D. Jackson - A Plunder of Souls

Sephira’s brow had creased again. She regarded Mariz and Ethan the way a jealous lover might her beloved and a rival.

“Mariz and I need to speak with Janna,” Ethan said, eager now to be on his way. “I want to see if we can cast this way.”

“Why don’t you go get Windcatcher and bring her back here,” Sephira said. “The three of you can figure this out together.”

In spite of everything, Ethan laughed.

“Did I say something funny?” Sephira asked, biting off her words.

“Forgive me. It’s just that Janna would sooner swim with sharks than set foot in your home.”

He saw her bristle.

“What have I done to her?”

“You don’t know?” Ethan asked, incredulous. For years, Janna had made clear to him that she hated Sephira with a fiery passion; Ethan had always assumed that theirs was an ancient feud. Was it possible that whatever slight Janna remembered with such passion had escaped Sephira’s notice?

“I barely know who she is.”

Ethan shook his head. “This is a matter for another time. For now, it will be quicker if Mariz and I can go to her tavern and speak with her there.”

Sephira glowered. He was sure that she would refuse. But it seemed that her desire for vengeance outweighed her discomfort at having Ethan and her pet conjurer work together.

“Yes, all right,” she said. “When you’ve figured out how to work your witchery come back here and we’ll go to the wharf.”

“We will.”

Ethan turned to Mariz, who nodded. Together they crossed to the door and left the house.

Once they were on Summer Street and some distance from Sephira’s home, Mariz said, “She has been slow to trust me. This will make matters worse.”

“I’m sorry for that.”

The conjurer shrugged. “It cannot be helped.”

They walked some distance without speaking.

“This woman, she is African?”

Ethan nodded. “That’s right.”

“And she is free?”

“Not only that, she owns a tavern.”

“I thought that Africans in your country could not own property.”

“A small number do. Janna is … Well, there’s no one else like her. I don’t know a lot about her past, but from what I’ve pieced together it seems that as a young girl she was rescued at sea and taken in by a man of means. Eventually they fell in love. They never married of course, but I believe that he provided for her and made certain she would never want for anything.” Ethan paused. “And now she’s a marriage smith.”

Mariz gave him a puzzled look. “A what?”

“She casts love spells, and she makes little effort to hide her spellmaking ability. She also sells items you might find useful-herbs, oils; things of that sort.”

“I do not think you should be telling me this,” Mariz said, a thread of laughter in his voice.

“Perhaps not. If you buy something from her, don’t use it against me.”

“That is for the senhora to decide.”

They reached the Fat Spider a short time later, and let themselves in. Two patrons sat at a table near the door, but otherwise the great room was empty.

Janna stood at the bar, drying glasses. Seeing Ethan and Mariz, she scowled. “Who is this?” she asked, lifting her chin to point it at Mariz.

“This is the man I told you about,” Ethan said.

“Pryce’s conjurer.”

“That’s right.”

Mariz walked to the bar and sketched a small bow. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Windcatcher. Kaille has told me that there is no one in Boston who knows more about conjuring than you.”

Ethan suppressed a grin. With Kannice and Mariz falling over themselves to be nice to Janna, it wouldn’t be long before she expected him to do the same thing. Of course, if he did, she might be more forthcoming with information.

Janna’s expression had softened, though only a little. “Why you workin’ for that woman, anyway?” she asked.

Mariz opened his hands. “Why do you serve food to the people in your tavern? She pays me.”

Ethan didn’t expect Janna to be satisfied with this answer, but she shrugged, nodded, and faced Ethan again. “What about ole Black?”

He shook his head. “Gavin won’t be joining us.”

Janna didn’t appear surprised. “All right,” she said. “So how’re we gonna do this? I’ve done a lot of conjurin’ in my time, but I ain’t never conjured with one other speller before, much less two.”

“Mariz has had some thoughts on the matter,” Ethan said. “He thinks that the first step might be bringing together our guides and letting them know what it is we wish to do. Based on what I saw last year during my encounter with Caleb Osborne’s daughters, I believe he may be right.”

Again she nodded. “All right, you two,” she called to the men at the nearby table. “Time to be on your way. I have to close for a while.”

“But we haven’t finished,” one of the men said.

“Here are your shillings back,” Ethan said, crossing to them and handing each a coin. “Your next meal is at my expense.”

The men exchanged looks, but then stood with a scrape of chair legs on the wooden floor, and left the tavern.

Janna followed them to the door and locked it before looking Ethan’s way again. “You didn’t have to do that. They’re regulars; they woulda come back anyway.”

“I’m sure they would have. But we don’t have time for arguments right now.”

Without waiting for her response, Ethan whispered “ Veni ad me. ” Come to me.

Reg appeared beside him, glowing bright russet in the dim light of the tavern.

He heard Mariz and Janna summon their spectral guides as well and with a faint thrum of power, two more gleaming figures joined Ethan’s ghost. One, an aged African woman, shining pale blue, surveyed the great room, her gaze lingering on Reg and on the other glowing figure. She stood straight-backed and proud, her arms crossed over her chest. The second ghost was the same young man Ethan had seen a few days before. He wore Renaissance clothing, his glow a warm ecru.

“We need to be able to conjure together,” Ethan said to Reg, “the way Hester and Molly Osborne did. Conjuring alone, our power won’t be enough to defeat Ramsey, but perhaps it will if we can combine our strength. Do you understand what I’m asking of you?”

Reg nodded and turned to the other two ghosts, both of whom hesitated.

Mariz spoke in Portuguese to his ghost, who also nodded once and faced Reg.

“Talk to them,” Janna said to her guide. “There’s no harm in talkin’.”

The blue figure replied with a scowl that was so much like a face Janna might have made, Ethan nearly laughed. But she joined the other two ghosts, and for some time the three figures huddled together. They made not a sound, but Ethan could tell from their aspects and their gestures that they were deep in discussion.

When at last they had finished, Reg faced Ethan once more and gave a single decisive nod.

“All right,” Janna said. “What now?”

“Now, I think we try a spell.”

Mariz pulled out his blade, but Ethan gave a shake of his head.

“We’ll cast with mullein first.”

“Why?” Janna glared at him. “You tryin’ to protect me, Kaille? You think I’m too old to be spillin’ blood for my conjurin’s?”

Ethan felt his cheeks color. The truth was he had been thinking just that, and had suggested mullein for her benefit.

“We’re gonna need blood to fight Ramsey, ain’t we?”

“Aye.”

“Then we use blood now.” She retrieved a knife from her bar and held it up.

Ethan drew his own blade and pushed up his sleeve.

“What is the spell?” Mariz asked.

“A wind,” Ethan said. He glanced Janna’s way. “Conjured from blood.”