D. Jackson - A Plunder of Souls

He bit down on the inside of his cheek, drawing blood. “ Corpus alligare ex cruore evocatum! ” Bind body, conjured from blood!

The spell thrummed. Uncle Reg turned to Ramsey, as eager as Ethan to see if the spell had worked.

Ramsey no longer looked so smug; instead his face was a rictus of anger and frustration. But though Ethan could see the muscles in his neck and arms straining, he moved not at all. His fingers still gripped his knife, but he could do nothing with it.

Ethan struggled to get up and balance himself on one leg. He drew his knife and cut his arm. Catching the welling blood on the flat of his blade, he rubbed it on the skin over his broken bone.

“ Remedium ex cruore evocatum. ” Healing, conjured from blood.

The first spell didn’t work, but he cast it a second time, and the bone began to knit itself back together. Initially, the pain increased, and he ground his teeth together. Soon, though, the anguish began to abate. After a few minutes, his leg was strong enough that it could bear some of his weight.

“It seems I have more spells left in me than you thought,” Ethan said.

Ramsey stared daggers at him.

“I understand wanting your father back, Ramsey. You may not believe me, but it’s true. There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t wish I could see my mother one more time. I lost her while I was in prison. It’s not the same, I know. She wasn’t hounded to her death the way your father was. If she had been … well, I would want vengeance, too. But my point is this: As much as you want him to live once more, you have to know that whatever you bring back from the realm of the dead won’t be him. It will be dark and unnatural and beyond even your control.”

The captain closed his eyes. It was probably the one way the man could think to block out Ethan’s words.

Or so Ethan thought.

Ethan felt a spell growl in the floor and walls of his home.

“What are you doing?”

Ramsey didn’t move. But an instant later, a shade appeared in the room. It was no one Ethan recognized, but he could tell that it was one of the ghosts Ramsey had awakened in recent days. It glowed as white as winter mist and it shuffled toward Ethan wearing a man’s breeches and jacket, its face decayed and ghoulish, its leathery hands hanging at its sides.

Ethan sensed a second spell, and another shade materialized beside the first. Ramsey bared his teeth in his own skeletal grin, though he didn’t appear capable of any other movement.

Two more spells pulsed, one right after the other. Two more shades joined the others.

“That was a good conjuring, Kaille. Better than I thought you could cast, it’s true. But as you can see, I have powers that go far deeper than even you can imagine.”

Ramsey rocked his head from side to side. He hadn’t yet regained motion in his hands or feet, but Ethan guessed that he would soon enough.

“Thank you for the use of the mullein, by the way,” Ramsey said.

Ethan saw him bite down on his own cheek, as Ethan had done moments before. The next spell was more powerful than the previous ones had been. Another pair of ghosts winked into view. Their comrades had forced Ethan to the back corner of his room. He straightened now, refusing to be cowed by the shades.

He reached out, allowing his hand to pass through the head of the nearest ghost. And yanked it back with a gasp. The touch of the fiend was bitingly cold, and left his skin blue.

“I wouldn’t do that again, if I were you,” Ramsey said. He pushed himself up out of the chair, swayed but didn’t fall. He slowly curled and straightened his fingers.

Ethan didn’t understand how the captain could have overcome the binding spell so soon. Whatever Ramsey had done to enhance his power seemed also to make him less vulnerable to the spells of others.

“Hold,” Ramsey said.

The shades halted their shambling advance.

He knew that the captain meant to attack again, and so he cut his forearm with a flick of his blade and cast first. “ Ignis ex cruore evocatus. ” Fire, conjured from blood.

The conjuring thrummed, but no flames appeared.

“A coincidence,” Ramsey said. “I had been thinking of the same spell.” He cut himself, and murmured the conjuring.

A swirling ball of fire burst from Ramsey’s hand, soared across the room and through the insubstantial body of one of the shades, and hammered into Ethan’s chest. The force of the blow lifted Ethan off his feet and sent him sprawling into the wall once more, his shirt and waistcoat ablaze.

He flailed at the flames, and rolled from side to side until he had put them out. The smell of singed hair and burnt flesh hung in the air. Burns throbbed on Ethan’s chest, arms, and hands. He felt like he had been run over by a horse and carriage.

Ramsey walked to where he lay, the shades parting to let him pass.

“It seems to me that we’ve done this before. I’ve already shattered a bone in your leg, so I believe the next spell I cast is supposed to keep you from breathing. Is that how you remember it?” He tipped his head to the side, his brow furrowing. “Or we could try something new. I could burn the building, or just destroy it. No one would be the wiser.” He glanced around, an expression of distaste on his face. “They’d blame inferior workmanship, and who could argue? They would never guess that it was a conjuring that did the damage.”

Ramsey’s knife flashed again.

“ Strangula ex cruore evocatum. ” Strangle, conjured from blood.

Invisible hands squeezed Ethan’s neck, choking him, crushing his throat.

“You won’t kill me,” Ethan said, croaking the words. “You won’t do that to your father.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Ramsey said. “I believe I can reach my father anywhere. My power runs that deep. Still, if you release him, I may spare you. And just so you know, your longing for Mommy is nothing like the suffering he and I have endured. I should kill you for your presumption.”

Ethan grabbed at his neck, trying to prise away fingers that weren’t there.

Dormite ex verbasco evocatum! He screamed in his mind. Slumber, conjured from mullein! He didn’t know how many leaves he used. He didn’t care. And it didn’t seem to matter. For though the conjuring made the floor tremble, it had no effect on Ramsey.

“I don’t know what that was,” the captain said, enjoying himself far too much. “But it didn’t work.”

Spots of light clouded Ethan’s vision. The room seemed to be spinning and darkening. He clawed at his throat again, but he could tell that his hands weren’t working as he wanted them to. He didn’t think Ramsey would go so far as to kill him, but his certainty was fading.

Yet another conjuring shook the building. Ramsey turned, still grinning.

“I’m afraid you’re no better than he is.”

A second man spoke in Latin. Ethan recognized the voice, but couldn’t put a name to it. His thoughts were fragmented, incoherent. But he sensed the hum of one more spell, and he saw Ramsey stagger as from a blow. The captain raised a hand to his temple. It came away bloody.

Fini evocationem ex cruore evocatum! Ethan cried in his mind. End conjuring, conjured from blood!

The blood vanished from Ramsey’s hand, and the building hummed again. Ethan breathed in, exhaled. The pressure on his throat was gone.

“I can kill you just as easily as I can kill him,” Ramsey said. “Easier, since you haven’t summoned a shade.” He glared at Mariz, who stood in the doorway, fresh blood running down his arm, his bloodied blade held in his other hand.

Ethan forced himself up onto his knees and crawled to retrieve his blade.

“I think you will find that more difficult than you imagine,” Mariz said. He looked past Ramsey to Ethan.