D. Jackson - Thieves' Quarry

He began to speak a spell to himself. “ Conflare ex verbasco -” It would have been a heat spell, one that would force the man to drop his pistol. But as soon as Ethan began to recite the Latin, Uncle Reg’s bright eyes snapped to his face.

Osborne saw this. “Stop it!” he shouted, turning the pistol on Ethan.

Ethan faltered-only for an instant, but that was enough. With one quick stride, Osborne covered the distance between them. He slammed the butt of his weapon into the side of Ethan’s head.

Pain exploded in Ethan’s temple and white light flared behind his eyes. He staggered, fell to the floor.

“Now!” Osborne said, his voice like a hammer. “The spell! Cast it!”

A heavy silence fell over the room and Ethan tried to rouse himself. Before he could, he heard the women say in unison, “ Corpus alligare ex cruore evocatum. ” Bind body, conjured from blood.

The spell that rumbled like thunder in the floor beneath him, that pulsed through his body with such force it seemed to make his teeth clatter, dwarfed any spell Ethan himself had ever cast, save the one that he had sourced in the life of Shelly’s mate, Pitch. Whatever Hester and her sister had done rivaled a killing spell, something Ethan had never thought possible.

That the spell worked just as the women had intended, carving through his warding as if it were paper, came as no surprise. He couldn’t move. He had lost all control over his limbs, his neck, his mouth. His gaze could roam, but beyond that, he was helpless. On the other hand, he still felt everything. His head ached where Osborne had hit him; the rough floor pressed against his cheek, his arm, his side. He was growing more uncomfortable with every breath. But he couldn’t do anything about it.

He heard footfalls by his head and back and felt himself hoisted up into a chair. He started to tip over to one side, but Osborne braced him before he fell back to the floor.

“Rope,” the man said.

Hester nodded to Molly, who hastened to the back room and returned with a long piece of ship’s rope.

“Tie him up,” Osborne told her. “Just enough that he won’t fall over.” He smiled. “Spell’ll take care of the rest. But just in case, take his blade.”

Ethan hardly heard him. His mind was reeling from what he saw, and with the implications for all that had happened over the past several days. Hester’s red ghost had appeared again with the binding spell. It stood beside her. And a second ghost followed Molly everywhere she went. This one was a young woman who looked very much like the young man glowing at Hester’s shoulder. Both of the ghosts had large dark eyes, aquiline noses, and full, sensuous mouths. These features seemed odd, almost womanly, on the red figure of the young man; they were far more attractive on the glowing girl. Still the ghosts resembled each other; they were related, perhaps even brother and sister. This was not surprising, since Hester and Molly were sisters.

What had sent Ethan’s mind careening down a dark and troubling path was the color of Molly’s ghost. She was yellow. Bright golden yellow.

He stared at the shade for several moments, then shifted his stare back to Hester’s bloodred ghost. Yellow and red. He hadn’t seen either color before this day. But he would have wagered all he owned that when blended together, the yellow and red of their spells would leave a residue of brilliant orange. The same orange he had seen aboard the Graystone , on Mariz, and on Gant.

Osborne hadn’t killed anyone. His daughters had done it all. Together, their separate conjurings working as one.

He felt light-headed, sick to his stomach. The truth had been right there in front of him for so long, since that first day when he went to speak with them. Still, even knowing this, he couldn’t reconcile those yellow and red ghosts with what he had observed of the two women. They weren’t killers. They couldn’t be. And yet, ninety-seven men were dead; ninety-eight if he counted Gant. Killed by power that glowed orange.

He stared at them, at their ghosts, yellow and red. He wanted to ask them why, whether their father had forced them. But he could no more speak than he could stand up and walk out of the shack.

“What now?” Hester asked, looking to her father.

Osborne put on an old begrimed coat. “Now, I go out and look for some pearls. I might even be able to sell them.”

“But you don’t know where they are,” Hester said. “You told us that before.”

“Well, I’ve more of an idea than I let on. Gant told me some before he died. And Sephira don’t need to know I ain’t got them yet. Just as long as we agree on a price. The rest’ll take care of itself.”

Hester didn’t appear convinced, but she also didn’t seem concerned. She eyed her father a moment longer and turned her attention back to Molly, who was staring at Ethan, looking both frightened and contrite. Osborne retreated to the back room and soon returned with a second pistol. One he placed in his coat pocket. The other he handed to Hester.

“You girls watch him,” Osborne said. “And keep a good eye on his friend, too. If he wakes, bind him up like Kaille. You can shoot them if you have to. One or both.”

“We can’t keep them like this forever,” Hester said.

“Don’t need to. I’ll talk to Sephira, come back here and learn what I can from these two. And then we’ll … well, we’ll deal with them.” He looked at Diver once more and pursed his lips. “One of you girls ought to clean that blood … Or better yet.” He swung his gaze Ethan’s way, the cruel smile on his lips Ethan’s only warning of what was coming.

He heard the man whisper his spell, felt the pulse of power, and saw the glowing blue ghost of an ancient soldier, much like Reg, appear beside Osborne. Flames erupted from Ethan’s sleeve. They licked at his neck and face, the heat sudden and intense. Terror stole his breath. He couldn’t bat at the flames or rip off his shirt or drop to the floor and roll over the burning clothes to smother the blaze. He felt his skin blistering and he couldn’t even scream.

It took the two women several seconds-which might as well have been hours-to understand what was happening. Ethan could smell burning cloth, hair, flesh, and perhaps they finally did, too. Molly gave a small yelp and both women rushed forward to put out the fire.

They managed to extinguish the flames in mere moments, though it seemed to Ethan that they took far longer. His arm throbbed, and he could feel burns on his neck, as well.

No one in the room spoke. Osborne’s smile had vanished, and he was staring hard at his daughters.

“You were awfully quick to save him,” the man said. “Like you was worried ’bout him.”

Neither woman spoke at first.

“Well?” Osborne said.

“You would have preferred we let the house burn down?” Hester said at last. “It wasn’t him we were saving; it was us.”

“Well, that’s good. ’Cause when I come back, he’s a dead man. You understand that, don’t you?”

Molly blanched. Hester nodded.

“Why did you do it?” Molly asked, her eyes brimming with tears. She wiped at them, leaving a dark, sooty smear on her cheek. “You didn’t have to burn him.”

Osborne pointed back to Diver. “There was blood on his face. Kaille coulda used it to conjure. So, I did instead.”

The women looked down at Diver, as did Ethan. The blood on his friend’s face and hair was gone, washed away by Osborne’s conjuring.

“All right, I’m goin’. Watch him. Even without that blood, he’s dangerous.” Osborne turned to Ethan once more. “I shoulda asked you ’bout them pearls before Hes’s spell shut your mouth. But we can deal with that later.”