D. Jackson - Thieftaker

They remained thus for several moments as Ethan gathered himself. At last, he took a long breath, feeling too weary to climb the steps to Kannice’s room. Had the conjurer broken through his warding at that moment, he would have been helpless to fight the man off.

“Come on,” Kannice said, standing and tugging at his hand again. “You need sleep.”

He nodded and let her lead him up the stairs to her bed.

He slept poorly, troubled by strange, dark visions. At one point he dreamed that he battled the conjurer again, the hot pain in his chest and head so severe that he cried out, waking himself and Kannice. She put her arms around him and sang to him, until at last he fell asleep again. The worst dream, though, came later. He was in Cooper’s Alley, walking toward Henry’s shop. Shelly stood in the middle of the street, her pale eyes fixed on him, her teeth bared. Ethan called her name and squatted down, holding out a hand for her to sniff. But she growled, the fur on her neck and back standing on end. And then she turned and trotted away.

Ethan woke from that dream with an ache in his chest that he feared would never go away. He was alone, though he could hear Kannice moving around downstairs. Daylight seeped around the edges of the window shutters, and the smell of cooked bacon wafted up from below. He knew he had to get up; he had slept too long already. But he couldn’t bring himself to move until the door opened and Kannice stuck her head in the room.

“I wanted to let you sleep, but Kelf’s here and he can’t get in. I told him that the door is stuck and that I’m working on it, but he’s going to start getting suspicious.”

Ethan sat up, ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll be right down. What’s the time?”

“It’s early yet. Just an hour or so past dawn. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I have things to do, things that can’t wait.”

Ethan had gotten in the habit of leaving a change of clothes in Kannice’s wardrobe and after she went back down to the tavern, he dug them out: a pair of breeches, a white shirt and brown waistcoat, even a pair of hose. His boots were still damp, but they were the only pair he had. He examined his arm, which was covered with fresh scars from all the conjuring he had done the past few days, and lamented having charmed the door. Remembering Janna’s mullein, he retrieved the pouch from a pocket of his wet clothes, which lay in a pile on the floor by Kannice’s door. Then he went down to the tavern.

“… Break it down an’ fix it later!” he heard Kelf shouting through the door as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

Kannice glanced back at him, eyes wide.

“No, Kelf!” Ethan called. “I think I can get it!”

“Ethan!” the barkeep said. “Wha’d ya do t’ this blasted thing?”

“I’m not sure, give me a minute.” He hated to use even a single leaf of the mullein for this, but he didn’t want to have to explain to Kelf why he had his sleeve up and his knife out. Extegimen ex verbasco evocatum. End warding, conjured from mullein. Feeling the hum of power, seeing Reg, he looked self-consciously at Kannice, though of course she hadn’t noticed anything.

For Kelf’s benefit, he tinkered with the door handle and key for a few moments, before opening the door.

“The tumbler must have gotten stuck,” he said, as Kelf stalked into the tavern, scowling at him, at the lock, at Kannice.

The barman shook his head, eyeing the door. “Never happens when I lock up.” He shook his head again and stomped off into the kitchen.

A grin flashed across Kannice’s face and was gone. She walked over to Ethan and kissed him, her brow knitting. “You didn’t sleep well.”

“No, but I slept. That’s something.”

“Eat something before you go.”

He followed her to the bar, where a platter of fried bread, eggs, and bacon waited for him. He ate quickly and fished in his pocket for a shilling.

“Don’t you dare,” Kannice said.

Ethan smiled. “Thank you.”

“Where are you going now?” she asked, her expression deadly serious.

“Are you going to follow me around, and make sure I’m safe?”

“If I have to.”

He leaned forward to kiss her. But she put a hand on his chest, stopping him.

“Tell me, Ethan.”

“What good do you think it’ll do? Do you really think you can save me from the-”

Kelf emerged from the kitchen, a barrel of ale on his great shoulder. He put it down with a thud, looked from one of them to the other, and returned to the kitchen, muttering to himself.

“I know I can’t save you from anyone,” Kannice said earnestly. “But maybe I can get word to someone who can.”

“I’m not sure there is anyone, not against this conjurer. But for what it’s worth, I’ll be speaking with Cyrus Derne this morning. And then Ebenezer Mackintosh. After that I’m not sure.”

“All right. Is there any point in telling you to be careful?”

He stood, kissed her, and picked up his coat off the bar. “Probably not,” he said, making his way to the door.

The rain had stopped, but dark clouds still scudded low over the city and puddles of befouled water filled the lanes. The air had cooled again, and a sharp wind rattled the door and windows of the tavern. Turning up his collar, he walked north into the teeth of the gale, crossing into the North End and continuing toward Bennet’s Street.

He wasn’t sure what to expect when he reached the Derne mansion. It was early still, and he felt reasonably sure that both Cyrus and his father wouldn’t have left yet for their wharf.

As Ethan approached the house, though, he was surprised to see Sephira Pryce and her men standing out front. Nigel grinned when he spotted Ethan, and he said something to Sephira, alerting her to Ethan’s arrival. She waved, a rapacious smile on her face. Ethan faltered a step, but then continued on toward the house, hoping that Sephira wouldn’t be so bold as to murder him here in the wealthiest part of the North End, in the light of day. As he had told Kannice, there was no point in telling him to be careful.

As Ethan approached the Derne house, Nigel and two of his friends stepped in front of him, blocking his way. Ethan halted, and the toughs remained where they were. But the grin on Yellow-hair’s face told Ethan that he would have been grateful for any opportunity to pick up right where things had left off the previous evening, before Pell and the sheriff interrupted them.

“You’re not welcome here, Ethan,” Sephira said, stepping out from behind her men and walking to him.

She was dressed in her street clothes again-a long coat over the usual breeches, shirt, and waistcoat-but her lilac perfume smelled stronger than usual. Maybe Ethan wasn’t used to seeing her so early in the day, or maybe she put on extra scent when visiting men as wealthy as the Dernes. Either way, it was too much; no one as hateful as this woman ought to have worn anything that smelled so sweet.

“Are you and your boys the Dernes’ personal guards now, Sephira?” Ethan asked. “Have things gotten that difficult for you since I started taking away your wealthy clientele?”

She laughed. “You really are an idiot, aren’t you? Do you think you’re safe now because it’s daytime and we’re surrounded by nice houses?”

“Actually, yes, I do,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Because of that, and because I have sources for conjuring that don’t require me to spill blood. Just as I did last night when I used a little bit of grass to hold off a dozen of your men. I could kill you where you stand without drawing a blade or making a sound. It would just look like I scared you to death.”

Her face fell a bit and Ethan was certain that he saw fear in her eyes. She would recover quickly; she always did. But he enjoyed the moment.