Gavin looked stricken. “Nate’s doing all of that?”
“I’m afraid so. He’s also trying to bring back his father from the dead.”
“Good God, no! He has to understand: it won’t be Nathaniel. It would be something else, something twisted, dark, more wraith than man.”
“He’s not thinking clearly, Gavin. I believe he’s more than a little insane. Brilliant and powerful, but mad. I’ve tried to reason with him, and I had hoped that I could get him to leave Boston, even if it meant helping him raise his father. But he believes that I’ve wronged him, and he seeks to avenge himself upon me, regardless of the pain it brings to others.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” Gavin said. “But I don’t see what I can do.”
“Janna and I intend to fight him. I’m going to enlist another speller I know, and I hoped that you—”
“No.” Gavin stood and began to pace the room. “I have no power, Ethan. I’m old and weak and I can’t help you.”
“Working together, we might be able to cast more reliably, and we might enhance our power, as well.”
The old man shook his head, still pacing. “No. I can’t do it.”
Ethan frowned and watched him in silence. “I wish I’d known that you knew him so well,” he said at last. “You might have reached him where others couldn’t.”
Gavin halted, stared at him. “Are you asking me to talk to him?”
“No. I think it’s too late for that.”
“Nate and I don’t know each other well, at least not anymore,” Gavin went on, as if he hadn’t heard. He shook his head again and resumed his pacing. “I’m afraid of what he’s become. The last time I saw him I sensed the seeds of that madness you speak of now. It frightened me. And I think that he harbors resentment toward me, too. I didn’t do enough for his father at the end. That’s what he said, and I suppose it’s true.”
“Are you sure you won’t help us fight him?”
“I’m sorry, Ethan. There was a time when I thought myself brave. I might have stood with you then.”
“But your spellmaking—”
“I can live the rest of my days without conjuring. But I’m not ready to die.”
Ethan eyed him for a few seconds more. He and Gavin had never been close friends; he spent far less time with the old captain than with Janna. But he had expected more from this encounter.
Gavin had walked to a window that overlooked the lane, and stood gazing out at the street.
“I’ll go,” Ethan said, getting to his feet.
“You’re disappointed in me.”
He stepped to the door and pulled it open. “It’s not my place to be disappointed in you. I was asking you to risk your life; you’re well within your rights to refuse. We’ve known each other for a long time, Gavin. This changes nothing between us.”
Gavin faced him, a pained smile on his wan features. “Thank you, Ethan.”
Ethan left him and struck out southward again. As difficult as his conversation with Gavin had been, his next task promised to be even worse. He needed to enlist Mariz’s help, and that meant he had to face Sephira.
Chapter
TWENTY
Gordon stood outside Sephira’s house, hands in his pockets, his massive shoulders hunched. His homely face was slack, his eyes fixed on something Ethan couldn’t see. He seemed not to notice Ethan as he approached the house along the street. But when Ethan started up the path to Sephira’s door, the man straightened and puffed out his chest. A scowl settled on his face, but it wasn’t the menacing expression Ethan was accustomed to. He sensed that more than anything else, Gordon resented the intrusion.
Ethan drew his knife, flipped it over and handed it hilt-first to the man. “I’d like to speak with Sephira,” he said, his voice low.
Gordon pocketed the knife. “Wait here.”
The tough lumbered into the house. Ethan surveyed the grounds of Sephira’s estate. Her gardens were in full bloom; yellow finches flitted in nearby branches, singing boldly; a soft wind stirred the leaves and bent the grasses on her lawn. It was too bright a day for all that had happened, and for what promised to come.
“She’ll see you.”
Ethan turned. Gordon held the door open for him. He nodded and entered the house.
Sephira sat in the common room just off the entryway, in a large arm chair near the hearth. Nap, Mariz, Afton, and several of her other toughs were seated with her. The room was silent save for the rustle of lace window curtains and the strains of birdsong.
“Did Greenleaf arrest him?” Sephira asked, before Ethan could say a word.
“No. Frankly, I think he and I were fortunate to get away with our lives.”
She gave no indication of being surprised or angry. “Mariz tells me that he’s very powerful, and that he’s found some way to weaken the rest of your kind. Is that true?”
“Aye.”
“So, what are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to fight him,” Ethan said. “But I need Mariz’s help.”
“You’ll have help from all of us.”
“Sephira—”
“He killed him,” she said, her voice shaking. “He didn’t raise a hand or say any of the things you say when you use your witchery. He just killed him, with nothing more than a thought.”
“I know.”
“You’ve threatened me before,” she said. “You’ve threatened all of us. I suppose you’ve had cause. And you’ve said to me that if you wanted to you could snap my neck or tear apart this house or burn all of my men to ash. And though I’ve seen you do your magicking, all this time I dismissed those threats as mere talk.” She looked up, her blue eyes meeting his. “But you really could have done it. Not until today did I realize that for all these years, you’ve kept your witchery in check.”
He chanced a small smile. “You haven’t always made it easy.”
“No, I haven’t. And I’m not saying that I intend to start. But I … I respect your forbearance.”
“Thank you.”
“Ramsey, on the other hand, has ensured his own death. No one who kills one of my men goes unpunished. I don’t care what it takes; I will see this man dead, and I will spit upon his grave.”
Nap and the others watched, avid, alert. Ethan could see her rage mirrored in their eyes. He had long assumed that Sephira’s toughs were little more than well-paid mercenaries who remained in her employ because there were no better opportunities in the city for men of their particular talents. He realized now that he did Sephira and them a disservice. Whatever he might have thought of her, Nap, Afton, Gordon and the others loved her as soldiers do a trusted commander. He was sure that Nigel had as well. Alone among her men, Mariz held himself apart. Perhaps he hadn’t been with her long enough to feel the same loyalty and affection. Or maybe because he was a conjurer he remained wary of his companions and they of him. But Ethan didn’t doubt that if Sephira ordered her men back to the wharf, they would follow her, even if it meant their deaths.
“What I was going to say,” Ethan began again, “is that Mariz can help me far more than the rest of you. In fact, you being there might make matters more difficult.”
“That’s too bad,” she said. “We’re going to be there.”
“If Mariz and I—”
“Can you fight off Ramsey’s crew and also fight him?”
Ethan glanced at Mariz, who stared back at him, his expression revealing little. “Probably not,” he said to Sephira.
“I figured as much. So stop arguing with me, and tell me what it is you intend to do.”
“Right now there are three of us: Mariz, Janna Windcatcher, and me—”
“Windcatcher,” Sephira said. “You mean the daft old African woman who owns that hovel out on the Neck?”
“That’s right. She’s not daft, and she’s as skilled a conjurer as we have here in Boston.”
Sephira pressed her lips thin, her brow knitting. But she gestured for him to go on.
“I’m hoping that the three of us can combine our conjurings, so that our spells are stronger and more apt to work.”
She watched him, plainly expecting him to say more. When he didn’t, her expression turned even more skeptical. “That’s it? That’s your plan?”
“There is not much planning that can be done, Senhora,” Mariz said. “Ramsey is more powerful than we are. He will be expecting us to attack his ship again. Surprising him will be most difficult. But if what Kaille has in mind can work, that itself might be a surprise.”
“Have you ever used your witchery like that before?” Sephira asked, looking from Ethan to Mariz. “Can this be done?”
“It’s how Caleb Osborne’s daughters killed the men aboard the Graystone,” Ethan said. “It’s how they almost killed Mariz.”
“We would speak our incantations at the same time?” Mariz asked.
“Aye. But I believe there’s more to it than that. I’m hoping that Janna can help us figure out what else is involved. She told me that she’s never done it either, but her knowledge of conjuring runs deep.”
“I am curious as to whether our spectral guides can help us with this. If they work together it may be that speaking the spells simultaneously will be enough.”
Ethan nodded, remembering his violent encounter with the Osborne family. At one point, after Diver had been shot, the sisters cast a powerful healing spell to save his life. He could still picture their two ghosts standing together, one yellow, the other red, their hands clasped, so that their entwined fingers glowed orange. “I believe you’re right,” he said. “That might well be the key to making this work.”
Sephira’s brow had creased again. She regarded Mariz and Ethan the way a jealous lover might her beloved and a rival.
“Mariz and I need to speak with Janna,” Ethan said, eager now to be on his way. “I want to see if we can cast this way.”
“Why don’t you go get Windcatcher and bring her back here,” Sephira said. “The three of you can figure this out together.”
In spite of everything, Ethan laughed.
“Did I say something funny?” Sephira asked, biting off her words.
“Forgive me. It’s just that Janna would sooner swim with sharks than set foot in your home.”
He saw her bristle.
“What have I done to her?”
“You don’t know?” Ethan asked, incredulous. For years, Janna had made clear to him that she hated Sephira with a fiery passion; Ethan had always assumed that theirs was an ancient feud. Was it possible that whatever slight Janna remembered with such passion had escaped Sephira’s notice?
“I barely know who she is.”
Ethan shook his head. “This is a matter for another time. For now, it will be quicker if Mariz and I can go to her tavern and speak with her there.”
Sephira glowered. He was sure that she would refuse. But it seemed that her desire for vengeance outweighed her discomfort at having Ethan and her pet conjurer work together.
“Yes, all right,” she said. “When you’ve figured out how to work your witchery come back here and we’ll go to the wharf.”
“We will.”
Ethan turned to Mariz, who nodded. Together they crossed to the door and left the house.
Once they were on Summer Street and some distance from Sephira’s home, Mariz said, “She has been slow to trust me. This will make matters worse.”
“I’m sorry for that.”
The conjurer shrugged. “It cannot be helped.”
They walked some distance without speaking.
“This woman, she is African?”
Ethan nodded. “That’s right.”
“And she is free?”
“Not only that, she owns a tavern.”
“I thought that Africans in your country could not own property.”
“A small number do. Janna is … Well, there’s no one else like her. I don’t know a lot about her past, but from what I’ve pieced together it seems that as a young girl she was rescued at sea and taken in by a man of means. Eventually they fell in love. They never married of course, but I believe that he provided for her and made certain she would never want for anything.” Ethan paused. “And now she’s a marriage smith.”
Mariz gave him a puzzled look. “A what?”
“She casts love spells, and she makes little effort to hide her spellmaking ability. She also sells items you might find useful—herbs, oils; things of that sort.”
“I do not think you should be telling me this,” Mariz said, a thread of laughter in his voice.
“Perhaps not. If you buy something from her, don’t use it against me.”
“That is for the senhora to decide.”
They reached the Fat Spider a short time later, and let themselves in. Two patrons sat at a table near the door, but otherwise the great room was empty.
Janna stood at the bar, drying glasses. Seeing Ethan and Mariz, she scowled. “Who is this?” she asked, lifting her chin to point it at Mariz.
“This is the man I told you about,” Ethan said.
“Pryce’s conjurer.”
“That’s right.”
Mariz walked to the bar and sketched a small bow. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Windcatcher. Kaille has told me that there is no one in Boston who knows more about conjuring than you.”
Ethan suppressed a grin. With Kannice and Mariz falling over themselves to be nice to Janna, it wouldn’t be long before she expected him to do the same thing. Of course, if he did, she might be more forthcoming with information.
Janna’s expression had softened, though only a little. “Why you workin’ for that woman, anyway?” she asked.
Mariz opened his hands. “Why do you serve food to the people in your tavern? She pays me.”
Ethan didn’t expect Janna to be satisfied with this answer, but she shrugged, nodded, and faced Ethan again. “What about ole Black?”
He shook his head. “Gavin won’t be joining us.”
Janna didn’t appear surprised. “All right,” she said. “So how’re we gonna do this? I’ve done a lot of conjurin’ in my time, but I ain’t never conjured with one other speller before, much less two.”
“Mariz has had some thoughts on the matter,” Ethan said. “He thinks that the first step might be bringing together our guides and letting them know what it is we wish to do. Based on what I saw last year during my encounter with Caleb Osborne’s daughters, I believe he may be right.”
Again she nodded. “All right, you two,” she called to the men at the nearby table. “Time to be on your way. I have to close for a while.”
“But we haven’t finished,” one of the men said.
“Here are your shillings back,” Ethan said, crossing to them and handing each a coin. “Your next meal is at my expense.”
The men exchanged looks, but then stood with a scrape of chair legs on the wooden floor, and left the tavern.
Janna followed them to the door and locked it before looking Ethan’s way again. “You didn’t have to do that. They’re regulars; they woulda come back anyway.”
“I’m sure they would have. But we don’t have time for arguments right now.”
Without waiting for her response, Ethan whispered “Veni ad me.” Come to me.
Reg appeared beside him, glowing bright russet in the dim light of the tavern.
He heard Mariz and Janna summon their spectral guides as well and with a faint thrum of power, two more gleaming figures joined Ethan’s ghost. One, an aged African woman, shining pale blue, surveyed the great room, her gaze lingering on Reg and on the other glowing figure. She stood straight-backed and proud, her arms crossed over her chest. The second ghost was the same young man Ethan had seen a few days before. He wore Renaissance clothing, his glow a warm ecru.
“We need to be able to conjure together,” Ethan said to Reg, “the way Hester and Molly Osborne did. Conjuring alone, our power won’t be enough to defeat Ramsey, but perhaps it will if we
can combine our strength. Do you understand what I’m asking of you?”
Reg nodded and turned to the other two ghosts, both of whom hesitated.
Mariz spoke in Portuguese to his ghost, who also nodded once and faced Reg.
“Talk to them,” Janna said to her guide. “There’s no harm in talkin’.”
The blue figure replied with a scowl that was so much like a face Janna might have made, Ethan nearly laughed. But she joined the other two ghosts, and for some time the three figures huddled together. They made not a sound, but Ethan could tell from their aspects and their gestures that they were deep in discussion.
When at last they had finished, Reg faced Ethan once more and gave a single decisive nod.
“All right,” Janna said. “What now?”
“Now, I think we try a spell.”
Mariz pulled out his blade, but Ethan gave a shake of his head.
“We’ll cast with mullein first.”
“Why?” Janna glared at him. “You tryin’ to protect me, Kaille? You think I’m too old to be spillin’ blood for my conjurin’s?”
Ethan felt his cheeks color. The truth was he had been thinking just that, and had suggested mullein for her benefit.
“We’re gonna need blood to fight Ramsey, ain’t we?”
“Aye.”
“Then we use blood now.” She retrieved a knife from her bar and held it up.
Ethan drew his own blade and pushed up his sleeve.
“What is the spell?” Mariz asked.
“A wind,” Ethan said. He glanced Janna’s way. “Conjured from blood.”
The three of them cut themselves and recited the spell: “Provoca ventum ex cruore evocatum.” Summon wind, conjured from blood.
Ethan felt the pulses of power—three of them, separate, though in such quick succession that they were very nearly simultaneous—and knew that they had cast the spell incorrectly. Moreover, none of the conjurings worked; no wind rose in the tavern.
A Plunder of Souls (The Thieftaker Chronicles) Page 29