D. Jackson - A Plunder of Souls

Appearing reluctant, almost shy, she came forward to stand before her husband and son.

“I don’t know what she would say to you if she could, sir,” Ethan said. “My powers don’t run that deep. But I also don’t believe you have anything to fear from her. I think that she has been denied her eternal rest by those who desecrated her grave. If I can find them, perhaps I can restore her to where she ought to be.”

“You would be doing a great service to all of us, Mister Kaille.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rowan turned to him. “I lied to you today. You have my apology for doing so. I’d like to hire you, as King’s Chapel has done.”

“Save your money, sir. I’m working on behalf of your congregation. When my work for the chapel is done, so will be any work I might have done for you.”

“All right. Then how about this: When you’ve finished your work for the chapel, come by here. Provided this shade is gone, I’ll have a small reward for you.”

“Thank you, sir. That’s most generous of you.”

Mr. Rowan the elder returned to the bed in his daughter’s room, while his son led Ethan back to the front door.

“I’m sorry that I woke your father,” Ethan said.

Rowan waved the apology away. “You didn’t. I did while lurking outside the room you were in. In the end, I think you did him a great service tonight. You have my thanks, Mister Kaille.”

“Yes, sir. With your permission, I might return here as my inquiry progresses. It may be that your mother can provide me with more information.”

Rowan crossed his arms over his chest, as if suddenly cold. “And how is it you might get that information? My father said something about witches.”

“It’s enough to say that I have access to the realm in which your mother now dwells,” Ethan said.

The young man huffed a breath, obviously dissatisfied with that response. Before he could ask anything more, Ethan bade him good night, and walked back out to Ellis Street. He had yet to dismiss Reg, and the ghost glided beside him, watching him.

“I have more questions for you,” Ethan said, his voice low. “That’s why I haven’t yet let you go.”

It was too late for him to knock on more doors, but he was eager to visit with the families of those dead whose graves had been disturbed. He headed back to King’s Chapel so that he could find out where some of the other families lived. He kept to side streets and narrow lanes. He was determined to avoid the occupying soldiers, to say nothing of Sephira Pryce’s men, and he wished to make sure that he was not overheard speaking to Uncle Reg.

“Are there spells that can summon the dead back into the world of the living?” he asked. “Even if they’ve been dead for months? Janna would tell me that a conjurer can do anything with the right spell and enough spellmaking ability. But can a conjurer do even this?”

Reg nodded.

“Do you know how to do it?” Ethan asked, feeling resentful of the ghost’s certainty. “Am I strong enough to do it?”

The old warrior pointed to Ethan’s head and nodded. He then pointed to his chest and shook his head.

Ethan glowered at him. “You believe I have the ability to do it, but I lack the courage. Isn’t that so?”

He was angry enough that he almost sent the ghost away. But Reg thrust a glowing hand in front of Ethan, clearly intending to stop him.

Ethan heaved a sigh, halted, and turned to face the ghost. Again, Reg pointed to his head and nodded. He placed his hand on Ethan’s chest, and holding Ethan’s gaze with his brilliant glowing eyes, he shook his head slowly.

And Ethan understood.

A year before, as British naval vessels carrying troops for the occupation lay anchored in Boston Harbor, a powerful conjuring struck one of the ships, HMS Graystone out of Bristol, killing every man aboard, close to a hundred in all. Agents of the Customs Board hired Ethan to learn what had happened to the ship. In the course of his inquiry, Ethan demanded that Reg help him summon the shade of a conjurer who had been among the dead. Ethan needed to communicate with the dead conjurer to ask what kind of spell had killed him and his shipmates. Or he thought he needed to. Reg had disapproved from the start, and Ethan soon realized why: Summoning the spirit from the realm of the dead had been wrong; it had been a violation of the living man’s humanity. He wound up releasing the poor soul after asking just a few questions.

What the grave robbers who struck at King’s Chapel, Copp’s Hill, and the Granary had done was worse by far than Ethan’s transgression. Ethan knew this, and so did Reg.

The old ghost wasn’t questioning Ethan’s courage; he was saying that while Ethan had the ability to cast such spells, his heart would not allow it. It might well have been the greatest kindness Reg had ever shown him.

“Aye,” Ethan said. “I see now. My thanks.”

A rare smile crossed the old warrior’s lips.

Ethan resumed walking. “Have you ever seen that symbol before?” he asked the ghost. “The one carved into the corpses?”

Another shake of the head.

“I hadn’t either. But what bothers me most, is that I’ve yet to feel a spell, at least one that I know for certain was cast for this dark purpose.”

Again Reg stopped him. This time, the old ghost squatted and laid his hand on the cobblestones of the street on which they stood. His gaze never strayed from Ethan’s face.

Ethan shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t-”

Reg slapped his hand on the street three times, though of course this made not a sound.

Ethan’s mouth dropped open. He lowered himself to the ground to rest his hand on the stone. And doing so, he felt a low hum in the stone, a soft tickle of vibration. Power. A conjuring.

“Good lord,” Ethan said. “They’re conjuring right now?”

The ghost nodded.

“And they have been all this time, haven’t they?”

Reg nodded again.

“Can you tell where it’s coming from?”

No.

Ethan drew his knife and cut his arm. “ Locus magi ex cruore evocatus. ” Location of conjurer, conjured from blood.

His finding spell pulsed in the street, dwarfing the touch of that other conjuring. But though he felt his power radiate out from where they stood, the spell had no effect.

“He’s masked himself?” Ethan asked.

Reg shrugged.

Ethan cursed under his breath. He walked the rest of the way to the chapel in silence. When he and Reg reached the gate to the churchyard, he dismissed the ghost.

“I don’t think Reverend Caner would want you here,” Ethan said.

The ghost smirked; an instant later, he vanished.

He walked into the sanctuary, aware of how late it was and expecting that he would have to search for Caner or Pell. But Trevor Pell sat in one of the pews, a few rows down the central aisle from the door.

“You appear to be waiting for someone, Mister Pell.”

The young minister stood. “And he’s just arrived.”

“You’re waiting for me?” Ethan said, halting. “Why? How did you know I’d be coming back?”

“I would tell the rector that it was merely intuition.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “What would you tell me?”

“That a voice in my mind wouldn’t let me retire for the evening. What have you learned?”

Ethan regarded Pell closely, thinking that Caner wouldn’t have been pleased at all to hear what the young minister had just said. He kept this to himself, however.

“I’d rather speak of this outside,” he said.

Pell nodded, and they went out into the darkness and struck out across the yard. Once they had put some distance between themselves and the chapel, Ethan told the minister about the ghosts he had encountered at the Walters home and the Rowan estate.