Ethan’s first thought was that the boy was dead, murdered just as Jennifer Berson and the Brown child had been. Holin didn’t move. His face was deathly pale, his mouth locked in what Ethan feared was a permanent grimace, his eyes squeezed shut as if he was in pain. Rain ran over his cheeks like tears. His hands were rigid and clawed. One might have thought that he was struggling to move, to break free of whatever spell the conjurer had placed on him.
But Anna-the conjurer-had wanted Ethan to stay. She-he? — was using Holin as bait, to lure Ethan to the wraith so that she could use the full weight of her power to destroy him. It was the only hope Ethan had for the boy; Holin had to be alive.
“You didn’t listen,” Anna said, walking toward him slowly. “You didn’t…” She cocked her head to the side and sniffed the air. A moment later, she laughed. “Mullein!” she said, sounding delighted. “You think that a few leaves of speller’s herb will help you stand against me?” She shook her head, her mirth vanishing as quickly as it had come. “You’re a fool, Kaille.”
“ Tegimen! ” Ethan barely even breathed the word. “ Ex verbasco evocatum! ” Warding, conjured from mullein!
The leaves and flowers in his hand melted away, like sand in seawater, and the cobblestones beneath his feet sang with power. He felt the warding coil up his legs like twin snakes, wrapping itself around him, enveloping him.
“A warding,” the girl said, as the protection reached his waist, his midriff, his chest. “How quaint. I could kill you where you stand, despite your spell and your herbs and whatever else you might think to try against me.” She leaned her head to the side, the glow of her skin ghoulish. “But I’ll give you one more chance before I do that.”
“What spell did you use on him?” Ethan demanded.
The little girl smiled. “One of my own, one that you could never do.”
Ethan pushed up his sleeve, intending to cut himself and try to revive the boy with a spell.
“Don’t,” the girl said. She didn’t raise her voice at all, but Ethan stopped with his blade poised over his forearm. “If you try to free him, I’ll kill you both. There’s only one way you can save his life, and you already know what that is.”
Ethan glared at her, finally responding with one curt nod. “You want me to forget about Jennifer Berson.”
“I’ve told you as much before. You should have listened to me. I would be within my rights to kill the boy as punishment for what you’ve done.”
“Punish me. Not the boy. He’s done nothing to you.”
“But what if I can punish you by hurting the boy? That accomplishes much for me. I would like to kill you, Kaille. I’m tempted to kill you right now. But if I do, it will raise suspicions. Berson knows what you’re doing. He’ll wonder if your death has something to do with his daughter.” She shook her head. “No, I need for you to go back and tell him that it was Folter all along, that he was working for Ebenezer Mackintosh. I need you to say that you were wrong, that Folter was a speller after all, that there was no one else who could have done it. And when you’ve done that, I’ll release the boy.”
“No,” Ethan said. “You’ll release him now. Or I swear to God, I’ll find you and I’ll tear you apart with my bare hands.”
Anna laughed, a high tinkling sound, like the laughter of any small girl. “Fool,” she said.
He felt the pulse of the conjuring an instant before it slammed into him.
The next thing he knew he was on the ground, writhing so violently that he could feel his head and hands and arms flailing painfully against the cobblestones. He could do nothing to stop himself. It felt as if someone had sliced him open from sternum to gut and poured molten iron into his body. He heard a scream echoing off the buildings around him, realized it was his own. But there was nothing he could do to stop that, either.
She had laughed at his warding, at the mullein, at his empty threat. Now Ethan understood why. He had never before sensed such power; he had never felt so helpless, so utterly betrayed by his own conjuring abilities.
And then it was over. Ethan lay on the stone, panting, rain washing over his face. In that moment he would have done anything the conjurer asked for a simple promise that he would never endure such blazing agony again. He was sure that was exactly what the bastard wanted.
He forced himself up, staggered, but quickly righted himself. His ghost watched him. Normally Reg would have been laughing at his failure, or shaking his head in disappointment. Not this time. The ghost actually looked scared.
“If you think,” Ethan said to Anna, “that I’m going to let you have him just because you managed to hurt me a little, you’re-”
Gods! Weren’t mullein and a warding worth anything? Ethan was on the ground again, his back arched, his teeth clenched so tight he thought they would shatter. Red-hot iron flowed like blood through his limbs, his body, his head. He wanted to scream again, but couldn’t. He wanted to tear his skin open to get the iron out, to let that rainwater cool him. He could imagine it sizzling, turning instantly to vapor. He could-
Breathe. He could breathe, again. He opened his mouth to let in a few drops of rain, coughed, and sat up too quickly. When his head stopped spinning he climbed to his feet once more.
Tegimen, he thought. Ex verbasco evocatum. Warding, conjured from mullein. He used more of the leaves this time, hoping for a more potent casting.
“Another warding won’t help you,” the girl said. “It doesn’t matter how many leaves you use. My power flows too deep for the likes of you.”
More than anything in the world just then, Ethan would have liked to punch this conjurer in the mouth. Obviously he was enormously powerful. But how did he know so much about Ethan’s gift? The conjurer had to be close. The last time Ethan had seen the little girl-far from here at the town gate-the conjurer had barely been able to maintain the illusion. That wasn’t the case tonight. In fact, the conjurer had managed to attack Ethan with one spell while maintaining that image of Anna. Ethan couldn’t have done that; he wouldn’t even have known how to make the attempt.
“Then you’ll have to kill me,” Ethan said, stalling now. “Because I won’t let you have Holin.”
Too often during these encounters with the girl, Ethan allowed himself to think about the conjurer’s power, and how weak he was by comparison. The time had come to consider what he could do, not what he couldn’t. He had tried a finding spell the second time he saw the girl, and it had failed. But why did he need a finding spell at all? Why not let an attack spell find the conjurer for him?
He still had his knife in hand and now he held it up for the girl to see. She gazed back at him, frowning in confusion. As she watched, Ethan fitted the blade back into its sheath, guiding it in with the other hand. But as the knife slid in, he allowed it to cut the skin between his thumb and forefinger.
Discuti! Shatter! The word echoed in his mind as blood began to flow from the wound on his hand. Ex cruore evocatum! Conjured from blood!
Again, Ethan felt the conjuring, and he knew that the conjurer had as well. But he hoped that the conjurer wouldn’t be expecting an attack when Ethan had yet to try a finding spell, and that watching him through Anna’s eyes, the man hadn’t noticed the blood on his hand and so would be expecting a weaker spell.
For once, fortune was on Ethan’s side. He heard a sound-half cry, half snarl. A man’s voice, beyond doubt, colored in equal measure by rage and shock and pain. At the same time, Anna disappeared, as if snatched away by demons. Ethan sprinted to Holin’s side as quickly as his leg would allow.
The boy yet breathed, though only just, his chest rising and falling in a shallow, irregular rhythm. The rain had soaked through his clothes. His skin felt cold and his lips were a pale shade of blue.
Ethan slid his arms under the lad, knowing that Holin wouldn’t survive much longer without a fire, dry clothes, and warm blankets.
“You shouldn’t have done that!” He knew without looking that Anna was back and standing behind him. She didn’t sound like a child anymore. Her voice was taut and harsh; a little girl’s voice blended with that of a grown man.
In the next instant, Ethan pitched forward over Holin, landed hard on his shoulder, and rolled onto his back. The molten iron seared his entire body from the inside, filling every inch of him, to the very tips of his fingers. He opened his mouth to scream, felt himself vomit instead. But still the anguish continued to build until he feared that his mind would melt or explode or simply cease to function.
He won’t stop until I’m dead. Ethan didn’t need Anna to tell him this. He knew it, and for an instant he welcomed the idea. No more life; no more pain.
As soon as he formed this thought, the agony ceased, and again Ethan wondered if this conjurer could read his mind.
“Fine, Kaille.”
Ethan stared up at the illusion. She still looked like a little girl, even if she sounded like some creature from beyond the living world.
“You leave me no choice but to end this matter. You’ll watch the boy die, and then in the morning you’ll go to the sheriff, and you’ll tell him that you’re the one who killed Jennifer Berson, and that little boy last fall, and this one as well. You’ll admit that you’re a conjurer; you’ll tell him you used your ‘witchery’ to commit these murders so that you could cast control spells. I’m sure he’ll piece together the rest.”
“I’ll go to him tonight! I’ll tell him what’s really happened.”
“You won’t remember what’s really happened. By the time I’m done with my spell, you’ll be passed out in the lane. You’ll wake, find yourself next to the boy’s body, and you’ll know, as you do your own name, that you killed him.”
Ethan reached for his blade, but before his hand even found the hilt, the same burning agony poured into his veins again. His body went rigid; his stomach heaved again. He would have clawed out his own eyes to make it stop.
“I can do this all night, Kaille. I can make you suffer in ways you never imagined, and well before my power is exhausted you’ll beg me to kill the boy and cast my spell. Or you can accept that you’ve lost, and be spared that torment. It’s your choice.”
“Yes!” he rasped. “Just stop! Please!”
As soon as Ethan spoke the words, his pain drained away, leaving him spent and limp, his heart laboring. He forced his eyes open, saw the girl standing over him, tiny, luminescent, a fierce grin on her waiflike face.
“Good, Kaille,” she said. “A wise choice, for once.”
Ethan turned away from her, and doing so caught a glimpse of movement on the other side of the lane. Briefly-the span of a heartbeat; no more-he thought that someone had come to help him. But the form was too small, too dark. It took him a moment to recognize Pitch, his dark eyes shining with the distant glow of Anna’s conjured fire.
Alarm crossed Anna’s face and she glanced quickly in the direction Ethan was looking. Seeing the dog, however, her face relaxed back into that triumphant grin.
“It’s a simple spell, really,” she began, her voice easing back toward the normal tone of a small girl. “You speak it just the way you would any other. Strange, isn’t it? There should be something different about a spell that kills. Don’t you agree?”
Ethan barely listened to her. Pitch stood staring at him, his head canted to the side. Ethan stared back, his heart aching. What could he do to save Holin, to save himself? Nothing on his own. He couldn’t match the conjurer’s power or skill or cunning. Not alone. But he wasn’t alone anymore.
“Pitch.”
He mouthed the word, nothing more. But Pitch raised his ears and gave a tentative wag of his tail. Ethan felt hot tears mingle with the rain on his cheeks.
“Forgive me.”
A different kind of pain clawed at Ethan from within, as potent as that caused by the conjurer’s attacks, and more damning. For if he survived the night, this pain would never go away.
Anna had paused in what she was saying. Ethan sensed that she was watching him. He could imagine the confusion on the girl’s face, but he didn’t look up at her. He kept his eyes locked on Pitch’s. And he spoke the words in his mind.
Caecitas ex vita huiusce canis-ex Pitch-evocata. Blindness, conjured from the life of this dog-from Pitch.
Instantly he felt the power of the spell thrumming along his entire body, like tens of thousands of tiny needle points tickling his skin. The cobblestones trembled with it. The entire city pulsed. Surely every conjurer in Boston felt it. Yet Pitch didn’t shudder or flinch. He didn’t make any sound at all. His legs gave way; he toppled onto his side and lay still.
Ethan realized that he was alone, save for Holin. Anna had vanished once more. He could hear the man-the conjurer-screaming again, fury and pain in the inarticulate cries. Probably he could have tracked him by the sounds, learned who he was. Under the circumstances, he might have prevailed in a battle of spells.
He didn’t make the attempt. Struggling to his knees, he crawled to where Pitch lay, knowing that he ought to do something to honor the creature; knowing just as surely that he couldn’t. As he ran trembling fingers over the wet fur of Pitch’s head he tried to say again that he was sorry. The words caught in his throat. He climbed to his feet, staggered to Holin’s side, and lifted the boy into his arms. Pausing once more to look at Pitch, he hurried down the lane, past Henry’s shop and his room. At the next corner, he turned northward and bore the boy back into the North End to Elli’s house.
By the time he reached her street he was exhausted and weak. The houses here were as dark as they had been on Cooper’s Alley. All except Elli’s. She would be panicked, unable to sleep or eat, unsure of whether to wait there with Clara or venture into the dark streets in search of her son. Even from down the lane, Ethan could see that candles shone in her windows, so that pale shafts of light cut across the street, making the rain sparkle. He saw her peer out into the night from the nearer of the two.
She must have seen him coming. In the next moment, her door flew open and she ran down the steps, heedless of the rain.
“What’s happened to him?” she asked, her voice high and strained. “Is he hurt?”
“I don’t know,” Ethan told her, breathing hard, his leg aching.
He stepped past her, entered her house, and went immediately to the sitting room, where a fire blazed. He laid Holin on a sofa and began pulling off the boy’s wet clothes.
“He looks half dead!” Elli said, hovering at Ethan’s shoulder. “How did this happen? What mischief did you get him into now?”
He whirled on her so quickly that she fell back several steps. Grief and guilt and the memory of pain flared in his chest like conjured fire. But though a thousand angry replies leaped to mind, he bit them all back. There were tears in Elli’s eyes, and her cheeks were every bit as ashen as her son’s.
“I didn’t do this,” he said, struggling to keep his voice level. He could feel Pitch’s wet fur under his fingertips. His chest burned with guilt, with grief, with the remembered pain of the conjurer’s relentless attacks. “And I just… did something to save him-to save both of us-that I’ll regret for the rest of my days.”
She said nothing, but nodded.
Ethan turned his attention back to the boy’s soaked clothes. “Get blankets, as many as you can find. And throw another log on that fire.”
“Of course.”
She hurried from the room, and Ethan finished undressing the boy. He moved the sofa so that it faced the hearth, and when Elli entered the room with an armful of blankets, he took several from her and together they laid them over the boy.
“Some soup or tea would help him,” Ethan said.
“All right.” She started to leave. “For you, too?”
He glanced back at her, their eyes meeting briefly. “Thank you.”
Once more she left the room. Ethan knelt beside the sofa and studied Holin’s face, head, and neck. He saw nothing to indicate that the boy had been injured, which meant that this stupor had been induced by a spell. Elli would kill him if she learned that he had conjured in her home, even if he cast the spell for Holin’s benefit. So quickly, while she remained occupied in the kitchen, he pulled out a single mullein leaf.
“ Suscitatio ex verbasco evocata. ” Awaken, conjured from mullein.
At first nothing happened. Ethan considered trying the spell again with more leaves. But then the boy’s eyelids fluttered, and he let out a low groan.
Instantly, Elli was by Ethan’s side. “I thought I heard him.”
“You did,” Ethan said. “He should be awake before long.”
Holin moaned again, opened his eyes and then closed them. A moment later, he shifted beneath the blankets, looking and sounding far more like a sleeping boy than like a child caught in the thrall of a conjurer.
“The Lord be praised,” Elli said. Tears flowed freely down her face, and for once she made no effort to hide them from Ethan.
“He looks like he’ll be all right now,” Ethan said. He climbed to his feet, feeling old and sore and wearier than he would have thought possible. His clothes were as soaked as Holin’s had been, and he realized that he was shivering. “I should go.”
“The tea is almost ready,” Elli said. “And there are some clothes in the back room that belonged to John. They should fit you. Get yourself changed. I want to know what happened tonight.”
Ethan knew better than to argue. He limped to the back room and found an old chest filled with men’s clothes, all of them far nicer-and no doubt far more expensive-than anything he owned. He rummaged through the chest until he found what had to be the oldest, most threadbare shirt and breeches John Harper had owned. He stripped off his wet clothes and put these on. The breeches were too long for him, though they fit around his middle, and he had to roll back the shirtsleeves. But putting on the dry clothes made him feel far better. He returned to the sitting room, arranged his damp clothes before the hearth, and took a seat beside the fire. Soon, he had stopped shivering.
Elli had already settled into a chair by the hearth. She held a cup of steaming tea in one hand and was stroking Holin’s wheat-colored hair with the other. As Ethan sat, she straightened a bit in her chair. A second cup of tea sat on a small table beside him. Elli pointed to it.
“Thank you,” he said, picking up the cup and holding it under his nose. It smelled of apple and mint, and warmed his hands.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Elli asked. He could hear the effort she was making to keep any hint of accusation from seeping into the question. “Do you know why this was done to my boy?”
He hadn’t even considered the question of why. He had seen Holin lying there in the lane, and had focused every subsequent thought on finding a way to save the boy’s life. But as soon as Elli asked him, the answer became obvious. Sephira Pryce.
Sephira’s men killed Daniel Folter, and Anna tried to convince Ethan that Daniel had killed Jennifer. Holin had seen Nigel and Ethan in the street, and now the conjurer had taken Holin and tried to use him for another killing spell. Sephira and this man were working together. But to what end?
“Ethan?”
His eyes snapped up to hers. “I’m sorry. I was… The short answer to your question is that Holin was taken because of me. Because someone saw us together yesterday, when I walked him home.”
“Who?” she asked, as if intent on killing whoever it was herself.
“I shouldn’t-”
“Who, Ethan?”
“Sephira Pryce,” he said.
Elli blinked once, but offered no other response.
“You remember the conjurer I mentioned yesterday?”
She nodded, growing pale once more.
“He’s the one who had Holin. But I think he and Sephira are working together. I think that’s how he knew to go after Holin in the first place.”
“Was he going to-?” She broke off, seeing the look on Ethan’s face. “Holin could have died, just like those others.”
“He’s fine now. We were fortunate.”
She stared at him for a long time, until at last Ethan looked away and sipped his tea.
“You weren’t fortunate,” she said. “You saved him. You told me you did something that you’ll regret.”
“Let it go, Elli.” He said it softly, but he knew she wouldn’t argue.
“Well, thank you,” she said at length. “For whatever you did.”
“Don’t let him go to work tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry,” she answered, falling into the stern tone he had heard her use with Holin and Clara. “What about the next day?”
“It’ll be over by then.” Speaking the words, he knew it was true. He could scarcely believe that his confrontation with Nigel had been only yesterday, that he had spoken with Janna this very morning. Tomorrow night was still a lifetime away, in more ways than one.
“You think you can defeat this conjurer so soon?”
Ethan shrugged, staring fixedly at the fire.
“Ethan?”
“If it takes longer than a day, and I think Holin is still in danger, I’ll let you know.”
He glanced Elli’s way and found her watching him, her green eyes seeing right through the placid expression he had imposed on his features.
“That’s not what you meant, is it?”
“Before I go, I need to wake him, and ask him some questions. Is that all right?”
He was sure she would object, that after all that had happened she would want to protect Holin even from this. But she surprised him. “Yes, but I’m staying right here.”
“Of course.” He put down his tea cup and shifted to the sofa so that he was sitting beside the boy. He gently shook Holin and spoke his name. At first Holin merely stirred without waking, but Ethan shook him again and called to him a second time. After another moment, the boy rolled over, his eyes open. He looked at Ethan and then his mother before lying back and staring up at the ceiling.
“How are you feeling, Holin?” Ethan asked.
The boy swallowed. “Confused.” His voice sounded weak.
“Are you in any pain? Do you feel sick?”
He shook his head and cleared his throat. “No, nothing like that. I don’t remember… How did I get here?”
“I brought you home. What’s the last thing you do remember?”
“Walking up from the wharf. It was light still. What time is it now?”
“It’s late,” Ethan said. “Past midnight.”
“Why weren’t you with Rory?” Elli asked in that same stern voice.
“He and some friends were going to a tavern.” He looked at his mother. “I didn’t think you’d want me going with them.”
In spite of everything, Ethan smiled, turning away so that Elli wouldn’t see.
Elli started to say more, then stopped and just stared at Holin. The boy had rendered her speechless. Ethan wished he had been taking notes.
“Do you remember seeing anyone?” Ethan asked, facing Holin once more. “Did you stop to speak with someone, or pass anyone in the street?”
“I don’t think so.” An instant later, he shook his head and frowned. “No,” he said with more certainty. “In fact, I remember thinking that the city seemed deserted. I didn’t see anyone, and I thought it was strange. That’s the last thing I remember: thinking that there should have been more people on the street. Then…” He shrugged. “Then you woke me up.”
Ethan and Elli shared a look.
“All right then,” Elli said, standing. “It’s time for you to get to bed. Can you make it to your room?”
“I think so,” Holin said. But he didn’t move. “What happened to me?” he asked Ethan. “Why are you here so late?”
Ethan glanced at Elli again, but she said nothing.
“I’m afraid I got you mixed up in some of my dealings, Holin. I’m sorry for that. I won’t let it happen again.”
The boy stared hard at him, obviously dissatisfied with that answer.
“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” Ethan said. “Nothing you should be involved in. And I think you had better get yourself to bed before your mother forbids me to ever come here again.”
“All right,” Holin said, sounding tired. He stood too quickly, swayed dangerously, and might have fallen had Ethan not reached out to steady him. “Whoa,” the boy breathed.
“Perhaps I should walk you up,” Ethan said.
With Ethan supporting the boy, they made their way up the narrow stairway to Holin’s chamber. There, Ethan and Elli helped the boy into his bed before descending the stairs once more and returning to the sitting room.
Ethan began to gather his clothes, which were warmer but still damp.
“You should stay here,” Elli said, surprising him again. “You can sleep on the sofa, by the fire.”
“Thank you, but that’s not-”
“They’ll find you if you go home.”
“Elli-”
“Look at me and tell me that you wouldn’t be safer here.”
Ethan stared back at her, but he couldn’t argue. The conjurer would want revenge for what Ethan had done to him this night, and he had little doubt that Sephira was after him, too. His room above the cooperage was the first place they would look. The Dowser would be second, and at that thought he very nearly sprinted from the house and back to the tavern without saying another word to Elli. Hearing Sephira threaten to hurt Kannice was one thing; knowing that this conjurer might go after her was something else entirely.
“Besides,” Elli went on after a brief pause, “you’re wearing John’s clothes, and I don’t want you leaving with them.”
He chuckled and shook his head.
“You’re laughing at me.”
“No,” he said. Then, “A little, yes. You understand that if I were to stay here, I would be putting you and the children in danger. I would have to set a warding on the house, and that would mean spilling blood for a conjuring.”
Elli flinched at the last word, but then she gathered herself. “That’s fine. Whatever you need to do to make it safe for us.”
She was full of surprises this night.
“Thank you, Elli,” he said, and meant it. “It’s a kind offer. But there’s somewhere else I need to be.”
“At this hour?”
“Yes. You’re right: They might be looking for me. And if they are, I want to be there. Better they find me than someone else.”
“The woman. The one who owns that tavern.”
He had never mentioned Kannice to her, in large part because she had made it clear that she didn’t want to know any more about his life than she absolutely had to. She must have heard about Kannice from Holin and Clara.
“Her name’s Kannice.” They stood there for several moments, saying nothing. Ethan felt his cheeks reddening and he wasn’t sure why. “Well,” he said, bending to pick up the rest of his clothes. “I’ll change back into these and be on my way.”
“Don’t be a fool,” she said, scowling at him and sounding much more like the Elli he had grown used to these past few years. “They can’t be dry yet. Wear what you have on. You can bring them back later. Clean.”
He smiled. “Again, thank you.” He pulled on his wet hose and boots, and walked to the door. “I can still put a warding on the house. You’d all be safer.”
“No,” she said. “Thank you.” Their eyes met again. “May God keep you safe.”
“And you.”
He pulled on his damp coat, opened the door, and stepped once more into the rain and darkness.