He kicked the clerk in the side, making him retch.
“I’m warded,” Ethan said. “And you’re not conjurer enough to overcome my spell. Now you’re going to answer some questions for me, and then I’ll decide whether to give you to the sheriff or kill you myself.”
“Save your breath,” Grant said, panting the words. “I’ll tell you nothing.”
“I want an answer to my question: How long have you been working for Nate Ramsey?”
He saw the man’s mouth move and knew that he was trying to conjure again. Ethan dug the toe of his boot into the leg he had shattered with his conjuring. Grant howled.
“How long?”
When Grant didn’t answer, Ethan kicked him a second time.
While the clerk sobbed in pain, Ethan retrieved the man’s knife from the snowbank. Returning to Grant’s side, he squatted beside him, grabbed his collar with one hand, and with the other set the point of the blade at the corner of the clerk’s eye.
Grant stiffened.
“Answer me, or I swear I’ll take out your eye.”
Tears coursed from the clerk’s eyes, and snot ran from his nose, so that he resembled an overgrown boy who had taken a beating. But his expression could have flayed the skin from Ethan’s bones.
“I know of no one named Ramsey,” he said.
Ethan increased the pressure of the blade against the man’s skin, though he took care not to draw blood.
“It’s the truth. But I … I was hired by someone. I don’t know who it was.”
“How long ago?”
“Not long. Perhaps a fortnight.”
“This person came to you?”
Grant pressed his lips together.
Ethan tapped the point of the knife against his face. “Did he come to you?”
“I was approached by a man claiming to be the agent of another. He gave no names—not his own, nor that of his employer.”
“He offered you money.”
“That’s right.”
“How much?”
The clerk’s mouth twisted. “Five pounds. And I’ve been promised five more.”
It was a sizable amount, but not necessarily beyond Ramsey’s means.
“And he told you to seek me out?” Ethan asked.
Grant laughed, though with little mirth. “You do have a mighty high opinion of yourself, don’t you? Of course he didn’t. Nor did I do any such thing. If you remember, you found me in the Green Dragon.”
“But you were there for him.”
“I was there as a supporter of the Sons of Liberty. His instructions were to watch for conjurers—any conjurers. I didn’t have to change my daily routine. Indeed, the man with whom I spoke made it clear to me that I was not to do so.”
Ethan shook his head. None of this was as he had expected. “He merely told you to search for other conjurers?”
“Not even to search for them. To keep watch, to tell him of any spells I felt or spectral guides I happened to see.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“No. But I believed—” He clamped his mouth shut, his gaze sliding away.
“You believed what, Grant?” When the clerk didn’t respond, Ethan tightened his hold on the man’s cape and shook him. “What did you believe?”
“It might have been foolish of me, but I believed I had been hired by a friend of the patriot cause, someone who suspected that … that loyalists were using spellers to spy on Adams and the others. I suppose that sounds ridiculous.”
Ethan had battled such a conjurer several years before. He shook his head. “Not so ridiculous, no.” He adjusted his grip on the man. “What were you to do if you found anyone? What did you do after our encounter at the Green Dragon?”
“I was to write a missive describing who and what I had seen, and deliver it to a predetermined location.”
At last. Ethan’s pulse quickened. “Where? Where did you take those missives?”
“That’s quite enough, I think.”
Ethan sprang to his feet and spun, gripping his knife. At first he saw no one. But then Ramsey—or rather the faintly glowing, conjured illusion of him—appeared from the darkness, like a ship emerging from mist.
The figure did not spare Ethan a look, but stared straight at the clerk. It wore Ramsey’s familiar sardonic smile, but its eyes gleamed as would embers in a hearth.
“I’m disappointed in you, Grant.”
Grant appeared more perplexed than frightened. “Who are you?”
“The man who gave you those five pounds you’ve been telling Kaille about. I would have thought that much money bought not only your cooperation, but also a modicum of discretion.”
With Ramsey’s illusion still watching the clerk, Ethan slowly moved his blade hand toward the other. If he could draw blood and cast a finding spell while Ramsey was conjuring, he might locate the captain in spite of whatever precautions he might have—
“Don’t do it, Kaille. Whatever spell you’re trying to cast will only make matters worse.”
“Worse for whom? For you, Ramsey? Do you think I care?”
“You’ve outlived your usefulness,” the figure said, addressing Grant again. “Not that you were terribly useful to begin with. But nevertheless…” He smiled again.
A conjuring surged through the ground beneath Ethan’s feet. He couldn’t keep himself from glancing at Reg. The ghost was already watching him.
Grant let out a strangled cry and clawed at his chest. His mouth was agape, but he did not seem to be able to draw breath.
Ethan knelt next to him. “Grant?” He glared up at Ramsey’s illusion. “What are you doing to him?”
“Nothing at all. You’re doing it.”
“Grant!” Ethan said again.
The clerk’s eyes had gone wide. His hands still clutched his heart. He fell over onto his side, his unbroken leg kicking spasmodically.
Ethan fumbled in his coat pocket for the three pouches of herbs. Removing several leaves from each—he didn’t bother to count them—he said, “Tegimen nobis ambobus ex verbasco et marrubio et betonica evocatum.” Warding, both of us, conjured from mullein, horehound, and betony.
The conjuring rumbled, an answer to Ramsey’s spell. But Grant continued to flail silently.
“No,” said Ramsey’s illusion. “I’m afraid that didn’t work.”
“Damn you, Ramsey!”
“Damn me?” the illusion said. “Damn me? Thus far, I’ve done you a favor Kaille. You ought to be thanking me!” He pointed at the clerk. “I can kill him in as many ways as you can conjure. I can slice open his throat or shatter his neck, or do any number of things that will make it seem that he has been killed on this deserted lane by a more powerful man, a man seen with him on King Street only moments before. Or I can let him die as he’s dying now, in a manner that will draw little notice. Earlier it was your choice that mattered; now it’s mine. Depending upon what I do in the next few moments, you could be gaoled tonight and hanged tomorrow. You shouldn’t be damning me; you should be begging.”
Ethan stared back at him, shaking with rage, at Ramsey and at his own impotence.
The illusion cocked its glowing head to the side as if considering options. “What to do. On the one hand, I’m not done with you yet. And when you die, it will be by my hand, not Greenleaf’s. Then again, I would so enjoy seeing the great Ethan Kaille brought low.”
Grant’s movements were growing feeble.
Ethan pulled more leaves from the pouches.
“Save your herbs, and your breath. He’ll be dead in another minute, and one way or another it will have been your power that killed him.”
Ethan held the herbs in his open palm, but he could think of no conjuring that would work against Ramsey’s conjuring.
“Time to choose,” the illusion whispered.
And even as the glowing figure spoke the words, another spell rumbled in the lane. Ethan didn’t have to ask Reg to know that it was his own power he felt. Blood spurted from a sudd
en gash on Grant’s neck and sprayed in a broad, dark fan across the ice.
Ethan was still on his knees, the leaves in his hand, and he fell back, scrabbling away from the man and his blood. “God have mercy!”
“I think he won’t,” Ramsey said.
Ethan stared at the clerk, watching in horror as he gave one last weak kick and moved no more. He felt nauseated and utterly disgusted with himself. Mostly, though, he detested Ramsey as he had no man ever before.
“What do you want of me?” Ethan asked, the words scraped from his throat.
“I want revenge. I want you to suffer and then to die. Haven’t I been clear?”
“I mean,” Ethan said, looking up at him, “what do you want to make this stop? You say you want to kill me. Fine. Tell me where to go, and I’ll go there. We can fight to the death. And if you prevail, so be it.”
“No, Kaille. No. This is better by far than killing you could ever be. You’re weak, desperate, filled with guilt and self-loathing for all that your power has wrought. These past few days have brought me more pleasure than I imagined they would. And I am in no hurry for them to end.” He glanced once more at Grant’s body before facing Ethan once more and smiling. But he didn’t vanish. Not yet. Instead he turned, facing back toward King Street. “Murder!” he cried. “Murder most foul!”
Ethan saw figures gathering at the mouth of the lane, pointing in his direction.
“Until next we meet,” Ramsey said.
The illusion faded much as it had appeared, withdrawing into the inky darkness, and leaving Ethan alone with the corpse of Jonathan Grant.
Chapter
TWENTY
He remained on his knees for a moment after the conjured figure disappeared. Ramsey was exactly right. He was desperate and filled with self-loathing. In their previous encounter, Ramsey had used spells to burn him, to break his bones, to keep him from drawing breath. Indeed, the spell he had used to choke Grant might well have been one that he used to torture Ethan the previous summer. Yet nothing Ramsey did to him then hurt half as much as what he had made Ethan endure this night. So great was Ethan’s anguish that as he watched the clerk die, he had been ready to give up his life to make it end.
But he would not die by the hangman’s noose.
The crowd at the end of the lane was growing, and a few intrepid souls were edging toward him, perhaps trying to catch a glimpse of his face and to make sense of the scene before them.
Ethan lurched to his feet, driven by cold and fear and the knowledge that he hadn’t the power to undo his own failure, which had cost Grant his life. He dashed out of the lane and across Water Street, keeping his head lowered, hoping that no one abroad at this hour would recognize him by his limp or his clothes or his features.
He needed help, and the last time he had spoken to Sephira Pryce, she had made an uncharacteristically generous offer.
Running as fast as his bad leg would allow, he continued southward until he reached the New South Meeting House, with its soaring spire, which gleamed white in the glow of the moon. The bells in the church still pealed along with those of the city’s other sanctuaries, but here at the southern end of Boston, the tolling drifted across pastureland and fields, incongruously peaceful on such a bloody night.
Ethan turned up Summer Street and soon stood once again at Sephira’s door, breathing hard, his eyes streaming with the cold.
Despite the late hour, Sephira’s windows were alight with candle flame. He knocked, and could not have been more surprised when Sephira herself opened the door.
“Mariz has been expecting you,” she said without preamble, and walked away from the door. Ethan entered the house, closed the door, and followed her into the sitting room.
Sephira had already taken a seat by the hearth. Mariz and her other toughs were arrayed around the room.
“You knew I’d come?” Ethan said to the conjurer.
“Yes. I sensed many spells, and I feared for you. They came from the center of the city, but I could not locate them precisely enough to find you. I thought that, if you survived, you might come here.”
Ethan didn’t know what to say. Here was more kindness than he had thought to find.
“What’s happened, Ethan?” Sephira asked, her tone as gentle as he had ever heard it, at least when directed at him.
He gave a high, choked laugh, and at the same time blinked away fresh tears. “Ramsey is using me … The shootings tonight on King Street—you’ve heard about them?”
She nodded.
“I was there. The spells that caused them to fire…” He broke off. He knew he wasn’t making sense, but he was torn between his need and his fear of confessing too much to this woman who had tormented him so over the years. “A friend of mine was shot. He also used me to start a brawl in a tavern, and the woman I love was stabbed.”
“Is she—?”
“I healed her in time.”
“And your friend?”
“He’ll live as well. But…” Even now, he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud that Diver had lost his arm. “But just now,” he went on, “as I was about to learn something of value from another conjurer, Ramsey appeared as an illusion. This other conjurer is dead. People saw me looming over him. They think I did it.”
“I don’t understand,” Sephira said. “You say he used you. Used you how?”
Ethan looked to Mariz.
“He is casting spells using Kaille’s power,” Mariz said, watching Ethan even as he spoke to Sephira. “I do not know the magick, but it means that Ramsey does not have to be present to cast; wherever Kaille is, Ramsey can conjure.”
“Including here?”
Ethan felt himself go pale. “Aye. I’m sorry, Sephira. I wasn’t thinking. I’ll leave right away.” He headed back to her door.
“Ethan, come back here.” She sounded more annoyed than frightened, like a parent summoning a wayward child.
“It’s not safe for you,” he said, remaining by the door.
“I would think that would make you all the more willing to come closer.”
He had to grin. But he didn’t move.
Seconds later, Sephira joined him in the foyer. “I told you the other day, I’m not afraid of Ramsey.”
“You should be. I’m terrified of him.”
“I’m sorry about your woman. I’m glad she’s all right.”
“Thank you.”
“Come back inside.”
“I came to speak with Mariz. He and I can go outside and talk there. That would be the more prudent thing to do.”
“I find prudence boring. Didn’t you know?”
He smiled again.
“Let me see if I understand,” she said. “Ramsey is using you to hurt others, including the people who mean the most to you. Am I to infer that it was your witchery, wielded by Ramsey, that caused tonight’s shootings?”
“Aye.”
“And now he’s managed to make it seem that you’re a murderer.”
“That’s right.”
“Impressive.”
Ethan looked to the side, his mouth twitching.
“Relax, Ethan. I have no intention of helping Ramsey or of taking advantage of what he’s done to you.” She grinned. “At least not right now.”
“Why not?” he asked, facing her.
“Because he killed Nigel. And because someday I’m going to ruin you myself, and I certainly don’t need his help.”
Ethan couldn’t help but laugh, though his chest ached.
“Mariz,” she called.
The conjurer joined them.
“Ethan wants a word with you. I think he’d be happier discussing these matters outside.”
“Of course, Senhora.” Mariz retreated into another room, only to emerge again, shrugging on a coat.
“You and I will speak again soon,” Sephira said.
“Did you go to Medfield?” Ethan asked.
“Nap and Gordon did. They found the girl and the jewels. The soldier is gone, I
think. But you have my thanks.” She flashed a dazzling smile. “It was the easiest four and ten I’ve earned in some time.”
“My pleasure.”
He and Mariz stepped outside onto the portico. Ethan gazed northward toward the lights of Cornhill. Mariz pulled the door shut.
“I have communicated with my mentor as I told you I would,” the conjurer said, coming forward to stand beside Ethan. “He has heard of borrowed spells and even knew of a conjurer who used them against another man. But he could tell me nothing about how to guard one’s power from the use of another. The magicking, he said, was beyond any he had learned.”
Ethan’s disappointment was mild; he had not expected anything more. “Thank you for trying. I’ve never sent an illusion so far to speak with someone. Was it difficult?”
Mariz shrugged. “He is in the city of my youth. I know the place well, which made it easier. But it is Ramsey’s illusion of which I wish to speak. You have spoken to him?”
“Aye. But I’m not sure there’s much to be gained in talking about it. He can do what he wants with my power, at a time and place of his choosing.”
“And you can do nothing to stop him?”
“Wardings don’t work, even sophisticated ones. And I can’t hurt an illusion. I believe there may be another man working with him—a soldier with the Twenty-ninth Regiment who’s billeted at Murray’s Barracks. But on this, of all nights, I won’t be able to get near him. The last I saw of him, he was guarding the Town House with his comrades.”
“We can use a concealment spell. Perhaps we can get close enough to speak with him when he is no longer on duty.”
In spite of everything, Ethan smiled at his use of the word “we.”
“Thank you, Mariz.”
“Tell me about these wardings you have tried.”
Ethan described for him the spell he had taught himself using the herbs he purchased at the Fat Spider.
“I have never cast such a warding myself, but I know that in Portugal, there are no herbs more valued for protection spells than the three Miss Windcatcher sold you.”
“Right,” Ethan said. “The spell should work, but for some reason it doesn’t.”
Dead Man's Reach Page 28