D. Jackson - A Plunder of Souls

“I believe both families would prefer that no one else hear of this,” Ethan said. “But I need to see if other families are being haunted as well. That’s why I came back. I was hoping you could direct me to the homes of the others whose graves were desecrated.”

“Of course. But they might be reluctant to speak with you.”

“I’m sure they will be. Mister Rowan’s son was, until I convinced him that I could help return his mother’s spirit to where it belongs.”

“And do you truly believe you can?” Pell asked.

“I hope so.”

“All right,” Pell said. “Wait here. I’ll be just a few moments.”

He walked back to the chapel, leaving Ethan alone in the churchyard. Ethan soon discovered, though, that the grounds weren’t as deserted as he had thought. As he waited for Pell to return, he spotted a faint orange glow near the burying ground. He pulled his knife, pushed up his sleeve, and started in that direction, wary, making little sound.

When he had covered half the distance, he heard a familiar voice say, “It’s all right, thieftaker. You can put your knife away.”

James Thomson, the sexton.

He sheathed his blade. “You’re watching for them?”

Thomson puffed on his pipe and blew a great cloud of smoke into the warm air. “Aye. But they must know I’m here. Aside from you and Mister Pell, I’ve seen no one. Thought you might be one of them when you first arrived, but once you went inside the chapel, I knew better.”

“I’m sorry if I gave you a fright.”

Thomson held up a hunting rifle, which had been resting beside him. “Wasn’t frightened at all,” he said, and patted the weapon.

Ethan wasn’t convinced that a rifle would help him against the conjurer who was responsible for the desecrations, but he nodded and said nothing. They remained thus for a few minutes, neither of them speaking, until at last Pell emerged from the chapel once more.

“Well, good night, Mister Thomson,” Ethan said, eager to be away.

“Good night,” the sexton said, his tone mild.

“Who was that?” Pell asked, when Ethan reached him.

“Your sexton. He’s sitting watch over the burying ground.”

“Bless him,” Pell said. “It’s not a duty I would want.”

“Nor I.”

Pell handed him a piece of folded parchment. “Those are the names, along with their addresses.”

“My thanks, Mister Pell.”

“Am I to understand that you can see the ghosts only after nightfall?”

“Aye. But still, I can visit the families. They may be less afraid to speak with me when the sun is shining.”

“Perhaps,” Pell said, but Ethan heard skepticism in his voice. “Good luck, Ethan.”

“Sleep well, Mister Pell.”

Ethan left the churchyard and headed back to the South End. Kannice would still be awake, and would have welcomed him, but he had not stayed in his room above Dall’s Cooperage in several nights, and Henry, the cooper who let him his room, grew concerned if he went for too long without seeing Ethan.

But as he crossed Cornhill onto Water Street, he felt the thrum of a spell in the street. He recognized the conjuring straight away: a finding spell. It seemed to come from the south, which probably meant it had been cast by Mariz. Sephira’s men were looking for him.

The conjuring swept through the city, as relentless as a tide, and though Ethan drew his knife and cut his arm, the conjuring reached him before he could speak a masking spell of his own. It touched his feet and swirled about his legs, an invisible wave of power.

Mariz and the others were coming for him.

“ Tegimen ex cruore evocatum, ” he said. Warding, conjured from blood. His power pulsed as had the finding spell. Mariz would know with even more certainty where Ethan was, but at least Ethan was now protected from an attack spell. Reg had reappeared and was watching him.

“They’re close,” Ethan said.

The ghost nodded.

He hesitated, then cut himself again, deciding that a concealment spell might enable him to avoid Sephira’s men. “ Velamentum ex cruore evocatum. ” Concealment, conjured from blood.

Once more he felt the hum of power. The blood disappeared from his arm. But, he felt nothing more after that, and he saw Reg’s eyes widen.

“Nothing happened!” he said, gaping at the ghost.

He heard footsteps in the distance, approaching fast.

He cut himself once more. “ Velamentum ex cruore evocatum. ” Concealment, conjured from blood.

He felt the rumble of the spell and watched to make certain that the blood vanished from his arm. And at last, he felt the cold sprinkling of power settle over him like a spring mist. The conjuring had worked. This time. But what in heaven’s could have happened with his previous effort? Had the same thing happened earlier, when he tried to cast the illusion spell near Murray’s Barracks?

Before he could think on it more, he heard voices. Even with the concealment spell in place, he took the added precaution of retreating into the inky shadows of a cramped byway.

“You said he was near here,” someone said. It sounded like Nigel.

“Yes, I did.” Mariz’s voice, his accent even more pronounced than usual. “I sensed him with a conjuring of my own, and I also felt him cast a spell. He has not gone far.”

He saw a bulky figure stop at the mouth of the alley, saw as well the glint of a gun barrel.

“Where are ya, Kaille?” Nigel called, sounding far too sure of himself. “We know you’re around here. Might as well show yourself.”

Ethan pressed himself against the stone wall of one of the buildings. There was a way through to the next lane if he could slip farther down the byway. But they would be listening for a footfall, and he didn’t think he could take a step without giving himself away.

“Miss Pryce wants a word, Kaille! She don’t like it when you meddle in her affairs.”

He would have liked to remind the fool that she was the one who stole gems and watches and dueling pistols from him, and who kept Ethan from completing his jobs. She had tried to interfere with his attempt to retrieve Ellis’s property, not the other way around. But he didn’t expect that any of them would listen to reason.

“I think he’s down here,” Nigel said, still lingering in front of the alley. “He’s hiding in the shadows. I can hear him breathin’.”

Another of the toughs joined him, a man almost as big as Nigel. Gordon, or maybe Afton. It was hard to tell in the darkness. “I don’t hear nothin’,” the second man said.

“That’s cuz you breathe like an ox.”

“He could be anywhere by now,” Mariz said. He joined the others, so that Ethan could see all of them. “He has used a concealment spell. He could be standing next to you and you would not know it.”

“So try that findin’ spell again,” Nigel said.

“Yes, I will. You keep searching for him. I will cast the spell and let you know what I learn.”

“Yeah, all right,” Nigel said, growling the words.

He and the other big man walked out of view, heading west. Seconds later, a third man, smaller than the others, stepped past Mariz heading in the same direction. Nap. At the same time, Mariz drew his knife and pushed up his sleeve to cut himself. But though he held the blade to his skin, he did nothing more. Instead he stared after the others.

After a few seconds he said in a loud whisper, “It is all right now. They have gone.”

Ethan’s jaw dropped. He didn’t respond. He didn’t so much as draw breath.

The other conjurer took a step toward him. “Kaille, they are gone. But we have not much time.”