D. Jackson - Thieftaker

“I merely made the power reveal itself. Her killer did that.”

Bett stared at the dead girl for a long time, chewing her lip; he remembered that from when she was young. She and Ethan had never gotten along, even as children. He and Susannah, on the other hand, had been inseparable, which probably had made matters worse for their middle sister. Bett had always been so serious, so righteous, far more like their father than their mother. She even looked like Ellis. She had his straight brown hair, his dark blue eyes, his square, handsome face. Susannah was Sarah’s daughter in every respect. Not only did she resemble their mother; she also had Sarah’s sharp wit and hearty laugh. Ethan had always felt a kinship to both of them. But except for the scars he now bore, he looked just like Bett and just like their father. Throughout his life he had thought this ironic, though he couldn’t help thinking that those who knew him best-Kannice, Diver, Henry-wouldn’t have seen the irony. They thought him grave, even ill-tempered at times, and they were right. The years had left him far more like Bett and his father than he had been in his youth.

“It’s an odd color,” Bett finally said, her voice low.

“I was thinking the same thing before you came in.” He regarded her slyly. “Maybe you have a knack for conjuring.”

One might have thought from the smoldering look in her eyes that he had accused her of thievery, or worse. “That’s not funny.”

Susannah would have laughed. So would Mother. But he kept these thoughts to himself. When they were young, their mother had taught all of them to conjure. But while Ethan and Susannah had quickly shown an aptitude for spellmaking, Bett had not. It was one more reason why Ethan and Susannah had been so close to each other and to their mother. As a boy he had thought Bett difficult; only later did it occur to him that she had probably felt left out, lonely.

“I don’t know what that color means,” he said. “I suppose it could be the color of the spell that killed her, though I’ve never seen conjuring power that looked like this. It’s more likely that her killer is strong enough to mask his or her castings.” He glanced at her. “That’s why I was going to try the second conjuring. It might tell me something more about the spell itself.”

“You shouldn’t be using witchery in here. Not for any purpose.”

He gestured toward the body. “Not even to find out who killed this girl?”

“If God wants us to learn the identity of her killer, He will reveal it to us in His own way.”

“I was just noticing that my conjuring feels stronger in here than it does anywhere else in Boston. Maybe this is His way.”

The look she gave him would have kindled damp wood. “You are speaking of witchcraft in a house of God!”

“Witchcraft?” Ethan repeated, his voice rising. “You know better, Bett! I expect that kind of nonsense from people who know nothing of conjuring, but not from you!”

“Why not from me? Just because I’m your sister, that doesn’t mean-”

“Yes, you’re my sister! If you’re going to call me a witch you have to accept that you’re one, too!” His words echoed loudly through the corridor, and belatedly he thought of the two ministers upstairs in the sanctuary.

“I’ll thank you to keep your voice down,” she said with cold intensity. “You may have forsaken the Lord and His word, but I have not. Neither has Geoffrey, nor our children. This is our church, and I won’t have you desecrating it.”

Ethan inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to keep his temper in check. “I haven’t desecrated anything. This murder is the true desecration. I merely want to find the person responsible. Is that so terrible?”

Bett stared at the girl again. “You’ve gotten Mister Pell in some trouble, you know.”

“Pell had nothing to do with this.”

“ Mister Pell was asked to keep vigil over this girl,” she said. “Instead, he left her with you. He should have known better.”

“I sent him away, Bett. I asked him for a cup of wine. That’s why he left me.”

She pursed her lips, and Ethan held his breath, hoping that Pell had been smart enough to tell a similar tale. Apparently the minister was better at all of this than Ethan had thought, for at last Bett said, with some reluctance, “He told Mister Troutbeck the same thing.”

“Then perhaps you should believe him,” Ethan told her, masking his relief.

“Still, he shouldn’t have left her side.”

“Perhaps,” Ethan said wearily. “I hope you’ll be kind enough to speak with Tr-with Mister Troutbeck on his behalf. Feel free to blame me. That should come naturally.”

Her expression soured, but when she spoke again, her tone had softened. “You might also wish to consider the danger to yourself. I felt your spell, Ethan, and so did anyone else who… comes from a family like ours. Even if you don’t respect this church you should be fearful enough for your own life to keep your blade in its sheath and your blood in your veins.”

“Unless you believe that Mister Caner and Mister Troutbeck are conjurers, I really don’t think I have much to fear on that account. Anyone saying that he felt my spell would be declaring himself a conjurer as well.”

Bett frowned. Clearly this hadn’t occurred to her. She had spent too many years pretending that she didn’t have spellmaking abilities.

“Well, then,” she said, drawing herself up. “If you don’t care about yourself, and you won’t respect this church, then I have no choice. I’ll reveal you as a witch myself. I’ll tell Mister Troutbeck exactly what you were attempting to do.”

“Even if it means that you also will be revealed as… as a witch?”

“I’ll tell him that our mother was a witch, and that she lured you to her ways. Mister Troutbeck knows that I’m a pious woman. And Geoffrey will vouch for me. He’s as well respected as any man in Boston.”

Ethan had always thought that Bett’s husband was a prig and an ass. But he was also a fairly well-placed British customs official, and that probably counted for something among those in Bett’s congregation.

“Fine, Bett.” He sheathed his knife and began to roll down his sleeve. “It’s been a pleasure seeing you as always.”

She looked disappointed, as if she hadn’t expected him to give up so easily. “You’re sure that a conjuring killed her?”

He threw his hands wide. “I don’t know how many different ways to say it! Yes, she was murdered with a spell! I don’t know what kind or who cast it, but a conjurer killed her.”

“And you’ve been hired to find her killer? I didn’t know you did that.” She said it without any trace of malice, which surprised him.

“Actually, I don’t,” he said, lowering his voice. “I recover stolen property, and that’s what I’m doing here. Something was taken from her, presumably after she was killed. Berson hired me to find it, no doubt hoping that I’ll also find the person who killed her.”

She said nothing.

Ethan finished rolling down his sleeve and reached for his waistcoat. “Good-bye, Bett,” he said, starting toward the stairway.

“Wait.”

He stopped, sighed. His sister still faced the stone table, her back to him.

“Was your spell really stronger here?”

Ethan nodded, then realizing that she wasn’t looking at him, said, “I don’t know. It felt stronger. Would that really be so surprising?”

She glanced back at him, her expression dark. “Of course it would.”

“Why? If I could paint like Copley or work silver like Revere, you would tell me that my talent was a gift from God. Why is this any different?”

Ethan wasn’t sure he had ever seen her more offended. “Don’t you dare claim your… your black art as a gift from the Lord!” she said, her voice trembling. “When you’re alone, or with your witch friends, you can justify your conjuring any way you like! But in this chapel, in my presence, you will say no such thing!”