad as it was working forLillieatall,itwouldbeworse

by far spending his eveningshere instead of at theDowsingRod.

Boys and young mencontinued to stream from alldirectionsontoMiddleStreet.Watching them greet oneanother, it occurred to Ethanthat this was no chancegathering. The same rabblewhoinrecentweekshadtriedto intimidate other importers

with loud demonstrations,acts of mischief like thedirtying of Lillie’s windows,and even wanton destructionof property, had chosen onthis day to direct their ire atMr.Lillie.

“Sir,Idothinkweneedtogetyouinside.”

The merchant eyed themob once more. “Yes, verywell.”

He stepped into the shop,and Ethan followed closebehind,shutting thedoorandsecuringthelock.

Lillie turned at the soundof the bolt. “I’m open forbusiness, Mister Kaille. Mypurpose in hiring youwas toremain open despite thesethreats.”

“Iunderstand,sir.Andassoon as a customer

approaches, I’ll unlock thedoor. I’ll even hold it open.But until then, I intend tokeepitlocked.”

Lilliedidn’t lookpleased,but neither did he argue thepointfurther.Heremovedhiscloak, revealingadeepgreencoat and matching breechesandwaistcoat—adittosuit,assuch sets were called. Heworeaswellapowderedwig

that made him look a gooddeal older than his years;EthanguessedthatLilliewasactually a few years youngerthan he. He had a round,pleasant face, dark eyes, anda weak chin. He didn’t lookto Ethan like a man whocouldsoinflamethepassionsof the mob that lingered outinthestreet.

The young clerk who

worked in the shop kneltbefore a shallow hearth andstirred the fire burning there.Itwasstillchillywithinbutitwasn’tnearlyascoldasithadbeenoutside.

Ethan removed hisgreatcoat, and, with his backturnedtothemerchant,pulleda few leavesofmullein fromthe pouch hidden in hispocket.

He had planned to cast awarding spell on the shopdoor, but now, holding theleaves in the curl of hisfingers, he reconsidered.Lillie had gone behind thecounterandwasreadyingtheshop for a day’s business.Ethan wasn’t sure a wardingthat allowed patrons to comeandgoastheypleasedwouldhaveanyeffectonthosewith

darkerintentions.Staring out through the

filthywindows, he could seethat the crowd continued togrow. More, many of theyoung toughs had positionedthemselvesclosertotheshopand in the middle of thestreet.

“Sir, you might considerclosingfortheday.”

Lillie turned. “What? I’ll

do no such thing! As I’vesaid,youarehere—”

“I’m here to protect youand your shop. I believe youwouldbesaferatyourhome,andIbelievethatifyouwereto close, only for today, thatmobwouldcount itavictoryand would be satisfied. Aslongasyouremainandtrytokeepyourdoorsopen,they’llstay out there and will do

everything in their power tokeep customers from yourdoor.”

“I’m not interested ingiving themavictory,MisterKaille. I’m interested inrunning this establishment asI see fit,without interferencefrom these so-calledchampions of liberty. WhereismylibertytodoasIpleasewithmyshop?”

“Iunderstandallthat,sir,”Ethansaid,tryingtokeephistonelevel.Healmosttoldthemerchantthatheevenagreedwith him, but he couldn’tbring himself to speak thewords. He was no longercertain of his own mind; asmuch as he argued withKannice and Diver, hecouldn’tbringhimselftotakeLillie’s side, even in a

conversationhisfriendscouldnot hear. “I’m trying to keepyou from coming to harm.Thatismygreatestconcern.”

“Then I would suggestthatyougetoutthereandseewhat you can do aboutclearing the street andallowing me to earn a bit ofcoin.”

Ethan saw no point inthis,althoughhedidseegreat

risktohimself.ButLilliehadhired him, andwaswatchinghim now, an expectant lookonhisface.

He left his greatcoatwhere it was, willing in thatmoment to trade warmth forgreater agility. And as hewalked out the door andpulled it closed behind him,hemuttered under his breathin Latin, “Tegimen ex

verbasco evocatum.”Warding, conjured frommullein.

Uncle Reg appearedbeside him, pale to the pointof translucence in the brightglareofthesnowandclouds.

“Stay with me,” Ethansaid in the same low voice.Hestarted toward thenearestcluster of toughs, Regmatchinghimstepforstep.

“Are there any conjurersamongthem?”

Theghostshookhishead.Thatwasasmallgrace.“Goodday,”Ethancalled,

raising a hand in greeting asheapproachedthem.

The toughsstaredbackathim,stony-faced.

“Youworkforhim?”oneof the pups asked, noddingtowardLillie’sshop.

“He’s hired me, yes. It’smy job to see to it that hisshopisnotvandalizedandhispersonnotabused.”

The pup grinned. “Lookslike you didn’ do too goodprotectin’ his shop. I don’suppose you’ll do muchbetterguardin’‘hisperson.’”

Theothertoughslaughed.Ethan glanced around.

Otherswere listening to their

conversation, eyeing himwith manifest hostility. Hedidn’t wish to trade threatswith the lad, but he feltcompelled to make someattempttodoasthemerchanthad asked. “I should tell youthat if you molest MisterLillie’s customers or doanything to keep them fromhisdoor,he’llhavenochoicebut to summon Sheriff

Greenleaf.”“Oh, not the sheriff!” the

pupsaid, feigning terror, anddrawing more chuckles fromhis companions. He sobered.“The sheriff has about asmuch chance of clearin’ usfromthestreetasyoudo.”

“The sheriff may bringsoldiers.”

The lad smiled againthoughtherewasnotahintof

mirth in his pale eyes. “Lethim.”

Before Ethan could saymore, the lad turned awayfrom him. “Arewe afraid ofthelobsterbacks?”hecried.

The mob replied with adeafening“No!”

He faced Ethan again.“Go back an’ tell yourimporter friend that he’s freetosummonthesheriff,or the

gov’nor, or Gen’ral Gage.Hell, he can summon thegoddamned king for all wecare.”

The other toughs hadsidled closer, and theycheered the lad. Ethan knewthat if he didn’t retreat now,he might not have anotheropportunity.

Tipping his hat to them,he said, “Very well. Good

day, gentlemen.” He turnedandstartedbacktotheshop.

“You hear that?” the ladsaid, laughing once more.“Gentlemen he calls us.Good’ay to you, too,gov’nor!”

They continued to laughat him, but they let him go,whichEthan counted a smallvictory.

No sooner had he

reentered the shop than themob began to converge onLillie’sestablishment.

“What did you say tothem?” the merchant asked,sounding angry andfrightened. He had come outfrom behind the counter andnow stood at the window,marking their approach, hischeekswan.

“I told them that I was

here to keep your shop fromharm, and I suggested thatthey refrain from molestingyour customers lest you callthesherifftodispersethem.”

“Apparently you weren’tveryconvincing.”

Ethan laughed. “Did youtrulybelieveIwouldbe?”

Lillie shot him a filthylook.

The young men were

shouting,althoughasidefromhearing “importer,” and“traitor,” and a few otherimprecations, Ethan couldmake out little of what theysaid.Someofthemwerealsopelting Lillie’s door andwindow with snowballs andpiecesofice.Fearingthattheglassmight shatter under theonslaught, Ethan thoughtabout casting another spell.

But before he could retrievemoremulleinfromthepocketof his greatcoat, Lillie said,“What in theLord’s name ishedoing?”

“Who?” Ethan asked,stepping closer to thewindow.

Lilliepointed.Gazing in the direction

themerchantindicated,Ethanspotted an older man

scrutinizing thewoodenhandand effigies with a criticaleye.Heworeatricornhatanda bright red cloakmuch likeLillie’s. He had a kerchiefwrappedaroundhisneckandthe lower part of his face toprotecthimfromthecold,butstill Ethan thought herecognized the man asEbenezerRichardson,Lillie’sneighbor.

As much as Lillie hadmade himself an object ofscornamongBoston’sWhigs,his unpopularitywas nothingcompared to that ofRichardson. Several yearsbefore, Richardson had beenexposed as an informer forthe Customs Board. He hadalertedofficialsoftheCrownto the smuggling of goods,including French wine, by

merchants acting in defianceof Parliament. When thesemerchants, most of whomwere Whig sympathizers,attempted to shameRichardson publicly, he wasunapologetic. In the yearssince, he had been employedby the Customs Board in amore formal capacity, whichdid nothing to improve hisreputation. Nor did his habit

of referring to himself as “amagistrate” and orderingpeopleaboutwithoutanyrealauthoritytodoso.

“He’sgoingtogethimselfkilled,” Ethan said. Most oftheladshadyettotakenoticeoftheman,butwhentheydidhewouldbeinperil.

“Go help him, Kaille,”Lilliesaid.

“That’snotmyjob.Ihave

nodesire to riskmyneckforEbenezerRichardson.”

“You said it yourself:They’llkillhim.”

Ethan glanced at UncleReg, who still stood besidehim, his russet glow morepronounced inside the shop.OfcourseLillie,whowasnoconjurer, could not see him.The specter gave ahalfheartedshrug.

“Very well,” Ethan said.“I’llusetherearentrance.”

“Aye.That’safineidea.”Ethan exited the shop

through thedoor inbackandreturned to Middle Street bywayofanarrowalley.Bythetime he reached the front ofthe shop, however,Richardson was no longerstandinginfrontofthesigns.Scanning the mob, Ethan

spottedthemantalkingtothedriverofahorseandcart,andgesturingbackattheeffigies.Ethanhurriedtowardthem.

“… Run them down!”Richardsonwassaying.

“No, sir,” the cart driverreplied. “Even if I wereinclined to, it might hurtmyhorseormycart.”

“Itwilldoneither.”Whenthedriver saidnothingmore,

Richardson dismissed himwith a wave of his hand.“Fool!”

“Mister Richardson,”Ethan said, “you need to getoffthestreet.”

Richardson rounded onhim.“Andwhoareyoutotellme what I ought to bedoing?”

“My name is EthanKaille,andI’m—”

“You’re that thieftakerwhoTheophilushired.”

“Yes, sir. Mister Lillie isconcernedfor—”

“You’re not doing muchto earn your wage, are youKaille?These signsandsuchare a disgrace. They need tobetorndown.”

“I’m less concerned withthe signs than I am withkeeping Mister Lillie safe.

And he’s concerned aboutyou, sir. This mob is gettingmoreagitatedbythemoment,and you’re not exactly theirfavoriteperson.”

Richardsondismissed thisremark much as he had thecart driver. “I don’t give adamn about that. Let ’emcome on me. I’ve got myguns loaded.” He turned aquick circle. “Ah! You

there!”Hebustledofftowarda charcoal carter who wasmaking his way through thethrong.

Ethan didn’t bother tofollow,buthewatchedasthecustoms man, hisgesticulations growing evermore animated, tried toconvincethecharcoalmantoknock down the signs withhis cart. Once again,

however, Richardson wasrebuffed.

Bythistime,morepeopleinthecrowdhadnoticedhim.Some were pointing; othersshoutedhisname.

Richardson paid them noheed. He was as a manpossessed. Unable to find acart driver to knock over theoffendingsigns,hestrodetoasmall chaise that sat near

another shop. Its driver hadstepped away to speak to afew of the street toughs, andbefore this man could stophim, Richardson climbed inand grabbed the reins,shouted at the horse, andsteered the chaise toward theeffigies.

Aware now of what thecustoms man was up to, themob blocked his way and

tried to pull him from thecarriage.

Fearing for Richardson’slife, Ethan clambered towardhim,pushinghiswaythroughthe sea ofmen and boys.Heknewthoughthathewouldn’treachRichardsonintime.

But to his surprise,Richardson escaped thechaiseonhisownandbeatahasty path toward his home.

Several men accosted him,and the boys shouted“Informer!”againandagain.

Richardson answered thetaunts of several of the menwith cries of “Perjury!Perjury!”Andwhenatlasthereached his door, he turned,andsaidtothosebaitinghim,“By the eternal God, I’llmakeittoohotforyoubeforenight!”

With that, he shut thedoorinthemen’sfaces.

Relieved that Richardsonhad reached the safety of hishouse without injury, Ethanturned, intending tomakehiswaybacktoLillie’sshop.

“Comeout,youdamnsonofabitch!”onemanshoutedat Richardson’s door. “I’llhave your heart out! Yourliverout!”

To Ethan’s amazementand consternation,Richardson opened his dooronce more, and jumped outintothestreet,hisfistsraised.

“C’mon, you bloodybastards! I’ll fightallofyou.I’llmakeithotforeveryoneofyou!”

Themobofmenandboysthat had gathered aroundLillie’s door swept toward

Richardson’s house as ifcompelled by a tide, callinghimaninformerandshoutingotherinsults.

“Go off!” Richardsonwarned, his voice carryingalong the street. His wifejoined him in front of thehouse, and shouted mostunladylike epithets at herhusband’senemies.

Themob laughedat them

both.“We’ve as much right as

you t’ this street, informer!”oneyoungmancalled.

Hiscompanionscheered.Snowballs, chunks of ice,

and pieces of refuse raineddown on the Richardsons,forcing them to retreat oncemore into the house. Ethanhoped that this time thecustomsmanwouldhave the

good sense to remain inside.Heshouldhaveknownbetter.

The door opened again,and Ethan drew breath toshout a warning. Richardsonheld inhishandswhatEthantook at first for a longrifle,though as Richardson shookitatthemobandtradedmoreinsultswiththem,herealizedit was nothing morethreatening than a stick.

Again the customs manducked back through hisdoor, but this time insteadofclosingit,hethrewabrickbatout at the mob. It didn’t hitanyone,butitfurtherenragedhisharassers.Amangrabbedthebrickandthrewitthroughone of Richardson’s first-floorwindows.

A roar went up from themob. They pressed forward,

pelting the homewith sticks,rocks,eggsandpiecesoffruitfrom nearby shops, andanything else they could laytheir hands on. Morewindowsshattered.Awomancried out from the upperfloor. A man Ethan didn’tknow leapt up onto thedoorstep and, after speakingbriefly with Richardson, wasusheredintothehouse.

Thedoorwasbarred,evenasmoreprojectilesflewatthewindows and door. In shortorder,mostoftheglassonthefront of the house had beenbroken. One man called forRichardson to be draggedfrom his home and hanged.Several other men—olderthanmostofthoseinthemob—triedtodissuadethetoughsfromdoingmoredamage,but

the crowd seemed to bebeyondreason.Therewereasmany young boys as thereweremen.Anumberofthemwere laughing, seeming tothinkitallagreatgame.Thescene reminded Ethan of thePope’sDay riots thatused topit North End gangs againstruffiansfromtheSouthEnd.

Ethanwatched the house,thinking—hoping—that at

last Richardson had tired ofthe confrontation. Perhaps ifthe customsman kept out ofsight for a time, the crowdwould disperse, or at leastturn their attention back totheir less combativedemonstrations in front ofLillie’sshop.

But even as he formedthis thought, he felt a lowthrum of power in the icy

street. A spell? Reg, stillbesidehim,thoughetherealinthedaylight,castasharplookEthan’sway.

“That was a conjuring,wasn’t it?” Ethan asked theghost,whisperingthewords.

Regnodded,hiseyebrowsbunched.

“Do you know where itcamefrom?”

A shake of the ghostly

head.No.Hehadotherquestionsfor

the specter, and he sensedthat there was more Regwished to communicate tohim. But he had noopportunity to ask.Richardson appeared at adownstairs window, and thistime there could be nomistakingthemusketheheldinhishands.

He knelt and rested thebarrel on the windowsill,seeming to take careful aim.But though it seemed toEthan that he pulled thetrigger, nothing happened.With a crash, themob brokethrough Richardson’s door.Those closest to the houseappearedtobetakenabackatwhat they had done; no oneentered.But volleys of rocks

and ice still flew at thestructure.Richardsonsteppedaway from the window,though only briefly. Secondslater he was back, kneelingagain.

The second man stoodbehind Richardson, alsoholding amusket, but it wasRichardsonwhoaimedat thecrowdoncemore.

And this time when he

pulledthetrigger,theweaponfired with a report thatreverberated through thelanes.

For the span of aheartbeat, all was still savefor the receding echo of thatgunshot. Then the stunnedsilencegavewaytoshoutsofoutrageandscreamsofpanic.Morestoneshitoffthefaçadeofthehouseandflewthrough

the unglazed windows.Someone cried, “He’s shottheboy!”

Richardsonyelledbackatthe mob, aiming his musketagain. The second manmoved to the window andaimedhisweapontowardtheopen doorway. Some whohadadvancedontheentranceretreated again. Several ranaroundtowardthebackofthe

house, no doubt hoping togainentrythatway.

Ethan spotted a youngmanbeingledawayfromtheRichardson home towardanother house. There wasblood on his hand and onboth of his thighs, but thatappeared to be the extent ofhis wounds. He had beenfortunate; all of them had. Itseemed Richardson—the

idiot—had fired pellets intothe crowd, endangeringdozens.

And in that moment,Ethan caught sight of thesecondlad.

He was slight, withwheatenhair,andhecouldn’thave been more than twelveyears old. His coat had beenpeeled away to reveal thefront of his shirt, which had

several holes in it and wassoakedwithblood.

Twomencarriedtheboy,theirfacespale,thoughnotsomuchas thechild’s.His facewas white as the snow, andcontorted in a rictus of pain.They took him to one of theother houses and shut thedoor on the mob. A fewsecondslatertwomenrushedinside this same structure;

Ethan hoped they werephysicians.

He felt sick to hisstomach. The battle forRichardson’s house went on;he could hear men batteringthe rear, but he hadn’t theheart to watch more. Hewalked back toward Lillie’sshop.

Before he was halfwaythere,heturnedandmadehis

way to the house into whichthey had taken the boy. Hecouldn’t try to save the boywithoutrevealingtoeveryonethere that he was a conjurer.But he wouldn’t forgivehimself ifhedidn’tmake theattempt. Reaching the house,herappedhardonthedoor.

Almost immediately itswung open. The man whoblockedEthan’sway into the

house had blood on his coatandbreeches.

“Are you a surgeon?” heasked.

Ethan hesitated for nomore thanan instant. “Ihaveexperiencehealingwoundsofthissort.”

The man seemed unsure,but he stepped aside. Ethanrushed past him into whatappeared to be the dining

room. The boy lay on thetable in the center of thechamber. His shirt had beenremoved; his chest andabdomenwereabloodymess.Amanstoodbesidethetable,his hands crimson, shocking.Ethan assumed he was aphysician.

“Who are you?” the manasked.

“My name is Ethan

Kaille,Doctor.”“Your name is not

familiar to me. Are you asurgeon?”

Ethan stepped closer tohim. He was aware of Reghovering at his shoulder,eyeing the boy. “I have theability to heal,” he said,keeping his voice low andholding theman’s gaze. “Doyou understand what I’m

saying?”The doctor’s eyes

widened.“Ibelieve Ido,”hewhispered.

“I can close the wounds,stopthebleeding.”

“Thebleedingisonlyhalftheproblem,”thedoctorsaid.“The boy was struck withswanshot.Atleastoneofthepellets seems to have lodgedin a lung. There may be

others in his heart or hisstomach. Unless we canextract them, he’s going todie.”

Ethan sagged and stareddownattheboy.

“Can you get them out?”the doctor asked. “Is thatwithinyour…yourtalents?”

“No,” Ethan said, hisvoicethick.

Thedoctorgrimaced.

Ethan thought he stillmightbeabletohelpthelad,but before he could say asmuch to thedoctor, a secondgentleman hurried into theroom, halted at the sight ofEthan, and scrutinized himwithacriticaleye.

“Whoisthis?”“Myname—”“Areyouaphysician?”“No,sir.”

“Then off with you. Theboy needs care, not moretrouble with rabble andruffians.”

The doctor appearedready to tell the man thatEthan was a speller, butEthan stopped him with ashake of his head. The boyneeded a surgeon; he neededmore than the crude healingEthancouldoffer.

“I’llbegoing,”hesaidtothe doctor. “I’m sorry Icouldn’tdomore.”

“We’ve called for othersurgeons,”themansaid.“I’msure they’ll come; one ofthem might be able to savehim.”

Ethanpaused,althoughhedidn’tlookback.“Ihopeso.”

“Prayfortheboy.”Ibelieveinneitherprayer

nor God, Ethan wanted tosay. But he kept this tohimselfandleftthehouse.

ChapterFOUR

Ethan stepped back onto

Middle Street. A church bellhadbeguntopealnearbyandmore men had surroundedRichardson’shouse.Hecouldhear raised voices fromwithin the residence, and heassumed that some of themob had managed to getinside. He wondered if theywould kill the customs manormerelyturnhimovertothesheriff. He couldn’t say that

he cared much one way oranother.

Reg was still with him,watchingEthanashewalked.Ethan didn’t know what thespiritexpectedofhim,andhewas too angry and toodisturbed to treat with himjustthen.

“Dimitto te,” Ethanwhispered.Ireleaseyou.

Closer to Lillie’s shop, a

few men lingered near thesign and effigies thatRichardson had tried toremove, but they barely tooknotice of Ethan. They werewatching the mob andseemed to have all butforgottentheimporterLillie.

Ethan knocked on thedoor.Themerchantunlockedit,wavedhiminside,andshutitagain,takingcaretosecure

thelockoncemore.“What happened?” Lillie

asked. “Where have youbeen? I thought I heard agunshot before, but I canbarely see through thatwindow, and I didn’t dareventure outside. Is Ebenezerallright?”

“Ebenezer?” Ethanrepeated, picking up hisgreatcoat. “You’re worried

aboutRichardson?”“Ofcourse.HeandIhave

beenfriendsforyears.Andifyou remember, it was yourconcern for him that droveyou out into the street in thefirstplace.”

EthancouldhardlyblameLillieforbeingconcernedforhis friend. The merchanthadn’t seen the shooting; hedidn’tknowwhatRichardson

haddone.ButatthatmomentEthan was too enraged andgrief-strickentocare.

“You all but ordered meintothestreet,”hesaid.

“Anddidyouhelphim?Isheallright?”

“I haven’t the faintestidea.” He shrugged on hiscoat and headed toward thedoor. “To be honest, I hopetheykillhim.”

“What?Howdareyousaysuchathing!”

Ethan whirled, leveling afinger at Lillie with suchpassionthatthemerchantfellbackseveralpaces.“Hefiredinto the crowd, without athought for who he mighthit!” He pointed in thegeneraldirectionofthehousein which the boy lay dying.“There’saboy—Idoubthe’s

seen his thirteenth birthday!Andhe’sdying,murderedbyyourfriend!”

Lilliepaled,butraisedhischin. “Ifhewas in thatmob,withtherestoftherabble,heprobably deserved it.Ebenezer wouldn’t shoot achildwithoutcause.”

“Aye, hewould. I’ve justseenit.”

Ethan pulled the door

open.“Where are you going

now?”“I’mdonehere for today.

I’m going to the DowsingRodforanale.”

“I hired you! You leavewhenItellyouto!”

“No,sir.IleavewhenI’mgoodandready.Youpaymebytheday.Youcanhavethismorning for free. The

afternoonismine.”“Butthatmob—”Ethan wanted to put as

much distance betweenhimself and this shop as hecould. But he read genuinefearinLillie’sroundfaceandsopausedonthethreshold.

“They no longer carewhereyourgoodscomefrom.Not today theydon’t. I don’tknow what they’ll do to

Mister Richardson; I meantwhat I said before: I don’tcare awhit about him. But Ibelieve that you and yourshop are safe, at least untiltomorrow. Go home, MisterLillie.”

Ethan swept out of theshop and pulled the doorclosedwithabang,intendingto make his way back toSudburyStreetandKannice’s

tavern. But the mob hadworked itself into a frenzyonce more, and Ethan couldguess why. He squeezedthrough the throng until hehad a clear view of theRichardsonhouse.

Thecustomsman,andtheother gentleman who hadentered the house andbrandished a musketalongsidehim,stoodtogether

near the doorway. Youngtoughs gripped their arms sothat they couldn’t escape.Another man held themuskets,andyetanotherhelda cutlass; Ethan didn’t knowwhere he had gotten it.Richardson and hiscompanion had been beaten.Their faces bore cuts andbruises, and their clothingwas torn and bloodstained.

Themob shouted obscenitiesatthem.Onemanheldaloftaropethathadbeentiedintoanoose.Seeingthis, thecrowdcheered. Richardson and hisfriendwerebornedowntothestreet none too gently anddraggedtowardapost,whichthe fellowwith the ropewasalready turning into amakeshiftgallows.

Without giving much

thought to what he wassaying, Ethan had told Lilliethat he hoped Richardsonwould be killed. Now, withthat outcome seeming likely,he had second thoughts.Hanging the villain in thestreetwouldonlyconfirmforLillie and other Tories thatthe crowd was made up ofruffians and bloodthirstymiscreants.

Apparently, he was notthe only person on MiddleStreet thinking this way.Anothermansteppedforwardfrom the crowd andapproached the would-behangman.Hewastall,broad-shouldered.Ethanrecognizedhim as one of the leaders ofthe mob, and thought hemighthaveseenhimonotheroccasions when men took to

the streets tomake theircaseagainsttheimporters.

This gentleman and thehangman conversed forseveral moments; theirexchange appeared, at leastfrom a distance, to be mostcongenial. At last thehangman pulled down hisrope and shook hands withthe tall man. Many in thecrowdjeered.

Soon enough, however,themobfoundanothermeansto make sport withRichardson and his friend.They bound the two men’shandsandthenbegantodragthem through the lane,whilemen and boys in the throngkickedandbeat theprisonersand pelted them with stonesandrefuse.

Ethanwonderedifthetwo

would have been better offwithropesaroundtheirnecks.Rather than remain thereandwatch, he walked southwardalong Middle Street, awayfrom the revelers and backoverMillCreek.By the timehereachedtheDowsingRod,he could no longer hear thecrowd,thoughthechurchbellstillpealedinthedistance.

When Ethan entered the

Dowser, Kannice and Kelfwereatthebar,shepolishingthewood,hedryingtankards.A few British soldiers sat attables, drinking ales andeating oysters, but otherwisethetavernwasempty.

Kannice smiled at thesight of him. “You’re hereearly.”

A couple of the soldiersswiveledintheirchairstosee

who had come, but afterregarding Ethan for a fewseconds, they went back totheirmeals.

“Aye,” Ethan said,crossing to the bar. “Mywork’sdonefortoday.”

She frowned. “Done? Idon’tunderstand.”

“Ileft.Ihadnointerestincollectingthisday’swage.”

Herfrowndeepened.

“I thought you’d bepleased,” Ethan said, hisvoice falsely bright. “Wehaven’tpassedadaytogetherinweeks.”

Sheknewhimtoowell.“Idon’t like the soundof

this. What’s happened,Ethan?”

He glanced at Kelf, whofilled a tankard and placed itin front of him. “My thanks,

Kelf.” He took a long pull,draining most of the cup’scontents.

“Ethan?”“There was a mob there

today.IthinktheyplannedtomakeanexampleofLillie,asthey have some of the otherimporters in recent days.Butthen Ebenezer Richardsonshowedup.He tried to bringdown some signs they’d put

up, and before long themobturned their ire on him. Onething led to another and …andhefiredamusketintothecrowd.”

“May the Lord havemercy,”Kannicewhispered.

Ethan shookhis head. “Ifonly.He shot a boy. I doubttheladwilllastthenight.”

“And Richardson?” Kelfasked.

“He’s being draggedthrough the streets as wespeak. I’m not sure he’ll seethemorroweither.”

Kannice canted her headto the side, her browfurrowed as she searched hiseyes. “And Lillie sent youaway?”

“No.As I said, I left.Hewas more worried aboutRichardson than the lad; he

said the boy probablydeserved what he got. Ishouldhavequit on the spot,told him I wouldn’t becoming back.” He lookedaway. “Some would say Ishould have done that sometime ago. But all I did wasleave.IsupposeI’llbegoingback in themorning. I’mnotsurewhatthatmakesme.”

“What will you tell him

whenyougoback?”Kanniceasked.

Ethan sighed. “I don’tknow.” He couldn’t bringhimself to look at her. “Iknowwhat you’d like me todo.”

“Youhavetodecidewhatyou want, Ethan. You needthe money; I understandthat.”

“Aye, but now there are

otherconsiderations.”Lillie had been paying

him fifteen shillings a day,which, while not a fortune,was more than enough tokeephimfedandhoused.Asmuch as he wanted to endtheir arrangement, he wasn’tsure that he could afford totake so drastic a step.Besides, in all his years as athieftaker, he had never

abandoned an inquiry orstopped working for a clientbefore his job was done. Hewas known to be reliable aswellashonestandcompetent.He didn’t wish to mar thiswell-earnedreputation.

But could he bringhimself to work for the manafter all that had passed thismorning?

“Noonewouldblameyou

if you quit,” Kannice said,readingthedoubtonhisface.

“Lillie would. And sowouldhisfriends.”

“You don’t have to workfor them. There are otherjobs.Evenifyougiveupthisone, you won’t be idle forlong.” A smile crossed herlips. “And while you’relooking for a new employer,you and I couldmakeup for

losttime.”“I’llbeintheback,”Kelf

said, stomping into thekitchen,hisearsbrightred.

“So you’d be willing totake me back if I stoppedworkingforLillie?”

Kannice’s expressionturned serious. “I’ve beenready to take you back allalong,Ethan.You’re the onewhowouldn’tstay.”

“I was waiting for aninvitation.”

“And I was waiting forsome indication that youwantedone.”

Hegaveasmall,mirthlesslaugh.Kannicetookhishand,andlacedherfingersthroughhis.

“Let me get you somebreadandchowder.I’dwagereverycoininmytillthatyou

haven’teatenabitetoday.”“You’d win that wager.”

He fished in his pocket for ahalfshilling.

“Ethan,don’t.”“I’mnotsodesperatethat

I can’t pay for my supper.Notyetatleast.”

She glared at him, tryingwith only some success tolook stern. At length sherelented and held out her

hand.“Verywell.”Hegave her the coin and

she started back into thekitchen to get his meal. Butthenshehaltedandfacedhimoncemore.

“Do you know the boy’sname?”sheasked.

“No.But I have a feelingweallwillbeforelong.”

***

ChristopherSeider.He was the son of a

German laborer.And hewaselevenyearsold.

Theotheryoungmanwhohad been shot was SamuelGore, the son of a captain inthecolonialmilitia.

Word of the shootingsspread through the city likesmoke from a fire, until bynightfallnoonewasspeaking

of anything else. Gore wasexpectedtorecover,althoughDr. JosephWarren, who hadtreated the young man, saidthathemightneverregainthefulluseofhishand.

Seider’sconditionwasfarmore grave. He was alivestill, though only barely.Several doctors, includingWarren, had tried to removethe shot from his lung, but

none had succeeded. Mostsaiditwasmerelyamatteroftimebeforetheladdied.

Kannice’stavernfilledupas it always did, but on thisnight her patrons wereunusually subdued. They ateand they drank, butconversationswerespoken inhushed voices. Ethan heardnotathreadoflaughter.

Diver and Deborah came

in and walked to a table agood distance from Ethan’s.Diver wouldn’t even look athim.EthanconsideredjoiningthemandtellingDiverthathehad decided he would nolongerworkforLillie.Buthewasstillwaveringonwhatheshoulddocomethemorning,andhewasn’tconvinced thatDiver would care even if hedid choose to terminate his

arrangement with themerchant. He had beenworking for Lillie thismorning, when ChristopherSeiderwasshot.Nothingelsemattered.

Instead, Ethan sat alone,sipping an ale. Like everyperson in the Dowser, heawaited news of the boy’scondition,lookingtowardthedooreachtimeitopened.But

again and again he wasdisappointed.

As he sat, he turned overthe morning’s events in hismind, sifting through hismemory of what had beensaidanddone.Andso itwasthat at last he recalledsomething that should havebeenforemostinhismind.

“Veni ad me,” hewhispered.Cometome.

Uncle Reg winked intoview in the chair across thetable from him, his eyesburning as bright as brands.He had balled one of hisglowing hands into a tightfist; with the other hand hegesturedwildly.Ethanhadnoidea what he was trying toconvey,buthedidn’tthinkhehadeverseentheghostmoreangry.

Calm down. Ethan saidthisinhismind.Noonewhowasn’t a conjurer could seeReg,andEthandidn’twishtodraw the attention of everyperson in the Dowser byappearingtospeaktohimself.You’re angry with me.Because you didn’t want metodismissyouearliertoday?

Reg threwhisarmswide.Ethan knew that if he were

capable of speech, he wouldhaveberatedhim.

I’m sorry. I was thinkingabout the boy and nothingelse.

The specter’s expressionsoftened. He offered a curtnod, and then opened hishands:aquestioninggesture.

There’sbeennowordyet,but I fear the worst. Youwishedtotellmesomething?

Anothernod.You felt a conjuring a

short while beforeRichardson fired into thecrowd.Idid,too.Atthetime,you couldn’t say where itcame from. Do you knownow?

Regshookhishead.Doyouknowwhatkindof

spellitwas?No.

So then it’s possible thattheconjuringhadnothingdowith what happened onMiddleStreet.

Reg did not respond atfirst. After a few seconds hegave a slow shake of hishead. He tapped his chestwith his fingers and thenmadeasweepingmotionwithhishand.

You believe the spell was

related to the shootingof theSeiderboy. Iunderstand thatmuch. But the rest … Ethanshrugged. I’m sorry.Sometimes I really wish youcouldspeak.

Theghostnoddedatthat.Were there other

conjurers there today? Didyou sense that anyone wascastingspellsonthestreet?

No.

Is thereaconjuringIcantrythatwould—

Reg held up a hand,forestalling Ethan’s question.Hetappedhischestagain.

“You,”Ethanwhispered.Regnodded.Hemadethat

samesweepinggestureagain.Ethan shook his head. “I

don’t—”The ghost frowned and

rubbed a hand over his face.

After considering the matter,heplacedanopenhandtohisbrow and swiveled his head,as if he were searching forsomething.

Youwerelookingaround.OnMiddleStreet?

A nod. He pointed to hischest again, then to his eyes,andoncemoretohischest.

I don’t— A chill passedthrough Ethan, making him

shudder. “My God,” he saidunder his breath. You werelookingaround,andyousawa ghost, a spectral guide, abeinglikeyou.

Reg nodded with greatenthusiasm.

Aghost,Ethansaidwithinhismind,wantingtobeclearon exactly what Reg wastelling him. Not an illusionspell.

Reg tapped his chestagain,moreemphaticallythistime.Aghost.

Ethan’s heart had startedtolabor.“Wasitoneyouhadseenbefore?”

A man seated at anadjacent table glancedEthan’sway,hisexpressionablend of dismay and alarm.Atthatmoment,Ethandidn’tcare who heard his question

or what they thought of himspeakingtohimself.

“Was it Nate Ramsey’sguide?”

Nate Ramsey was themerchant captain andconjurer who, during theprevious summer, had nearlymanaged to kill Ethan, aswell as Mariz and Ethan’sfriendTarijannaWindcatcher.He did kill Gavin Black,

another friend and anaccomplished conjurer in hisown right. The captain hadraised an army of shades bydesecratinggravesthroughoutthecity,andhadcomewithina hairsbreadth of renderingpowerless every conjurer inBostonexcepthimself.

During their finalconfrontation on Drake’sWharf, Ramsey set a

warehouse ablaze andappeared to perish in theconflagration. But thoughSheriffGreenleafhadmenofthewatch search through therubble,nooneeverfoundthecaptain’s body. To this day,the possible implication ofthat fruitless search hauntedEthan’sdreams,andlurkedinthe back of his mind duringhiswakinghours.

To Ethan’s profoundrelief, Reg shook his head.No.Itwasn’tRamsey’sghost.

You’recertain?Yes.Couldithavebeenoneof

theghostsRamseycontrolledlast summer? Is he trying todeny us access to ourspellmakingpoweragain?

Reg shook his head yetagain.

Ethan didn’t realize untilhe exhaled that he had beenholdinghisbreath.Youdidn’trecognizethisspecter?

No.He tappeda finger tothe side of his head, besidehis eye, and then raised hishand to his brow again, as ifsearching.

But you think it waswatching, or rather, that theconjurer was watching

through the ghost. You thinkhecast thespellwhenhedidforareason.

Reg sat back in his chairand nodded, a look of reliefonhislinedface.

Isee.Thankyou.The door to the tavern

opened, and a man steppedinside. Every person in theDowserturnedtolookathim.

“Richardson and Wilmot

have been before JusticesRuddock, Pemberton, Dana,and Quincy,” the man said,hisvoicecarryingthroughthegreat room. “They’ve beensent to the gaol and will betriedbeforethesuperiorcourtonthethirteenthofMarch.”

“Wedon’needthecourt!”someone shouted back. “Weallseenwhattheydone.Theyshould be hanged, and good

riddancetothem!”Otherscheeredthis.The man at the door

shrugged. “That’s not formeto say. I’m only tellin’ youwhat’shappened.”

“What about the lad?”anothervoicecalled.

“I’venowordonhim.I’msorry.”

He tipped his hat toKannice,andleftthetavern.

EthanturnedbacktoReg.Is there anything else youwantedmetoknow?

Regshookhishead.Verywell.Thankyou. I’ll

be more attentive next timeand I’ll try not to send youawaybeforeyou’vehadyoursay.

A rare smile curved theghost’slips.

Dimittote.Ireleaseyou.

Reg faded from view,leaving Ethan to ponder theimplications of what hisspectral guide had seen. Thepulseofarandomspellcouldbe dismissed as merecoincidence, even if it didcome only moments beforeRichardson fired his musket.But if there had been aspecter there, watching allthathappened,waitingforthe

precise instant when a spellmight do the most harm …thatwasadifferentmatter.

He recalled Gordon’ssudden attack on Will Pryorthe previous night, and thespell he and Mariz thoughthad preceded the assault.Were the two incidentsrelated?Ethandidn’tseehowthey could be—onematteredonlytohimselfandtoSephira

Pryce. The other hadimplicationsforallofBoston.OncemorehewonderedifheandMariz had imagined thatpulse of power the nightbefore.

On that thought,something else occurred tohim. It seemed likefolly,butbeforethisnightwasthroughhemight have no choice buttotesthistheory.

Hehad few ideas of howhe might proceed, none ofthem very good. But hecouldn’t sit there doingnothing.Makinguphismind,hedrainedhistankard,stood,andwalkedtothetableDiversharedwithDeborah.

“MayIjoinyou?”Diver looked up at him,

butsaidnothing.Deborah eyed her beau

before indicating the chairbetween them. “Of courseyou may, Mister Kaille.Please,sit.”

Still Ethan waited,watching his friend. At lastDiver offered a slight shrug,which Ethan took as aninvitation.

Hesatand,holdinguphistankard, caught Kelf’s eye.“Can I buy you one?” he

askedDiver.“No,thankyou.”If Ethan needed further

proofof thedepthofDiver’sanger, here it was: Hecouldn’t remember theyoungerman ever refusing afreeale.

“I was there today,” hesaid. “I saw ChristopherSeidergetshot.”

“I thought you might

have.”Diverdidn’tfacehim,but at least he replied. “Iknewthat theyweregoingtobe at Lillie’s shop, and Iknowthatyou’reworkingforhim.”

Ethan’s anger flared.Diver had known that therewould be a mob on MiddleStreet, and he had given himno warning. He held histongue,knowingthatnogood

would come of anotherconfrontation. But somethingin his chest tightened. Oncehe had been Diver’s closestfriend; now, apparently,Diver felt greater loyalty tothe Sons of Liberty than tohim.

“I have beenworking forhim. I don’t know if I cananymore.”

Atthesewords,Divermet

hisgaze.“Truly?”“He made excuses for

Richardson; he said the boydeservedwhathegot.”Ethancringed. “Howcan I take hismoneyafterthat?”

Diver leaned forward.“You can’t,” he said. “Hedoesn’t deserve to have youworking for him, Ethan.” Itwas the nicest thing Diver

hadsaidtohiminmonths.Kelf arrivedwith Ethan’s

aleandglancedfirstatDiverand then at Ethan. “It’s nicetoseethetwoofyouchattin’so amiably,” he said, thewordsagreatjumble.

A smile crossed Diver’sface, though it vanished asquicklyas ithadcome.OnceKelfwasgonehesaid,“Ioweyou an apology, Ethan.With

all the fool things I’ve doneover the years, and all thetimes I’ve made trouble foryou—and you’ve alwaysstuckbyme.Ishouldn’thavesaid all those things to youlastnight.”

“It’sallright,”Ethansaid,waving away the apology. “Ihave to ask you, though—”He dropped his voice. “Dothe Sons of Liberty ever use

conjurers to help them withalltheydo?”

Diver fairly beamed.“You’re ready to join thecause?”

Ethanwas toopleasedbythe civil turn theirconversation had taken todisabuseDiver of thenotion.Also, he didn’t think Diverwouldtakewelltobeingtoldthat Ebenezer Richardson

mighthavebeenthevictimofa spell, and was not thevillain so many thought himto be. “For now I’m askingout of nothing more thancuriosity,” he said, hopingthat he sounded coy ratherthan evasive. “Do they haveaccesstospells?”

“Well,notthatIknowof,butI’mstillnewtotheSons.I’ve been to only a few

meetings.”“Ofcourse.”“But if you want me to

ask—”“No, that’s not

necessary.”“Right,” Diver said,

grinning. He cast a look atDeborah. “Our friend herehashaddealingswithSamuelAdams himself. You don’tneedmyhelptalkingtothem,

doyou,Ethan?”“At some point I might,

and I’ll be sure to let youknowwhenthattimecomes.”Hesippedhisale.

Diver did the same,clearlypleased.

An instant later, though,the Dowser’s door openedagain and a different mansteppedinside.

“He’s dead,” this man

said,hisvoiceforlorn.“ChrisSeider’sdead.”

Ethan placed his tankardon the table and closed hiseyes,adullpaininhisheart.

“God grant him rest,”came a voice from near thebar.

“To Chris Seider,”another man said. “May herestinpeace.”

“Chris Seider,” the other

patrons answered, the lad’sname resonating like a spellthroughthetavern.

Ethan opened his eyesagain. Deborah was crying.Diverhadwalkedaround thetabletowhereshesatandputhisarmaroundhershoulders.EthansearchedthetavernandsoonspottedKannicenearthebar; she was already lookinghisway.Hercheeksweredry,

but he could see grief in herlovelyeyes.

Hestoodwithascrapeofhis chair legson the tavern’swooden floor, and picked uphishatoffthetable.

“Where are you going?”Diverasked.

“There’ssomethingIneedtolookinto.Itoldyou,Iwason the street today whenRichardson shot him, and

whileIwasthere…well,it’shardtoexplain.”

Diver’s face fell. “You’renotgoing to try toprove thathe didn’t do it, are you? Iknowthatyouprotectpeoplewhen they’re innocent andall,butthis—”

“He did it, Diver. I sawhim pull the trigger. I couldno more prove EbenezerRichardson innocent than I

couldteachhimhowtofly.”“Good,” Diver said. “I

want to see him swing forthis.”

ChapterFIVE

Kannicewasnothappytosee

him leaving, but he assuredher that he would be backbefore long, and that hewouldtrytoexplainwherehehadgoneandwhy.

Leavingthewarmthofthetavern,hefoundtheicystreethushedsaveforthetollingofseveral church bells aroundthecity—nodoubtatributetothe fallen lad.He had fearedthatanewmobmighttaketo

the lanes upon hearing thenews of Christopher Seider’sdeath,butfornowatleast,allremained quiet. A pall hadfallenoverBoston.

He headed south onSudbury to Queen Street,whichhefollowedtowardthecity gaol.Onmost occasionshe took pains to keep hisdistance from Brattle Streetand Murray’s Barracks, but

on this night there could beno avoiding the soldiersoccupying the city. Indeed,Ethanwasheadedtotheveryseat of the Crown’s militarypresenceinMassachusetts.

As he came within sightof thegaol, however, he sawalargecrowdgatheredinthestreet outside the austerebuilding. Here, at last, wasthe gathering he had thought

to find in the lanes. Manycarried torches, and thoughfrom this distance he couldnotmakeoutwhatthethrongwas shouting, he couldimagine easily enough. Heretreatedashortdistanceandfound a lonely byway inwhich he could remove hisgreatcoat, cut his forearm,andwhisper,“Velamentumexcruore evocatum.”

Concealment, conjured fromblood.

His conjuring hummed inthe street, and Reg appearedbefore him, vivid against thewhitesandgraysofthecityinwinter.At thesame time, thespellsettledoverEthan,likeafinecoolmist.

“Thismightbe incrediblystupidofme,”hesaid.

The ghost grinned and

vanished.Oncemore,Ethanheaded

toward the gaol, placing hisfeet with care so as tomakeas little noise as possible onthe lane. Even so, his shoescrunched the ice and snow.Fortunately, by the time hewas near enough to otherpeople to be heard, theclamor from the mob wasenough to overwhelm the

soundofhisfootsteps.He slipped through the

crowd, avoiding any contactwhen he could, andwhen hecouldn’t,making it seemthatsome other person wasresponsible for the gentlejostleorshove.

“Give’emtousandwe’llbe on our way!” one mancalled to the young regularsguarding the prison door.

Severalmenlaughed.Cries from others

gathered there were lesshumorous.

“They’re murderers, andshouldbedealtwithassuch!”

“Damn lobsters!Protectin’childkillers!”

“Richardson and Wilmotdeserve what’s comin’ tothem! And so do them whatkeeps’emsafe!”

With each newimprecation, the mob grewincreasingly agitated, untilEthan wondered if he wouldbe able to extricate himselfbeforethegatheringbecameariot.Hecouldfindnopathofescape;thethronghadclosedin on all sides. He could donothingbutcontinueforward,pushing his way closer andcloser to the front of the

crowd and the façade of thecitygaol.

When at last he slippedfree of themob,with a finalshove that left a tall youngman glancing about inconfusion, Ethan foundhimself even closer to thegaol’s ancient oaken doorthan he had expected. Fromso near, the four regularsposted in front of the gaol

appeared younger and morefrightenedthantheyhadfromtherearofthecrowd.

He saw no way past themen, nor could he think ofanymeansbywhichhemightenter the gaol through thedoorwithoutdrawingnotice.

With slow, deliberatesteps, he circled around thebuilding and made his wayback to where he knew the

prison cells were located.There were several smallwindows along the wall—eachlookinginonacell.Buttheywere toohigh forEthantoreach,andevenifhecouldhaveclimbedthebrickwalls,hecouldn’taccomplishmuchfromoutside.

Reluctantly,heconcludedthat he had but one choice.Leaving the prison, he cut

across a snowy lea, strodepast the church grounds ofKing’s Chapel, and turnedonto Marlborough Street.From there, he continuedsouth to West Street, wherelived Sheriff StephenGreenleaf.

Greenleaf’s spaciousstone mansion stood a shortdistancefromtheedgeof theCommon. It was a stately

homewith extensive gardensthatwere, during thewarmermonths, among the mostadmired in all of Boston. Itwas, Ethan had decided longago, a finer home than thegoodsheriffdeserved.

Greenleafmightwellhavehad the most difficult job inthe entire Province ofMassachusetts Bay. Assheriff ofSuffolkCounty, he

was responsible for keepingthepeaceinBoston.Anyandall crimes committed withinthe city and its environs fellunder his jurisdiction. Butother than the men of thenight watch, most of whomwere either incompetent ordishonorable, or both, thesheriff hadnomenunderhiscommand. He was expectedto see to the safety of

Boston’s citizens, and theirpersonal property, almostentirelyonhisown.Itwasnowonder Ethan and Sephirahad worked for so manyclientsovertheyears.

The near-impossibleduties with which the sheriffwastaskedshouldhavemadeGreenleaf a sympatheticfigure. As it happened,though, the sheriff’s abrasive

manner prevented that. Heand Ethan had been at oddspractically from the day theymet. The sheriff had longbeendeterminedtoseeEthanhanged as a witch; onlyEthan’sdiscretion, anda fewstrokes of uncommon goodfortune, had kept Greenleaffrom following through onhis frequent threats.Moreover, when the sheriff

wasn’t trying to prove thatEthan consorted with thedevil, he was often workingwith Sephira Pryce to hinderoneofEthan’sinquiries.

Still, on those rareoccasions when the sheriffrequired Ethan’s aid—moreoften than not to investigatecrimes that involvedconjurings—he did nothesitate to press Ethan into

service. And every now andthen,Ethanhadnochoicebuttoturntothesheriffforhelp,ashedidthisnight.

Hewalkedup thepath tothe sheriff’s front door andrapped twice with the brassknocker.

Only then did heremember that he was stillunder a concealment spell.Sparingnotamoment,Ethan

yanked off his greatcoat,slashed his arm, andwhispered in Latin, “Finivelamentum ex cruoreevocatum.”Endconcealment,conjuredfromblood.

The spell pulsed in theground and Reg issued forthonce more. But concealmentspells did not take effect orwear off instantly, and whenthe door opened, revealing

the formidable figure ofStephen Greenleaf, Ethanknew that he was onlypartially visible. The sheriffwore his usual garb—a coat,waistcoat,andbreeches—andheboreacandle,whichthrewhis face, with its hook noseandsteepforehead,intosharprelief.

He raised the candlehigher and peered into the

nightthroughnarrowedeyes.“Who’s there?” he said,

the words coming out as alow,menacinggrowl.

“Sheriff Greenleaf, it’sEthanKaille.”

“Kaille?” the sheriff said,leaning forward. He hadspotted Ethan, but still hesquinted.“Isthatreallyyou?”

Ethan took a step towardhim. “Aye. I’m sorry to

disturbyouatthishour.”Greenleaf held his candle

still higher. “I couldn’t see.It’slikeyourwitcheryhoversover you, blending you withthenight.”

“I require your aid,”Ethansaid.

“My aid? Why should Igivemyaidtoyou?”

“I can’t offer you anycompelling reason why you

should.Helpingmewillbringyou no tangible benefit. ButI’mhopingyou’lllistentomyrequestanyway.”

“So you want a favorfrom me, and while you, nodoubt,willprofitnicelyfromwhateveritisI’msupposedtodo, you offer nothing inreturn.”

“Actually,” Ethan said,“there’s no profit in this for

me,either.”That,ofallthings,seemed

to give the sheriff pause.“What is this about?” heasked.

“EbenezerRichardson.”Greenleaf straightened

andloweredthehandholdinghis candle. “What abouthim?”

Ethanhesitated,searchingfor some way to tell the

sheriff what he wantedwithoutasmuchasadmittingthat he was a conjurer. “Ican’ttellyoueverything—”

“Witchery,” the sheriffsaid,spittingtheword.

“Conjuring.”“Call it what you will,

Kaille. It’s still—” Thesheriff stopped, his mouthhanging open. “You admitit?”

“I admit nothing aboutmyself.Butyes, I dobelievethat a conjuring may haveplayed some role in theevents that unfolded onMiddleStreet.”

“What kind of conjuring?Donebywhom?”

“I don’t knowyet.That’swhyIrequireyourhelp.”

“EbenezerRichardson—”“Is guilty of murder.

There’snoquestionof that.Iwas there today. I saw whathappened.”

“You were there, eh?Then isn’t it likely thatany…conjuringusedagainstRichardsoncamefromyou?”

“It wasn’t me,” Ethansaid.

“Then how can you besure that anything unnaturalhappened?”

Ethanwincedinwardly.Itwas not a question he couldanswerwithout incriminatinghimself. “I thought I mighthavefeltsomething:aspell.”

“You thought you feltsomething?”Greenleaf’s grinwascoldandsmug.“Aye,I’llwager you did. That’spractically an admission,Kaille. I might even be abletoconvinceamagistratetolet

me put a noose around yourneck.”

“Only if you manage tofind a noose that can holdme.”

The sheriff’s smileslipped.

“YouandIbothknowalltoo well what harm a rogueconjurer can unleash in thiscity. If there’s evena chancethatsomedarkspellplayeda

part in today’s tragedy,don’twe owe it to the people ofBostontoinvestigate?”

“You’re the only rogueconjurer I know. Well, youand thatcrazyoldwitchwholives on the Neck.Windcatcher,isn’tit?”

“It wasn’t Janna, and itwasn’tme.”

“Soyousay.”Ethan gritted his teeth. “I

don’t have time for this.Wedon’t. This is no trifle I’mspeaking of. The entire citymay be in danger. I sensedsomething similar last night.Soit’shappenedtwiceintwodays.”

“Andbeforethat?”“Nothing. Last night was

thefirsttime.”Greenleaf seemed to

weigh this, his gaze fixed on

the frozen waterfront. “Allright,assumingforamomentthat I believe you, what is ityourequireofme?”

“IneedtoseeRichardson.Alone.”

“Youdon’taskformuch,do you?” the sheriff said,scowling.

“I may be able todetermine if something wasdonetohim.”

“Whydoyouhave to seehimalone?”

“Witchery can bedangerous,Sheriff.Iwouldn’twant anything to happen toyou.”

Greenleaf raised his chin.“I don’t believe you.You’vesaid similar things to me inthe past; I think youwish tofrightenme,tokeepmeawaywhileyouuseyourdevilryto

cause all manner ofmischief.”

“Sheriff—”“I know you’re a witch,

Kaille!Whydoyoudenyit?”“Why do you let me

live?”Greenleafblinked.“If you’re so convinced

thatI’mawitch,andthatmybeing a witch makes me aninstrument of Satan, you

should put a bullet throughmyhead,hereandnow.”

Thesheriff staredbackathim, saying nothing, andlooking uncharacteristicallydiffident.

“You may not like me,but you need me, much asSephiradoes.”

“Miss Pryce?” Greenleafappeared to grow moreconfused with each word

Ethansaid.Ethan shook his head.

“It’snotimportant.Thepointis, we can help each other.You know we can—you’vecome tome in thepastwhenyou’ve needed help with …inquiriesofaparticularkind.You can call it witchery ifyou like; the point is, in thehandsofthewrongperson,itcan do tremendous evil.You

andIhaveseenasmuch,beitwith Nate Ramsey or theSisters Osborne. I can’t sayforcertainthataconjurerhada hand in ChristopherSeider’s murder. But neithercanIruleitoutuntilI’veseenRichardson.”

“Youstillhaven’ttoldmewhyyouwish to seehim, orwhat you plan to do onceyou’rethereinhiscell.”

“And I still have nointentionoftellingyou.”

“How do I know youwon’t try to kill him? Thereare plenty in the city whowouldlikenothingbetterthanto see the man put to death.An eye for an eye, and allthat.”

“I suppose you’ll have totake my word,” Ethan said.Whenthesheriff’sexpression

didn’tchange,headded,“I’mnot going to kill him. I hopehe swings for what he did.Evenbeforetheconjuring,hewas threatening the mob,makinganassofhimself.Theman’s an idiot. But tonight Ihave other matters on mymind.Youhavemywordthatnoharmwillcometohim,atleastnotbymyhand.”

Greenleaf still glared at

him; Ethan stared back,refusing tobe cowed.At lastthesheriffgaveashakeofhishead.

“I must be mad. Waithere,Kaille.”

He went back inside thehouse and closed the door,only to emerge againmoments later,aheavycloakdrapedoverhisshouldersandaflintlockpistolinhishand.

“You should know thatthere’samobgatheredat thegaol,” Ethan said, as theywalkedouttoWestStreetandstarted toward the city’sprison.

“Aye, I expected asmuch.”

They walked in silencefor some time, vapor fromtheir breath rising into thenightsky.

“What would a conjurerhave to gain by makingRichardson shoot the lad?”Greenleafasked.

Itwasafinequestion,onethatEthanhadn’tconsidered.

“Conjurers have theirpolitical leanings,” he said,“just like the rest of us. Is itso hard to believe that therearesomewhowishtofomentviolenceinthecity?”

The sheriff glanced hisway. “The Sons of Liberty,perhaps.”

Ethan shrugged, thennodded, conceding the point.“Perhaps.”

They covered theremaining distance withoutsayingmore.Seeing themoboutside the gaol, Greenleaffalteredinmidstride,butonlyforininstant.

“Stay close,” he said, hisvoicelow.

As they neared the outeredgeof thecrowd,Greenleafhalted.

“You won’t be seeingEbenezer Richardsontonight,” he said, his wordsechoing in the lane. “Gohome.”

Thementurnedasone.Someone called out, “He

deservestohang!”“Andhemightbeforethis

is over. But that’s not goingtohappentonight.”Hissmileappeared genuine. “You lotknow me. When there’s ahanging, I don’t make asecret of it. If Richardsonswings,you’ll allhavea fineview.”

Afewpeoplelaughed.“Thishasbeenahardday,

and a sad one. Go home, orbetteryet,go toa tavernandraiseanaletothememoryofChrisSeider.Butget thehellawayfrommygaol.”

Ethanexpectedthementorefuse,torespondinangertothe sheriff’s words. Thesemenknewthesherifftobe,atleast on most occasions, aservant of the Crown and itsrepresentatives here in

Boston. Back in the fall of1768, as the occupation ofBoston began and GeneralGage and his staff attemptedtobilletathousanduniformedregulars, the sheriffhadbeenat the fore of efforts to evictElisha Brown and hiscompanions from theManufactory so that it mightbe used as a barracks. Thesheriffwas unpopular among

those who had gatheredoutside the gaol, as well asthose who had been onMiddle Street earlier in theday, harassing importers andtrading insultswithEbenezerRichardson.

But while these menmight not have likedGreenleaf, they did harborsome respect for him, or atleast a modicum of fear.

Ethannoticed that the sheriffstillheldhispistol loosely inhis right hand, its barrelglintingdullywithtorchlight.Hehadnodoubtthatmanyinthethronghadseenitaswell.If the mob turned on them,thesheriffwouldhavetimetofire off only a shot or twobefore they wereoverwhelmed. But Ethandoubted that any of the men

wished to be the unfortunatesoul whom Greenleafmanagedtoshoot.

Slowly, with obviousreluctance, themenstartedtodisperse. A few shoutedthreats at Richardson, nodoubthopingthatthecustomsman could hear them in hiscell. Others glared atGreenleaf, though the sheriffdidn’t appear to notice. But

within a few minutes, thestreethadcleared.

“That was well done,”Ethansaid.

Greenleaf rounded onhim, a fearsome look in hiseyes, as if hewere searchingforsomesign thatEthanwasmocking him. Seeing none,his expression eased. “Thankyou.” He indicated the gaolwith an open hand. “After

you.”Ethanwalkedtothedoor,

eyeing the soldiers as heapproached.

“Good evening, Sheriff,”one of the men said. Hestudied Ethan, a faint sneeron his angular face. “Thisanotherprisoner?”

“Sadly, no,” the sheriffsaid. “We need to seeRichardson.”

Themanproduced a key,unlockedtheprisondoor,andpulleditopenwithacreakofthegreatironhinges.

Greenleaf surveyed thestreet. A few stragglers stilllingered near the corner ofTreamount and QueenStreets.“Lock thedooragainoncewe’reinside.Don’topenitforanyonebutme.Doyouunderstand?”

“Aye,sir.”Greenleaf waved Ethan

inside. As soon as Ethancrossed the threshold, thestink hit him, calling upunwelcomememories.

Not so long ago, againaround the time of theoccupation,GreenleafhadledEthan into the gaol as hisprisoner, and had left himthere, chained to a wall in a

fetidcell.It seemed the sheriff was

thinking of this as well.“Haveyoumissedtheplace?”heasked,watchingEthan.

“Hardly.”But by now his

recollections had carried himpasthisbrief incarceration inthisgaol, todarkermemoriesofhis imprisonmentafter theRuby Blade mutiny: rancid

food,thevermin-infestedpileof straw on which he slept,backbreaking laborbeneathascorching tropical sun, andoverseers who reveled inabusing and beating Ethanand his fellow prisoners.Even now, years removedfrom that living hell, Ethancouldn’t thinkofthesethingswithoutbreakingoutinacoldsweat. He had come to the

gaol voluntarily—he had allbut begged the sheriff tobring him here. And still hislegs trembled so violentlythathecouldbarelystand.

“Are you all right?”Greenleaf asked, soundingmore impatient thanconcerned.

Ethan nodded, swallowedthebilerisinginhisthroat.

“You’resweating.”

“You may recall that Ihave … an aversion toprisons.”

The sheriff scowled hisdisapproval. “This way,” hesaid, steppingpastEthan.Heled him down a narrowcorridorandhaltedbeforethethirdcellontheleft.

Ethan joined him andpeeredintothecellthroughasmall barred window in the

door. Richardson sat on thestone floor, his back againsttheroughwall.Hisfacewasamess:bruised,swollen,cakedwithdriedblood.His clotheswere filthy, torn almost torags, and stained with bloodaswell.AndstillEthanknewthat he had been fortunate tosurvivethisday.

“Who the hell are you?”The words sounded thick,

muddled; his lips were splitand it appeared that he hadlost at least one tooth in themelee.

“I was on Middle Streettoday,”Ethansaid.“I’dlikeaword.”

“What is this, Sheriff?Are you going to let himfinishmeoff?”

“If I wanted to letsomeone finish you, I could

make a fair bit of coin,”Greenleaf said. “They’d lineup all the way from QueenStreet to Long Wharf andback again, and they’d paymewell tohavefiveminutesalonewithyou.”Hegrinned.“You’re a bit short onadmirers these days,Richardson.”

The customs man lookedaway.

“No, Kaille isn’t here tokill you. He wishes only…”The sheriff glanced atEthan.“Hecametotalk.”

“Kaille,” Richardsonrepeated,eyeingEthanagain.“Lillie’sman?”

Ethan bristled at thedescription. “Aye. MisterLillie hired me. You and Ispokethismorning,whenyouwere trying to tear down the

signsoutsidehisshop.”“I remember now. If you

had done your job, thosesigns neverwould have beenthere,andnoneofthiswouldhavehappened.”

“I seem to recallwarningyoutogetoffthestreet.”

Themanturnedfromhimonce more. “Go away,Kaille.”

Greenleaf unlocked the

door andmotioned forEthanto enter. Ethan stepped intothe cell, expecting that thesheriff would close the doorbehind him. Instead,Greenleaf followed himinside.

“I told you that I need toseehimalone,”Ethansaid.

“I know what you toldme, but I never agreed to allof it.” He leaned closer to

Ethan,andsaid inawhisper,“We’re going to settle thisonce and for all, Kaille. Iknow what you are, andtonight, at last, I’ll have myproof.”

“I don’t want either ofyou in here!” Richardsonsaid, glaring up at them.“Can’t you leave me inpeace?”

The sheriff scowled.

“Shut your mouth,Richardson!”He facedEthanagain, and flashed a smiled.“Go on then, Kaille. Ipromise you won’t swingtonight,or even tomorrow. ItcouldbeyearsbeforeIdecidetoridthiscityofyou,butthatwillbemychoicetomake.”

Richardsonregardedthemboth, obviously perplexed bywhatthesheriffhadsaid.For

hispart,Ethanwasdamnedifhe was going to allowGreenleaf to watch himconjure. Fortunately, as onseveral occasions in thepast,hewashelpedbythesheriff’signoranceofspellmaking.

He had been planning toput Richardson to sleep withaconjuringbeforeattemptingany other magick. Directingthe spell at two men was

really no more difficult thandirectingitatone.

He didn’t move, and hekept his gaze locked on thatof the sheriff. But drawingupon the mullein he stillcarried inhis coatpocket, herecited the incantation tohimself. Dormite ambo exverbascoevocatum. Slumber,both of them, conjured frommullein.

Theconjuring sang likeaharp string, vibrating in thestonewalls,floor,andceilingof the cell. Reg appeared,brightasanewlyrisenmooninthedim,inconstantlightofthe torches, but Ethanwatched the sheriff. Beforelong, the man staggered, hiseyelidsdrooping.

“Wha—?”As he started to fall,

Ethan caught him and easedhim down to the floor,proppinghisbackagainst thenearestwall.

“I believe you’ve beenworkingtoohard,Sheriff,”hemuttered.

Greenleafsnoredsoftly.Richardson had toppled

onto his side. Ethan rightedhimandleanedhimagainstawall as well. He drew his

blade and cut his arm. Asbloodwelledfromthewound,he traced a line of it acrossRichardson’s forehead, downthe bridge of his nose, andoverhischin.

“Revelaomniasmagiasexcruore evocatas,” hewhispered. Reveal allmagicks, conjured fromblood.

This spell rumbled in the

stone aswell, andEthan sawhis own russet power flickeracrossRichardson’sbody:theresidue of the sleep spell hehad cast. But his conjuringrevealednootherevidenceofspells.None.

“The conjuring revealedmysleepspell,”EthansaidtoReg.“SoIknowitworked.”

Regfrownedandnodded.Ethan cut himself again

andrubbedbloodonthemanin the same pattern. “Revelaoriginem magiae ex cruoreevocatam.” Reveal source ofmagic,conjuredfromblood.

This conjuring yieldedmuch the same result,showing evidence of Ethan’sspell,butnoothers.

“Is it possible that thespellwefeltonMiddleStreetwasn’t directed at

Richardson?”Ethanasked.Regshrugged.Ethan considered once

more the tragic sequence ofeventsfromthemorning.Thehumof that distant spell hadprecededbymeresecondstheappearance of Richardsonwith his musket. He didn’tfire at first, though he aimedthe weapon at the mob.Secondslater,heaimedagain

and pulled the trigger. AsEthan thought about this, herealized that he had seenRichardson pull the triggertwice.Itwasn’tthathedidn’ttry to shoot the first time hetook aim; rather, it seemedthatthemusketmisfired.

Of course it was possiblethat Richardson had everyintention of firing hisweapon, and that whatever

spellwas cast hadnothing atall to do with ChristopherSeider’s death. Ethan knewenoughofthecustomsmantothink the worst of him. Butthe coincidence was toostrikingtoignore,particularlyin the wake of Gordon’sattackonWillPryor.

“Idon’tunderstandanyofthis,”hesaidtotheghost.

Reg glowered down at

Richardson,hisjawset.“I know. I don’t like him

either. But if a spell madehim fire, Iwant to know it.”A thought came to him.“George Wilmot,” hewhispered, “the other manbeing held here. Is he aconjurer?”

Regshookhishead.“Right, because that

wouldhavebeentoosimple.”

He didn’t think that hecould do much more here,whichlefthimwithonefinaltask. It promised to beunpleasant.

Ethan gave Richardson ahard shake, and said, “Wakeup.”

Then he crossed toGreenleaf and squatted downbeforehim.“Sheriff,”hesaid,shaking him as well, though

moregently.“Sheriff,areyouallright?”

Richardson stirred, as didthesheriff.

Ethan took hold ofGreenleaf’s arm and helpedhim up. The sheriff swayed,and Ethan tightened his holdontheman.

“Have a care. Wewouldn’t want you to fallagain.”

“What happened to me?”the sheriff asked, his voiceweak. “What am I—?” Heglancedaround, taking in thecell, the torches. At last hisgaze came to rest on Ethan,the look in his pale eyeshardening.

“What did you do tome,Kaille?”

“What did I do to you?”Ethan repeated, opening his

eyes wide in feignedinnocence. “What do youremember?”

“I—You were standingthere, just as you are now,watchingme.Wewere…wehad been arguing. Youwanted me to leave, but Iwouldn’t.Andthen…”

“Andthenwhat?”Greenleaf jerked his arm

out of Ethan’s grasp. “You

know damn well what! Youused your damned witcheryagainstme!”

“Did you see me doanything?”Ethanasked.“DidI speak, or wave my handsabout?”

Thesherifflookedlikehehadsuckedonalemon.“No.”

Richardson let out a lowgroan.

The sheriff looked past

Ethan to the customs man.“Whathappened tohim?”heasked, an accusation in thewords. He stepped aroundEthan and planted himselfdirectly in front ofRichardson. “What is itRichardson?”

“I…Idon’tknow.I feelodd.”

“Didyoufallintoaswoonaswell?”Greenleaf glared at

Ethan.“Ithinkso.”“And I take it you had

nothing to do with that,either,didyouKaille?”

Ethan didn’t flinch fromthe sheriff’s glare.“Richardson took quite abeating today,” he said, histonemild. “He’s lucky to bealive. Have you had asurgeonintolookathim?”

Greenleaf shook a thickfinger in Ethan’s face. “Ishould chain you up rightnow.Thatcellbacktherehasheld you before; it canagain.”

“Aye,ithas.Butyoumaywish to wait until we’recertainthat…that‘witchery’isn’t behind all of this. Youwouldn’t want to face avillainous conjurer on your

own.”Greenleaf lowered his

hand, thoughhecontinued toeye Ethan with unconcealeddistrust. After some time, heglanced at Richardson againand then asked Ethan, “Arewefinishedhere?”

“Aye.”The sheriff turned on his

heel and stomped out of thecell; Ethan had little choice

but to leave as well.Greenleaf locked the celldooroncemoreandledEthanout of the gaol. Even aftertheywereoutsideinthecold,blessedly fresh air, he saidnot a word. He mumbled acurt “Good night” to thesoldiersandstartedupQueenStreet in the direction of hishome. Ethan sensed thatGreenleaf expected him to

follow,andsohedid.Once they were beyond

the hearing of the regulars,the sheriff said, “I want toknowwhat you did tome inthere.”

Ethan angled away fromthe man toward the Dowser.“Goodnight,Sheriff.”

“Damnyou,Kaille!”“I’ll make some

inquiries,” Ethan called to

him. “If there is a newconjurer in the city, onewhointends to use his powers tosow such mischief, I’ll findhim. And I’ll bring him toyou. In the meantime—” Hestoppedhimself, unwilling togivevoicetothethoughtthatflashedthroughhismind.“Inthe meantime,” he saidinstead, “Iwon’t trouble youagain.”

“WhatdidyoulearnfromRichardson?”

“Nothing,” he said.“Nothing at all. And thatbothersme.”

ChapterSIX

Almostassoonasheentered

the Dowser, Kannice cameout from behind the bar togreethim.

“Where were you?” sheasked.

Ethan scanned the tavern,his tricorn hat in his hands.Diver still sat near the backwith Deborah.When he sawEthan gazing his way, heloweredhiseyes.

“I think you know

already,”Ethansaid.Kannice took his hand.

“Don’tbeangrywithDerrey.Imadehimtellme.”

Ethangapedather.“AmIimagining things, or didKanniceLester, proprietor ofthe Dowsing Rod, come tothe defense of DevrenJervis?”

A grudging grin creptacross her features. “It’s not

likely to happen again.” Shetriedtolookstern.“Don’ttellhim.”

“Your secret is safe withme.Forthemoment.”

“You went to seeRichardson?”

Ethan looked around, tomake sure that they weren’toverheard. “Aye. I needed toknowifheactedtodayundertheinfluenceofaconjuring.”

Herbrowfurrowed.“Anddidhe?”

“NotthatIcouldtell,no.”Kannice took a long

breath. “Well, I’m glad. Iprefer tothinkthathe’scrueland heartless. If he hadbeen … controlled in someway, if there was a conjurerout there making him dosomethingthatterrible,I’dbetrulyfrightened.”

“AswouldI,”Ethansaid.Hedidn’ttellherthathewasfrightened; thatwhile he hadfound nothing, he wasconvinced this was becausethe conjurer had hidden hisspells too well. Again,though, he should haveknown that he couldn’tdissemblewithher,notaboutthis. Not about anything,really. It was one of the

reasonshelovedher.“What is it you’re not

tellingme?”HeglancedbackatDiver

again, then scanned thesomber faces in the tavern—anythingtoavoidlookingherintheeye.

“Ethan?”“Today, before

Richardson fired at ChrisSeider and young Gore, I

felt…something.”Her eyes widened. “And

bysomethingyoumean…?”“Aye,aspell.Ifeltoneas

well last night, just beforeone of Sephira’s menattacked a ladwho had donenothingtoprovokehim.”

Kannice brushed a strandof hair from her brow. “AndSephira’sotherman—theonewho conjures—he had

nothingtodowiththis?”“No.Hesenseditaswell,

and at first, all but accusedmeofbewitchinghisfriend.”

“Could it be acoincidence?”

“Isuppose,”Ethansaid.She smiled, though the

crease in her foreheadremained. “You’re humoringme.”

“I’m not. I’m casting

about for answers. Ifanything,what I’ve seen andlearned thus far points to allof this being coincidence, asyousay.”

“But?”Heshrugged.“ButIdon’t

believe it is. Probably I’mimaginingthings.”

She ran a hand down hischeek. “I’ve not known youto imagine thingsof this sort

before.Whywouldyoubeginnow?”

“I don’t know.My spellsare tellingmeone thing: thatno one used a conjuring tomake Richardson fire intothat mob. But my heart andmy head, not to mentionUncle Reg, are telling mesomethingelse.”

Kannice’s cheeks wentwhite. “Uncle … You mean

your…yourghost?”“Aye. He tells me that

there was another shade likehimthere today,watchingallthathappened.He’sassureasIthatsomeonecastaspell.”

“Andyoutrusthim.”Ethancouldonlynod.He

did trust Reg, in all things.But he couldn’t helpwondering if the old ghostwas wrong about the specter

he saw on Middle Street. Itwasn’tthatEthandoubtedthefigurehadbeenthere.Rather,hewonderedifReghadbeentoo quick to conclude that itwasn’t a shade he had seenbefore.

Moments earlier, inRichardson’sgaolcell,Ethanhad been so sure that hisrevelaconjuringswouldshowa residue of Nate Ramsey’s

power—a brilliant aqua huethat to this day still hauntedEthan’s nightmares—that hehad flinched as he cast thespells. During that onehorror-filled week in July ofthe previous year, Ramseyhad both tormented andtortured him; the captain hadcome very near to killinghim. Ethan didn’t know ifRamseywasaliveordead;he

hadno reason tobelieve thattheman had played any partin theeventsof thepastday.But Ethan’s fear of him ranevery bit as deep as his fearof prisons—he had neverthoughtthathecouldpossiblybe so frightened of oneman.Then again, Ramsey was noordinary man. He was aconjurer of exceptionalability.Hewasalsovengeful,

vicious, cruel, asunpredictable as the NewEngland weather, and utterlymad.Knowing that hemightone day return, andanticipating that day withdread, Ethan had spent thepast several months learningnew conjurings and honinghisspellmakingashehadnotsince he was a boy, new tohis power. And even so, he

knewthatheremainedutterlyunprepared for a newconfrontationwiththeman.

“There’sstillmoretothisthanyou’re saying,”Kannicesaid. “I can tell when you’rekeepingthingsfromme.”

He shook his head. “It’snothing. I—This has been along,difficultday.”Hecouldtell from the way sheregarded him that his denials

hadn’tconvincedher.“WhenI know more, I’ll tell youmore. Right now I’m certainofnothing.”

“Iunderstand.I’msorry,Idon’tmeantopry…”

Ethantoyedwiththebrimof his hat. He was keepingsecrets and she wasapologizing to him. Worse,they were speaking to eachotheras if strangers. “You’re

not prying. I… I’ve missedyou.”

She met his gaze. “Iknow. I’ve missed you. Staywithmetonight.Please.”

He took her hand. “I’dlikethat.”Heraisedherhandtohislipsandkissedit.

“Ihaveworktodo.Gositwith Derrey.” She steppedcloser,raisedherselfontohertiptoes,andkissedhimonthe

lips. “And don’t you dareleaveagain,”shewhispered.

“Yes,ma’am.”He releasedher hand and

walked back to where DiverandDeborahwereseated.

“It’s nice to see you andKannice getting on again,Ethan,” Diver said, soundingabittooenthusiastic.

“Don’t worry, Diver. I’mnotangrywithyou.”

Diverexhaled,andsmiledwith relief. “Well, good. Shemademetellherwhereyou’dgone.Iswearit.Idon’tknowhow you keep a secret fromthatwoman.”

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad,”Deborah said, a reproach inthewords.“Honestly,Derrey,you didn’t put upmuch of afight.”

Diver’s cheeks reddened.

“What did you find out,anyway?”

“Very little.But I didgetto put Sheriff Greenleaf tosleep with a spell, so theeveningwasn’tatotalloss.”

“Now that’s a story I’denjoyhearing,”Diversaid.

Deborah reached acrossthetableandpattedhishand.“Another time, perhaps. It’sgettinglate,andyou’vework

firstthing.”Ethan’s friend looked as

put out as a boy denied asweet.“Aye,thatIdo.”

DiverandDeborahstood.As Diver stepped pastEthan’s chair, he laid a handon Ethan’s shoulder. “It isgood toseeyou two togetheragain,”hesaid,hisvoicelowthistime.“Imeantthat.”

“Iknowyoudid.Andthe

fact is, I don’t like to keepsecrets from her, and Iwouldn’t have it any otherway.”

Diver bade him goodnight and followed Deborahoutofthetavern.

Not long after they left,Kelf brought Ethan an ale.Ethan sipped it, his back tothewall, as the tavern crowdslowly thinned. He couldn’t

take his eyes off Kannice asshe wiped the bar clean andbidgoodnighttoherpatrons.Shewaswillowy, yet strong,stubborn, yet quick to smile.He had never known anotherwoman like her, and perhapstheir time apart had theunintended benefit ofreminding him that this wasso.

Before long, only she,

Kelf, and Ethan remained.She and the barman madeshortworkof thenight’s lastchores and then she let Kelfout,andlockedthedoor.

She crossed the greatroomtowhereEthanstillsat,blowingoutcandlesalongtheway. He reached for hisempty tankard, but she said,“Leaveit.”

She held out a hand to

him. He grasped it, stood,gatheredher inhisarms,andkissedherdeeply.

Wordlessly, she led himup the stairs and through thenarrow corridors to herbedchamber. There they lit asingle candle and kissedagain. Ethan began to unlaceher bodice; she unbuttonedhis waistcoat and then hisshirt. The chamberwas cold,

but neither of them cared.Kannicelaidhimdownontheblankets and straddled him,herhair likespungold in thecandlelight, her skin soft andsmooth and cool. It occurredtoEthanthathehadforgottenjust how lovely she was.After that he lost track oftime, and later, of thoughtitself.

They made love with a

fierce tenderness that was asurgent and intense as thenights Ethan recalled fromthe firstmonths of their loveaffair. Fueled by grief andpassion and hunger too longdenied, they came togetheragain andagain, until at last,satedandexhausted,theyfellintoadeepslumber.

***

Ethanwokeearly,asthefirstsilvery light of the mornseeped into Kannice’s roomaround the shutters on herwindow. Usually she rosebefore he, but she still laybeside him, her breathingdeep and steady, her bodywarminghis.

Though reluctant to leavefor any reason,much less anappointmentwith Theophilus

Lillie, Ethan swung himselfout of bed, making everyattempt tomovesilently.Butas he dressed hurriedly,shivering in the cold, heheardKannicestir.

“Where are you going?”sheasked,soundingsleepy.

“MisterLillieisexpectingme.”

She watched him, herbrowfurrowingoncemore,as

it seemed to so often thesedayswhen they spoke of hiswork.Therehadbeenatime,only a few months before,when she had tried toconvince Ethan to give upthieftaking and join her inrunningtheDowsingRod.Hehad done little to encourageherhopeinthisregard,andithadbeensometimesincelastshe even mentioned the

possibility. But occasionallyhe caughther lookingat himinawaythattoldhimshestillwished he would consider achange in profession. Sheregarded him in that mannernow.

But all she said was “Becareful.Itcouldbedangeroustheretoday.”

“Aye,Iwill.”Hefinisheddressing,andbenttokissher.

“Are you sure you can’tstayawhilelonger?”

“I’msurethatifIstayfora minute it will turn into anhour,andifIstayforanhour,I’lllosetheentireday.”

She kissed him again.“You would consider such adayaloss?”

“Not at all. But I thinkthat I had best leave now,whileIstillcan.”

“But you’ll be backtonight?” she asked. Hersmile lingered, but he couldtell that she had asked thequestioninearnest.

“IpromisethatIwill.”“Good.Thengoon.”He left her, took a bit of

bread and butter from thekitchen and left tuppence inthetill,andlethimselfoutofthe tavern. Gray clouds still

covered the sky, but the airhad grown warmer. Ethanthought he could smell astormridingthewind.

His hands buried in hispockets,hefollowedhisusualcircuitousroutepastMurray’sBarracks and into the NorthEnd.He foundMiddleStreetlargely deserted.Richardson’s house appearedto have been abandoned;

Ethan saw no sign thatRichardson’s wife anddaughters remained within.The door had been proppedup against the house, but theentryway was not secured.Thebrokenwindowshadnotbeen boarded. The façade ofthestructureborestainsfromthe eggs and pieces of rottenfood thrownat itby themobthedaybefore.

Closer to Lillie’s drygoods shop, the woodeneffigies and the hand-shapedsign lay in the street, brokenand trampled. The structureitself, though,was unmarred,save for the tar and feathersthat still covered thewindows.

Ethan did not see Lilliemoving about within, andwhen he knocked no one

answered. He stood by thedoor,bouncingontheballsofhis feet to stay warm, andwaitedforthemerchant.

He didn’t have to waitlong.

Afewminuteslater,Lillieturned onto Middle Streetfrom Cross Street to thenorth. He halted uponspottingEthan,andeventookastepback;Ethanthoughthe

might flee. But recognitionflashed in his eyes and hecameforward,glancingaboutashedid.

“Ididn’texpecttoseeyouhere,MisterKaille,”hesaid.

“We have anarrangement, sir. I feel that Iowe you the courtesy of anexplanationbeforeIterminateit.”

The words crossed

Ethan’s lips before he gavemuch thought to theirmeaning. But as soon as heheardhimselfspeak them,heknew that this was why hehadcome.

Lillie scowled. “Whatmakes you think that I haveany interest in hearing yourexplanation?”

Ethan grinned, feelingbetter than he had in days.

“Frankly, sir, I couldn’t carelesswhetherornotyouwishto hear what I have to say.Youwillhearit.AndthenI’llbeonmyway.”

Lillie dismissed himwithawaveofhishandandturnedhis back, fumbling with thekeystohisshop.Ethanstrodeforward, grabbed themanbythe shoulder, and spun himaroundsothattheywereface-

to-face.Themerchant shrankaway, cowering like a curexpectingabeating.

“I just want to be leftalone,” he said, his voicequavering.

“Andsoyoushallbe.Butunderstand,youwill listen tomefirst.”

“Why should I? To hearmore insults? More threats?You’re all the same, you

riffraff. I am a simplemerchant, trying to make anhonest wage. I’ve donenothing wrong, and yet I’mbulliedandbeaten.Mywaresare stolen, destroyed.” Heslapped his leg, the soundechoing across the emptystreet. “I have done nothingwrong!”

Ethan laughed, whichonly seemed to infuriate the

man more. “You count mewith those who were in thestreet yesterday? You’re abigger fool than I thought.They hate me because I’vebeenworkingforyou.What’smore, I’ve refused to allymyself with the Sons ofLiberty because I believetheir tactics to be …irresponsible. They have toolittle respect for the sanctity

of a man’s property and toomuchconfidenceintheirownrighteousness. But you…”Ethanshookhishead.

“Men like you andEbenezer Richardson areworse by far than even thegreatest fools in that rabblegathered here yesterday.Because you would dismisstheir calls for libertywithouta thought. Of course they’re

naïve. Of course they’reblindedby theirardor for the‘great cause.’ I would evengrantthatmanyofthemhavebeendriven, at least initially,byparsimony,by theirdesiretoavoidanothertax.Buttheyare, in the end, fighting forsomething other than theweightoftheirownpurses.”

“You think me greedy?”Lillieasked,clearlyoutraged.

“I think you selfish andsmall.”

“You dome an injustice,sir!”

“If he was in that mob,withtherestoftherabble,heprobablydeservedit.”

Lillie paled at therepetition of his own words.Hisgaze,soangryamomentbefore, slid away. “I didn’tmeanthat,”hesaid,hisvoice

low.“Ebenezerisanidiot.Heshould never have fired intothatmob.Ididn’tknowatthetime that the boy was sogrievouslywounded.”

“Itoldyouhewas.”Lillie nodded. “You did.

But I didn’t believe you. Ithought you wereexaggerating, that yourpassionswereinflamedbyallthatyouhadseen.”

“They were,” Ethan said.“Theystillare.”

Lillie looked him in theeye, though this simple actseemedtotakeagreateffort.“So, you no longer wish toworkforme?”

“No,sir.Idon’t.”“I can make matters

difficultforyou,youknow.Imay be hated by the rab—”He licked his lips. “By those

who support Samuel Adamsandhiskind.But I’mstillaninfluential man. There arefamilieswho,atawordfromme,wouldneverdeigntohireyou.”

“Aye, I’m sure there are.Fortunately, crime cares notatallwhetheraman isWhigorTory.Thereareplentywhowill hireme.There are somewhowillbemore inclined to

do so if they hear you speakillofme.”

Lillie didn’t argue. HestaredatRichardson’shouse,taking in the damage.“They’re threatening us all,youknow.Istayed lastnightat the home of a friend. Mywife and children are therenow.Tobehonest,Iexpectedto find my shop in ruin thismorning.Iexpect thatoneof

thesemornsIwill.”“Yes,sir.”“I’m considering leaving

Boston.Mywifebelieveswewouldbesaferinthecountry,andI’minclinedtoagreewithher.”

“She may well be right,sir.”

Lillie’sexpressionsoured.“Very well, Mister Kaille. Isuppose matters are settled

between us. You worked forthewagesyoureceived,andIoweyounothingmore.”

“That’s my reckoning aswell.”

“Fine.Offwithyouthen.”Without another word,

Lillieturnedbacktohisdoor,his keys jangling oncemore.This time Ethan left him,relieved to be done workingfor the man, and, he had to

admittohimself,embarrassedby his own outburst. Lilliehad spoken true: He hadn’tdoneanythingwrong,atleastnot in a legal sense.He boreno responsibility forRichardson’s crime. Butchange was coming toBoston, to all the colonies.Legalities were fast beingovertaken by politics, andLilliewas on thewrong side

of the looming conflict. Ofthatmuch,hewascertain.

Ethan intended to makehis way back to Cooper’sAlley, where he rented aroomabove thecooperageofHenryDall.But his thoughtsstill churned with memoriesofthepreviousday,andwithfears born of the previoussummer. He walkednorthward from Middle

Street, crossing through theheart of the North End,skirted the base of Copp’sHill, and soon reached thewaterfront near Drake’sWharf, where he, JannaWindcatcher, and Mariz hadtheir final confrontation withNate Ramsey. He couldalmost smell the smoke fromtheblazeRamseystartedthatsummerdayinhisattemptto

escape.He scanned the wharves

arrayed before him, lookingfor the Muirenn, Ramsey’spink.ThenightbeforehehadalmostsuggestedtoGreenleafthathedothesame,butEthantrusted no one with this taskbuthimself.IfRamsey’sshipwashiddenwith a conjuring,the sheriff would walk rightpast it. Ethan wanted to

believe that he would sensethe conjuring, or wouldrecognize signs of aconcealment spell that othersmightmiss.

Or maybe he wasmisleadinghimself.Thetruthwas,assoonasitoccurredtohim that Ramsey might bealive and back in Boston, hehad known that he himselfwould have to search the

waterfront. Because even ifthe entire British army weretotakeonthistask,andevenif the king’s soldiers couldsense the lightest touch of aspell, Ethan would want tolook anyway. He feared thecaptain too much to placetrust in anyone else’sassurances.

Most of the harbor wasfrozen.Fewshipscouldhave

docked in the past week ortwo. But still Ethan resolvedto search for the captain’sship.HefollowedLynnStreetfrom Ruck’s Wharf toThornton’s Shipyard. AtNorthBattery,thestreetnamechanged. It did so again atHancock’s Wharf, and atLee’s Shipyard. But Ethanmaintained a slow, steadygait,ignoringthecoldandthe

fresheningwind,andthepainradiating up his bad leg intohis groin. He stared hard ateverymooredvessel,hiseyeswatering in the frigid air,tears running down hischeeks and into the raisedcollarofhisgreatcoat,wheretheyformedarimededgethatrubbed against his chin. Hisfingers grew numb with thecold, and his cheeks, nose,

andearsached.After crossing the creek

back into Cornhill, Ethanturned ontoMerchant’s Rowso that he could scan thewharvesoftheSouthEnd.Heturned at Long Wharf, andwalkedthelengthofthedockinto the very teeth of thatwind.At thewharf’s end, heturned back and thenfollowed the lanes past the

pointwhereheusuallywouldhaveturnedtogotoCooper’sAlley and past Fort Hill, sothat he could view thewharves along Belcher’sLane and Auchmutty Street,which jutted out into thewater like spines on a seaurchin. He continued ontoOrange Street, so that hecould see the piers locatedalong Boston’s Neck, and

didn’t conclude his searchuntil he had walked all theway to Gibbon’s Shipyardnear the town gate. He hadneverknownRamseytomoorhis ship at any of thesewharves, but he refused totakeanythingforgranted.

He had seen a few shipsthat resembled in superficialways theMuirenn—all werepinksofasizesimilar to that

ofRamsey’s ship. But Ethanmade a point of examiningthe escutcheon on eachvessel, and he also lookedclosely at the crewmen.Ramsey had inherited theshipfromhisfather,whomherevered; he took pride inbeing the second NateRamsey to captain theMuirenn. And he hadgathered a crew whom he

could trust to fight on hisbehalf,andwhoacceptedthathe was a conjurer. UnlessRamseyhadreplacedmostofhismen and rechristened thevessel—and Ethan did notbelieve that he would doeither—none of these pinkswerehis.

Staring back over icywaters, he railed at himself.First Reg had assured him

that the shade he saw wasunfamiliar to him, and nowEthan had wasted half a dayin pursuit of a vessel thatwasn’there, thatmightneverreturn. Perhaps he hadallowed his imagination andhisfearsofRamseytogetthebetterofhim.

As it happened, the FatSpider, TarijannaWindcatcher’s tavern, stood

but a short distance fromGibbon’sShipyard.DrawnbythepromiseofawarmhearthandabowlofoneofJanna’ssavory, spiced stews, Ethanhurried on to the publickhouse.

The Spider had changedlittle in the span of Ethan’sfriendshipwith Janna. Itwassmall for a tavern. Its woodhadbeenworntoapaleshade

of gray by the summer sunand winter snows and morestormsinspringandfallthanEthan cared to count. Theroof sagged alarmingly andthe walls stood crookedly,astagger under the building’sweight. The very first timeEthan saw the tavern hethought it one strong gust ofwind away from collapse. Inthe years since, gales had

come and gone, but still theSpider endured. Ethan hadcometowonderifJannausedconjurings to reinforce thestructure, but he had neverasked, fearing that shemighttakeoffense.

Heenteredthetavern,andwithout even pausing for hiseyestoadjusttothedimlight,walked to the bright fireburningalong the farwall of

Janna’sgreatroom.“Isthatyou,Kaille?”“Aye,it’sme.”Belatedly,

Ethanremovedhishat.Janna came out from

behindherbarandjoinedhimnear the fire.TheSpiderwascrowded with people andthickwiththearomasofstewandfreshbread,ofcloveandcinnamon, and, overlaying itall, the acrid smells of

woodsmoke and spermaceticandles.

“You look half froze todeath. Where have youbeen?”

“Alloverthecity.”Janna shook her head,

wearing her familiar scowl.She was diminutive; shelookedalmostfrail,wearingasimple linen dress and awoolenshawlwrappedtightly

around her bony shoulders.As ifbeingaself-proclaimedmarriage smith didn’t makeher enough of a curiosity,Jannawasalsooneofthefewfree Africans living inBoston. Her skin was thecolor of dark rum and herhair, as white as snow, wasshorn so short that Ethancould see her scalp throughthetightcurls.

She rarely talked abouthow she had managed toremain free, but over theyears, Ethan had piecedtogether a story that made acertainamountofsense.Bornin the Caribbean, she wasorphaned at sea as a younggirlandrescuedbyashipoutof Newport. She might havebeen taken inbya family,orshe might have been passed

fromhouseholdtohousehold;either way, she was neversold into slavery.Eventually,shemetawealthyshipbuilderwho fell in love with her.Because of her race, theycouldnotmarry,but themanprovided for her, and, whenhedied, left herwith enoughmoney tobuy theSpiderandtosecureher freedomfor therestofherlife.

Janna claimed to havenomemory of her family name.Sometimebetweenherrescueat sea and her arrival inBoston, she took the nameWindcatcher, because shelikedthewayitsounded.

Ethanwouldhavewalkedthrough fire for her, and hewasconvincedthatshewoulddothesameforhim.ButwithJanna, it wasn’t always easy

to tell. To say that she couldbedifficultwas tounderstatethe case, like saying that thekings of England and Francedidn’t always see eye-to-eye.ShewasaspricklyasanyoneEthanknew.Shewas also assmart, as strong, and, whenhe had need, as reliable afriend. Her knowledge ofconjuring dwarfed his own,andshedidn’tcarewhoknew

that she could cast spells. Aplacard on her door read “T.Windcatcher, MarriageSmith.Love isMagick.”Shemadenosecretofthefactthatshe sold herbs, oils,talismans, and other itemsintended to enhanceconjurings. Ethan sometimeswondered if she wasn’tdaring all of Boston to hangher as a witch. Thinking

about it though, he realizedthat before last summer’sbattle with Nate Ramsey hehad rarely seen her conjure,and never when there werepeople about who weren’talsospellers.Perhapsshewasmorecarefulthanhecredited.

Sheeyedhimnowasifhewere mad. “What are youdoin’ wanderin’ around thecity in thiskindofcold?Are

you tryin’ to catch yourdeath?”

Ethan shivered, thoughthefirewasalreadywarminghim. “Something like that,”he said, his voice low. Hereached into his pocket andpulled out a half shilling.“Can I have some stew andanale?”

She took the coin.“Course you can.” She

pointed toward an emptytable. “Sit yourself downthereandI’llberightout.”

He remained by the firefor a few moments morebefore taking a seat at thetable.His fingers had startedtotingleas theywarmed,butthe skin on his face still felttight. He kept his greatcoaton,atleastforthetimebeing.

Janna brought him his

stew and a small round ofbread.“I’llgetyouyourale,”she said, after placing thefoodinfrontofhim.

“Wait,Janna.”“I can’t talk right now,”

she said over her shoulder.“Youseehowbusythisplaceis.”

“I was searching thewharves,”hecalledtoher.

Shehalted,turned.

“That’s what had me outinthestreets.”

Janna had stilled, like acat stalking a sparrow. Hergazedartedaroundthetavern.At last she walked back toEthan’s table. “You werelookin’ for Ramsey’s ship?”sheasked,hervoicelow.

“Aye.” He faltered,feeling like a fool. But hecouldn’t keep himself from

asking the question thatburned in his chest. “Doyouknowifhe’sback,Janna?”

“If he was back, and Iknew it, Iwould’ve told youfirstthing.”

Some of Ethan’sapprehensionsluicedaway.“Iknow.Butyouhave a tavernto run.” He smiled. “And Iknow you don’t ventureoutsidewhenit’sthiscold.”

“You don’ understand,Kaille. If hewas back, and Iknew it, I would tell you,evenifitmeantIhadtoclosethis place down, and walkthrough hip-deep snow.”Shecrossed her arms over herchest.“Whywereyoulookin’forhim?”

Ethan indicated with anopen hand the chair besidehis. Annoyance flickered in

Janna’sdarkeyes,butshesat.Speaking in a low voice

and offering only thosedetails that he deemedessential, he told her aboutGordon’s beating of WillPryor, and recounted all thathe had seen and felt onMiddleStreetthedaybefore.

When he finished, Jannagave a small shake of herhead.“Thatalldoesn’tsound

likeRamsey tome.Whenhecomesback,he’sgonnacomeback hard, and he’s gonnacomestraightatyou.”

“Youmayberight.”“I ain’t sayin’ that this is

nothin’. Some conjurer ismessin’withthingsbetterleftalone. But I don’ think it’sRamsey.”

“I hope you’re right. Mythanks,Janna.”

She stood. “I have morestewonthefire.Whenyou’rereadyforanotherhelpin’youletmeknow.”

“Iwill.”She left him, returning a

fewsecondslaterwithhisale.Ethanateslowly,savoring

the warmth of the meal andthe rich spices Janna used inher cooking. Kannice’schowderswerethebestEthan

had found in all of Boston,buthewaswell-nighas fondofJanna’sislandstews.Theywere made with fowl andwhite beans, and flavoredwith nutmeg, pepper, and ablend of other spices hecouldn’t name. No otherpublick house in Bostonserved anything like them.Thealeshesold,ontheotherhand, was weak and barely

worth drinking, unlike theKent pale that he enjoyed attheDowser.

As he sopped up the lastof his stew with his bread,EthantriedtotakecomfortinJanna’scertaintythatRamseywas not responsible for theconjurings he had beenfeeling.HehaddoubtedReg,andevenwhathehadseen—or not seen—with his own

eyes. But surely he couldtrust Janna, who had taughthim somuch over the years.Andyethisdoubtsremained.His fears of the captain hadbegun to consume him, asthey had in the first weeksafter the fire at Drake’sWharf.

When Ethan had finishedeating and could stomach nomoreoftheale,hestoodand

crossedtothebar.Jannawaswiping the wood andwatchingapairofmensittingnearthebackofthetavern.

“Those two have beenthereformostoftheday,andthey’ve barely bought athing,” she said, her gazehawklike. “I think they’reonlyinheretokeepwarm.”

“Maybeyoushouldchasethemout.”

“I might.” She looked athim. “So you searched allmornin’ for Ramsey’s ship,andyoudidn’tfindit.”

“No, I didn’t. Nor did Isee or feel anything tomakeme believe that his ship ismoored but concealed by aspell. On the other hand, hecouldbeontheharboror theCharles, or any of the othersurroundingwaters.”

“You can make yourselfinsane thinkin’ that way. IfRamsey is here, and he’sdetermined that you ain’tgonna find him, there’snothin’youcando.”

Shewasright.“Goodday,Janna.Again,

mythanks.”He started for the door,

but stopped when Jannacalled his name. Turning, he

saw that she had come outfrombehindthebar.

“You said there was aghost there yesterday, whenthatboygotshot.”

“Aye,”hesaid.“You know Samuel

Adams, don’t you? That’ssomethin’ youmightwant totalktohimabout.”

The same thought hadcrossed Ethan’s mind. “I

will.”He walked to the door,

pausing to button his coatbefore stepping outside intothe cold. The wind wasblowing even harder now,and though the air waswarmer still, it was coldenough to scythe throughhisclothesandstinghisface.Heheldhishatinplacewithonehand, shoved the other hand

into his pocket, and strodetoward Cooper’s Alley,leaningintothestrengtheninggale.

Ethanhadhopedthatoncehewasoff theNeck,with itsopen leas, the houses andshopsoftheSouthEndwouldoffer some relief from theelements. They didn’t. Windblasted through the narrowstreets and alleyways,

keeninglikeawildbeast.He walked as swiftly as

he could, eager to reach hisroom, thoughheknew that itwould offer scant relief fromthecold.AshenearedDall’scooperage, however, he sawthat several soldiers,resplendent in red andwhite,hadgatheredoutsideHenry’sestablishment. And standingwith them, of course, was

none other than SheriffGreenleaf.

“There he is,” the sheriffsaiduponspottingEthan.

Ethan slowed, thenstopped, wondering what hehad done now to draw thesheriff’sattention.Perhapshehad been foolish to conjurethemantosleepthepreviousnight.

“You’retocomewithme,

Kaille,” Greenleaf said,leading the soldiers inEthan’s direction, hisexpressiongrim.

“AmIunderarrest?”“Should you be? Is there

something you care toconfess?”

Ethan shook his head.“What is it you want,Sheriff?”

“Iwantnothingtodowith

you.But someoneelsewantsaword.”

“Who?” Ethan asked, butalready he knew. Few menhad the authority to send thesheriffonsuchanerrand.

“The lieutenantgovernor,” Greenleaf said.“ThomasHutchinson.”

ChapterSEVEN

Though still lieutenant

governor in title, Hutchinsonhad been acting governor ofthe Province ofMassachusetts Bay since theprevious summer, whenFrancis Bernard left the cityfor England. Bernard hadbeen vilified by Boston’scitizenry, many of whomconsideredhimthemanmostresponsibleforthecontinuingoccupation. But Hutchinson

enjoyed little more goodwillthandidhis predecessor, andtheCrown’sunwillingness tomake his appointment asgovernor official had donenothing to enhance hisstanding.

EthanhadmetHutchinsonon several occasions, eachtime under difficultcircumstances.Back in1765,after mobs protesting

Parliament’s new Stamp Taxransacked Hutchinson’shome,thelieutenantgovernorsummoned Ethan to hischambersintheTownHouse.At the time, Ethan had beenhired by Abner Berson, oneof Boston’s wealthiestmerchants, to investigate themurderofhiselderdaughter.Hutchinson sought toconvinceEthanthat thesame

rabble who destroyed hishome were responsible forthemurder,andhehopedthatblame for both crimeswouldfallonSamuelAdamsandhisassociates. Ethan’s inquiryled to a different conclusion:Theriotandmurderwerethework of a conjurer acting onbehalf of some in Englandintentonweakening theveryagitators whom Hutchinson

wishedtoblame.Three years later, as the

occupation began,Ethanwashired by agents of theCustoms Board to find theconjurer responsible for themurders of nearly onehundred men aboard HMSGraystone, a ship in theoccupying fleet. On thisoccasion, with the beginningof the occupation going

poorly, Hutchinson gaveEthanamerefivedaystofindthose responsible. If Ethanfailed,thelieutenantgovernorwarned, he would put todeath every conjurer in thecity. Ethan found the killerswithbarelyanytimetospare,but stillHutchinson spokeofpurging Boston of all whodabbled in magick. Nearlyeighty years after so-called

witches were executed innearbySalem,Massachusetts,Ethan believed Hutchinsonremained willing to repeatthatbarbarity.

“Be careful how you usethat witchery of yours,” thelieutenant governor had saidat the end of their lastconversation. “I’ll go to mygrave believing that it’s anabomination,andIknowthat

Iamnotaloneinmybelief.”Ethan thought back on

that exchange as the sheriffand soldiers led him throughthe icy streets to the TownHouse. He wondered if hewould have been better offrefusing the summons,althoughhecouldn’t imaginethat Greenleaf would haveany compunction aboutdragginghimtoHutchinson’s

chambers against his will. Itseemed that in this case hehadnogoodchoices.

Ethan and Greenleafwalked together behind theregulars;fornowatleast,thesheriff was not treating himas a prisoner. Still, somestopped to stareatEthanandhis escort as they progressedthrough the city; mostignored them, however.

Uniformed soldiers were, bythis time, an all-too-familiarsightinBoston.

They soon reached theTown House, an impressivered-brick building, famousforitsgracefulsteeple,gabledfaçade, and ornate clock.While the soldiers waitedoutside, Greenleaf led Ethanintothebuildinganduptothesecondfloor.Thereherapped

once on the door toHutchinson’s chambers, and,at a summons from within,opened the door and wavedEthaninside.

Hutchinson stood at alarge desk, poring over asheaf of parchment. He halfturned at the sound of theirentrance and removed a pairof spectacles from thebridgeof his nose. “Ah, Sheriff

Greenleaf, Mister Kaille.Thank you for coming soquickly.”

“Ofcourse,YourHonor,”Greenleafsaid.

“Sheriff, please leave usforatime.”

Greenleaf’s face fell. HecastadarklookEthan’sway,butthenlethimselfoutofthechamber.

Ethan and the lieutenant

governor eyed each other insilenceforafewseconds,likemen preparing to duel.Hutchinson was tall withlarge eyes, a high forehead,and a long, aristocratic nose.Hehadnarrowshouldersthathe held thrust back, as ifconstantly standing atattention,so thatheappearedbarrel-chested. His hair wasgray, and in the year and a

halfsincetheirlastencounterthe lines in his face haddeepened considerably. Theoccupationofthecityhadnotbeenkindtohim.

“You have some idea ofwhy I’ve summoned you?”thelieutenantgovernorasked.

“Is it to accuse me ofcausing Christopher Seider’smurder?Orperhapstotellmethat all of Boston’s witches

are responsible and will beput to death at themorrow’sdawn?”

Hutchinson’s cheeksturned pink, but he did notrail at Ethan for hiseffrontery,asEthanexpected.Instead, he looked away, thecorners of his mouthquirking.“IsupposeIdeservethat.” He placed hisspectacles on his desk.

“Would you believe that IhavecometoregretthewayItreated you during theGraystoneaffair?”

It was one thing toconfront the lieutenantgovernorwithhisownwordsand actions. It was quiteanothertocallhimaliar.

“Aye,sir.Ibelieveit.”Hutchinson nodded, still

not lookingEthan in theeye.

“I asked the sheriff to bringyou here after he describedforme your visit to the gaollastnight.”

Ethan said nothing. Didhe refer toEthan’s eagernesstoseeRichardson,orthefactthat he used a conjuring toputGreenleaftosleep?

At last Hutchinson liftedhis gaze. “You suspectthat… that anactofmagick

caused Ebenezer Richardsontofireatthatmob.”

“I believe it’s possible,yes.”

“I’ve had my owndealings with mobs, as youmay recall.And Iunderstandtheimpulsetodrawaweaponin one’s own defense. Butfiringblindlyashedid…”Heshook his head. “Richardsonisanidiot.”

“Yes,sir,heis.”A faint smile touched

Hutchinson’s lips. “At leastwecanagreeonthat.”

Ethangrinnedaswell.“Atleast.”

“Thesheriffmentionednonames,saveyoursofcourse.Iwould like to know if youhaveinmindacertain—whatis it you call yourselves?—acertainconjurer?”

Even Hutchinson, whoknew so little aboutconjuring, would have heardRamsey’s name mentionedtheprevioussummer.Hewasnot about to give thelieutenant governor cause forpanic in the absence of anyevidence. “No, sir, I don’t.Notyetatleast.”

“Aretherepeopleofyourkind living in Boston who

might be capable of doingsomethingasdarkasthis?”

“None of whom I’maware,YourHonor.Isuspectthat if a conjurer isresponsible, it is someonefrom outside of the city. Arecent arrival perhaps. Butreallyallofthisisconjecture.Rightnow,I’mafraidIknowverylittle.”

“Yes,thesheriffindicated

asmuch.Heseemstobelievethat you might beresponsible.”

“Imaginemysurprise.”Hutchinson said nothing,

butcontinuedtowatchhim.“If this were my doing,”

Ethan said, “why would Ibring it to the sheriff’sattention in the first place? Iwould simply cast my spellsand let them work their

mischief.Seekinghimout asIdidwouldmakenosenseatall.”

“No, I don’t suppose itwould, though I do notpretend to understand theworkings of a witch—of aconjurer’smind.”Hutchinsonbegan to pace the chamber.“Tellme,MisterKaille:Haveyou discussed this matterwith Samuel Adams or his

fellowradicals?”“No,sir,Ihaven’t.Andif

I may, whatever you mightthinkofAdamsandhisallies,I do not believe that theywould sacrifice the life of achildfortheircause.”

Hutchinson halted. “Isthatright?”heasked,histonesharpening. “Perhaps if youknewthemasIdo,youwouldplace less faith in their

scruples.” He resumed hispacing, his thick eyebrowsbunched. “Oh, theywouldn’tbesocrassastohavetheladkilled, but I’ve no doubt thatthey will seek to turn thistragedy to their advantage inwhatever way they can.Already, I have receivedword that they intend toorganize some sort of publicdisplayafewdayshence.”

“Whatsortofdisplay?”The lieutenant gave an

impatient shake of his head.“I’ve no idea. It doesn’tmatter;whatevertheydowillonlymakemattersworseandleadusinexorablytowardthenextcrisis.”

He stopped again andfacedEthan.“Iknowthatyouhave had dealings withAdams and the rest. I asked

you about them before notbecauseIseektoblamethem—though I refuse to believethat they are blameless—butrather to ask that youprevailupon them to put an end tothese unlawful and perilousassemblies.”

“Sir—”“Clearly Adams didn’t

pull the trigger. Not even Ibelieve the man or his

colleagues capable of suchbarbarity.Butdon’tyousee?Hedidn’thaveto.HeorderedthosescoundrelsontoMiddleStreettomakeanexampleofTheophilusLillie—amanyouwere paid to protect, if Iunderstandcorrectly.”

Ethandidn’tdenyit.“Adams and his kind

organize thesemobswith theexpress intent of fomenting

unrest.Surelyyouunderstandthat.”Thelieutenantgovernorwas growing more animatedby the moment, his facereddening,spittle flyingfromhis mouth. “They incite therabble to a frenzy and setthem loose upon the city,knowing that all manner ofviolence and mayhem willfollow. Adams might havebeen comfortably ensconced

in his tavern over on UnionStreet, but he bearsresponsibility for the Seiderboy’s death.Hemay aswellhave loaded Richardson’smusket and thrust it into hishands.”

Ethan stared down at histricorn,whichheheldbeforehim,andhekeptsilent.

“You disagree,”Hutchinsonsaidwithahintof

asperity.“WhetherornotIagreeis

unimportant.Youwantmetoconvince Samuel Adams togo against his very nature.There isn’t a man in Bostonwhocoulddothat.I’msureIcan’t. Adams and I areacquaintances and nothingmore.Tobehonest,wedon’tparticularly like each other.You may find this hard to

credit, but he thinks me toomuch a Tory to be trusted.And I—” Ethan stoppedhimself. “Well, let’s saysimply that I don’t alwaysagreewithhistactics.”

“Apparently we agree onthat as well,” Hutchinsonmuttered.

“As I’ve already toldyou,” Ethan said, “I don’tbelieve that Adams would

sacrifice a child’s life forhiscause.”

Hutchinson’s laugh wasbitter. “Where do you thinkall of this leads, MisterKaille? Are you truly sonaïve?Adams and the otherswant separation fromEngland. Do you believe theCrownwill simply allow thecolonies to leave the BritishEmpire?”

“No,Idon’tsuppose—”“Of course not. So then

it’s war we’re talking about,isn’t it? Before this is over,howmany lads do you thinkwill die for Adams’s cause?A thousand? Ten thousand?More?”

“That’s not the same, sir,and you know it. If you’reright, the kingwill send ladsto fight here.Do you impute

similar motives to HisMajesty?”Hutchinsondidnotdeign to answer and Ethanthinned a smile. “I thoughtnot.AsforAdams,Ihavenoinfluence with the man. Ifyou want someone to speakwith him, I would suggestyou seek out one of thosewhom he keeps in hisconfidence.”

“Who? Otis? Warren?

Revere? They won’t treatwithme.Theyareasbesottedwiththenotionof‘liberty’asAdams.”

“Bethatasitmay.”The lieutenant governor

shookhishead,hisfrustrationmanifest in his expression.“Soyourefusetohelpme.”

“Idon’tbelieveIcanhelpyou.”

“Icanpayyou.Orrather,

the Province ofMassachusetts Bay can payyou.”

“Paymetodowhat?”“To…tofindthewitch—

the conjurer—who cast thatspell you felt on MiddleStreet.”

“If you would care toengage my services as athieftaker Iwouldconsider itanhonortoworkonbehalfof

theprovince.”“Fivepounds?”Ethannodded.“Done.”“AndAdams?”“For that you’ll need to

findanotherman.”Hutchinson’smiensoured

once more. “Yes, very well.Goodday,MisterKaille.”

“Goodday,sir.”Ethan turned and walked

to the door. Before he could

pull it open, however, thelieutenant governor said,“Hold,MisterKaille.”

Ethanfacedhim.“I have a proposition for

you. You doubt that Adamswould use the death of theSeider boy to advance hispolitical aims. I know thatyou’re wrong. I will acceptthat you don’twish to speakwithhimonmybehalf.ButI

wouldask this: If in thenextseveraldaysyouperceivethatIamrightandyouarewrongabouttheman’sscruples,youwillgotohim,asI’veasked.”

Ethan weighed theproposal. “And if it turnsoutthatI’mright?”

“In that case,ouroriginalarrangement stands,with thisone amendment: If you findthe conjurer, I will pay you

from my own purse anotherthree pounds above the fiveI’vealreadypromisedyou.”

“All right,” Ethan said,grinning.

“You find this amusing?”Hutchinsonasked.

“Not the circumstances,no. But I will admit that Inever imaginedwhen SheriffGreenleaf was bringing mehere that our congresswould

endwithawager.”“We’re living in

interestingtimes.”“Aye,sir.Thatweare.”“We have an agreement,

then?”“Wedo,sir.”He left the lieutenant

governor’s chambers andfound the sheriff waiting forhiminthecorridor.

“Well?”Greenleafasked.

“Ihaveajob,”Ethansaid,donning his hat and steppingpast the sheriff. “And awager.”

***

When Ethan reached Dall’scooperage, the sky wasalreadystartingtodarken.HecouldhearHenryhammeringawaywithin,andShellysatinfront of the door, her tail

thumpingonthecobblestonesas she marked Ethan’sapproach.

The cooperage had beenbuilt by Henry’s grandfathersome sixty years before and,though weathered and worn,itremainedasturdybuilding.A sign over the oaken doorread “Dall’s Barrels andCrates,” and a second on thedoor itself read “OpenEntr.”

Ethan pushed the door open,removed his hat, and slippedinside.

It was quite warmwithinthecooperage,and it smelledof smoke, freshly cut wood,and sweat. A fire burnedbrightly in the hearth alongthebackwall.Henrystoodathis workbench, hammeringthe last stays in place on abarrel.HewavedatEthanbut

continued to pound away atthe stays, until at last hetossed the hammer onto thebarrel and dropped himselfontohisbench,wiping sweatfromhisbrow.

“Allright,Henry?”The cooper shrugged. “I

gueth,”hesaid,withhisusuallisp, a product of the largegapwherehis front top teethused to be. “Working too

hard.You?”“Aboutthesame.”“Isawthatthesheriffwas

here for you, with a fewlobsterbacks. What’d theywant?”

“They took me to seeThomasHutchinson.”

Henry looked impressed.“Youintrouble?”

“Aren’tIalways.”The cooper cackled at

that, but soon sobered. “Thisis no time to get in troublewith them soldiers, Ethan.Notafteryesterday.”

“I know,” Ethan said.Hepaused, then, “I was therewhenChristopherSeiderwasshot.”

“Youwere in thatmob?”Henry asked, soundingsurprised.

“Not exactly. I was

working…” He didn’t finishthe thought. He couldn’tbring himself to admit to thecooper that he had beenworking for one of thenonimportationviolators.

“It’s a bad business,”Henrysaidwithaslowshakeof his head. “And it’s goingto get worse before it getsbetter.”

“Where do you stand on

allofthis,Henry?”The cooper regarded him

solemnly. Ethan and Henryhad never before discussedpolitics,andEthanfearedthathe had given offense byasking.

But eventually Henryshrugged again. “I guess Ithink that if Samuel Adamsbelievesweshouldhavemoreliberty,Ibelieveit,too.”

“YoulikeAdams.”“I liked his father. He

stoodup forwhathe thoughtwas right, and he wasn’tafraidofanyone,noteventhepeoplewithmoneywhocametohatehim.Irespectedthat.Ithink the sonhas abit of hisfather in him.”Hepicked upa metal cup that had beenbeside himon the bench andsipped what Ethan assumed

was water, all the whileeyeingEthanover the rimofthecup.Placingitbackonthebench, he said, “I’ve alwaysfiguredyouforaTory.AmIwrong?”

“Youwouldn’thavebeenafewyearsago,”Ethansaid.He gazed at the fire. “Theoccupation has changed myviews.”

“It’s changed a lot of

people’sviews.”“Aye,thatithas.”They sat in silence for a

minute or two. The windrattledHenry’sdoor.

“I think more snow’scoming,”Henrysaid.“Itbeenprettycoldupinyourroom?”

“Aye. I’ll probably be atthe Dowsing Rod tonight.”Ethanstood.“It’sgoodtoseeyou,Henry.”

The cooper gave a gap-toothed grin. “And you,Ethan. Maybe now thatyou’re not a Tory, I’ll seemoreofyou.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”Henry sat a little

straighter.“I’vebeengoingtosome of the assemblies,” hesaid, pride in his voice. “It’smostlyyoung fellas,but theymade room for me. And

there’s bound to be morenow, after what’s happened.Word is Adams already hasplansforsomethingbig.”

Ethan thought of hisconversation withHutchinson,a tight feeling inhisgut.“Doyouknowwhatitis?”

“No. But I’ll be there.Youcancountonthat.”

“Well,becareful,Henry.”

“Oh, I will. Goodevening,Ethan.”

Ethan forced a smile andlet himself out of thecooperage.He paused by thedoor to scratch Shelly’s earsbefore climbing the stairwayto his small, cold room.Enough daylight still seepedin through hiswindow to lethim see without lighting acandle.Heconsideredusinga

spell to light a fire in hishearth, but he didn’t plan tostay long, and he had only asmall supply of firewoodremaining. He merely sat onhisbed,hiselbowsrestingonhisknees.

He was working for theCrown. He hadn’t givenmuch thought to what thismeant when he agreed toHutchinson’s proposal, but

now he regretted theirarrangement. What wouldKannicethink?AndDiver?

True, he had only beenhired to find the conjurerresponsibleforwhateverspellwas used against Richardson—if such a spell had evenbeencast.Butstill,itfeltlikea betrayal. What was more,Henry believed—asHutchinsondid—thatSamuel

Adamshad it inmind to usethe death of ChristopherSeider as justification forfurther agitation against theCrown. Which meant thatEthan would have to speakwithAdamsonthelieutenantgovernor’s behalf. NeitherKannice nor Diver would behappyaboutthat.

Butwhatwashesupposedto do? He had stopped

working for Lillie, for hisownsakeaswellasforthem,at significant cost to himself.Two nights before, he hadlost yet another payment toSephira.Heneededtoeatandto pay Henry for his room.Perhaps the Empress of theSouth End could afford torefuse those jobs she founddistasteful or beneath herstation,butEthancouldn’t.

“I’m a thieftaker,” hemurmured in the gatheringgloom.“ThisiswhatIdo.”

Surely Kannice wouldunderstand. And still he sat,not yet ready to face her,unsureofwhenhewouldbe.Ultimately, it was the windand the cold, and thegrowlingofhisstomach, thatforcedhimtohisfeetandoutintothenight.

Once outside, he beat ahasty trail to the Dowser,ignoring the pain in his leg,andshiveringwitheverynewgust of that cuttingwind.Ashe crossed the city, a fewflakes of snow fell, whippedalong by the gale. Ethanremembered winds of thissortfromhisdaysasasailor;usually they augured greatandterriblestorms.

When he reached theDowser he found it far lesscrowdedthanusual.Thegreatroom smelled heavily ofsmoke,andKelfkneltby thehearth,workingabellows,hisface pink and his eyeswatering.

Ethan joined him there.“CanIhelp?”

Kelf shook his head. “Idon’t think there’s anything

to be done. It’s burnin’ wellenough, but every time thewindblowsthesmokecomesbackdown.”

“Whereiseveryone?”Kelf dropped the bellows

and stood with some effort.“At theirhomes,most likely.Wordis, thisisgoingtobeabigone.”

Ethan gave him a sharplook.“Doyouhavethatfrom

Adams?”“Adams?” Kelf repeated,

eyeing Ethan as he would amadman.“YoumeanSamuelAdams?WhatinGod’snamewouldheknowaboutit?”

“What are you talkingabout,Kelf?”

“Thestormthat’scomin’,of course.Word is it’s a bigone. What were you talkin’about?”

“The next…” He shookhis head. “It doesn’t matter.Mymind’sonotherthings.”

Kelf regarded himwith adeepeningfrown.Hegesturedfor Ethan to follow andlumberedbacktothebar.

“There’s chowder,” thebarman said over hisshoulder. “Do you wantsome?”

“Please.Andanale.”

As they reached the bar,Kannice emerged from thekitchen carrying a stack ofbowls. Seeing Ethan, shesmiled and leaned across thecounter to kiss him. “I wasafraid youwouldn’t get backtonight; it’s blowingsomethingfierceoutthere.”

“Aye. Snow’s starting tofall.”

Herexpressiongrewmore

guarded. “How was it withLillietoday?”

“I only stayed longenough to tell him that Iwouldn’tbeworking forhimanylonger.”

Shebeamed.“Really?”“Aye. There’s blood on

hismoney.Idon’twantit.”“Youdidtheright—”He held up a hand,

stoppingher.“Beforeyousay

more, you should hear therest.”

Her smile faded. Shenoddedforhimtogoon.

“The sheriff paid me avisit earlier today. ThomasHutchinson wished to speakwith me. It seems GreenleafrelatedtohimwhatI thoughtIfeltbeforeChrisSeiderwasshot.Hutchinsonwantsmetofind whoever was

responsible.”“So, you’re working for

Hutchinson?”“I’m working for the

Province of MassachusettsBay.”

“But only to find…” Sheglanced around and leanedcloser to him. “Only to findtheconjurer,right?”

“Aye, to find theconjurer.” Perhaps he should

have mentioned as well thathewould need to speakwithSamuel Adams, but hecouldn’t bring himself to tellherjustthen.

“Well,” she said, “ifthere’s someone using spellsto hurt children that way, heshould be dealt with. Andwho better than you to findhim?”

“Soyou’renotangrywith

me?”Kannice shrugged. “How

much is Hutchinson—orrather the province—payingyou?”

“Five pounds, if Isucceed.”

“And how much of thatwillyoubespendingonme?”

Ethan laughed. “A gooddealitwouldseem.”

“Thenno,I’mnotangry.”

She grew serious oncemore.“You need to earn a living,Ethan.Iunderstandthat.”

Hecuppedahandaroundher cheek. “Thank you.”Theykissedagain.“Willyoube closing early tonight,MissusLester?Onaccountoftheweather,Imean.”

Candlelightdanced inherblue eyes. “That’s my plan.Onaccountoftheweather.”

It was another lateevening.

***

Throughout the night, thestorm raged outside theDowser, rattling the shutterson Kannice’s bedroomwindow and filling thechamber with billows ofsmoke from the blaze in herhearth. Falling snow

scratched at the shutters andevery new gust of windseemed to suck from theroomwhatlittlewarmthcamefromthelow-burningfire.

Ethan woke oftenthroughout the night, andknew that Kannice did, too.Heknewaswell,though,thatin a stormsuchas this, therewould be few people abroadin the streets. He had

nowhere to be, and Kannicehad no reason to open thetavern.Shortlyafterdawn,hefellintoadeepsleep,onlytobeawakenedagain sometimelater by a deep rumble ofthunder.

“Did you hear that?” hewhispered, wondering ifperhapsithadbeenapulseofmagic.

“Aye,” Kannice

whispered.“Ican’trememberthe last timewe had thunderduringawinterstorm.”

He let out a breath,relievedthatshehadheardit,too. Thunder growled again,closer this time. From thefrenzied scrabbling at theshutters, it seemed that thesnowwas falling harder thanever.

Kannice moved closer to

him, her skin warm againsthis.“I thinkwe’restuckherefortheday.”

Heranhisfingersthroughher hair and down over herback.“Nowthat,”hesaid,“isashame.”

Hunger drove them fromherbedsometimelater.Theydressed and went downstairsto the kitchen, where Ethan,savoring a rare morning of

leisure, cooked them a grandbreakfast of pancake, bacon,and eggs. Thunder continuedto shake the tavern, andlightningflickeredaroundtheedgesofthewindowshutters.

While they were eating,and sipping English tea thatKannice swore she hadpurchased months before thenonimportation agreementstook effect, there came a

poundingatthetaverndoor.“Could that be Kelf?”

Ethanasked.Kannice stared at the

door, a frownonher face. “Isuppose.Butheand Iagreedlast night that if the stormwas as bad as some said itwould be, he wouldn’t cometothebaruntillateintheday,ifatall.”

Ethan stood, drew his

knife, and pushed up hissleeve. They approached thedoor together. Kannice drewthe lock key fromwithin herbodice.

Whoever had comehammered at the door asecondtime.

“Who’s there?” Kannicecalled.

“Kannice?” came thereply.“Ethan?It’sme,Diver.

Derrey.”Kannice looked back at

Ethan and rolled her eyes.She unlocked the door andpulleditopen.

Diver stood before them,his coat, scarf, andMonmouth cap caked withsnow. Beyond him Ethancould see that the entire citywasblanketedinwhite.Theremusthavebeenatleastafoot

of snow in the street, and itwas still falling so hard thathecouldbarelyseetheshopson the far side of SudburyStreet.

Diver made to enter thetavern, but Kannice plantedherself directly in front ofhim.

“Don’tyoudare!”“But,I’mcold!”“Andyoucangetwarmas

soon as you take off thoseboots,” she said, gesturing athis feet, which werecompletely covered in snow.“But you will not track allthatsnowintomytavern.”

Diver looked at Ethan, apleainhisdarkeyes.

Ethan held up his hands.“Ican’thelpyou,Diver.”

“Well, at least giveme ashouldertoholdonto.”

Ethan moved to thethreshold, putting himself asclose to Diver as he couldwithout stepping into thesnow himself. Diver grippedhis shoulder with one handand wrestled off his bootswiththeother.

“All right?” he askedKannicewhenhewasdone.

She regarded him with acritical eye, then pulled off

his hat and shook the snowoff it. Still holding it, shebrushedsnowoffhiscoat.

“Very well,” she said atlast,steppingaside.

Diver hurried past themboth to the hearth. Kanniceand Ethan shared a smile.Kannice closed the door andEthanjoinedhisfriendbeforethefire.

“What possible reason

couldyouhave forbeingoutinsuchastorm?”heasked.

“Youhaven’t heard then.I told Deborah that youwouldn’tknow.”

Ethan’spulsequickened.“Know what?” Kannice

asked.“Samuel Adams is

arranging a funeral for ChrisSeider. It’s to take place theday after tomorrow. He

expects it will draw a crowdthe likeofwhich the lobstershaveneverseen.”

ChapterEIGHT

Ethan’s conversation with

Henry had prepared him forthis,butstillhedidn’twanttobelieve what Diver wastellingthem.

“He’s going to use theboy’s funeral to gatheranothermob?”

“No!”Diversaid.“It’snotlikethat.Notreally.”

“Tell me how it’sdifferent.”

Diver opened his mouth,

closed it again. “Well, whatdo you expect, Ethan?Richardsonshottheladwhiletrying to defend TheophilusLillieandtheotherimporters,didn’the?”

Ethan shook his head.That wasn’t precisely whathad happened. But thinkingabout it he knew that forAdams’s purposes it wascloseenough.“Goon.”

“So, it’s like people aresaying. Chris Seider died forthe causeof liberty.He’s thefirst,butprobablynotthelast.And he deserves a hero’sfuneral.”

Kannice had joined thembythehearth.Sheslippedherhand into Ethan’s. “You saythiswillbeintwodays?”

“That’s right. Monday.We’retogatherattheLiberty

Tree.”Ethan shuddered. The

LibertyTreehad longbeenasymbol of Adams’s cause,beginningbackin1765,wheneffigiesofAndrewOliverandother Crown officials werehung from its branches. Butthe tree was also significantfor Ethan. That samesummer,hewaschainedtoitstrunk and tortured by the

conjurer who killed JenniferBerson. He managed to winhis freedom and kill hiscaptor, although, ironically,only after Adams shot theman.

HegaveKannice’shandaquick squeeze and thenreleasedit.“Ihavetogo,”hesaid.

She rounded on him.“Go?Gowhere?”

“I have to speak withAdams.”

“Why?” she asked,narrowing her eyes. “Doesthishaveanythingtodowithyournewemployer?”

She was as clever asanyoneheknew.

“Aye,itdoes.”“Whoareyouworkingfor

now?” Diver asked, lookingfromoneofthemtotheother.

Ethan caught Kannice’seyeandgaveasmallshakeofhishead.

“Ethan?”“It doesn’t matter, Diver.

ButIhavetogo.”Kannicedidn’t lookatall

happy, but she said, “Comebackwhenyou’redone.”

“Iwill.”He retrievedhisgreatcoat

fromher bedroom, pulled on

his scarf and gloves, and putonhishat.

“You didn’t finish yourbreakfast,” Kannice said, ashe came back down to thegreatroom.

“Give it tohim,”he said,wavingahandatDiver.

He stepped to the door,but halted and faced hisfriendagain.“IsAdamsathishome or at the Green

Dragon?”“I’m not sure,” Diver

said.“TheDragon,Ithink.”“Mythanks.”Ethan pulled the door

openandsquintedagainsttheglareofthesnow.Theairwasthick with flakes, and thewindstillblew,thoughnotasfiercely as it had. Thunderrumbled in the distance.Ethan struck out southward

onSudbury.The distance between the

Dowser and the GreenDragonwasnotgreat.Butthestreets were choked withsnow, which made for slowgoing.Witheverystep,Ethansankknee-deep,untilhislegsandfeetwerewet,heavy,andcold.Snowflewintohiseyesandgatheredonhisshouldersandback.Hisbad leg ached,

andthoughhisfaceandhandswerefreezing,bythetimehereached the Dragon, he wassweatingwithinhisgreatcoat.

The tavernwashoused inthebasementofaplain, two-story brick building that wasownedby theFreemasons.Acast-iron dragon sat perchedover the entryway, its wingsraised, tongues of sculptedflame issuing from its open

mouth. Ethan paused in thedoorway to shake the snowoffofhishatandcoatbeforedescendingadimstairway tothetavern.

The storm might havekept much of Boston’scitizenryathomeonthisday,but the Green Dragonoverflowedwithpeople,theirvoices raised in a din ofconversations. A few drank

ales or ate from plates ofoysters. Most however,appeared to be there to talkand plan. Ethan threaded hisway through the patrons,searching for Adams andmoving in the generaldirection of a small room atthe back of the tavernwherehe last had encountered theman.

Reaching the door, he

knockedonce.Immediately the door

opened, revealing a chamberascrowdedasthegreatroom,itsairhazedwithpipesmoke.

Ethandidn’trecognizetheyoung gentleman whoblockedhisway.

“Who are you?” the manasked,soundingmoreharriedthanthreatening.

“Ethan Kaille. I’m

lookingforSamuelAdams.”“You and half ofBoston.

He’sbusyrightnow.”The man started to close

thedoor.Ethanputoutahandtostophim.

“Nowseehere—”“MisterAdamsandIhave

had dealings before. Andtoday I bear amessage fromThomasHutchinson.”

The man’s expression

turnedcold.“Andwhyshouldanyofuscarewhathehastosay?”

“Because likehimornot,heistheactinggovernor.”

“Aye.Fine.Givemeyourmessage. I’ll see that itreachesSamuel.”

Ethan shook his head.“No. I’m to give it to himpersonally.”

“Idon’tthinkso.”

Asecondman,oneEthanrecognized, appeared at theshoulder of the first. Hewasyoung as well, tall, withexpressivedarkeyes.

“What is this, John?”JosephWarrenasked.

He glanced at Ethan,looked a second time.Recognition flashed in hisdark eyes, though hisexpression was no more

welcoming than that of thefirstman.

“MisterKaille,isn’tit?”“Aye,DoctorWarren.It’s

a pleasure to see you again,sir.”

“He wishes to seeSamuel,” John said. “Heclaims to bear a messagefromHutchinsonhimself.”

“Isthatso?”“Aye,” Ethan said. “I

know thatMisterAdams hasmore important things to dothantreatwithme.ButIneedamomentofhistime.”

Warren looked over hisshoulder at the throng,leading Ethan to believe thatAdams stoodat the centerofit.HefacedEthanagain,andEthan was certain that thedoctorwouldsendhimaway.Buthe said, “Yes, verywell.

Waithere,MisterKaille.”Hepatted the other man on theshoulder.“It’sallright,John.Thankyou.”

Warren wandered backinto the crowded room,leaving John to guard thedoor. He made no effort toshutitinEthan’sface,buthedid seem determined thatEthan would not, under anycircumstances, enter the

chamber.After several minutes,

Ethan saw Warren detachhimself from the cluster ofmen in the room. He wasfollowed by a shorter figurewearing red breeches and amatchingwaistcoat.Thismanhad gray, plaited hair andpenetratingdarkblueeyes.

SamuelAdamswasbut afew years older than Ethan,

but, as with Hutchinson, theoccupation of the city hadtakenitstollonhim.Hisface,while stillpleasantandopen,appeared somewhat sallow.The palsy that had afflictedhim all his life was morepronounced than Ethanremembered; his head andhands shook noticeably.Nevertheless,hesmiledasheprofferedahand.

Ethan grasped it. Adamsstillpossessedafirmgrip.

“Mister Kaille,” he said,speaking softly and yetmanaging to make himselfheard over the voices of themen around them. “It’s goodtoseeyouagain.”

“Andyou,MisterAdams.Thank you for agreeing tospeak with me. I know howbusyyouarerightnow.”

“Morethanatanypointinourstruggle.Butperhapsthatis why you’re here.” Heturned to Warren. “Joseph,MisterKaille and I require afewmomentsalone.Ibelievewe’ll find a bit of privacyupstairs. In the meanwhile,youshouldcontinuewith thearrangements.”

“Ofcourse.”“With all the snow that

has fallen today, it will bemore difficult than usual tocommunicate our intentionsto thosemost likely toattendthefuneral.We’llneedtousethe Gazette and othersympathetic papers. HaveJames and Paul work on anannouncement.”

“Very well.” Warren’sgaze flicked toward Ethan.“Don’t keep him long,” he

said.Before Ethan could

answer,Adamschuckledandsaid, “He’ll keep me nolongerthanIwishtobekept,and no shorter either.” Hegestured toward the greatroom. “This way, MisterKaille.Tothestairway.”

Ethan and Adams begantowendtheirwaythroughthepacked room, but progress

came slowly.At last, AdamssteppedpastEthanandsaidinaringingvoice,“Pleasemakeway,gentlemen.”

He might as well havebeen Moses with his greatstaff.Thecrowdpartedasbydivine intervention, allowingAdams to lead Ethan to thestairs.

By the time they reachedthe top of the stairway,

Adams was breathing hardandhisfacewasflushed.

“Do you need to rest,sir?” Ethan asked, maskinghisalarm.

Adams waved off thequestion with obviousimpatience, and led Ethandown a corridor to whatappearedtobeasmalloffice.

“This belongs to thejunior warden of the

Freemasons,” Adams toldEthan over his shoulder.“UsuallyIwouldn’tpresume,but he won’t be comingtoday, and I doubt he’llmind.”

He shut the door behindthem and went to the glazedwindow that looked out ontothe building’s grounds. Thesnowwaspiledsohighontheoutersill that thebottomhalf

ofthewindowwasobscured.“It’s still falling,”Adams

said. “Perhaps God doesn’twish for us to go aheadwithourplans.”Heturnedtolookat Ethan. “I know thelieutenant governor does not.Isthatnotwhyyou’vecome?To tell me that Hutchinsonrequestsourforbearance?”

“I’ve come for a numberofreasons,sir.”

“Including that one. I’mdisappointed in you, MisterKaille. There was a timewhen I thought you mightjoinourcause,whenIsawinyou amanwhowould cometo embrace the notion ofliberty. And now here youstand: a messenger for thegreatest enemy of liberty inall of Boston. How did thishappen?”

Ethan bristled. “Youmistake me for a servant ofthe Crown, sir. I am not. Iremain, as I have alwaysbeen, a subject of theBritishEmpire. Beyond that, as youwell know, I’m a thieftakerand a conjurer, and it is inthose capacities that I standbeforeyou.”

A small smile played atthe corners of Adams’s

mouth. “You have some firein you, Mister Kaille. Oneneed only stir the coals a bittoseeit.”

Ethan tried to maintain ahardglare,butbeforelonghehadtolookaway.Heallowedhimself a small breathlesslaugh.“Sincethedaywemet,you’ve reveled in provokingme.Whyisthat?”

“It is, as I’ve said,

becauseof thepotential Iseewithin you. I still hope thatsomeday you’ll join thepatriotcause.”

“Youandeveryoneelse,”Ethanmuttered.

Adams quirked aneyebrow. Ethan wished hehad kept that thought tohimself.

“In recent months, afriend has joined your cause.

Andthereis…someoneelseaswellwhowouldliketoseemea…apatriot,asyouputit.”

“Awoman.”Ethan laughed again,

openly this time. “Is it soobvious?”

“Always,”Adamssaid.“In truth, sir, I can

imagineaday,not longfromnow, when I’ll be willing to

join you and the Sons ofLiberty. But this is not thatday.Wehaveothermatterstodiscuss.”

“Verywell,MisterKaille.Proceed.”

“First, you should knowthat I was on Middle Streettwo days ago whenChristopherSeiderwasshot.Ihad been working forTheophilusLillie.”

Adams’s expressionclouded. “Had beenworking?”

“Aye. After Richardsonshottheboy,ItoldLilliethatI would no longer take hismoney.”

“I suppose that’sadmirable, though I believeyou should have scrupled totake his coin when first heofferedit.”

Ethan swallowed the firstretort that came to mind.“Times have been hard,” hesaid instead. “I make noapologies for trying toearnaliving.”

Adams appeared to thinkbetter of a reply of his own.“So you were there when ithappened.”

“That’s right.And beforeRichardson fired, I felt a

conjuring.”“A conjuring.” Adams

said, his eyes widening.“Magick, youmean?Doyouthink that’s why he did it?Are you saying that someform of witchery forced himtokillthelad?”

“I believe it’s possible.Beyond that, I can saynothingwith any confidence.ButIhavetoaskyou—”

“No! I know full wellwhatyouwish toask,MisterKaille, and the answer is no!Think what you will of me,but I am no murderer, norwould I ever countenance anactofsuchsavagery!”

“Then allow me to offermymostsincereapologiesforevensuggestingasmuch.”

“Is this what Hutchinsonsent you to do? Does he

believe that we areresponsible?”

“No, sir. Never in myconversationwithhimdidhesuggest that you or anyoneelse in the Sons of Libertywished to see ChristopherSeider killed. And please letme be clear. I don’t believethat youwould ever sanctionthe murder of anyone, muchless a child. In fact, I

defended you to thelieutenant governor—that, asmuchasanything,iswhyI’mhere.ButIneedtoknowif,toyour knowledge, there areconjurers among the mendownstairs.”

Adams did not appearmollified, but afterconsidering the matter heshook his head. “Not to myknowledge.Butreally,Mister

Kaille, how would I knowsuch I thing? I know thatyou’reaconjurerbecauseyoutellmeso,andbecauseonce,someyears ago, I saw thingsthat to this day I don’t fullycomprehend.”

“I understand, sir. In thatcase, with your permission,when we’re done here, I’llaccompanyyoudownstairssothat I might determine for

myself if there are conjurersamongyourbrethren.”

“Yes, all right.” Adamsrubbed a palsied hand acrosshis brow. “If this … thisconjuringthatyoufeltiswhatmadeRichardsonfireintothecrowd—”

“I don’t know that forcertain.”

“But if it did, then hewould not be guilty of

murder,wouldhe?”“He pulled the trigger.

Hundreds saw him do it. Hewill be chargedwithmurder,andthoughI’mnoattorney,Ifind it impossible to imaginethat he won’t be foundguilty.”

“That’s not really what Iasked,” Adams said, ahaunted look in his eyes. “Inthe eyes of the law, he may

be guilty, but you’resuggesting that he may nothave acted of his ownvolition.”

“Aye.”“In all of our dealings—

yoursandmine—Ihavetriedto accept that your ability toconjuredoesnotmakeyouadevil in theeyesofGod.Butitseemstomethatwheneverwe speak, it is to discuss

somenewatrocitycommittedwith these same powers thatyou possess. Forgive me forsaying so, but I fear yourwitchery.”

“Manyfeelasyoudo,sir.I canonly respondby tellingyouthatI’vedonegreatgoodwith my spells. I’ve healedwounds, saved lives, anddiscoveredtheperpetratorsofcrimes who might otherwise

havegoneunpunished.”Adams nodded, but said

nothing.After a brief,

uncomfortable silence, Ethansaid, “I should allow you toreturn to your friendsdownstairs.”

“Not so fast, MisterKaille. There is still thematter of Hutchinson todiscuss.You’veindicatedthat

he doesn’t think me amurderer,at leastnotyet,forwhich Iamgrateful.Butyoualso said that you defendedme in his presence, which iswhyyou’rehere.Iwouldlikeyoutoexplainthat.”

Ethan’s cheeks burned.Hefixedhiseyesonthefloorin front of him. “Thelieutenantgovernorsuggestedthatwhile youmight not kill

a child, you would not beaboveusingthelad’sdeathtoyour advantage and that ofyour cause. I disagreed, andtoldhimthatyouwouldnevermake use of tragedy in thatway. Mister Hutchinson ispayingme, inhiscapacityasleaderoftheprovince,tofindthe conjurer who cast thisspell, assuming that the spellwas directed at Richardson.

And we agreed to a bit of awager. If I was right aboutyou, and youmade no effortto turn Christopher Seider’smurder to your purposes, hewouldpaymeextra.AndifIlearned that he was right, Iwas to come to you on hisbehalf and try to convinceyou not to organize yetanotherassembly.”

Adams said nothing at

first, but turned and walkedback to the snow-coveredwindow.

“And here I’ve beenspeaking of beingdisappointedinyou.”

“Mister Hutchinson fearsthatanothergatheringliketheone on Middle Street willlead to more bloodshed.”Ethan paused. “Truthfully,sir,Ifearthataswell.”

Adams turned. “So do I.So does every mandownstairs. But what are weto do? Even if Hutchinson’sexpressions of concern aresincere, his solution,essentially, is for those of uswho agitate in defense ofliberty to surrender. Thelieutenantgovernorstandsonthesideofangelsandexhortsus simply to give up.And if

we refuse, thenwe are cold-bloodedandself-seeking.I’msorry,MisterKaille.Wemustcarryonwithourplans.”

“As I told him youwould.”

“Do you think so ill ofme?”Adamsaskedthroughabrittlesmile.

“I don’t think ill of you,sir. I know that the cause ofliberty is the foundation of

yourlife’swork.AndIknowas well that Hutchinson’srequest was as much apolitical calculationas itwasan attempt to prevent furtherviolence.”

Adams grinned. “Indeed.Are you sure youwon’t joinus, Mister Kaille? We coulduse a man who thinks soclearly.”

“Thankyou,sir,butno. I

will be there on Monday,however, at whatever sort ofassemblyyouhaveinmind.Iwish I could have saved theboy’s life, but I was aspowerlessagainsthiswoundsas the surgeons who treatedhim. I want to pay myrespectstothelad.”

“Very well,” Adams saidin a solemnvoice. “ShallwereturntotheDragon?Ihavea

gooddealofworktodo.”“Yes,sir.”They left the warden’s

office and descended thestairsoncemore.Beforetheyreached the tavern’s greatroom, Ethan whispered inLatin,“Veniadme.”

Uncle Reg appearedbesidehim,gleaminglikethemooninthedimlight.

“Did you say something,

MisterKaille?”Adamsasked.“No,sir.”Regwatched him as they

emerged from the stairway,an avid look in his brighteyes.

Ineedtoknowifthereareany conjurers here, Ethantoldhimsilently.Andifthereare, I don’t want them toknow that I’mawareof theirpowers. Can you search the

tavern without allowingyourself to be seen, even bythosewhocancastspells?

Regnoddedandvanished,though not before grinninglike a thief in a rich man’shome.Ethanassumedthattheghost followedasAdams ledhim to the small room at thebackofthetavern.

Because Ethan wasaccompanied by Adams, no

one tried to keep him fromentering. John, the man whofirst greeted him at the door,eyed him with obviousmistrust, as did James Otis,whom Ethan had met onseveraloccasions.

Ethan lingered in theroom for a few minutes,which he hoped would beenough time for Reg toconduct his search. Then he

approached Adams and bidthemanfarewell.

“Have you found …anyone?” Adams asked in awhisper.

“Not yet, sir. Perhaps inthegreatroom.”

“Verywell,MisterKaille.Wewillmeetagainsoon.”

They shook hands andEthan left thesmall roomforthe main part of the tavern.

He stood beside the door forsometime,scanningthegreatroom for any sign of Reg.Before long, he saw theimage of the ghost flarebeside the bar for no morethantheblinkofaneye.

Ethan pushed through thecrowd to the bar. Regappearedagainbesideasmallman who stood drinking anale,speakingtonoone.

Thisone?Ethanasked.Regnodded.Anyoneelse?No.Canyoutellhowpowerful

heis?Regshookhisheadagain.Before Ethan could ask

the ghost anythingmore, theman let out a gasp. He hadspotted Reg—as the loneconjurer in the tavern other

than Ethan, he was the onlyperson who could see theshade.

“He’s with me,” Ethansaid.

Themanturnedwithsuchhastethathesloppedaleontothebaranddownthefrontofhisownwaistcoat.

“Whoareyou?”“Ethan Kaille.” He held

out a hand, which the man

grippedwithsomereluctance.“Are… are youwith the

SonsofLiberty?”“No.I’mathieftaker.I’m

wonderingifyouwouldbesokind as to summon yourspectral guide. Just for amoment.”

“WhyshouldI?”“Asacourtesytome.”“What?Ihaveno—”Ethansilencedhimwitha

raised finger. “As I said, I’ma thieftaker. I’m conductingan inquiry and would likeverymuch toseeyourghost.If you refuse, I’ll have littlechoice but to assume you dosooutoffearthatyourroleinthecrimewillbediscovered.”

“Thisisoutrageous!Whatcrime?”

Ethan shookhis head.ToReghesaid,“Heleavesusno

choice. I’m sure the sheriffwill be eager to speak withhim.”

“Now, wait a second.There’s no need to involvethesheriff.”

“I quite agree,” Ethansaid.“Yourghost?”

The man placed histankard on the bar andwhispered,“Veniadme.”

A glowing figure

appeared beside him: awomandressedinfinery,whoglowed with a pale orangehue. She was rather homely,with curled hair and ahaughty expression. Sheregarded Reg withunconcealedhostility.

“Isthistheghostyousawtwo days ago?” Ethan askedhisownspectralguide.

No.

“Does the color of hispowerlookfamiliar?”

No.Ethanwasn’tsurewhether

to be relieved ordisappointed.

“Are you satisfied?” theman asked, sounding self-righteous and angry. Ethancouldhardlyblamehim.

“I am. Please accept myapologies,sir,andmythanks

foryourcooperation.”“I’mnotmuchinclinedto

accepteither.”Ethan donned his hat.

“No, I don’t imagine.” Hestarted toward the stairway.“Goodday,sir.”

“I want to know whatcrime you thought I hadcommitted.”

Ethan halted, turned. “Ibegyourpardon.”

“Thecrimeforwhichyouwere ready to blame me. Ishould like to know what itwas. I believe you owe methatsmallcourtesy.”

“Idon’tbelieveIoweyouanything,sir.”

“You were lying. Therewasnocrime.”

The man spoke bravely,but when Ethan took a stepback in his direction, he

quailed.“What is your name?”

Ethanasked.“Why should I tell you

that?”“Smallcourtesies.”His eyebrows bunched in

a way that told Ethan hedidn’t appreciate having hiswords thrown back at him.But he said, “JonathanGrant.”

“I wasn’t lying, MisterGrant. And you mightconsider that accusing astrangerofsuchathing,whenyou don’t know howpowerful a conjurer he is,might not be so wise. Thecrime in question is not oneothersknowabout,butitwascommitted on Middle Street,twodaysago.”

Ethanwalkedawayagain.

“Two days—Hold onthere.”

He didn’t stop, and washalfwayupthestairswhenheheardGrantbehindhim.

“Pleasewait.”Once more Ethan halted.

Helookeddownattheman.“Two days ago?” Grant

said.“OnMiddleStreet?”“Aye.”“Youwerethere,andyou

feltaconjuring.”“That’sright.”“Damn,” Grant

whispered.“I probably shouldn’t

have told you that,” Ethansaid, walking back down towhereGrant stood. “But youwere right: I did owe you asmuch after threatening you.Please,breathenotawordofthistoanyoneelse.”

“Could it have beenRichardsonwhocast?”

Ethan shook his head. “Idon’tbelieveso.”

“What sort of spell wasit?”

“Idon’tknowthat,either.Mister Grant, I would prefer—”

“Fear not,MisterKaille,”Grant said in a weak voice.“WhomwouldI tell?Noone

here knows that I’m aconjurer, and as a clerkworking for the CustomsBoard, few at my place ofbusiness know that I spendmy free hours in the GreenDragon.”

Ethan grinned. “A clerkwith the Customs Board? Ibelieve, sir, that I misjudgedyou. You might be thebravestmaninthetavern.”

“Hardly.”“Sinceyouworkwith the

Customs boys, I wouldimagine that you know mybrother-in-law, GeoffreyBrower.”

ThesmileGrantpastedonhis face didn’t fool Ethan atall. “Of course. He’s a fineman.”

“You’re kind to say so. Ithink he’s an ass.” Ethan

profferedahand,whichGrantgripped. “Your secrets aresafewithme,MisterGrant.”

“And yours with me,MisterKaille.”

Ethantippedhishattotheman,andlefttheDragon.

The snow had not abatedatall;itmightwellhavebeenfalling harder than before.Ethan’s walk back to theDowser proved nearly as

difficultasthewalktoUnionStreethadbeen.Hecouldseethefurrowinthesnowwherehehadwalked,butalready itwas covered with newsnowfall. It would be daysbefore the city’s streetswereclear. If theair remained thiscold, or grew more so oncethe storm blew through, itmighttakeaweekormore.

Adams could plan day

andnight,butwiththismuchsnow on the ground, EthandidnotexpectthathisfuneralforChristopher Seiderwouldamounttomuch.

ChapterNINE

The storm ended that night,

leavingmorethantwofeetofsnowonBoston’sstreetsandrooftops. As Ethan expected—hisyears at seahad taughthim to read the sky and thewind—afterthestormpassed,the air turned frigid oncemore, even as the cloudscleared away, leaving a skybrightwithstars.

Kannice did not open theDowser at all that day, and

Kelf never made it to thetavern. Ethan and Kanniceenjoyedarareeveningalone.They ate a modest mealbefore retreating to thewarmthofherbedroom.

Lying with her, listeningto the crackle of the fireburning in the hearth, Ethanrealizedthathecouldhearnoother sounds. Outside, thestreets were empty, the air

had gone still, and thesnowfall had ended. He hadneverknownBostontobesoutterly silent. It was botheerieandwondrous.

At one point, he andKannice opened the shutterson her bedroomwindow andpeered out into the night,staring in awe at theblanketed city, whichappeared to glow with

starlight.Thentheyclosedtheshutters once more andburrowed under the blanketstoescapethecold.

On Sunday morning, thestreetsofthecitycametolifeagain,notwithcommerceandcarriages, but with familieswading through the snow tochurch, and then, once theday’s sermons were over,with children lured out into

the snow by the promise ofsleddingand snowball fights.Fromwithinthetavern,Ethancould also hear the muffledscrape of metal shovels onsnow-coveredcobblestone.

Kelfreachedthetavernatabout midday, his breechescakedwithsnowandhisfaceruddy. Not long after, Diverarrived, his coat and hairdamp.He grinned sheepishly

atEthan.“Got into abit of combat

with the ladsonTreamount,”he said, crossing the greatroom to stand before thehearth. “They threwsnowballs atme, I threwoneback, and before I knew it,we were in a pitched battle.There were at least six ofthem,butIgaveasgoodasIgot.”

Ethan sipped a toddy.“I’msure.”

Even Kannice seemedamused.

“Where’s Deborah?”Ethanasked.

“She’sbackinherroom.Ionly came out because I hadmatters to see to on UnionStreet.”

Ethan straightened in hischair.“TheSons?”

DiverglancedatKannice,perhaps fearful of herresponse.Onmostnights,shedid not allow in her taverndiscussions of politics—oranything else thatmight leadto a row. But she ignoredDiver’s remark, even thoughEthanwassureshehadheardhim.

“Aye,”Diver said, facingEthanagain.“Theywanteach

ofustobringasmanypeopleaspossible.Adams ishopingforahugecrowd.”

“He’s still planning to dothistomorrow?”

“Of course. Whyshouldn’thebe?”

“Have you looked at thestreets, Diver? He’ll befortunate to get a dozenpeoplethere.”

Diver grinned. “I think

you’rewrong.It’sgoingtobethebiggestassemblythiscityhasseeninmanyyears.Butifyou’d care to place a smallwager on the matter, I’d bemore than happy to lightenyour purse by a pound ortwo.”

“I don’t think so,” Ethansaid.

“Ahalfsovereign?”“An ale,” Ethan said.

“Kannice’sKentpale.Idon’twant you buying me someswillfromanothertavern.”

Diver’s smile broadened.“Done.”

***

Ethan spent the rest of thatday andmuch ofMonday atthe Dowser. Kannice tookadvantage of the lack ofcustomerstostraightenupher

kitchen and bar, somethingshe had wanted to do formonths. Ethan helped Kelflift, carry, and clean as shedirected, enjoying the workfarmore thanhewouldhaveguessed.Hewasgladtolaborand sweat without giving athought to spells andshadowy conjurers, toSephira and her toughs, andto the possible whereabouts

of Nate Ramsey. He felt noconjurings, and even startedto question whether he hadbeentooquicktoassumethatthe spells he had noticed inrecent days were responsiblefor Gordon’s attack on WillPryor and Richardson’sshootingofChrisSeider.

Late on Mondayafternoon, Ethan, Kelf, andKannice set out from the

DowsingRod for theLibertyTree. Some effort had beenmade to clear the streets ofsnow, and many merchantsand craftsmen had shoveledpaths to the doors of theirshops. Still, Ethan found ithardtobelievethatmorethana handful of people wouldcometotheSeiderfuneral.

He and the others hadn’tbeen abroad in the city for

long before he realized howwronghehadbeen.

Though the streetsremained covered with athicklayerofsnowthatmadethem only barely passable,Ethansoonfoundhimselfinabroadstreamofmen,women,and children filing throughthe lanes toward Boston’sNeck. The farther he,Kannice, and Kelf walked

from the Dowser, the morepeople he saw. They camefrom the North End andCornhill, the waterfront andtheSouthEnd,allconvergingon Marlborough Street.There, they continued insilence, with grim purpose,bathed in the golden light oflate afternoon. By the timethey reached the corner ofOrange Street and Essex,

where stood the famedLiberty Tree, they numberedatleastathousand.

A large sign had beenerected near the tree. On itwere several biblicalquotations that someone—Adamsperhaps—haddeemedappropriatefortheoccasion.

“Though Hand join inHand, the Wicked shall notpassunpunish’d,”readone.

And another said, “Thoushalt take no satisfaction forthe life of aMURDERER—he shall surely be put todeath.”

As it turned out, themenandwomenwho had walkedwith Ethan, Kannice, andKelf to the Liberty Treerepresented but a fraction ofthosewhohadcometohonorChristopher Seider. A far

greater number of peopleawaited them along OrangeStreet south of the tree.Adams and his allies hadalready begun to arrange theprocession that would marchthrough the city streets.Hundreds of schoolboys hadbeen lined up in twincolumns, their cheeks redwith the cold. Behind them,flanked by six more boys—

pallbearers, it seemed—layonthesnowasmall,woodencoffinwithLatin inscriptionspainted in silver letteringalongitssidesandatitshead.A cluster of perhaps threedozen men, women, andchildren stood next in line.Many of them wept openly,andwhenEthanwalkedpast,he heard snatches ofconversation in German. He

gathered that these wereSeider’s parents, relatives,andfriends.

Behind these unfortunatesouls, the rest of themourners, already numberingin the hundreds, had takentheir places. Ethan thoughtthatwithallthosehehadseenon his way to the LibertyTree,thenumberofmarcherswouldexceedtwothousand.

Inthedistance,attheveryrear of the procession, morethan twodozencarriagesandchaiseswaited for theparadetobegin,theirhorsessnortingcloudsofvaporinthetwilightair.

As Ethan, Kannice, andKelf made their way towardthe back of the procession,they passed one luminaryafter another. JosephWarren

andJamesOtishadjoinedthethrong, as had Paul Revereand Benjamin Church,Benjamin Edes and JohnHancock. Samuel Adamswalked the length of thecolumn, callingencouragement andinstructions to those hepassed, while his cousin, thelawyer John Adams, stoodwithawomanEthanassumed

was his wife, appearingsomewhat awed by whatSamuelhadwrought.

Near thebackof the line,they found Diver andDeborah, who greeted themwith solemn expressions andmaderoomforthem.IfDivertookanysatisfactioninbeingright about the size of theassembly, he gave noindication of it. He shook

Ethan’shandandKelf’s,gaveKannice a quick kiss on thecheek, and then stood facingforward, his chin raised, hishandsclaspedinfrontofhim.

Ethan continued to lookaround, amazed at what hewaswitnessing.Itwasasightas humbling as it wasspectacular. Adams hadoutdonehimself.Ethancouldonly imagine what Thomas

Hutchinson would think ofthis display. No doubt hewouldthinkitaspectacleandnothing more, a cynicalattempt to turn tragedy topolitical gain. Ethan hadresolvedtobeherebecauseofwhat he had seen four daysbefore on Middle Street, buthe had expected that hewould feel much the same.As the procession began,

however,ashestrainedtoseethosesixboysliftChristopherSeider’s coffin onto theirshoulders and plod throughthesnow,heunderstoodhowwronghehadbeenaboutthisaswell.

It took some time beforeEthan and the rest of thosenear the back of the columncouldbeginwalking.Evenashestartedtotreadthroughthe

snowy lane, he guessed thatby the time the carriagesrolledforward,thefirstoftheladsleadingtheparadewouldbenearthecenterofCornhill.

Kannice walked besidehim, tearscoursingdownhercheeks,nodoubtasmovedashebythecity’soutpouringofgriefandresolve.Hetookherhand.

Still more people had

gatheredalongthesideofthestreettowatchtheprocessionas it followed Orange,Newbury, Marlborough, andCornhill Streets up to theTown House. It then snakedthrough the North and SouthEnds before turning backtoward the Neck, and theburying ground whereChristopher Seider’s bodywastobeinterred.Asthesky

darkenedandnightfell,thoselining the lanes handedtorches to the marchers sothat the procession became ariveroflightflowingthroughthecity.

But as the coffin passedonce more within sight ofMurray’s Barracks,where somany British soldiers werebilleted, Ethan felt aconjuring pulse in the street.

Hehalted, forcinghis friendsto do the same. The menwalkingbehindstumbledintothem.

“What is it?” Kanniceasked.

Ethan opened his mouthto answer, but then shut itagain,hishearthammeringinhis chest. He hadn’t noticedatfirstbecauseseveralof thepeople around him carried

torches. But Uncle Reg hadappearedbyhisside,andwaseyeing him, his eyes asbrilliant as the brightestflames.

“I didn’t summon you,”Ethan whispered. “Why areyouhere?”

Before Reg could offerany sort of answer, Ethanheardshoutsfromupahead.

“What are the lobsters

doing now?” one of themenbehindhimsaid.

Diverlookedback.“Let’sgofindout.”

Severalofthemenstartedforward,Diveramongthem.

Ethanmadetofollow,butKannicestillheldhishand.

“Ethan—”“Ineedtogowiththem,”

hesaid.Kelf still stood on

Kannice’s other side,although he was watchingDiver and the others, andappeared to be on the vergeof following. “Kelf, can youget Kannice back to theDowser?”

“What? Well, I suppose,butEthan—”

“Please,”Ethansaid.“I don’t understand

what’s happening,” Kannice

said, staring after the menwhohadgoneforward.

“Idon’teither.ButIdon’tthink it’s safe in the streetrightnow.Ithinkyoushouldgoback.”

“Butthefuneral.”He stepped closer to her,

andwhispered, “I’ve just feltanother conjuring, and myghost is here; I don’t knowwhy. Please do as I ask,

Kannice.”“I’llnotbe scaredoff the

streets by whoever’s doingthis,” she said, keeping hervoice low despite the fierceexpressiononherface.

“You’re right. Youshouldn’t have to be. Andyou know I’d never letanything happen to you. Butin protecting you from aspell,Imightletotherscome

to harm.Neither of uswantsthat.Please,”hesaidagain.

She hesitated, doubtcreepingintohereyes.Atlastshenodded.“Yes,allright.”

“Maybe you should takeher back, Ethan. Diver andthemothersmightneedhelp,and I think we both knowwhowouldbemorevaluableinafight.”

At another time, Ethan

might have found thisamusing.KelfwasaslargeasaDutchmerchantshipandasstrong as any man he knew.ButhehadnoideathatEthancouldconjure.

“I’m hoping to prevent afight,”Ethansaid,“nottipthebalanceofone.”

Thebarmanglancedoncemore in the direction of theraised voices. Ethan wanted

to screamat him tomakeuphis mind, but he kept silent,andatlengthKelfsaid,“Aye,all right. I’ll take her. Youwatchyourself,though.”

“Iwill.Thankyou,Kelf.”With one last quick look

at Kannice, and what hehopedwasareassuringsmile,Ethan startedafterDiver.Allof those mourningChristopher Seider had done

atlastwhatshovelshadfailedtodo:muchof thesnowwaspacked down, making thelanespassable.

Diverandhiscompanionshadahead start, andEthan’sleg slowed him. By the timehe reached thecommotion, itwas already threatening toturn intoyet another tragedy.A group of perhaps a dozenBritish soldiers stood in the

street, their uniforms bearingevidence of a pelting ofsnowballs; two of them hadlost their hats, which lay inthe snow at their feet.All ofthem held their muskets atwaist level, their bayonetsgleaming with the inconstantlightofdozensoftorches.

At least fifty mourners,mostofthemyoungmenandboys,were shouting tauntsat

them,calling them“lobsters”and “bloody-backedscoundrels.”

“What are you goin’ todo, ya thievin’ dogs?” onemanshouted.“ShootallofuslikeyoudidChrisSeider?”

More snowballs flew atthemen.

“Murder’rs!”aboycalledout.

“Murderers!” came the

reply. It didn’t take long fortheepithettobecameachant.“Murderers! Murderers!Murderers!”

The soldiers, none ofwhom was much older thanthose harassing them, lookedfrightened, and who couldblame them? They mighthave been armed, but theywere facing a mob thatoutnumbered them, and at

any moment they could findthemselves surrounded byliterallyhundredsmore.

To their credit,Diverandthe men who had walkedforward with him had notjoined the fools who wereshoutinginsultsandthrowingsnowballs. But neither hadthey attempted to make thepupsbreakofftheirattack.

“Diver!” Ethan called.

“Helpmestopthis.”Without waiting for his

friend to answer, Ethanstepped between the youngmenandthesoldiers,hisbacktotheuniformedregulars.

“Stop this now!” heshouted at the mourners.“We’re here to honor ChrisSeider! Not to cause anothertragedy!”

“Maybe we want to pay

’emback forwhat theydonetoChris!”

Ethan shook his head.“These soldiers had nothingto do with that! It wasRichardson, and he’s in thegaol.”

“He’sright!”Ethan glanced to his left.

Diver had joined him in thestreet, as had another of themen who had been in the

processionwith them. Itwasthis third man who hadspoken.

Several of the pups heldsnowballs in their hands andwere staring past Ethan andDiveratthesoldiers.

“We don’t want anyoneelse getting shot,” the othermansaid.“Besmartlads.”

Oneofthementossedhissnowball aside and regarded

Ethan and his companionswith disgust. The others didthesame.

“Lobster lovers,” one ofthem said. But already theywereturningaway.

EthanturnedtoDiverandthe other man, intending tothankthemfor theirhelp.Heopened his mouth to speakthewords,butthenfalteredatthe touch of another spell

thrumming in the street.Reg’s gaze snapped toEthan’s face. Before Ethancouldask theghostwhathadhappened,oneof thesoldiersrushed them, his bayonetleveledatDiver’sgut.

Ethandidn’thave time tostripoffhisgreatcoatandcuthis arm, nor did he wish tomakeaconjuringspectacleofhimself in front of so many.

Instead, he bit down hard onthe inside of his cheek andtastedblood.

“Pugnus ex cruoreevocatus,”hewhispered.Fist,conjuredfromblood.

The advancing soldierstaggered, as if punched inthe jaw. But then he rightedhimselfandclosedonDiver.

Ethan bit himself againandrepeatedthespell,aiming

this blow at the man’smidsection.

The soldierdoubledover,retched. A second later,though,hestraightened.

Ethan bit down on hischeek a third time—he wasgoing to curse these spellslater—and whispered,“Dormite ex cruoreevocatum.” Slumber,conjuredfromblood.

It was a more dangerousspell to use, simply becauseitseffectsweremoreobviousto those around him. Butshort of lighting the soldieron fire, Ethan didn’t thinkthatanythingelsewouldstopthe man. The regularstaggered again; he haltedand swayed. At last hecollapsedinaredheaponthesnow.

“Didyouseethat?”oneofthe lads called. “He wasgonnakillthatcovethere.Hewasgonnatostickhimlikeapig.”

He and his comradesstalked back toward thesoldiers.

“Diver,” Ethan said, hisvoice low. “Say something.Tellthemtoyield.”

“Why should I?” Diver

said, rounding on him. “Thelad’s right! He was comingright at me with his bayonetready. I don’t know whathappened, but hemight havekilledme.”

“I stopped him,” Ethanwhispered. “And it wasanother spell that set him onyou.Nowtellthemtoleaveitbe.”

“What do you mean?”

Diver asked, his voice tooloud for Ethan’s taste. “Youstopped—” His eyeswidened. “Oh,” he said,breathless,whisperingat last.“And someone else …someonemadehimdothat?”

“That’sright.”“It’sallright,lads,”Diver

called to the young men,raising his hands to placatethem.

“He’s asleep!” the thirdman said, bending over thesoldier.Helookedup,clearlyamazed.“Thebloodyfoolfellasleep!”

“You see that?” Diversaid. “He must have beendrinking.Noharmdone.”

“He wasn’t drunk!” saidone of the soldiers, as ifenraged at the meresuggestion.

Ethan glared at him.“You’drathertheythoughthewassoberandwillingtokillaman?Don’tbeanidiot.Takeyour friend, and go, beforesomeonegetshurt.”

Theregulareyedthemobofyoungmen,whoappearedtobespoilingforafightoncemore.Perhaps takingEthan’swords to heart, he gave aquicknodandsignaledtoone

of his fellow soldiers. Theyhurried forward, lifted thesleeping regular, and borehim away, his arms drapedaroundtheirshoulders.

The lads whistled andshoutedmoreinsultsat them,but they didn’t pursue thesoldiers,apparentlypreferringto declare victory in the faceoftheregulars’retreat.

“Thatmay have been the

oddest thing I’ve ever seen,”said the man with Diver.“He…hefellintoaslumber,withoutanywarning.”

“Aye,” Ethan said, hisgaze flicking in Diver’sdirection. “It was quite odd.My thanks to you, sir, forstandingwithme.”

The man shrugged. “Itwaslikeyousaid.We’rehereforChris.Therewasnosense

ingettingsomeoneelseshot.”He patted Diver’s shoulderandstartedawayaftertherestof the mourners, who werenow far ahead of them. “I’llseeyouaround,Diver.”

“Goodnight,Peter.”Ethan and Diver watched

the man go. The lads hadmoved on as well, leavingthem alone in the snowystreet.

“What was that about,Ethan?Why would someonecastaspell tomakeasoldierattackme?”

“Idon’tknow.Ifitmakesyou feel any better, I’m notconvinced that any of it wasdirected at you specifically.That regular could as easilyhavegoneforyourfriend.”

“I don’t take muchcomfortinthat.”

Ethanshookhishead.“Tobehonest,neitherdoI.”

“The dayChriswas shot,you tried to tell me … Yousaid that you felt somethingonMiddle Street.Was it thesameasthis?”

“Idon’tknow—”“Butyoususpect.”Ethan hesitated before

saying, “Aye. I wish it hadoccurred tomeat the time to

put Richardson to sleep. Icould saved the boy’s life.ButIdidn’tknowwhatwouldhappen.”

“Of course you didn’t.Thank you for saving metonight.”

“If I’d been thinking, Iwouldn’t have. I’m afraid Ioweyouanale.”

Diver grinned. “That’sright.I’dforgotten.”

“I’m heading to theDowser.Care to collect yourwinningsnow?”

“I can’t,” his friend said,sobering. “I have to findDeborah.She’llbewonderingwhereI’vegone.”

“Of course. Good night,Diver. My thanks for yourhelpwiththosepups.”

“Goodnight,Ethan.”Diverheadedbacktoward

the Liberty Tree, which wasnearthespotwheretheSeiderboy was to be buried. Ethancontinued along CornhillStreetpastDockSquareuptoHanover Street, which hefollowed to Sudbury, wherestood the Dowsing Rod. Itwasn’t themost direct route,butonthisnightespeciallyhewished to avoid any moreencounters with soldiers and

so went out of his way toavoidMurray’sBarracks.

Uncle Reg still walkedbeside him, and as Ethanneared the tavern he slowed.He needed to have thisconversationwhilealonesavefortheghost.

“What did you feel?” heasked, halting to face thespecter. “There was a spell,isn’tthatright?”

Reghelduptwofingers.“Aye, two spells. Were

both of them directed at thesoldier?”

Reg didn’t seem to knowhow to answer that. Heoffered a tentative nod, butEthan had the distinctimpression that he had askedthewrongquestion.

He regretted not havingthe opportunity to use a

revealingspellonthesoldier,though he assumed that likethespellscastonGordonandRichardson, it would haveshownlittle.

“Wasthisthesamesortofspellyoufeltthedaytheboywaskilled?”

Reg responded thealacritythistime.Yes.

“Andwas theotherghostthereagain?Theoneyousaw

thatday?”Again the ghost nodded,

thoughwithlesscertainty.“You believe so, but

you’renotsure.”Yes.“Were their other

conjurers in the procession,asidefromme?”

Regshookhishead.Ethan frowned. He had

expected a different answer.

“Not even Jonathan Grant,themanwemet in theGreenDragon?”

No.Ofcourse.Themanwasa

clerk for theCustomsBoard.Itwas one thing to go to theDragon, where he could beconfident that only fellowpatriotswouldseehim.Buttomarch in the funeralprocession,ondisplayforthe

entire city, could well havecostGranthisjob.

ItoccurredtoEthantoaskanother question of hisspectral guide, but at thethought of it, his pulsequickened, and his thoughtsreturned once more to thenight Gordon attacked WillPryor.

“I didn’t summon youtonight,”Ethansaid.“Ididn’t

haveto.Whyisthat?”Regstaredbackathim;it

seemed that his eyes blazedbrighterthanusual.

“The spells you felttonight—where did theycomefrom?”

Reg lifted his hand andpointedatEthan.

ChapterTEN

Ethan had known that the

ghostwouldtellhimthis,andyethedidn’tunderstandhowitwaspossible.

“I didn’t conjure,” hesaid. “You know that Ididn’t.”

Reg nodded. But oncemorehepointedatEthan,hisglowing finger gleaming likeapolishedblade.

“I didn’t cut myself, ordraw blood in any way. I

didn’t—”Hebrokeoffandfumbled

in thepocketofhisgreatcoatfor the pouch of mullein.Pulling itopenhesaw that itwasstillasfullasithadbeen.

“It’sall there.”Hehelditopen for Reg to see, thoughthe ghost showed littleinterest in looking. “So if Idrewnoblood,andusednoneof the herb, how could the

spell have come from me?”He began to pace; he couldfeel Reg’s gleaming eyesfollowing him. “An illusionspell wouldn’t have beenpowerful enough to make asoldier behave that way.NevermindthatIdidn’tuttera single word in Latin.” Hestopped and stared at theghost. “What you’re tellingmeisn’tpossible.Howcould

I cast such a spell withoutmeaning to, without beingawareofdoingit?”

Reg shook his head, butthenpointedathimagain.

“Yes, Iunderstand! I castthespell.I’maskingyouhowthatcanbe.”

Reg opened his hands, arare lookof sympathyonhisancientfeatures.

“Did both spells come

from me? The first thatprecipitated the conflict, andthe second that made thesoldierattackDiver?”

Theghostnodded.“It has to be Nate

Ramsey.Whoelsecouldcastinthisway?”

Regofferednoresponse.“Doyousensehim?Ishe

in Boston again, or perhapsoutontheharbor,beyondthe

ice?”The ghost shrugged and

shookhishead.“Searchforhim,please. I

walked the length of thewaterfront three days ago,before the snowfall. I can doitagain,butIdon’tthinkI’mgoing to findhimthatway. Ineedyourhelp.”

Reggrinnedandsaluted.“Thankyou.”

The ghost faded fromview, leaving Ethan indarknessonthestreetoutsidethe Dowser. Stars shoneoverheadandthebarestsliverof a moon hung low in thewestern sky beyond the darkmassofBeaconHill.Hehadno proof that Ramsey hadreturned, no reason even tosuspect that the captain wasback save the unexplained

conjuringsthathaddonesuchgrave harm in recent days.AndyetEthan felt as thoughanunseenbladewerepressedagainsthisthroat.

He tried the tavern door.Findingitlocked,heknockedonce. Heavy footstepsapproachedthedoor.

“Who’sthere?”Kelfsaid,growlingthewords.

In spite of all that had

happened this night, Ethansmiled in the darkness. Asreluctantasthebarmanmighthave been to leave thefuneral, he would havebattledtheentireFrencharmytokeepKannicesafe.

“It’sEthan,Kelf.”ThelockclickedandKelf

pulledthedooropen.Heheldacleaverinhisfreehand.

“Took you long enough,”

thebarmansaid.“Have you been worried

aboutme?”Kelf glowered. “Joke all

youlike,butshewasworried.And I’m the onewho has toputupwithit.”

Ethan schooled hisfeatures.“Iapologize.I’mnotgoing anywhere else tonight,so if youwant tobeonyourway,she’llbefine.”

The barman waved himinto the tavern and shut thedoor. “What happened,anyway?”heasked.

“Yes,” Kannice said,emergingfromthekitchen.“Iwanttohearthisaswell.”

“There’s not a lot to tell,actually,”Ethansaid,keepinghis gaze on Kelf. “A fewyoung pups thought they’dinsult some soldiers and

throw a snowball or two. Itcould have been worse, buttheytiredoftheirsportbeforetoo long, and the king’smenkepttheirheads.”

Kelf gave a shake of hishead. “Them lobstersshouldn’t be here at all. Thesooner they leave, the soonerwecangetback to livin’ourlives.”

Would that it were so

easy, Ethan thought. ToKelfhesaid,“I’dwagerthateveryperson who was in thatprocession tonight feels asyoudo,myselfincluded.”

“Aye,butnooneasksus,dothey?”

Ethan grinned. “No, theydon’t.”

Kelf turned to Kannice.“Allright then;I’llbeonmyway.”

“Thank you, Kelf,” shesaid.

Thebarmannoddedtoherand to Ethan and let himselfout of the tavern. Once hewas gone, Kannice steppedoutfrombehindthebar,drewherownkeyfromherbodice,andlockedthedoor.Thensheput her arms around Ethan’sneckandkissedhim.

“Now,” she said, “I want

to know what reallyhappened.”

“AsdoI.”Herbrowcreased.“I felt a spell, and Uncle

Regappeared.Andassoonasthose things happened somelads started a confrontationwithagroupofsoldiers.Ididmy best to keep them fromhurting one another, andthought I’d succeeded. But

thena second spell pulsed inthe street, and one of theregularschargedatDiver,hisbayonet fixed. I had to castthreespellstostophim.”

“IsDiver—?”“He’sfine.Butthesoldier

would have killed him; I’msureofit.”

“And you have no ideawherethoseotherspellscamefrom?”

“None.”“What about your ghost?

Can’tyouaskhim?”Ethan forced a smile,

knowingthatitcouldn’tmaskhisfear.“That’sthestrangestpart of it all. He swears thatthespellscamefromme.”

Kannicetookastepback.“Idon’tlikethesoundofthatat all. You didn’t cast them,didyou?”

“Of course not. Someother conjurer has found away tousemypower forhisor her own spells, to conjurethroughme,asitwere.”

“Is that something youcando?”

“Ididn’tevenknowitwaspossible until now.” Hefrowned and rubbed a handoverhisface.“Theoddthingis,thesespellsdon’tappearto

leave any residue. Usuallywhen a conjurer casts, thereremains a hint of his or herpowerthatanotherspellercanreveal with a particular kindofconjuring.Butthatdoesn’thappen with these spells.There appears to be noresidue at all, neither minenor anyone else’s. I’d almostfeelbetteriftherewas;thatatleastwouldmakesomesense.

It would mean whoever iscasting wants others tobelieve I’m responsible forthe violence these spells areunleashing. But to leavenothing…” He shook hishead.

“Who do you think isdoingthis?”

Ethan’s gaze slid awayfrom hers toward the hearth.“Idon’tknow.”

“Ethan.”“I don’t know, Kannice.

I’m…Idon’tknow.”“But you suspect, don’t

you? I know you do. Youbelieveit’sRamsey.”

Hechancedalookather.Despite the dim light in thegreat room,hecould see thathercheekshadgonepale.

“Aye,” he said in awhisper. “I can’t think of

another conjurer whopossesses both the skill andtheillnaturetodosomethingthis…evil.But Idon’tevenknowifhe’salive.”

“Ofcourseyoudo.”He dipped his chin,

closing his eyes. “I’veassumed all along that hesurvived the fire at Drake’sWharf, and that he wouldreturneventually.Ihadhoped

itwouldn’tbesosoon.”Kannice put her arms

around him again, and hepulledherclose.

“Henearlykilledyoulasttime,” she murmured, “andnow he has more cause thanevertohateyou.”

There was little Ethancould say; she was right onbothpoints.

“What will you do?” she

asked, looking up into hiseyes.

“I’ll find him, I’ll learnwhat hewants this time, andifIhaveto,I’llkillhim.”

She took a deep breathand rested her head againsthischest.

“First, though, I need tospeak with Mariz, andperhaps I should see Jannaagain aswell. Itmay be that

they know more about thistypeofconjuringthanIdo.”

“Well, you’re not goingout again tonight, so takeoffthat coat and come upstairswithme.”

He was in no mood toargue.“Yes,ma’am.”

***

Dreams ofNate Ramsey andtheir previous encounters

haunted Ethan’s sleep andwoke him for good early inthe morning. He slipped outof bed, dressed withoutwaking Kannice, anddescended the stairs to thetavern. Once more, he tooksome bread from the kitchenandleftafewcoinsinthebartill.Hestirredthecoalsinthehearthof thegreatroom,andput two more logs on the

gleaming embers. Soon hehad a fine blaze burning.Hesettledintoachairbythefireandchewedhisbread.

Whenhehad finished,hepulled his knife from thesheathonhisbelt,pusheduphis sleeve, and cut hisforearm. “Locus magi excruoreevocatus.”Locationofconjurer, conjured fromblood.

The spell rumbled in thefloorandwallsof the tavern,and his conjuring spreadthrough the city, like ripplesinapond.

“Good morning,” EthansaidtoReg,whohadwinkedintoviewnearthefire.

Reg stood straight-backed, his head cocked totheside,asifhewerewaitingtoseewhatthespellrevealed.

“Did you find Ramsey?”Ethanasked.

Theghostshookhishead.Despite his disappointment,Ethan was hardly surprised.Ramsey would never makethingssoeasyforhim.

For the same reason, hedidn’t expect his simplefinding spell to work on thecaptain, but he still held outhopethatsomeotherconjurer

wasresponsibleforthespellshe had felt.His finding spellrevealed a conjurer in theNorthEnd;heassumeditwasGrant. He also sensed twomore a good distance to thesouth:most likelyMariz andJanna. And there seemed tobe one more conjurer in thecenterofBoston,notfarfromthe Dowser; he wasn’t surewho this might be. But he

found no conjurers near thewaterfront or on the harbor.He would need to find thisfourth conjurer, though hethought it unlikely thatRamsey, if he were alive,wouldventure so far into thecity.

Reg watched him, avid,eyesglowing.

“Perhaps it’s not CaptainRamseyafterall,”Ethansaid

totheghost.“Wemighthaveto do some hunting latertoday.”

The ghost grinned, thenfadedfromview.Ethanstoodand pulled on his greatcoat.As he did, he heardKannicestirringupstairs.

“Ethan?”shecalleddowntohim.

“I’m still here.But Iwasabouttoleave.”

She descended the stairs,wearing a robe, her hair stilldisheveled. “Where are yougoing?”

“SephiraPryce’sestate.”“Areyouserious?”“I told you I wished to

speak with Mariz. That’swhereI’llfindhim.”

“Haven’tyoutoldmethatshe doesn’t approve of yourfriendshipwithMariz?”

He made no effort toconceal his amusement.“Aye.”

She arched an eyebrow.“There are times when itseemsthatyougooutofyourwaytoantagonizeher.”

“Well, a man needs ahobby.”

“I’mserious,Ethan.She’snomorefondofyouthanyouareofher,andshehasnever

been shy about threateningyour life or ordering herbrutestobeatyoubloody.”

“She hates Nate Ramseymore than she hates me.When I tell her that he maybe back, she’ll be willing tolet me speak with her petconjurer.AndI’vejustsensedanother conjurer here in thecity.Shemightwanttoknowaboutthataswell.”

Kannice narrowed hereyes. “Do you think she’sbeautiful?”

“Idon’tthinkit,”hesaid,withoutpausingtoponderhiswords.“Iknowit.”

She pressed her lips thin.“Thatwas not the response Iwaslookingfor.”

Ethan walked to whereshestoodand tookherhandsin his. “Am I to understand

thatyou’rejealousofSephiraPryce?”

Kannice’s gaze dropped.“Well,youcouldhavebeenabit less adamant about howlovelysheis.”

“You’re right. I don’tknow what I was thinking.She’s a hag, toadlike inappearance. I’ve seen sowsthatweremoreattractive.”

Shelaughed.

“Would you havebelievedmeifI’dsaidthat?”

“Probably not, but itwould have been nice tohear.”

He lifted her chin with afinger, making her look himin the eye, and he kissed hersoftlyonthelips.“Firstofall,Sephira Pryce, whilebeautiful,isthecruelest,mostwicked, least trustworthy,

most self-affected person Ihave ever met. And second,herbeauty,whileundeniable,isnothingnexttoyours.”

Kannice smiled. “Nowthat was much better. Youshould have started withthat.”

“Allright.Askmeagain.”She laughed once more.

“That’snot—”“Askmeagain.”

She rolled her eyes. “Doyou think Sephira Pryce isbeautiful?”

“Sephira Pryce,” he said,scratching his chin. “I’m notsure I knowwho that is.Oh,ofcourse.You’rereferringtothatmeanold sowwho livesonSummer Street. I supposeshe might be attractive tosome—mostly the blind andtheinfirm.”

“Leave,” Kannice said, athreadoflaughterlingeringinher voice. She pushed himtowardthedoor.

“But I haven’t gotten tothe part where she’s not aslovelyasyou.”

“Idon’tcare.Goaway.”“I’llbebacklater.”“I’ll have moved to

Newport.”It was his turn to laugh.

Shefollowedhimtothedoorso that she could unbolt thelock.He steppedout into thebright daylight, but thenturnedbacktoher.“Lockthedoor.”

“Kelfwillbeheresoon.”“Andwhenhearrivesyou

canunlockit.”“My lock is not going to

stopNateRamsey.”She was right, of course,

though he didn’t care to beremindedofthis.

“Humorme,”hesaid.There was a note of

indulgenceinhervoiceasshesaid,“Allright.”

He struck out southwardalong Sudbury Street, whichsoonbecameTreamount.Thelanesweremorecrowdedthisday, and the snow had beentrampled down further,

making walking far easierthan it had been even thenight before. Carriages andchaises steered past him, thehoofbeats of their horsesmuffled, the turning of theirwheelsonthepackedsnowasquiet as the gliding of sleighrunners.

Theskywasadeepazureand cloudless. An eaglecircledonsplayedwingshigh

overhead,white and chestnutagainsttheblue.Lower,gullssoared in great flocks, theircries sounding thin andmournful.

It was a sparkling morn,brighter thananyBostonhadseen in recent weeks. Yetthose Ethan encountered inthe streets seemeduncommonly solemn. Ethanwondered how long it would

be before the pall fromyesterday’sfunerallifted.

As Ethan walked alongthe edge of theCommon, heconsideredwhathemightsayto Sephira. NotwithstandingwhathehadtoldKannice,hewasn’tyetreadytosharewiththeEmpressoftheSouthEndhis fear that Ramsey hadreturned. He knew nothingfor certain; he was not

entirely convinced that hissuspicions were based onanything more than hislingering dread of anotherconfrontation with thecaptain. There was anotherconjurer in the city; heknewthat now. Though he couldnot yet shake the convictionthat Ramsey was responsiblefor all that had happened inthe past several days, the

evidencehehadgatheredthusfar—his own fruitless searchof the waterfront, UncleReg’sassurances,thefactthathe had yet to see Ramsey’saqua power on any of themen affected by the spells—pointed him in a differentdirection.

Moretothepoint,SephirahatedRamseywithapassionthat surpassed Ethan’s own,

and with good reason. Theprevious summer, during apitched battle betweenRamsey’s crew and hertoughs, Ramsey killed NigelBillings, the yellow-hairedgiantofamanwhohadbeenSephira’s most trustedlieutenant. If Ethan so muchas suggested that Ramseymightbeback,shewouldtearthe city apart searching for

him, with potentially tragicresults for herself, her men,and any innocents whochancedtogetinherway.

But without mentioningRamsey, Ethan didn’t knowhow he might convinceSephira to allow Mariz tohelphim.Shedidnotapproveof their friendship, and shewould be reluctant to doanythingthatmightdeepenit.

Though he racked his brain,tryingtocomeupwithideas,he still had not thought ofanything by the time hereachedherhome.

Sephira’s mansion stoodat the south end of SummerStreet, near the Old SouthMeetingHouseandacrossthelanefromd’Acosta’sPasture,an expanse of grazing landthat was usually filled with

lowing cows and flocks ofcrows.

The cobblestone pathleading from the street toSephira’s house had beencleared, but otherwise thesnow blanketing her yardremainedpristine,makingherimpressive white marblehome appear even morestately than usual. Ethanapproached the front door.

Most days Sephira had atleastoneofhertoughspostedoutsideontheportico,butnotthismorning.Herappedoncewith the brass lion’s-headknocker.

A moment later the doorswung open, revealingGordon,who looked as hugeand ugly as usual. The brutefrownedatthesightofEthan,hisearsturningred.

“Whatdoyouwant?”Ethanconsideredagibe—

something about the napGordon had taken that nightin Will Pryor’s room, andhowSephiramighthavebeenworkinghimtoohard.ButhehadcometoaskaboonoftheEmpress of the South End.Angering one of her menwouldnothelphiscause.

“I need to speak with

Sephira,” he said. “AndwithMarizaswell.Please.”

Apparently, Gordon hadexpected mockery; Ethan’scourtesydeepenedhisfrown.

“Waithere.”He shut the door before

Ethan could saymore. Ethanstepped off the portico backinto the sunshineof thepath.Hestampedhisfeettogetthesnow off his boots and

breeches.The door opened again

and Gordon waved himinside.

Ethan entered the house,and waited while Gordonclosedthedooragain.

“Your knife,” the toughsaid, holding out a meatyhand. “And those plants youliketocarryaround.”

Ethan smirked. “Do you

meanthemullein?”“Sure, whatever you call

it.”He pulled the blade from

thesheathonhisbelt,flippedit over, and handed it toGordonhilt-first.Thenhedugin his coat pocket for thepouch of mullein and gavethattotheman,too.

“That all of it?” Gordonasked. At Ethan’s nod, he

said, “In that case, she’s inthedinin’room.”

“Mythanks.”He had been Sephira’s

guest enough times to knowhis way around the groundfloor of the mansion. Hewalked through the grandcommon room, to the diningroom. Sephira sat at the endof a long table of darkpolishedwood.Shelookedas

lovely as always, in a blackwaistcoatandwhitesilkshirt.Her hair was down, and alargepurplegemshoneatherthroat.

Nap, dark and lean, andMariz, a blade already inhand and his sleeves pushedup,bothstoodbytheentranceto the chamber. Afton stoodbehind Sephira, his massivearmsfoldedoverhischest.

“How nice to see you,Ethan,” Sephira said, hardlysparing him a glance as sheperused a newspaper: theBoston Evening-Post, thecity’s most prominent Torypublication.

“Goodday,Sephira.”“Towhatdoweowe this

pleasure?”Having failed tocomeup

with any viable falsehoods,

Ethan opted for a version ofthetruth.

“I’ve come seeking yourhelp. Andmore to the point,helpfromMariz.”

Theconjurerfrowned,hisspectacles catching the lightfromthenearestoftheglazedwindows.

Sephira looked up fromher paper, her expression nowarmer than the air outside.

“Help with what?” shedemanded, biting off eachword.

“In the past several days,I’vesensedspells thatIcan’texplain, and for which I canfind no residue of power,nothing at all that would letmedeterminewhocast them.I don’t believe that Mariz isresponsible for these spells,butIdothinkthathecanhelp

mefindthepersonwhois.”Sephira turned her

attention back to thenewspaper. “Why should Icare that another witch istroubling you. It sounds asthough I should offer thisperson a job, or at least areward.”

“I can understand whyyou feel that way. But thesespells could affect you as

well. In fact, one of themalreadyhas.”

She put the down paperonce more. “What are youtalkingabout?”

“Five nights ago, whenGordon here nearly killedWillPryor.”

Gordontwistedhismouthto the side like a little boyaccusedofstealing.

“It’s happened again?”

Sephiraasked.“Aye. Not exactly the

same thing, of course; thecircumstances have beendifferent. But several timesover the past few days I’vefelt these conjurings, andeach one of them has leddirectlytoviolence.”

“AndwhatexactlydoyoubelieveMarizcando?”

“Tobeperfectlyhonest, I

don’t know. I need to speakwith another conjurer,someone who understandsspellmaking.Thisisapuzzle,Sephira, the like of whichI’ve rarely encountered. Ineedhelpfiguringitout.”

“Why must it be Mariz?Why not go to that mad oldwoman who lives on theNeck?Windcatcher.Whynotaskher?”

“I intend to,” Ethan said.“But surely you can see thevalue in speaking to morethanoneperson.”

“All right, ask him whatyou will.” Her smile was asthinassmoke.

“I’dprefertospeakofthisinprivate.”

“I don’t care what you’dprefer,” Sephira said, firingthewordsbackathim.

“Icamehereasacourtesyto you, Sephira. I knew thatyou wouldn’t be pleased bymy request, but I thought itproper that I ask rather thanseek out Mariz’s advicewithout your knowledge. Ican just as easily leave now,and approach him anothertime.Wouldyoupreferthat?”

If Sephira could conjure,she would have turned him

into a human torch. Sheglanced at Mariz beforeturning her glare back toEthan. “Five minutes,” shesaid,hervoiceso low thatatfirstEthanwasn’tsurehehadheard. “You can speakoutsideontheportico.”

“Thankyou,Sephira.”Ethan left them there,

knowing that Mariz wouldfollow eventually, but that

Sephirawouldwish to speakwithhimfirst.

He let himself out of thehouse, and stepped to theedge of the portico to stareoutacrossthesnowypasture.

After a few minutes, heheard the door behind himopen and close, and thescrapeofabootonmarble.

“You should not havecome,”Marizsaid.“Showing

such courtesy to the senhoramayseemprudent,butinfactit diminishes her trust inme.Each time we speak inconfidence, my relationshipwith her and the otherssuffers. I have told you thisbefore,andyet—”

“My ghost says that thelastspellcamefromme.”

He faced Mariz, whogazed back at him, blinking

inthebrilliantdaylight.“Iwasn’tabletoattempta

revela potestatem spell—there were too many peoplearoundme.AndevenifIhad,I thinkwe both know that itwouldhaveshownnothingatall. But as soon as the spellwas cast, my spectral guideappeared, as he did the nightGordonbeatPryor.”

Marizstartedtoargue,but

Ethan cut him off with araisedhand.

“That is what happened,Mariz.Yousawhim;webothdid.At the time,wecouldn’tknowforcertain,butafterallthat’s happened since, I’mconvinced it was my ghostwho appeared in Pryor’sroom. Last night, when Iasked him where theconjuringhad come from,he

pointed at me. I hadn’t cutmyself; none of my mulleinwasmissing.Butsomehow,Icastthespell.”

“What did it do, thisconjuring you cast withoutknowing?”

“It started a row betweena group of British soldiersand some of the young menwho attended ChristopherSeider’s funeral. As it

happens, I felt a spell thatday, too. I was on MiddleStreet when Richardson shotthe lad, and a short whilebefore he pulled the trigger,someonecastaspell.”

“‘Someone cast,’” Marizrepeated. “So this conjuringdidnotcomefromyou.”

“My guide didn’t knowwhereitcamefrom.Ibelievethat whoever is doing this is

getting stronger and witheachday isbetterable touseme as a conduit for hispower.”

“Was anyone hurt lastnight?”

Ethan shook his head.“No.Butasecondspell—onethat also came from me—made one of the soldiersattackafriendofmine.Ihadto resort to a sleep spell to

keep him from killing theman.”Heclosedhis eyes fora few seconds and took along, steadyingbreath, tryingtoquellthepanicrisinginhischest. This was how he hadfelt throughout that weekduring the summer, asRamsey unleashed horrorsupon the city.He opened hiseyesandaskedMariz,“Haveyou ever heard of a conjurer

castinginthisway?”“Ihavenot.”Ethan had expected as

much.“I believe I know what

youarethinking,Kaille,forIam thinking it as well: youbelieve that Ramsey hasreturned and is responsibleforthesespells.”

“The thought has crossedmymind.”

“Youshouldhavetoldthesenhora. She would havebeen more willing to let usspeak.”

“I was afraid she wouldimmediately start hunting forhim.”

“Would that not be ofhelptoyou?”

“If Sephira and Ramseygo to war, innocent peoplewill die. I won’t shy away

from a fight; if Ramsey isback, I’ll kill him. He’s leftme no choice. But I wouldrather not endanger half ofBostonifIcanhelpit.”

“He may not leave youmuch choice in that regardeither.”

Marizwasright.ThedooropenedandNap

joined them on the portico.“Sephira wants you inside,

Mariz.” He looked Ethan’sway, but went back into thehousewithoutanotherword.

“I’m sorry if I’ve madeyour relationship withSephira more difficult,”Ethan said, once Nap hadclosedthedooragain.

Theconjurershrugged.“Iunderstand now why youcame.Itcouldnotbehelped.”

Ethandescendedthesteps

tothecobblestonepath.“I sensed a finding spell

thismorning,”Marizcalledtohim,making him stop. “Wasthatyours?”

“Aye. I should haveknown that Ramsey couldn’tbe located so easily, but Itried it anyway. I’ve alsosearched the waterfront forhisship,andfoundnothing.Idid find another conjurer in

the city, someone I don’tknow.”

“Perhaps we are wrong,then, about Ramsey. Perhapsitisthisotherconjurer.”

Ethan shrugged. “Maybe.I’vewondered in recentdayswhether I’m so afraid ofRamsey’s return that I’mincapable of rationalthought.”

“Where Ramsey is

concerned,”Marizsaid,“fearis rational thought. Youshould be careful; turn yourbackonnoone.”

Thismuch,atleast,Ethanhad figured out for himself.He raised a hand in farewellandwalkedaway.

ChapterELEVEN

Ethan’s conversation with

Janna went much as had hisexchange with Mariz. Shehad never heard of oneconjurer using another in thewaythisspellerseemedtobeusing Ethan, which was astriking admission comingfrom her: Janna knew moreabout spellmaking than anyconjurerhe’dmet.Butthoughperplexedbywhathetoldheraboutthespells,sheremained

unconvinced that Ramseywasbehindtheattacks.

“You’re thinking’ toomuchlikeathieftakeran’notenoughlikeacrazyman,”shetoldhim.

“Thatmight be thenicestthing you’ve ever said tome.”

She scowled. “Youunderstand what I’m saying.Ramseywantsyoudead, and

he’snotoneforbein’subtle.”“Whatifthisisallhecan

managenow, Janna?What ifhe was so badly hurt in thefirelastsummerthathe’snotstrong enough for a battle?Maybe subtlety is all he hasleft.”

She pondered this forsome time before concedingthat hemight be right.Ethanwouldhavepreferredthatshe

tryhardertoconvincehimhewaswrong.

After leaving the FatSpider, Ethan made his wayback past the South Endthrough Cornhill. He hadplanned to return to theDowsingRod,butashedrewnearer to Murray’s Barracks,an ideacame tohim.Hehadgone to theGreenDragon tosee if a conjurer in the Sons

of Liberty could have beencasting these mysteriousspells. But there were othersin Boston who might havesomething togainfrommoreviolent confrontationsbetween patriots and Tories.And his finding spell hadrevealed a conjurer in thecenter of the city, perhapsnearthebarracks.

SlippingoffofTreamount

Street before he reached thecornerofQueen,Ethanmadesure he could not be seen.Rather than risk callingattention to himself byremovinghisgreatcoat,hebitdown on the inside of hischeek and whispered,“Velamentum ex cruoreevocatum.” Concealment,conjuredfromblood.

Thespellpulsed,andReg

watched as the conjuringsettledoverhim.

“There may be conjurerswhereI’mgoing,”Ethansaid.“I don’t want them to seeyou. Dimitto te.” I releaseyou.

The only thing Regseemedtolikelessthanbeingsummoned was beingdismissed. He glowered atEthanashefadedfromview.

ButEthanhadmorepressingmatters with which toconcern himself. Walkingthrough the city under aconcealment spell wasdifficult under the best ofcircumstances, as he had totake care that he made nonoise with his footsteps. Butwith fresh snow on theground, his task became thatmuch more complicated. He

needed to place his feet onlyin spotswhere the snow hadalreadybeenpackeddownbyothers.

Hewalked slowly, takinggreatcarewitheachstep.Hepassed groups of soldiers,watching them for any signthattheysensedhispresence,buteverymanhesawignoredhim.Reachingtheentrancetothe barracks, which was an

old sugar warehouse ownedby James Murray and JamesSmith, he waited as severalmen emerged from thebuildingontothestreetbeforeeasinginside.

Ethanwasn’tsurewhathehadexpectedof thebarracks,but upon entering he wasshockedbythesqualorofthesoldiers’ quarters. The airstank of sweat and urine and

stale food. Though thewarehousewasspacious,cotswerecrowded into it, leavinglittle room for walking; themen enjoyed no privacy. Itwasnowondertheoccupyingarmy had seen so manydesertions over the past yearandahalf,orthatsuchalargenumber of soldiers hadresortedtothieving.

Still, the soldiers Ethan

sawinthebarracks,whohadgathered in large and smallclusters throughout the largespace, seemed content togamble at cards and laugh atone another’s jokes. A fewmen in one corner of theroom groused about “thedamn’d dogs” they hadencountered in the streets,and the “whores andmongrels” who served them

in thevariouspublickhousestheyfrequented.

Ethan didn’t remain withthis group long enough tolearniftheycountedKanniceamongthem.Severaltimesheheard men speak of usingtheir muskets the next timethey were accosted by gangsoftoughs,buthethoughtthismore bluster than anythingelse. Most of the men who

said these thingswere youngand appeared to be showingofffortheiroldercomrades.

He did not sense anyconjurers among the regularslounging in the barracks, buta skilled speller might haveavoided detection. To becertain, he decided to try aspell. He moved to a spotnear the center of the room,so that he could see most

everyman in thewarehouse,and quietly removed threeleaves of mullein from thepouchinhispocket.

Tegimen ex verbascoevocatum, he said in hismind. Warding, conjuredfrommullein.

He didn’t anticipate thathewouldneedthewardingtoprotect himself, but a spellerdid not waste conjurings.

Still,thewardingwasfarlessimportant than the act ofconjuringitself.

Most of the men showedno sign of feeling the spell.But one soldier, a young,lankyman reclining on a cotnear the southern end of theroom,tensedandsatup.

“Abi!”EthanwhisperedtoReg, who had appeared likespell-summoned fire next to

him.Goaway!This command pulsed as

hadthefirstspell.Theyoungsoldierwason

his feet now, staring inEthan’sdirection.

Cursing his recklessness,but glad to have thewardinginplace,Ethanbackedtowardthedoorway, placinghis feetwith great care.When at lasthe reached the door he

retreatedintothestreet.Othersoldiersmilledaboutoutside,but he avoided them andmoved away from thebarrackswith asmuch speedandaslittlenoiseashecouldmanage.Still,hedidn’tgosofarthathecouldn’tgetagoodlook at the soldier should heappear at the barracksentrance. After a fewseconds, the young soldier

did just that,peeringout intothestreet.

“Who’s there?” the manasked in a low voice, thewords tinged with a Scottishburr.

Ethaneasedcloser.“Wha’s the matter there,

Morrison?” asked one of themenstandingnearby.

“It’s nothing. I thought Iheardsomethin’.”

“Hearin’ things now, areye?”

“Aye,” he said. Still hesurveyed Brattle Street. Itmight have been Ethan’simagination, but he thoughtthat the man’s gaze lingeredon him briefly. He didn’t somuchasdrawbreath.

“I’m gonna step outsidefor a bit,” the man called tosomeoneinthebarracks.

He started in Ethan’sdirection, removing a knifefrom his belt as he walked.Ethan took a fewmore stepsback, trying to match hisfootfalls with those of thesoldier.

A chaise rattled past.Using the sound tomask hissteps, Ethan hurried on toQueenStreet.

He hadn’t gotten far,

however, when a spellgrowled in the ground. Heknew it at once for a findingspellandspatacurse,turningthe heads of some mennearby.

The spell rushed towardhim, slipping over the streetlikeanadvancing tideoverasandyshore.Itcaughtupwithhiminmereseconds,seemingto tug at his legs asmight a

retreatingwave.The young soldier had

followed him as far as thecorner of Brattle Street,shadowed by a pale form. Itappeared tobe theghostofaman,alsodressedinsoldier’sgarb. With the sun shiningdown on the snow, Ethancould barely make out thefiguremuchlessdetermineitsexact color, but it looked to

be a pale blue. After amoment, the ghost lifted ashimmering arm and pointeddirectlyathim.

Ethan knew that with hisconcealment spell still inplace,thesoldiercouldn’tseehim. Nevertheless, he feltexposed, vulnerable. Heturned and ran, knowing thathe risked giving himselfaway. At the first corner, he

turned southward away fromtheDowserandkeptrunning,hisbadlegaching.

When he came to SchoolStreet, he turned again, thistime toward the waterfront.He passed King’s Chapel,where his friend Trevor Pellserved as a minister, andentered thenarrower lanesofthe Cornhill section of thecity. He had followed a

roundabout path, but hedidn’t want the soldierfollowing him either to theDowser, or to his room overHenry’s cooperage,wherehewas headed now. He neededto remove his concealmentconjuring, but he fearedcasting the spell too close tothe barracks, since the pulseof his own conjuring wouldbe as effective as a finding

spell in telling the soldierwhere he was. The fartherEthan was from the manwhen he cast, the moredifficult it would be for thesoldier to determine hislocation.

As Ethan passed Henry’sshop on his way around thebuilding to the stairway inback that led to his room,Shelly lifted her head and

thumpedhertailonthesnow-covered lane. Dogs, Ethanhadnoticedinthepast,couldsee through concealmentconjurings; he had no ideawhy.

He climbed the stairscarefully, trying tomake nota sound, and to keep hisbalanceonthetreacherousicethat covered the old woodentreads.Oncehewassafelyin

his room, with the doorlocked, he pulled off hisgreatcoat, cut his arm, andsaid, “Fini velamentum excruore evocatum.” Endconcealment, conjured fromblood.

Reg materialized directlyin frontofhim, frowning theway Ethan’s mother used towhen disappointed in hiscasting.

“I know,” Ethan said.“I’mafool.”

Regnodded.“But now I know that

there’s at least one conjureramong the ranks of theTwenty-ninthRegiment.Andhedidn’tlikethatIwasthere.Perhapshehasmore inmindthanjustkeepingthepeace.”

Regofferednoresponse.But Ethan remembered

thesoldier’sfindingspell.Asreluctantashewastoconjuretoo much and draw the mantoHenry’s shop,Ethanknewthat he had to attempt onemorespell.

He cut himself again,dabbed at the welling blood,andmarkedhisownforeheadand face as he had done toEbenezer Richardson severalnightsbefore.

“Revelaomniasmagiasexcruore evocatas,” he said.Reveal allmagicks, conjuredfromblood.

The rumble of the spellseemed to emanate from thefoundation of the building.Ethan’s face felt cool wherethe blood evaporated. Andwhen he looked down at hislegs, where the soldier’sfinding spell had touched

him,hesawthatatlastoneofhisrevelaspellshadworked.

On the street, in thesunlight,thesoldier’sspectralguide had looked as pale asice. In the murky light ofEthan’s room, however, hispowerwasafardeepershadeofblue.

Reg pointed a ghostlyfingerat theglowonEthan’slegs and raised his gaze to

Ethan’s.“Yourecognizethatcolor,

don’tyou?”Yes.Ethan had hoped for this.

Reg’s eyes wouldn’t havebeenfooledbythedaylightashiswere.Hewouldhaveseenthe soldier’s ghost in its trueform.

“DidyouseeitonMiddleStreet?Was this the color of

the ghost you saw the dayChrisSeiderwasshot?”

Theghostnodded.A part of Ethan wished

that he had confronted thesoldier—Morrison, anotherman had called him—ratherthan running from him,though he knew howdangerous that could havebeen.

“Didhecastthespellthat

madeRichardsonfire?Orthespells that sparked theconfrontation during ChrisSeider’sfuneral?OreventheoneusedagainstGordon?”

Reg didn’t answer rightoff. Eventually he shrugged,an apology etched in hisancientfeatures.

“I understand; it’s allright.”

Considering his own

questionEthanwasn’tsurehebelieved thatMorrison couldhave cast them. Those otherspells left no residue, and atleast two of them had beenmade toseemlike theycamefromEthan.TherichcolorofMorrison’s magick indicatedthat he had some skill as aconjurer, but he had donenothing today to indicate hepossessed enough power to

havecastthoseotherspells.Which begged a different

question: IfMorrison’s ghostwas on Middle Street whenRichardson fired into thecrowd, did thatmeanhewasworking with someone else,who had cast those otherspells?Wasitpossiblethathewas an associate of NateRamsey or even JonathanGrant,theconjurerEthanmet

at the Green Dragon? Andhad the soldier been on thestreet the previous night,when Ethan put himselfbetween the regulars and theyoung men? He didn’tremember seeing Morrisonthere, but he had beenoccupiedwithothermatters.

Morrison might not havedone anything to convinceEthan that he had power

enough to cast these spells.Butwasn’titmorelikelythathe was responsible for thespells cast in recent days,than that Nate Ramsey hadreturnedtoBostonunnoticed?

Withallofthistoponder,he left his room and againwalkedthelengthofBoston’swaterfront, from Gibbon’sShipyard to Hudson’s Point.Asbefore,hedidnotfindthe

Muirennamongthevesselsinand around Boston’swharves. When he hadfinished, cold and exhausted,his bad leg screaming, hewent to the Dowsing Rod,giving the barracks onHillier’s Street a wide berthashelefttheNorthEnd.

He arrived at the tavernbefore most of Kannice’sregular patrons, and took a

seat in the farthest corner ofthe great room. Kelf placedbeforehimanaleandabowlof fish chowder. Ethan wasravenous, and was soonworking on seconds of each.But asheate,hebroodedonhowlittlehehad learned thisday.

Relievedashewasthathehadn’t found Ramsey’s ship,he wasn’t entirely certain

what he ought to do next.Chances were that Morrisonwouldn’t be leaving Bostonany time soon.Hewas stuckhere with his regiment, andunless he deserted, whichdidn’t seem likely if he wasplotting to sow conflict withthese spells, Ethan wouldknowwhere to findhim.Butwhile Ethan wanteddesperately to question the

soldier,hedidn’tthinkitwisetodosoquiteyet.NordidheexpectthatarequestmadeofMorrison’s commanders formore information about thesoldier would yield anyresults. The one person whomight be able to learnsomething of Morrison wasthesheriff,butaswearyashewas, Ethan could not face aconversation with Greenleaf

this night. With somereluctance, he vowed silentlythat he would seek out thesheriffcomethemorning.

The evening passedwithout incident. Diver andDeborahcameinandsatwithEthan for a short while, butthey seemed to be in themidstofaspat,andneitherofthem said much. Ethan wasrelieved when, earlier than

usual,theyleftthetavern.Heretired early aswell, and didnot hear Kannice when shejoinedhiminherbed.

By the timeEthan awokethe following morning, shewas already gone from theroom; he could hear hermoving around downstairs.He dressed and joined herthere.

Seeinghim,shecameout

from behind the bar andkissedhim.“Goodmorning.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t hearyoucomeinlastnight.”

“It’s all right,” she said.“You slept; I’m glad.” Sheglanced at his greatcoat,which he had carried downwithhim.“Whereareyouoffto now, without anybreakfast?”

He smiled. “I need to

speak with the sheriff. Andafter that I’llprobablysearchthewaterfrontagain.”

Concern furrowed herbrow.“You’regoingtomakeyourself sick, walking somuch in this cold. And ifRamseyishere,andhasbeensince you felt that first spell,don’t you think that youwould have found his shipalready?”

“I think that I’ll find hisshipwhen he’s ready formeto find it, and I don’t knowwhenthat’sgoingtobe.”

If anything thismade herlookmoreworried.“Willyoubebacklater?”

“Aye,Ipromise.”He left the tavern and

walked once again to WestStreetandthestatelyhomeofStephen Greenleaf. The

sheriff was emerging fromthe house as Ethan arrived.Seeing him, Greenleafscowled.

“What are you doinghere?”

“Ineedinformationabouta man, a soldier with theTwenty-ninth.”

“AndwhatinGod’snamemade you think that I wouldbe willing to help you? In

case you hadn’t noticed,Kaille,IworkfortheCrown,just as this soldier does. I’mnotgoingtotellyou—”

“He’saspeller.”Greenleafblewoutalong

breath,vaporbillowinginthechill morning air. “And howwouldyouknowthat?”

“His family name isMorrison. I don’t know hisgivenname.Hespeakswitha

burr, so I assume he’s aScotsman. And I have causeto believe that he was onMiddle Street whenChristopherSeiderwasshot.”

“Why do you need me?Why can’t you find outwhatever it is you want toknow?”

“I’dneed to speakwith acommanderinthearmy,andIdon’t think there are many

British captains who wouldwishtosharewithathieftakerinformation about the menunder their command. But itmay be that the sheriff ofSuffolk County can getanswers to questions Icannot.”

Greenleaf made a small,impatient gesture, but hedidn’targue.Instead,hesaid,“You didn’t answer me,

Kaille.”“I’d have thought you

wereusedtothatbynow.”“What makes you think

thismanisawitch?”“The devil came to my

room last night and told mehewas.”

“Isee.So,you’reaskingaboon of me, for the secondtimeinless thanaweek,andonce again you refuse to tell

mewhatIwishtoknow.WhyshouldIhelpyou?”

“Because, Sheriff, I’mtrying to help you do yourjob,andyou’retryingtohavemehangedasawitch.I’mnotsurethetwoarecomparable.”

“You’retryingtohelpmedo my job?” Greenleaflaughed. “It seems to meyou’re trying tomakemedoyours.”

“That’s not—This man,Morrison, he might well beresponsible not only for theSeider boy’s death but for aconfrontation that nearly ledto a secondmurder the nightof the lad’s funeral. And hemight be—” He broke off,uncertain of how much heoughttotellthegoodsheriff.

“Hemightbewhat?”Ethan shook his head.

“He’s a dangerous man,Sheriff.I’msureofit.”

“He might be what?”Greenleaf demanded again,enunciatingeachword.

Ethan didn’t answer andafter several moments, thesheriff turned and startedaway down West Street.“Goodday,Kaille.”

“He might be workingwithNateRamsey.”

Greenleaf halted andwhirled on his heel. “Whatdidyousay?”

“Youheardme.”The sheriff glanced up

and down the lane beforewalkingback towhereEthanstood.“Iheardyouspeakofaghost,”hesaid,hisvoicelow.“Ramsey’sdead.You’vesaidyou don’t believe he is, butI’ve seen no proof otherwise

andit’sbeenmonths.”“He’s not dead. And I

believe he’s back in Boston,though as of yet I have noevidencetoproveit.”

“Ofcourseyoudon’t.It’srather convenient for you,being able to slingRamsey’sname aroundwhen youwanttoalarmme,orgetme todoyour bidding, or divert myattentionfromotherthings.”

“What other things?”Ethanasked,hisvoicerising.

“I don’t know.That’s foryou to tell me.We can startwith this Morrison fellow:Whatmakesyouthinkhe’saconjurer and why didn’t youmention before that you sawhimonMiddleStreet?”

“I heard from someoneelse that he was on MiddleStreet. I didn’t see him

myself.” My spectral guidesaw his spectral guide. Themere thought of saying thisnearly made Ethan laughaloud. “As for Morrison’sconjuring abilities,” he said,pressing on, “he … he didthings that raised mysuspicions.”

“Whatthings?”Ethan threw his arms

wide.“Whatdoesitmatter?”

“I thought as much,” thesheriff said with a smirk.“You ask for my aid, butyou’re so concerned withkeeping your neck out of anoose that youwon’t tellmewhat I want to know.” Henarrowed his eyes. “I don’tthink there was any conjureron Middle Street but you. Idon’t think there was anyconjurer at that damned

funeral but you. I’d wagerevery coin in my pocketagainst every one in yoursthatyouwereresponsible forthosespells.”

Ethan wanted to gainsaythe man, but Greenleaf’sguesshad struck too close tothetruthforcomfort.

“I don’t know whatyou’replayingat,”Greenleafsaid, leaning closer to him.

“But I won’t be your dupe,and I won’t waste my dayschasing after witches andwraiths. If you truly believethat Ramsey’s back youshouldn’t be here, troublingme. You should be scouringthecity.”

Ethan glowered at himandthenbegantolimpaway.“Very well, Sheriff,” he saidoverhisshoulder.“I’llgetthe

information some other way.Good day.” He walked backto the street, but halted thereand faced Greenleaf again.“And just so you know, Ihave been scouring the city.I’vewalked the lengthof thewaterfront.Allofit.Twice.”

“And what have youfound?”

“Nothing. I’ve seen nosign of the Muirenn or

Ramsey.”“And yet you remain

convinced that Ramsey isnearby.”

“Aye,” Ethan said. “Notbecause I wish to distract oralarm you, but because I’mdetermined that he will notcatchusunawaresagain.”

Hestrodeaway,andwhenGreenleafcalledhisname,hewas tempted to ignore him.

Butat lastheturnedandsawthat the sheriff had reachedthe street, and was walkingafterhim.

Greenleaf stopped a fewyards short of where Ethanstood, thin-lipped, his eyespale in the bright morninglight.

“Morrison,yousay?”“Aye. With the Twenty-

ninth.Iwouldn’tbesurprised

to learn that he had recentlybeen a seaman, perhaps on amerchant vessel.” Manyconjurers found employmentwith merchant captains, whowere less squeamish thanothers about magick andmoreinclinedtoseethevalueofhavingaspellerwiththemontheopenseas.

“I’llfindoutwhatIcan.”Greenleaf stalkedoffwithout

waitingforEthan’sreply.Ethan watched him go,

and then trod through thesnow and ice to thewaterfront. Kannice wasright, he knew: Ramsey wasnot so careless as to lethimself be found before hewasreadyforaconfrontation.But Ethan couldn’t bringhimselftogiveuplookingforhim.He stood at the base of

Fort Hill, near the SouthBattery, and he stared outover the icy surface of theharbor squinting against thesun and examining each shiphe could see. None was apink.

HethoughtaboutwalkingbacktoGibbon’sShipyard,tobegin his now-familiar routealong the city shore, but hislegs had grown leaden, and

alreadythecoldoftheharborbreeze was carving throughhiscoat.Instead,hemadehisway to Long Wharf andventured out onto the pier asfar as Minot’s “T,” fromwhence he could survey theharbor without walking suchagreatdistance.

The dock was lesscrowded than it would havebeen had the waters around

the wharf not been frozensolid, but still it bustledwithsailors walking to and fromtheir ice-locked ships andlaborers carrying goods fromwarehouses to the city.Mostof the men ignored Ethan,although a few eyed him,wariness in their stances andmiens. Ethan soon realizedthat he could see little morefromthewharf thanhecould

fromthestreetsthatranalongthe waterfront. Afterlingeringonthepierforafewminutes, shiveringwithin hiscoat,hemadeuphismindtoreturntotheDowsingRodforthe breakfast Kannice hadwanted him to eatwhen firsthewoke.

But as he followed the“T” back to themain branchof thewharf, a spell rumbled

in thewoodbeneathhis feet.HeknewwithoutlookingthatReg had appeared at hisshoulder, diaphanous in thesunlight; he didn’t spare theghostsomuchasaglance.Hestartedtoscanthewateragainfor Ramsey’s ship, butstopped himself. Instead helookedbacktowardthestreetforsomesignofMorrisonorhis blue spectral guide. He

sawneither.Someone near him

shouted a warning. Ethanspun. Two laborers circledeach other, fists raised, asothers gathered around them.Oneofthemen,thelargerofthe two, threw awild punch;theotherduckedunderitanddug his fist into the firstman’s gut. This laborerdoubled over but then

charged his foe. Theygrappled for several seconds,each trying to get theadvantage.After aminute ortwo of this, they fell to theground, still grabbing at oneanother, flailing with theirfists.

The men around themcheered; Ethan thought heheard several of themwagering on the outcome.

Notwishingtoseeeithermanhurt because of a spell thathadsomehowdrawnuponhisconjuring power, he wadedinto the growing cluster ofmen, pushed his way pastthoseclosesttothefight,andtriedtopullthemenapart.

Several of the spectatorsvoiced their displeasure, buttwo sailors joined Ethan intrying to separate the

laborers.Thelargermanbledfrom

hisnoseandacutonhis lip.Theotherhadascrapeonhisforehead, but appeared tohavegottenthebetteroftheirexchange.

“That’s enough!” Ethansaid, looking at each man inturn.

The smaller man held uphis hands. “Itwasn’tme that

startedit.”Ethanlookedatthelarger

man, who struggled to freehimselffromthegraspof thetwo sailors and renew hisassault.Hiseyeshadaglazedlook;EthanrecalledGordon’sappearing much the samewaythatnightinWillPryor’sroom.

“Get away from here,”Ethan said to the smaller

laborer.“I work here, an’ like I

toldyou,itwashimthattookthefirstswingatme.Tellhimtogo.”

Ethan couldn’t very wellexplain to him that the othermanwas under the influenceof a conjuring. “I know it’snotyourfault—”

Acryofpainandshoutedwarningsstoppedhim.

Ethan pivoted again. Thebig laborer had thrown offboth of the sailors. One ofthem was on his knees,bleeding from a gash on hisarm, the other lay still, abloodywoundoverhisheart.

The laborer swung atEthan, silver flashing in hishand. A knife. Ethan barelymanaged to throw himselfbackward and to the ground.

The big man advanced onhim, his fight with the otherlaborernowforgotten.

“Discuti ex cruoreevocatum,” Ethan said, notcaring who heard him.Shatter,conjuredfromblood.

The spell pulsed and theblade in the man’s handfractured with a sound likethe ringing of coins. Amurmur swept through the

crowd around them. Thelaborer, though,didnotseemtonoticethathisweaponwasbroken.

Ethan clambered to hisfeet and, as theman reachedhim,raisedhisfists.

The laborer triedagain tohithim,butEthandodgedtheblow and struck one of hisown, catching the laborerflush on the jaw. The man

staggered.Ethan bit down on the

inside of his cheek andsilently cast a sleep spell.Dormiteexcruoreevocatum.

The laborer swayed andfinallycollapsed.

The men around themwatched him fall, but thenturned their gazes to Ethan.Silent, fearful, hostile; theyeyedhimthewaytheymight

one of the natives who hadfought alongside the FrenchduringtheSevenYears’War.

“What did you do tohim?”oneofthemasked.

“I hit him,” Ethan said.“Yousawmedoit.”

“You didn’ hit him thathard. An’ we saw what youdidtohisknife,too.”

“I did nothing to hisknife.”

Ethan pushed past themen to the two sailors. Theone with the cut on his armknelt beside his friend, whohadnotmoved.

Ethanhadused theproneman’s blood for the shatterspell, but more had stainedhis shirt, and blood stillseeped from the wound. Hisbreathing was shallow, andhisskinhadasicklygrayhue.

“He’s dyin’,” his friendsaid. He looked up, meetingEthan’s gaze. He wasyounger than Ethan hadthought; both of them were.“Can’tyouhelphim?”

Ethan shook his head.“I’mnot—”

“I don’t care if you’re awitch. I’ve sailed with yourkind, and I will again. But Iknowyoucanhelphim.”

“Itmightbetoolate.”“Try.Please.”There was enough blood

on this man’s arm and theother man’s chest for ahealing spell, but the rest ofthe men were watching,listening.

Ethan decided that hedidn’t care, at least notenough to allow the man todie.

He placed his hand overthe wound, and whispered,“Remedium ex cruoreevocatum.”Healing,conjuredfromblood.

Healing spells weredifferent from otherconjurings.Theydidn’tpulsesomuchas they echoed, likea distant pealing bell. Hesensed the power flowingthrough his hand into the

sailor’s chest. He knew thatbeneath his palm and theman’scoatandshirt,theskinwas closing, knitting itselfback together. He was butdimly aware of the menaround him, but he guessedthat they were watching. Heknew that any one of themcould well tell the sheriffwhatEthanhaddonethisday.Before nightfall, Greenleaf

might finally have theevidenceheneededtotosendEthantothegallows.

“So be it,” Ethanmuttered,hiseyesclosed,hishand still trembling with themight of his conjuring. Hedidn’t yet know how to stopthis conjurer, whoever hewas, from drawing upon hispower to hurt others. But atleast he could fight back in

thisway.After some time, Ethan

pulled his hand away fromthe sailor’s chest. Leaningforward,heopenedtheslitintheman’sclothes toexaminethewound.Therewasa lividscar there, but the skin wasclosed, the bleeding hadstopped.

“Will he live?” the sailorasked.

“I don’t know.” Ethanwas too weary to stand. Heremained on his knees, hisheadbowed.

“What’sallthis?”He knew that voice too

well. Greenleaf had comeevensoonerthanheexpected.

Thesheriffshoulderedhisway through the crowd, onlystopping when he stooddirectlyoverEthan.

“Kaille. I should haveknownthatI’dfindyouatthemiddle of it.” He lookedaround at the other faces.“Well,whathappenedhere?”

For several seconds noone spoke. Then one of theonlookers pointed at thesleeping laborer and said,“That cove started it.” Hepointedatthesmallerlaborer.“Hestartedfightingwith this

onehere.Then thatone—theone you talked to—hesteppedinandputthisfellowdownwithonepunch.”

“Kaille did that?” thesheriff said, his tone asdoubtful as such a claimdeserved. “And what aboutthesetwo?Whocutyou?”heaskedthekneelingsailor.

“Thatsamecove.”“What happened to your

friend?”The sailor glanced at

Ethan and then at hiswounded companion, whoseshirtnolongerhadanybloodonit.

“Thatmanhithim,”Ethansaid before the sailor couldanswer.Hestoodandpointedatthelaborer.“Itwasquiteablow.Thismanhasn’tmovedsince.”

“Ishedead?”“Idon’tthinkso.”“What is this all about,

Kaille?Doesithaveanythingto do with…” He looked atthe others, appearing unsureofhimself.“With thoseotherincidentswe’vediscussed?”

“Aye,itmight.Ican’tyetbecertain.”

“Ofcourseyoucan’t.Butyou’re at the center of it

again, aren’t you? Or didRamsey do this, too?”Greenleafsurveyedthewharfone last time, regarding theother men and Ethan withsuspicionanddisgustinequalmeasure. “You should getthat one to a surgeon,” hesaid, waving a hand vaguelyat the wounded sailor. “Andthe rest of you should getback to your jobs.” He

leveled a finger at Ethan.“Thatincludesyou.”

Greenleaf turned smartlyand left them.Ethanwatchedhim go, feeling like he hadcheated at cards and gottenawaywithit.

“The sheriff is right,” hesaid to the sailor with thegash on his arm. “Take yourfriendtoasurgeon.I’vedonewhatIcanforhim,buthelost

alotofblood.”“Iwill.Thankyou.”“I believe I should be

thanking you.” Heencompassedtheothersinhisglance.“Allofyou.”

“Idon’tusuallyholdwithyour kind,” said one man inthe crowd. “But if you cansave that lad’s life … well,yourdevilrycan’tbeallbad.”

Ethanwasn’tsurewhatto

say.Henoddedtotheman.“I wish I could do what

youdidtothatcove’sknife,”anotherman said. “You’d behandy to have around in afight.”

“My thanks, sir. I’mgrateful toyoufornot tellingthesheriffwhatyousaw.”

“You won’t find a snitchon this wharf,” the first mansaid,histonehardening.“Nor

on any other. You work thewaterfront, you keep yourmouth shut.” He grinned.“Besides, there aren’t toomanydownherewhocareforGreenleaf, that is unless youcountthecustomsboys.”

Others laughed at this,includingEthan.

“I should be going,” hesaid.“Again,thankyou.”

“What’s your name?” the

man asked before Ethancouldwalkaway.

Afterwhat theyhaddoneforhim,hecouldn’tverywellrefuse to answer. “EthanKaille.”

“O’ course,” one of theolder men said. “From theRubyBlade.”

“That’sright.”“You’re a thieftaker,

aren’tyou?”

“I am.” He hesitated,wonderingifhewasabout togive offense. “I know thatnone of you here wouldinform on someone, but Ihave to ask:Do you know acaptain named NateRamsey?”

“I knew his father,” theolderman said. “Haven’t seethesonsincesummer.”

Nooneelsesaidaword.

“Verywell.Goodday.”Ethan returned to King

Street and threaded his waythrough the South End lanestoward the Dowsing Rod.Uncle Reg walked besidehim, his glow deepening inthe shadows of the narrowstreets.

“Thespell thatstartedthefight—it came from me,didn’tit?LikethespellsIfelt

thenightofthefuneral?”Regnodded.“I didn’t cast it.” But

Ethan knew his denial ranghollow. Whatever hisintention, his power hadsparkedviolence.Again.

ChapterTWELVE

Once back in the Dowser,

Ethan found that he wasreluctant to leave the tavernagain. He hated admitting tohimself that he was afraid,buthecouldnotdenythathefeared setting off moreconflicts. At least in thetavern, sitting by himself attherearofthegreatroom,hedid not risk encounters witharmed soldiers or excitablemobs.

As with everything elsehehadexperiencedduringthecourse of the past week, hisapprehension turned histhoughts to Nate Ramsey.The captain knew him toowell; he understood thatEthan would choose to hidehimselfratherthanputothersat risk. Which meant thatEthanwasdoingexactlywhatRamseywantedhimtodo.

If Ramsey was behindtheseconjurings.

Damn him! Ethanthought. Self-doubt,confusion, fear—these werethe captain’s favoredcurrencies. Ethan might nothave proof of the man’sreturn to Boston, but ifRamsey was not responsiblefor the malign spells cast inrecentdays,hedidn’twantto

meet the conjurer who was.Knowing for certain thatthere were two men whocould bedevil him so wasalmost more than Ethanthoughthecouldbear.

Night fell, the Dowserfilleduponcemore.KannicehadleftEthantohisthoughtsthroughout theafternoon,butnowsheapproachedhistablewith uncharacteristic

diffidence.“Are you feeling all

right?”sheasked.“Aye.I’mfine.”She frowned at that.

“You’re not fine,” she said,sounding more like herself.“You’vebeensittinghereforhours.Not that Imind, but Iexpected you to be down atthe waterfront, or askingquestionsofJanna,orrisking

a beating by going to seeSephira Pryce and herconjurer.”

“Well, I would. But thefood and ale here are toogood. I can’t bringmyself toleave.”

“Ethan,” she said,growling his name, aneyebrowcocked.

“Sit,” he said, indicatingthechairoppositehisown.

Her expression didn’tchange, but she loweredherselfintothechair.

“Iwas at thewaterfront,”he said, dropping his voice.“While I was there I felt aspell, and it caused anotherfight.Amannearlydied,andI had to conjure to protectmyself. At least two dozenmensawmedoit.”

“The first spell—your

ghost says it came fromyou?”

“Aye. So I’m herebecause I fear that if I’mouton the street, I’ll do moreharm than good. Probably Ishould go back to my roomon Cooper’s Alley. Thatwouldbesafest.”

She took his hand. “No,youshouldstayhere.”

“Eventually, I’ll have to

brave the world again. I’mnotgoingtofindtheconjurerwho’s responsible for thesespells by sitting at this table,gorging myself on your finechowdersandtheKentpale.”

Their smiles werefleeting.

“But for now,” Ethanwenton, “Idon’t knowwhattodoorwheretogo.”

“I understand. You know

that you’re welcome here aslong as you wish to stay.But…” She broke off,seemingtowinceatwhatsheintendedtosay.

“It’s all right, Kannice.Goon.”

“Don’t be angry withmeforsuggestingthis,butmaybeyou should leave Boston.Ramsey, or whoever this is,can’t hurt you if you’re not

here,andhecan’tuseyou tohurtothers.”

“Hecanhurtyou.Hecanhurt Janna and Mariz, DiverandHenry.Andsomeonehasto defeat him. Janna andMarizcan’tdoitwithoutme,and Iwouldn’twant them totry.”

“I’m sure that’s true, butif you’re just hiding fromhim…”

“I don’t intend to hideforever. I’m going to findhim, but right now I don’teven know where to look.Still, perhaps I should leave,becauseinthemeantime,I’mnotmakinganymoney.”

“You know you don’tneedmoneytostayhere.”

“Idoknowit.Thankyou.But I don’t feel right takingyour food and ale. And I’ll

owe rent to Henry beforelong.”

Kannice stood. “I’ll leaveyou. But know this: I wasconcerned for you; nothingmore. You can stay here aslong as you wish. I likehavingyouhere.”

Theybothsmiled.Shestarted towalkaway,

but then stopped and facedhimagain.“Ihaven’tbrought

thisupinsometime,becauseIknowthatyoudon’twanttodiscuss it. But if you livedhere, and worked here, evensome of the time, youwouldn’t need to pay forfood, and you wouldn’t oweanyrenttoHenry.”

It was a conversationthey’d had many timesbefore, though perhaps neverunder such dire

circumstances.“I’llconsiderit,”hesaid.Her smile returned.

“You’rehumoringmeagain.”“Perhapsalittle.”“Fine. Do you want

anotherale?”He peered into his

tankard, which was nigh toempty.“Please.”

“I’llsendKelfover.”“Thank you. I’ll be here,

tryingnottostartanyfights.”She laughed, but Ethan

could see that as she turnedaway her brow was creasedoncemore.

***

He didn’t leave the Dowserfor much of the followingday, which was the first ofMarch. He could havesearchedthewaterfrontagain,

and several times he reachedforhisgreatcoat,intendingtodo precisely that.But he hadlittle confidence that hewould find theMuirenn, andhe remained convinced thattherisksofventuringintothecity streets were too great tojustifyleavingthetavern.

Late in theday,however,a soldier arrived at theDowser bearing a message.

Ethan assumed that it wasfrom the lieutenantgovernor,expressinghis impatience fortidings about the Seidershooting. But instead themissive came from GeoffreyBrower, the husband ofEthan’s sister, Bett. Brower,who worked as a customsofficial, offered littleinformation in his note, butrequested thatEthancomeas

soonaspossibletotheRoyalCustoms House on KingStreet.

Curious as to whatGeoffrey could want of him,andgladtohavesomereasonother than dark conjurings toventure out into the lanes,Ethan grabbed his greatcoatand strode toward the door,indicating to the soldier thatheshouldleadtheway.

“Who was it from?”Kannice asked him frombehindthebar.

“Mysister’shusband.”“Whatdoeshewant?”“He didn’t say. I’ll be

back.”Ethan and the regular

steppedoutintothecold,andfollowed Sudbury Streetdown to Queen. After beingcoopedupinthetavernforso

long, Ethan was glad to beoutside.The streets remainedicy, and a cold wind off theharbor whistled throughalleys and past shops. Theskywas clear but had beguntodarken,andthesun,lowinthe west, cast elongatedshadowsacrossthecity.

As they passed BrattleStreet and a cluster ofsoldiers, Ethan tensed,

expecting at any moment tofeel a spell. But no pulse ofpower came, and soon theywerebeyondthemen.

Upon reaching theCustoms House, anondescript brick building tothe east of the Town House,the soldier accompaniedEthaninside.

“Ah, here he is now.”Geoffrey Brower stood near

anoakendesk at thebackoftheroomontowhichthedooropened.Hewastallandthin,with a steep forehead andhook nose that gave him anaspect of superciliousnessthat matched perfectly hispersonality. He wore a dittosuit of forest green, and aplaited,powderedwig.

Asecondmanstoodwithhim. He was several inches

shorter than Geoffrey andnarrow-shouldered, with astraightnose,darkeyes,andagrave expression. He, too,woreasilksuitandpowderedwig. Ethan knew withoutasking who this was, and heregretted having left theDowser.

“Ethan Kaille,” Geoffreysaid, crossing the room onlong strides, “I would like

you to meet Mister CharlesPaxton, of the CustomsBoard.”

Paxton offered a thinsmile, but made no effort toapproach Ethan or proffer ahandingreeting.

“It is my pleasure, sir,”Ethan said. “Geoffrey it’s…it’sgoodtoseeyouagain.”

“And you, Ethan. MisterPaxtonhasrecentlysuffereda

most grievous loss, and Ihave been telling him thatyouareoneofBoston’smostskilledthieftakers.”

Of course. Paxton wasinfamous throughout all ofMassachusettsasoneofonlytwo Boston-borncommissioners on the RoyalCustoms Board. Boston’sWhigs considered him asmuch a villain as they did

Francis Bernard, the formergovernor,andAndrewOliver,Boston’s first Stamp Taxcollector. Not surprisingly,therefore,hewasaherotothecity’s Tories. More to thepoint, though, as a customscommissioner,hewasalsoina position to advance dearGeoffrey’s career. This wasthe only reason Browerwould ever have admitted

knowing Ethan, much lessbeingrelatedtohim,albeitbymarriage.

Ethan was tempted toleavewithouthearinganotherword. But as he hadmentioned to Kannice thenightbefore,heneededwork.Paxtonwas amanofmeans;Ethan intended to charge thecommissioneraccordinglyforhisservices.

“I’msorrytohearofyourloss, sir,”he said.“Whatcanyou tell me about the stolenitems?”

“Most of what was takenbelongs to my wife. A pearlnecklace, a brooch set withsapphires and diamonds, andafewbaubles.Therewasalsoa pocket watch that oncebelonged to my father. It’sgold, but its value is more

sentimental than pecuniary.”Heclearedhis throat. “Tobehonest, Mister Kaille, I hadplanned to speak of thismatter with Sephira Pryce. Ihave nothing against youpersonally, but she enjoys asterling reputation. I’veagreedtospeakwithyoufirstas a courtesy to MisterBrower.”

“Of course, sir, I

understand.Whenwere theseitemstaken?”

“Only yesterday.” Hepaused,asifcastingaboutforsomething else to say.“Geoffrey tells me that yousolved the Berson murder afewyearsago?”

“That’sright.”“Ethan also found those

responsible for the deathsaboard the Graystone,”

Geoffreyadded,soundingtooeager.

“Yes, I had heard that. Itake it you have had othersuccessful inquiries asidefromthese.”

“I have, sir,” Ethan said.“But I’ve no interest incatalogingthemforyou.”

“Ethan!”“Be quiet, Geoffrey.”

Facing Paxton once more,

Ethan said, “I have been asuccessful thieftaker in thiscity for the better part of tenyears.I’mskilledatmytrade,I’m honest, and I’m discreet.IfyoupreferSephiraPryce,Iunderstand. I’ll say nothingagainsther, though Iwill tellyouthatI’msureeitherofuscan recover the items you’velost.Hireme.Don’thireme.Thechoiceisyours.”

Paxton staredopenmouthed; one mighthave thought Ethan hadstruck his face with a glove.Ethan was certain that themanwould tell him to leave.For his part, Geoffreyappeared apoplectic. ToEthan’s great surprise,however—and no doubtGeoffrey’s as well—thecommissionerbegantolaugh.

“Well played, MisterKaille. Well played. Verywell,whatdoyoucharge foryourservices?”

Foranyotherman,Ethanwouldhavedonetheworkforfive pounds total. But notPaxton.

“Seven pounds, sir. Twoandtennow,andfourandtenwhen I recover what you’velost.”

Paxton’s smile lingered,but the look inhiseyesgrewflinty. “You don’t lack forconfidence, do you? Sevenpounds is a good deal ofmoney.”

“Sephira Pryce willdemandmore.”

“I’venodoubt.”Heproducedapursefrom

his pocket, opened it, andcounted out two pounds and

ten shillings. He handed thecoinstoEthanandslippedthepurse back into his coat.Ethanpocketedthemoney.

“What now?” Paxtonasked. “I’ve been fortunate;this is the first time I’ve hadto hire a man of yourprofession. How does thiswork?”

“Itakeittheseitemswerestolenfromyourhome.”

“That’sright.”“Do you have any idea

whomighthavedonethis?”“None.Thereardoorwas

broken, my wife’s personaleffectswerestrewnaboutherdressing chamber and treatedmost barbarously. Whoeverdidthismightwellhavebeenpart of the rabble seen sooften abroad in our city’sstreets. I put nothing past

them.”“In thatcase, sir, Iwould

suggest that I meet you atyour home first thingtomorrow morning. I’ll wantto see the damage done toyour home, as well as thosejewelsbelongingtoyourwifethat were not stolen. At therisk of inconveniencing you,I’ll also need a writtendescription of each stolen

item.”“Ofcourse.”“You see, Mister

Paxton?” Geoffrey said.“Ethan is quite thorough. Ithink you’ll be very pleasedwithhiswork.”

Paxtonbarelyglancedhisway.EthanhadthesensethatBrower was doing little toingratiate himself with thecommissioner.

“I’ll look for youtomorrow morning, MisterKaille.”

“Yes,sir.Untilthen.”AsEthan turned to leave,

a thirdmanentered themainchamber from a small officeattherearofthebuilding.Heand theman recognizedeachother at the same time.Jonathan Grant, the patriotconjurer from the Green

Dragon, froze at the sight ofEthan, his mouth agape, hiseyesopensowidetheymadehisexpressioncomical.

“Ah, yes,”Geoffrey said.“Mister Grant, this is EthanKaille. Ethan, this is MisterGrant,oneofourclerks.”

His tone was sodismissive, Ethan wassurprised Grant didn’t roundon him in indignation. But

Grant did not seem able totear his gaze from Ethan.There was panic in hisyouthfulface,andanentreatyaswell.

Ethanprofferedahand totheman.“MisterGrant,it’sapleasure to make youracquaintance.”

“A-and yours,” the clerkmanaged, gripping Ethan’shandforaninstant.

“Grant, have you foundthosemanifests yet?” Paxtonasked.

“Mostofthem,sir.”“Well, find the rest.

Mister Kaille, I will lookforward to our conversationin themorn. For now I havematters that demand myattention.”

“Yes,ofcourse,sir.Untilthe morrow. Good night,

Geoffrey.”HenoddedoncetoGrant and left the CustomsHouse,gladtobeaway.

The sky overhead haddarkenedtoindigo,andafewstars had emerged, gleaminglike gems in the velvet. Themoon,apalesickle,hunglowin the west above a fieryhorizon. Despite the cold, itwas as lovely a night asBoston had seen in some

weeks.This might have had

something to do with thecoins that jangled in Ethan’spocket as he returned to theDowsing Rod. Kannicewould not be pleased withhim.NorwouldDiver.Meredays before he had stoppedworking for TheophilusLillie, they would say, andnow he was taking money

from Paxton, who was evenworse.

Ethan wouldn’t go so farastosaythathedidn’tcare—Kannice’s opinion meant agreatdealtohim.Buthealsocouldn’t deny that he washappy to be employed again,no matter who was payinghim.

Still, he was not lookingforward to telling her why

Geoffreyhadsummonedhim.Diver and Deborah were

already at the Dowser whenEthan arrived. He had littlechoicebuttotakehisalebackto their table.Kannice joinedhim there as he was stillgreetinghisfriends.

“What was that allabout?” she asked, a toweldraped over her shoulder,strands of auburn hair

hangingacrossherbrow.“The message from

Geoffrey, you mean?” Ethanasked,takinghisseat.

Her periwinkle eyesnarrowed and in that splitsecond it came to him againjust howwell she knewhim.“Of course that’s what Imean.Whatdidhewant?”

“He found work for me,andI’mhappytohaveit.”

“And who is it you’ll beworkingforthistime?”Diverasked, sounding every bit assuspiciousasKannice.

Ethan took a breath,bracing himself for theirresponse.“CharlesPaxton.”

“Paxton!”Diver repeated.“You might as well beworking for King Georgehimself!”

Ethan lifted his tankard

and took a sip. “Given whatthekingmightpay,Icoulddoworse.” He glanced atDeborah,whoappearedtobesuppressingagrin.

“What are you doing forhim?” Kannice asked. Ethancould tell that shewas tryingtoconcealheroutrage,andheappreciatedtheeffort.

“I’mnotprotectinghim,ifthat’swhatyou’reasking.His

home was robbed, and hehiredmetoretrievewhatwastaken.” He eyed Diver.“Surelywecanagreethatanyman who’s had his propertypinched deserves to get backwhat’s his, regardless of hispoliticalbeliefs.”

“I’m not so sure, wherePaxton’s concerned,” Diversaid. “Really, Ethan. Itsometimes seems you go out

of your way to work for themost despicable men inBoston.”

“Not out of my way, no.But when they’re offeringcoin, I don’t avoid themeither. You’ll be happy tohear, though, that I asked formorethanmyusualfee.”

This brought a smile toDiver’s face. “And heagreed?”

“Aye. I’m making aboutas much as Sephira Prycewould.”

“And why not?” Kannicesaid.“You’reworthmore.”

“Does that mean I’mforgiven?”

“It might.” A coy grincurved her lips. “We mightneed to discuss the matterfurtherlaterthisevening.”

Ethan held her gaze

beforeaskingofDiver,“Andyou?”

The younger manshrugged. “A cove’s got towork,doesn’the?”

It was a better ending tothe discussion than he hadexpected, and, later, a nicerconclusion to his eveningthanhehadanticipated.

***

Charles Paxton lived onHutchinson Street perhapsone hundred yards south ofMilkStreet.Hiswastheonlyresidence on the east side ofthe lane, and an impressivehome it was: a three-storybrick structure withcolonnades flanking the frontentrance. It stood directlyacross the lanefromtheropeyard of JohnGray and but a

short distance from Green’sBarracks,whichhousedthosemen of the Twenty-ninthRegiment for whom therewas no space at Murray’sBarracks. Indeed, Ethan hadforgotten how close to thequartersPaxtonlived.

The rope yard, one ofseveralinthispartofthecity,was a grand enterprise thatincluded a large warehouse,

several other buildingsincluding theGrayresidence,andanopenexpanse that ranalmostall thewayfromCowLanenorthtoMilkStreet.

Ethan arrived at thePaxtonestateastheclocksonthe nearby meeting housesstruck eight bells.Journeymen and apprenticeswere arriving at the ropeyards. Not far off, groups of

soldiers congregated in thestreet, bundled in their redcoats, their gazes followingtheworkers.

Ethan felt uneasy as hewaited for an answer to hisknockonPaxton’s door.Thesooner he was inside thehouse and away from theregulars and workers, thebetterforallconcerned.

He didn’t have to wait

long. The door opened andPaxtonhimselfgreetedEthan.

“You’re prompt, MisterKaille. That bodes well forourassociation.”

“Yes,sir.”Paxtonaskedhimintothe

house and escorted him firstto the rear of the house,where stood the broken dooranddoorjamb.Ethanknelt toexamine the damage more

closely, but from a mereglancehecouldseewhathadhappened.

“Thethiefusedhisfoottobreak in the door,” he said,still scrutinizing theshatteredwood. “He would havekickedithere…”Hepointed.“Beside the door handle. Itake it the theft occurredduring the day, while youwere at the Customs House,

and yourwifewas abroad inthecity.Iwouldimaginethatyour servants were gone aswell, shopping for groceries,perhaps.”

When Paxton saidnothing, Ethan craned hisnecktopeerupathim.

“Very well done, MisterKaille.Thatispreciselywhathappened.”

“Yes, sir. No thiefwould

have entered in this waywhen the house wasoccupied.Itwouldhavemadeagooddealofnoise.Iwouldguess as well that whoeverdid this had been watchingyour home for some time,educating himself as to yourbehavior and that of yourwife, as well as those otherswholivewithyou.”Hestood.

“That doesn’t surprise

me,” Paxton said. “Youwould have seen the sort ofmen who frequent the ropeyardacrossthestreetfromus.Nodoubtitwasoneofthem.”

“Or one of the soldiersbilletedupthestreet.”

He could see that Paxtonwanted to argue the point;they both knew that hecouldn’t.Since thebeginningof the occupation, soldiers

had been responsible formany thefts throughout thecity. They were paid poorly,were too often idle, and hadlittle regard for the city’sinhabitants.

“I suppose that’s possibleaswell,”Paxtonsaid.

“Didyoupreparea listofthestolenitems?”

“Yes, of course. Waithere.”

Paxton left through adoorway that led onto anarrow corridor. Ethanglancedatthedooragain,butreallytherewaslittlemorehecould glean from it. Alreadyhe knew where this inquirywould take him. Before hewas through, he would needto speak with Paxton’sservants and pay a visit toGreen’sBarracks.

Paxton soon returned,clutching a piece ofparchment. On it were listednine items, including thenecklace, brooch, and watchthe commissioner hadmentioned the night before.In addition,Mrs. Paxton hadlost severalgold rings,apairof bracelets, and an ivory-handledhairbrush.

“Thankyou,sir.Thiswill

bemosthelpful.Ibelieveyousaidlastnightthattheseitemswere taken from your wife’sdressingroom?”

“That’s right. Except forthe watch, which was takenfrom my bedroom. I wouldallow you to see both, buttherewouldbelittleuseinit.We wasted no time cleaningupthemessleftbythisbrute.There is nothing for you to

seeupstairs,andIdon’twishto disturb my wife. As youmight expect, she has beenthoroughly unnerved by thisordeal.Iwouldpreferthatwenot includeher in anyofourconversations, lest we upsethermore.”

“I understand,” Ethansaid.“Tellmethough,isthereanything unusual about theplanofthishouse?”

“Whatdoyoumean?”“There’s no delicate way

formetoputthis,sir.WhatImean to ask it this:Would astranger to your home havean easy time navigating itsmany rooms, or would heneed some prior knowledgeinorder to find the thingshestole?”

Paxton frowned. “I don’tthink I like your implication,

MisterKaille.”“No, sir, I didn’t expect

you would. I wish to speakwith your servants, if I may.Particularly any youngwomen who might work foryou, and might have drawntheinterestofoneofGeneralGage’ssoldiers.”

Paxton sighed. “Thatwould be Louisa,” he said.“I’m afraid she’s not here at

this time.Her parents live inthe country and she leftyesterday to spend theeveningwiththem;herfather,it seems, is elderly andinfirm. She will return latertoday. You can speak withhertomorrowmorning,ifthatsuitsyou.”

“Thatwouldbefine,sir.”“Whatwillyoudonow?”Ethan had no chance to

answer, for at thatmoment aconjuring shook the floorsandwallsofthemansion.Heknewitinstantlyforafindingspell, and he had no doubtthatithadbeencasttolocatehim. It rushed toward thehouse,puttinghiminmindofan advancing tide, as hadMorrison’s spell two daysbefore. It reached him inmere seconds, and was

followed immediately byanotherspell.

This time, as the houserumbled with conjuringpower, Uncle Reg appearedbetween Ethan and Paxton,who was, of course,oblivious.

“Mister Kaille, I askedyouaquestion.”

“Yes, sir,” Ethan said,desperatetoleaveatonceand

learn what this newest spellhadwrought.“Iplantovisitatavern that is frequented bymen who traffic in pilferedgoods.”

“You know of such aplace?” Paxton asked,sounding indignant. “Youshould inform the sheriff atonce.”

“Iwould,sir,”Ethansaid,“but doing so would be a

waste of time. SheriffGreenleafiswellawareofitsexistence. If you can showmetothedoor?”

The customs manscowled.“Yes,allright.”

Paxton led him backthrough to the front of thehouse,movingfar tooslowlyfor Ethan’s purposes. It wasall Ethan could do not toscream at the man to walk

faster.“I’ll return tomorrow,

sir,” Ethan said as theyreachedthedoor.“Thankyouforyourtime.”

“Wait a minute, MisterKaille. Do you mean to tellme that visiting this publickhouseisallyouplantodo?”

“No,sir. Iplanaswell tospeakwith your servant, andto see if I can find any

soldiers or journeymenworkingattheropeyardwhomight have lavished theirattentionsonher.ButIintendtostartat thetavern,becauseif I don’t, and your propertyshows up there and is sold,you’ll never see any of itagain.”

“Yes,but—”“Mister Paxton, I have

been a thieftaker for many

years now. I wouldn’t visitthe Customs House and tellyou how to do your job.Please don’t presume to tellme how to conduct myinquiry.”

Paxton’s face shaded tocrimson,butheessayedathinsmile. “Yes,verywell.Goodday,MisterKaille.”

“Goodday,sir.”Ethandonnedhis hat and

hurriedbackouttothestreet,but by the timehewas closeenoughtotheropeyardtoseewhat was happening, eventshad already begun to turnugly.

A soldier stood near thefirstoftheropewalks,tradinginsults with a journeyman asother workers looked on,laughing at each of thejourneyman’s barbs. Ethan

could not hear all that wassaid, but he saw that thesoldier’shandswereclenchedinfists,andthathisfacewasbright red. Even as heshouted something back atthe workers and took a steptoward them, another man,using a nearby building toremain hidden, snuck upbehind the regular andknocked his legs out from

underhim.The soldier fell hard on

his back, drawing uproariouslaughter from the othermen.Their mirth, however, wasshort-lived. A cutlass hadslipped from within thesoldier’s coat when he wentdown. The man who hadupended him grabbed theweaponandhelditupforhisfellowworkerstosee.

“Looks like I’ve got aprize,”hesaid.

Thesoldiergottohisfeet,moving stiffly. He gloweredat the men, but there werefive of them, and he wasaloneandnowunarmed.Witha last dark look at theworkers, he retreated towardthebarracks.

Afterwhathehadseenatthe Richardson house days

before, Ethan knew betterthantothinkthatthiswastheend of the confrontation. Hewasnotatallsurprisedwhenhefeltanotherconjuring.

“Did that come fromme?”heaskedUncleReg.

Theghostnodded.Ethanpursuedthesoldier,

hoping that hemight be ableto dissuade the man fromtrying to avenge himself on

the workers. But as he drewnear, the soldier turned andpointed a trembling finger athim.

“You stay away fromme!”

Ethan held up hid hands.“I’mnotoneofthem,andI’mnottryingtoharmyou.”

“It’s notmewho’ll cometo harm! I’ll have my swordback, and I’ll have

satisfaction!You’llsee!”“No good can come of

this,”Ethansaid.But the soldier dismissed

himwith awaveof his handandranontothebarracks.

Ethan stared after him,and then turned back towardPaxton’s mansion and thejourneymen.Thelaborershadreturnedtotheirwork,thoughas Ethan reached them, they

were still laughing andtalkingabouthowfoolishtheregularhadlookedashefell.

“End this now,” Ethancalledtothemen.“Returnhiscutlass and have nothingmoretodowiththem.”

The man who had takenthe soldier’s sword regardedEthan with scorn, as Ethanhad known he would. Whywouldthesemenwanttoend

the conflict when they hadgotten the better of its firstskirmish?Anotherofthemencalled tohiscompanionsandpointedinthedirectionofthebarracks. The other mengazedthatwayandfellsilent.

Ethandidn’thave to lookto know what they saw, butstill he turned. The soldierwas striding down the centerof the street, leading nine

uniformed men, all of themcarryingclubs.

The workers took shelterin the rope yard warehouse.UponreachingtheentrancetoGray’senterprise,thesoldiersfollowedtheminside.

“Damn!” Ethan startedtoward the building, thenstopped himself, unsure ofhow to proceed. “WhatshouldIdo?”heaskedReg.

The ghost lifted an armand pointed northward, awayfromthewarehouse.

“I should go to thebarracks?”

Reg shook his head andpointed a second time, moreemphatically.

“You’re saying I shouldleave.”

Regnodded.“ButI’mresponsible.The

spells that started this camefromme.”

Again the ghost nodded,liftinghisarmoncemore.

“You think they’llcontinue to fight until I’mgone.”

The ghost offered noreply. He simply stared atEthan,waiting.

Ethanknew thatRegwasprobably right, although he

knewaswell that therewerespells he could use to keepthe men from killing oneanother. The question was,howmanytimescouldhecasta sleep spell or some othersortofprotectiveconjuringinfront of others beforesomeonedecidedtohavehimhanged for a witch? He hadbeen lucky two days beforeon Long Wharf, and before

that on the night of ChrisSeider’s funeral. He couldn’texpect to be so fortunateforever.

He heard shouts comingfrom within the warehouse,and he watched as severalmore journeymenentered thebuilding,allof themcarryingwoldring sticks, which theyusedtowindrope,butwhichwould serve as cudgels as

well.He had not felt anotherspell for severalminutes, butapparently one wasn’tneeded; like a fire burningbright, this fight needed nomorekindling.

ChapterTHIRTEEN

With one last glance at the

warehouse, Ethan leftHutchinson Street, choosingtocircle thebaseofFortHillrather than risk passing tooclosetoGreen’sBarracks.Hescanned the harbor andwharvesashewalked,buthissearch for Nate Ramsey’sship proved as fruitless thismorningas it had every timebefore.

Willing to tryanything to

keep the unseen conjurerfrom using him in this way,Ethanstoppedonastretchofempty road between theSouthBatteryandMilkStreetand pulled his pouch ofmullein from the pocket ofhiscoat.

“Tegimen ex verbascoevocatum,”hesaid.Warding,conjured from mullein. Thespell hummed in the street, a

declarationtohisenemy.Ethan didn’t know if the

spell would work as heintended,buthehad tomakethe attempt. If he couldprotect himself and thosearoundhim,hewouldhaveabetter chance of findingwhoeveritwaswhohadbeencastingthesespells.

Shieldedbyhisconjuring,Ethan continued on to the

North End and what mighthave been the mostdisreputable tavern in all ofBoston. TheCrow’sNest satat the southern extreme ofPaddy’s Alley, near thewaterfront. Where Kannicedid all she could to keep theDowsing Rod free of fights,whoring, and otherquestionable behavior, theCrow’s Nest seemed to exist

for those things. It was run-down and filthy. The aleservedtherewasswill;Ethanhad never dared taste thefood.Hewasn’t entirely surethattheplaceservedany.Butfor those who trafficked instolen goods—and thus, forthieftakers attempting torecoverthoseitems—theNestmight well have been themost important establishment

inthecity.In the ten years since

Ethan’sreturntoBostonfromthe plantation in theCaribbean where he laboredasaprisoner,theCrow’sNesthad seen a succession of ill-starredproprietors.Somehaddied; others had beentransported to the Caribbeanfor crimes they might ormight not have committed.

The current owner, JosephDuncan, was a slight,excitable Scotsman who hadbarely survived a bout withsmall pox back in 1764. Hisface was pitted and scarredfromthedistemper.

When Ethan entered thetavern,Duncwas standing atthebar,readinganewspaper,and, as always, puffing on atobacco pipe and sending

clouds of sweet smoke intotherafters.

Seeing Ethan, he turnedhis back on the door andraisedthepapersothat ithidhisface.

Ethantookoffhishatandhisglovesandstepped to thebar, planting himself besidethe man. He slid a halfshillingontothewornwood.

“An ale,” he said to the

barkeep.Themandroppedthecoin

into the till and filled atankard.

Ethanhadno intentionofdrinking the stuff—it lookedand tasted enough like horsepisstomakeEthansuspiciousof its origins. But he alsowasn’t going to pay Duncanfortheinformationhesought,so he thought that buying an

alewastheleasthecoulddo.Pickingupthetankard,he

turned and leaned backagainst thebar,surveyingthetavern. The men who sat attables in pairs and groups ofthree and four appearedperfectly at home amid thesqualor of the Nest, whichtold Ethan everything heneededtoknowaboutthem.

Dunc still had not

acknowledged him, thoughthe amount of smokebillowing from his pipeseemedtohaveincreased.

“You can’t ignore meforever,Dunc.”

“Who says I can’t?” heanswered from behind thepaper.

“Imago ex cervisiaevocata,” Ethan said, hisvoice low. Illusion, conjured

fromale.Thepulseofthisspellwas

weaker than most of theothers Ethan cast because itwasanelementalspell.Butitdid what he had hoped itwould: Illusory flameseruptedfromthepagesoftheGazette.

Dunc jumped, droppedthe paper to the floor, andstampedonit.

Ethan whispered. “Finiimaginem ex cervisiaevocatam.” Again, powerpulsed, and the illusionvanished.

The other men in thetavernstaredatDuncthewaytheywouldatalunatic.

“You’re a bit skittish,aren’t you?” Ethan said,grinning.

Duncpulledthepipefrom

between his yellow teeth.“Thatwasn’tfunny,Kaille.”

“I’dhavetodisagree.”Duncputthepipebackin

his mouth with a click ofteeth on clay. “What do youwant,anyway?”

Ethan raised an eyebrow.“Youhavetoask?”

“I’mnothelpingyoufindanything. You come in hereevery time you have a new

job, and you seem to thinkit’suptometofindwhatyouwere hired to retrieve. Well,I’mthroughwith that.”Duncgave a nasty smile. “Go talkto Pryce. Maybe she’ll helpyou.”

“You’reright,Dunc.”“Well, you can think

whatever you want, but—”Heblinked.“What?”

“I said you’re right. I

shouldn’tbeaskingyoutodomywork forme. So instead,allowmetohelpyouout.”

HepulledPaxton’s listofpilfered goods from hispocket and unfolded it. Allthewhile,Duncwatchedhimthewayafoxwouldahound.

“What’sthat?”“The list of items I’m

lookingfor.”“Ijusttoldyou—”

Ethanheldafingerinchesin front of the Scot’s nose,stopping him. “I heard you,Dunc. These things werestolen from the home ofCharlesPaxton.”

“You’re working forPaxton?” He grinned.“Thingsthatbadthen?”

“If any of these itemscome through the Nest, andword of it gets back to the

customs boys, they’ll shutyou down. Even Greenleafwon’tbeabletotalkthemoutofit.”

Dunc’s smile fadedslowly. “Aye, you’reprobably right.” He took thelist from Ethan and perusedit.

“Have you seen any ofit?”Ethanasked.

“Not yet. When was it

pinched?”“I don’t think it’s been

morethantwodays.”Dunc handed him back

the parchment. “Have youany idea who cracked thehouse?”

“I have no proof, butforcedtoguess,I’dsayitwasone of the regulars billetedoveratGreen’sBarracks.”

“Well, I’m not going out

of my way to tell you whenthese things show up here,but I’ll make it clear to myfencesthatthey’renottobuyany of Paxton’s stuff in myplace.”

“That’s all I ask. Mythanks,Dunc.”He raised thetankardtohislipsbutthoughtbetteroftakingasip.Hesetiton the bar. “You reallyshouldservebetterale.”

“I’ve told you before,covesdon’tcomehereforthedrink.”

“No,Idon’t imaginetheydo.”

Duncfrowned.“Getout.”Ethanpulledonhisgloves

andpickeduphishatoff thebar.

As he did, a spelltrembled in the walls of thetavern. He looked sharply at

Reg,whogaveasinglenod.But nothing happened.

Noneofthemeninthetavernstarted arguing or fighting.None of them so much asglanced Ethan’s way. Hiswarding had held. Or so hethought.

An instant later, a secondspell shook the building, aspuissant and clear as thepealingofachurchbell.This

time,Ethanfelt theconjuringwithin his chest, as if theperson who cast it hadreached between his ribs andtakenholdofhisheart.

“Kaille? Are you allright?” Dunc asked, genuineconcernonhisnarrowface.

“Idon’tknow.”Chair legs scrapedon the

tavern’s wooden floor. Twomen who had been sitting at

thenearestof thetableswerenow standing, glaring atEthan.Seemingtorespondtosome silent command, bothmendrewtheirbladesasoneandstartedtowardthebar.

Dunc backed away fromthem.“Whatthedevilareyoutwodoing?”

Ethan slid his knife fromitssheath.

“Kaille?”

“Stayback,Dunc.”Themensaidnotaword.

Ethan didn’t think that theyeven shared a look.But theyseparated, one stepping toEthan’s left, the other to hisright. Both were tall,powerfully built. He had nodoubt that they were skilledfighters.

Ethan still wore hisgreatcoat; he didn’t think he

could take it off before theyattacked, and he wasn’t surehe could fight them whilewearingit.Buthemanagedtopulloffhisleftgloveandcutthe skin on the back of hishand.

“Discuti ambo ex cruoreevocatum.” Shatter, both ofthem,conjuredfromblood.

Bothmen’s blades broke,shardsofmetal falling to the

floor with a sound like thetinklingofbreakingicicles.

“Lord save us,” Duncwhispered. Ethan kept hiseyes on the men, whocontinued to stalk him. Oneof them lunged for him,moving faster than Ethanwouldhavethoughthecould.He jumped back, acting oninstinct. And a powerfulforearmclampeddownonhis

neck.Hestruggled togetaway,

but the secondmanheldhimfast.

Thefirstmanrearedbackandhithiminthejaw,hisfistlike a brick. Ethan’s visionswam;hetastedblood.

“Discuti ex cruoreevocatum,” he said, usinganothershatterspell.

This time he heard bone

break and a grunt of painfrom the man behind him.Theman’s grip on his throatslackened. Ethan threw anelbow into his gut, drawinganothergrunt.

He grabbed the man’sbrokenarmandtwistedoutofhisgrasp.Themanhowled.

HisfriendswungatEthana second time, but Ethanducked out of the way and

took a step back, and thenanother. The man matchedhimstepforstep.

FortunatelyforEthan, thebrute was as clumsy as hewas large. He threw anotherpunch. Ethan ducked againand the man’s fist whistledharmlessly over his head,leaving him off balance.Ethan planted his good legandspun,usinghisbadlegas

a club. His kick caught thebrute in thekidney.Themancollapsed to one knee. Ethanlockedhishandstogetherandhit him with every ounce ofhis strength, knocking himbackwardsothathesprawledunconscious on the floor, atrickleofbloodflowingfromhisnose.

By this time, the othermanwasonhisfeetagain.He

held his broken arm cradledto his chest, but still heseemed determined to renewhisassaultonEthan.Hetriedto hit Ethan with his goodhand, but missed. Ethanthrew a punch of his own,staggeringtheman.Asecondblowputhimonthefloor.

“Bloodyhell!”Duncsaid,staring at the men. “Do youknowthesetwo?”

Ethanwasbreathinghard,andhishandsachedfromthepuncheshehadthrown.“I’veneverseenthembefore.”

“Thenwhydidtheygoforyou that way?” Dunc’sexpression darkened. “Andwhatwasthatyoudidtotheirknives?”

“Idon’tknow theanswerto the first question,” Ethansaid, flexing his right hand,

“andyouknowperfectlywelltheanswertothesecond.”Hepickeduphishatandsetitonhis head, eager to leave theCrow’s Nest before anotherspell sent the rest of itspatrons after him.“Remember what I told youaboutPaxton’sproperty.”

“Aye,Iwill.”“Seeyoulater,Dunc.”The Scotsman still stared

at thetwomen.ButasEthanreached the door he said,“Hey, Kaille. Watchyourself.”

“Aye,” Ethan said. “I’mtrying.”

Once on the street again,EthancastadarklookatRegand started back towardMillCreekandtheSouthEnd.Heknew it wasn’t the ghost’sfault that his warding had

failed,buthefeltbetrayedbyhisconjuringpower,andRegwas the embodiment of thatpower.

“It seems a simplewarding isn’t enough,” hesaid, walking with his handsburied in his pockets. “But Idon’tknowwhatelsetotry.”

Usually when confrontedwithhisownignoranceaboutmagicking,Ethanwenttothe

FatSpidertoaskquestionsofJanna.But at themoment hedidn’t feel safe goinganywhere: not to Janna’stavernorKannice’s.Heevenfeared returning to his roomon Cooper’s Alley. What ifHenrywashurtasa resultofoneofthesespells?

He knew, though, that hecouldn’tremaininthestreets;this was the most dangerous

place, not only for him, butfor any innocents whohappened to cross his path.After some deliberation, hedecidedthathisroomwashissafest refuge. He followed aserpentinepath into theheartof the South End, taking theleastcrowdedstreetshecouldfind, and adjusting his routewhenever he encountered acrowd.

Any doubts he hadharboredas to the identityofthe conjurer who washarrying him had vanishedwith that last spell.WhoelsebutNateRamseywaswickedenough to use conjurings inthis way, and also strongenough to overcome Ethan’swardingwith such ease?Butthis certainty came as littleconsolation. How could he

fight themanwhenhedidn’teven know where to findhim?

He climbed the stairwayto his room, locked andwardedthedoor,andlitafirein his stove to keep warm.Pullingoutsomeoftheherbshecarried,hethenhealedhisbruisedjaw.Andashedidallofthis,hecursedhisinabilityto do more. Ramsey, he had

little doubt, was laughing athim, mocking his ignoranceand impotence, reveling inthe success he had enjoyedthus far in this, their latestbattle. Ethan realized aswellthat in the Crow’s Nest hehad made himself anunwitting ally in Ramsey’sscheme. He had thoughthimself so clever using anillusionspelltoscareDuncan.

Instead, what he had donewas tell Ramsey exactlywherehewas.Hewouldneedto be more careful in thefuture.

But of course Ramseywould want that as well.Slowly, one step at a time,Ramseywasweakening him,taking away every advantageEthan might usually haveenjoyed.Ethanhadallieshere

in Boston, and so Ramseysought to separate him fromthoseonwhomhe relied.Hewasafraidnow to set foot inthe Dowser, or any othertavern, lest he cause anotherfray.EthanandRamseywereequals when it came toconjuring,butnowEthanwasreluctant to conjure, lest hereveal his location to thecaptain.

Yet, even knowing this,Ethan was helpless to doanything about it. At leastuntilhefoundRamsey.

***

ThoughloathtogoanywherenearGray’sRopeWorksandGreen’s Barracks again,Ethan still had a job tocomplete, and he hadpromised Paxton that he

would return the followingmorning so that he mightquestion the commissioner’sservant.

He followed the sameroutetothePaxtonestatethathehadusedwhenhe left theprevious day, thus keepinghis distance from thebarracks. But he couldn’tavoid the ropewalks; all hecould do was approach the

mansionasquicklyashislegand the ice-covered lanewould allow and get off thestreet.

Once more, Ethan’sknock was answered byPaxtonhimself.

“Ah, Mister Kaille.” Hewaved Ethan inside andclosedthedoor.“Ihadfearedthat perhaps yesterday’seventsmightkeepyouaway.”

Ethanfelt theblooddrainfrom his face. “What do youmean?”

“Simply that I watchedfrom the window as therabble at Gray’sestablishment assaulted thatunfortunate soldier. And Isaw as well that youattempted to intervenebeforeleaving.”He shook his head.“It was a bad business.

Beforeallwassaidanddone,some forty soldiers andnearly as many journeymenfought in theyard and in thestreet. Several men werewounded, and it would havebeenworseifnotforoldJohnHill, who lives nearby. Hesomehow managed to keepthose ruffians from doingworsetotheuniformedmen.”

“Yes,sir,”Ethansaid.He

was relieved to hear that thefighting hadn’t resulted inany deaths, and also thatPaxton had no inkling of hisroleintheincident.

Paxton led Ethan into asitting room off the frontfoyer.“Ifyou’llwaithere,I’llfetchLouisa.”

“Of course, sir. Thankyou.”

Paxtonbustledaway,only

to return moments laterleading a youngwoman in aplain blue dress. She hadraven black hair, large blueeyes,andapaleovalfacethatmight have been pretty hadshe not appeared sofrightened.

“Louisa, this is MisterKaille,” Paxton said. “He’s athieftaker. I’ve engaged himto find the jewels that were

taken from Missus Paxton’sdressing room. I expect youto answer his questionstruthfully.Doyouunderstandme?”

The girl’s head jerked upand down. Paxtonwas doingnothingtoputheratease.

“Good morning, Louisa,”Ethansaid,tryingtokeephistone gentle. “I won’t takemuch of your time. I have

some questions about peopleyoumighthaveseennearthePaxtons’home.Allright?”

Shenoddedagain.“Have you any friends

among theworkersatGray’sRope Works or the soldiersbilletedupthestreet?”

Her gaze met his for thespan of a heartbeat beforedarting away again; shebegantowringherhands.

“Please answer him,Louisa.”

“There’s a… a s-soldier.But he’s very nice, and I’msurehe’snot…Well,Idon’tthinkhewould takeanythingfrommymistress.”

“What’shisname?”Ethanasked.

“James,”shesaid.“JamesFleming. He’s just a privatenow, but he wants to be an

officer. That’s what he toldme.”

“Has he asked youquestionsaboutthehouse?”

“No,” she said withouthesitation. “Well—” Shebrokeoffandchewedherlip.“He wanted to know wheremyroomwas.”

“Why did he want toknowthat?”Paxtonasked,hisbrowsknitting.

A faint smile lit her faceandabitofcolorwarmedhercheeks. “It was rather sweet,really.Hesaidthathewantedto know where to look atnight when I was asleep andhewasonpatrol.”

“Was that all he asked?Where your room waslocated?”

“Now that I think of it, Isuppose he asked other

questionsaswell.”Ethan and the

commissionersharedalook.“Whatsortofquestions?”

Ethanasked.“Ididn’tthinkanythingof

it.” She turned to Paxton. “Isweartoyou,sir,Ithoughthewas…hewasonlytalkingtome, because … becausemaybe he thought I waspretty. He’d prattle on about

his fellow soldiers and thethings he saw in Halifaxbefore coming toBoston.”Atear slipped down her cheek.“I’ve never been anywhere,soIhadnostoriestotellhim.So I thought his questionswere intended to letme talk,so that it wouldn’t be himtalkingallthetime.”

“What sort of questions,Louisa?”

She faced Ethan again,her tears flowing freelynow.“Heaskedabout…abouttherooms.Whose theywereandwhere.I’veneverbeeninanyhouse as grand as this one,and so I told him a lot. Isuppose I wanted him to beimpressed.”

“Were there others?”Paxton asked, his voice flat.Ethan wondered if Louisa

would stillbeemployedherecome nightfall. “Maybe oneof the men from the ropeyard?”

“No, sir,” she said,shaking her head soforcefullythattearsflewfromhercheeks.

Clearly she thought thatshe was reassuring hermaster.Ethanthoughtitmorelikely that her response only

deepenedPaxton’sanger.Thecommissionerwouldnotwantblame to fall on a Britishsoldier.

“Is there anything else,MisterKaille?”Paxtonasked,sounding impatient for theirinterviewtoend.

The thrum of a conjuringkeptEthanfromanswering.Itwas a powerful spell, and itseemedtocomefrombeneath

Ethan’s feet. Reg emergedfromtheshadowsbesidehim,glowing with the color ofdried blood. Ethanwonderedif the soldiers andjourneymen would befighting again when he leftthemansion.

Paxton leaned forward,peering into Ethan’s face. “Isaid,isthereanythingelse.”

Ethan shook himself.

“Aye.Yes,sir.”Totheyoungwoman he said, “Can youdescribeJamesforme?”

She offered a waterysmile. “He’s about yourheight,” she said, regardingEthanwithacriticaleye.“Hehas red hair and brown eyes,andfrecklesacrosshere.”Sheranafingeroverthebridgeofhernose. “Andhealsohas ared birthmark here.” She

pointedtohertemple.“Thank you, Louisa.

That’sveryhelpful.”ShelookedatPaxton.“You may go,” he said,

his tone and expressionsevere.

She curtsied and leftthem, dabbing at her tearswiththecuffsofhersleeves.

“Foolish girl,” Paxtonsaid,whenshewasgone.

“Shedidn’tknowshewasdoingwrong.”

“You needn’t defend her,Mister Kaille. She can keepherjob.”

“Yes,sir.”“Isupposethenthatyou’ll

goandspeakwiththisman.”Ethanhesitated.Hedidn’t

like the idea of entering thebarrackswhilehehadsolittlecontrol over his conjuring

power.Helikedevenlessthenotion of neglecting his jobbecausehewasafraid.

“Well?”“Yes, sir,” Ethan said. “I

intend to speak with PrivateFlemingassoonaspossible.”

“Good.”Ethanreachedforhiscoat

and hat. “I should be onmyway,then.”

“I should think,” Paxton

said.Buthedidn’tleadEthanback to the front entrance.“Did you learn anythingyesterday? As I recall, youwere going to visit somedisreputabletavern.”

“Yes,sir.Iwasthere.Theproprietor has not yet seenanyofyourlostitems.”

“Sohesays.Doyoutrustthisman?”

“Asmuchas Idoanyone

whoassociateswiththieves.”“That’shardlyreassuring,

MisterKaille.”“It’s been but a fewdays

since the theft. And ifLouisa’s friend wasresponsible, he won’t havehadmuchtimetosellwhathestole. If forced to guess, Iwould say that your watchand your wife’s jewelsremain hidden away in

Green’sBarracksevenaswespeak.”

“I’lltakeyourwordforit,as I profess to have noknowledgeofsuchthings.”

The commissioner ledEthan back to the foyer, butas he reached for the doorhandle,theybothheardraisedvoicesfromoutonthestreet.

“You shouldn’t go outthereyet,”Paxtonsaid.

Theywalkedbackintoanadjacent room, the windowsofwhichlookedoutupontheropeyard.

Three soldiers and anequal number of journeymenfaced each other at theentrance to Gray’sestablishment. Once more,theregularswerearmedwithclubs,whiletheropeworkersheld woldring sticks. One of

the journeymen saidsomething, eliciting laughterfrom his companions. Thesoldiers leaped at them, andin seconds they werebrawlinginearnest.

“Damn!” Ethan strodebacktothefoyer.

“Mister Kaille, what areyoudoing?”

“Ihavetostopthem.”“You can’t! Don’t be a

fool! You’ll get yourselfkilled.”

Another spell shook themansion, to be followedalmost at once by a third.Ethan pulled the door openand stepped outside. Paxtoneyed him from the window,limitingwhat he could do toputanendtothefighting.

After a brief, desperatedeliberation, he concluded

that he had but one choice.Hebitdownon the insideofhischeekandsaidtohimself,Dormite omnes ex cruoreevocatum.Sleep, allof them,conjuredfromblood.

He felt this conjuring ashehadtheothers,butnothinghappened.Themencontinuedto fight. Had Ramsey onceagain found a way to keephimfromcastingspells,ashe

had months before? Everyother spell Ethan had castrecently worked as heintended. Perhaps one of theconjuringshe felthadbeenawardingintendedtoguardthejourneymenandsoldiersfromhis sleep spell. He had usedsuch conjurings to greateffectinrecentdays.Ramseywouldhavenoticed.

He had no more time to

ponderthematter.Bystandershad gathered to watch theconfrontation, and nowanother journeyman emergedfromtheropeyardwarehousecarrying two clubs. One hekept for himself, and theother he gave to one of theonlookers. Together, the twoof them joined the otherjourneymen, turning thefightto their advantage.

Outnumbered now, thesoldiers tried to flee, but theworkers would not let themgo.Oneoftheregularstookablow to the head andcollapsed in a heap. Hisassailant continued to beathim.

“No!” Ethan shouted. Hebit down on his cheek againand cast the first spell thatcametomind.

A wall of flame burstfromtheground.Thesoldiersand workers fell back,breaking off their combat tostarewide-eyedattheflames.

Ethanallowedthemtodieaway as he ran across thestreet, and helped the othertwo soldiers lift their injuredcomrade and retreat towardthebarracks.

Noneofthemsaidaword

astheyhurriedawayfromtherope yard. The journeymenfollowed them down thestreet, but they didn’t appearto be pursuing them inearnest. Rather, they shoutedtaunts for the entertainmentof thosewhohadgathered towatchthefight.

“Bastards,” muttered oneof the soldiers, a red-hairedman who spoke with a thick

burr.Hewasbreathless;darkbloodstains mingled with thebrightredofhisuniform.

“What was that fire Isaw?” the other man asked.“For just a second, I thoughtitwaslightning.”

His friend glanced at thesky, which was a clear, coldblue.“Itwasn’tlightnin’.”Helooked Ethan’s way. “We’regrateful to you, but we can

carryhimfromhere.”Ethan let go of the

wounded man. The soldierscarriedhimon.

“There’s a soldier I needto talk to,” Ethan said,walking after them. “APrivate Fleming from theTwenty-ninth.”

“Jimmy?” the red-hairedmanasked.

“Aye. Do you know him

well?”“Well enough. What

business have you got withhim?”

“Nothing that he’d wantme discussing with anyoneelse.Evenafriend.”

The soldier regarded himsourly. “Most times I’d tellyou to go to hell. But youhelped us back there, andthat’s worth somethin’. You

canfollowus.”“Mythanks.”They soon came to the

barracks,andthemencarriedtheir wounded friend inside.Ethan walked in after them,wary now, fearful of anotherspell. The accommodationshereweremorecrampedthanthoseatMurray’swarehouse.There was no huge centralroom, but rather a series of

somewhat smaller ones. Stillthe stink and noise of somany men reminded himmuch of the other barracks.Theypassedtworoomsfilledwithcots, andas theyneareda third doorway, the red-haired soldier looked back atEthan and then noddedtoward the door. “He shouldbeinthere.”

“Thankyou,”Ethansaid.

He paused on thethreshold of this third roomand scanned it for a soldierwho matched the descriptionLouisahadgivenhim.

Hespottedtheyoungmaninthefarcorneroftheroom,playing cards with severalothermen.Hishairwasfieryorange, and a wine-coloredbirthmark covered much ofhisrighttempleandcheek.

Already Ethan had thesensethatthiswasabadidea.He would have been betteroff waiting outside thebarracks. Fleming had toleave the building eventuallyin order to patrol. But thatmeant remaining in thevicinity of Green’s Barracksand the rope yard for hours.Hemight evenhave to comebackaseconddayandathird

before he managed to speakwiththeman.Hewasn’tsurehe could risk spending thatmuch time in the area. Howmany more fights might hecause?Howmanymoremenwouldbewounded?

He entered the room andmade hisway back towhereFleming reclined on one ofthe cots. Ethan had almostreached him when another

spell growled like distantthunder. He faltered inmidstride. None of thesoldiers seemed to havesensed the conjuring—therewere no spellers here. Butthey had noticed him, andsilence had enveloped theroom.

“Who are you?” askedoneof themenplayingcardswithJimmyFleming.

ChapterFOURTEEN

Thesoldiersregardedhimthe

way a pack of street cursmight an unfamiliar dog.Trapped under their hardglares, Ethan wasn’t surewhether to proceed andinterview Fleming as he hadplanned,oroffersomeexcuseandhopethathecouldescapethe barracks without gettinghimself killed. He expectedthat one of the soldiers whohad led him here would

mention him to Fleming,perhaps simply to ask whatEthanhadwanted.IfFlemingwasinfact thethiefwhohadcracked Charles Paxton’shouse, that might be enoughto make him desert and fleethe city. Or at the very leasttry to sell the goods he hadstolen.Ethan’s inquirymightwellendinfailurebecauseofwhat he did in the next few

seconds. And that waspossiblythebestoutcomeforwhichhecouldhope.

“I was hoping to have aword with Private Fleming,”Ethan said, flashing a smilethat was as bright anddisarming as he couldmanage under thecircumstances. This wouldbe, he decided, like trying totakehoneyfromabees’nest.

The warding he cast in theCrow’s Nest was stillprotecting him. This newspellhaddonenothingtorilethemen.IfEthancouldavoidprovoking them, he mightescapewithoutafight.

“Notuntilyouanswermyquestion,” said the man whohadspoken.“Whoareyou?”

“My name is Ethan. I’mthebrotherofagirlhe’sbeen

spendingtimewith.”Mostofthementurnedto

lookatJimmy.OnlyLouisa’sbeau continued to gape atEthan.

“She doesn’t have abrother,”hesaid.

Ethan raised an eyebrowbutsaidnothing.

“What have you been at,Jimmy?”askedanotherofthemen. The others smirked; a

fewofthemlaughed.“IsJimmyinsomesortof

trouble?” the first soldieraskedofEthan.

“Not really,” Ethan said,keeping his tone light. “Shecould do a lot worse thanfinding a soldier.ButmyDawanted me to check onwhoever it was she’sspendinghertimewith.”

“She said your Da knew

all aboutme!” Jimmy’s gazeflicked from one of hiscomrades to the next. “Iswearshedid!”

“And so he does,” Ethansaid,hisheartpounding.“Butonlyfromher.Canafatherbeblamedforwantinghissontotake care of his little girl?Surely the rest of you ladsunderstand. Perhaps some ofyou have sisters of your

own.”Jimmynarrowedhiseyes.

“You look a little old to beherbrother.”

“More often than not Ifeelalittleold,aswell.”

“Talk to him, Jimmy,”said the first man. “There’snoharmintalkin’,isthere?”

Fleming’s mouth twisted.“Fine.Outside.”

“Of course.” To the

others, Ethan added, “Thankyou,gentlemen.”

He left the room withoutbothering to see if Fleminghad followed him. As helimped toward the door hefeltyetanotherconjuring,butstillhewalked,halfexpectingto feel a bayonet pierce theflesh between his shoulderblades.

Onlywhenhereachedthe

street did he glance back.And so he was ill preparedwhen Fleming threw thepunch; he had no time towardhimselforevenraiseanarm to block the blow.Jimmy’s fist caught him onthe side of the face, justbelow his cheekbone. Ethanstaggered, tasting blood, buthedidn’tgodown.Oneblowfrom a pup like Jimmy

Fleming was nothingcompared with the beatingshe had taken from Sephira’smen.

Jimmy tried to hit himagain. Ethan jerked his headbackoutof thewayandthenstruck a blow of his own,hitting the soldier below hiseye. Fleming shook off theclout andcameat himagain.Still bleeding, Ethan didn’t

needtocuthimself.“Pugnus ex cruore

evocatus,”hewhispered.Fist,conjuredfromblood.

This conjured punch didwhat Ethan’s fist could not:Jimmy fell to the ground,dazedthoughstillconscious.

Ethan pulled the mulleinfrom his coat pocket andpulledoutthreeleaves,whichhe held in the curl of his

fingers so that Flemingcouldn’tseethem.

“Quies ex verbascoevocata.” Calm, conjuredfrommullein.

It was not a spell he hadattempted before, though hehadonceseenhismotheruseitonafrenzieddogneartheirhome in Bristol back inEngland.Hedidn’tknowifitwould work against the

conjuring that had madeJimmy attack in the firstplace, but he didn’t wish tohurt the lad ifhedidn’thaveto.With thehumof thespellstill shaking the cobblesbeneaththem,Jimmyblinkedonceandlookedupathim.

“I hit you,” the soldiersaid.

“Aye. I hit you back.Doyou remember why you hit

me?”Theladsatup.“Idon’t…

I was angry. I’m not evensurewhy.ButIwasasangrywith you as I’ve ever beenwithanyone.”HestaredhardatEthan.“Whatdidyoudo?”

“Nothing that I can thinkof. Do you rememberanythingelse?”

“No. I…I felt that Ihadtohityou.Iknewit.”

“You’re not the firstwho’s felt that way.” Ethansmiled,thenwinced.Thepupmightnothavebeenasstrongas Afton or Gordon, but hisblowwould leave a bruise ifEthandidn’thealit.

“What’s all this aboutyour sister?” Jimmy asked,sounding groggy. “That’swhat we were talkin’ about,right? Before I mean.” He

wavedahandabsentlyat thedoortothebarracks.“Backinthere.”

“Aye. It wasn’t reallyabout my sister, but ratherabout you pinching jewelsfromthePaxtonhouse.”

Jimmy’s eyes went wide.Hetriedtogettohisfeet,butEthanplacedahandfirmlyonhis shoulder, keeping himwherehewas.

“You lied to me,”Flemingsaid.“She’snotyoursister,isshe?”

“No. I’m a thieftaker. IwashiredbyMisterPaxtontorecover the items you stole.But I thought you’d preferthat I not mention yourthieving in front of the othersoldiers.”

“Ididn’tstealanythin’!”AnydoubtEthanharbored

astotheman’sguiltvanisheduponhearingthis.Jimmywasaterribleliar.Hedidn’targueor challenge the soldier’sdenial, but instead continuedtowatchhimandwait.

It didn’t take long forFleming to sag and drop hisgaze. He glanced back intothebarracks again, buthenolongerappearedlikelytobolt.“Did Louisa tell you?” he

asked.“Did she know you had

doneit?”Jimmy’ssmirkwasbitter.

“She’s better at this than Iam.Ofcoursesheknew.”

Ethan rubbed a handacross his brow. “She gavemeyourname,but sheneverletonthatyouwereathief,orthatshehadanypart inwhatyou’d done. At first she

protestedyourinnocence,butafter some time she did saythatyouhadaskedher aboutthe location of differentroomsinthemansion.”

A high, gasping laughescaped the soldier. “Iasked?”Heshookhishead.“Ineveraskedheranything.Shetoldmeagainandagain, likea teacher giving a bloodylesson. I couldn’t get her to

stop talkin’ about it until Icouldreciteitallbacktoher.‘Themistress’sdressingroomis on the south side of thehouse, past the master’sbedroom.’Thatsortofthing.”

“Where are the jewelsnow, Jimmy? Do you havetheminthebarracks?”

Jimmy frowned. “Coursenot.Thatwouldbe theworstplacetokeepthem.Someone

would find them in no time.One cove is always pinchin’somethin’fromanother.”

“Thenwheredidyouhidethem?”

Fleming’s smile was asthin as a blade. “I didn’t.Louisadid.Thatwasheridea,too. I break in, steal thejewels,andgivethembacktoher for safekeepin’. She saidthe Paxtons would never

think to look in her room.And by the time they did,she’d have taken themelsewhere.”

“Do you have any ideawhere?”

Jimmy gave a ruefulshakeofhishead.“Shedidn’tell me, and I didn’ think toask. I trusted her; didn’ seeanyreasonnotto.”

“Couldtheystillbeinthe

—?”Ethan felt himself go

white. He knew exactlywhere Louisa had taken thejewels.

Her parents live in thecountry,Paxtonhadsaid.Sheleft yesterday to spend theeveningwiththem;herfather,itseems,iselderlyandinfirm.

Her father was probablyas spry as a colt. She had

gone toherparents’home tohidethestolenjewels.

“Where do her parentslive,Jimmy?”

“How should I know?You’re the one who claimedtobeherbrother.”

Ethan offered noresponse.

“They’re in the countrysomewhere. She might havetold me once, but I don’t

remember.Noneofthetownsoutside of Boston meananythin’ to me; their namesallruntogetherinmyhead.Ithink she said somethin’about the Middle Road toDedham, but that’s all Iknow.”

Ethanknewthathewouldhave to speak againwith thegirl, which meant anothervisit to Paxtons’ house. But

already there werejourneymen standing on thestreet in front of the ropeyard,acrossthelanefromthePaxton house. They werestaring toward Ethan andJimmy. And every one ofthem held a cudgel.Moreover, Paxton wasprobably at the CustomsHouse by now, and he hadmadeitclearhedidnotwant

Ethanvisitinghishomewhenhewasn’tpresent.

“You should get back inthebarracks.”

Fleming climbed to hisfeet, and following thedirectionofEthan’sgazewithhis pale eyes, pulled himselfuptohisfullheight.

“I can get the others,” hesaid.

Ethan put a hand on his

chest, stopping him fromgoinginside.“No.Gobacktowhere I found you, and playcards.Thelastthingweneedisanotherfight.”

“They’re the ones whohavebeencausin’trouble.”

Ethanwasn’tabout togetin an argument over whichgroup had been more toblameforthebrawlinghehadwitnessed in the last two

days, especially since heknew thathehimself bore asmuch responsibility asanyone.

“Just go back to yourfriends.”

“What’s goin’ to happento me?” Jimmy asked. “Areyou plannin’ to bring thesheriffbackhere?”

“Mister Paxton hired meto recover the goods you

stole. You haven’t got themrightnow,atleastthat’swhatyoutellme…”

“It’sthetruth!”“I believe you,” Ethan

said.And he did. EverythingFleming had told him, asidefromhisinitialdenial,hadtheringof truth to it. “Ihaveaninterest in finding what wasstolen.When I do that, I getpaid. I can turn you over to

SheriffGreenleaf—andIwillif it turns out that you’vebeenlyingtome.But there’sno profit in that. The profitlies in finding those jewels.Do you understandwhat I’mtellingyou?”

“Aye,” Jimmy said,soundingwary.

Ethan looked up the roadagain. At least a half dozenjourneymen were walking

toward them. “Good. Nowgetinside.”

Fleming nodded andstepped back into thebarracks. Ethan cast one lastglance up the road andhurriedbacktowardhisroomin the South End. He hadn’tgone far, though, when hechangedhismindandheadedinsteadtoBoston’sNeckandJanna Windcatcher’s tavern.

He didn’t wish to put Jannaandherestablishmentat risk,but he had no idea how tocombat the conjurings thatfollowedhimaroundthecity,andifanyonecouldhelphimfindawaytodefendhimself,itwasJanna.

The closer Ethan drew tothe Fat Spider, the moredifficultitbecametowalkonthe icy road. This far out

towardthetowngate,OrangeStreet saw relatively littletraffic, especially with fewermerchants coming into thecity fromoutlying towns.Bythe time Ethan reached thetavern,hisbadlegached,anddespite the cold he wassweatingwithinhisgreatcoat.

He pulled the door openand entered, but then haltedinside the door so that his

eyesmight adjust to the dimlightof the tavern.BeforehecouldseewellenoughtospotJanna,heheardherspeakhisname, drawing it out like animprecation.

Ethan could barely makeout the details in the greatroom. A fire burned in thehearth, and about a third ofthe tables in the tavernappeared to be occupied.

Janna stood near the bar, acloth in one hand, her otherfistsetagainstherhip.

“Well, come on,” shesaid. “You’llwant an ale an’a bowl of stew, an’ theanswers to a whole lot o’questions.Isn’thatright?”

“Itis.”He crossed to the bar,

pullingoffhisgreatcoatashedid. Janna disappeared into

the kitchen only to returnagain a few seconds laterbearing a steaming bowl ofstew. It smelledof cinnamonand pepper and made hismouth water. Only now didhe remember that he hadeatennothingallday.

He made quick work ofthat first serving and askedJanna for a second rathersheepishly. She retreated to

thekitchentorefillthebowl.“Where you been now

that you’re so hungry?” sheaskedafterplacing it in frontof him again. “Ain’t yourwomanfeedin’you?”

“I stayed away from hertavernlastnight,”Ethansaid,keepinghisvoicelow.“Tobehonest, I was afraid to comehere.”

“Why?”

“Do you remember whatwetalkedaboutthelasttimeIcame?”

“Those spells you wasfeelin’, the ones that madeotherpeopleactcrazy.”

“That’sright.”“I’vebeenfeelin’a lotof

conjurin’sthepastfewdays.Iassumedtheywereyours.”

“Someofthemhavebeen,butnotall.Notnearly.”

“That conjurer stillmessin’withyou?”

“Everywhere I go. Havepeople here been talkingabout the brawl at Gray’sRopeWorks?”

“Theoneyesterday?”“Aye. There was another

onetoday.Ihaveanewclientwho lives across the streetfrom the ropewalks. Thosespells caused the brawls.

Several days ago, I wasalmost stabbed by a laboreron Long Wharf, andyesterday two men attackedmeintheCrow’sNest.”

“Anditwasspellsthatdiditeachtime?”

“Aye.”“So you came to ask me

questions.”Ethan ducked his head.

“I’msorry,Janna.I’llpayfor

the food and ale, of course.AndIcanpayyouaswellforwhateveryoucan—”

Shelaidaslenderhandonhisarmandshookherhead.

“Not for this. You’re introuble.”

“Thankyou.”“You already tried to see

thespellcolor,right?”“Yes, several times. But

whoever is doing this has

hidden it well. Yesterday, Iwarded myself, and thatseemed to work for a while.But then the conjurer cast adifferent spell, or a strongerone, and overcame mywarding.”

She raised her eyebrows.“Yourwardin’?”

Janna straightened andindicatedwith a small, sharpgesture thathe should follow

herback into thekitchen.Hewalked around the bar andjoinedherinthesmallspace.It was warmer here, and thearoma of her stew was farstronger.

Janna sat on a low stoolnear the cooking fire whileEthanperchedonanoldwinebarrel.

“Now,what’sthisaboutawardin’? Wardin’ yourself

fromwhat?”“From the conjurings,”

Ethan said. “I came to ask ifyouknowofanywaytokeepanother conjurer from usingyour power against yourwill?”

“So, are you tellin’ methat these spells are comin’fromyou?”

“Aye. Every time one iscast,myghostappears.”

“But you’re not castin’them?”

“Ofcoursenot.”She exhaled through her

teeth, the breath coming outasalowhiss.“Damn,Kaille.That’snotgoodatall.”

“Has anything similareverbeendonetoyou?”

“No,” she said. “I’veheardotherfolkstellofit,butI ain’t never even known

anyone who had it done tothem. You say your wardin’workedforawhile?”

“It worked once,” Ethansaid, his gut knotting.“Whoever is casting thesespells tried somethingdifferent and ripped throughmy warding like it wasparchment.”

Jannapursedher lips,herdark eyes trained on the fire.

“Maybe the last time wetalked Iwas tooquick to sayit’snotRamsey.”

Rather than frighteninghimmore, this admission onJanna’s part came as somesmall relief. At least hewasn’t the only person tosense the captain’s schemingintheseconjurings.

“He can find meanywhere—at least that’s

howitfeels.Ithinkhemighthaveother conjurersworkingforhim.”

“That sounds likeRamsey.”

“Hehasmehiding inmyroom,Janna.I’mafraidtogoanywhere lest I start anotherbrawl or get someone elsekilled.”

“You didn’ get anyonekilled!” she said, her tone

fierce. “And you didn’ startany brawls either. That’sRamsey’s doin’. Or whoeveriscastin’ thesespells.Itain’tyour fault, and thinkin’ it is,well that’s what Ramseywants.”

Ethanknewshewasright.“Howdo thesespellswork?”he asked. “How can he haveaccess to my power withoutmyknowingit?”

“Usually, for magickinglike this, he would need tohavesomethin’ofyours.Bestis somethin’ from you—alock of hair, a bit of yourblood. Failin’ that, he mighthave a piece of clothin’ orsomethin’ that belonged toyou.Anythin’thathecanuseto connect to you and yourconjurin’ power. After that,it’s a matter of knowin’ the

rightwords,that’sall.”“Iwasunconsciousonhis

ship last summer—I don’tknow for how long. But hecould have taken anythingfromme.”

“Soundslikehedid.”“CanIstophim?”“Iwouldhavetoldyouto

ward yourself. If that ain’tstrong enough…” Sheshrugged. “There’s other

kinds of wardin’ spells. Youmight wanna try some ofthem.”

“Idon’tknowthem.”“Well, it’s time you

started learnin’ moreadvanced spells. You canguard yourself from all sortsofmagick.LikeIsay,it’sjustknowin’thewords.”

Ethan nodded, althoughhehadno ideawhere tostart

lookingfornewspellstocast.Janna leaned forward and

pattedhisknee.“It’sallright,Kaille. I’ve got some booksyou can borrow. You mightfindsomethin’inthem.”

“Thankyou,Janna.”“What bothers me is not

knowin’ for sure if it’sRamsey.” She shook herhead.“Ineverlearnedtohidemy power that way—don’t

supposeIeverneededto.Butyou’re sure that you’re doin’yourrevealspellsright?”

“Aye, that spell I know.There was no residue onRichardson after he shot theboyoronSephira’smanafterhe beat that lad who hadrobbedJosiahWells.”

Jannawinced,shakingherhead oncemore and clickingher tongue. “Of course there

wasn’t. He’s castin’ thesespells on you. That’s wherethecolorshouldbe.Onyou.”

“No,”Ethansaid.“Icastarevela spell on myself aswell, after another conjurerused a finding spell againstme. It revealed the residuefrom his spell, but nothingelse. Believe me, Janna. IfRamsey’s power had left amarkonme,I’dhavenoticed

it.IknowthatcoloraswellasIknowmyown.”

“Letmetry.”“Butifmyspell—”“Be quiet and cut

yourself,”Jannasaid.Ethan drew his knife, his

pulse pounding, his stomachtight. He dragged the bladeover his forearm, and asblood flowed from thewound, he dipped his finger

in it and drew a line acrosshisbrowanddownthebridgeof his nose, over his chin, tohisbreastbone.

“Revelaomniasmagiasexcruoreevocatas,” Janna said.Reveal allmagicks, conjuredfromblood.

Her spell sang in thewood walls and the stonehearth, and her ghost, aglowingblueimageofanold

African woman, appearedbesideher.Awashofcoolairswept over Ethan’s face asthebloodvanished,andJannatookaquick,sharpbreath.

He didn’t want to lookdown,butwhatchoicedidhehave?

His first reactionwasoneof revulsion—he imaginedthat thismusthavebeenhowa smallpox victim felt upon

noticing the first pustules ofthedistemperonhischest.

He was covered in theglowofanotherman’spower.It shone from his chest, hisgut, his limbs. Judging fromtheway Janna gaped at him,he assumed that it was alloverhisface.

The glow wasunmistakable: a deep aqua,the color of the ocean on a

clear, sunlitmorn.Once, thishad been among his favoritehues,a reminderof theyearshehadspentatsea,beforetheRuby Blade mutiny and hisconviction. Now it was thecolor of apprehension anduncertainty, of torment andpain.ItwasthecolorofNateRamsey’s conjuring power.And it covered him likedisease.

He slashed his knifeacross his forearm, drawingfresh blood. “Cast thecounterspell, Janna. I don’twanttoseethis.”

She nodded, swallowed.“Vela omnias magias,” shesaid, her voice low. “Excruoreevocatas.”Concealallmagicks, conjured fromblood.

The glow of Ramsey’s

power began to fade, dyingaway slowly as Ethanwatched.Hewanted to shoutat the magick, to make itvanish thatverymoment,butthespellJannahadcastdidn’twork that way. And truth betold,itmatterednot.Nowthathe knew it was there, hecould almost feel thecaptain’s conjurings on him.Hisskincrawledwiththem.

When at last the glow ofthe spells had disappeared,Janna raised her gaze to his.She opened her mouth tospeak, but stopped herselfwith a small shake of herhead. At last she stood andsmoothed her dress with thepalmofherhand.

“I’ll find you thosebooks,” she said, and lefthim.

ChapterFIFTEEN

Janna returned several

minutes later bearing threesmall volumes, all of themleather-boundandworn.

Ethan hadn’t moved.Janna eyed him for severalseconds before placing thebooks on the barrel besidehim.

“Why would your spellwork that way when minedidn’t?”Ethan askedher, hisvoicetaut.

“Idon’tknow.Butifhe’sfound a way to use yourpower the way he would hisown, hiding those conjurin’sfrom you would be easy.KnowwhatImean?”

Ethanwas far beyondhisdepth; his knowledge ofspellmakinghadnotpreparedhim for anything like this.But he sensed that she wasright, that if Ramsey could

turn his magick against himin this way, concealing theresidueofhisspellswouldbea smallmatter.Hepickedupthebooksandexaminedtheirspines.

“Idon’tknowwhatyou’llfind in those,” she said.“Butthey’re the best I’ve got. Ifyou can’t find it in one ofthem … Well, I think youprobablycan.”

“My thanks, Janna.” Hestood,hislegsfeelingleaden.“I should go before he castsagain and starts a fight inyourtavern.”

“You have mullein?” sheasked.

“Aye.Apouchfullofit.”“That’s good. Ain’t

nothin’ better for protectionspells.Youshouldhavesomebetony and horehound, too.

Spells in those books mightcallforthem.”

“All right. I’ll have apouch of each. How muchwillthatcost?”

“A few shillin’s is all.”She was staring at the fireagain; Ethan sensed that shewasafraid to lookhimin theeye. “Maybe you shouldleave Boston. Just until youfigureouthowtobeathim.”

“Kannice said much thesamething.”

“She’sasmartwoman.”“Ihavea jobhere.Ineed

to finish it.” As soon as hespoke the words, though, itoccurredtoEthanthathisjobcouldwelltakehimoutofthecity to the home of Louisa’sparents.Hebalkedattheveryidea of it. Not because hecouldn’t leave Boston, but

becausehedidn’twantto.Orrather, because he refused tobedrivenfromthecity.

“ForallIknow,hewantsme to leave,”Ethan said, hiswords filling a growingsilence. “Perhaps that’s beenhisgoalallalong.”

“His goal is to see youdead, and to take as manyother people with you as hecan. Clearly he’s alive, but

I’d wager every coin in mytill that there’snothin’ leftofhim but skin and bones andhate. And magick. Iunderstandyounotwantin’toleave. Your woman’s here.Your friends are here. Butdon’t tell me you’re stayin’for a job. You’re stayin’becauseyouwannafighthim,andyoudon’twannarun.”

“Aye,” Ethan said.

“That’s it precisely. I don’twanttorun.Irefuse.”

Janna studied him, herexpression as hard asobsidian. “All right then.When it comes time to fighthim again, you know wheretofindme.”

Ethanhadtosmile.“Ido.And I’m grateful to you,Janna.”

She waved away his

gratitude as if it were a fly.“Let me get them herbs foryou.”

Janna left the the kitchenonce more. Ethan picked upthe books and followed her.Hispulsehadslowed,andanoddcalmhadsettledoverhimlike a cloak. The surety thatRamseywasinfactaliveandbackinBoston,theweightofJanna’sbooksinhishand,his

resolve not to leave the cityuntil he had found anddefeatedRamsey:Alloftheseserved to quiet hismind. Heremained afraid of the harmRamseymightdowithoneofhis spells, and he still felt asthoughhewerecorruptedanddiseasedby theman’s spells.ButhewouldnotsurrendertoRamsey or to his conjurings,and he clung to that

determination to fight thewayhewouldasparofwoodinastorm-roiledsea.

“Here you go,” Jannasaid, presenting him with apair of fragrant pouches.“That’sbetonyontheleftandhorehoundontheright.Ifyouforget which one is which,remember that betony issweeter, horehound morebitter.”

“Thank you, Janna. HowmuchdoIoweyou?”

“Fourshillin’s.”Ethanpulledfiveshillings

from his pocket and handedthe coins to her. “That’s formysupperandaleaswell.”

Jannaglancedatthemandslippedthemintothefoldsofher dress. “I meant what Isaid.When it comes time tofight, you find me.

Understand?”“Iwill.”He reached for his

tankard,whichstillsatonthebar next to his half-emptybowl of stew, and drainedwhat was left of his ale. Hepicked up his hat, pulled onhis greatcoat, and left theSpiderforthecold.

Ethan knew that Kannicewould be concerned about

him, wondering where hewas, but he returned to hisroomonCooper’sAlley,andafter restarting the fire in hisstove, he sat on his bed andbegan to thumb through thefirstofJanna’sbooks.

He searched for anymention of a spell thatenabled a conjurer touse thepower of another, regardlessofwhetherthesecondspeller

gave his consent for such aconjuring.Findingnothing inthe first book, he tossed itaside and picked up thesecond,avolumetitledSpellsand Incantations of theNecromancers, which hadbeen published in London in1632. Ethan leafed throughthisbook,onceagain findingnothing that could help him.He was about to give up on

thisoneand lookat the thirdbook when he came upon apage describing “Theborrowedincantation.”

Hesatupandlitacandle.Andthenheread.

It was not exactly whatEthan was looking for, butone line in the book’sdescriptionofthespellcaughthis eye. “The borrowedincantationenablesonewitch

tousethepowerofanothertoaccomplishwhathemightnotonhisown.”

There was nomention ofthe“borrowedincantation”inthe remaining pages of thebook,nordidhefindmentionof it when he again scannedthefirstbook.

But the third volume, ACollection of Spells andConjurings, devotedpages to

it.According to theauthor,amannamedThaddeusBeralt,conjurersmightborrowspellsfromalliesorstealthemfromfoes. He seemed to assumethat this “borrowing” wouldalways take place in thecontext of conjuring battlesand would require that oneconjurerbeincloseproximitytoanother.Butineveryotherway, what he described

resembled what Ramsey hadbeen doing with Ethan’spower.

“A determinednecromancer might pilfermagick from another witheaseprovidedthatthesecondwitch isunawareofwhat thefirstintends,andhastakennoprecautions against suchviolation.”

Ethanfrownedat thisand

searched adjacent pages forother references to theprecautions a conjurer mighttake.Hefoundnone.

Returning to thebeginning of the volume, hescanned each yellowed,brittle page with more care.Outside, the sky darkened;eventuallyEthan had to lightadditional candles. He foundseveral references towarding

spells,aswellastoherbsthatmight be used to enhance a“witch’s” protection. ToJanna’s credit, mullein,betony, and horehound werementioned more often thananyotherherbs.

ButEthanreachedtheendof the book without findinganything more aboutconjurings intendedspecifically to prevent the

borrowingor theftofmagickbyanotherspeller.

“Veni ad me.” Come tome.

An instant later, Regstood over him, gleamingbalefully in the small room.Ethan opened the secondbook to the page on whichborrowed spells werementioned and held it up fortheghosttosee.

“Haveyouheardof theseconjurings?”heasked.

Regscannedthepage,hisbushy eyebrows bunched.Looking at Ethan again, henodded.

“This is what Ramsey isdoingtome,isn’tit?”

The ghost hesitated, andwhenatlasthenoddeditwaswithsomereluctance.

“Something similar,

perhaps?”Yes.“DoyouknowhowIcan

stop him from casting thesespells?Isthereawaytodenyhimuseofmypower?”

He knew from Reg’sforlorn expression that theghostwouldshakehishead.

“But this book—” Hepicked up the third text andriffled the pages until he

found the correct one. “Itmentions‘precautionsagainstsuch violation.’ That mustmean that there arewardingsIcanputinplace,spellsIcancast to keep him from usingmeinthisway.”

Reg opened his hands. Idon’tknow.

“Very well,” Ethan said.“Dimittote.”Ireleaseyou.

Once Reg was gone, he

reached for the first bookoncemoreandbegan to readthevolumemorecloselyfromthefirstpage.

***

Hestayedawakeformuchofthenightandreadthroughallthree of Janna’s books.Thoughhefoundafewmorepages on which borrowedspells were mentioned, most

of these were passingreferences. He read nothingthat told him how to protecthimself from Ramsey.Whenat last he lay down to sleep,hewasasfrustratedashehadbeen before studying thetexts, and only slightlymoreknowledgeable.

Hissleepwasfitfulandherousedhimselfwithfirstlightso that once more he could

pay a visit to the Paxtonmansion. He followed thesame circuitous route to thecommissioner’s estate, butwhileheavoidedthebarracksthis way, he did nothing tofool Ramsey. Even as heapproached Paxton’s door, aspell growled in the earthbeneath him.He knocked onthe door, gazing back at therope yard and then down the

street toward Green’sBarracks as he did. But hesaw neither soldiers norjourneymen.Italmostseemedthat the captain was toyingwith him, casting the spellsfor the sheer purpose ofscaring Ethan. Reg hadappeared beside him, but hespared Ethan not a glance.He, too, was watching forsoldiers.

To Ethan’s relief, Paxtonanswered his knock beforeRamsey could cast a secondspell.

“Mister Kaille,” thecommissioner said, clearlysurprised to seeEthanonhisdoorsteponcemore.“Ididn’texpectyoutoday.”

The commissioner wasdressed in a black silk coatand breeches. Belatedly

Ethan realized that it wasSunday morning and thatPaxtonandhiswifewouldbeontheirwaytochurchbeforelong.

“No, sir. Please forgivetheintrusion.”

“Do you have news forme?”

“I believe I do. I washoping I might come in andspeak once more with your

servant.”Paxton’s expression

darkened. “If you meanLouisa, I’m afraid that’simpossible.She’sgone.”

Awaveofnauseacrashedover Ethan. “Gone where?”heasked,thoughofcourseheknewwhatPaxtonwouldsay.

“I’venoearthly idea.Shestole away sometime duringthenight.Whenmywifeand

Iawokethismorning,shehadalready gone and had takenallofherthings.Herroomiscompletelyempty.”

“This ismy fault,” Ethansaid, removing his hat andrakingclawedfingersthroughhishair.

“Yourfault?Whatdoyoumean?”

He donned his hat oncemore and looked Paxton in

the eye. “Louisa and PrivateFleming were workingtogether. Her tears yesterdaywere a ruse, aswas her visitwith her infirm parents. Ibelieve she has the stolenitemshiddenintheirhome.”

“I’mdeeply sorry to hearthat,” Paxton said. “But inwhatwayisthisyourfault.”

“I spoke to Flemingyesterdayandwrungthetruth

from him. I should havecalled the sheriffstraightaway, but I didn’tthink that Fleming woulddesert, nor did I believe thatLouisa would run off. Iassumed that I would havethischancetoconfronther.”

Paxton’s frown haddeepened. “I must tell youthat I’mdisappointed,MisterKaille. Geoffrey Brower led

metobelievethatyouwereaskilled thieftaker. I expectedbetterfromyou.”

“And you shall have it,sir.Youhavemyword.”

“Whatwillyoudo?”“What is Louisa’s family

name?”“Allen. At least this is

whatshetoldme.”“And where is her

parents’home?”

“She said it was inMedfield, but you haveproved her false, MisterKaille. Shouldn’t we assumethat everything she told mewasalie?”

“Not necessarily, sir.Sometimes a succession ofsmall truths can conceal alarger falsehood. AndFlemingmentionedtomethather parents’ homewas along

theMiddleRoad.”“I have little personal

experience with such thingsand sohavenochoicebut toplace my trust in you again.ButIdosoreluctantly.”

“I understand, sir,” Ethansaid, starting away from thedoor.“ButIsweartoyouthatyourpropertywillbefound.”

Ethan didn’t wait for areply,nordidhe tarryby the

rope yard, though he couldsee thatoncemoreRamsey’sspell had drawn soldiers andjourneymen into the ice-coveredlane.

He left Hutchinson’sStreet at its south end, andfollowed Cow Lane down toSummer Street. Soon, hestood again before theentrance to Sephira Pryce’smansion. Afton opened the

door this time, and glowereddownathim.

“What do you wantnow?”

“I need to speak withSephira.”

Thebrute set his jawandEthan thought he wouldrefuse and send him away.Butthenhesaid,“Rightthen,wait here,” drawling thewords. Though he closed the

door, Ethan could hear himlumberthroughthehouse.

He pulled the door openagainmomentslaterandheldout his hand. Ethan handedover his knife and hispouches of herbs. Sephira’sman eyed these dubiously,but gestured for Ethan toenter.After shutting thedooroncemore, he ledEthan intothe common room, where

Sephira stood before ablazingfire.Sheworeadressofdarkbluesatin,ratherthanher usual breeches andwaistcoat. He had to admitthat she looked even morebeautiful than usual. Butwhile her garbwas different,the amused, somewhatmocking expression on herfacewasalltoofamiliar.Nap,Gordon, and Mariz stood

nearby,lookingfarmoregrimthanshe.

“Ethan. What a surprise.You’re starting to make ahabit of this.Doesyour littlefriend with the tavern knowhow much time we’ve beenspendingtogether?”

“Goodday,Sephira.”“Haveyoucometospeak

withme,orwithMariz?”“Withyou,”Ethansaid.“I

have a business propositionforyou.”

She considered himbriefly, then gestured towardthe chair next to hers. Ethanremoved his greatcoat andsat.

“A business proposition,”she repeated. “Explainyourself, and do it quickly,please; I was about to makemy way to the meeting

house.”Of course; that would

explainthedress.Ethancouldhardly imagine Sephiraattending church. Heconsidered saying as much,butthoughtbetterofit.

“I was hired by CharlesPaxton to retrieve somejewels that were pinchedfromhishome.”

“Yes,I’dheard,”shesaid.

“Ihadn’tyetdecidedwhetherornottoletyoukeepthatjob.Paxton isn’t as wealthy asJosiahWells,butheisamanofsomemeans.Iwouldhavepreferred that he come tome.”

Ethansmiled.“Well, thenthis should be rather simple.You can have the job. I’lleven tell you where to findthe jewels, so that you can

collectthebalanceofwhatheowesme.”

“Why would you dothis?”

“Because I have moreimportantmatterstowhichtoattend.Ican’ttakethetimetoretrievePaxton’sproperty.”

Sephira bristled. “And soyou thought to giveme yourcastoffs? Of all theimpudent … I should have

Nap and Gordon here beatyoubloody.”

“Forgive me, Sephira. Iphrased that poorly. Undermost circumstances, I wouldgladly get the jewelsmyself,butIcan’tnow.It’snotthatIhaveabetterjob;it’sthatmylife is in danger, and I can’tafford to leave Boston rightnow.”

Thisseemedtodolittleto

mollifyher.“WewouldhavetoleaveBoston?”

“Aye. Paxtonwas robbedby a soldier named JimmyFleming, a private with theTwenty-ninth. But he wasworkingwithoneofPaxton’sservants.Her name isLouisaAllen.According toFleming,she has the jewels hidden ather parents’ home inMedfield. Louisa left the

Paxton home last night—Iassume that Jimmy is withher, though I could bemistaken. In any case, wehaven’tmuch time.Shemustknow that Jimmy told mewhere she took the jewels;she won’t remain there forlong.”

“How much is Paxtonpayingyou?”

“Hegaveme twopounds

tenwhenIbeganmyinquiry.Upon returning the jewels tohim, he’ll pay another fourandten.”

“Seven pounds,” Sephirasaid, raising an eyebrow.“You’relearning,Ethan.”Shepicked up a goblet from asmall table beside her chairand sipped her wine. “Still,I’m not sure it would beworth our time to travel all

thewayouttoMedfieldforamerefourandten.”

“Youwantmetogiveyoumore?”

“I want you to tell memore,” she said, still holdingthewineglass.

“I’ve told you everythingthat—”

“NotaboutPaxtonandhisservant.Iwant toknowwhatorwhohasyousofearfulthat

youwould offerme coinwebothknowyouneed.”

He remained wary oftelling her that Ramsey wasback in Boston—she hatedtheman toomuch.Hedidn’ttrust her not to get herselfkilled, and Ethan and othersalong with her. He didn’tknow,however,thathecouldconvince her to help himwithouttellingher.

“It’s a private matter,Sephira.”

She shook her head. “Itceased to be private themoment youwalked intomyhome.”

“Isn’titenoughtosaythat—”

“I want the truth—all ofit. And you’re going to tellme, because you need myhelpevenmorethanyouneed

thatfourpoundsten.Webothknowthatyouwouldn’tcometomeunlessyouhadagooddeal at stake.” She regardedhim through narrowed eyes.“I would surmise that youlearned the truthofwhathadhappened but didn’t act soonenough. Thus, you let thissoldier and his girl escapeBoston, and then you had toadmit as much to Paxton.

Which means that yourreputationasathieftakerisatrisk.” She sipped her wineagain. “Do I have it right sofar?”

“Don’tyoualways?”Her smile was radiant.

“Yes,Ido.Now,tellmewhatthisabout.”

Ethan kept silent as heconsidered his options. Thetruth was, he had precious

few.Apparently, Sephira

misinterpreted his silence.“Very well. Retrieve thejewels on your own. Nap,Gordon,Ibelieveit’stimeforEthantoleave.”

The twomen took a steptowardhim.

“Ramseyisback.”Sephiraraisedahand,and

her toughs froze where they

were, her single gesture aspowerful in this house as aspell. “Nate Ramsey?” sheasked,iceinhervoice.

“Aye.”“Youarecertainofthis?”

Mariz asked. “You havesuspected—”

“I’m certain. He’s beenusing me to cast spells,including the one that madeGordonattackWillPryor.”

“You knew about this?”SephirademandedofMariz.

“Heknewnothing,”Ethansaid, drawing her gaze.“When last Mariz and Ispoke, I mentioned that thespells being used against mewere the sort that Ramseymight try. But it wasconjecture; that’s all. OnlyyesterdaydidIdeterminethathe is in fact alive and in

Bostononcemore.”Again, Sephira appeared

dissatisfied with hisassurances.AndnodoubtthisexchangewasfurthererodinghertrustinMariz.

“What is it he wants?”Sephiraasked.

“Hewantstohurtme;hisultimategoal, nodoubt, is tosee me dead. But he’s in norushtokillme.Rightnowhe

is using my power to castspells that make othersbehave violently. I’ve beenthe cause of brawls betweensoldiers and workers, I’vebeen attacked, I might wellbear some responsibility forthe death of ChristopherSeider.

“Hewantstomakemeanexile in my own city; hewantsme to doubtmy every

action, and he wants mefearful not only for my ownlife but for those of thepeople I love. Once he’saccomplishedallofthat,he’llcometofinishme.”

“Do you know where heis?”Marizasked.

“No. I’ve searched thewaterfront for his ship, andseveral days ago I tried afinding spell. But until

Ramsey wants to be found,his location will remain asecret.”

“I’ll help you kill him,”Sephirasaid.

“Before this is over, I’llbegratefulforyourhelp.Forright now, though, I wouldaskthatyouretrievePaxton’sjewels.”

She made an impatientgesture, nearly spilling her

wine. “We’ll see to thattoday. What shall I do withthesoldierandthegirl?”

Ethan hadn’t evenconsidered this. “To behonest,Sephira,Idon’tcare.”

“Well, now I know thatRamseyhasyouscared.”

“Aye,”Ethansaid.“I assume you’ll wish to

consult with Mariz. UntilRamseyisdeadyouhavemy

leave to do so whenevernecessary.”

It was Ethan’s turn tocock an eyebrow. “I guessyou’rescaredofhimaswell.”

“I fear no man. But I dowant the bloody bastarddead.”

“That’s a commonsentiment where Ramsey isconcerned. Thank you,Sephira.” To Afton he said,

“I’ll need my blade and myherbs.”

Afton held them up, butMariz took them from him,and turning to Ethan said, “Iwillseeyouout.”

With one last nod toSephira, Ethan picked up hishatandcoatandwalkedbacktothefoyer.Marizfollowed.

“What are these spellsRamsey is using against

you?” the conjurer asked,handing Ethan his knife andtheleatherpouches.

“Have you ever heard ofborrowedspells?”

“Borrowed?”“The translation to

Portuguese might not beexact.Inessence,Ramseyhasfoundawaytousemypowerto cast spells, regardless ofdistance or simple wardings.

Theresidueofhisconjuringsisalloverme,andsofarI’venotbeenabletodoadamnedthingtostophim.”

“Soheisusingconjuringsto make you cast spells forhim—spells you do notwishtocast.Isthatright?”

“Aye, that’s closeenough.”

Mariz removed hisspectacles and rubbed the

lenses with a handkerchief.“Last timewespoke,Imighthave been too quick to saythatIhadneverheardofsuchthings. Your phrase—‘borrowed spells’—hasstirred amemory. There is akind of conjuring, one that Iheard mentioned back in mycountry, long ago. We callthem stolen spells, but Ibelievetheyinvolvethesame

magick.”“Stolen spells sounds

more apt.Doyouknowhowto prevent them? Is there awarding that you can teachme?”

“I am not certain. Theremay be something. I have ateacher,amanbackinLisbonwho taught me much aboutcasting.Icanaskhim.”

“Not by letter, Mariz. I

haven’ttime.”“I understand. I will find

outwhatIcan.”“Mythanks.”Ethan pulled open the

doorandsteppedoutontotheportico.

“Kaille, have youconsidered—?”

“LeavingBoston?”Mariz nodded. “I see that

you have. But you have

decidedtostay.”“What would you do?

Would you allow yourself tobe hounded from yourhome?”

Theconjurergaveasmallshake of his head, hisspectacles catching the glarefrom outside. “You and thesenhora are much alike inmanyways.”

“Thank you, Mariz,” he

said, his tone dry. “That’swhatIwantedtohear.”

Mariz grinned beforepushingthedoorshut.

ChapterSIXTEEN

ItbeingSundaymorning, the

streetswererelativelyempty.Ethan took advantage of thecircumstance by followingSummerStreettotheedgeofthe Common and thenwalkingupCommonStreettoTreamount and finally on toSudbury and the DowsingRod.

As he neared the tavern,hesawKanniceemergefromwithin, a red woolen cape

draped over shoulders, herauburn hair shining in themorning sun. She locked thedoor and turned tomake herwaytowardtheWestMeetingHouse. Noticing him, shehalted.

They stood thus for whatseemed an age. Kannice’sexpressionremainedgrave.

“You’re alive,” she said,breakingthehardsilence.

“Aye.”“I would have liked to

knowthat.Iwouldhavelikedtoknowsomething.”

“Ididn’t…”Heshookhishead, unsure of exactlywhathehadintendedtosay.

“Youdidn’twhat?Didn’tstop to think thatperhaps I’dbeconcerned?Didn’ttakethetime to send a note or getwordtosomeone?”

She walked to where hestood, eyeing him critically,hergazelingeringonthespotwhereFleminghadhithim:abruise he had forgotten toheal.

“You don’t look so bad,”she said at last. “Have youbeen hurt? In gaol? HeldcaptivebySephiraPryce?”

“Noneofthose,no.”“Thenwhat’shappenedto

you,Ethan?Wherehaveyoubeenforthepasttwonights?”

“Cooper’sAlley, alone inmyroom.”

“Why?”“Because I’m afraid of

what might happen if I’m inyour tavern with a crowd ofmen.BecauseIdon’ttrustmyconjuring power anymore.BecauseNateRamseyisaliveand back in Boston, and

everywhere I go he’s usingme—my power—to wreakhavoc.”

Shecantedherheadtotheside,herbrowcreasing.“I’msorry. That’s…You’re sureit’sRamsey?”

“Aye,beyonddoubt.”A church bell began to

toll to the north and west.Kannice looked over hershoulder and then faced

Ethan again, an apology inherblueeyes.

“Ihavetogo.”“I know. I’m sorry,

Kannice. You’re right. Ishouldhave…Ishouldhavegottenwordtoyousomehow,even if just to say that Iwasall right and that I wasmissingyou.”

“It doesn’t sound likeyou’reallright.Whydidyou

comehere?”“I thought it would be

safe,atleastforawhile.AndIwantedtoseeyou.”

She smiled at that.Glancing once more towardthechurch,shepulledoutherkeyandhandedittohim.“Goinside. Wait for me. I’ll bebackinanhourorso.”

Hetookthekeyfromher;hewanted tokissher,buthe

sensed that she didn’t wanthimto,whichwassomethingnew and entirely unwelcomein their relationship. “Allright,”hesaid.“Thankyou.”

Her gaze lingered on hisforasecondlonger.Thensheturnedandhurriedaway.

Ethan let himself into thetavern. A fire burned low inthehearth,andthegreatroomsmelled faintly of chowder

and freshbread.He removedhis gloves and coat, putanother log on the fire, andpulled a chair up in front ofthehearth.

Shehadevery right tobeangrywithhim;heknewthis.There was no shortage ofways he might have let herknow that he was safe—hecould even have sent anillusion spell to her. She

deserved such considerationgivenallthatshedidforhim,and all that she had enduredintheiryearstogether.

He sensed, though, thatshe wanted more from him,orelsenothingatall.Shehadmadenosecretofherwishes:She wanted him to give upthieftakingandhisroomoverHenry’sshop,tolivewithherhere at the Dowser and help

her run the tavern. She hadnever said that shewished tomarry,atleastnotinsomanywords. But that might havebeen because he had madeclear toheryearsago thathenever had any intention ofmarrying.

Oncemore he thought ofthe night more than a weekbeforewhenhe had seen herat the bar, laughing with a

stranger.He didn’t doubt thelove they shared, nor did hethink that she would evercuckoldhim.Butperhapsshehad started to imagine forherselfadifferentlife,oneinwhichtheabsenceofhermanfromherbeddidn’tmakeherworrythathehadbeenkilledin the streets of Boston. Shewas as beautiful now as theday he met her, and still

young enough to bearchildren. He didn’t know ifshewantedthat;hehadneverthought toask,andsheknewhimtoowelltobringitup.

He was still sitting andstaring at the flames,ruminating on all of this,when Kannice returned fromchurch.Hestoodasshecameinside. She faltered at thesight of him, but then she

walked behind the bar, hungher cape on a hook, and tiedherhairback.

“Have you eatenanything?”sheasked.

“No.”“What can I fix for you?

I’mgoing tohavesomeeggsandham.”

“I’mnotreallyhungry.”“You’re saying that to

save me work. It’s no

trouble.” Her smile was toobright,toobrittle.

“I thought you’d want totalk,”Ethansaid.

“That’sallright.I’msorryfor the way I spoke to youearlier. I shouldn’t have saidthose things.” She pointedtoward the kitchen. “I’mgoingtohavesomebreakfast.Youshouldhavesomething.”

“You were right to say

what you did.And Iwant totalktoyouaboutit.”

Her smile faded. Ethanpulled another chair from anearbytableandsetitnexttohisownbeforethehearth.

“Comesitwithme.”Kannice’s cheeks had

gonepale.Shejoinedhimbythe fire and sat, her handsfolded in her lap, her gazefixed on the flames. They

said nothing for severalminutes; Ethan thought thathe ought to start theconversation, but he wasn’tsurehowtobegin.

“Some nights back,” hebegan, “when I was stillworkingforLillie,Iwashere,sitting with Diver andDeborah, and I saw youspeakingwithanotherman.”

She looked at him. “I

speakwithlotsofmen.”“I know that. This one

wasyoungandhandsome;hemadeyoulaugh.And—”

“Do you think I’minterestedinanotherman,andthat’swhyIsaidthosethingstoyou?”

He shook his head. “No.Butitmademethinkthatyoucoulddobetter than tospendyourtimewithme.”

She started to object, butheraisedafingertohislips.

“Do you want children,Kannice?”

Her eyes went wide.“Children?DearLord,Ethan,whatwereyouthinkingaboutwhileIwasgone?”

His cheeks warmed.“You.Thetwoofus.Doyouwantchildren?”

Shegazedathimforsome

time before heaving a sighand turning back to the fire.“TherewasatimewhenIdid.Rafe and I spoke of havingchildren. We were veryyoung and newly married,andhavingchildrenwaswhata young, newly married girlwassupposedtodo.”

“Andnow?”“And now I’m thirty-two

and a widow and I own a

tavern,andIdon’tknowhowI would fit children into mylife.” She reached over andtookhis hand. “But,Ethan, Iwasn’t angry with you thismorning because I wantchildren,anymorethanIwasangry with you because Iwantanotherman inmy life.IhavethemanIwant.”

“But…?”She took a breath. “But I

wantadifferentlifewithhimthan the one we have now.And I’m not sure he wantsthesamething.”

“Youwantme togiveupthieftaking.”

He thought she woulddemur,buthergazeremainedsteadyasshesaid,“Yes.”

Ethan looked away. “It’sbeenhardrecently,Iknow.”

“It’s always hard. If it’s

not Sephira Pryce trying tokill you, it’s Ramsey, orSimon Gant, or CalebOsborne, or half a dozenothers I can think of off thetopofmyhead.WhenIheardnothing from you two nightsago,Iwasworried.Whenyoudidn’t show up last night, Ithought … I thought youmight be dead.” Tearsglistened in her eyes. “I’m

not sure how much longer Ican live with that kind offear.”

“I’m good at what I do.I’ve been thieftaking for tenyearsnow,andIhaven’tbeenkilledevenonce.”

A choked laugh escapedher, but then she soberedonce more. “You can’t stayyoungforever.”

“I’m not sure I’m young

now.”She smiled, offering no

reply, her silence a pointedacquiescence.

Ethan laughed. “Youcouldarguealittle.”

“Whybotherwhenyou’remaking my argument forme?”

Ethan lifted Kannice’shand to his lips. “You knowthatevenifIdecidetogointo

the tavern business, I can’tsimply stop thieftaking rightnow.Ramseyisoutthere,andhewon’tforgohisvengeancebecause I happen to changeprofessions.”

“Iunderstand.”“AndifIstartlivinghere,

workinghere,spendingeveryminute with you, you mightfind that you don’t care formeasmuchasyouthought.”

“I’ve considered thepossibility,” Kannice said,eyesdancing.

“And…?”“I’m willing to take my

chances.”He nodded, looked at the

fire.“Are you truly

consideringthis?”sheasked.“Aye. If the alternative is

losing you, then I’ll give up

thieftaking.”She stared at him, as if

seeinghimforthefirsttime.“You’resurprised.”“Very,”shesaid.“Ididn’t

think…”Sheshookherhead.“It doesn’t matter. I’mgratefultoyou.”

“Didn’tthinkwhat?”Shedroppedhishandand

stood. “How about thatbreakfast?”

Ethan caught hold of heragain. “You didn’t thinkwhat,Kannice?”

“Iwasn’t…”Tearswelledin her eyes again. “I didn’tthink you loved me thatmuch,”shewhispered.

Ethan felt his heartconstrict. He stood and tookher in his arms. Her sobsshookthemboth.

“I love you more than I

can say,” he said, breathingthe words into her scentedhair. “And the fact that youdoubted it … I’m sorry; it’smyfault.”

He held her for whatseemedalongtime.Hersobssubsided slowly, and at lastshe pulled away and brushedastrandofhairfromherface.Her eyes were red-rimmedandpuffy.

“I’msorry,”shesaid.“Youneedn’tapologize.”Before they could say

more, thetaverndooropenedand Kelf walked in. Seeingthem, he halted, his faceturning even redder than thecoldhadmadeit.

“G’morning, Kannice.Ethan, it’s good to see thatyou’re…alive.”

“Good day, Kelf,” Ethan

said.Kannice grinned. “I think

it’s time I made breakfast.”She gave Ethan a quick kissand hurried back to thekitchen.

Ethan remained by thefire, watching as Kelf tookoff his coat and steppedbehind the bar. “I suppose Ioweyouanapology,too.”

Kelf shrugged. “It might

be helpful if you told herwhen you plan on stayin’away and when you plan onbein’ here. There’s only somanywaysforafella tosay,‘No,Idon’tthinkhe’sdead,’before it starts to soundinsincere.”

Ethan chuckled. “Fairenough.”

He joined Kannice in thekitchen. She had eggs frying

in a pan along with severalslabsofbacon.

“Ishouldgo,”hesaid.“Why?” she asked, with

equal measures of surpriseanddisappointment.

“BecausethemorepeoplewhocometotheDowser,themoredangerousitisformetobe here.” He glanced towardthe great room to makecertain that that barkeep

wasn’t close enough to hear.Whenhewenton,itwasinasoftervoice.“IfRamseywereto cast another of his spellsright now, and Kelf were toattackme,I’dhavenochoicebut to use conjurings againsthim. I don’t want to riskhurtinghimoryou.”

“I don’t understand this,Ethan. What is it Ramsey isdoing? And how are you so

sureit’shim?”“I’ve seen the residue of

hisconjurings—hiscolor.It’salloverme.He’sfoundsomeway to turn my spellmakingto his purposes, and he’smaking people attack eachother, andattackme.You’veheard of the fights over atGray’sRopeWorks?”

“Aye. A soldier had hisskull fractured there

yesterday.”“Damn,” Ethan said. “I

saw it happen. I made ithappen,orratherRamseydidusingmypower.”

“Butthat’sonlyone—”“I was the cause of a

brawl on Long Wharf, twomen attacked me in theCrow’s Nest, and I’m moreconvinced than ever that I’mto blame for the death of

ChristopherSeider.”“Even if this is true,

Ramsey’stoblame,notyou.”Janna had told him the

same thing. “You’re right.But still, staying here is toogreatarisk.”

“When was the last timeyouate?”sheasked,inatoneheknewalltoowell.

“Fine. I’ll leave after Ieat.”

HeandKanniceateatthebar asKelfworked.Kanniceofferedtofeedthebarkeepaswell, but he assured her thathe had eaten. He seemedintent on giving the two ofthem as much privacy aspossible.

Once Ethan had finishedeating and had helpedKannice clean up, he put onhis coat and gloves, and

retrievedhishat.“You’llbeinyourroom?”

Kanniceasked.“Aye.”“Andthenwhat?”“I don’t know. I have to

find a way to protect myselfso that I can search forRamsey without being thecause of another brawl.” Oranotherdeath.

Her brow had furrowed

again.Ethanthoughtheknewwhy.

“I can’t leave Bostonforever,”hesaid.“AndwhenI return, he’ll still be here,waitingforme.Ihavetoendit;bestIdoitnow.”

“I’m sure you’re right,”she said, sounding anythingbutsure.

He put his arms aroundher and kissed her forehead,

hoping to smooth away thecreases.

“I don’t know when I’llbe back, but I’ll try to getwordtoyouwhenIcan.”

“Yes,allright.”They kissed, and he left.

Out on the street again, hethrust his hands in hispockets, lowered his head,and walked as swiftly as hisbad leg would allow. He

hurried past clusters ofsoldiers andwended hiswaythrough crowds of workers,dreading the touch of a spellor the appearance of UncleReg. But hemade it back tohisroomaboveHenry’sshopwithoutincident.

After rekindling his fire,he reached for Janna’sbooksoncemoreandbegan to readall that he could about

warding spells. He soondiscovered that the wardingslisted in Janna’s books werefar more sophisticated thanthe basic warding spell onwhich he usually relied.According to these texts,there were countlessvariations of wardings, eachofwhichworkedbestagainstcertain kinds of spells. If aspeller knew that a specific

conjuring would be usedagainst him, he could wardhimself against that spell.Most of the time, Ethan hadno idea what spell his latestfoe would use against him,butinthiscase,withRamseyback and using borrowedconjurings against him, heknewexactlywhathewantedtoguardagainst.

Unfortunately,noneofthe

wardings listed in the bookswere specific to this sort ofconjuring. Eventually,however, as night fell, hebegantorecognizepatternsinthe spells these booksdescribed,andhewonderedifhe might create his ownwarding.TheherbsJannahadrecommended to him werementionedagainandagaininthe volumes, convincing

Ethan that whatever wardinghecreatedshoulduseallthreeofthem.

Holding three leaves ofeach herb in the palm of hishand, Ethan said, “Protegemeam magiam contraviolationem, ex verbasco etmarrubio et betonicaevocatum.” Protect mymagick from violation,conjured from mullein,

horehound,andbetony.The spell rang like the

harpofGod in hiswalls andfloor. Reg stood in front ofEthan, staring avidly at thebooksandpouchesofleaves.

“That was powerful,”Ethansaidtohim.“Don’tyouagree?”

Theghostnodded.He pulled out threemore

leaves from each pouch and

held them the same way.“Protege meam magiamcontra violationem, ex hisherbisevocatum.”Protectmymagick from violation,conjuredfromtheseherbs.

This second conjuringwaseasierandquickertosay,but when it hummed in thewood around him, it felt farlesspuissantthanhadthefirstversionhetried.

“What do you think?”Ethanaskedtheghost.

Reg held up one finger.Thefirst.

“Aye. That’s what Ithink.”

“Teaching yourselfwardings.Suchdiligence.”

Ethan jumped up andgrabbed for his knife,knocking Janna’s books andatleastoneofthepouchesto

thefloor.Hedidn’tcare.NateRamseystood inhis

room, arms crossed, a smugsmileonhisface.

“Easy,Ethan,”hesaid.“Ifit was really me, you’d bedeadalready.”

Ethan didn’t answer, nordid he relax his grip on hisblade.Butheeyed the figurebeforehimmoreclosely.

It was, he realized, an

illusion, created with aconjuring. Ramsey lookedjust as he had the first timeEthan met him—tall, lean,with a long face and a dark,unruly beard. His eyes werepalest blue, and his teeth,bared in a feral grin, wereyellowandcrooked.Heworeasilkshirt, tanbreeches,andabloodredcoat.

Ethan knew that this

couldn’t be what Ramseylooked like now, for he wasunmarked, unscarred. Andthatwas impossible. Ramseywas a powerful conjurer—perhaps the most powerfulEthan had encountered in allhis years—but during theirfinal battle the previoussummer,hehadbeentrappedin a deadly fire, buriedbeneathflamingrubble.Such

an infernowould have killedmostmen,andtherehadbeentimes in the interveningmonths when Ethan hadthought—hoped—that thecaptain must be dead. Eventhe most skilled conjurerwould emerge from such anordealwithsomescars.

“How do I look?”Ramsey’s illusionasked, inavoice that was thinner than

Ethanremembered,butonlyalittle.

“I was thinking that youlookwell.”

“I did that for yourbenefit. Thanks to you I’mactuallynotashandsomeasIusedtobe.”

“You started the fire,Ramsey,notI.”

Thefigureshookitshead.“Arguing with me already.

And here I came to see youandtoofferyouagift.”

“What gift could youoffertome?”

“The lives of people youlove,ofcourse.Think,Kaille.This is going to be a terriblyboring conversation if youcan’tfollowalong.”

“Whereareyou,Ramsey?Thisisn’tlikeyou—coweringsomewhere in hiding,

attacking me from afar. Tellmewhere Ican findyouandI’ll comenow.Wecan settlethis today, without anyoneelsegettinghurt.”

“Idon’tthinkso.I’vehadalongtimetothinkaboutournext encounter. I have it allplanned.Lettingyou findmetoo soon would ruineverything.” The figurelookeddownatthebooksand

the herbs. “I am impressed,though.Youmustbelearningquitealot.”

“Thenatleastyoucantellme where you learned to doborrowedspells?”

Asmilesplittheillusion’sface.“IwasmostproudwhenI mastered those conjurings.I’d been hearing about themsinceIwasachild,butneverknew how they worked until

now.Imaginehowdifferentlyour past battles might havegone had I known then howtocastthem.”

Ethan suppressed ashudder.“Where,Ramsey?”

The illusion’s expressionturned stony. “I’m not goingtotellyouthat.Don’tmistakemeforafool.”

“Thanks to you, a boy isdead. He was all of eleven

years old, and in yourdesperate attempt to avengeyourself on me, you killedhim. You might not havepulled the trigger, but hisbloodisonyourhands.”

“Let’stalkaboutmygiftsforyou,” the illusionsaid,asifithadn’theard.

“Because you don’t wishto speak of ChristopherSeider?”

“Because I choose whatwe will discuss!” Ramsey’svoice echoed in the smallroom.“BecauseifIwantedtoIcouldkillthemall,andtherewould be nothing you coulddo to stop me! Because I’mgiving you…” The figurefaltered, and when next itspoke, it was in a calmer,softertone.“Agift.”

“Fine, Ramsey. What

‘gift’areyouoffering?”The smile returned. “A

hint, so that you can beprepared when the timecomes.”

“Preparedforwhat?”“Yourchoice.”“What?”Ramsey’s image merely

grinned at him, his pale eyeswide, like those of a childdesperatetoshareasecret.

“You’remad,”Ethansaid.“You know better. You

understand how dangerous itwould be to dismiss me asnothingmorethanalunatic.”

Ethan had no desire toengageinthispointlessbattleofwords,buthehopedthatifhe kept Ramsey talking longenough the captain mightreveal something of hiswhereaboutsorhisintentions.

“Have you used aconcealment spell on yourship?Is thatwhyIcan’t findit?”

“You can’t find it—can’tfind me—because I am notyet ready to be found. Youdon’t seem to understand,Ethan: I control everything. Icontrolyou,yourmagic,yourfriends. Think of what I’veaccomplished thus far.

You’re afraid to go to thattavern your woman owns.You’reafraidtowalkthroughthe city. You’re afraid to dothejobyouwerehiredtodo.You think I’m mad, and yethere you sit, alone in thissmall, shabby room, readingbooks and trying to teachyourself wardings that aredestined to fail.”The illusionleanedforward.“Youcancall

me mad,” it said in aconfidential tone, “but I’mwinning.Again.”

“Perhaps it’s time Isummoned the spirit of yourfather, as I did the last timewe confronted each other inthis room. It angered youthen. How would you feelaboutitnow?”

“By all means, make theattempt. Do you honestly

believe I failed to anticipatethethreat?”

Ethan tried toconcealhisdisappointment, but knewthathehadn’tsucceeded.Theillusionlaughed.

“Was that the onlyweaponyouhad?Ithoughtitmightbe.”

The image of Ramseylookedgleeful.IfEthancouldhave killed him in that

moment,hewouldhavedonesogladly.

“I think I’ll be leavingnow. I havemuch to do andI’mafraidyouneed to spenda good deal more time withthosebooksofyours.So far,they don’t seem to be doingyou much good. Remember.Makeyourchoice.”

Ethan had no chance toanswer.Aconjuring rumbled

in the wood and a suddenwind whipped through hisroom, rattling the door andthe shutters on his window,and extinguishing thecandles, so that an instantlater, when the image ofRamsey vanished, the roomwasplungedintodarkness.

Theonly lightcamefromUncle Reg, who glowed likea low-hanging moon, the

dismay on his face a mirrorforEthan’semotions.

“That spell came fromme,didn’tit?”Ethansaid.

Towhich theghost coulddo naught but nod. Ethan’swardings had failed oncemore.

ChapterSEVENTEEN

Hehad cast not onewarding

buttwo,usingtheherbsfromJannaandthewordinghehadworked out from readingthrough her books. And stillRamsey had mastered hispower as easily as if it werehisown.

Ethanlitthecandlesagainand picked up the books offhis floor, but though heopened one, he didn’t botherto read.Hehadno ideawhat

to look for in its pages.Mutteringacurse,hetosseditaside.

He removed severalleaves of mullein from apouchand,on theoffchancethatRamseyhad lied tohim,tried to summon the spirit ofRamsey’s father, NathanielRamsey, whom Nate hadtried to bring back from thedeadduringthesummer.The

spellthrummed,buttheghostdidnotanswer thesummons.Ramsey had told him thetruth.

He reached for ACollection of Spells andConjurings and read oncemore all the pages thatmentioned borrowed spells,thinking—hoping—thatperhaps he had missed somevitalclue thatwould tellhim

how Ramsey was using hispower. But he learned nomorethistimethanhehadallthe others. At last, frustratedand weary, he blew out thecandlesandclimbedintobed.

While it took him littletime to fall asleep, he awokeateverycreakofthebuilding,every whistle of cold windoutside his room. Whenmorning came, he felt no

morerestedthanhehadwhenhe went to bed. He sensedthat time was running short.Ramseywouldnothavecometo him, even as an illusion,unless he was sure that hecould prevail in a battle, andunless he was prepared fortheirfinalconfrontation.

AndyetEthanhadnoideawhatheoughttodo.Hehatedthe thought of “cowering in

hiding,”ashehadsobrashlyaccused Ramsey of doing.Butneitherdiditmakesenseforhimto leavethesafetyofhis roommerely for the sakeofdoingsomething.

Eventually, hunger drovehimout-of-doors.Hewent tothenearestgrocerandboughta small round of cheese andsome bread. While he wasthere, he also took a copy of

the week’s Boston Gazette,whichbore thisday’sdate, 5March 1770.He had thoughthemight learnmore ofwhathad happened to the soldiersand journeymen who foughtat Gray’s Rope Works. Butthe newspaper offered nodetails on the confrontations,except to say, “Theparticulars of severalencounters between the

inhabitants and the soldierytheweekpastweareoblig’dtoomitforwantofroom.”

Much of the paper wastakenupwithdescriptionsofChristopher Seider’s funeral,and further denunciations ofEbenezer Richardson andGeorge Wilmot. Apparentlydiscussions of one tragedycaused by Ramsey and byEthan’s power had taken up

somuch room that the papercouldsaynothingmoreaboutthe other victims of thecaptain’s scheme. Ramseywould have though it anamusingparadox.

Ethan returned to hisroom, ate his meal, andscouredhismindforanswers.Nonecametohim.

Butlateintheday,asthesky darkened and another

clear winter’s night settledover the city, Nate RamseyusedasecondillusionspelltoappearinEthan’sroom.

“Stillhere,eh?”thefigureasked. “Still playing withyourbooksandyourleaves.”

“What do you want,Ramsey?”

“It’s time for you tochoose.”

“I still don’t understand

whatyou’retalkingabout.”“That’s because you

spendtoomuchtimealone.Iworryaboutyou,Ethan.Youneed to get out and minglewiththepeopleofBoston.”

“Aye, you’d enjoy thatwouldn’tyou?”

“My enjoyment isirrelevant. But perhapsyou’vemet a friend ofmine,a soldier.” The illusion

watchedhim,avid,expectant.“What are you playing

at?”“I’mnotplaying.I’monly

pointingoutthatIdon’tneedforyoutobeinthestreetstodowhatIhaveto.”

“Morrison,”Ethansaid inabreathlesswhisper.

“HisnameisDaniel.He’sa fine lad and a decentconjurer. Not that he’ll have

to do a thing. I can use hispower—I can use anyone’sreally—the same way I’vebeen using yours. I won’teven have to worry aboutthose irksome wardingsyou’vebeencasting.”

“Then do it,” Ethan said.“Whyshouldthisbotherme?As long as you’re not usingmy power again, I don’tcare.”

Ramsey’s illusion flasheda delighted smile. “But youdo! That’s what makes yousuch a wonderful adversary,Kaille.Youdocare.Youcarethatinnocentpeoplemightbekilled. You care that oneconflict might lead tobloodierones.Butmostlyyoucare about your friends,including that young manwho has cast his lot with

Samuel Adams and the SonsofLiberty.”

Diver. Somehow Ethanwasonhisfeet,arigidfingerleveled at the figure like thebarrelofamusket.“Ifyoudoanythingtohurthim,Iswearto God, I’ll spend my lastbreathhuntingyoudown.”

“It seems Adams and hisrabble have somethingplanned for this evening. I

assume that your friend willbethere.IknowthatI’llhavefriends there.” Ramsey’simage began to fade. “Timetochoose,Kaille.”

Hestilldidn’tknowwhatRamsey meant by that last,unless he referred to thechoice between remaining inhis roomwhileDiverwas inperilandputtingothersatriskby venturing out into the

streets to find his friend andprotect him. But the captainhadmadethatchoiceforhim.If Morrison would be in thestreets,thusallowingRamseyto cast his spells, then itdidn’t matter if Ethan wasthere, too. And he couldn’tallow Diver to be hurt orkilled.

Ethan decided to go firstto theDowsingRod.Perhaps

hecouldfindDiverbeforehisfriendventuredintothelanesto attend whatever assemblyAdams had planned for thisnight.

Hepausedlongenoughtocast another warding, thistimeusingmoreof theherbsthan he had the previousnight.Heheldout littlehopethat the spell could stopRamsey,butitwasworththe

attempt. Then he rushed outinto the night, throwing onhis greatcoat as he dasheddown the wooden stairwayandintothestreet.

Ethan didn’t bother withside streets and byways onthis night.Ramsey had plansfor him and Ethan could donothingtodistractordissuadehimfromwhateverthatlargerpurposemightbe.Hewalked

through crowds and pastclusters of soldiers, and forthe firstnight inmore thanaweek, he did not fear thetouchofaspell.

Nor did he hesitate toenter theDowsingRodwhenhe reached Sudbury Street.ThetavernwascrowdedwithKannice’s usual patrons andsome whom Ethan did notrecognize, but he made his

way through the great roomwithout faltering, steppingfirsttothebar.

“Ididn’texpecttoseeyouhere tonight,” Kannice said,favoring him with a brilliantsmile.

“Iknow.Butanoldfriendpaidmeavisittoday.”

Sheheardthecatchinhisvoice,andhersmileslipped.

“I use the word ‘friend’

loosely.”“Hecametoyourroom?”

sheaskedinawhisper.“Heusedanillusionspell

tospeakwithme.Butthere’snodoubtastowhoitwas.”

“And so it’s safe for youagain?”

“Not really. He told methatDiver’s life is indanger.I’m not sure what twistedgamehe’splayingnow,butI

need to find Diver and warnhim.Ishehere?”

“I don’t know,” she said.“We’ve been so busy. I’msorry.”

“It’sallright.Ifhe’shere,I’llfindhim.”

She nodded, fear in hereyes. Ethan gave her hand aquick squeeze, and wadedintothecrowd,awayfromthebar.

He searched for Diver atthe rear tables, and when hedidn’t find his friend there,searched the rest of thetavern. But Diver wasnowhere to be seen, andneitherwasDeborah.

Convinced that Divermust be abroad in the citysomewhere with the rest ofSamuel Adams’s followers,Ethanstartedbacktowardthe

tavern door. Kannice hademerged from the kitchenwith Kelf, a large tureen ofchowder held between them.Ethan caught her eye againandgaveasmallshakeofhishead. She frowned, but wasthen distracted by one of herpatrons.SherespondedwithaforcedsmilebeforelookingatEthanagain.Heraisedahandin farewell, and she did the

same.Herbrowcreasedoncemore, and Ethan sensed thatshe wanted to ask himsomething, perhaps whetherhewouldbebacklater in theevening.

Shenevergotthechance.A powerful conjuring

vibrated in the floor of thetavern. Abruptly, Reg wasnexttohim,hiseyesasbrightas the flames in the tavern’s

hearth. But Ethan barelynoticedtheghost.

Ahead of him, two menstarted to grapple with eachother, one of them shoutingcurses, the other sayingnothing. This second manthrew off the first, but thenadvanced on him again.Another patron shouted awarning.Ethantriedtogettothe men before they could

hurt anyone. But by now, ofcourse, others in the tavernwere crowding around them,eager to get a clear view ofthefight.

Another conjuringrumbled and the shouts fromin front of him grew morestrident,moreurgent.

Ethan pushed at thethrong,desperate to seewhatwashappening.

Kannice yelled for themen to stop their brawling.Ethan swayed, his heartseemingtostop.

“No!” he shouted.“Kannice get away fromthem!”

Buthehadlittlehopethatshe could make out hiswarningabovethedin.

Moreshoutsechoedinthegreat room: Kannice’s voice

once more, and then Kelf’sthundering baritone. Ethanclawed through the crowd,pulling men out of his way,pushing between others,ignoring their protests andthreats.

At last he could glimpsethecombatantsaheadofhim,though there still were menblocking his way. The silentmanremainedatthecenterof

itall,andthoughhisfirstfoewas nowhere to be seen,others had stepped in to takehis place. Kannice stillordered the men to stop, butto no avail. And shewas fartoo close to the fight forEthan’scomfort.

“Kannice, get away fromthem!”hecalledtoheragain.

She heard him this time.Hergazeflewtohis,andher

eyes widened. At last itseemed to dawn on her thatthis was more than a simpletavernbrawl.

But even as she tried toedge away toward thekitchen, silver flashed in thecandlelight. A knife in thehand of the silent man—theman who had been touchedby Ramsey’s spell. AndEthan’spower.

With one final herculeaneffort, Ethan pushed past thelastofthepatronsinhisway.Andashedid,thesilentmanplunged his blade into thechest of one of the men hehad been fighting. This mandropped to the floor, bloodgushing from thewound andspreading like flameoverhisshirt.

Asecondmanalreadylay

onthefloor,unconscious,hisface bruised and bloodied.But the knife-wieldingstranger wasn’t done. Fasterthan Ethan would havethought possible, he spunaway from the man he hadstabbed and lunged, leadingwith an upward stroke of hisblade.

NotatEthan.NotevenatKelf, who had planted

himself in front of the man,hishugehandsfisted.

But rather at Kannice,who remained barely withinhisreach.

“Discutiexcruore—”BeforeEthancould finish

speaking the shatter spell,Kannice screamed. Kelfhammered a fist into thesilentman’stemple,knockinghim to the floor. But the

man’sbladeremained,juttingdownward from belowKannice’s breastbone, acrimson stain blossomingaround it, darkening herdress.

“Ethan?” she said, halfquestion, half plea, her voiceweak.

Ethan caught her as shestarted to fall. Her eyelidsfluttered.

“Ethan,” she said again,breathinghisname.

“I’m right here. I’ve gotyou. Someone call for asurgeon!”heshouted.

The commotioncontinued;Ethanwasvaguelyaware of men subduing thestrangerwhileotherscrowdedaround the man he hadstabbed. But he cared onlyaboutKannice.Hecarriedher

back into the kitchen,droppedtohisknees,andlaidherdownonthefloor.

“Ethan!” Kelf loomed inthe doorway. Kelf, whodidn’tknowthatEthanwasaconjurer. “I’ve sent someoneforadoctor.Howisshe?”

“Getout,Kelf.”“What?”“Getout.Shutthedoor.”“Ethan,I’m—”

“Get out!” Ethanbellowed, tears hot on hischeeks.

Kelf glared at him, andEthan was sure he wouldrefuse. But his gaze droppedto Kannice, and the angerdrained from his face. Hestepped back from thedoorwayandclosedthedoor.

Ethanlookeddownatheragain. Her trembling pale

hands had wandered to thehilt of the knife protrudingfromher chest.He could seethat shewas trying to pull itfree.

“No,” he said, coveringher hands with his. “Youhave to leave it in. Or elseyou’ll bleed—” The words“todeath”stuckinhisthroat.“You’ll bleed all over yourdress.”

“It hurts,” she said, tearsseeping from the corners ofhereyes.

The stain over her heartcontinued to spread—moreslowlythanitwouldhavehadone of them removed theblade, but inexorably. Herhandshadgonecold,andherface was shading towardgray. He had no doubt thatthewoundwould prove fatal

ifhedidn’tuseaconjuringtosaveher.Oratleastmaketheattempt.Hehadneverhealeda wound as deep anddangerousasthisonhisown,not even the other day onLongWharf.Hedidn’tknowifhecould.

“Iknowithurts,”hesaid.He leaned over and touchedhislipstoherbrow.Herskinfelt clammy, despite the

warmth of the cooking firebeside them. “I’m going tohealyou.”

“Can you?” she said, thewords like the whisper ofwindovergrass.

“I—I’msureIcan.”“Allright.”Buthehad to remove the

knife first. If the spell didn’twork fast enough, shewouldbleed out and die. And

Ramsey had access to hispower. Could the captainkeep him from conjuring?Wouldhewaituntiltheknifewasout,andthenkeepEthanfromcastinghisspell?

“I have to pull out theknifetohealyou.”

“Butyousaid—”“I know. I’ll heal you

before…It’llbeallright.Butit’s going to hurt when I

removetheblade.Ineedyoutobestrong,allright?”

He took her hand andsqueezed it as he hadmoments before in the greatroom. She tried to return thegesture, but the pressurewasbarelyperceptible.

“Are you ready?” heasked.

Shemouthed,“Yes.”Ethanclosedhiseyesand

whispered a prayer,something he hadn’t done inyears.Graspingthehiltoftheknife, he pulled it from herchest.

Kannice let out a soft,anguished cry, her backarching. Then she sagged tothe flooragain.Bloodpulsedfrom thewound, soaking herdress.

He placed his hands over

the wound and said,“Remedium ex cruoreevocatum.”Healing,conjuredfromblood.

The spell vibrated in thefloor and in the stone of thekitchen hearth, and his handtingledwith thepowerofhisconjuring.HeglancedatReg,who knelt beside him,concernetchedinhisglowingfeatures.

“The spell is working,”Ethansaid.“Icanfeelit.”

Reg nodded. Kannicemurmured something thatEthan couldn’tmake out.Heremained as he was forseveral minutes, the spellflowing through his handsintoherchest,hiseyesneverstraying from her face. Butthough he could feel theconjuring, he saw no

improvement inhercolor,nostrengtheningofherbreath.

He wore his greatcoatstill, anddidnotdare stop toremove it. So, leaving onehand in place over her heart,he drew his knife, flipped itsothatthebladelandedinhispalm,andwrappedhisfingersaround thehonededge.Thenhe tightened his grip on ituntil he felt the blade bite

through his skin. Blood ranthrough his fingers. Hedropped the knife and,placing his bloodied handover the wound once more,spoke the healing spell asecondtime.

While this secondconjuringstillhummedinthetavern floor, thedooropenedagain.

“Howis—”

Ethan looked up. Kelfstared at him, openmouthed,murderinhiseyes.

“What in thehell areyoudoin’toher?”

Ethanhadhoped toavoidthis, but he met the man’sgaze steadily, never for aninstantallowinghisconjuringtoslacken.“Closethedoor.”

“Notuntilyou—”“Closethedoor,Kelf.”

The barman kicked thedoor so that it shut with aloud bang. Ethan glanced atKannice,butshedidnotstir.

“Nowtellmewhatyou’redoin’.”

“I’msavingherlife.”“AndhowinGod’sname

areyoudoin’that?”Ethan turned his gaze

backtoKannice.“Ithinkyouknow.”

“NevermindwhatIknowan’ don’t, I want to hear itfromyou.Howareyousavin’her?”

“It’s called a healingspell. The Latin isremedium.” He wasn’t surewhy he said it—Kelfwouldn’t care. Perhaps hethought that if he couldexplain what he did, thebarkeep might accept it and

put away his fear and hisanger.Heshouldhaveknownbetter.

“Witchery.”Kelf said thewordasifitwereacurse.

Ethan shook his head.“Conjuring.”

Kelf didn’t answer rightaway. For some time hemerely stood there, loomingover Ethan and Kannice.Ethan feared that he might

lash out with a fist, or yankhimaway fromKannice.Butwhatever his feelings aboutmagick, he loved Kannicenearly asmuchasEthandid,and he seemed to sense thatto stop Ethan would be toharmher.

“This iswhyyou toldmetoleave.”

“Aye,”Ethanmuttered.“Lookatme,Kaille!”

Ethan flinched. Neverbefore had Kelf called himanything but Ethan. But heforced himself to look thebarman in the eye; Kelfdeserved that much. “Aye!This iswhyIsentyouaway.Because I was afraid youmighttrytostopme,andshewasdying!”

“Doessheknow?”“Aye. She has for many

years. Almost since the daywe met.” He hoped that thiswould mean something toKelf, that it would allow thebarman to move beyond hisownfearanddisapproval.

“How do I know you’renotmakin’mattersworse?”

“I love her,Kelf. You’veseen that I love her; that’showyouknow.”

“And how do I—?” Kelf

straightened.“Where’salltheblood? There was blood alloverher,andnowit’sgone.”

“Aye. That’s how I castthe healing spell. I need theblood to make the conjuringwork.”

Kelf regarded him theway he might a leper. “Stayaway from me,” he said,shaking a meaty finger atEthan. “Shemight choose to

have you around, but I wantnothin’moretodowithyou.”

“I’m keeping her alive,Kelf!”

“Evenso.”Heturnedonhisheeland

yanked the door open oncemore.

“Kelf,wait.”The barman halted but

didn’tfacehim.“Say nothing to anyone

else. Please. For Kannice’ssakeifnotformine.”

Kelf said nothing, madenogesture.Hesimplyleftthekitchen.

Alone once more, Ethanretrieved his knife with onehand and cut himself again.For a third time, he cast thehealing spell, allowing thepowertoflowintoKannice’sbody. There did not seem to

be any more blood flowingfrom the wound, and shebreathed still, though herbreaths were shallow. Hewasn’t yet ready to look atthewound;hedidn’tknowifa third conjuring would doher any good, but he fearedwhat he would find when atlasthepulledhishandsawayto see what Ramsey’s spellshadwrought.

Ramsey’sspells.Hehadcomeherelooking

forDiver,andinsteadhehadcomewithinablade’sbreadthofgettingKannicekilled.

Timetochoose,Kaille.He heard the captain’s

warning once more,understanding at long last.Thiswaswhathehadmeant.Time to choose between thepeople who mattered to him

most, between his love andhisoldest,dearestfriend.

Hehad tosaveKannice’slife. There had been nochoiceinthatatall.Butwhatwas happening to Diver?What peril faced him? Ethanhad not noticed any otherspells in these lastharrowingmoments, but being so intenton Kannice, he wasn’t surethathewouldhave.

When at last his thirdhealing spell had run itscourse, Ethan removed hishandsandlookedthroughtheslice in her bodice to see theskinbeneath.The scarbelowher sternum was livid still,but the skin had closed. Helaid his head on her breastand heard her heart beating,slow but strong. Her chestrose and fell with her

breathing. She might wellhave been sleeping, save forthepallorofhercheeks.

“Thank God,” hewhispered, fresh tears on hisface.

He stood, his kneesprotesting as he straightenedhis legs. He took a pair oftowels frombeside thestove,folded them, and slippedthem under Kannice’s head.

They were a poor substitutefor a pillow, but he didn’twish to move her. And, hehad to admit, he didn’t wantothersoutinthetaverntoseeherandwonder, asKelfhad,why the blood on her dresshad vanished.But if shewasto remain here for now, shewouldneedablanket.

Ethanstepped to thedoorand opened it, only to find

Kelfintheactofreachingforthe door handle. He held ablanketinhisarms.

Face-to-face with Ethan,hescowled.

“I was coming to get ablanket,”Ethansaid.

“Well, here, take thisone.” The barkeep thrust theblanket into Ethan’s handsandwalkedaway.

HewatchedKelfmoveto

the far end of the bar beforereturning to Kannice’s sideand laying the blanket overher.Bendingclosertoher,hetouched her cheek with theback of his hand. It mighthavebeenhisimagination,orhis desperate wish to seesome improvement in hercondition before he left thetavern,buthethoughtthatherskin might have felt a bit

warmer.Hekissedherforehead.“I

have to go,” he whispered.“I’llbebackassoonasIcan,and in the meanwhile, Kelfwill take care of you. I loveyou.”

Ethan stood once more,walked out of the kitchen,and approached the barman.Kelf stiffened as Ethanapproached, and would not

lookathim.“What happened to the

othermanwhowasstabbed?”“He’s upstairs with a

surgeon. But he lost a lot ofblood.”

“And the man whostabbedhimandKannice?”

Kelf shrugged, his eyesstilltrainedonthebar.“Itookhim outside, hopin’ to find aman of the watch. But I

couldn’t—seems there’ssomebusinessgoin’oninthestreets tonight. I even heardsome lads yellin’ ‘fire.’ Ididn’t want to waste muchtimeonhim.So, in theendIleft him lyin’ in the street.And good riddance to him. Ihopehefreezes.”

Ethanwouldhavelikedtoexplain that it wasn’t theman’s fault, thathehadbeen

controlled by a spell. But heknewthatKelfwouldn’twantto hear any of it, and theirfriendship already lay intatters. Moreover, it soundedasthoughheneededtoseetotheotherhalfof the“choice”Ramseyhadgivenhim.

“Wherewere theyyelling‘fire’?”heasked.

“I don’t know. Does itmatter?”

“Ihavetogo.”Kelfdidlookathimthen,

thoughonlyforaninstant.“Diver’s in trouble, and I

have to find him. Kanniceshouldbeallrightnow,butIdon’t know how long it willbe before she wakes. You’llhavetowatchher.”

“Iplanto.”Ethanhesitated.“Kelf—”“Diver needs your help.

Gofindhim.”Henoddedandleft.

ChapterEIGHTEEN

The wind had died away,

leaving the night cold butpleasant. A quarter moonshoneinaclearsky,itsglowreflectedoffthesnowtolightthe streets and buildings ofthe city. Ethan smelled nosmoke in the air, but he didhear raised voices comingfrom several directions, andfor a moment, standingoutside the Dowsing Rod onSudbury Street, he wasn’t

certainwhereheshouldbeginhissearchforDiver.

It occurred to him thenthat Ramsey, intentionally ornot, had given him a hint. Ifhe could locate the conjurerMorrison, he might findDiveraswell.

He slipped his hand intohis pocket and pulled outthreeleavesofmullein.

“Locus magi ex verbasco

evocatus.” Location ofconjurer, conjured frommullein.

Reg,whohadstayedwithhim as he healed Kannice,watched, appearing eager.The spell rumbled in the icystreet and spread outward.Beforelong,Ethanfeltitpoolaround a conjurer nearMurray’s Barracks only ashort distance away. Ethan

took a step in that direction,only to halt as his conjuringfound a second speller, thisonenearertheTownHouse.

“There are two,” he saidtotheghost.

Regnodded.“GrantandMorrison?”The ghost gazed back at

him,offeringnoresponse.Ethan started toward the

barracks, and the nearer of

the twoconjurers.Thecloserhedrew toBrattleStreet, themore people he heardshouting and calling to oneanother.Gangsofyoungmenrushed through the streets,most of them carrying sticksandclubs.Groupsofsoldiersmarched in the lanesaswell,their muskets fixed withbayonets. Whatever thepatriots had in mind for this

night, General Gage’s menweretakingitseriously.

Reaching the corner ofBrattle Street and Hillier’sLane, Ethan saw that a largecrowd had gathered in frontof thebarracks, pressing intothe street. The bells of theBrattle Street Church beganto peal. Young men tauntedthe soldiers and pelted themwith snowballs and ice, as

had the pupsEthan had seenseveral nights earlier. Othersyelled “Fire!” and “Town-born,turnout!”

Both cries were intendedto bring more men and boysout-of-doors: very usefulwhentherewas,infact,afireburning in the city, but follyonanightsuchas this,whencalling more people into thestreet increased thedanger to

all.He didn’t see Morrison

outside the barracks, nor didhespotDiveramongthemenconverging on the soldiers’quarters. His trepidationmounting,Ethanturnedawayfrom the barracks and strodeeastward, towardKingStreetandtheTownHouse.

Before he reached thebuilding,with its great clock

tower, the bell of the OldBrick Church, on ChurchSquare near King Street,began to toll as well, whichpromised to summon stillmorepeopletothegathering.He had yet to feel anotherconjuring, and he could seeno evidence that SamuelAdams or others among theleadersoftheSonsofLibertyweredirectingevents.Rather,

it seemed that circumstancesthemselves were conspiringtomakematterseverworse.

King Street teemed withmen of all ages—an evengreater mob than that whichhad gathered at the barracks.Ethanthoughtthatmorewerestreaming onto the lane fromDock Square to the north.Repeated cries of “Fire!”went up all around him, and

the bells at the churchescontinued to ring. The mobwas already perilously large,anditwasgrowingrapidly.

Ethancouldbarelyseeforall the people around him.The memory of fightingthrough the patrons of theDowsing Rod to reachKannice made his heartpound.This felt too familiar.He still did not see Diver

anywhere, nor did he seeMorrison. Indeed, it seemedthat only one soldier stoodnear the Customs House—ayoung man who appearedterrified,andjustifiablyso.

Still more people joinedthe throng on King Street,some of them carryingbuckets and other itemsintended to help the victimsofwhattheytrulybelievedto

be a fire. They seemedbemusedbywhattheysawinthelane.Severalmenpulledapair of fire engines onto thestreetandsettheminfrontoftheTownHouse.

Others, however, clearlyhad known that this was nofire. They arrived on thestreet carrying weapons—mostly cudgels, although afew bore cutlasses and even

broadswords. Ethan heardglass shatter, and straining tosee over the heads of thosearound him, realized thatsome of the men wereattacking the Brazen Headtavern, which belonged toWilliam Jackson, a well-known violator of thenonimportationagreements.

Some in the throngshouted at the lone soldier,

daringhimtousehisweapon.“Fire!” several called.

“Damnyou,fire!”They pelted him, and

swarmed near him, only toretreat again as the manjabbed his bayonet at them.Otherspectatorspleadedwiththeman to hold his fire, andwith the boys who weremolesting him to leave offandletthemanbe.

Adisturbancetothewest,back toward Murray’sBarracks, attracted Ethan’snotice.

Shouts of “Make way!Make way” echoed off shopfrontsandhomes,andseveralmore soldiers, grenadiers,judging by the high, bear-furhats that they wore, hurriedpast him, no doubt intent ongiving aid to their solitary

comrade. They pushedthrough the onlookers,makingnoeffort tobegentleabout it. A few slashed withtheir bayonets at those theypassed,drawingcriesofpainandoutrage,andmorethanabitofblood.

They joined the youngman in front of the CustomsHouse, and leveled theirweapons. With them was an

officer Ethan rememberedfromeighteenmonthsbefore,when he was hired by theCustomsBoard to learnwhathad befallen the sailors andsoldiers aboard HMSGraystone, a sloop that hadsailed into Boston Harbor aspartoftheoccupyingfleet.

He remembered the armycaptain’s name as Preston—ThomasPreston.Hewastall,

gaunt, with a rough, sallowface and amanner tomatch.But he acted with practicedefficiency, barking orders tothe men so that theypositioned themselves in atight arc at themouth of thenarrow lane between theCustoms House and theRoyalExchangetavern.Oncethey were set to hissatisfaction,hepacedinfront

of his men, eyeing the mobwith manifest uneasiness.Theywerestillonlytenorso,including thecaptain, againstamobmanytimeslarger.

The boys and mengathered around theCustomsHousegavenoindicationthatthe appearance of morearmed men had doneanythingtocooltheirappetiteforconfrontation.Ifanything,

thearrivalofthemen,andthemanner in which they hadforcedthemselvesthroughthecrowd, had further inflamedthe passions of thosesurroundingthem.

Ethanwanted to be awayandquickly.Buthehadyettofind Diver, and he fearedleavinghisfriendtowhateverplans Ramsey had for him.Hisfearsonlyincreasedwhen

he recognized several of themen standing with Prestonfrom the brawl at Gray’sRope Works a few daysbefore.

He sensed that Prestonwishedtoleadthemenaway,back toward Murray’sBarracks. But the crowd,which had advanced andretreatedlikethetide,pressedforward again, blocking their

way.“Damn you, you sons of

bitches, fire!” a voice rangout.“Youcan’tkillusall!”

“Fire and be damned!”calledanother.

Preston raised his handsand spoke to the youngmenclosest to the soldiers, hisvoiceraised.

“Gohomenow, lads!”hesaid. “Lest there be murder

done!”Hiswordsweremetwith

jeers and more taunts.Snowballs and ice raineddown on the captain and hismen.Someinthecrowdwereclose enough to Preston andhis men to strike the barrelsof the soldiers’musketswiththeir sticks. Ethan heard theringofwoodonsteel.

From the near side of

King Street, closer to theTown House, came morevoices, some shouting that amagistrate had come todisperse themob.AndEthandid see one skulking figurewho dodged salvos of icechunks and ran away downPuddingLane.

Turning back toward theCustomsHouse,Ethancaughtsight of a familiar face:

youthful, framed by darkcurls. He stood a good dealclosertothesoldiersthandidEthan, in themiddle ofKingStreet, a few yards behind atallmulattoman.

“Diver!”Ethancalled.Hisfriendshowednosign

thathehadheard.But someone did, and it

seemed that this was whatRamsey and whoever was

working with him had beenawaiting.

The spell that roared inthe stone and icebeneathhisfeet dwarfed even the mostpowerful of the conjuringsEthan had sensed in recentdays.He glanced to his rightfor confirmation of what healready knew. The conjuringhad come from him. Regstoodbesidehim.

“Diver!” Ethan shoutedagain,panickednow.

Diver turned, searchingforthepersonwhohadcalledtohim.

Ethan called his name athirdtimeandwavedhishandoverhishead.

Diver’s face brightened.Ethan was sure his friendthought he had come for theassembly rather than for

anything having to do withhim.Hedidn’tcare.

He started to wend hisway through thecrowd,evenas Diver took a step towardhim.Ashewalked,usingtheherbs in his pocket, Ethancast a calming spell like theone he had used on JimmyFleming a couple of daysbefore.Hemightaswellhavethrownhandfulsofsandatan

advancing tide. His spellhummed in the street, but itwas nothing compared to theconjuring he had feltmoments ago. It had nodiscernibleeffecton themoborthesoldiers.

Another object flew fromthecrowdtowardthesoldiers,spinningendoverend,arcinghigh over the street, white,shining with moonlight. At

first Ethan thought it a largepieceofice;asecondlaterherealized it was a short, thickcudgel.

It seemed to descendslowly, guided by someunseen hand. Ethan watchedit tumble toward the groundandthenhitthemusketofthesoldierstandingatthefarleftof the formation Preston hadarranged.

The soldier staggeredandfell, but immediatelyscrambledtohisfeet.

“Damn you, fire!” heshoutedathiscomrades.

And aiming his weaponhedidjustthat.

The report sounded flat,muffled.Had Ethan not seenflameleapfromthemuzzleofhis weapon, he would havedoubted what he heard and

questioned the source of thecloud of gray smoke thathung around the grenadier, apalehalo.

Everyone on the streetfroze, most seeming asincredulous as Ethan. Asoldier had fired into thecrowd.Ethansawnosignthatanyonehadbeenhit,andafterthat initial silence, men andboyshurledmoretauntsatthe

menandagainurgedthemtofire. A few lunged at thesoldiers, and a scuffle brokeout between Preston and aman Ethan didn’t know.Others swung their sticks atthe soldiers, baiting themonce more. More peoplecalledonthementofire.

Perhaps it was the spellRamsey had cast usingEthan’spower.Perhapsitwas

themerefactthatoneoftheirownhadalreadyfiredashot.But this time the soldiersunder Preston’s commandtook up the challenges flungatthembythemob.

Musket fire crackled likea raging blaze. Flamesbelched from the barrels oftheweaponsandmoresmokeroseintothenightair.

The mob erupted with

cries and shouts—not tauntsthistime,butterrorandpain.

Ethan looked for Diveronce more, but could hardlysee for the tumult thatsurrounded him. The crowd,which only moments beforehadpressedinonthesoldiersin front of the CustomsHouse, now dispersed,running ineverydirection.Afew fearless souls continued

to harass the soldiers,pressing toward them again,even as the men reloadedtheir weapons and raisedthemoncemore.

Dodging those who fled,Ethan pushed toward themiddle of the frozen street.He had only taken a fewsteps, though, when heslowedandthenhaltedagain,his head spinning. A man—

actuallyhelookedtobelittlemore than a boy—lay nearthe edge of the street, atorrent of blood from hischestdarkeningtheice.Ethanstartedtowardthisfigure,butthen spotted another nearby.This second man bledprofuselyfromwoundstohishipandside.

Menhadgatherednext tobothofthewounded,butthey

did not appear to knowwhatto do for them. Several ofthose running from the scenewere shouting for surgeons,so perhaps helpwould arrivesoon. In the meantime,however,Ethannoticedmorepeople moving past withbloodywounds.Onemanhadbeen shot in the arm. Hetrudged alone past whereEthan stood, clutching his

injury,bloodrunningthroughhisfingers.Anothermanwassupported by two friends,having been struck in thethigh.

Ethan forced himself intomotion.HehadtofindDiver.Hehadtakenonlyafewstepswhen he halted again, theblood draining from hischeeks.Ashortdistancefromthemanbleedingfromhiship

and thigh lay a third man,facedown.

“No,” Ethan said, theword coming out as might agruntafterablow to thegut.This man was long of limbwithdark,unrulyhair.

Ethanrantowardhim,hisfeetslippingontheicesothathe sprawled to the groundbeside the figure.He falteredfor an instant, then lifted the

mantoexaminehisface.His relief was tempered

by his horror. It was notDiver. This lad was severalyears younger than Ethan’sfriend. He, too, had beenstruck in the chest aswell asin the shoulder. In the palemoonlight, the snow and icebeneath him appeared blackandslickwithhisblood.

Ethan laid him down

againandstood,scanningthestreet for Diver, and eyeingthe soldiers as well. He wasfar closer to them now, anddirectly in their line of sight.They had their muskets heldready,andEthanknewthatiftheyfiredagain,hewouldbefortunatetosurvive.

“Diver!”hecalled.“Ethan.”The reply came from

ahead of him and slightly tohis right. His friend’s voicesounded weak, strained.Ethan’s heart began to labor.NotDiver,too.

“Whereareyou?”A prone figure stirred,

raisedahandbeforelettingitdropagain.Ethanrantohim.

Diver lay on his side,breathing heavily, his eyessqueezed shut. Blood pooled

in the crusted snow beneathhim.

“Diver…”“It hurts, Ethan. It hurts

morethananything.”The wound was on his

arm.Seeingthis,Ethanletouta breath he hadn’t known hewas holding. His relief wasshort-lived, however. Diverwas bleeding profusely; histeeth chattered and his entire

bodyseemedtobequaking.Ethan helped him lie

down on his back. Divergrittedhis teethand letout alow,quaveringmoan.

For the second time inless than an hour, Ethan laidhis hands on someone heloved and whispered ahealing spell. “Remedium excruoreevocatum.”

Hekepthishandsoverthe

wound for several seconds,but nothing seemed tohappen. Blood continued topulsefromtheravagedarmatan alarming rate, runningover his fingers and soakinghisbreeches.

“Damn,” he said throughclenchedteeth.

“What?”Diverasked.Ethan didn’t answer.

Pulling his hands away, he

benttoinspectDiver’sinjurymore closely, and nearlyvomited in response to whathesaw.Thearmwasamess.The musket ball appeared tohave splintered the bone, sothat shards of it wereembedded in the surroundingmuscle.And he could tell aswellthattheballhadseveredthe artery. That was why itbledso.

“Ethan?”The wound was beyond

histalentsasahealer,andhisfriend was bleeding outbefore his eyes. Ethan couldlethimdie,orhecoulddotheone thing he knew wouldsaveDiver’s life, thoughatapotential cost that sent ashudderthroughhisbody.

Hehesitatedforalloftwoseconds.

Hedidn’tknowanybetterway to do what he had inmind, and so he cast a firespell, aiming it at the arteryand sourcing it in Diver’sblood.Hisconjuringpoundedin the lane, and he smelledflesh burn as his spellcauterizedthewound.

Diverscreamed.Whenhecould speak again, he said,“What…whatdidyoudo?”

“I’ve stopped thebleeding,” Ethan said, thewords scraped from histhroat. “But we need to getyoutoasurgeon.”

He pulled off his scarfand, as gently as he could,madeaslingofit,tokeepthearm immobile.As he did, hetook amoment to survey thescene before him, and to trytogethisbearings.

The tall mulatto man hehad spotted ahead of Diverbeforetheshootingbeganlaynear the soldiers, unmoving,thebloodonhischestshiningin the moonlight. A secondman, no more than two orthreefeetawayfromthefirst,had been struck in the head.Ethan thought he must havediedbeforehehittheground.Longhadheexpectedthatthe

occupation of his city wouldlead to bloodshed and evendeath, but never had heimaginedascenelikethis.

Tearing his gaze awayfromthedeadmen,helookedtothesouth,consideringwhatoptionshehad.Dr.Church’shousewas too far fromhere.Hewasn’tsurehecouldcarryDiversuchadistance,andhedidn’t know how long his

cauterizationwouldhold.Butthere was another doctor towhom he could take hisfriend.

“Am I dying?” Diverasked,hisvoicefaint.

“Nottonight,you’renot,”Ethan said. “You’ll be backin the Dowser sipping aleswithmebeforeyouknowit.”

A grimace flitted acrosstheyoungman’sfaceandwas

gone; Ethan thought he wastryingtosmile.

“I’m cold, Ethan. I can’tfeelmyhands.”

“Which is why I need togetyoutoasurgeon,straightaway.”

“Allright.”“Ihavetoliftyou,andit’s

goingtohurt.”Divergaveaslightnod.Ethan slipped his arms

under his friend’s back andlegs and lifted him into hisarms.

Diver gasped. “Oh, God!Oh,God,Ethan,thathurts!”

“I know,” Ethan said,rasping the words as hestruggled to his feet. Henearly fell, but rightedhimselfandstaggered towardtheTownHouse.Heglancedat the clock tower; it was a

few minutes before teno’clock. He wonderedwhether Kannice hadawakenedyet.

Once past the TownHouse,EthanfollowedQueenStreettoBrattle.Foronce,hecared not a whit aboutwalking past Murray’sBarracks. Let one of thesoldiers accost him. LetMorrison show his face.

Ethanwouldincineratewithathought anyonewho troubledhimthisnight.

Reaching Hanover Street,hisbadlegaching,hisbreathcoming now in great gasps,hewalked past several doorsuntil he reached a modesthomeon the left.Evenasheapproached the front door,however, he heard quickfootsteps behind him. He

spun, the words of a shatterspellonhislips.

Butthemanstridinginhisdirectionwasnoneotherthanthe one he had sought incominghere.

“DoctorWarren!”The doctor hardly spared

Ethanaglance,sointentwasheonDiver.

“HewasonKingStreet?”thedoctorasked.

“Aye, and was struck inthearm.”

The doctor regarded him.“Iwasonmywaytoretrievemy bag. Others require myservices as well. But you’rehere and I’ll not turn youaway. Follow me.” Hepushed open his door andentered the house, gesturingsharplyforEthantofollow.

It was warm within, the

aircarryingthefamiliarbitterscent of spermaceti candles.Warren lit several with ataper, and at the same timepointed at a sofa in themiddleofthesittingroom.

“Puthimthere.”“Buttheblood…”“Aye,theblood.Elizabeth

will have my head, butthere’snaughttobedone.”

“I’vestoppedmuchofthe

bleeding,” Ethan said,loweringDiver onto the sofaasgentlyashecould.“Iwasafraidhemightbleedout.Butthe ball remains in him and—”

“Wait,” Warren said.“You stopped the bleeding?”He stared at Ethan,recognition flashing in hiseyesatlast.“MisterKaille!”

“Aye,sir.”

“Forgive me. I didn’t…”Heshookhishead.“Elizabethaccuses me of being lost tothe rest of the world whenabsorbed in my work.Perhapsshe’sright.Thismanisafriendofyours?”

“Aye.”“Then, let us see to his

recovery,shallwe?”“Thankyou,sir.”Togethertheystrippedoff

Diver’s coat, waistcoat, andshirt. Warren bent over himand probed the wound withpracticed fingers.Diver,whohad passed out somewherebetween King Street andWarren’s house, stirred butdidnotwake.

“Whenyousaiditwasanarm injury, I didn’t thinkmuch of it,” the doctormurmured after some time.

“But this … The ball is inthere still, right next to thebrachial artery, which hasbeen severed.” He looked atEthan.“Theremusthavebeenagreatdealofblood.”

“Aye, there was. Ithought … I cauterized theartery, thinking it was theonly way to stop thebleeding.”

“It was. You saved his

life.”Ethanheardacatchinthe

man’svoice.“Can what I did be

repaired?”Warren continued to

examine the wound, wincingatwhathesaw,orperhapsatEthan’s question. “I fear not.The damage to the arteryis…” He shook his head. “Idon’t believe it can be

mended; it never could be.And…andasaconsequenceof what you did, the lowerpart of his arm has beendeniedbloodforalongtime.”

Ethanclosedhiseyes.“But hear me,” Warren

went on. “The ball hasshattered the humerus—thearm bone—beyond repair, orat least beyond my capacityasasurgeon.Hewasdoomed

tolosethisarmassoonastheballstruckhim.”

“Butsurelyaphysicianofyourskill—”

“I can’t work miracles,Mister Kaille. I’m afraidthat’s your bailiwick, notmine.Didyoutrytomendthebone?”

Ethan shook his head,feelingill.“Iwasafraidevento make the attempt, lest I

make matters worse. Thishealing lies beyond mytalents as well.My one goalwastostopthebleeding.”

Warren assayed a smile,butfailed.“Asitshouldhavebeen.Youdidtherightthing,Mister Kaille. I offer this asbothasurgeonandafriend.”He briefly rested a hand onEthan’sshoulder.Thenheleftthe room. Ethan turned back

tohisfriend.“This is the second time

I’ve gotten you shot,” hewhispered,smoothingDiver’shairoffhisbrow.“AndImayhavecostyou…”Hecouldn’tbring himself to speak thewords, even with Diverunconscious.“Forgiveme.”

Sooner even than Ethanhad expected, Warrenreturned, carrying a black

leather case, several cloths,and somewhitematerial thatEthan guessed was for abandage. He carried as wellan amputation saw, with acurved iron frame and aserrated blade that madeEthan’s stomach heave. Thedoctorplacedtheseitemsonatable beside the sofa andremoved from the case asmallpairofforcepsandtwo

smallblades.“We’ll deal with the ball

first,”Warren said. “Do youhave much experience withsurgeries?”

“Verylittle,andnonethatwasgood.”

“Well, do the best youcan. Ican’thandleallof thisonmyown.”

Ethannodded.Andforthenext several minutes he

watched as the doctor wentabout his work with grimefficiency. When Warrenasked for his blades or theforceps, Ethan handed themto him, but he held histongue, and knew a momentof profound relief when atlast Warren extracted thebullet,helditupforEthantosee,andthensetitonasmallcloth.

“Thatwas the easy part,”he said. He peered down atDiver’s arm once more, hismouthset ina thinhard line,his brow furrowed. “I’mafraid there’s nothing for it,Mister Kaille. I can’t repairthe bone or the artery, andtherefore it’s too dangerousforhim tokeep thearm. I’msorry.”

“Letmetryagain.”

Warren raised his gaze.“Withwitchery,youmean?”

“Withaconjuring,yes.”“Areyousurethat’swise?

Ifthebleedingstartsagain—”“I won’t let that happen.

Please.”“Verywell.”Ethan had been standing

bythesofa,butnowhekneltbeside Diver. Blood stillseeped from his friend’s

injury, which meant that hewould not have to cuthimself.Castingaquick,self-conscious look at Warren,Ethan placed his hands overthewoundandwhisperedthewords of the healingconjuring. The spell groanedand Reg appeared beside thesofa,butWarrengavenosignofnoticingeither.

The power of the spell

tingledinthepalmofEthan’shand,as ifhewereholdingadozen buzzing bees. Heclosed his eyes for severalseconds, delving into thewound with his magick,tryingtosensewhateffecthisconjuring was having on theshatteredboneandtheburnedend of the artery. But hewasn’t trainedasahealer;hedidn’t have as much

experiencewithsuchspellsashe should have. When heopened his eyes again, hefoundWarren watching him,avid, his eyes wide andshiningwithcandlelight.

“Is thisall there is to it?”the doctor asked, his voiceloudafterthelongsilence.

Ethan nodded. He hadcast a good deal this night,and under heartrending

circumstances.Hewasweary.Warren fell silent and saidnothingmore.Whenthespellhad spent itself, leavingDiver’s wound bloodless butstill livid, his flesh ravaged,Ethanpulledouthisknifeandcut himself, drawing a sharpbreathfromthedoctor.Ethanignoredhim.Hemutteredthespell again, and held hishands over the wound for

several minutes more, untilfinally, this second conjuringspent as well, he pulled hishands away and rocked backonhisheels.

Warren edged closer andbent low to scrutinize theinjury. After a second’shesitation, he probed thewoundwithpracticedfingers.At first he wore a look ofwonder, but as his

examination went on, hismienturnedgrimoncemore.

“Whatyou’vedonetothebone is remarkable,”he said,aftersometime.“MorethanIcouldeverhavehoped todo.But still, there is too muchdamage, and the arteryremainsasitwas.”

Ethan raised his blade tohis forearm. “I can castagain.”

“Is there any reason tobelieve that your effortswould bemore effective thistime?”

Hehadnoanswer.“We need to remove the

arm now; the longer thedelay, the greater the dangertoyourfriend.”

StillEthankept thebladepoised over his forearm, hisgaze fixed on Diver, his

visionblurredwithtears.“The hardest part of my

profession is knowing whentogiveup,whentoadmitthatthe wound or disease haswon. You can’t help himanymore. And there areothers inBoston tonightwhorequire my care. You savedyour friend’s life, and that isno small thing. But there’snothing more we can do to

savehisarm.”Every breath Ethan took

seemedtocomeatgreatcost,and his hands had begun toshake.

“Helpmemove him.Weshoulddothisonthetableinmydiningroom.”Thedoctorspoke in even tones. Notlight, by any means. Butsteady, reassuring,purposeful.

Ethan sheathed his blade.Together they carried Diverto the dining room andpositioned him on the table.Warren returned to thecommon room to retrievehistools and supplies, leavingEthan alone with his friend.He could think of nothing tosay, and before longWarrenwas beside him again,arraying his tools on the

table.“Ineedyoutoholdhim,”

the doctor said, his voicegentle. “He’s unconscious,which is a blessing—for himand forus—butnevertheless,you must keep him still. Doyouunderstand?”

Ethannodded, themotionjerky.

“Lookaway.Don’twatchany of it. Itwon’t take long,

and aside from keeping himstill, I candoeverythingelsemyself.” He pointed to twospots on Diver’s lower arm.“Griphimhereandhere.”

He nodded again, bilerising in his throat. He tookhold of Diver’s arm whereWarren had indicated andstared at the wall oppositewhere he stood. A portraithung there: a youngwoman,

pretty,dressedinabluesatingown.EthanwonderedifthiswasWarren’swife.Whoevershewas,herefusedtotearhisgazefromher.

Still, keeping his eyesavertedhelpedonlysomuch.Hecouldhearitall.Thequietring of metal tools, the softshudder of a blade carvingthroughmuscleandskin,andworstofall,thehorrificrattle

of that sawblade on bone.Tears slid down his cheeksand his pulse pounded in hisears. The procedure seemedto take forever, and yet itended abruptly, sooner thanEthanexpected.

“Don’t look yet,”Warrensaid,thoughoutofthecornerofhiseyeEthansawhimtakeup the bandages. “But youcanreleasethearm.”

Doingsofeltlikethemostevilofbetrayals.

Forgiveme,Diver.Andthenanotherthought:

Ramsey,youwillpayfor thisinbloodandtorment.

“Why don’t you stepoutside, Mister Kaille. I’lljoinyouthereshortly.”

Withoutspeakingaword,Ethanleftthehouse.Thecoldairwasamercy,andhe took

a long, unsteady breath.Church bells continued topeal, echoing up and downthe deserted lane. Ethanlistened for musket fire, butheardnone.Heglancedupatthe sky,brightwith starsandmoonlight, and tried tosummon a prayer for Diverand forKannice, tried to feelthe Lord’s presence, just ashehadwhenhewasaboyin

Bristol, standing with hisparents and sisters in thecathedral there. But he feltnaught but anguish and furyandheartache.

He stood thus for a longtime, until at last the dooropened behind him andWarrenjoinedhimontheice-covered walk that led fromthehouse.

“He’s resting. I don’t

imagine he’ll wake for sometime. My wife and childrenwon’t be home this evening.Samuel feared violence thisnight, and suggested that ourfamilies lodgeelsewhere.So,hecan remainhere,but ifhedoeswake, he’ll probably bealone. I’d like to move him,but I dare not so soon afterthesurgery.”

“I understand. He lives

near here, on Pudding Lane.Perhapstomorrowwecanseehim back to his room.” If Isurvivethenight.

“That would be fine. I’llcheckinonhimwhenIcan.”The doctor hesitated. “Whatyou did in there—earlier, Imean … I know that wedidn’t savehis arm,butyourpowers are most remarkable.Iheardyousaysomethingas

you…asyouconjured.”“ItwasLatin,”Ethansaid,

weary beyond measure.“Roughlytranslated,itmeans‘healing conjured fromblood.’”

“Ihaveotherstowhomtoattend this evening. I coulduseyourhelp.”

Ethan took another longbreath. “Diver is a friend,Doctor Warren. He’s known

meformanyyears.He trustsme, and the power I wield.And you’re a learned manwho ismore accepting of…phenomena with which youare unfamiliar than mostwould be. There are somewhowould ratherdieor losealovedonethanbehealedbywhattheyconsiderwitchery.”

“Idoubtthat.”“I assure you it’s true. I

know as well that there aremany who would see mehanged before they allowedmetocastahealingspell.”

Warrengrimaced.“That Ibelieve.”

“Will you also believethat I have other matters towhichtoattendthisnightthatare every bit as important ashealing the wounded? I seekto prevent more deaths and

injuries.”“Very well, Mister

Kaille,” the doctor said, buthesoundeddisappointed.

“You have my deepestthanksforallthatyoudidforhim.” Ethan dug into hispocket. “I have a pound ortwo—”

“No,” Warren said, histone brooking no argument.“Not for this wound, not on

this night. There will be aprice to pay in blood anddeath before all is said anddone. But I’ll notmake coinfromit.”

“Again,mythanks.”“We should move him

back to the sofa. He’ll bemorecomfortablethere.”

Ethanfollowedthedoctorback into the house, his legsleaden. Reaching the dining

room, he faltered inmidstep,his gaze falling to thebandage that covered whatwas left of Diver’s arm. Itwas stark white, save for asmall circle of crimsonstaining the center, like atarget.

“He’sbetteroffnowthanhewaswhenyoubroughthimhere,” Warren said. “Pleasebelievethat.”

Ethandidn’tanswer.TheymovedDiver tothesofa,andWarren laid a blanket overhim. Ethan didn’t want toleave, but he knew as wellthat there was nothing morehecoulddo.Andwhathehaddone had been woefullyinadequate.

You saved his life.Kannice’svoice.

Icosthimhisarm.

He thanked the gooddoctor one last time and lethimselfoutofthehouse.

Glancingoncemoreatthenightsky,Ethanheadedbacktoward the Dowsing Rod tosee how Kannice fared. Heknewthathecouldn’tremainthere long, but he had to seeher. And after that, he hadotherplacestogo.

Thisdeadlynightwas far

fromover.

ChapterNINETEEN

Churchbellspealedallacross

the town—not only at theBrattle Street and Old Brickchurches,but,itseemed,fromevery sanctuary in Boston.Ethan saw others hurryingthrough the city streets, theirheads lowered, theirexpressions uneasy, theirgazes darting furtively. Butno one spoke a word, not ofvengeance or resistance oreven mourning. Aside from

thetollingofbells,astrainedsilence had settled over thelanes and shops and houses.Grief and rage, apprehensionand anticipation—theemotions of thousandsseemed to hang like a lowstormcloudinthechillair.

As Ethan trudged alongthe icy street fromWarren’shouse back toward theDowsing Rod, he began to

tremble,hismindreeling,hischesttight.

For the second time in asmanyweeks,peoplehaddiedinthestreetsofhiscity.Diverhaslosthisarm.

And once again the spellthat caused all of this hadbeen sourced in his power.NevermindthatRamseywasresponsible; the captain waswielding him as if he were

nothingmore thanaweapon,insensate,withoutwill of hisown. He was too weak, tooignorant of the conjuringRamseywasusing.Duetohisfailure people had died, justas hadChristopher Seider onMiddleStreet.

Ethanhalted in thecenterofQueenStreet,swaying,hishands covering his face. Asobescapedhim,butnotears

fell from his eyes. He tookseveral quick, deep breaths,trying to compose himself,knowing that he could notafford to give in to hisfrustration and sense ofhelplessness.

Because not only had heallowedRamseytousehimtokill, he had also allowed thecaptain to strike at Kannice,and at Diver. And, he knew,

Ramsey would make theattempt again. He would seeto it that everyone Ethanloveddied,andthenhewouldkill Ethan as well. The manwasmad,cruel,brilliant, andbentonrevenge.

“Where are you,Ramsey?” Ethan bellowed atthesky.

Othersonthestreethaltedand gaped at him. Ethan

didn’tcare.“Show yourself, you son

of a bitch! Come out in theopen where I can see yourfacebeforeIkillyou!”

The echo of his wordsdied away, leaving only themurmur of lowered voicesand the muffled beat offootsteps. Ethan glancedaround. Those who stillwatched him averted their

eyesatthetouchofhisgaze.He startedwalking again,

his hands shaking, his heartbeating like awar drum.Butwith each step he took, hispulse slowed, and his handsstilled. There would be timelater tomourn and reflect onall that Ramsey had donewith his power. For now, heneeded to see that Kannicewas all right. After that, he

wouldresumehishuntforthecaptain.

When he reached theDowsing Rod, he found thatthe door was locked. Hepounded on thewoodwith aglovedfistandwaited.

He heard heavy footstepsandtheclickofthelock.Thedoor swung open, revealingKelf, implacable and huge,his cleaver in hand. The

barkeep glared at him anddidn’tmove.

“Are yougoing to letmein?” Ethan asked. “Or am Igoingtohavetofightmywaypastyou?”

“Do you think youcould?”

Ethanlookedhimdirectlyintheeye.“Iknowit.”

Kelf considered him, andfor thefirst time in themany

yearsoftheirfriendship,therewasahintoffearinhisgaze.He took a step back out ofEthan’sway.

“Where is she?” Ethanasked, as he swept past theman.

“Where you left her. I’vebeensittin’withher.”

“Hassheawakened?”“No. But there’s some

colorinhercheeks.”

Ethan made his way intothe kitchen and knelt besideKannice.Kelfwasright:therewasablushtohercheeksthathadn’t been there when heleft.Herbreathingwassteadyandstronger.

Hiseyesstung.He kissed her lightly on

her brow, which felt warmagain. “Kannice? Can youhearme?”

Her headmoved slightly,and her eyelids twitched butthenwerestillagain.

“Kannice?”Shemouthedhisname.“Aye,it’sme.”Kelfcametothedoorway.

“Didshesaysomethin’?”“My name; nothing

more.” Ethan smoothed herblanket andkissedher again,butshehadfallenintoadeep

slumber and said no more.Ethan stood. “I can’t stay.”HekepthiseyesonKannice,buthesaidittoKelf.

The barkeep seemed tounderstand. “I’m not goin’anywhere. Not tonight atleast.”

“Thankyou,Kelf.”“I’mnotdoin’itforyou.”Ethan met his gaze.

“Thank you just the same.”

He steppedpast him into thegreat room,andcrossedbacktothedoor.

“Did you find Diver?”Kelfcalled.

“Aye.Hewasshot.”“Shot?” Kelf said, his

voicesharp.“Isheallright?”“He’ll live.” The words

almost caught in his throat.He couldn’t bring himself tosaymore.

“Shotbywho?”“Haveyouheardyetwhat

happenedonKingStreet?”“No.”“You will,” Ethan said,

andleft.He started back toward

theTownHouse,walkingataswift pace, his hands in hispockets. Despite whatRamsey’sillusionhadsaidtohim, Ethan had not seen

MorrisononKingStreetorinfront of the barracks. Andwhen Ramsey cast his spell,heusedEthan’spowerratherthan someone else’s. Thiswas significant in someway;Ethan was sure of it. But hedidn’tyetknowwhy.

Following Queen Streeteastward,Ethanwasforcedtostop well before he reachedthe Town House. A great

many soldiers, likely everyman billeted at Murray’sBarracks,hadgatheredat thenearendofKingStreet,withthe Town House at theirbacks,andhadtakenupfiringpositions. The men in thefront rowwere on one knee,theirweapons raised. Behindthem, soldiers stood in rowsreadytotaketheirplacesafterthemeninfrontfired.Preston

stood at the end of the frontrow, his cutlass in hand, andheeyedyetanothermob thathadformedbeforehim.

With the church bellsringing, and word of theshootings on King Streetspreading through the town,more and more peoplecrowded the street. Bostonwas moments away frommorekillings.

More to the point,Morrison stood with hisfellowsoldiers, in thesecondor third row behind thekneelingmen.Hescannedtheangry faces arrayed beforehim,asdidhiscomrades.ButEthan sensed a purpose toMorrison’s search; the manwaslookingforhim.

Ethan edged away fromthe mob, taking care not to

draw attention to himself.Whenhecouldnolongerseethe soldiers, or be seen bythem, he hurried on to DockSquare. Here, too, an angrycrowd of men had gatheredandwereshoutinginsultsatapairofretreatingfigures,whomade their way west andsouth, back the way Ethanhadcome.

“Damnyou,Hutchinson!”

cried one man bearing acudgel.“Standlikeaman!”

Others around himlaughed. Ethan wondered ifone of the figures in retreatwas truly the lieutenantgovernor.

Once again, though, hewas surrounded by men,many of them bearingweapons of one sort oranother. He continued past

and through Dock Square,before heading south onMerchant’sRow.Heintendedto follow it pastKing Street,thinking that surely it wouldnot be safe to return to thatbloodiedlane.

But as he crossed thestreet and gazed westward,backtowardtheTownHouse,he saw that the area in frontof the Customs House was

now largelydeserted.Unsureof why he did so, Ethanturnedandwalkedbacktothesceneoftheshootings.

Aside from a fewstragglers who wandered thestreet,theireyesdrawntothebloodstains on the ice andsnow, most of the mob hadmoved on, as had theuniformed men. The rest ofthewounded,hehoped,were

being attended to; the deadhad been removed. Only thebloodin thestreet toldof therecenttragedy.

“Isthatyou,Kaille?”Ethan spun, reaching for

his knife, but the manapproaching raised his handsinaplacatinggesture.

“It’s all right,” SheriffGreenleafsaid.“It’sjustme.”

Ethan exhaled, vapor

billowinginthenightair,andlethisbladehanddrop.

“Who did you think Iwas?”

“Nate Ramsey, orsomeoneworkingwithhim.”

Greenleaf nodded, butsaid nothing. His gazewandered the street. Itwas ameasure of how calamitousthis night had been thatEthan’s mention of Ramsey

drew so little response fromtheman.

“Were you here when ithappened?”thesheriffasked.

“Aye.”“You seem to have come

through unscathed.” Therewas no goad in thewords; itwasmerelyanobservation.

“I was fortunate,” Ethansaid. “A friend of mine wasshot:DiverJervis.”

Greenleaf looked at him.“Dead?”

Ethan shook his head. “Isuppose he was fortunate,too.Howmanydied?”

“Three so far. But somewho were hit won’t last thenight.”

“There’s another mob onthe far side of the TownHouse. And Preston has hissoldiers linedup to fire.This

isn’tover.”“Aye,” the sheriff said.

“Thelieutenantgovernorwason hisway, but anothermobchased him off. I’m not surewhere he is now. We knowhowbad this night has been;we’re trying to keep it fromgettingworse.”

Ethan said nothing. Thepealing of bells echoedthroughthestreet,butthusfar

hehadheardnomoremusketfire.

“Whatdidyousee?”“I’msorry?”Ethansaid.“Youwerehere;yousaw

it happen. And I’m askingwhatexactlyyousaw.”

“I hardly know where tobegin. The soldiers werebesieged—outnumbered,surroundedbyamobthatwasshouting insults and pelting

themwithsnowandice.Onesoldier was hit by an objectthrownathim; itappeared tobe a stick. He fell, got backup,andfired.Beforethoseinthe street could flee, the restofthesoldiers—perhapseightinall—openedfireaswell.”

“Did they fire more thanonce?”

“Not that I saw,” Ethansaid. “But after the initial

volley,ItookDiverawaytoasurgeon.Why?”

“The soldiers claim theyonlyfiredtheonevolley.Butwe know of three dead, andmanyotherswounded.More,frankly, than can beaccounted for given thenumberofregularspresent.”

“Perhaps they double-loaded theirweapons,”Ethansaid. “I’ve heard of soldiers

doingthat.”“As have I. You may be

right. Did Preston give theordertofire?I’vespokentoanumberofwitnesseswhosayhedid.”

Ethan hesitated. “As youmayrecall,IhavenoloveforThomas Preston.” CaptainPreston,alongwiththesheriffhimself, had arrested Ethanduring the Graystone affair.

Ethan passed a miserablenight in the town gaol, thememory of which still gavehimnightmares.“But Iheardno order. There were peoplein the mob yelling for thesoldierstofire;itwouldhavebeen easy for someone tomistake these taunts for anorder.”

“My thanks, Kaille. Thatwillbehelpfultous.”

“You should knowsomething else, Sheriff.Before the first man pulledthe trigger, before he wasstruck by that thrown club, Ifelt a conjuring.” He didn’tmention that the power forthe spell had been his.Greenleaf’s understanding ofconjurings was rudimentaryat best, and despite thecivility of this conversation,

hestillwouldhavebeengladfor an excuse to put Ethanbackinprison.

“Was it like the one youfelt the day the Seider boywasshot?”

“Aye. And I know nowbeyond any doubt thatRamsey is back in Boston.What happened tonight mayhavebeenasmuchhisdoingasitwasPreston’soranyone

else’s.”“I want him caught,

Kaille.Iwanthimdead.”“NomorethanIdo.”He thought Greenleaf

might argue, but the sheriffmerely nodded again, hisgaze straying once moretowardtheTownHouse.

“Ineedtobeonmyway,”Greenleaf said. “I have mento question tonight, and

alreadythere’stalkofatownmeeting tomorrow at FaneuilHall. We could see morebloodbeforethisisover.But,still, I want to know whenyoufindRamsey.”

“Youwill.”Greenleaf tipped his hat

and strode off toward thewesternendofKingStreet.

Ethan watched him go,wonderinghowhemightwin

access to Murray’s Barracksonce more. He wanted tospeak with the soldierMorrison. If hewas going tofind Ramsey, he would needinformation from the manhelpingthecaptain.

Even as he thought this,however, another man herecognized meandered by.This young gentleman,wearing a woolen cape and

carrying a brass-tippedwalking cane, halted a fewpaces from where Ethanstoodtostaredownatalarge,redstaininthesnow.

“Mister Grant?” Ethansaid.

TheyoungconjurerEthanhadmetintheGreenDragontavernstartedat thesoundofhis name, and took a stepback.HegawkedatEthanfor

a few seconds, recognitiondawninginhisexpression.

“Mister Kaille?” he said,soundingunsureofhimself.

“Aye.”Ethanwalkedoverto the man and proffered agloved hand, which Grantgrippedbriefly.

“Terrible business,” theclerk said, looking down atthe blood again. “I was herewhenithappened.”

“I was as well,” Ethansaid.

“Thenyouknow.Ifearedthis day would come. Isupposewe all did when theoccupationbegan.”

The realization came toEthanasanepiphany.“Wait!If you were here, then youmust have felt the conjuringas well. Seconds before thefirst soldier fired his

weapon.”Grant’s eyes widened.

“Yes, I did! I thought at thetimethatIhadimaginedit.”

“Would that you had,”Ethan said. “It was apowerful spell; I don’t seehowyoucouldhaveconfusedit for anything but what itwas.”

Under the light of thequartermoon, Ethan saw the

man’scheekscolor. “I’mnotas skilled in matters ofspellmaking as I should be,”he said. “But…but you sayitwasreal?”

“Aye.”Before Ethan could say

more, shouts went up frombeyond the TownHouse.Hefroze, listening again for thereport of muskets. But heheard naught but voices. He

wonderedifthemobhadseenHutchinson or the sheriff.Neither would be wellreceivedonthisnight.

“What do you suppose ishappening there?” Grantasked.“Shallwegoandsee?”

“I thinkIwouldbebetteroffremaininghere.”

“Yes, you’re probablyright. There’s no sensetemptingfateasecondtime.”

Ethan regarded the manthroughnarrowedeyes.“Whywere you abroad tonight,MisterGrant?Ican’timagineyou would have chancedbeingpartofMisterAdams’sassembly.”

“No, of course not.But Iwas on my way back to theCustoms House to see tosome ledgers Mister Paxtonwanted. When I arrived, the

mob had already started tocongregate.”

It made sense. And yetsomething in the man’smannergaveEthanpause.

“And you,MisterKaille?What brought you here?From what I understand,you’veshownlittleinterestincasting your lot with thepatriotcause.”

“That’s true. Iwasdrawn

here by something else. Ican’tsaywhat.”

“Can’torwon’t?”Ethanofferedathinsmile.

“Won’t.”“Isee.”Another memory stirred

in Ethan’s mind, one thatshould have come to himsooner.

“Didyou feelmy findingspellearlierthisevening?”he

asked.“Naturally.”“And you knew it was

mine?”Grantfaltered,thenforced

a smile. “Not until thismoment,no.”

“You’re lying.You knewIhadcastit,andsoknewthatI could place you here.Perhaps more to the point,youmighthaveguessedthatI

was on my way to KingStreet. And you would havehadtimetocommunicatethatinformationtosomeoneelse.”

“To whom would Icommunicate it?” Grant’slaughter was brittle. “Youthinkquitehighlyofyourself,MisterKaille, to assume thatyour comings andgoings arethe stuff of myconversations.”

“Howlonghaveyoubeenworkingforhim?”

“Forwhom?”“NateRamsey.”Grant’smouthtwitched.“Hechosepoorlyinyou,”

Ethan said. “You don’t liewell,andyourfacegivesyouaway.”

“He chose well enough.Dormiteex—”

Beforehecouldfinishthe

sleep spell, Ethan lashed outwithhisgood leg tokick themaninthestomach.

Grantgruntedacurseandcollapsed to one knee. ButmovingfasterthanEthanhadexpected,he swunghiscane,hitting Ethan solidly in thesideofhisbadleg.Ethanfell.

Grant got to his feet andfled,movingawkwardly,onehand gripping his gut where

Ethan’sfoothadconnected.Ethan forced himself up

and hobbled after the man,who led him off King Streetonto Leverett’s Lane. As heran,hebitdownontheinsideofhischeek.

“Pugnus ex cruoreevocatus,” he said. Fist,conjured from blood. TheconjuringpulsedandabruptlyReg was running alongside

him.He aimed the blow at

Grant’s back. As he hadhoped, the spell was enoughto knock the clerk offbalance.Hesprawledontotheice,hiscaneclatteringoutofreach.

Ethan heard him muttersomething and had time tothink that it must be a spell.He felt it hum, saw Grant’s

ghost, the finely dressedwoman with the pale orangeglow, appear on the narrowlane.

An instant later, a ball offire crashed into Ethan’schest, pounding him to thefrozengroundandsettinghisgreatcoatablaze.

Ethanrolledrightandleftuntil the flames wereextinguished. By then,

though,Grantwasonhisfeetonce more, and but a fewstrides from the corner ofWaterStreet.

Sitting up,Ethan grabbedhis knife and cut thebackofhishand.

“Discuti ex cruoreevocatum!” Shatter, conjuredfromblood.

Grantcriedout,crumpledinaheap,andgrabbedathis

brokenleg.Ethan got to his feet and

advanced on theman. As hedid,hepulledleavesfromhispouch of mullein. “Tegimenex verbasco evocatum.”Warding, conjured frommullein.

His spell pulsed, andwasfollowedonlyaninstantlaterby a second conjuring. Thisone struck Ethan as a blow,

knocking him back on hisheels, but doing no moredamage. His warding hadheld against whatever spellGranthadattempted.

The clerk made a soundlike a trapped animal. Ethansaw that he had a knife inhand.BeforeGrantcouldcuthimself to conjure againEthan covered the remainingdistance between them and

kicked the blade out of theman’shand.Ithitthewallofthe nearest building andvanished in a small pile ofloosesnow.

Grant bit down, probablyon his tongue or cheek, asEthanhimselfhaddonewhilepursuing the man. A spellrang in the street, and oncemore Ethan was hammeredby the power of Grant’s

conjuring. But as before, thespell had no other effect onhim.

Hekickedtheclerkintheside,makinghimretch.

“I’mwarded,”Ethansaid.“And you’re not conjurerenoughtoovercomemyspell.Now you’re going to answersome questions for me, andthen I’ll decide whether togiveyou to thesherifforkill

youmyself.”“Saveyourbreath,”Grant

said, panting the words. “I’lltellyounothing.”

“I want an answer to myquestion:Howlonghaveyoubeen working for NateRamsey?”

He saw the man’s mouthmove and knew that he wastryingtoconjureagain.Ethandug the toe of his boot into

the leghehad shatteredwithhisconjuring.Granthowled.

“Howlong?”When Grant didn’t

answer, Ethan kicked him asecondtime.

Whiletheclerksobbedinpain, Ethan retrieved theman’s knife from thesnowbank. Returning toGrant’s side, he squattedbesidehim,grabbedhiscollar

with one hand, and with theother set the point of theblade at the corner of theclerk’seye.

Grantstiffened.“Answer me, or I swear

I’lltakeoutyoureye.”Tears coursed from the

clerk’s eyes, and snot ranfrom his nose, so that heresembled an overgrown boywhohadtakenabeating.But

his expression could haveflayed the skin from Ethan’sbones.

“IknowofnoonenamedRamsey,”hesaid.

Ethan increased thepressure of the blade againstthe man’s skin, though hetookcarenottodrawblood.

“It’s the truth. But I… Iwas hired by someone. Idon’tknowwhoitwas.”

“Howlongago?”“Not long. Perhaps a

fortnight.”“This person came to

you?”Grant pressed his lips

together.Ethan tapped thepoint of

the knife against his face.“Didhecometoyou?”

“I was approached by amanclaiming tobe theagent

ofanother.Hegavenonames—nothisown,northatofhisemployer.”

“Heofferedyoumoney.”“That’sright.”“Howmuch?”The clerk’s mouth

twisted. “Five pounds. AndI’ve been promised fivemore.”

It was a sizable amount,but not necessarily beyond

Ramsey’smeans.“Andhe told you to seek

meout?”Ethanasked.Grant laughed, though

with little mirth. “You dohaveamightyhighopinionofyourself, don’t you? Ofcoursehedidn’t.NordidIdoany such thing. If youremember, you found me intheGreenDragon.”

“But you were there for

him.”“Iwasthereasasupporter

of the Sons of Liberty. Hisinstructionsweretowatchforconjurers—any conjurers. Ididn’t have to change mydailyroutine.Indeed,themanwith whom I spoke made itclear tome that Iwas not todoso.”

Ethan shook his head.None of this was as he had

expected. “He merely toldyou to search for otherconjurers?”

“Not even to search forthem. To keep watch, to tellhim of any spells I felt orspectralguides Ihappened tosee.”

“Didhetellyouwhy?”“No. But I believed—”

He clamped his mouth shut,hisgazeslidingaway.

“You believed what,Grant?” When the clerkdidn’t respond, Ethantightened his hold on theman’s cape and shook him.“Whatdidyoubelieve?”

“It might have beenfoolishofme,butIbelievedIhadbeenhiredbyafriendofthe patriot cause, someonewho suspected that … thatloyalists were using spellers

to spy on Adams and theothers. I suppose that soundsridiculous.”

Ethan had battled such aconjurerseveralyearsbefore.He shook his head. “Not soridiculous, no.” He adjustedhis grip on the man. “Whatwere you to do if you foundanyone? What did you doafter our encounter at theGreenDragon?”

“Iwas towrite amissivedescribing who and what Ihad seen, and deliver it to apredeterminedlocation.”

At last. Ethan’s pulsequickened. “Where? Wheredidyoutakethosemissives?”

“That’s quite enough, Ithink.”

Ethan sprang to his feetand spun, gripping his knife.At first he saw no one. But

then Ramsey—or rather thefaintly glowing, conjuredillusion of him—appearedfromthedarkness,likeashipemergingfrommist.

The figure did not spareEthan a look, but staredstraight at the clerk. It woreRamsey’s familiar sardonicsmile,butitseyesgleamedaswouldembersinahearth.

“I’mdisappointed inyou,

Grant.”Grant appeared more

perplexed than frightened.“Whoareyou?”

“The man who gave youthose five pounds you’vebeen telling Kaille about. Iwould have thought thatmuchmoneyboughtnotonlyyour cooperation, but also amodicumofdiscretion.”

With Ramsey’s illusion

stillwatchingtheclerk,Ethanslowlymovedhisbladehandtoward the other. If he coulddrawbloodandcastafindingspell while Ramsey wasconjuring,hemightlocatethecaptain in spite of whateverprecautionshemighthave—

“Don’t do it, Kaille.Whatever spell you’re tryingtocastwillonlymakemattersworse.”

“Worse for whom? Foryou,Ramsey?DoyouthinkIcare?”

“You’ve outlived yourusefulness,” the figure said,addressingGrant again. “Notthat you were terribly usefulto begin with. Butnevertheless…” He smiledagain.

A conjuring surgedthrough the ground beneath

Ethan’s feet. He couldn’tkeephimselffromglancingatReg. The ghost was alreadywatchinghim.

Grant let out a strangledcry and clawed at his chest.Hismouthwasagape,buthedid not seem to be able todrawbreath.

Ethan knelt next to him.“Grant?” He glared up atRamsey’s illusion.“Whatare

youdoingtohim?”“Nothing at all. You’re

doingit.”“Grant!”Ethansaidagain.Theclerk’seyeshadgone

wide.Hishandsstillclutchedhis heart. He fell over ontohis side, his unbroken legkickingspasmodically.

Ethanfumbledinhiscoatpocket for the three pouchesof herbs. Removing several

leaves from each—he didn’tbother to count them—hesaid, “Tegimen nobisambobus ex verbasco etmarrubio et betonicaevocatum.”Warding, both ofus, conjured from mullein,horehound,andbetony.

The conjuring rumbled,ananswer toRamsey’s spell.But Grant continued to flailsilently.

“No,” said Ramsey’sillusion. “I’m afraid thatdidn’twork.”

“Damnyou,Ramsey!”“Damn me?” the illusion

said. “Damn me? Thus far,I’vedoneyoua favorKaille.You ought to be thankingme!”Hepointedat theclerk.“I can kill him in as manyways as you can conjure. Ican slice open his throat or

shatter his neck, or do anynumber of things that willmakeitseemthathehasbeenkilledonthisdesertedlanebyamorepowerfulman, amanseenwithhimonKingStreetonly moments before. Or Ican lethimdieashe’sdyingnow, in a manner that willdraw little notice. Earlier itwas your choice thatmattered; now it’s mine.

DependinguponwhatIdointhe next few moments, youcould be gaoled tonight andhanged tomorrow. Youshouldn’t be damning me;youshouldbebegging.”

Ethan staredback at him,shakingwithrage,atRamseyandathisownimpotence.

The illusion cocked itsglowingheadtothesideasifconsideringoptions.“Whatto

do.Ontheonehand,I’mnotdonewithyouyet.Andwhenyou die, it will be by myhand, not Greenleaf’s. Thenagain, I would so enjoyseeing the great EthanKaillebroughtlow.”

Grant’s movements weregrowingfeeble.

Ethan pulledmore leavesfromthepouches.

“Save your herbs, and

yourbreath.He’ll bedead inanotherminute, andonewayor another it will have beenyourpowerthatkilledhim.”

Ethanheldtheherbsinhisopenpalm,buthecouldthinkof no conjuring that wouldwork against Ramsey’sconjuring.

“Time to choose,” theillusionwhispered.

And even as the glowing

figure spoke the words,another spell rumbled in thelane.Ethandidn’thavetoaskReg to know that it was hisown power he felt. Bloodspurted from a sudden gashonGrant’s neck and sprayedinabroad,darkfanacrosstheice.

Ethan was still on hisknees, theleavesinhishand,and he fell back, scrabbling

away from the man and hisblood.“Godhavemercy!”

“I think he won’t,”Ramseysaid.

Ethan stared at the clerk,watchinginhorrorashegaveonelastweakkickandmovedno more. He felt nauseatedand utterly disgusted withhimself. Mostly, though, hedetestedRamseyashehadnomaneverbefore.

“What do you want ofme?”Ethanasked, thewordsscrapedfromhisthroat.

“I want revenge. I wantyoutosufferandthentodie.Haven’tIbeenclear?”

“I mean,” Ethan said,looking up at him, “what doyou want to make this stop?Yousayyouwanttokillme.Fine. Tell me where to go,andI’llgothere.Wecanfight

to the death. And if youprevail,sobeit.”

“No, Kaille. No. This isbetterby far thankillingyoucould ever be. You’re weak,desperate, filled with guiltand self-loathing for all thatyour power has wrought.These past few days havebrought me more pleasurethan I imagined they would.And I am in no hurry for

them to end.” He glancedonce more at Grant’s bodybefore facing Ethan oncemore and smiling. But hedidn’t vanish. Not yet.Insteadheturned,facingbacktoward King Street.“Murder!” he cried. “Murdermostfoul!”

Ethan saw figuresgatheringat themouthof thelane,pointinginhisdirection.

“Until next we meet,”Ramseysaid.

The illusion faded muchas it had appeared,withdrawing into the inkydarkness, and leaving Ethanalone with the corpse ofJonathanGrant.

ChapterTWENTY

Heremainedonhiskneesfor

a moment after the conjuredfigure disappeared. Ramseywas exactly right. He wasdesperateandfilledwithself-loathing. In their previousencounter, Ramsey had usedspells to burn him, to breakhis bones, to keep him fromdrawing breath. Indeed, thespell he had used to chokeGrant might well have beenone that he used to torture

Ethan the previous summer.Yet nothing Ramsey did tohimthenhurthalfasmuchaswhat he had made Ethanendure this night. So greatwas Ethan’s anguish that ashe watched the clerk die, hehadbeenreadytogiveuphislifetomakeitend.

But he would not die bythehangman’snoose.

The crowd at the end of

the lane was growing, and afew intrepid souls wereedging toward him, perhapstrying to catch a glimpse ofhisfaceandtomakesenseofthescenebeforethem.

Ethan lurched to his feet,driven by cold and fear andtheknowledge thathehadn’tthe power to undo his ownfailure,whichhadcostGranthis life.Hedashedoutof the

laneandacrossWaterStreet,keeping his head lowered,hoping that no one abroad atthis hour would recognizehimbyhislimporhisclothesorhisfeatures.

He needed help, and thelast time he had spoken toSephira Pryce, she hadmadean uncharacteristicallygenerousoffer.

Runningasfastashisbad

legwouldallow,hecontinuedsouthward until he reachedthe New South MeetingHouse,with itssoaringspire,which gleamed white in theglow of themoon. The bellsin the church still pealedalongwiththoseof thecity’sother sanctuaries, but here atthe southern end of Boston,the tolling drifted acrosspastureland and fields,

incongruously peaceful onsuchabloodynight.

Ethan turned up SummerStreet and soon stood onceagain at Sephira’s door,breathing hard, his eyesstreamingwiththecold.

Despite the late hour,Sephira’s windows werealight with candle flame. Heknocked, and could not havebeen more surprised when

Sephira herself opened thedoor.

“Mariz has beenexpecting you,” she saidwithout preamble, andwalked away from the door.Ethan entered the house,closedthedoor,andfollowedherintothesittingroom.

Sephirahadalreadytakena seat by the hearth. Marizand her other toughs were

arrayedaroundtheroom.“You knew I’d come?”

Ethansaidtotheconjurer.“Yes. I sensed many

spells, and I feared for you.Theycamefromthecenterofthecity,butIcouldnotlocatethempreciselyenoughtofindyou. I thought that, if yousurvived, you might comehere.”

Ethan didn’t know what

to say. Here was morekindness thanhehad thoughttofind.

“What’s happened,Ethan?” Sephira asked, hertoneasgentleashehadeverheard it, at least whendirectedathim.

He gave a high, chokedlaugh, and at the same timeblinked away fresh tears.“Ramsey isusingme…The

shootings tonight on KingStreet—you’ve heard aboutthem?”

Shenodded.“I was there. The spells

that caused them to fire…”He broke off. He knew hewasn’t making sense, but hewas torn between his needandhisfearofconfessingtoomuchtothiswomanwhohadtormented him so over the

years.“A friendofminewasshot.Healsousedmetostarta brawl in a tavern, and thewomanIlovewasstabbed.”

“Isshe—?”“Ihealedherintime.”“Andyourfriend?”“He’ll live as well.

But…” Even now, hecouldn’t bring himself to sayout loud that Diver had losthis arm. “But just now,” he

went on, “as I was about tolearn something of valuefrom another conjurer,Ramsey appeared as anillusion.Thisotherconjurerisdead.Peoplesawmeloomingoverhim.TheythinkIdidit.”

“I don’t understand,”Sephira said. “You say heusedyou.Usedyouhow?”

EthanlookedtoMariz.“Heiscastingspellsusing

Kaille’s power,” Mariz said,watching Ethan even as hespoke to Sephira. “I do notknow the magick, but itmeans that Ramsey does nothave to be present to cast;wherever Kaille is, Ramseycanconjure.”

“Includinghere?”Ethanfelthimselfgopale.

“Aye. I’m sorry, Sephira. Iwasn’t thinking. I’ll leave

right away.”Heheadedbacktoherdoor.

“Ethan, come back here.”She sounded more annoyedthan frightened, like a parentsummoningawaywardchild.

“It’snotsafeforyou,”hesaid,remainingbythedoor.

“Iwouldthinkthatwouldmakeyouallthemorewillingtocomecloser.”

He had to grin. But he

didn’tmove.Seconds later, Sephira

joined him in the foyer. “Itold you the other day, I’mnotafraidofRamsey.”

“You should be. I’mterrifiedofhim.”

“I’m sorry about yourwoman. I’m glad she’s allright.”

“Thankyou.”“Comebackinside.”

“I came to speak withMariz. He and I can gooutside and talk there. Thatwould be the more prudentthingtodo.”

“I find prudence boring.Didn’tyouknow?”

Hesmiledagain.“Let me see if I

understand,” she said.“Ramseyisusingyoutohurtothers, including the people

who mean the most to you.AmItoinferthatitwasyourwitchery, wielded byRamsey,thatcausedtonight’sshootings?”

“Aye.”“And now he’s managed

tomakeitseemthatyou’reamurderer.”

“That’sright.”“Impressive.”Ethan looked to the side,

hismouthtwitching.“Relax, Ethan. I have no

intention of helping Ramseyor of taking advantage ofwhat he’s done to you.” Shegrinned. “At least not rightnow.”

“Why not?” he asked,facingher.

“Because he killedNigel.And because someday I’mgoingtoruinyoumyself,and

I certainly don’t need hishelp.”

Ethan couldn’t help butlaugh,thoughhischestached.

“Mariz,”shecalled.Theconjurerjoinedthem.“Ethanwantsawordwith

you. I think he’d be happierdiscussing these mattersoutside.”

“Of course, Senhora.”Mariz retreated into another

room, only to emerge again,shruggingonacoat.

“You and I will speakagainsoon,”Sephirasaid.

“Did you go toMedfield?”Ethanasked.

“Nap and Gordon did.They found the girl and thejewels.Thesoldier isgone, Ithink. But you have mythanks.” She flashed adazzling smile. “It was the

easiest four and ten I’veearnedinsometime.”

“Mypleasure.”He and Mariz stepped

outside onto the portico.Ethan gazed northwardtoward the lightsofCornhill.Marizpulledthedoorshut.

“I have communicatedwithmymentorasItoldyouI would,” the conjurer said,coming forward to stand

beside Ethan. “He has heardof borrowed spells and evenknewofaconjurerwhousedthem against another man.But he could tellme nothingabout how to guard one’spower from the use ofanother. The magicking, hesaid,was beyond any he hadlearned.”

Ethan’s disappointmentwas mild; he had not

expected anything more.“Thank you for trying. I’veneversentanillusionsofartospeak with someone. Was itdifficult?”

Marizshrugged.“Heisinthecityofmyyouth. Iknowtheplacewell,whichmadeiteasier. But it is Ramsey’sillusion of which I wish tospeak. You have spoken tohim?”

“Aye. But I’m not surethere’smuch to be gained intalking about it. He can dowhat he wants with mypower,atatimeandplaceofhischoosing.”

“Andyou candonothingtostophim?”

“Wardings don’t work,even sophisticated ones.AndI can’t hurt an illusion. Ibelieve theremay be another

man working with him—asoldierwiththeTwenty-ninthRegiment who’s billeted atMurray’s Barracks. But onthis, of all nights, Iwon’t beabletogetnearhim.ThelastIsawofhim,hewasguardingthe Town House with hiscomrades.”

“We can use aconcealment spell. Perhapswe can get close enough to

speakwithhimwhenheisnolongeronduty.”

In spite of everything,Ethansmiledathisuseoftheword“we.”

“Thankyou,Mariz.”“Tell me about these

wardingsyouhavetried.”Ethan described for him

the spell he had taughthimself using the herbs hepurchasedattheFatSpider.

“I have never cast such awarding myself, but I knowthat in Portugal, there are noherbs more valued forprotection spells than thethree Miss Windcatcher soldyou.”

“Right,”Ethan said. “Thespell should work, but forsomereasonitdoesn’t.”

“Then let us find thesoldier; perhaps he can

explainthis.”“Allright.”Mariz slippedback inside

totellSephirathattheywouldbe leaving for a time. Hereturnedmomentslater.

Ethan raised his blade tothe back of his hand,intending to cast theconcealment spell. Mariz,though,putoutahandtostophim.

“I will cast it,” he said.“Ramsey knows yourconjurings.Hemayfeelwhenyou cast, and even recognizethespell.Heisnotasfamiliarwithmeandmypower.”

Itwas a fair point. “Verywell.”

Sephira’smancuthimselfand spoke the concealmentspell for both of them. Theconjuring trembled in the

ground,and then settledoverEthan,likeacoolmistonthisfrigid night. Concealed astheywere by the same spell,Ethan and Mariz could seeeach other. They would beinvisible to others, however,including any conjurers theyencountered. They dismissedtheir spectral guides—Regscowled when Ethanmuttered, “Dimitto te”—and

set out toward Cornhill andthe western end of KingStreet.

Solateatnight,andatthisendofthecity,awayfromthemob that no doubt stillcrowdedthelanesaroundtheTownHouse,thestreetswereempty. Ethan and Marizplaced their feet with somecare to avoid making toomuch noise as they walked,

butfornowtheywereinlittledanger of being heard. Andfor the time being, Ethandidn’t have to worry aboutbeing identified as Grant’smurderer.

“Thissoldierweseek—”“His family name is

Morrison.”“What else do you know

abouthim?”“I know he’s a conjurer,

and that his spectral guidewasonMiddleStreetthedayChristopher Seider was shot.Beyond that I don’t knowanything for certain. But Ibelieve Ramsey hired Grant—themanhekilledtonight—because he had ties to theSons of Liberty.And I thinkhe wanted to have a soldierworking for him as well.What better way to sow as

muchconflictaspossibleinagarrisonedcity?”

“But towhatend,Kaille?I did not think that Ramseycaredaboutpolitics.Hehatesyou, and has been driven bythat hatred all along. Whybotherwithallofthis?”

“I don’t know. He maybelieve that I care even if hedoesn’t. And no doubt heremembers that Sephira

worked for importationviolators last summer; hehates her as well, and maywish to pit us against eachother.”

Mariz did not appearconvinced.Ethanwasn’tsurethat he believed all of thiseither.Butastheynearedthecorner of Cornhill and Kingstreets, another thought cameto him, one that he had first

voicedtoJanna.“The illusion Ramsey

used looked just like him.”There were more people onthe streets here, and Ethansaid this in a whisper. “Orrather exactly as I rememberhimfromlastsummer.”

Sephira’sman frownedathim and shrugged. “If youwere to cast such a spell,wouldyounothaveitappear

asyoudo?”“Of course I would. But

think,Mariz.Hewas trappedinthatburningwarehouse.Heshould have been scarred; asskilled as he is withconjurings, he couldn’t haveescaped completelyunscathed.”

“He is prideful. Perhapshewouldnotwantyoutoseehisscars.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t,”Ethansaid.“Butwhatifthereis more at work here thanmerepride?What if he’snotmerely scarred, but trulymaimed? What if he’s usingthese spells against mebecausehecan’t strikeatmemoredirectly?WhatifIcan’tfindhisshipbecauseheisnolongercapableofcaptainingavessel?”

“It is possible. I had notconsidered this, but yes, itmakes sense. This wouldmake him easier to defeat,woulditnot?”

“Itprobablywould.Butitwill also make him moredesperate, more extravagantinwhathe’swillingtodo.”

They passed the OldBrick Church. Its bell stilltolled, testimony to how far

Ramseymightgoinhisquestforrevenge.Thechurchstoodonly a few paces from theTownHouseand thewesternend of King Street.Remarkably, the crowd haddispersed, or perhaps hadmoved elsewhere. Thesoldiers were no longerguardingthebuilding.

“Theymustbebackatthebarracks,”Ethansaid.

“Thenthiswillbeeasier.”Accordingtotheclockon

the TownHouse, it was pasttwo o’clock in the morning.Still, Ethan and Marizcontinued on to Murray’sBarracks, stopping outsidethe entrance. The door wasshut, and they couldn’t openit without giving themselvesaway. They heard enoughvoices from within, though,

toknowthatthesoldierswerenotyetabed.

“What now?” Marizasked,hisvoicelow.

“Nowweconvincehimtojoinusoutside.Veni adme,”Ethansaid.Cometome.

Reg winked into view,brightrussetinthegloom.Hestill appeared to be annoyedat having been dismissed asthey made their way to the

barracks.“I didn’t want someone

spotting us too soon,” Ethansaid.“ButnowIneedyou todraw the soldier-conjureroutside.Do you knowwhichmanImean?”

The ghost grinned andnodded.

“Good.Thengo.”Regglidedtothedoorway

andpassed through thewood

andintothewarehouse.“Thisway,”Ethansaid.He led Mariz farther up

Brattle Street, past Hillier’sStreet, toWingsLane,whichwasdeserted.Theywaited atthat corner, watching thebarracks entrance, both ofthemwiththeirbladesdrawn.After a few moments, Regemerged onto the street oncemoreandturnedunerringlyin

their direction. Halfway upBrattle Street, the ghosthalted and peered back overhisglowingshoulder.

A few seconds later, thedoor to the sugar warehouseopened and out stepped alanky uniformed soldier, hismusket in hand. He glancedup and down the street.SpottingReg, he strode afterhim.

Reg glided toward EthanandMariz, turningthecornerat Wings Lane and thenpassing them, so thatMorrison could not see himanymore.

The soldierquickenedhispace.

EthanandMarizretreatedashortdistanceontothelane.As they did,Mariz looked atEthan andmimicked holding

amusket. Then he shook hishead.

Ethan understood: Thisconfrontation promised to befar more dangerous ifMorrison was armed. Beforehe could respond, however,Morrison reached the corner.ReghadstoppedafewstridesbeyondEthanandMariz,andnow stood in the middle ofthelane.

Seeing him there,Morrisonslowed,hisweaponheld at waist level, thebayonet glinting withmoonlight.

Ethan was close enoughto see by the moonlight thathis eyes were dark, and hischin bore a white scar. Thesoldier crept in his direction,hisgazesweepingthenarrowstreet.

“Whoareya?”thesoldiersaid.“Showyourself.”

Mariz stood several feetfromEthanandMorrisonhadinadvertently positionedhimself between them.Ethancaught Mariz’s eye andpointedathim.Sephira’smanappearedconfused,butEthanknew thathewould catchonsoonenough.

“Putdownyourweapon,”

Ethansaid.Morrison whirled toward

himandraisedhisweaponasif to fire. Mariz steppedbehind the man, and kickedhis legs out from under him.Thesoldierfelltotheice,themusketslippingfromhisgrip.Ethan covered the distancebetween himself and thesoldier in a single stride andkicked the weapon beyond

Morrison’sreach.Still on the ground,

thoughnowsitting,Morrisongrabbed for his blade. For ahalfsecond,Ethanconsideredcasting another shatter spell.But he didn’t wish to drawRamsey’s attention if hecould help it. Instead, asMorrisonpulledhisknifefreeof the sheath on his belt,Ethankickedhimintheside.

The weapon flew from thesoldier’s hand, its bladeclattering on the street withtheringofsteelonice.

Gasping, the soldiernevertheless tried to get up.Ethanplantedhis footon theman’s chest and shoved himdown. The man grabbedEthan’slegwithbothhands.

“Don’ttryit,”Ethansaid,putting more weight on

Morrison so that the ladstruggled to draw breath.“There are two of us,conjurers both. Even if youwere to throwme off, you’ddiebeforeyoucouldgetawayorcastthesimplestofspells.”

Morrisonglowered.“Whoare ya?” he said again,wheezing the words. “Youcame to the barracks before.Daysago.Isn’tthatright?”

“Letgoofmyleg.”Thesoldierremainedstill,

except for his eyes, whichdarted from side to side,perhapsseekingsomeclueastowhereMarizstood.

Sephira’s man squattedbesidehim,grabbedahandfulof Morrison’s hair, and laidthe edge of his knife alongthe side of the soldier’sthroat.

Morrison dropped hishandstohisside.

“Show yourselves then,”he said, his voice stillstrained. “I’ll not treat withmenIcan’tlookintheeye.”

EthanandMarizsharedaglance. Sephira’s manappeareddoubtful,andgaveasmall shake of his head. ButEthan wanted to see ifMorrisonrecognizedhim.He

nodded.Mariz frowned, but then

acquiesced with a shrug. Hecut himself and said, “Finivelamentum ex cruoreevocatum.”Endconcealment,conjured from blood. Withthe pulse of the conjuring,and the appearance ofMariz’s spectral guide,Morrison grew watchful andwary.Concealmentspellsdid

notwearoffinstantly,andsothe soldier peered in turns atEthan and Mariz, squinting,trying to see them moreclearly.

When at last hewas abletomakeoutEthan’s features,hecouldnotconcealtheflashofrecognitioninhiseyes.

“Aye,” Ethan said. “Youknowme,don’tyou?Ramseyhasseentothat.”

“I don’t know whatyou’retalkin’about.”

He was a better liar thanGrant, but not by much.Ethan removed his foot fromMorrison’s chest andmotionedforMariztoreleasehim.

“Standup,”hesaid.Morrisoneyedthemboth,

but then climbed to his feet.He was several inches taller

than both of them. Ethancouldseethathewasalreadythinkingofpossible routes tosafety.

“You’vebeenworkingforsomeone,” Ethan said. “Aconjurer.Youweregivenfivepoundsinitiallyandpromisedmore. The person who paidyou said to watch forconjurershereintown,andtoleave a missive somewhere

whenyoufoundone.”“Itoldyou,I—”Ethanstoppedhimwitha

raisedhand.“Don’tlietome,lad. I’ve no time for games,and even less patience. Youweren’ttheonlyonehehired,and I’ve already learned agooddeal.”

Morrison glanced atMariz again. Sephira’s manheldhisknifeoverhisarm;it

might as well have been apistol, full-cocked and aimedathisheart.

Morrison huffed a sigh.“What is it you want toknow?”hesaid.

“Let’s start with whereyou’re supposed to deliveryourmissives.”

“The burying ground onthe Common. The old onewiththegranary.”

The Granary BuryingGround.Itwasalmostfunny.The last time Ethan andRamsey fought, it was overthe souls of the newly dead.Theyhadfacedeachother inthat cemetery. Had Ramseyfoundonemorewaytomockhim?

“Where exactly?” Ethanasked.

“Justbythegate.”

“Are you to meetsomeone, or leave themessagesandgo?”

“I’mjusttoleavethem.”“Did you meet someone

whenyouwerefirstpaid?”“Aye. But he was no

conjurer, at least not that Icould tell. I think he was asailor.”

Maybe Ramsey still hadhis ship after all, and so still

commandedaloyalcrew.“Is thereasignalofsome

sort, away to let this personknowthatyou’veleftword?”

“Aye. I’m to place themessage at the base of atombstone, one near theentrance,andthenI’mtocasta spell: a simple wardin’. Iwastoldthatmyspellswouldbe recognized and thatsomeone would come an’

retrievethemessage.”“Andhowwereyoutobe

paid the balance of whatyou’reowed?”

Morrisonshrugged.“Theyhaven’t said yet. But theywere good for the first fivepounds; I expect they’ll paymetherest.”

“What if they don’t?”Ethan shook his head,forestalling an answer.

“Allowme:You believe thatthough they haven’t said asmuch, the people you’reworkingforareloyalistswhoseek to weaken the patriotcause.Youwerehappy tobepaid, but you would do thiswork for nothing if it meanthelping to defeat SamuelAdams and his rabble. Isn’tthatright?”

The way the soldier

gawked at him one mighthavethoughthehadsproutedwings and flown in circlesover the city. “How did youknowthat?”

“You’re not the onlyconjurerRamseyhired.”

“You mentioned thatnamebefore.Ramsey.Whoishe?”

“He’s no loyalist; I cantell you that much. He’s a

merchant captain, a conjurer,andamadman.Noneofwhatyou’vebeenasked todowillhelp your fellow soldiers orhurt Samuel Adams and hisallies. Ramsey wantsvengeance.That’sallhecaresabout.”

“Vengeance on who?”Morrisonasked.

“Onme.”“I don’t believe you,”

Morrison said, narrowing hiseyes.

“I don’t care. You’regoingtohelpusfindhim.”

The soldier’s expressionhardened. “And what if Idon’t?”

“Then everyman in yourregiment will learn thatyou’reawitch.”

“I could do the same toyou. To both of you,” he

added with a quick look atMariz.

“You could, but itwouldn’t prevent your court-martial, would it? You don’thave to do anything youwouldn’t otherwise,” Ethansaid.“You’llcomewithustotheburyingground,castyourspell, and be on your way.Wewon’t trouble you again,andyou’llhavedonenothing

to violate the terms of youragreementwithRamsey.”

“What about a message?I’msupposedtoleaveoneforhim.”

“And so you will. We’retobeyourmessage.”

Ethan could see that thesoldierdidn’tlikethisideaatall.Hewaseyeingthetwoofthemagain;Ethanthoughthemight be trying to determine

if he could fight them offlong enough to retrieve hismusket.

“I’ve had a long night,Morrison,”Ethansaid.“Iwason King Street when yourfriends opened fire.And thatwasfarfromtheworstpartofmy evening. If you so muchas glance in the direction ofyourweapon,myfriendandIwill shatter every bone in

yourbody,healthemall,andthenbreakthemagain,onebyone.Throughnofaultofyourown,you’vebeendrawnintoa blood feud. Ramsey wantsmedead,andI’mdeterminedtokillhimifIhaveto.Pleasedon’tmakemehurtyou,too.”

The soldier hesitated butthennodded.

“Shall we make our wayto the burying ground?”

Ethanasked.“Isuppose.”“Comealongthen.”Ethan

turned to Mariz. “Walkbehind us. If he takes a stepin the wrong direction, snaphisneck.”

Mariz turned toMorrisonandsmiled.“Withpleasure.”

“Whataboutmyknifeandmusket?”

“It’s half past two in the

morning. Leave them there;they’ll be waiting for youwhen we’re done at theburyingground.”

The soldier didn’t seemsatisfied with this responseeither, but he fell in besideEthan and they began theshortwalk fromWings Lanetotheburyingground.

“Why does this manRamsey hate you so much?”

Morrison asked after sometime.

“That’s a long tale,”Ethansaid,unabletokeeptheweariness from his voice.“Long ago we foundourselves at odds, and wenever managed to makepeace.”

ThisleftMorrisonlookingmore confounded thansatisfied, but he said nothing

more until they reached theburyinggroundgate.

Once inside the grounds,thesoldierledEthantooneofthe grave markers near theentrance.

“Thisisit,”hesaid.“Thisis where I’m to leave themissives.”

“All right then,” Ethansaid. “Cast your spell.Carefully, Morrison. There’s

stilltwoofusandonlyoneofyou.”

The man reached for hisknife,butofcourseitwasnolongeronhisbelt.Ethandrewhis own and handed it to theman hilt first.Morrison tookit, clearly surprised by thetrust Ethan had shown him.He cut himself and mutteredhis warding spell. When thethrum of the conjuring had

died away, he returnedEthan’sknife.

“Whatnow?”“Go back to your

regiment,lad.You’llhavenomoretroublefromme.”Ethanproffered a hand, which themangrippedafteramoment’shesitation.

The soldier cast one lastlookatMariz,beforetrudgingthrough thesnowback to the

street.“Iamnotsureitwaswise

to let him go,” Mariz said,watchingthesoldier.

“Perhaps not. But I’veseen too many men dietonight. I’m not willing towatchRamseykillhim,too.”

Mariz didn’t argue. “Sonowwewaitforanothermantocome.”

“Aye,” Ethan said. “We

won’t be so gentle with thisnextone.”

ChapterTWENTY-ONE

They left the burying ground

and found a vantage pointnear the corner of SchoolStreet fromwhich theycouldseethecemeterygate.Liftinghiscollaragainstalight,coldwind off the harbor, Ethanleaned against the side of abuilding and closed his eyes.Helongedforsleep.

“Are you certain thatRamsey will send someonetonight?”Mariz asked. “It is

verylate.”Ethan didn’t bother

openinghiseyes.“He’llsendsomeone. He killed Granttonight because he’s afraidI’m getting too close tofinding him. He’ll want toknow what Morrison haslearned.”

“Andwhenhefiguresoutthat Morrison has deceivedhim, what will he do? Did

youreallyspareMorrison,orhave you sent him to hisdeath?”

At that,Ethanopenedhiseyes. “I can’t controlRamsey.All I can do is findhim and kill him before hedoesmoreharm.”

“You were reluctant tokill him the last time wefoughthim.”

“Not anymore,” Ethan

said.Mariz nodded his

approval.Sooner even than Ethan

had expected, he heard thesound of footsteps, bootscrunching the frozen snow.He spotted the sailor, whowas coming not from theSouth End waterfront, asEthanhadexpected,butfromthe north. He might have

comefromtheNorthEnd,orperhaps even from NewBoston,as theWestEndwasalso known. The manfollowedwhatinthesummermonthswasbarelymorethanadirtpathfromBeaconStreetaround the back of theburying ground to the gateEthan and Mariz had beenwatching. He carried a torchand, after entering the

cemetery, walked directly tothe tomb Morrison hadindicated.

Ethan and Mariz madetheir way back to thecemetery gate as well,making as little noise aspossible.

The sailor had stopped atthegravesiteandappeared tobe searching the ground.Seeing nothing, he lowered

historchsothatitwouldcastmore light on the gravemarker.

“Have you lostsomething?”Ethanasked.

The man spun, nearlydroppinghistorch.“No,I—”He fell silent, his eyes goingwide as he recognized Ethanand Mariz. This was one ofthe crewmen Ramsey hadwith him the previous

summer, when he desecratedgravesinallthreeofBoston’soldest burying grounds,includingthisone.

He drew his knife andlowered himself into acrouch,thebladeinonehand,the torch in the other.Marizhadhisknifeathisarm,readytocuthimselfforaconjuring.Ethanheldhisbladereadyaswell, but he didn’t wish to

conjure.DoingsowouldonlydrawRamsey’sattention.

“Those won’t do youmuch good against twoconjurers.”

“I’ll take my chances,”themansaid.

Ethan had to admire hiscourage, though he knew itwould do the sailor no good.A dark and eerie calm hadsettled over him. Never

before had he done what hecontemplatednow.Butneverbefore had he been sodesperate.

“It needn’t come to afight. I want to see yourcaptain; that’s all. I knowhe’s been eager to seeme aswell.Tellmewhereheisandyou’refreetogo.”

“I ain’ tellin’ younothin’.”

“Do you carry a pistol,Mariz?”Ethanaskedquietly.

The conjurer glanced hisway.“Yes,Ido.”

Ethan held out his hand.“Giveittome.”

The sailor had started toback away.Ethan feared thathewouldflee.

“Now!”hesaid,hisvoicecarrying across the buryingground.

Mariz reached into hiscoat pocket, removed theflintlock, and handed it toEthan.

Ethanwastednotime.Heraised the weapon, tookcareful aim, and fired. Thereport of the pistol wasdeafeningandseemedtoechoin every corner of the city.The soldier collapsed,wailing, clutching his

bloodied thigh. He haddroppedhisknifeandtorch—the latter sputtered and wentoutwhenithitthesnow.

Ethan walked to wherethemanlayandpocketedthedroppedblade.

“Now,” he said, kneelingnexttotheman.“Let’sbeginwith something easy, shallwe?What’syourname?”

“Go to hell,” the sailor

saidthroughclenchedteeth.“You’re unarmed, you’re

hurt, you’re cold and tired. Ican heal you. I’d be glad to.Or I can kill you, very, veryslowly.”

“Kaille—”“Quiet, Mariz.” To the

sailorhesaidagain,“Tellmeyourname.”

“Goaheadandkillme.”“YoubelievethatIwon’t.

Perhaps Ramsey hasconvincedyouthatI’mweak,that even when circumstancecalls for ruthlessness, I’mincapableofit.Notlongago,there might have been sometruth to that. But after whatyour captain has done to methese past few days, I assureyou, I am willing to dowhateverIhavetofindhim.”He flipped Mariz’s pistol in

the air and caught it by thebarrel. And still holding thesailor’sgaze,hepounded thebutt of the flintlock on thebullet wound in the sailor’sleg.

Theman roared his pain,tearsspringingfromhiseyes.

“This is going to getmuch, much worse if youdon’t start answering myquestions.”

When the sailor merelyglared back at him, Ethansaid, “You don’twish to tellme your name. That’s fine.TellmewhereRamseyis.”

Silence.He hammered at the

wound a second time,drawing a howl from thesailor.

“Ramsey has been usingmy power to cast spells.Did

you know that? Because ofhim, I bear some blame forthedeathofayoungboy.”Hehit the man again. “For thefracturing of a soldier’sskull.” He struck anotherblow.“Foratavernbrawlthatalmost killed the woman Ilove.” Another blow. “Andfor tonight’s shooting,whichkilled at least three men andcost my dearest friend his

arm.”He hit the soldier fourmoretimes.

By now the soldier waswrithing in agony, andwhimperinglikeabeatencur.Tinyspotsofblooddottedthesnow near his leg, and thebutt of Mariz’s pistol wasstickyandred.

“WhatwouldyouproposeIdo?”EthanaskedRamsey’sman, his voice sounding

disturbingly calm to his ownears. When the sailor didn’tanswer,hesaid,“I’matalossas well. I can’t allow this togo on. And with you here, Ihave the opportunity toascertain where Ramsey canbe found.Soyou see, I havenochoiceinthematter.Ibearyounomalice,butIalsohaveno particular reason to spareyou. Ramsey hasn’t cared

who he hurts or kills inseeking toavengehimselfonme. Why should I be anydifferent?”

A voice in his head—Kannice’s—answered hisown question: Because youare. But he ignored this, hiseyesfixedonthesailor.

Heheldout thepistol forMariz; the conjurer took itfrom him. Ethan held up his

bladeforthesailortosee.The man looked away,

fresh tears on his face, hisbreathingragged.

“Surely you understandby now how desperate I am.Howmuchareyouwillingtoendure for the sake ofRamsey’sblindvengeance?”

“He’s my captain,” themansaid.Heshookhishead.“Youwouldn’tunderstand.”

“I would, actually. I wasonceaseaman,asyouare.”

The sailor sneered. “Youwere a mutineer. A traitor.I’mnothin’likeyou.”

Ethan shrugged, and inone swift, brutally quickmotionhestabbeddownwithhis blade, burying it in theman’s leg an inch below thebulletwound.

The sailor screamed.

MarizletoutasharphissandgrabbedEthan’sshoulder.

Ethan shrugged him offbeforepullingthebladefree.

“Where is Ramsey?” heasked.

Thesailorhadfallenbackonto the ice. He sobbedsoftly,hiseyessqueezedshut,bloody fingers gripping hismutilatedleg.

“He is not going to tell

you,” Mariz said, his voicelowbuthard.

“Not yet. I don’t wish toalertRamsey toourpresencehere, but you may have toconjureafterall.”

“Iwon’t.”Ethan looked up at him.

“YouknowwhatRamseyhasdone.Andyou knowaswellthatifSephirawerehere,shewould be doing exactly as I

am.”“Yes, Kaille, she would!

Does that not tell you howwrong this is? You are notlike her. That is one of thereasons I have been pleasedto call you my friend.” Hegestured at the sailor. “Butthis…Thisispreciselywhatshewoulddo.”

Ethan turned back toRamsey’s man, who still lay

on his back, his chest risingand falling. Ethan’s handshadstartedshakingagain.HishatredforRamseychurnedinhis gut like bile. But Marizwas right. This man lyingbefore him had done nothingtohim.“WhatamIsupposedto do?” he whispered, histhroattight.

“I do not know,” Marizsaid. “Not this, though.

Surelynotthis.”Ethanexhaledthroughhis

teeth,hisshouldersslumping.He reached for the sailor’shands, but the man flinchedandtriedtocrawlaway.

“It’sallright,”Ethansaid.“I’mgoingtohealyou.”

Still the man resisted;whywouldn’the?

“Mariz.”The other conjurer knelt

beside him and removed thesailor’s hands from his leg.Ethan placed his hand overthe two wounds andwhispered, “Remedium excruoreevocatum.”

At the first touch of thehealingspell,thesailortensedand inhaled sharply throughhis teeth. But after a fewseconds his fists unclenchedand his breathing eased a

little.When the wounds had

healed over enough to stopbleeding, Ethan sat back onhis heels. The sailor waswatchinghim.

“You’ll need to have asurgeon work on that leg,”Ethansaid.

The man spoke not aword.

But a voice from behind

themsaid,“What’sthematterwithhisleg?”

Ethan had expected this.He stood and faced theillusion Ramsey hadconjured. “I shot him.Stabbedhim, too.Evennow,you inspire great loyalty inthemenofyourcrew.Hetoldmenothing.”

“You tortured him?” thefigureasked.

“Aye.”“And then you healed

him.”“Isupposethatmakesme

weak.”“It doesn’t make you

weak, but it is symptomaticofyourweakness.”

“If you care to tell mewhereyouare, I’llbringhimto you. Perhaps you have asurgeon among your crew

whocantendtohiswound.”“My thanks, but I’ll send

men for him.You’d best notbe there when they arrive.Therewill bemany of them,andthey’llallbearmed.”

“I’m going to find youeventually,Ramsey.”

“Perhaps. You might diefirst.”Thefiguregrinned.

Ethan turned and walkedaway.Marizfollowed.

“Harm one of my menagain,andthoseyoulovewillsufferevenmore.”

“Do not answer him,”Mariz said, whispering thewords.“Keepwalking.”

“Kaille!”Ethan heeded Mariz’s

advice.“Damnyou,Kaille!”A spell rang in the icy

ground. Reg appeared beside

him,awarninginhisbrillianteyes.Ethan had little time towonder what spell Ramseyhadcastnowusinghispower.

Painexplodedonthesideofhishead,behindhisear.

Ethanstumbledandfelltohis hands and knees. Marizkicked him in the gut,flippingEthanontohisback.

Ramsey’s illusionlaughed.

Mariz cut the back of hishand.

“Tegimen ex verbascoevocatum!” Ethan said,blurting thewords,andusingthe mullein he carried toprotect himself. He didn’tknow if he was still warded,and with Mariz being spell-crazed he wasn’t taking anychances.

Mariz’s conjuringhithim

an instant later, poundinghisbodylikeamightywave,butdoing no further damage.Ethandidn’tknowwhatspellSephira’s man had cast; heknew only that his wardinghadheld.

He kicked out, his bootcatchingMarizjustbelowtheknee.Themanlurchedbackastepbutthenrightedhimself.

Ethan tried to get to his

feet, but Mariz directed asecond conjuring at him, andhewas thrown to the groundonce more. His wardingprotected him from theeffects of the spell, but aslong as Mariz continued tohammer at him withconjurings Ethan would beunable to get away from thecemetery before Ramsey’smenarrived.

Unwillingtogivethemanthe chance to conjure again,heslicedtheskinonhishandand spoke a sleep spell. Theconjuring pulsed, and Marizreeled,asifkickedbyamule.But thespelldidnotputhimtosleep.

“You’ll have to do betterthanthat,Kaille.Asleepspellwon’t defeat his wardings.You’re going to have to kill

him,too.”With his next conjuring,

Marizdidnotattackdirectly.Rather, he made the torchRamsey’s man had beencarrying fly at Ethan’s head.Dark as it was, Ethan didn’trealizewhathehaddoneuntilit was too late; he only sawthe torch at the lastmoment.Ithithisforeheadashardasitwould have had the man

swung it like a club. Oncemore Ethan was knocked totheground.Addled,dizzy,helay still for several seconds,tryingtoclearhisvision.

He had no chance to getback up. Mariz loomed overhim, the torch in hand. HeaimedablowatEthan’sface,butEthanmanagedtorolloutof the way before the torchhithim.Asitwas,heheardit

whistlepastandslamintotheground. Shards of ice hit hisheadandneck.

Marizstruckathimagain,hittinghis side.Ethan let outa grunt; he thought he feltribscrack.

Hebitdownontheinsideof his cheek, tasting blood.Hewhispered a shatter spell.The wood splintered, sliversof the torch rained down on

him.BeforeMarizcouldkickhimagain,orworse,herolledaway and clambered to hisfeet.

Sephira’s man wasstalking him now, knife heldready, his eyes blank,passionless.

“Mariz,”hesaid.“It’sme.Lookmeintheeye.”

Mariz leaped at him,leadingwithhisblade.Itwas

a clumsy assault: too rushed,too reckless. Clearly Sephirahad hired the man for hisconjuringability,nothisskillasafighter.Ethandodgedtheattack, and struck a blow ofhisowntothesideofMariz’shead. Mariz reeled. Ethandoveat theman,pressinghisadvantage even as he suckedhis breath at the pain in hisside. GrabbingMariz around

the midsection, Ethan drovehim to the ground. Hepunched him once, and asecond time. The knifeslipped fromMariz’s fingers.Ethan grabbed it and shoveditintohispocket.

Hestartedtohisfeet,onlyto feel the pulse of anotherconjuring. It struck himsquarely in the chest, liftinghim off of his feet and

slamming him down. Hethought itmight have been ablade spell, one that wouldhaveslicedhiminhalfbutforhis warding. He realized,though, that the type ofconjuring was of littleimportance. Ramsey wantedto keep them fighting;nothingelsemattered.

“Mariz!Lookatme!”Sephira’s man was

standing once more,searchingforhisbladeor forthe torch. Seeing neither, hetook a step in Ethan’sdirection.

“He won’t listen to you,Kaille,” said Ramsey’sillusion. “And he won’t stopunless I tell him to.” Thefigure grinned. “And Iwon’t.”

Ethan didn’t wish to hurt

his friend, but it seemed hehad no other choice. He cuthimself and cast a fire spell,knowing that the conjuringwould slow Mariz downwithout penetrating hiswardings. Or assuming asmuch. As his conjuringdrummed in the earth, asecondspellmadethegroundtremble as well. And whenthe fire spell hit Sephira’s

man itnotonlyknockedhimover,italsoengulfedhiscoatin flames. Ramsey had usedEthan’s power to removeMariz’swarding.

Ethansworeandrantohisfriend, pulling off his owncoatsothathemightsmothertheblaze.Marizflailedathimwith his fists and feet, moreintent on fighting Ethan thanon saving his own life. But

Ethanusedhiscoattosubduethe man and extinguish thefire. And then he hit Marizagain and again until theconjurerlostconsciousness.

He heard a sharp soundand looking up realized thatRamsey’s illusion wasapplauding, that samemocking grin on the leanface.

“Well done,Kaille. I had

hoped youwould have to domore damage, but it wasentertaining nevertheless.AndnexttimeI’llturnamoreworthy opponent againstyou.” He looked backnorthward.Followingthelineof the figure’s gaze, Ethansawinthedistancemanymenapproaching, several of themcarrying torches. “My crew,”Ramsey said, facing Ethan

oncemore. “Youmightwanttobeonyourway.”

Breathing hard, the burnsonhishandsthrobbing,Ethanswung his coat back on,though it was still smoking.HeliftedMariz,gruntingwiththe effort, his battered ribsaching, and slung the manoverhisshoulder.

“I canmake youkill himright now,” Ramsey said.

“Youknowthat,don’tyou?”“Aye, Iknowit.Whatdo

you expect me to do,Ramsey?Surrender?”

“No, Kaille! I know youwon’t. That is what makesthis so delicious. You won’tsurrender.Icancountonthat.ButIthinkkillinghimsoundslike a fine idea. You don’treally want to carry himanyway, do you?” Ramsey’s

imagelaughed.“Kaille!”They both turned at the

sound of the voice. StephenGreenleaf stood a shortdistanceoff,aflintlockpistolinhishand.Butthathandhaddropped to his side and hiseyes were fixed on theglowing figure, his mouthhangingopen.

Ethan saw the sheriff’s

lips move and knew that hesaid the captain’s name. Butheheardnothing.

Ramsey’sillusionlaughedagain and glanced Ethan’sway. “I suppose your friendhas just been given areprieve. I assure you, it’sonlytemporary.”

Aninstantlaterhewinkedoutofsight.

Ethan exhaled. Ramsey’s

menwereapproachingandhedidn’t wish to be here whenthey arrived. But with thesheriff now hurrying towardhim,hecouldn’tflee.Notyet.

“That was Ramsey!”Greenleaf said.“Orat leastaghostofhim.”

“Aye,” Ethan said,shiftinghisgriponMariz.“Itwas a vision Ramseyconjuredtospeakwithme.”

“So,he’salive!”“I told you as much

earlierthisevening.”“I remember. I didn’t

believeyou.”“Ofcoursenot.”The sheriff looked down

at Ramsey’s man, who stilllayinthesnow,thebloodonhislegappearingblackinthemoonlight.“Who’sthis?”

“OneofRamsey’screw.”

“Whathappenedtohim?”“I tortured him.”

Greenleaf’s gaze snapped toEthan’sface,butEthandidn’tpause.“InanattempttolearnwhereRamseyishiding.”

“Youshothim.”“Aye.”“That’s what drew me

here.Iheardthegunshot.”Helifted his chin towardMariz,who was still slung over

Ethan’s shoulder. “Andwho’sthat?”

“Sephira’s man. Mariz. Ibeat him senseless afterRamseyusedaspell tomakehimattackme.”

The sheriff blinked.“Busynight.”

“Youcouldsaythat.”“Did you also murder a

manonLeveret’sLane?”“Jonathan Grant,” Ethan

said. “I was there when hedied,but itwasRamseywhocommitted the murder, againwith a spell.” He glancedonce more toward theapproachingmen.Theywereclose now. He could heartheir voices so clearly theycould have been speaking tohim.

“It didn’t look like aspell,” Greenleaf said. “It

looked like someone slashedhis throat.Youcarryaknife,don’tyou,Kaille?”

“It was a spell, Sheriff.Ramsey’sspell.”

“Damn you witches! Idon’t care what you call it:conjuring, witchery, blackmagick.It’sthedevil’swork.Ishouldhangthelotofyou.”He narrowed his eyes. “HowdoIknowyou’renotlyingto

me? How do I know youdidn’t conjure that image ofRamseytofoolme?”

“You don’t. Can we bemoving, Sheriff? Those areRamsey’s men, and they’renot going to be happy withme after what I’ve done totheirfriend.”

Without waiting for ananswer, Ethan started away.His back and shoulders

already ached, and he had alongwalkaheadofhim.

“Tell me about Grant,”Greenleafsaid,fallinginstepbesidehim.

Ethan explained to thesheriffwhat he could, takinggreat pains to avoid sayinganythingthatGreenleafcouldpoint to as evidence of hisconjuring abilities. Theresulting narrative served

only to deepen the sheriff’sfrustration.

“I understand little ofthis,” he said, “and I believeevenless.Ishouldthrowyouin the gaol and hang youcomethemorn.”

Ethan was too weary toargue. “Perhaps you should.And then you can fightRamseyonyourown.”

“I’mnotsureRamsey—”

Ethan halted, swayingunder Mariz’s weight.“Ramsey is here, in Boston.Heisresponsibleformurdersand bloodshed. You canbelievethatornot,butit’sthetruth. I intend to kill himwhen I find him, and thenyou’ll know that I wasn’tlying to you. But for noweitherhelpmecarrythismantherestofthewaytoSummer

Street,orleavemeinpeace.”Greenleaf regarded him

for several seconds, his lipspressed in a flat line. “Killhim then. I want to see thebody. If you can do that, I’llnot trouble you about Grant.Butifyoucan’t,you’llswingfor his murder. I guaranteeit.” He started to say more,but then seemed to thinkbetter of it. In the end, he

merely turned and stalkedbacktowardthecenterof thecity.

Ethan watched him go,adjusted his hold on Mariz,and marshaled his strengthforwhatremainedofhiswalktoSummerStreet.

***

The first faint glow of dawnhad touched the eastern sky

over the harbor when Ethanagain rapped on Sephira’sdoor. He had longer to waitthis time, andwhen the dooropened Ethan found himselfface-to-face with an Africanservant he had never beforeseen.ThemanwasastallandbrawnyasAftonandGordon,butheworeasuitratherthantheclothesofastreettough.

“I have Mariz,” he said,

barely getting thewords out.He was breathless. His legsshook with the effort ofremainingupright.“MynameisKaille.”

Themanbentlowtopeerup at Mariz’s face. Heseemed to recognize him,because he motioned Ethaninto the house and shut thedoor.

“I’ll wake Miss Pryce,”

the man said. He pointedtowardthesittingroom.“Youmaysethimonthedaybed.”

EthancarriedMariztothesitting room, lowered himonto the daybed, andcollapsed to the floor. Therehe sat, with his backcushionedagainst the sofaashe tried to catch his breath.When he could muster thestrength, he pulled off his

coat, slipped his knife fromhisbelt,andcuthimself.Withhis first spell, he lit severalcandlesintheroom.Whenhecouldseewellenough,hecuthimself a second time,dabbed some blood on theburns that covered Mariz’sneck and jaw, and cast ahealingspell.

He still held his handsover the burns when Sephira

entered the room, her eyesblearywith sleep, her hair intangles. It was, he realized,thefirst timehehadseenherlook anything less thanperfect. And still she waslovely.

“Whathappenedtohim?”she asked, her voicemore ofaraspthanitsusualpurr.

“Afirespell,”Ethansaid.“He has burns on his neck

andface.”“FromRamsey?”Ethan answered with a

small shrug. “In a way.Ramsey used a spell to turnMariz against me, the sameway he made Gordon attackWill Pryor. Mariz and Ibattledwith spells, and sinceMariz had warded himself,my spells didn’t do muchmore than knock him back a

step or two. But as I cast afire spell, Ramsey removedMariz’swarding.”

“Soyoudidthistohim.”Ethanmethergaze.“Aye.

It wasn’t my intention, but Ididit.”

“And the bruises on hisface?”

“Those I did intend. Ididn’twant touseconjuringstosubduehim,soIbeathim.”

She nodded. “You don’tappear to be hurt; are yourspellsthatmuchstrongerthanMariz’s?”

“Notatall.Ramseydidn’tremove my warding; that’sthe only reason my spellworkedwhenMariz’s didn’t.Andasfornotbeinghurt,I’mreasonably certain that yourfriend here broke one or twoofmyribs.”

Sephirasmirked.“Remindmetoincreasehispay.”

Ethan’s laugh quicklyturnedtoawince.

“You haven’t healedyourself?”

He shook his head.“Mariz’s injuries are worsethan mine. And I’mresponsibleforthem.”

“I don’t pretend to knowmuch about your witchery,

Ethan, but from all that Igather, you’re notresponsible. Mariz attackedyou.Isn’tthatright?”

“Well,yes.”“Andyou thought thathe

was protectedwhen you castyourspell,didn’tyou?”

“Aye,Iwassureofit.”“Ramsey is terribly

clever,” she said. “And asmuch as I hate him, that’s a

difficult admission for me.”She ran a hand through herknotted curls. “Your greatestweakness has always beenthat you’re too kind, toosentimental.”

“Aye, you’ve told me asmuch.”

“And Ramsey is usingthat weakness to hisadvantage. You’re notresponsible for the things he

does, even if he uses yourmagicking to do them. Butyou’re so racked with guilt,youcan’tseethat.”

“Are you trying to helpme,Sephira?”

She scowled. “It’s thehour.Ifthesunwasfullyup,I’d bemore than glad to seeyousuffer.”

Ethan smiled. Heremoved his hands from

Mariz’s burns and leanedcloser to see how they hadhealed.

“He should be all right,”Ethansaid.

“Theburnsonhiscoatareblackeningmydaybed.”

“Aye.Youcantakeitoutof his increased wage.” Hecut himself a third time, andlifting his shirt, rubbed someblood on the skin over his

sore ribs. He could feel thebroken bone—a clean break.He’d been more fortunatethanDiver.

“Remedium ex cruoreevocatum.”Healing,conjuredfromblood.

Sephirawatched him, hereyes luminous in thecandlelight.

“So what do yousuggest?” Ethan asked,

avoiding her gaze, feelingoddlyuncomfortablewithhereyesuponhim.

“I don’t know,” she said.“I don’t suffer from thisparticular malady—guilt andkindnessdon’tcomenaturallyto me—and so I have littleexperience with banishingthem frommy thoughts. Butthat, it seems tome, is whatyou need to do. These are

Ramsey’scrimes,notyours.”Ethan felt the bone

knitting beneath his hands.After a few moments more,he was able to move anddraw a deep breath withouttoo much pain. He pulleddownhisshirtandstood.

“Weneedtowakehim.”A frown furrowed

Sephira’s brow. “The nightGordon beat that boy, you

were afraid towake him lestherenewhisassault.”

“Iremember.ButifI’mtodefeat Ramsey, I’ll needMariz’s help, and I can’tafford to wait another day.We’llwakehim,andifIhaveto, I’llusea spell toputhimtosleep.Ramseyremovedhiswarding; Idon’t thinkheputitbackinplace.”

Sephira did not look

happy. “I don’t want aconjuring war in my sittingroom.”

“NeitherdoI.”He pushed up his sleeve

andcuthisforearm,allowingthe blood to well from thewound.“Wakehim,”hesaid.

Sephiraeyedhisknifeandbloody arm the way shemightapistolinthehandsofa rival. But she knelt beside

thedaybedandgaveMarizagentleshake.

“Mariz, wake up. I needtospeakwithyou.”Hedidn’tstir, and she glanced up atEthanagain.

“Try again,” Ethan said.“Usemyname.”

Her frown deepened.“Mariz, Kaille is here. Hewantsawordwithyou.Wakeup now. You need to speak

withhim.”Mariz gave a low moan,

his eyelids twitching but notopening.

“Mariz—”“Yes, Senhora,” he said,

soundinggroggy.“Ihearyou.YousaythatKailleishere?”

Sephira looked at Ethanagain.“That’sright.”

Ethan tightened hisgrippedonhisblade.

“That is good,” Marizsaid. He opened his eyes,squeezed themshut,butonlyfor a second.His eyes foundSephira first, then shifted toEthan.Hesatupandtouchedtheburnsonhisface.

“Ramsey set me againstyou,”hesaid.

Ethannoddedandallowedhimself to relax. “Aye, hedid.”

“He should not have. Iknowwhereheis.”

ChapterTWENTY-TWO

Ethan hardly dared hope that

he had heard the mancorrectly. “How is thatpossible?”

“Isensedhisconjuring,asI would if he had cast thespell on his own rather thanthrough you. I do not knowwhy I was able to—perhapsbecause tocontrolme in thatway he had to use both hispower and yours. But Ibelieve I can lead you to

him.”“Where?” Ethan asked.

“Whereishe?”“InNewBoston,near the

spurof land that juts into theCharlesRiver.”

“Barton’sPoint?”Sephiraasked.

“Yes,nearthere.”“There are shipyards

there,”SephirasaidtoEthan.“Warehouses. There’s also a

ropeyardalongWiltshire.”“Aye. He and his crew

couldbeinanyoneofthose.”Shestood.“Nap,Gordon,

and the others will be herebefore long. We’ll go withyou.”

“No,”Ethansaid.“Ican’trisk taking anyone with me.Ramseywillusemypowertocontrol you, and we’ll windupfightingeachotherinstead

ofhim.”“We’vefoughteachother

before,”Sephirasaid.“We’rerathergoodatit.”

“I’mserious,Sephira.”“So am I. Do you

honestlybelieve thatyoucandefeat him on your own?Despite all evidence to thecontrary?”

“I don’t know. But I’mcertainthatifIhaveyouwith

me, or Mariz, or Janna, oranyone else, it will be moredifficult to fight him ratherthanless.”

“Theremustbesomewayfor you to ward yourselfagainsthim,”Marizsaid.“Allspells can be defeated; ourtaskistodeterminehow.”

“I’ve tried differentwardings,andtonoavail.Heknows my conjurings too

well.”Mariz staredbackathim,

hiseyeswideningabit.“Heknowsmyconjurings

too well,” Ethan said again,excitement seeping into hisvoice.“Butnotyours.Whatifyouweretoputawardingonme using the herbs I boughtfrom Janna. The spell wouldbe every bit as strong, butbecause it wasn’t mine,

Ramseymightnotfindawaypastit.”

“Thiscouldwork,”Marizsaid. “Although, I waswarded tonight as well, andhe mastered me using yourpower.”

“I had forgotten that.”With the memory, came adampening of Ethan’s initialenthusiasm.

“Still, Kaille, it might

slow him, even if only for amoment.Perhaps thatwillbeenough.”

It wasn’t much; it washardly anything. But it wasall they had, and Mariz wasright. If they could confoundRamsey,evenforthebriefestinstant,itmightgivethemtheadvantage they needed todestroy him. He pulled thepouches of herbs from his

coat pockets, removed threeleavesfromeach,andhandedtheleavestoMariz.

The conjurer placed theleavesinhispalmandopenedhismouth.Butthenhecloseditagain.“Iamnotsureofthewording,”hesaidafterafewseconds.

“Your warding on me,”Ethan said. “Sourced in theherbs. That would be

simplest. And use my name.The more specific the spell,themorepowerfulitseemstobe.”

“Yes, all right.” Marizheld out his hand again, theleaves piled in his palm.“MeumtegimenproKaille,exverbasco et marrubio etbetonica evocatum.” MywardingoverKaille,conjuredfrommullein,horehound,and

betony.The spell growled like

some beast from hell,seemingtoshakethemansionto its foundations. Mariz’sspectralguide,theyoungmanin Renaissance garb,appearedbesidehimandeyedEthanwithinterest.

“The leaves are gone,”Sephira said in a hushedvoice.

“Aye,”Ethan said. “Let’shopethatmeansitworked.”

“Nowyou’ll takeuswithyou?”sheasked.

He hesitated, but not forlong.Hewouldneedherhelpgetting past Ramsey’s crew,justashewouldneedMariz’shelp to overcome thecaptain’s conjurings. “I’d begrateful,”hesaid.

Sephira nodded. “Good.

I’mgoingtodress.Whenwasthelasttimeyouate?”

Ethan allowed himself abreathless laugh. “I couldn’ttellyou.”

“I assumed as much. I’llhave breakfast prepared.We’ll eat, and then we’llhunt.”

***

By the time the sun was up

andshiningthroughSephira’swindows, Nap, Gordon, andAfton had arrived at themansion.So, too,hadseveralof Sephira’s other toughs,men with whom Ethan hadbut limited contact. Sephirahad returned to the diningroom, dressed as usual inblack breeches, a white silkshirt, and awaistcoat that fitherwithunnervingsnugness.

Nap and the two brutesEthanknewsowellcouldnotmasktheirsurpriseatfindinghim already in the house,supping with Sephira at atable laden with breads,cheeses, eggs, and sweetpastries. Nap and Gordonexchangedaquick look;Napeven raised an eyebrow.Ethan suppressed a grin. Letthe men believe what they

would. For this day, at least,heandSephirawereallies,asthey had been when lastRamsey cast his spells inBoston.

“We need to locateRamsey and his men moreprecisely,” Sephira said,sipping coffee and watchingas Ethan filled his plate yetagain. “You can find himwith your witchery, can’t

you?”“Ican,”Ethansaid,“butI

won’t.”“Whyonearthnot?”Ethan shifted his gaze to

Mariz. While Sephira wouldbemore thanwilling to helpEthankillRamsey,shewouldbe lesseager to followEthaninto the coming battle. Shetrustedinherownleadership,and no one else’s, andEthan

assumedthat thiswasmerelythe first in what would be aseries of questions regardinghisdecisions.Thisdaywouldbe easier if Mariz wouldexplain at least some of thechoicesEthanmade.

Sephira’smanappearedtounderstand.

“The conjuring of whichyou speak, Senhora, is afindingspell. Itwill allowus

to locate Ramsey, but it willalso alertRamsey to the factthat we are coming. He willfeel the conjuring and thusprepare himself for ourarrival.”

“He doesn’t think wehaveanyideaofwhereheis,”Ethansaid.“Forthefirsttimesince all this began,we havean advantage, however smallitmightbe.Iwon’tsquander

itforconvenience.”Sephira didn’t mask her

displeasure at having hersuggestiondismissed,butsheacquiescedwithacurtnod.

Ethan ate what remainedof his breakfast, and pushedback from her table, feelingconsiderablybetterforhavingeatenadecentmeal.Hecouldhave donewith a few hours’slumber, but he didn’t dare

delaytheirconfrontationwithRamseyanylonger.

Sephira stood as well.“Have my carriage broughtaround to the front of thehouse,”shesaidtoAfton.

The big man lumberedtowardthebackentrance.

“Thetwoofyouwillridewith me,” she said to Ethanand Mariz. “The others willfollowus.”

“Aye, all right. But heedme, Sephira. Ramsey’s menarenottheenemy.MarizandIwill try first to put them tosleep. Failing that, you andyourmenwillhavenochoicebuttofightthem.Ifsometrytoescape,letthemgo.Ifyoucan overcome them withblades and fists, do so.Onlyresort to pistols if nothingelseworks.”

“Are you truly trying toinstruct me in the art offighting?” she asked, hervoice cold, the look in hereyesashardassapphires.

“I’mtellingyounottokillthemunlesstheyleaveyounootherchoice.”

“DoyouexpectRamsey’smen tobesogentle?Willheinstruct them to spare ourlives?Orwill he direct them

todomurder,andwillhedoabit of killing himself, as hedidwhenNigeldied?”

Itwasthefirsttimeeitherof them had spoken to theother of Nigel Billings, theman in her employ whomRamsey had killed with aspell, since theyellow-hairedman’s funeral the previoussummer.Ethanhadnoanswerforherrighteousrage.

“Wegotofight,”shesaid.“If I tell my men to holdback, Iput their livesat risk.Even you should understandthat.”

“We’re better than he is,Sephira.Weshouldfightthatway.”

She shookherhead. “I’mnot.”

“Yes, you are,” he said,surprising himself and her.

“You’re better than Ramsey.He doesn’t scruple to kill,evenifhisvictimshavedonenothingwrongother thangetin his way. You’re …different…”

Her smile was thin, andyet somehow genuine.“Sayingitdoesn’tmakeitso.I’m more like Ramsey thaneitheryouor Iwouldcare toadmit. I’mhelpingyou today

becauseI’vesworntoavengeNigel’s death. And you’reallowing me to come withyou because you need me,andyouneedMariz.Butlet’snot lie to each other. I’vekilledfornomorereasonthanyou assigned to Ramsey’scrimes.AndIwillagain.Youof all people know this.Tomorrow, when Ramsey isdead, and you and I are no

longer allies, you’ll hate meoncemore,asyoudidbeforeyou knew that Ramsey wasbackinBoston.”

“Andyou’llhateme.”Her smile this time was

reflexive and cruel. “No, Iwon’t, Ethan. You’re notimportant enough to me toinspiresuchpassiononewayoranother.”

Ethan laughed, but his

mirthwasshort-lived;heandSephira were left eyeing oneanother.

“You can try your sleepspell,” she said. “And mymenwillusepistols as a lastresort. But we fight as wealways fight, and woe toRamsey’s men if they darestandagainstus.”

It was more than Ethanhadexpectedfromher,andas

much as he could reasonablyask.Shewasright:Ifhermenfoughttimidly,afraidtostrikea killing blow, they wouldimperiltheirownlives.

“Fairenough.”They left the mansion a

few minutes later, Sephirawearinganelegantblackcapeover her street clothes. SheandEthan sat in the carriageopposite Mariz and Nap,

whileGordonperchedon thebox and took up the reins.Behind the carriage, Aftonstoodwith tenmoremen, allof them armed with blades.Ethanhadnodoubt that theyall carried flintlocks as well,but for now they kept themconcealed.

Thedayhaddawnedclearandcold,thoughnotasbitingas recentmorningshadbeen.

The sun on Sephira’s snow-covered gardens was almostblinding, anda flockof jays,theirplumageamatchforthecloudlesssky,scoldedfromabarebirch treeat thefrontofthe house. It was too fine amorning for what they wereabouttodo.

They followed SummerStreet toWinter, andWinterto the edge of the Common.

Here, they turnedandskirtedthe open land, rolling by theGranaryBuryingGroundandpast King’s Chapel ontoTreamount Street and thenSudbury, so that they passedin front of Kannice’s tavern.Sephira watched Ethan asthey went by the Dowser,curiosity in her cold eyes.Ethan gazed back at her,impassive.Buthedidwonder

what Kannice would havethought had she seen him insuchcompany.

A short distance beyondthe tavern door, they turnedonto Hillier’s Lane and thenGreenLane,whichtookthemthrough the heart of NewBoston. The men walkingbehind the carriage had beenspeaking in low voices, butthey fell silent now. Ethan

felt his apprehension risingand saw that Sephira’sexpression had turned grim.She stared out the carriagewindow, the muscles in herjawbunched.

“Near here, Mariz?”Ethanasked.

“Farther,Ithink.Closertothepoint.”

They reached the cornerofLeveret’sStreetandturned

duenorth.Ethanpushedopenthecarriagedoorandhoppedoutonto the lane.He slippedontheicebutrightedhimselfwithout falling. Mariz joinedhim, and then Sephira andNap.

“I take it we’re walkingnow,”Sephirasaid,hervoicedry.

“I’m not surewhatwe’relooking for,” Ethan said,

shieldinghiseyesagainst theglarewithanopenhand,andscanning the road. “But Iassume that whereverRamsey is hiding will beguardedbyatleastoneman.”

Thenorthern endofNewBoston sloped gently to thewater’s edge, affording thema view of the streets andbuildings to the north. NearBarton’s Point and Berry’s

Shipyard sat several ropeyards and their warehouses.Ethan paused and pointed,lookingatMariz.

“There?”Ethanasked.“I am not certain.

Perhaps.”They walked on, trailed

by the carriage, now empty,andSephira’sgangoftoughs.

“He may not have menguarding whatever building

he is in,” Mariz said. “It ispossiblehebelievesdetectionspellsaremorereliable.”

It was a fair point.Detection spells wereconjurings thatworkedmuchas did a spider’s web: Theyonly took effect whensomeone or something camein contact with a primaryspell. Once disturbed, thisfirst conjuring tripped a

second. Ramsey had usedthem against Ethan and hisallies during their lastencounter.

Sephira regarded them,fists on her hips. “So, it’spossible that we could beattacked by witchery at anymoment, without warning. Isthatright?”

“Aye,”Ethansaid.“Whatever your faults,

Ethan, outings with you areneverdull.”

They walked on pastLee’s Shipyard. No onespoke, but the turning ofcarriage wheels and thefootsteps of more than adozen on ice-crusted snowwere loudenough to alert allto their approach. Ethan feltexposed on the open road; itwas only a matter of time

beforeRamsey’smenspottedthem.

Ethan kept his eyestrained on the rope yardwarehouses. He saw nothingthere that made him believeoneofthemheldRamseyandhis crew, but still his gazewas drawn to the buildings.When they reached the lane,Ethanturnedwestward.

“Why are you turning

here?”Marizasked.“Idon’tknow.Isensethat

Ramsey is in one of thosewarehouses.Ifyouthinkhe’selsewhere, say so. OtherwiseI’mgoingthisway.”

Mariz shared a glancewith Sephira and shrugged.Theyfollowedhim.

The street ended atWiltshire;Ethanturnedtothenorth oncemore.And as the

others joined him on thebroader lane, he caught aglimpseatlastofwhathehadbeen searching for. The doorto one of the warehousesswung open and then closedagainwith a sharp crack thatreached his ears a secondlater.

“Didyouseethat?”Ethanasked,pointingagain.

“I heard something,”

Marizsaid.“Thatisall.”“Someone entered that

warehouse.”Sephira gave a doubtful

look. “And you think it wasRamsey?”

“Idon’tknow.Whoeveritwas couldn’t be seen. Ibelieve he was under aconcealmentspell.”

“So, Ramsey knows nowthat we are coming.” Mariz

removed his spectacles andwiped the lenses with akerchief. “Perhaps it is timetouseaspell.”

“Whatsort?”Ethanasked.“I would like to know if

he has cast detection spells.During our previousencounter,henearlykilledusallwiththem.”

“Youknowsuchaspell?”Sephiraasked.

“We do now,” Ethananswered.“Eachofusmadeapoint of learning it after ourlastbattle.”ToMarizhesaid,“As you say, they knowwe’re here; there’s no longeranyreasonnottocastit.”

Sephira’s man shruggedoffhiscoatandpusheduphissleeve.Ethandidthesame.

“I can cast the spell,Kaille.”

“We’ll cast together,”Ethan said. “As we did thelast timewe foughthim.Ourspellswillbestronger.”

Mariznodded.“Ensnarements of

magick,” Ethan said. “Thatwould be the wording, Ithink.”

“Yes, that is how Ilearneditaswell.”

Takingcaretomatchtheir

movements, they cut theirforearms and then saidtogether, “Pateant omnesinsidiae magicae, ex cruoreevocatum.” Let allensnarements of magick beunveiled, conjured fromblood.

The spell roared in thestreet, spreading from wheretheystoodaswouldafindingspell used to locate a

conjurer.An instant later, Sephira

letoutasmallgasp.Mere feet in front of

them, a thin wall of aquapower shimmered faintly inthe bright daylight. Severalyards past this barrier stoodanother. A third wavered inthe sun closer to thewarehouse, and still anotherawaited them just before the

warehousedoor.As the spellhe and Mariz had castcontinued to wash over NewBoston, otherwalls appearedblocking other routes to thewarehouse. There were evenbarriers shimmering over thewater.Hecouldseenowaytoapproachthebuildingwithoutsetting off at least threeconjurings.

“Theremustbeadozenof

them,” Sephira said. “Howcan that be? These streetsaren’tascrowdedas those inother parts of Boston, butthey’renotdeserted,either.”

“Iwould imagine,”Ethansaid,“thattheyonlyworkifaconjurer disturbs the primaryspell. If Mariz touches thatbarrier,or if Ido, the secondspellwillbemadeactive.Butyou and your men can walk

throughthematwill.Ramseydoesn’tfearyou.”

“Heshould.”Ethan didn’t answer, and

Sephira, despite her bravewords,gavenoindicationthatsheintendedtogoonwithouthim.

“We should ward them,”Ethan said, after consideringthe detection spells for sometime.

Sephira shook her head.Ethan knew that she dislikedrelying on “witchery” foranything,muchlessthesafetyof herself and her men. “Ithought yourwardings didn’twork against Ramsey’sspells,”shesaid.

“My wardings can stopspellssuchasthese.Buttheyhaven’t worked againstwhatever conjuring he is

using to gain access to mypower.ItwasforthosespellsthatMarizcastthewardinginyourhome.”

“Fine,”shesaid,soundingimpatient.“Getonwithit.”

Together, Ethan andMarizplacedawarding spellon their entire company—themselves, as well asSephira and her other men.Ethan hoped that it would

hold against the detectionspellsRamseyhadcast.

Uncle Reg had appearedbesideMariz’s spectralguideand was regarding Sephirawith unconcealed hostility.Even ifEthanwaswilling totrust her for this day, hisghostremainedwary.

I want you to stay withme. He didn’t speak thewords aloud, but Reg

perceived them anyway. Theghost’sgazefoundhisandhenoddedhisassent.

“You and your menshouldwaithere,”EthansaidtoSephira. “Mariz and Iwillgo ahead.When we’ve dealtwith all the spells, you canjoinus.”

“That’s not what weagreedtobackatmyhome.”

“I didn’t know then how

many detection spellsRamsey would cast. Let medo this, Sephira. You can’thelpuswith these spells, butyoucanbekilledbythem.”

She glowered, tight-lipped, her eyes shockinglyblueinthebrightglareofthesunandsnow.“Fine.”

Ethan and Mariz edgedclosertothefirstshimmeringbarrier.If thedetectionspells

Ramsey had used lastsummerwere any indication,this first spell would simplyalert Ramsey to theirapproach—it would be thesecond, third, and fourth thatwere intended to kill. Thenagain, Ramsey could hardlybecalledpredictable.

They halted inches fromthe spell and exchangedlooks. Ethan raised his hand

tothelevelofhischest.“Are you ready?” he

asked.Marizplantedhisfeetand

dippedhischinonce.Ethan extended his hand

to the glowing wall ofmagick.

As soon as he grazed thebarrier with his palm, thegroundshookwiththepowerofRamsey’sconjuring.Aball

of fire flew from the wall,striking Ethan in the chestandliftinghimoffthelane.

He landed on his backalmost at Sephira’s feet,dazed, his back and chestaching.Flamesburnedonhiswaistcoat and licked at hisface and neck and chest.Heat, pain; for a panickedinstant, he thought that hiswarding had failed and that

he was on fire. He began toroll back and forth, only torealize that the flames wereneither spreading nor goingout. Indeed, though he couldfeel the heat of them, theyweren’t actually burning hisclothing or his flesh. Hestopped trying to put out thefire and climbed to his feet,feeling like he had been runoverbySephira’scarriage.

“So much for the spellsonly warning him of ourapproach,” Ethan said underhisbreath.

Sephira watched him,seemingunsureofwhethertobe alarmed or amused.“What?”

“Itdoesn’tmatter,”Ethansaid.Theflamesstillclungtohischest,theheatrisingtohisface. Even knowing that it

wasn’tdoinganydamage,hefound the sensationdisconcertingtosaytheleast.

He cut his arm.“Exstingue ignem,” he said.“Ex cruore evocatum.”Extinguish flames, conjuredfromblood.

The fire vanished with asmallpop, likethecrackleofdriedwoodinahearth.

Ethan walked back to

whereMarizstood.“You are all right?” the

conjurerasked.“Aye.”The first barrier had

vanished with the fire spell.The second one stillglimmered in the sun a fewpacesfartherdownthestreet.

“Shallwe?”Ethansaid.Theywalkedonuntilthey

reached the next shimmering

wall. Sephira and her menadvancedaswell,thoughtheystopped well short of thedetectionspell.

OncemoreEthanreachedout toward the conjuring.Hedidn’trelishtheideaofbeingassaulted again, but he knewthat hewould face farworsefrom Ramsey before the daywas out. He couldn’t allowhimself to be cowed by one

detectionspell.As soon as his hand

touched this second spell, aring of flame burst from theice,encirclinghimandMariz.Immediately, the ring beganto contract, closing on themlikeafierynoose.

Mariz already had bloodonhisarm.Ethancuthimselfaswell.

“Extinguish flames,” he

said.“Quickly!”“Exstingue ignem,” they

said as one. “Ex cruoreevocatum!”

Their spell pulsed; theblazewaveredasfromagustofwind.Butthistimenothingelse happened. The heat ofthe fire was growing moreintense, melting the ice andsnow on the road and stillpressing in on them. He

sensed that these flames,unlikethefirstthathadstruckhim,wouldburnthemdespitetheirwardings.

“Perhaps we can escapethem without conjuring,”Marizsaid.

Ethan nodded. Shieldingtheir faces with their arms,they ran toward the edge ofthe flames, only to find thatthe ring of fire moved with

them, evenas it continued totighten. Ethan could almosthearRamseychuckling.

“Opposite directions,”Ethansaid.

HeranonewayandMarizthe other, but the ringelongated and narrowed tomatch their movements.There would be no escapingtheflamesinthismanner.

“I would entertain any

ideasyoumighthave,”Ethansaid,hisvoicetightasheandMariz walked toward eachotheroncemore.

“I was about to say thesame.”

Ethan judged that theyhad but one option left. “Iused thiswhenIwas trappedin the warehouse at Drake’sWharf. It saved my life andkept me from burning, but I

couldstillfeeltheheat.”“Whatisthewording?”“Protection from fire,”

Ethan said. The flames werealmostuponthem.

“Allright.Letustry.”They cut themselves and

said together, “Tegimencontra ignem ex cruoreevocatum.” Protection fromfire,conjuredfromblood.

The spell pulsed and the

blood vanished from theirarms.EthanlookedatRegtosee if the ghost thought thespellhadworked,butalreadythe spectral guide wasstanding in the fire. Ethancouldseenothingofhimsavehisglowingeyes.

A moment later theflames reached them. Ethancouldn’tkeepfromscreamingat the pain. Mariz roared in

agony as well. For severalterrifying seconds, whichmight as well have been aneternityoftorment,theywerein the flames, surrounded bythem. Ethan thought his skinmust be peeling away; withevery breath he felt like hewasinhalingmoltensteel.

And then the ring wassmall enough that they couldstagger out of it on the far

side.Ethancollapsedandwasvaguely aware that Marizhad,too.Butwhenhelookedat his hands and his clotheshesawthat,asintheburningwarehouse at the wharf, hehadcomethrough thisordealunscathed. The ring of flamehad become a narrowcylinder, and as he watched,it closed on itself andvanished in a puff of pale

graysmoke.“It’s fire,”Ethansaid,his

voice sounding thin. “All ofthese detection spellswill befireconjuringsofonekindoranother.”HelookedatMariz.“It’s his revenge for whathappenedatDrake’sWharf.”

“Does that mean youknow how to stop them?”Sephira asked, walking towherehestilllay.

“No,” Ethan said. “Weknow what to expect, butthat’sall.”

“What does it matter ifyoucan’tpreventit?”

Ethan forced himself tohis feet. “I suppose itdoesn’t.”

He helpedMariz up, andthey continued toward theend of the lane and the nextdetection spell, which still

glowed with Ramsey’s aquapower. Sephira and her menfollowed more closely thanEthanwould have liked. Buthe hadwarned her once, andhe didn’t wish to argue withheragain.

“I should thank you forthat last spell,”Mariz saidasthey walked. “I believe Iwould have died had I beenalone.”

“You’re welcome. Butthinking about it, I’m notentirely convinced that wewould have died, evenwithouttheprotectionspell.Idon’tbelievehewishestokillus with these conjurings. Hewantstodefeatmeincombat.The spells are intended tomake us suffer, and todemonstrate his clevernessandhispower.”

“That bodes ill for thisnextspell.”

Ethan couldn’t argue.They stopped before thisglowing barrier as they hadbeforethefirsttwo.Takingalongbreath,Ethantouchedit,wincing in anticipation ofpainatthehumofpower.

For the span of aheartbeat, nothing happened.One of Sephira’s men

shouted a warning. Ethanspun, but was pushed to thesidebeforehecouldseewhathadpromptedthecry.Hefell.Andaninstantlater,aballofflame crashed into theground,hittingthespotwherehehadbeenstanding.

He hadn’t time to thankMariz for saving him. In thenextmoment,blazingspheresthe size of snowballs were

pelting down on all of them.He smelled burning hair andclothing, heard screams ofpain. And he could donothing more than cover hisheadandneck.Fierymissilesscorched his arms and legs,his back and head. Theirwarding offered noprotection;thereseemedtobenoescape.

Ethan knew that his

waistcoathadcaughtfire,buthe didn’t dare roll to put outtheblaze, lest anotherballofflamestrikehisfaceorchest.He cowered and endured theassault, which seemedinterminable.

And then itwas over.Assuddenly as the salvo began,it ended. Ethan managed tosmother the flames burningonhisback, thoughhe could

feel that his waistcoat wasmostly gone. His flesh wastender,probablyblistered.

Mostoftheotherswereinasimilarstate.Sephira’scapewascharredinseveralplaces,and some of her hair hadburned.Ethanwasn’t surehehad ever seen her lookmoreangry. Several of her toughsboreuglyburnsontheirarmsandfaces.Onemanlayonthe

ground, most of his clothingand hair burned away, hisbodylivid,hisskinmeltedinplaces.

“IswearI’mgoingtokillhim,” Sephira said, staringdown at her wounded man.“AndI’llenjoydoingit.”

Mariz’s injuries weresimilar to Ethan’s. This timeitwashewhohelpedEthantohisfeet.

“Onemore,”hesaid.Grim, and every bit as

angry as Sephira, Ethantrudged on to the warehouseand the final barrier, Marizbesidehim.

Ethan and the othershalted just outside the ropeyard warehouse. He had yettoseeanyofRamsey’screw;he assumed that the sailorsawaited theminside.Sephira,

he noticed, had her flintlockinhand,asdidseveralofhermen. He eyed the weaponbefore raising his gaze tohers.She staredbackat him,eyes blazing, daring him totellherthatsheshouldputthepistolaway.

He said nothing, butturned back to the last ofRamsey’sconjuredbarriers.

Asimplefirespell,aring

of flame, fireballs rainingdown upon them. What hadRamsey saved for this finalspell?

“The ground,” hewhispered. Then louder, sothatMarizandSephirawouldhear, he said again, “Theground. It’s going tomelt orturntoflame,orsomethingofthe sort.That’swhat this lastconjuringwilldo.”

“How do you know?”Sephiraasked.

“I’mguessing.But I trustmyinstinctsinthis.”

“Sowhatshouldwedo?”“I’m less certain about

that.”He raisedhishandandhelditahairsbreadthfromthebarrier.“Bepreparedtorun.”

He pressed his palm intothe shimmeringwall and feltthefamiliarreleaseofpower.

The ground beneath himstartedtogiveway.

Behind him, several mencried out. Rather thanretreatingtowardthem,Ethanleaped forward and crashedinto thewarehouse door.Histeeth rattled with the impactand pain blossomed in hisshoulder. But the doorjambgave way with a rending ofwood. He toppled into the

building, sprawling onto thedirtfloor,whichwasassolidas the ground outside hadbeen before Ramsey’s lastdetectionspell.

“Atlast,”camearasping,uneven voice from the farsideof thewarehouse. “Nowour battle can commence inearnest.”

ChapterTWENTY-THREE

Ethan jumped up, expecting

to be beset by spells andarmed sailors. But no attackcame,andhewaslefttostareacross the great room, hismouth agape as he struggledto comprehend the scenebeforehim.

Earlier this very day—before sunrise, although itseemed as thoughweeks hadpassed—Ethan remarked toMariz on the appearance of

Ramsey’s illusion, and thepossibility that, because ofthefireatDrake’sWharf,thecaptain had made the figurelook as he once had, ratherthanashedidnow.ButneverhadhethoughttoseeRamseyinsuchastate.

He sat propped up bypillows in a large bed,blankets covering him toabove his waist. Even from

this end of the warehouse,Ethan could see that hisunrulydarkhairandunkemptbeard were gone. The lonewindow in the building hadbeen covered, and the onlylightcamefromafewcandlesthat had been set on barrelsand crates, and from a vastshining aqua dome of power—faint, transparent, but,Ethan was sure, as

impermeable as steel—thatsurrounded the bed and itsoccupant. Still, Ethan couldsee that his skin was waxenandpale.

Ten sailors stood aroundthe bed, some armed withknives and lengths of rope,others with pistols. Theywatched Ethan, like wolvesguardingtheirpackleader.

“Come closer, Kaille,”

Ramseysaid,hisvoicebarelydiscernible above the shoutsfrom outside of Sephira andthe others. “Come see whatyou’vedonetome.”

Ethanglancedbackat thedoor,whichstoodajar,piecesof the splintered jambon thefloor. He hadn’t noticedbefore, but Uncle Reg stillstood with him, his brighteyes fixed on that aqua

shield.“Theycan’thelpyou.I’m

notentirelysurethattheycanhelpthemselves.”

Ethan started toward thebedwithdeliberate steps, hisgazesweepingoverRamsey’smen. Reg followed him.Ethan held his knife ready,thoughhehadlittledoubtthatthe captain had warded thesailors.

“You needn’t fear them.Theyhavestrictordersnottotouch you. They are here toguard against interferencefrom others. I’ve made itclear to them that you aremine.”

The closer Ethan drew tothebed,themorehorrifiedhegrewatwhathecouldseeoftheman lying in it. Ramsey,who once had been as

dashing and vital as he wasmad, now was disfiguredalmost beyond recognition.The flesh on his face andheadappearedtohavemeltedlikeiceinthespringandthensolidified again, misshapenand hideous. His lips hadbeenburnedaway,sothathismouth was a slanting gashacrosshisface.Hisnosewaslittlemorethanaflapofskin.

He had no eyebrows oreyelashes, and the skinaround one of his eyesdrooped,sothatitwasbarelyopen.

It was as if a carelesschild had begun to mold afacefromclay,onlytotireofhis art and leave the visageunfinished.

The only aspect of thecaptain’sfacethatstruckhim

as at all familiar were theeyesthemselves.Pale,almostghostly, theywere intelligentandhardand theypeeredoutfrom the ravaged mien withsuch hatred Ethan had toresisttheurgetoflinchaway.

“I’m glad you’re here,Kaille. I feared that youmight allow some otherconjurertofightthisbattleforyou. I thought you’d bring

Miss Windcatcher with you,or Pryce’s pet conjurer. Itcame as some relief to seeyouflythroughthatdoor.”

Ethan couldn’t bringhimselftospeak.Hestaredatthe man; the face, theemaciated form, the thin,bony hands, which were asscarred and grotesque as hismien.

Ramsey’s mouth quirked

in what might have beenintendedasagrin. “Hideous,aren’tI?Youdidthistome.”

“No,” Ethan said, findinghis voice. “You started thefire.Youstartedthewar.Youdid this to yourself. I’m nomore responsible for yourburnsthanIamforthedeathsofChristopherSeiderandthemen who were shot lastnight.”

“You left me to burn!”Ramseysaid,hisvoicerisingto a rough screech. “Youwere content to let me die!But I saved myself, and Ihealedtheburns.”

Ethanwinced.“Aye, that’s right! I

healedmyself. As terrible asthis facemight seem now, itisbetterbyfar thanitwas inthe days and weeks after we

sailedfromBoston.”Ethan tore his gaze from

Ramsey and considered theshield of power that coveredthe bed. Itwas the same hueas thedetection spells, and itglimmered similarly, itslustroussurfacereflectingthecandlelight as might a glassbowl.

“You can’t defeat it,”Ramsey said. “Not without

killing me. And yet, youcannot kill me withoutdefeating it. A conundrum,wouldn’tyousay?”

“I thought youwanted tofight me, Ramsey. Andinstead you hide in thisconjuredcocoon.Thathardlyseemsfair.”

“Fair?” the captain said.“Fair? I can’twalk,Kaille. Ican’t hold a weapon. I have

nothing left but magicking.Andyoudarespeaktomeoffairness?”

“Ethan!”Sephira’svoice.He looked back toward

thedooroncemore.“They cannot enter. The

building is surrounded byflames and molten stone, asfrom the great volcanoes oftheMediterranean.Have youseen them?” Ramsey asked,

abruptly sounding wistful.“Etna,Vesuvius?”

Ethanshookhishead.“I have. My father took

me once, and I have beenback since. But no more.Never again shall I captainmy vessel past Gibraltar oralongtheshoresofItaly.Thelife I have known is lost tome, and so I seek to depriveyou of your life, as small

recompense.”“How have you used my

power for your conjurings,Ramsey? What manner ofspellallowedyoutodothat?”

The captain offered noanswersavetoliftthecornersof his scarred mouth in aghoulishsmile.

“Come now,” Ethan said.“One of us will be deadbefore this morning ends.

Surely no harm can come ofrevealingyoursecretnow.”

“The harm comes fromtelling you nothing, fromallowing you to die inignorance, without thesatisfaction of knowing howyou have been bested againand again and again.How isyour woman, by the way?Did that man in her tavernkillher,ordidyourescueher

intime?”Ethan’sarmwasbleeding

and the spellwas on his lipsbefore he knewwhat he haddone. “Discuti ex cruoreevocatum!” Shatter, conjuredfromblood!

Ethan’s conjuringthrummed, and at the sametime,theaquadomeshieldingRamsey seemed to shudder.He had time to realize his

mistake,butcoulddonothingmore before the spellrebounded and struck him.Hiswarding held; the shatterspelldidnotbreakanyofhisbones.Butoncemorehewasknockedoffhisfeetsothathelandedhardonthedirtfloor.

Ramsey’s laugh was dryas brittlewood.But thatwasoflittleinteresttoEthan,whohad noticed something else.

At themoment his conjuringtouched the aqua shield,Ramsey’s spectral guideappearedbeside the captain’sbed.Theold,bentfigureofaseacaptain remained inviewfor but an instant beforevanishingagain.Butthatwasenough to tell Ethan that thecaptainwas using a differentsortofpower tomaintainhisdomed warding. Reg

appearedwhenEthancasthisown wardings, but not eachtime another conjurer’sassaulttestedhisdefenses.

Ramsey held no knife inhis hands; Ethan wasn’t surehe could.And yet he had nodoubt that the captainexpected this encounter toend with a battle ofconjurings. What wasRamsey using as the source

of his power? Were somemembers of his crewconjurers?WasheusingthemashehadusedEthanthispastfortnight?

Ethanbrushedhimselfoffand got to his feet. Ramseycackled.

“Didyoubelieveasimpleconjuring would defeat mywarding?Ordidmymentionof your woman banish all

reason from your mind?Perhapssheisdeadthen,andthat particular barb found itsmark.”

Saying nothing, Ethanedged closer to the bed.DespiteRamsey’sassurances,the sailors guarding himsteppedforward,blockinghisway.

“I thought we were tofight without interference,

Ramsey,”Ethansaid.“You’re close enough, I

believe.Youcouldstandwithyour nose but an inch frommywarding and it would doyounogood.”

“Then why not allowmetodothat?”

He gave the captain notime to reply. Slashing at hisarm again, he said, “Falx excruore evocata.” Blade,

conjuredfromblood.It was not a spell he

would have used underordinary circumstances.Blade spells were viciousconjurings thatcould literallycarve a man’s body in half.But he assumed thatRamsey’screwwerewarded,andwouldsurvivetheassault.Andfewspellsstruckattheirvictims with such force,

which was exactly whatEthanwanted.

The spell pulsed, and themenwentdownlikeninepins.Ethan strode past them,cutting his arm again as hewent,onlytohaltandswayatwhathesawonthefarsideofRamsey’sbed.

Asecondspellpulsed—itmighthavebeenabladespellas well. Ethan was tossed

backward as if he were nomore than a rag doll. Helanded in a heap near wherehe had been standing beforeheadvancedonthebed.

Butnowheknew.“Damnyou,Kaille!”He had managed a

glimpse, no more. But theimage would not soon fadefromhismind.

Beyondthelargebedthat

held the captain, but stillwithin the protection of thedome, stood a smaller, lowerpallet.Andonitlayaman—one of Ramsey’s sailorsperhaps,ormore likely somehaplessinnocentbroughtherefor the captain to use anddiscard.

This poor creature wasnaked to the waist, his bodycovered with bloodless

gashes. He appeared to beunconscious;Ethanwonderedif Ramsey had him undersome sort of conjured thrall.And beside him, on a lowstool, also hidden from viewand also warded, sat anotherman—definitely a sailor—whoheldaknifeovertheonebloodywoundonthetorsoofhisvictim.Ethanguessedthatthe sailor cut the man after

eachofRamsey’sconjurings,so that the captain wouldalways have blood for hisnextspell.Hewonderedhowmany men Ramsey had bledto death since his arrival inBoston.

Most of Ramsey’s menwere back on their feet,tending to the few who hadyet to recover from Ethan’sspell. The captain, though,

paidthemnoheed.Hestareddaggers at Ethan, hisdisfigured face twisted withrage.

“You’re barbaric,” Ethansaid.“Youknownoshame.”

“WhatchoicedoIhave?Ican’t grip a blade or pluckleaves of mullein from apouchasyouarewont todo.Ihaveonlythis.”

“Howmanyofthemhave

youkilled?”“Fewer than you think,”

Ramsey said, in a tone hemight have used to discusstherecentsnowstorm.“Thereisagooddealofbloodinthehuman form, and our spellsrequiresurprisinglylittle.”

“And what of theunfortunate soul who mustwield his blade on yourbehalf? What damage have

youdonetohim?”“Don’t pretend to care

about my men, Kaille. Youfool no one. He understandsmy need, and hewas one ofseveral who offeredthemselves for this particularservice.”

Ethan wasn’t sure if hewas bothered more by whatthe captain’sman had to do,orbythefactthathebelieved

Ramsey when he said thesailor had volunteered forsuch gruesome duty. But heknew this to be Ramsey’sgreatest weakness, and hebelieved that if he couldconvince the sailor to stopcutting his victim, or if hecould incapacitate the sailoreven for a short while, hemight break through theshieldthatguardedRamsey.

Oncemore he thought ofhowRamsey’s spectralguidehad appeared when his spellstrucktheaquadome.Wasitpossible that Ramsey had tocastaspell—andthusneededfresh blood—each time thewardingwastested?

He had no chance tosatisfy his curiosity. Ramseymuttered something thatmighthavebeen“Enough.”A

conjuring hummed in thefloor and walls, and Ethanwas struck oncemore by theforceof a spell. It seemed tobe directed at his bad leg,which was swept out fromunderhim.Hedroppedtotheground.Butifitwasashatterspell intended to break thebone,itfailed.

Fromwherehelayontheground,withbloodstillonhis

arm from the last cut he hadmade,Ethancounteredwithaconjuringofhisown.

“Aperi hiatum ex cruoreevocatum.” Open chasm,conjuredfromblood.

He aimed the spell at theground beneath the dome,hoping the opening wouldswallowthebedandRamseywith it. But once more thedomeshudderedandthespell

turned back on Ethan. Thefloor opened, seemingly rentby giant unseen hands. Thewidening split raced towardhim.Ethanrolled to theside,tottered on the edge of thecrack, and with one lastracking effort, threw himselfontosolidground.

Again, though, he hadnoticed that when hisconjuring hit the shield,

Ramsey’s ghost appeared,albeitfortheblinkofaneye.He felt certain that inmaintaining the protection ofthe dome, the captain hadtaken still more blood fromthe unconscious man besidehim.

“Our wardings serve uswell,”Ramseysaid,watchingEthan as he climbed to hisfeet yet again. “You escaped

my fire spells out on thestreet. Imight have been toogentlewiththem.”

This time the pulse ofpowerbroughtanotherringoffire. Like the last, this onebegan to press in on Ethan,the heat of it making himshield his face with anupraisedarm.

“Thecircleoffirecreatedby the detection spell was

meant to cause you pain,”Ramsey said, pitching hisvoicesothatEthancouldhearitabovetheroaroftheblaze.“This one will only contractso far. How long can yourendure such agony, Kaille?For how long will yourwarding against flameswork?”

Too long, Ethan knew.His spell would protect him

fromtheflamesaslongasheremained alive, and so if hecould not escape this fieryring, the agonywould go onand on. He assumed thatanother extinguishing spellwouldnotwork,andhecouldnot leap through the fire tosafety. But what if heconvinced Ramsey toextinguishtheflamesforhim.Ethan ran toward Ramsey’s

bed, and as he expected, thecircleoffiremovedwithhim,as it had on the street. Heveered off just as he reachedthedomedshieldandpressedhimself to the warehousewall.

The flames licked at thewoodand thencaught.Ethanheard the crack and snap ofburninglumber.

“No!” Ramsey said,

barking theword. “Exstingueignemexcruoreevocatum.”

The fire sputtered andwent out, leaving a smallsection of the wall charredandsmoking.

“You fool!” Ramsey wastremblingandbreathinghard,asheenofsweatonhisface.

“Fool you say.” Ethanwiped sweat from his ownbrow.“Ithoughtitwasrather

cleverofme.Infact…Ignisex cruore evocatus.” Fire,conjuredfromblood.

Flameflewfromhishandintothestillsmolderingwall.The building shook, and inseconds, the section of wallnearest toRamsey’s bedwasengulfed.

Ramsey shouted anotherextinguishing spell, his voicespiralingupwardinpanic.As

he put out that fire, Ethanused another spell to light asecond blaze on the wallbehindRamsey’smen.

The captain used aconjuring to douse theseflames as well, but he waswide-eyedwithterrornow.

“Kill him!” the captainsaid.“Idon’tcarehow!ButIwanthimdead!”

The men advanced on

Ethan.A half dozen of themdrew pistols and cocked thehammers.Ethanhackedathisarm and cast another bladespell, knocking them back,although not before one ofmen got off a shot. The ballwhistled past Ethan’s head,toocloseforcomfort.

While the men were stillsprawledonthefloor,hecastagain—“Impedimentum ex

verbasco et marrubio etbetonica evocata”—drawingupon the herbs he carried toconjure a barrier, a gleamingwall not unlike Ramsey’sshield. This one glowedrusset, the color of UncleReg, and it surroundedRamsey’s men, hemmingtheminagainstthewall.

Ethan didn’t believe itwould prove as effective as

the captain’s, but it didn’tneed to. None of the menwere conjurers; he onlywanted his barrier to holdthem back and block thebullets from their flintlocks.As if responding to thethought, one of the men satup,aimedhispistolatEthan,andfired.Theballreboundedoff the barrier and an instantlater struck the wall behind

theman.Heduckedbelatedlyand gaped at his weapon,seeming to realize how closehe had come to killinghimself.

“It’s just the two of usnow, Ramsey,” Ethan said,turning back to the captain.“ShallIlightanotherfire?”

“Ishouldhaveresortedtothis already,” Ramsey said,soundingasthoughhehadn’t

heard. “I’ve been wastingtime.”

Thisconjuringfeltall toofamiliar. Ethan shuddered atthe touch of it and looked toReg, only to find that theghostwaswatchinghim.

But nothing elsehappened.

“Impossible!” the captainsaidinarasp.“Impossible!”

He glanced to his side,

toward the man on the cotand the sailor who wascutting him. Anotherconjuring shook thewarehouse, but againwhatever Ramsey hadintendeddidnotresult.

“Idon’tunderstand!”Ethan could not quite

believe that having Marizwardhimfromtheconjuringshad worked so well, but he

concealed his amazement ashe said, “I found a way tostop you. You can’t use mypoweranymore.”

“ButIcan!”Athirdspellrumbledand

failed. Ramsey let out askirling,inarticulatescream.

“What will you do now,Ramsey?”

“It doesn’t matter,” thecaptain said. He licked his

lips and said again, “Itdoesn’tmatteratall.”

Another conjuringslammed Ethan to the floor.Hedidn’tknowwhatkindofspell it was, and didn’t havetime to ponder thematter. Asecond spell hit him, and athird.Eachfailedtopenetratehiswarding,buteachbatteredhim with the force of anoceanbreaker.Afourthmade

hisvisionblur,afifthlefthimaddled. And still the assaultwent on.He feared hemightpass out, and that if he did,his conjured barrier wouldfail, allowing Ramsey’s mentokillhim.

Desperate, not knowingwhat else to do, he draggedhis knife across his arm andcast another fire spell. Hedidn’taimit,butsimplyletit

flyfromhishand.Heheardithitwood,heardthecrackleofspreadingflames.

Ramsey broke off hisattack to extinguish the fire.Ethan cast three more firespells in quick succession,directing them at the ceiling,the wall near the captain’sbed, and thewall nearest thedoor through which he hadenteredthewarehouse.

Thecaptaincasthisspellsas quickly, snuffing out theflames before they couldspread. But this gave Ethanthe respite he needed. Heknew that he was forcingRamsey’sman to drawmoreand more blood from theunfortunate lying on thepallet, but he could think ofno way to prevent thiswithout surrendering to the

captain.This thought, however,

gave him another idea. Hewasn’t certain that he coulddo what he had in mind; hedidn’t know how muchconjuring power Ramsey’sbarriercouldblock.But ifhesucceeded, the tactic he wascontemplating might allowhimtodefeattheman,finallyand for all time. He threw

anotherballof fire at awall,and as Ramsey put out theblaze, Ethan staggered to hisfeetandapproachedthebed.

AndbeforeRamseycouldaim a spell at him, he castoncemore.

“Ignis ex cruoreevocatus.” Fire, conjuredfromblood.

This time, however, hedidnotbother tocuthimself.

Instead, he drew upon theblood he knew was alreadyavailable on the man besideRamsey’s bed. The act ofconjuring blood from awound caused the wound tostop bleeding; this was whyEthan had to cut himselfanewwitheachspellhecast.If he could take blood fromthe man Ramsey had beenusing in this manner, he

would not only fuel his ownconjuring,hemightalsodenyblood to Ramsey until hissailor could cut the managain.

But could he reach theman’s blood? The barrierRamsey had created wasmeant to repel attacks, bothconjured and physical. Ethansought not to breach thewarding for an assault; he

simply wished to use for hisspell a source that waslocatedwithintheshield.

And Ramsey’s wardingcouldnotpreventthis.

Another flaming sphereflew from Ethan’s hand,striking the ceiling directlyabovewhereRamseylay.

“Falxexcruoreevocata,”Ethan said, once moredrawing on the blood of

Ramsey’shaplessvictim,thistimeforabladespell.

The conjuring crashedagainstthebarrierlikeawaveand spent itself, as Ethanknew it would. But theglowing wall ripplednoticeably, and this timeRamsey’s spectral guide didnot appear when the shieldwas tested. Ethan could tellby the slight fading of its

color and the dulling of itsglimmer that the barrier wasweakened by the impact ofhis spell. Something inRamsey’sconjuring,beit thesheer strength of the barrierorwhatever spell the captainhadused tocreate it,made itvulnerable to such attacks. Itseemed it could hold againstanything, but it needed to berenewed constantly. Therein

lay its one flaw. And Ethansoughttomakethemostofit.

He cast again—anotherblade spell. He didn’t expectthat thisonewould reach thecaptaineither.Butas longashe kept conjuring anddenyingRamseyaccesstotheblood he so desperatelyneeded, the shield wouldcontinuetogrowdimmerandlesspowerful.

“Cuthimfaster!”Ramseyhissedthewords,hiswidenedeyesontheflameswhichstillburnedtheceilingabovehim.

“Discuti ex cruoreevocatum,” Ethan said.Shatter,conjuredfromblood.

Enraged, unable to tearhisgazefromthefire,unableeven to formwords,Ramseyscreamed again and poundedhisfistsonthebed.

And still Ethan conjured.A fire spell. And rather thanaim itat thewallsorceiling,he directed it at Ramsey,knowing once more that itwouldn’tpenetratetheshield,but knowing as well that itwouldterrifytheman.

Atthesightofthefireball,thecaptainraisedanarm,andturned his head, flinchingback against his pillows

despitehiswarding.The aqua barrier held

against this spell, but itsaggedundertheforceof theconjuring, like a ship’s sailthat suddenly catches aleewardwind.Thespellevenreboundedoffthebarrierwithless force than had Ethan’searlier spell; it barely evenstaggeredhim.

“Cut yourselves!”

Ramsey shouted to the menEthan had trapped with hisconjuredwall. “All of you! Ineedblood!”

The captain’s men werequickwiththeirblades.Ethanmanaged to cast two moreblade spells, each of whichmade Ramsey’s conjureddome flicker and quake. Hethought that a third spellmight get through and strike

at the captain, but he didn’tget the chance to cast it.Before he could speakanother spell, he felt a pulsein the warehouse floor andsaw Ramsey’s ghost flashintoview.

The captain’s conjuringfell upon Ethan, driving himto the ground and crushingthebreathfromhischest.

Hedidn’t believe that his

warding had failed; if it had,this spell would have killedhim. But whatever conjuringRamsey had aimed at himwas more powerful by farthananyotherthecaptainhadcastthisday.

By the time Ethan couldraise his head again, theflames above the bed hadbeen extinguished andRamsey’s barrier had

regainedmuchof itshueandsubstance.

“That was well done,Kaille. I hadn’t thought youcould be so clever. But youwon’tcatchmeoffmyguardagain. Indeed, you’vereminded me that I have asmuchbloodatmydisposalasI couldpossiblywant.Thankyouforthat.”

A spell made the

warehouse tremble and theweight crashed down onEthan again, stealing hisbreath, making his heartlabor. It was like havingAftonandGordonbothstandon his chest. Even with hiswarding intact he feared thatthe sheer might of theconjuringwouldkillhim.

“How long can youendure this, Ethan?”Ramsey

asked, seeming to sense hisdesperation.“Ihaveallday.”

ChapterTWENTY-FOUR

Ethanhadlittletimeleft,and

no idea how to regain theupper hand in his battlewithRamsey.He cut his arm, butratherthanaimaconjuringatthecaptainorhismen,Ethancastanillusionspell,sendinganimageofhimselfoutofthebuilding and up the road towhere Mariz stood withSephira.

“Ineedhelp,”Ethanmadethe figure say. “An attack,

Mariz. Or a distraction.Anything.Idon’tknowifthewarehouse is warded; Iexpect it is. But if it’s not,light it on fire. I’ll get outsomehow. If it is warded,thenanillusionofsomesort.Ramsey is terrified of fire.Try—”

Within the warehouse,another spell hit him, tearinga gasp from his beleaguered

lungs.He opened his eyes tothe dim light of the buildingand the glow of Ramsey’spower.

“I felt that,” the captainsaid. “An illusion spell. YouwerespeakingwithSephira’sconjurer, or perhaps MissWindcatcher.Theycan’thelpyou.Notfromthatdistance.”

The building shook.Ramsey glanced up at the

ceilingandthenlaughed.“A fire spell. You told

themtoburnusout.You’readesperate fool, Kaille. Ofcourse I warded thebuilding.”

Ethan rolled off his backandpushedhimselfup tohishandsandknees.GlancingatRamsey’s crew, whoremained behind the wall hehad conjured, he saw that all

but one or two of them hadbloodontheirarms.

And then, with apounding of magick, theblood was gone. All of it.Ethan was mashed to thefloor; it felt like thewarehouse roof had fallen inon top of him. He could notkeep his arm from beingtrapped beneath him. Thebone snapped andhehowled

withpain.So much blood. If Ethan

could have drawn upon it hemight have been able todefeat the captain’s warding.Butasitwas…

He had been in suchstraitsbefore.Thememoryofone such circumstance cameto him now.He had cast thekillingspell that took the lifeofadog,Pitch,Shelly’smate.

It had been an act of lastresort,andto thisdayhehadnot forgiven himself.He hadvowed that he would nevercastsuchaspellagain.Andifhischoicewasbetweendyingand taking the life of one ofRamsey’s sailors, he wouldchoosetodie.

But there was someoneelse. The man lying on thatlow pallet beside Ramsey’s

bedwasgoingtodie.Ramseywould kill him with hisspells; Ethan himself hadrobbed themanofblood.Hedoubted that the poor soulcould survive much longer.Wouldn’t it be amercy if hecouldtaketheman’slifewithasingleconjuring?

He started to recite theconjuring under his breath—another blade conjuring.

Sourcedinthelifeofanotheritmight be strong enough tocarve through Ramsey’swarding and kill the captain.But after a fewwords,Ethanstopped himself. He hadmade this choice once, andhadjustifiedittohimselfwiththebeliefthathehadn’tactedto save his own life, butrather to save the life ofHolin, the son of Marielle

Taylor, his former betrothed.If he cast such a spell nowand managed to survive hisbattle with Ramsey, howwouldheexcuseitthistime?

Better to die than to livewith the knowledge that hehad traded his own life forthatofaninnocent.

Butperhapstherewasoneotherway.

Of course I warded the

building, Ramsey had said.But both of them knew thathehadonlywardeditagainstattacks from outside. Ethanhad already proven that thewallswithincouldbeburned.Clearly the captain assumedthat Ethan had tried to burnthem in order to distract himfrom the maintenance of hisshield and from his attacks.Perhaps Ethan had made the

same assumption. Notanymore.

He cut himself. “Ignis excruoreevocatus.”

Andbefore the flameshethrew had reached the nearwall,nexttoRamsey,hecastasecondspell.

“Tegimen etimpedimentumexverbascoetmarrubio et betonicaevocata.” Warding and

barrier, conjured frommullein, horehound, andbetony.

The rumble of anotherspellfollowedontheheelsofthisone,but ithadnoeffect.The blaze began to spreadalong the warehouse wall,and the shimmering russetshield Ethan had conjuredover it rendered Ramsey’sextinguishing spell impotent.

Hecastthespellagain,usingmore of Janna’s herbs. Hewould fortify the conjuringevery time Ramsey attacked,so as to make certain that itheld.Heknewthathissupplyof leaves wouldn’t lastforever, but he thought thathe could maintain theconjuring with blood if hehad to. And he wasn’t sureRamseycouldtolerateflames

in such proximity for verylong.

Ramseytriedtodousethefire again, and again hefailed.

Ethan cast his spell oncemore.

“Enough of this, Kaille.”The captain soundedpanicked. “You won’t killyourselftokillme.”

“Actually,Iwill.”

Ramsey seemed to knowbetter than to argue. “Whataboutmymen?Youwon’tletthemdie.I’msureofit.”

“Ican’tsaywhatI’lldo.Ihaven’tdecidedyet.Butwhatabout you, Ramsey? Wouldyouletthemdietosaveyourown life? I believe youwould. Your men have faithinyou.Theythinkthatyou’llprotect them. Look at them

now, and tell them that youwould rather die than seethemperish.”

The captain looked to hismen, wet his scarred lips. “Iwould,”hesaid.“Iwoulddieforthem.”

“Discuti ex cruoreevocatum,” Ethan said.Shatter,conjuredfromblood.

The wall of the buildingjust to the side of Ethan’s

barriershatteredlikeglass.“Relocaimpedimentumex

verbasco et marrubio etbetonicaevocatum.”

Ethan’s conjured shieldshifted a few feet, enough togive the men access to thehole he had made in thewarehousewall.

“Tell them to leave.Without delay, Ramsey. Thefireisspreading.”

Ramsey stared up at theflames and tried to slidehimself to the far side of hisbed.Hesaidnothing.

“I thought as much,”Ethansaid.

Smoke began to billowintotheraftersofthebuildingand the fire continued togrow,creepingalongthewalltoward Ramsey like a brightspider.

“Make it stop!” Ramseysaid.

“No. If burning thisbuilding to the ground anddyingbymyownconjuringisthe only way I can rid theworldofyou,thensobeit.”

Ethancasthisbarrierspellagain so that the wardingwidened to cover thespreadingflames.Buthealsostarted to recite in silence a

second spell, in anticipationof what he thought Ramseywoulddonext.

Heknewthemanwell.“Cut yourselves, damn

it!” the captain called to hismen.

The sailors had beeneyeing the flames, but nowthey cut themselves oncemore,drawingmoreblood.

Preparedashewas,Ethan

might still have failed tofinish his conjuring beforeRamsey cast whatever spellhe had in mind. But at thatmoment, another spellwhisperedinthewood.Itwasweaker than those Ramseyand Ethan had cast over thepastseveralminutes.Butthathardlymattered.

It was an illusion spell:Bright yellow flames erupted

from the floor in the middleof the warehouse, near towhere Ethan stood. He wascertainRamseyknewthatthisfire wasn’t real. But withflames burning so close towhere he lay, and with hisface and body covered withscarsfromtheDrake’sWharffire,thecaptaincouldn’thelpbut be distracted, albeit foronlyaninstant.

That was enough. Ethancuthisarmandspokethelastwordsofhisconjuring.Oncemore, he cast a blade spell,this time drawing not onlyuponhisownblood,butalsoon that of Ramsey’s crew.Elevenmeninall.

The spell shook thewarehouse to its foundations.And when Ethan’s attackstruck the aqua dome—the

warding that had guardedRamseyfromsomuch—lightflared, forcing him to shieldhis eyes. When he lookedagain,thedomewasgone.

Ramsey cried out—fury,dismay, terror. AlreadyRamsey’s men were hackingat their arms with theirblades, ready to give morebloodtosavetheircaptain.

Ethan didn’t wait for

them. He cut himself, and,hoping his aim was true,shouted one last time, “Falxexcruoreevocata!”

The blade spellthrummed. Ramsey hadstartedtoshoutoutaspellofhis own, the Latin ringinghigh and clear.But his voicewas cut off abruptly, the lastsound from him sharp,choked.

And then his head rolledoff his neck and bloodfountained across his pillowsandblankets.

Ethan could hardlybelievewhathehaddone.Hestared at the body, at thehead,atthetorrentofcrimsonthat stained the blankets andbedding. His hands shook,and he could hear that hisbreathing was uneven,

ragged.After some time he

became aware of Ramsey’smen,whomadenot a sound,but stared at the bed. Somewore expressions of shock,others revulsion. As hewatched, they turnedindividually and in pairs tolookathim.

“Go,” he said, his mouthdry.“I’venoquarrelwithany

of you. Stay far away, andyouneedn’tfearme.”

He didn’t know if theywould heed his words. Heshould have. These men,perhapsmorethananyothersin Boston, understood thepoweraconjurercouldwield.They dared not challengehim.Rather, theyfiledoutofthe warehouse through thejagged opening his shatter

spellhadcreated.Ethan cast one spell to

remove the warding he hadplaced before the warehousewall, and a second toextinguishtheflames.

Smoke continued togather in the building. Heknewheshouldleave,buthecouldn’t bring himself to doso.Notyet.

He stood, and walked

toward the captain, his stepsstiff. Only when he waswithin a few strides of thefoot of the bed did heremember the last ofRamsey’s men, the one whohadbeenharvestingbloodonthecaptain’sbehalf.

Themanhadbeenhiding,crouched on the far side ofthe bed. Now he lunged atEthan, his blade held high.

Ethan raised his uninjuredarm to block the blow, felt asearingpainbelowhiselbow.Ramsey’s man pulled theblade from Ethan’s arm andraisedittoattackagain.

“Discuti ex cruoreevocatum!” Shatter, conjuredfromblood!

The blade broke, and thesailor’s eyes widened. Ethanstepped and spun, kicking

him in the side with his badfoot.Themanletoutagrunt,hisbodyseemingtocrumple.Before he could do more,Ethankickedhimagaininthethesideofthehead.

“That was nicely done,Ethan! As I’ve said before,you should come and workforme.”

Ethan turned. Sephirastoodbythedoorway,apistol

in her hand. She strodetoward him, her boot heelsscrapingontheroughfloor.

“Is that Ramsey?” shesaid, pointing at the blood-soakedforminthebedasshehaltedbesidehim.

“Aye.”Her gaze lingered on the

corpse and her voice wasmore subdued as she said,“Onceagain,nicelydone.”

“There’s another manlyingbesidethebed.Ramseywas harvesting blood fromhim for spells. He needshealing;I’llseetohiswoundswhenIreturn.Otherwisehe’snottobetouched.”

“And what about you?Youlooklikeyoucoulduseabitofhealingaswell.”

Ethan wanted to refuse.Hedidn’thave timeeven for

this. But one arm wasbleeding and the other wasbroken. “I need to find thesheriffandbringhimhere.”

“Thatarmlooksbroken.”Hehesitated.“Itis.”“Thendon’tbeafool.Let

Marizhealyouand thenyoucanfindthesheriff.”

Shewas right.Theywentoutside, where Ethan wassurprised to see that the sun

stillhungintheeasternsky.Itwas not yet midday, thoughhisbodyfeltasitmightifhehadbattledRamseyforhoursuponhours.

Upon spotting Ethan andSephira,Mariz strode towardthem,concernonhisface.

“He needs healing,”Sephira said. “And he’s in abitofahurry.”

“Then I shall work

quickly.”Mariz cast spells to heal

both of Ethan’s arms. Thebreak was a clean one—Ethan thought of Diver, andhisbreathcaughtinhisthroat—and the knife wound,thoughdeep,wasstraightandnotoverlylong.Withinafewminutes, much of the painfrom both wounds hadsubsided. The arm that had

beenbrokenremainedtender,but at least he could use itagain.

“Thankyou,Mariz.”“Of course. You have

otherwounds?”“None that matter. It’s

time I went in search ofGreenleaf.” To Sephira hesaid,“I’veletRamsey’screwgo.But theymight return fortheircaptain’sbody.”

“Shouldwe let them takeit?”

Ethan considered this.“Theycanhavethebody,buttheheadremainshere.Ihaveto prove to the sheriff thatRamseyisdead.”

To his surprise, Sephirablanched.“Allright.”

Hestartedupthelane.“I’ve never seen you this

way before, Ethan. So …

cold.”He faltered in midstride,

but then walked on, sayingnothing.

At the first corner hereached,hepaused,unsureofwhere he ought to look forGreenleaf. It was a fewseconds before he recalledtheirexchangeonKingStreetduringthenight.TherewastobeatownmeetinginFaneuil

Hall.Hehurriedback towardCornhill.

***

Had he not witnessed ithimself, Ethan would neverhave believed that so manypeoplewould fit intoFaneuilHall for any reason, andcertainly not for a townmeeting. But the previousnight’s events had left the

citizenry of Boston shakenand angry. Forced to guess,Ethan would have said thatthere were at least threethousand people in thebuilding and the streetssurrounding it. There weresoldiers here as well, andtension hummed in the airlikeaconjuring.

It was no small feat forEthan togain entrance to the

building,much less to threadhiswaythroughthethrongtothe front of the chamber,where Samuel Adams andothersnegotiatedthewordingof a formal message to thelieutenant governor, callingon him to have the Britishsoldiers removed from thecity.

Adams, Ethan could see,was in his element. The

eventsofthenightbeforehadgiven him the upper hand inhis ongoing battle withHutchinson over the fate ofBoston and, some wouldargue, all the Americancolonies. His demeanorremained appropriatelysomber—only the mostpartisan of observers couldaccusehimofgloating, oroftakingpleasureinthetragedy

that had befallen their city.But neither could they saythathehadwiltedin thefaceof a crisis.Ethan hadmissedmuch of the discussion, buthe could see thatAdamsandhis allies—including Otis,John Hancock, and a manEthanheardothersrefertoasWilliamMolineux,whom herecognized as the broad-shouldered gentleman who

had kept EbenezerRichardson from beinghanged the day Chris Seiderwas shot—hadconvinced themobtoexpresstheirrageandgriefthroughpoliticalpetitionrather than additionalviolence.Hewondered if theresult would have beendifferentifRamseyyet lived,and could cast more of hisspells.

On the thought, hesurveyedthethrongandsoonspotted Sheriff StephenGreenleaf leaning against thewallatthefarendofthegreatchamber, his eyes watchful,his expressioncharacteristicallygrim.

Ethanmadehiswaytothesheriff,whodidn’tnoticehimuntil Ethan was but a shortdistancefromhim.

“Kaille,” he said. “Ithought you didn’t fancyyourself part of Adams’srabble.”

A few men standingnearbystareddaggersatthemboth.

“I came looking for you,Sheriff.”

Greenleaf frowned andeyed Ethan’s shirt, coat, andbreaches, which looked a

mess fromall thatEthanhadendured in thewarehouse onWiltshire Street. “Moretrouble with Ramsey, I takeit.”

“He’sdead.”The sheriff’s gaze

sharpened. “I’ve heard thatbefore.”

“Not from me youhaven’t. You know that aswellasI.”

“Aye,Iremember.You’resurehe’sdead.”

“If you’ll come with me,I’llshowyouthebody.”

Greenleaf, scanned thechamber and appeared toconvince himself that hewouldn’t be missed. “Allright, then,” he said. “Takemetohim.”

They left Faneuil Hall,strode past the barracks on

Brattle Street, and crossedthrough New Boston.Greenleaf’s strideswere longandquick;Ethanstruggledtokeeppace.Innotime,hisbadleghadstartedtoache.Buthewas as eager to show thesheriffthatRamseywasdeadas Greenleaf was to see thecorpseforhimself.Thenearerthey drew to the rope yardand its warehouse, the more

uneasyEthangrew.Heknewwhat he had done and seen;he knew Ramsey was dead.But a part of him couldn’thelp but wonder if somehowthe captain had managed tobringhimselfback,tousetheawesome power he wieldedtocheatdeathonelasttime.

Whenatlasttheyreachedthewarehouse,however,theyfound Sephira and her men

waiting outside, appearingboredandimpatient.

“Good day, Miss Pryce,”Greenleaf said, removing histricorn.

“Sheriff.”“Why are you out here?”

Ethanaskedher.Sephira regarded him as

she might an insolent child.“Because I didn’t wish toremain in there with that

dead…thing.”“Have Ramsey’s men

comeback?”Sheshookherhead.“Not

yet. I’m not convinced theywill.”

Ethan entered thewarehouse, Greenleaf behindhim. Sephira, he noticed,followedthem.

To Ethan’s profoundrelief, the inside of the

warehouse appeared exactlyasithadbeforehelefttofindthesheriff.ThebodyofNateRamsey still lay in the bed,half covered by his blood-soaked blanket and bedlinens.Thecaptain’sheadlayon thebedaswell, apoolofbloodbeneathit.

“Damn,” Greenleafwhispered. He stepped pastEthan, and approached the

bed, moving with caution,perhaps fearing that at anymoment the corpse mightanimateitselfandattack.“Hewasbedridden?”

“Aye,” Ethan said. “Theburns from the Drake’sWharf fire left himincapacitated.”

“Andyet he could do hismischief.”

“He remained a powerful

conjureruntiltheveryend.”The sheriff glanced back

at him. “But not so powerfulthatyoucouldn’tdefeathim.”

“Iwasfortunate.”“Youcallitfortune.Icall

itwitchery.”Ethan was too weary to

argue.Greenleaf grinned and

facedforwardoncemore.Hehalted at the foot of the bed

and bent low to examine thehairless, fire-ravaged head.Hemadenoefforttotouchit.“You’re sure this wasRamsey?Itlooksnothinglikehim.”

“I’msure,”Ethansaid.“I sawhim last night and

—”“You saw an image

Ramsey conjured for mybenefit and that of anyone

elsewho saw him.Hemighthavebeencruelandmad,buthewasalsoproud.Hewishedto hide from all the worldwhathehadbecome.Butthisishim.Iswearit.”

“It’s true, Sheriff,”Sephirasaid.

“But…” Greenleafstraightened and shook hishead. “Very well. I’ve littlechoicebuttobelieveyou.”

“I wanted him dead asmuch as you did. Probablymore.I’venoreasontolietoyou.”

“You have every reason!Jonathan Grant’s murderremains unexplained, andyour life hangs in thebalance!”

“Ramsey killed him. I’vetoldyouthat.”

“Iwouldhavepreferredto

hearitfromRamsey.”Ethan threw his hands

wide. “You wanted Ramseydead!Youcan’ttellmetokillhim and then hear hisconfession. That is, unlessyou’reawitch.”

Greenleaf’sfaceshadedtocrimson.Sephirasnorted.

“Fine,” the sheriff said atlast, thewordclipped.“Whatofhiscrew?”

“I let them go,” Ethansaid. “Though there was onewho I beat senseless.” HelookedatSephira.

“He awoke while youwere gone,” she said. “I toldhimtoleave.”

“They’re guilty of crimesas well,” Greenleaf said.“TheygaveaidtoRamseyinallhedid.”

“Then I would suggest

that you find them beforethey sail theMuirenn out oftheharbor.Butyou’llhavenohelpfrommeinthatregard.Idefeated Ramsey, as I toldyouIwould.I’llnotfightthecrewforyouaswell.”

He thought the sheriffwould argue, but instead hesaid, “Very well, Kaille. Iassume that after today, Iwon’t have to hear again of

NateRamseyandhisdamnedwitchcraft.”

“I assume so as well,”Ethansaid.

Greenleaf eyed the headand body again then turnedand strode back toward thewarehouse entrance. “IshouldreturntoFaneuilHall.The lieutenant governorwants me to keep an eye onAdamsandhisfriends.”

“I’msurehedoes.”The sheriff’s expression

soured. “You’d best watchyourself, Kaille. WithRamseydead,youwon’thaveanyone else to blame for themagicking that happens inthiscity.It’llbeyouandthatAfrican woman who thinksshe’s so smart. Andeventually I’ll find a way toslip a noose around both of

yournecks.”“You’rewelcome,”Ethan

said.“Iwasgladtohelp.”Greenleaf frowned. If

anything, Sephira’s laughterserved only to deepen hisconsternation. He regardedthem both and then stormedoutofthebuilding.

“Hedoesn’tlikeyouverymuch,”shesaid,staringaftertheman.

“Neither do you, if Iremembercorrectly.”

Sephirasmiled.“Notverymuch, no. But I do find itconvenient to have youaround, for the entertainmentyouprovide,ifnothingelse.”

Ethan grinned. “Thankyouforallthatyoudidtoday.And also for allowingMariztohelpme.”

She waved away his

gratitude, much as Jannaoften did. “Greenleaf has apoint,youknow.Ramseywasa common enemy. Now thathe’sdead,youandIhavenoone left to fight but eachother.”

“We’vedonethatbefore.”“Yes,wehave.AndIlook

forward to our nextencounter.” She saunteredtowardthedoor.

“Sephira.”Shestopped,turned.There was much Ethan

wantedtosay,butnottoher,notyet.Therewereothers towhom he would have tospeakfirst.

She quirked an eyebrow.“You have something else tosaytome?”

“No.Again,mythanks.”Sephira gave a small

shrugandlefthimthereinthewarehouse. Ethan took onelast look at thebodyofNateRamsey and then at thedamage his own fire spellshad done to the building.Hewalkedaroundtothefarsideof the bed, where lay theunfortunate man from whomRamsey had been takingblood for his spells, themanwhose lifehehadconsidered

usingasthesourceforaspellof his own. Sitting on thefloor beside the man, he cuthis own arm, dabbed hisblood over the worst of theman’s many wounds, andwhisperedahealingspell.

While his spell was stillhumming in the floor andwalls, he heard footstepsbehindhim.Helookedtoseewho had come, fearing that

Ramsey’s men had returned.ButitwasMariz.

“I sensed your conjuring.What are you doing?” Hehaltedatthesightoftheman.“Ah, meu Deus! Whathappenedtohim?”

“Ramsey was using hisblood for spells. I couldn’tbring myself to leave himhere.SoI’mhealinghim.”

“I can help you, if you

wouldlike.”“I’dbegrateful.”Mariz joined him beside

theman,cuthimself,andcasta healing spell. And for thenexthourormore,EthanandMariz cast spell after spell,until the worst of the man’swounds had been mended.When theyweredone,Ethantook thebloodstainedblanketoff of the bed and draped it

overtheman.“He’ll wake eventually,”

Ethan said. “And hopefullyhewon’tremembertoomuchfromthisordeal.”

He covered Ramsey’sbody and head, so that theywouldn’t be the first thingsthe man saw upon openinghiseyes.

He and Mariz walkedoutside into the brilliant

sunlight; Ethan blinkedagainst the glare and shadedhiseyes.

“Whatwillyoudonow?”Marizasked.

“I need to speak withSamuelAdams,andalsowithThomasHutchinson.”

Mariz’s eyebrows wentup. “These are importantmen. They will speak withyou?”

“I hope so.” Ethanproffered a hand, which theconjurergripped.“Mythanks,Mariz. Without your help,and without your warding, Iwould never have survivedmybattlewithRamsey.”

“Iamgladtohavehelpedyou, Kaille. And though Iknowthatyoudidnotwishtokill Ramsey, I am pleasedthatheisdead.”

“So am I,” Ethan said.“MorethanIcansay.”

ChapterTWENTY-FIVE

As it turned out, Adams and

Hutchinson were together bymidafternoon. Those whofirst met at Faneuil Hall haddispatched Adams, alongwith several other delegates,to the Old South MeetingHouse, where they presentedto Hutchinson their demandthat General Gage’s soldiersberemovedfromthecityandsent to Castle William, afortified island in Boston

Harbor. The meeting hadbeen intended for the TownHouse, but the crowd thatfollowed Adams, Hancock,and the others was so hugethat the discussion had to bemoved to a building thatcould accommodate all whowishedtoattend.

This time, Ethan was notable topushhisway throughthe mob, and so had to be

content with hearing of theencounter from others, who,no doubt, had themselvesheard of it from thosefortunate enough to bepresent.

ItseemedthatAdamshadnot been the only man tospeak with eloquence of thedangers of keeping thesoldiers in the city. If theregularsdidnotleave,Royall

Tyler was said to havewarned, ten thousand menfrom the countryside woulddescenduponthecityandkillthemall, “should it be calledrebellion—should it incur theloss of our charter, or be theconsequencewhatitwould.”

Unable to see eitherAdams orHutchinson, Ethanwaited in the street for wordofwhatwas to be donewith

the billeted soldiers. Whenword came that HutchinsonandColonelDalrymple,whowas in command of themenin Boston, had capitulatedand would be sending thesoldiers out of the city, hesurprisedhimselfbyshoutinghis approval with the others,and, like so many standingwithhim,wipinga tear fromhiseye.

As night fell and the airgrew cold he retreated to theDowsing Rod, where thecelebration had been fullyjoined. As he entered, TomLanger, one of Kannice’sregulars, was standing on atable slurring a toast toSamuel Adams and the SonsofLiberty.

KelfspottedEthanandhisexpression darkened.

Undaunted, Ethan stepped tothebar.

“How is Kannice?” heasked.

“She’s restin’,” thebarman said, notmeeting hisgaze. “She was asking afteryou.But she doesn’t need tobe cookin’ and servin’ andshe definitely doesn’t needyou…gettin’herallworkedup, if you catch my

meaning.”“Ido,”Ethansaid.“She’s

inherroom?”Kelfscowled.“Aye.”“Mythanks.”The barman turned away

withoutaresponse.Eventually, the two of

them would have to findsome way to repair theirfriendship,butfornowEthanwas more concerned with

seeing Kannice. He climbedthe stairs and followed thecorridor to her room. Therehe knocked on the door—hecouldn’t remember the lasttimehehaddoneso.

“Come in,” Kannicecalled. Her voice soundedstrong. Once more, his eyeswelled.

He pushed the door openand was greeted with a

radiantsmile.“I was wondering when

you’dcometoseeme.”Hecrossedtothebed,sat,

andkissedherbrow.“I would have come

sooner. I’m sorry. I’vebeen…” He shook his head.“It’sbeenalongday.”

“Ramsey?”“Ramsey’s dead. I killed

him.”

“Nodoubt?”Hesmiled.“Nodoubt.”She closed her eyes.

“ThankGod.”Ethan took her hand.

“Howareyoufeeling?”“My chest is sore—it

hurts if I take a deep breath.Butotherthanthat,I’mfine.”

He nodded. “Good. Letmeseethescar.”

Shepulleddownthefront

of her nightgown, exposingthe wound. It was an angryshade of red, but the skinaround the wound did notappear to be swollen orfevered.

“You’llbefineinanotherday or two,” he said. “Aslongasyourest.”

“Aye,” she said, her tonearch, “like you always dowhenyou’vebeenhurt.”

He grinned and took herhand once more. She smiledaswell,butnotforlong.

“What happened betweenyouandKelf?”

Ethan looked away.“Why? What did he tellyou?”

“Nothing. Just that youhad savedmy life. But therewassomething in thewayhespoke of it that made me

wonder.AndwhenItoldhimthatIwantedtoseeyou, thatheshouldsendyouuphereassoon as you reached thetavern,hegrewsullen.”

Ethan faced her again.“HeknowsIsavedyourlife.”

“Well, of course, butthat’s—” She stopped, hereyesgoingwide.“Oh,Ethan.I’m sorry. I should haveunderstood.”

He shook his head. “It’snotyour fault. It’snotKelf’seither. But I don’t know ifhe’ll ever accept … what Iam.”

“He’ll have to.Heworkshere, and you’re going to becoming around for a goodwhile longer.At least I hopeyouare.”

He raised her hand to hislips.“Iam.”

“Then, Kelf will have togetaccustomedtoit.”

Ethan wasn’t convincedthat it would be quite thateasy,buthekepthisdoubtstohimself.

“DidyouhearaboutwhathappenedonKingStreet?”

He had to smile. Onlysomeone who had beenconfined to her bed all daycould even ask such a thing.

“Iwasthere.Isawitall,andfelt the spell from Ramseythatmadeithappen.”

“Hedidthat,too?”“Aye.Diverwasshot.”She paled. “Is he all

right?”“I assume he’s still alive.

Ihaven’tseenhimtoday.ButI kept him from bleeding todeath, and then I carriedhimto the home of Doctor

Warren. He … he lost anarm.”

“DearGod.Ethan,I’msosorry.”

He nodded, unable tospeak.

She scrutinized his face.“Whenwas the last timeyouslept?”

A small laugh escapedhim, sounding more like asob.“It’sbeensometime.”

“You should lie down.”She started to slide over andmakeroomforhim.

Ethan gave her hand asqueeze, stopping her. “I’llsleep, but in my room atHenry’s. You need rest evenmorethanIdo.”

“I’mnotsosure.”“Well, I am. And I think

that ifIdarespendthenight,evenifjusttosleep,Kelfwill

havemyhead.”She gave a small pout.

“Allright.”“Areyouhungry?”“Yes,Iam.”“Then allow me to bring

you some chowder and a bitofMadeira.I’llevensupwithyou.”

Her face brightened. “I’dlikethat.”

Heleftheranddescended

the stairs to the tavern. Kelfwasbeingrunraggedservingall thedrinksand takingcareof the food as well. And itseemed to Ethan that thebarman took somesatisfaction in making himwait. But eventually Ethanmanagedtobuytwobowlsofthe fish chowder, a cup ofMadeira,andatankardofale.It tookhimtwotrips tocarry

allofthistoKannice’sroom,but soon he was sitting withher once more. To hispleasure,Kannicemadeshortwork of her chowder,promptingEthan toget her asecondbowl.

When he returned, heagain joined her on the bed,and for several moments hekept silent, searching for thebestway to saywhatwason

hismind.“So,Ihaveaquestionfor

you,”hebeganatlast.“Hmm?” Kannice said,

intentonthechowder.“Are you still willing to

haveme as a partner here atthetavern?”

She nearly dropped herspoon,andshedidmanagetospillagooddealofstewontoher blanket, though she

hardly noticed. “Are youserious?”

“Aye. This business withRamsey… I’ve had enough.I’mtooold tobemakingmyliving in the streets, riskingmy lifedayandnight.And Iwould much rather pass mydays with you than withSheriffGreenleafandSephiraPryce and ThomasHutchinson.”

“We’ve been talkingabout this for a long time,Ethan, and all along you’veresisted the idea. Even theotherdaywhenyousaid thatyou would consider it, youwere soon gone again, backin the lanes looking forRamsey. Thieftaking is inyour blood, as running atavern is in mine. Don’t getme wrong: It’s still what I

want. But I think perhapsyou’resaying thisbecauseofwhat you’ve been throughthesepastweeks,andbecauseof what was done to me. Idon’twantyouwakingup inamonth’s time and realizingthat you’ve made a terriblemistake.”

“Iwokeuplastnight,”hesaid. He took both of herhands in his. “Iwatched that

manstabyouintheheart,andIwokeup.I’mnotsayingthatit will be easy; I’m sure I’llmiss it now and then. But Iwant this, and I’m ready togiveupmyroomonCooper’sAlley,andliveherewithyou.As…ashusbandandwife,ifyou’llhaveme.”

She made a small sound—half laugh, half gasp.“You’re full of surprises

tonight,aren’tyou?”“Ishouldhaveaskedlong

ago.”She shook her head, her

eyesshiningwithtears.“No,”she said. “You needed tocome to it when you wereready.”

“Does that mean you’llmarryme?”

She grinned, eyesdancing. “Well, I’ll have to

thinkaboutit,won’tI?”“Of course,” Ethan said.

“Idon’twantyouwakingupin a month’s time andrealizing that you’ve made aterriblemistake.”

Kannice threw her headback and laughed. Thenwinced and raised a hand toherchest.

Ethan leaned forwardandkissed her; she returned the

kisshungrily.“I should go,” he

whispered.“Why?”“Because we both need

rest.Andbecauseyouhaveagooddealtoponder.”

“No,Idon’t!Ethan,Iwas—”

Hetouchedafingertoherlips, silencingher. “Yes, youdo. Think about it, Kannice.

The Dowser is yours; yoursandRafe’s.Beforeyouacceptme as a partner, and as ahusband, you should thinkabout whether you’ll behappy working and livingwith me for the rest of yourlife.”

“Iwillbe,”shesaid.“I’veno doubt. But go, and we’llspeakofitagaintomorrow.”

“Aye,wewill.”

He kissed her again,stood, and stepped to thedoor. There he paused,though, and looked back ather.“Inallhonesty,I’llbeinthe lanes again tomorrowmorning. Ramsey may bedead, but there are stillmatterstowhichImustsee.Ithought you should knowthat.”

“I assumed as much. It’s

allright,Ethan.”He nodded, and let

himself out of the room. HelefttheDowserandmadehiswaytoPuddingLane.Despitethe late hour, he wished topayavisittoDiversothathemightseehowhisfriendwasfaring. Upon reaching thesmall byway, he saw that alightstillshoneinhisfriend’sroom. He climbed the stairs

andknocked.Deborah answered,

lookingyoungandpale.“MisterKaille!”“Ethan.”“Yes,ofcourse,”shesaid.

“Ethan.Pleasecomein.”He removed his hat and

entered the room. It waswarm within and the airsmelled of spermaceticandles.Diver layinbed,his

shirt off, a fresh bandage onhis shoulder, as bright asnewly fallen snow. His facewas ashen and gaunt, and atthe sightofEthanhe avertedhisgaze.

“How are you feeling?”Ethanasked,approaching thebed.

Hisfrienddidn’tanswer.“Diver, I was … I did

everythingIcould.”

“What happened?” Diverasked, still not looking hisway,hisvoiceflat.

“What do youremember?”

“I remember being onKingStreetwhenthesoldiersstartedshooting,andIhaveavague memory of being hit,ofyoubeingthereandtellingme that you had stopped thebleeding and were going to

take me to a surgeon. Butafter that I don’t recall athing.”

“IcarriedyoutoWarren’shome. You passed out alongtheway.Heremovedtheballfrom your arm, and we bothtriedtohealthearteryandthebone.Wecouldn’t.”

“So,youweretherewhenhe…”

“Aye.”

“DoctorWarren said yousavedhislife.”

Ethan glanced back atDeborah. “I kept him frombleeding out, but I … Icouldn’tdomore.AndbeforeI saved him, I got him shot.Again.”

At her questioning look,Ethanrelatedtothembothallthat had happened withRamseyover thepastseveral

days, concluding with theirconfrontation in thewarehouse.

“It’snotyourfaulthewasshot,”Deborah saidwhen hefinished. “You can’t blameyourself for the spells thisman Ramsey cast. I don’tunderstand much aboutconjuring,butIdoknowthatmuch.”

Ethan nodded. He would

have preferred to hear thisfrom Diver, but his friendremainedsilent,stillstaringatthewall.

“My thanks.”He tracedafinger along the brim of hishat. “I should go. I didn’twishtointrude,butIdidwantto see howyouwere doing.”He crossed back to the door,Deborahtrailingbehindhim.

“I’m grateful to you,

MisterKaille.Derrey is, too.Hejustneedstime.”

Ethan found it hard tospeak. He had comebreathtakinglyclose to losingthe two most importantpeopleinhislife.Andthoughhe felt confident that Diverwould live,heknew that thiswoundwouldbealong,longtimeinhealing.

“How is Kannice?”

Deborahasked.He swallowed. “She’s

better.Thankyouforasking.”“And he’s really dead?

Ramsey,Imean.”It seemed a common

question where the captainwasconcerned.

“Aye.Ikilledhimmyself.Youhavemyword.”

***

The next morning, followingthefirstdecentnightofsleepEthan had enjoyed in morethan a fortnight, he returnedto the Green Dragon, andafter some wrangling withseveral different men,managed to gain entrance tothesmallchamberofftherearof the great room. There hefound Joseph Warren, PaulRevere,JamesOtis,and,most

important,SamuelAdams.Adams greeted him with

morewarmth thanEthanhadexpected, gripping Ethan’sproffered hand and placinghisotherhandoverit.

“Joseph told me that afriendofyourswaswoundedon King Street. I’m terriblysorry.”

“Thank you, sir. He’srecovering, and for that I’m

deeplygrateful.”“I’m glad to hear it.

Wouldthatothershadbeenasfortunate.”

“Yes,sir.”“What can I do for you,

MisterKaille?”“I come bearing tidings,

sir. When last we spoke, Itold you that a conjurer hadused a spell to cause theshooting of Christopher

Seider. That conjurer is nowdead.”

Adams gazed toward thechamber’s smallwindow,hishead shaking with his palsy.“Iwould never claim to takepleasureinanydeath,butI’mrelievedtohear that thismancan’ttroubleusfurther.”

“Yes, sir. You shouldknow, though, that he alsoplayedarole in theeventsof

March the fifth. His spellsmight have influenced thebehavior of the soldiers whofired and the men whoprovokedthem.”

“Provoked them?” Otisrepeated, his voice sharp.Hetook a step in Ethan’sdirection. “You dare suggestthat—”

“That’s enough, James,”Adams said, casting a quick

look toward his friend. Heshifted his gaze to Warrenandnoddedonce.

The doctor approachedOtis and spoke to him in alow voice. Ethan could notmake outwhatwas said, butafter a moment the twomenlefttheroom.

“You do seem to have aknack for angering James,”Adams said, staring after

them.“Iassureyou, sir, it’snot

myintention.”Adams faced him. “I

believe you, Mister Kaille.Jamesisnotawellman.”Hetook a breath. “The fact is,thesoldierswere provoked. Idon’t condone their use offirearms—I want to beperfectly clear about that.Moreover, I do not believe

that armed soldiers shouldhave been in Boston at all.Ultimately responsibility forthis … massacre rests withthose who garrisoned thosemen here in the first place.What happened the othernight was both tragic andutterly predictable. Thesoldiers were provoked, andthey in turn provoked thatmob. Their mere presence

hereisaprovocation.”“Iunderstandthattheyare

toleave.”“Yes,” Adams said. “I

hesitate to claim that anygood can come of suchterrible events, but they’ll besent to Castle William, andthatisasmallblessing.”

“Yes, sir. As to theconjurer, I feel that I mustemphasize the importance of

his role in what occurred. Ifthose soldiers are to becharged with murder, as Ihear some of them will, Imustbringthisinformationtothe attention of the properauthorities.”

“Of course you must,Mister Kaille. But you’respeakingtothewrongman.”

“Well, sir, I expect thatyou’llbeadvocatingfortheir

punishment.”“No, I won’t. I intend to

playnoroleintheirtrial.I’mwellknownasachampionofliberty.AnypartIplayinthelegalproceedingswilldistractattention not only from theactions of the soldiers, butalso from the ill-conceivedpoliciesthatlayattherootoftheseevents.”

“Isee,”Ethansaid.“Well,

I had planned to speak withthe lieutenant governor aswell. Perhaps I should seehimnow.”

Adams smiled. “When Isaid that you were speakingto the wrong man, I didn’tmean Hutchinson. Perhaps Ishould have said that you’respeaking to the wrongAdams.”

Ethan frowned. “I don’t

understand.”“Mycousin,JohnAdams,

has consented to represent incourtCaptainPrestonandthesoldiershecommanded.”

Ethanhadnoideawhattosay.

“You’resurprised.”“To say the least, sir.Do

youapprove?”“My approval or

disapproval is of little

consequence, but yes, I do.John is a man of greatintegrity.Thesoldierswillgetafairhearing,andinsodoingmay convince those whodoubtourmotivesandtacticsthatwe believe in justice forall, foe and friend alike. Mypoint, though, is that of allpeople, John most needs toknowofthisconjurerandhisroleintheshootings.”

“I’ve never met MisterAdams.”

“With that, I can helpyou.” Adams stepped to adesk against the nearwall ofthe small room. He found apieceof parchment, dipped aquill in a well of ink, andpenned a short missive. Hethen folded the parchmentandplaced it in an envelope,which he sealed with wax.

“Hereyouare,MisterKaille.PresentthistoJohnwhenyousee him. He will speak withyou.”

“Thankyou,sir.”Ethancrossedtothedoor.“Do I dare even ask if

you’renowreadytojoinus?”Adams asked before Ethancould let himself out of theroom.

“IthinkImaybe,sir.”

Adams looked every bitasamazedasKannicehadthenight before. “Because ofwhat happened on KingStreet?”heasked.

Ethan shook his head.“Because of the woman Imentioned the last time wespoke.”

Adams was still laughingwhen Ethan pulled the doorshut.

***

The law office of JohnAdams stood on QueenStreet, directly across fromthegaolandtheCourtHouse,and adjacent to Murray’sBarracks.Ethanhadnodesireto go anywhere near thesoldiers’ quarters, but hehadlittlechoiceinthematter.

Upon entering the office,he was greeted by a young,

well-dressed man whointroduced himself asWilliam Tudor. When Ethanrequested a word with Mr.Adams, the young attorneydemurred.

“I’mafraidyou’llhavetocome back another time.MisterAdamsisquitebusyatthemoment.”

“I’venodoubtthatheis,”Ethan said, pulling the

envelope from the pocket ofhis greatcoat. “But I carry aletterofintroductionfromhiscousin, Mister SamuelAdams. I believe MisterAdams will wish to speakwithme.”

Hehanded themissive toTudor, who took it into asecondchamber,offthemainroom.AsEthan expected, hesoonreturned.

“Mister Adams will seeyou,MisterKaille.”

Tudorheld thedooropenas Ethan entered this smallerchamber, and then closed it,leaving Ethan alone with thegentleman standing at apolishedwooddesk.

John Adams bore littleresemblance to his cousin.Where Samuel washandsome,evenabitdashing,

Johnwas odd in appearance.HewasseveralinchesshorterthanEthanandportly,withaweakchinanddarkeyebrowsover expressive hazel eyes.He wore a gray wig, and ablacksilksuit.

He greeted Ethansolemnlyandindicatedapairofchairsbesidethehearth.

Theybothsat.Adams held up the

message from his cousin.“Samuelinformsmethatyouhave information pertainingto the recent events on KingStreet.”Hespokeinastrong,rich baritone that belied hisundistinguishedappearance.

“Yes,sir.”“He also indicates that I

am to accept as truthwhatever you tell me, nomatter how fanciful, even

preposterous,itmightsound.”Ethan smiled, silently

thanking Samuel Adams forhisforesight.“Aye,sir.WhatI have to saymaywell seemto stretch the bounds ofcredulity.” Speaking slowly,his voice low, Ethan thenexplained all that hadhappened in the pastfortnight, beginning with theshooting of Christopher

Seider.Long after Ethan had

finished, Adams remainedsilent, his eyes fixed on thefire. When at last he stirredand regarded Ethan, it waswith the same evenexpressionhehadmaintainedsinceEthan’sarrival.

“You tell a mostremarkable tale, MisterKaille.”

“Yes,sir.”“AmItoassumethenthat

you believe Captain Prestonand the men under hiscommand should beacquitted?”

“I’mneithera lawyernora judge, sir. And I have noidea if what I’ve related toyoucanevenbespokenofinacourtof law.But I thoughtthatyoushouldknow.”

“I’m grateful to you. ItmaybethatIwillneedtocallon you before the trial;perhapsevenduringit.Buttobe honest I have everyconfidence that these menwill be acquitted, even if Inever mention witchery andconjurings.”

“You do?” Ethan said,unabletomaskhissurprise.

“That surprises you. I

supposethat’stobeexpected.But already I have spokenwith many who were therethat night. These men wereabused most foully. Theywere taunted and insulted,pelted with snowballs androcks. A club was thrown atthem. Many of those in themob shouted for the men tofire. Most in Boston wouldlike to see them convicted; I

know this. And there can benodoubtthatbytheiractions,theycausedthedeathsoffourmen. But facts are stubbornthings, and the facts tell usthat these men acted out offear for their own safety.Who among us would havebehaveddifferently?”

Ethan had heard menspeakofthebrillianceofJohnAdams,butuntil thenhehad

not understood fully whatthey meant. An hour before,hewouldhavewageredeverypencehehadthatPrestonandthe others would be foundguilty.Nolonger.

“I fear I’ve wasted yourtime, sir,” he said, getting tohis feet. “You require no aidfromme.”

For the first time sinceEthan’s arrival, Adams

smiled. “You’re kind,MisterKaille. And I’m grateful toyou for coming here. Manymen, particularly those whokeep company with mycousin,wouldhavekeptsuchinformation to themselvesrather than give aid of anysorttothesesoldiers.”

Ethan didn’t bother togainsaytheman’sassumptionthathesupportedtheSonsof

Liberty. He allowed Adamsto escort him to the buildingentrance and bid himfarewell.

Adams’sofficewasbutashortdistancefromtheTownHouse, and so Ethan nextpaidavisittothechambersofThomas Hutchinson. He hadexpected that he would havesome difficulty convincingthose who worked for the

lieutenant governor to granthim admittance to the man’soffice.Hewaswrong.

Within moments of hisarrival, he stood beforeHutchinson. Recent eventshad left him looking evenmore weary than he hadduring their previousencounter.Ethandoubtedthathe had slept in the past twodays.

“Sheriff Greenleaf tellsmethattheconjurerofwhomwe spoke—the one youthought responsible for theSeiderboy’sdeath—isdead,”Hutchinson said. “Moreover,he tells me that you killedhim.”

“Yes,sir,that’sright.”“The sheriff suggests that

weoweyouourgratitude.”This was the last thing

Ethan had expected him tosay. “MisterGreenleaf is tookind,sir.”

Hutchinson gave a wrygrin. “I think we both knowbetter.Ithinkaswellthattheprovince owes you fivepounds. Iassume that iswhyyoucame.”

“Icametoinformyouthatbefore he died, Ramsey castspells that may well have

causedtheshootingsonKingStreet.”

Hutchinson’s mouth fellopen. “What?” he said,breathless.

“He used his conjuringsagainst the mob and thesoldiers,ashedid thedayofthe shooting on MiddleStreet. I have just nowinformedJohnAdamsofthis,so thathemightmakeuseof

theinformationinhisdefenseofthemen.”

“Thank you, MisterKaille. That was most fair-mindedofyou.”

“You may find this hardtocredit,sir,buttheideawasnot my own. It came fromSamuelAdams.”

Hutchinsonponderedthis,afaintsmileonhislips.“Yes,I’msureitdid.Whateverelse

hemight be, there can be nodoubt that he’s canny.” Thelieutenant governor stoodunmoving for some timebefore returning to his deskand retrieving a purse thatrang with coins. “Your fivepounds,”hesaid,untying thedrawstrings and pouring outthe contents of the purse.Hecounted outEthan’s paymentand then glanced his way.

“And what of ourarrangement, Mister Kaille?Do I owe you an additionalthree pounds? Did SamuelAdams’smotivesprovetobeaspureasyoubelieved?”

“You know they didn’t,sir.Youowemefivepoundsandnothingmore. I spoke toAdams on your behalf andtried to dissuade him fromorganizing more assemblies

liketheoneoutsideEbenezerRichardson’s house. I failed,aswebothknewIwould.ButI did fulfill my part of ourwager.”

“Very well,” said thelieutenant governor, holdingoutthecoinstoEthan.

Ethan took his paymentand pocketed it withoutbotheringtocountthecoins.

“Thank you, sir. Good

day.”“Thank you, Mister

Kaille. As you well know, Ihave no love for your kind.Witcheryisascourgeonthisprovince and has been formore than a century.But thesheriff is right: You’ve doneusaservice,andI’mgratefultoyou.”

Ethan could think ofnothing to say. He nodded

once to theman and left thechamber, grateful to be donewithHutchinson,atleastforawhile,andgratefulaswellforthe coins jangling in hispocket. Upon reaching thestreet, he paused.He owed avisittoJanna;shewouldwantto know that Ramsey wasdead.Butallhewishedtodowas sit with Kannice. Hewalked back to the Dowsing

Rod, takingcare toavoid thebarracks of the Twenty-ninthRegiment.

Onlywhenheenteredthetavern, however, did herememberthathewouldhaveto face Kelf before he couldseeKannice.

Kelf stood at the bar,polishing the wood with acloth. A few patrons sat attables eating oysters and

drinking flips, but the tavernwasmostlyempty.When thebarman spotted Ethan, hedropped his gaze and rubbedat the wood with enoughforce to strip it of its finish.Ethanapproachedthebar.

“We’re going to have totalkeventually,”hesaid.

“I thought I told you tokeep away from me,” Kelfsaid, running his words

togetherinanangryjumble.“Aye, you did.But that’s

notgoingtohappen,andyouknowit.Soweneedtotalk.”

“I’ve nothin’ to say toyou.”

“Why, Kelf? Because Isavedherlife?”

“Becauseyou’reawitch!”The patrons looked their

way. Ethan stared back atthem, daring them to say

something. Before long, theyreturned their attention totheirflips.

“Keep your voice down,”Ethansaid,facingthebarmanoncemore.

Kelfmutteredanapology.“I’m a conjurer, not a

witch,andIhavebeenforaslongasyou’veknownme.Inwhat way does this changeme?”

“Idon’tknow,butitdoes.It’s…it’snotnatural.”

Ethan chanced a smile.“Actuallyitis.Iwasbornthisway, asweremymother andbothofmysisters.”

Kelfdidnotrespond.“I’m going to marry her,

Kelf. I’ll be living here,helping the two of you runthe Dowser. You and I havetobeabletoworktogether.”

“Maybeshewon’twanttokeep me. She doesn’t needbothofus.”

“OfcourseIdo.”Kelf looked past Ethan

toward the stairs. Ethanturned. Kannice stood at thefoot of the stairway, a shawlwrapped around hershoulders. She had morecolor today, though she stilllookedpale.

“You shouldn’t be out ofbed,”Ethansaid.

Kannice crossed to thebar, ignoring him for themoment. “The Dowsing Rodwouldn’tbethesamewithoutyou, Kelf, whether or notEthanishere.”

The barman wouldn’tmeethergaze.

“But you have to acceptthathe’s a speller,” shewent

on, dropping her voice. “Ifyou can’t do that,we have aproblem.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”Kelfasked.“Truly?”

“No, it doesn’t. He’s agoodman,asyouwellknow.And thanks to his conjuring,I’malive.”

“Heusedblood.”“Aye, I did,” Ethan said.

“I can also conjure with

leaves,withfreshwood,withgrass.ForsomesimplespellsI need no more than air orwater.But to saveKannice’slife I needed to cast apowerful spell, and bloodworksbest.”

“Have you ever spelledme?”

“No, I’ve never hadcause.But ifIneededtocastin order to save your life, I

would.” He grinned. “Therewas a time though, someyearsago,whenIusedaspellon the door, and in themorningyoucouldn’tgetin.”

“I remember that,” Kelfsaid, a smile creeping overhis features. “I almost brokedownthedoor.”

“Aye, but I removed thespellbeforeyoudid.”

Too soon, Kelf appeared

torememberwhatitwastheywere discussing. His smilefaded. He eyed Ethan andthenKannice, frowning oncemore.“Wait.Didyousaythatyou’regoin’tomarryher?”

Ethanglancedherway.“Iwillifshe’llhaveme.”

Kannice took his hand.“Aye,we’llbemarriedbeforelong.Andwewantyoutherewithus.”

The barman ducked hishead. “I’m happy for youboth.ButIneedsometimetoget used to this—to get usedtoyou,Ethan.”

Kannice’s expressionhardened.“Whattime—?”

“That’sfine,Kelf,”Ethansaid.“There’snohurry.Iplanto be around here for a longwhile.”HeturnedtoKannice,whostillglaredatKelf.“You

shouldbeinbed.”“I’m done lying in bed,”

she said, in a tone he hadlearned long ago not tochallenge. “I want a bite toeat, and then Iwant toworkinmykitchen.”

Ethan and Kelf shared agrin. “I’ll fetch her somefood,” Kelf said. “And thenI’llclearoutofherway.”

He lumbered into the

kitchen.“You were more

understanding than I wouldhave been,” Kannice said,once she and Ethan werealone.

“He’strying,”Ethansaid.“I can’t ask for more thanthat.”Hetookherinhisarmsand kissed her. “I’m glad toseeyouupandabout,evenifyoushouldbeinbed.”

A coy grin touched herlips. “The next time I’m inbed,Iwon’tbealone.”

“Well then, you shoulddefinitelybeinbed.”

“Later,” she said,laughing as she pulled awayfromhim.“Rightnow,Iwantto cook. It’s been too long,and this place will be fillingupsoonenough.”

Ethan said nothing, but

gazedbackather,relivingforan instant the terror he’dknownuponseeingherwithaknife in her chest. Howwould he have gone onwithouther?

“Ethan? Are you allright?”

“I’mfine,”hesaid.“Morethan fine. I’m glad you’rewell enough to be makingchowderagain;I’venodoubt

TomLangerwillbe,too.”She smiled, though her

browremainedcreased.“Iloveyou,”hesaid.Her brow smoothed.

“Good.”

***

Late in the afternoon of thenext day, March 8, nearlyeveryshopinthecityclosed,church bells began to peal,

andacrowdofmournersthatmost agreed numbered morethan ten thousand convergedon King Street to honor thememoriesofCrispusAttucks,James Caldwell, SamuelGray, and Samuel Maverick,the four men who died as aresultoftheshootingsthere.

At least one of the othervictims,ayoungIrishlaborernamedPatrickCarr,remained

grievously wounded; fewexpectedhimtosurvive.

Men andwomen came tothe city from Roxbury,Charlestown, and othernearby communities; theresulting procession dwarfedthat which accompaniedChristopherSeidertohisfinalresting place. Walking sixabreast through the citystreets,themournersborethe

coffins from King Street totheLibertyTreeandfinallytotheGranaryBuryingGround.

Though Ethan tried toremindhimselfthatRamsey’sspells had caused thesedeaths, he couldnothelpbutfeel that he, too, wasresponsible in some smallway. Had he discoveredsooner the secret to wardinghis power from the captain’s

influence, he might havesavedtheselives.

Hewasflankedontheicylanes by Kannice and Diver,Kelf and Deborah. Kanniceheldfasttohishand.Deborahsupported Diver, who hadinsisted upon taking part inthe procession despiteEthan’s and Deborah’smisgivings.

It was as solemn and

momentous an occasion asEthan had ever witnessed.There were no incidents, noconfrontations betweenmourners and soldiers.But itseemed to Ethan that he andthe others participated notmerely in a funeral, but in ademonstrationofthegrowingmight of Samuel Adams’smovement for liberty. ThenexttimeBritishsoldierstake

up arms against Boston’scitizenry, they seemed to sayby theirmerepresence in thestreets, this is what they willface.

The honored dead wereinterred in a single vault,beside the grave of ChrisSeider.After,Ethan,Kannice,andtheothersreturnedtotheDowser and drank a solemntoasttothefallenmen.

“I’dliketodrinkatoasttoMister Kaille as well,”Deborah said, as they stoodby the bar. “Were it not forhim,Derreywouldhavebeenburied today, along with therest.”

Diver kept his eyeslowered, but nodded as shespoke.KelfandEthanshareda glance as the barman said,“Hear, hear,” along with the

others.“Thank you, Deborah,”

Ethan said. “But I did it outofselfishness.Diverowesmefor more ales than I cancount, and I have everyintentionofcollecting.”

Most of them laughed—even Diver managed a faintsmile—but once moreEthan’s breath caught, thistime at the thought of how

close he had come to losinghisdearfriend.

He was not a religiousman, nor a vindictive one.Butat thatmomenthehopedwith all his heart that NateRamsey was burning in thefiresofhell.

ChapterTWENTY-SIX

Ethan left his room on

Cooper’s Alley a few dayslater,biddinga fond farewellto Henry, and promising tovisit the cooperwhenever hehad the opportunity. OnMarch 18, the day afterSamuel Adams arrangedanother massive funeral, thisone for Patrick Carr, EthanandKanniceweremarried ina humble ceremony before amagistrate at the Town

House. Diver and Deborahwere there as witnesses, aswere Kelf, Henry, and evenJanna, who made a point oftelling anyone who wouldlisten that she could haveseenthemwedyearsearlierifonly Ethan had paid her foroneofherlovespells.

In thedays that followed,Ethan tried to make himselfuseful around the tavern. He

certainly was not as fine acook asKannice, norwas heas strong as Kelf. But, itturnedout,hehadsomeskillwithwoodwork, andhe soontookituponhimselftorepairall the uneven tables andsqueaky chairs in the greatroom, which was no smalltask.

While working on onesuchchair in themiddleof a

warm, sunny afternoon laterin the month, he heard thetavern door open and close,and then the soft scrape ofboot leather on the woodenfloor.

“IfIdidn’tseeitwithmyown eyes, I wouldn’t havebelievedit.”

Ethan stood and turned.“Goodday,Sephira.”

She had come alone, or

perhaps she remembered thatKannice had ordered hertoughs from the Dowser theone other time she came tothe tavern, and so left Nap,Mariz,Afton, andGordon inthestreet.

She looked as lovely asalways, her cheeks flushed,herdarkcurlsshining.

“I heard a rumor thatyou’ve given up thieftaking.

Isittrue?”“Aye,” Ethan said. “I’ve

given up my room onCooper’sAlleyaswell.Ilivehere now. Kannice and I aremarried.”

“Why, Ethan, howquaint.”Hersmilewasoverlysweet. “You’ve beendomesticated.”

“Is there something I canhelp you with? Or did you

comeherejusttomockme?”“The latter,” she said,

strolling around the greatroom, eyeing the bar, thetables and chairs, the hearth.“I’mnotsureIseetheappeal.I suppose it’s a nice enoughplace; a bit on the shabbyside, but charmingnevertheless.” She halted notfarfromwherehestood.“Butthis is not the life for aman

likeyou.”“I disagree.” He said the

words forcefully enough, buthe found it difficult to meethergaze.

“No, you don’t. Youknowaswell as I that you’llbe bored before long. You’llmiss the search for thieves,the fights in the lanes, thesatisfaction of finishing ajob.” She stepped closer.

“Youmightevenmissme.”He laughed. “You think

I’ll miss being beaten to abloodymess by your brutes?Having my life threatenedtime and again? Beinghounded by SheriffGreenleaf?You’remad.”

“So you say now. Butmark my word: You’re notthe type to be penned andsaddled.You’ll be chafing at

the halter before long,looking for any excuse to bebackinthestreets.”

“Idon’tthinkso,”cameavoicefrombehindthem.

Sephira’s gaze shifted,and a cruel smile curved herlips. Turning, Ethan saw thatKannice had emerged fromthe kitchen and now stoodbehindthebar.

“Congratulations, Missus

Kaille,” Sephira said.“Having not been invited tothe wedding, I wanted tocome by and wish you bothgreathappiness.”

“Is that what you weredoing?” Kannice said.“That’snothowitsounded.”

Sephira’ssmiledeepened.FacingEthanagain,shesaid,“Though I’m loath to admitit,Iknowtheremaybetimes

whenI’mpresentedwithjobsthatliebeyondmy…talents.On those occasions, I mayseekyouout.”

“What about Mariz?You’ve been boasting formore than a year now thatyou can match me conjuringfor conjuring. Why wouldyouneedme?”

“Come now. We bothknow that Mariz is no

thieftaker.Ifinditconvenienthaving access tomagick, butI wouldn’t trust him with aninquiry.”

He knelt beside the chairhe had been repairing. “I’mno longera thieftaker.You’llhave to find help somewhereelse.”

“No,youwon’t,”Kannicesaid. “If he can help you hewill.Forhalfofwhateverfee

you’repaid.”Sephira blinked, then

laughed. “Oh, I like her,Ethan. I remember her asfiery, but who knew shecould be so shrewd as well.She knows you better thanyouknowyourself.PerhapsIwaswrongbefore.Shewon’tallow you to grow bored.She’stoosmartforthat.”

“Shouldn’t you be

crawling back under yourrock?”Kanniceasked.

Sephira stilled, puttingEthan in mind of a wolf.“Have a care, my dear. Youmay be clever, but no onespeakstomethatway.”

Ethan, who still carriedhis knife on his belt, drew itnowandstoodoncemore.“Ithinkyoushouldleave.”

She smiled once more.

“Very well. But I’m notthrough with you, andeventually I’ll lure you backinto the lanes. You’ll see.”She cast one last look atKannice,andsaunteredoutofthetavern.

“You need to be morecarefulwithher,”Ethansaid,watching the door, his bladestillinhand.

“Ican’thelpit;shebrings

outtheworstinme.”“Oh, I understand.

Believe me. But you mustnever forget how dangeroussheis.”

“I know.” Kannice cameout from behind the bar andjoinedEthanwherehe stood.“Evil as she may be, she’sright, you know: You aregoingtogetbored.”

“No,Iwon’t.”

She nodded. “Aye, youwill.And that’sall right. Ifajobcomesyourway,andyouwishtotakeit,youshould.”

“I thought you didn’twant me thieftakinganymore.”

“I don’t. But more thanthat, I don’t want you to beunhappy, or to feel trapped.And if you say that you’renever going to work in the

lanes again, that’s what willhappen.”

“So, I’m to be atavernkeeper by day and athieftakerbynight?”

She put her arms aroundhis neck and kissed himdeeply. “You won’t bethieftaking every night,” shemurmured. “I’ll see to that.Butperhapsnowandthen.”

He glanced toward the

doorbeforekissingheragain.“Nowandthen,”herepeated,hisbreathstirringherhair.“IbelieveIcanlivewiththat.”

HistoricalNote

With each of the Thieftakerbooks,Ihavelookedforwaysto blend my fictional

elements—Ethan’s life, hisconjurings, his anachronisticprofession, his loves andfriends and rivals andenemies—with the historicaldetails of 1760s and, now,1770s Boston. Finding thatbalance between fact andfiction, and weaving thefantastic and historicaltogether in a manner thatleaves the boundary between

thetwoallbutinvisibletomyreaders, has always been thegreatest challenge of writingthisseries.

And innoneof thebookswas this challenge moreformidable than in DeadMan’s Reach. Thecircumstances andprogression of occurrencesleading up towhat has cometo be known as the Boston

Massacrewereascomplexasthose surrounding any eventin the pre-Revolutionaryperiod. The seeds of thiswatershed tragedy wereactually planted in 1768,whencustomsofficialsseizedJohnHancock’s shipLiberty,prompting riots and,eventually, the occupation ofBoston by British troops.These events were

chronicled, looselyofcourse,inThieves’Quarry. Over thefollowing eighteen months,thepresenceofsoldiersinthecity fed a growing tensionthat often threatened to spilloverintobloodshed.

In February 1770, theviolence erupted at last. Theshooting of youngChristopher Seider byEbenezer Richardson

happened much as it isdescribed in these pages,including the initialdemonstrationsinfrontoftheshopofTheophilusLillie.Sodid the grand funeralarranged by Samuel Adamsandhis fellowpatriots,downto the complications createdby the tremendous blizzardthat struckNewEngland justdays before the

demonstration.Inthedaysandweeksthat

followed, conflicts betweensoldiers and Boston’scitizenry continued. Thefights atGray’s RopeWorksfollowed the progressiondescribedinthisnovel,asdidthe moment-by-momentescalation of emotion on thenightofMarch5,1770,whensoldiers opened fire on the

mob that had gathered nearthe Customs House on KingStreet.

Therein lies the challengeI mentioned. Not only did Iwish to blend my fictionalnarrative with historicalevents,butIalsodidmybesttomakemy story follow thehistorical timeline as closelyas possible. It wasn’t alwayseasy, but it was a great deal

offun.Of course, Ethan’s blood

feud with Nate Ramseyplayed no role in theseevents, and we have noevidence that magick didanything to ratchet up theemotions of those whogathered in Boston’s streets.But that is a discussion foranothertimeandplace.

In piecing together the

sequence of historicaloccurrences, in particularthose surrounding the Seidershooting, the fightsatGray’sRope Works, and themassacre itself, I relied ontwo books:Hiller B. Zobel’sTheBostonMassacre(W.W.Norton, 1970) and RichardArcher’s As If an Enemy’sCountry: The BritishOccupationofBostonandthe

Origins of Revolution(Oxford University Press,2010).

For more information onthe scholarly and primarysources I have used for thisand other Thieftaker booksand stories—along with agood deal of otherinformation—please visit mywebsite: www.dbjackson-author.com.

Acknowledgments

As with the other Thieftakernovels, I owe a great debt toseveral people who have

helpedme getmy facts (andfictions) straight. My thankstoDr. JohnC.Willis, forhishelp with the history; Dr.Christopher M. McDonough,who translated more spellsfor me; Dr. Robert D.Hughes,whoeducatedmeonthe arcana of AnglicanChurch matters; and Dr.Thomas Spacarelli, whotranslatedabitofPortuguese

for me. Any mistakes thatremaindespitethebesteffortsofalltheseverysmartpeopleareentirelymyown.

Asalways,Iwishtothankthe Norman B. LeventhalMap Center at the BostonPublic Library, in particularCatherine T. Wood, thecenter’s office manager, forallowingustousethemapofBoston that appears at the

frontofthebook.Lucienne Diver is a

superbagent,aterrificcriticalreader, and a wonderfulfriend.Iamgratefultoherforall that she has done for mybooks and my career. Mysincere thanks as well toDeirdreKnight,JiaGiles,andthegreatpeopleattheKnightAgency.

I’ve been fortunate to

work on this book withseveral fine editors at TorBooks, including MarcoPalmieri, Stacy Hill, andChristopher Morgan. Theirinsights, patience, andwisdom added immeasurablyto the finishedproduct, and Iam indebted to them all. I’malso deeply grateful to TomDoherty, IreneGallo and herstaff, Cassie Ammerman,

LeahWithers,DianaPho,andall the terrific people at Tor,andalsotoTerryMcGarry.

Thank you as well to:Faith Hunter, Misty Massey,A. J. Hartley, JohnHartness,James Tuck, Carrie Ryan,Mindy Klasky, DianaPharaoh Francis, C. E.Murphy, Charles ColemanFinlay, Kat Richardson,Blake Charlton, Kate Elliott,

Eric Flint, Mary RobinetteKowal, Alethea Kontis,Stephen Leigh, LynnFlewelling, JoshuaPalmatier,Stuart Jaffe, EdmundSchubert, Kalayna Price,Robert Sawyer, and PatriciaBray, all of whom havehelped me with ideas orworld-building, character orplotting,phrasingorresearch,not to mention promotion of

theseries.At the end of the day, as

atthebeginning,mywifeanddaughters are the source ofmygreatesthappinessand,ona day-to-day basis, the lion’sshare of my laughter. Icouldn’t do any of thiswithout their love andsupport.

AbouttheAuthor

D.B. JACKSON is the award-

winning author ofmore thanfifteen fantasy novels, manyshort stories, and theoccasional media tie-in. Hisbooks have been translatedinto more than a dozenlanguages.Hehas amaster’sdegree and Ph.D. in U.S.history, which have come inhandy as he has written theThieftaker novels and shortstories.Heandhisfamilylive

in the mountains ofAppalachia.

Visit him atwww.dbjackson-author.com.Or sign up for email updateshere.

ETHANKAILLENOVELSBYD.B.

JACKSONFROMTORBOOKS

ThieftakerThieves’QuarryAPlunderofSoulsDeadMan’sReach

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Contents

TitlePageCopyrightNotice

Dedication

Map:APlanoftheTownofBoston

Chapter1Chapter2Chapter3Chapter4Chapter5Chapter6Chapter7Chapter8Chapter9

Chapter10Chapter11Chapter12Chapter13Chapter14Chapter15Chapter16Chapter17Chapter18Chapter19Chapter20Chapter21

Chapter22Chapter23Chapter24Chapter25Chapter26

HistoricalNoteAcknowledgmentsAbouttheAuthor

EthanKailleNovelsbyD.B.JacksonfromTorBooks

Copyright

Thisisaworkoffiction.Allofthecharacters,organizations,andeventsportrayedinthisnovelareeither

productsoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.

DEADMAN’SREACH

Copyright©2015byD.B.Jackson

Allrightsreserved.

CoverartbyChrisMcGrath

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Tor®isaregisteredtrademarkofTomDohertyAssociates,LLC.

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TheLibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationDataisavailableupon

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ISBN978-0-7653-7114-0(hardcover)ISBN978-1-4668-3819-2(e-book)

e-ISBN9781466838192

FirstEdition:July2015