D. Jackson - A Plunder of Souls

In addition to Warren, Adams’s companions included James Otis, a masterly orator and a man who was nearly as famous for his unpredictable mood changes as for his activities on behalf of the Sons of Liberty; Dr. Benjamin Church, who several years before attended to Ethan’s injuries after a particularly harrowing encounter with Sephira and her men; and Paul Revere, the silversmith, whom Ethan had never met, but knew by reputation.

“Please sit with us, Mister Kaille,” Adams said, indicating the vacant chair with an open hand.

Ethan crossed to the table and took his seat, conscious of the gazes upon him.

“You remember James Otis,” Adams said. “May I also introduce-”

“Doctors Church and Warren I’ve met,” Ethan said. “I’m pleased to see both of you again. And this would be Mister Revere,” he went on, facing the silversmith. “I’m honored to make your acquaintance, sir.”

Revere replied with a solemn nod.

Adams appeared pleased. Otis, on the other hand, eyed Ethan with unconcealed suspicion, his protuberant dark eyes and untamed hair making him look somewhat mad. He and Ethan had clashed when last they met; clearly he remembered.

“Well,” Adams began again, “if introductions are unnecessary, I’ll move on to the business at hand. We wish to thank you, Mister Kaille, and to welcome you at long last to the cause of liberty. We’re hopeful that this marks the beginning of a long and fruitful partnership.”

Ethan stared at him, his forehead furrowing. “Forgive me, Mister Adams, but I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to.”

“Come now, Mister Kaille. There is no need for modesty. We’re all friends here. James and I have long been aware of your … extraordinary talents, and we have taken the liberty of explaining to our colleagues what it is you’ve done.”

“For my part, I’ve known for some time of your magicking abilities,” Church said. “If you recall, you came to me having already mended several of your injuries.”

Ethan said nothing to the doctor, but instead fixed Adams with a hard glare. “You told them I’m a conjurer?” he said. “You had no right.”

“Your secret is safe, Mister Kaille. You have my word.”

“My secret was not yours to share, sir.”

“But surely if we’re going to be allies-”

“We’re not. I have no idea what this is about, but I assure you I have done nothing on behalf of your cause that would warrant a discussion of my ‘talents,’ as you put it.”

“Do you mean to say that you were not responsible for-”

Revere laid a hand on Adams’s arm, silencing him. “You truly have no idea what this is about?” the silversmith asked, his voice a mild baritone.

“None at all.”

He shared a glance with Adams, and then with Warren.

After a lengthy silence, Adams said, “I fear we may have wasted your time, Mister Kaille.” His face had paled; he appeared shaken.

“What’s happened?” Ethan asked. “What is it you thought I had done?”

Warren caught Adams’s eye and gave a small shake of his head.

“I believe discretion dictates that we not answer,” Adams said.

Ethan smiled thinly. “Of course it does.” He stood. “Gentlemen.”

He started toward the door.

“You haven’t used your magicking to do anything that might draw our interest?” Adams called after him.

“Not that can think of. Not that I did intentionally.”

He stepped back into the warmth and the noise of the tavern’s great room, wended his way through the crowd, and ascended the stairs back to the street. He was breathing hard, and he had his fists balled. How dare Adams speak to others of his conjuring abilities! He had presumed too much, and might well have put Ethan’s life in danger. Janna and Gavin were more open about their conjuring abilities, but Ethan could not be. Not in his line of work, not when he made new enemies every day.

But even as he seethed, Ethan wondered again what it was the Sons of Liberty thought he had done. Was the conjurer who had desecrated the graves acting on behalf of those who sought to resist the Crown and Parliament? Was he trying to make it seem that Ethan was party to whatever actions had drawn the notice of Boston’s Whigs? Or was it mere coincidence that he heard from Adams now, as his inquiry into the grave robberies deepened?

Whatever the answer, he needed to find this new conjurer before men less forgiving of his spellmaking tried to blame him for conjurings he had not cast.

He struck out toward the North End, intending to visit the first of the families whose names Pell had given him the night before. As he walked, though, he felt a conjuring and knew it right away for a finding spell. It seemed that Sephira remained eager to speak with him.

The spell reached him in mere moments, twining about his legs like a vine. It had come from a distance-probably from Sephira’s home on Summer Street-so Ethan knew that he had some time before Mariz, Nigel, and the rest would reach him.

Still he needed to ward himself and he was on a crowded lane, surrounded by people.

He took out his pouch of mullein and removed three leaves. Already he had used a good portion of the leaves Janna had sold him. At this rate he would have to buy more in a matter of days.

Holding the leaves in the curl of his fingers as he continued to walk, he whispered to himself, “ Tegimen ex verbasco evocatum. ” Warding, conjured from mullein.

He felt his own power hum in the street, an answer to Mariz’s finding, and saw Reg gliding beside him. Something in the ghost’s expression made him falter in midstride.

Did the spell work? he asked.

Reg shrugged, his cheeks looking more drawn than usual.

“You don’t know?”

A woman passing in the other direction stared at him. Only then did it occur to Ethan that he had spoken aloud. You don’t know? he asked again. You can’t tell if the conjurings are doing what they’re supposed to?

The old warrior shook his head.

Ethan considered ducking into an alley to cut himself and try a concealment spell, but at this hour the street was crowded enough to make him reluctant to do so. While he was still pondering what to do next, he heard someone call his name.

Looking up, he spotted an older man walking in his direction, a hitch in his step.

Gavin Black lived not far from here in a small house on Hillier’s Lane, which was not to be confused with Hillier’s Street, where Murray’s men were billeted. After Janna, Ethan, and now Mariz, Black might well have been the most accomplished conjurer living in Boston. He had once captained a merchant ship, and had often used his spells to navigate through the worst of the weather he encountered. He knew conjurings to raise and diminish winds, to calm rough waters, and to heal a breached hull-things Ethan had never learned to do, even during his years as a sailor. But from conversations they’d had since the old captain ceased his voyaging and settled in the city, Ethan gathered that Gavin cast spells infrequently now.

He had white hair and a ruddy, open face that usually bore a grin. His eyes were pale blue, and, as usual, he was dressed plainly in tan breeches, a white linen shirt, and a worn, faded blue coat that might well have accompanied him on every voyage he sailed.

Ethan smiled at the sight of the old man, but Black appeared deadly serious as he halted in front of him.

“You’ve been conjuring,” Black said, keeping his voice low. “Just now, I mean.”

“Aye,” Ethan said. “A warding. Sephira’s men are looking for me, and one of them used a finding spell. It’s only a matter of time before they get here.”

Black pressed his lips together and gave a small shake of his head. He wouldn’t meet Ethan’s gaze.