D. Jackson - Thieftaker

Darrow reached back and pulled out the knife. The blood on the blade caught the firelight, and then it, too, was gone. Ethan braced himself for another assault, but it didn’t come. Darrow, he realized, had used the blood to heal the wound on his back.

Ethan drew on the fire for another illusion spell. Two, actually. With the first he sent Anna down the road. With the second, he conjured again the image of Greenleaf and the men of the watch.

The illusions advanced on Darrow with raised weapons.

“Enough of this, Ethan,” Darrow said.

He kicked Ethan’s shattered knee, and Ethan cried out. But still, Ethan held the image of the men for a moment longer, until at last he heard what he had been waiting for.

Through gritted teeth he said, “You’re right. Enough.”

Looking toward the road, he let his illusion die away. And there, to take the place of his conjured images, stood the real sheriff and his men with Mr. Pell.

“Now, Pell!” he shouted.

He heard Pell say something, saw Darrow slash at his own arm with the knife. The conjurer’s voice rang through the night and then was drowned out by the rapid blasts of four flintlock pistols.

For a second, no one spoke. No one even moved. The report of the guns echoed across the pastureland.

And then Darrow laughed. He opened his fist and held it out for all of them to see. Resting in the palm of his hand were the four lead balls fired at him by Greenleaf and the men of the watch.

“Do you understand now?” he asked of no one in particular. “Do you see at last what you’re dealing with?”

Ethan glanced at Adams and saw despair in his eyes. He let his gaze drop to the pistol lying on the ground before the man. Adams nodded.

Conflare ex ligno evocatum. Heat, conjured from wood.

It was a more difficult spell, fueled as it was by the wood of a branch rather than by mere leaves. But it made for a more powerful casting. His conjuring rumbled in the ground like thunder.

Darrow cast as well. Another warding, of course. But again, Ethan’s spell wasn’t intended for the conjurer, at least not directly.

Darrow cried out, jerking his hand back. The bullets fell to the ground, now a mass of molten lead. And at the same moment, Adams dove to the ground, grabbed his pistol, and fired.

As before, no one moved. Darrow let out another laugh, breathless with surprise. But then he fell to his knees, blood blossoming over his heart.

The stain on his coat vanished as quickly as it appeared. Even now, his face ashen, his hand shaking, the man was attempting to save himself. But a healing spell for such a wound was no trifle, and even the most skilled conjurer couldn’t maintain a warding as well.

I need blood, Ethan said silently, staring hard at Uncle Reg. The old ghost nodded and planted himself in front of Pell. At first, the minister took a step back, fear in his pale eyes. But then Reg raised a finger and made a quick slashing motion over his forearm. Pell looked past the ghost to Ethan, who nodded once.

“A knife!” the minister said.

Darrow turned his head slowly to face Ethan. Then he began to climb to his feet.

“Quickly!” Pell shouted.

Otis pulled a blade from his belt and handed it to the minister. Without a moment’s hesitation, Pell cut his forearm.

The instant he saw blood, Ethan said, “ Frange! Ex cruore evocatum! ” Break! Conjured from blood!

The earth shook once more. There was a sound of cracking bone-as clear as a church bell. Darrow’s head leaned to one side, his neck broken; he swayed and toppled to the ground.

The golden girl-the ghost Anna-looked at Uncle Reg and at Ethan, her eyes wide and bright. For an instant, she was merely a child: scared, alone. And then she was gone.

For a moment, no one moved. Adams and Otis, Mackintosh and Pell, Greenleaf and the men of the watch-all of them stared at Darrow. Adams was the first to look away. He gazed down at the pistol in his hand, and took a long, shuddering breath. Finally, as one, they turned to Ethan.

Pell hurried forward and knelt beside him.

“Where are you hurt?” the minister asked.

“It would take less time to tell you where I’m not hurt.”

Pell laughed breathlessly, sounding more relieved than amused. “Can you…?” he hesitated, glancing at the others. “Can you take care of it yourself?”

“I haven’t the strength,” Ethan said quietly, his thoughts clouded by the throbbing pain in his shoulder and knee. “And I’d rather not put on a display for the sheriff.” He looked around. “I don’t know where we are. How far are we from my home?”

“Did you just say that you don’t know where you are?” Adams said, coming forward.

“That’s right.”

Adams gestured at the tree to which Ethan had been chained. “This is the Liberty Tree, Mister Kaille. You’re on Orange Street, at Essex.”

The Liberty Tree. He had heard talk of the place. This was where Andrew Oliver had been hung in effigy, and where the first of the riots on August 14 had begun. More important, they were only a short distance from Janna’s tavern.

“There’s someone who can help me,” Ethan told Pell. “Her name is Tarijanna Windcatcher, and she owns the Fat Spider. It’s a tavern down the road toward the town gate.”

Pell started to stand. “I’ll get her.”

“No,” Ethan said, stopping him. “Send one of Greenleaf’s men. She doesn’t like ministers. She doesn’t like anyone. But she’ll help me. Tell him to use my name.”

The minister walked back to Greenleaf and his men and spoke to them in low tones. After a moment, one of the men started off down the road toward Janna’s tavern.

“Thank you,” Ethan said to Adams. “That was a fine shot. I thought you were palsied.”

“I am,” Adams said. “My penmanship is atrocious. Shooting is another matter.” He looked down at Darrow and shook his head. “Peter was a friend. I didn’t want to kill him.”

“You didn’t,” Ethan said, his voice low. “I did.” He had taken lives before, and perhaps he would again. But it would never be easy, not even when the man he killed was intent on murdering him. “And you should know that Darrow wasn’t your friend. He was a spy for supporters of Parliament and the Crown. He sought to undermine everything that you’re working for.”

Greenleaf came forward as Ethan spoke, plainly interested in what he was saying. Ethan paid no attention to him.

“He killed Jennifer Berson and three others,” he went on. “And he was perfectly willing to kill Mackintosh here, or me. Or both of you,” he said to Adams and Otis, “if it served his purposes.”

“Why did he kill them?” Pell asked.

“He was casting control spells-using his conjurings to make others do his bidding. He killed Jennifer Berson so that Mackintosh would take his mob and destroy Thomas Hutchinson’s home. He killed the girl who was found this morning to make Sheriff Greenleaf release Mackintosh from gaol. Same with the boy who died on Pope’s Day. He won Ebenezer’s release, and so won his trust.”

“That’s preposterous!” Greenleaf said, but there was uncertainty in his eyes.

“Is it, Sheriff?” Ethan asked. “Did you have any intention of releasing Ebenezer before this morning?”

“I…” He shook his head, his gaze falling to Darrow’s corpse. “I don’t recall,” he said at last.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Ethan said without rancor. Facing Adams again, he said, “The alliance between you and Mackintosh was a threat to him and to those he worked for. Everything he did was intended to drive the two of you apart, to break the bonds between Mackintosh’s followers and the Sons of Liberty.”