This thought, however, gave him another idea. He wasn’t certain that he could do what he had in mind; he didn’t know how much conjuring power Ramsey’s barrier could block. But if he succeeded, the tactic he was contemplating might allow him to defeat the man, finally and for all time. He threw another ball of fire at a wall, and as Ramsey put out the blaze, Ethan staggered to his feet and approached the bed.
And before Ramsey could aim a spell at him, he cast once more.
“Ignis ex cruore evocatus.” Fire, conjured from blood.
This time, however, he did not bother to cut himself. Instead, he drew upon the blood he knew was already available on the man beside Ramsey’s bed. The act of conjuring blood from a wound caused the wound to stop bleeding; this was why Ethan had to cut himself anew with each spell he cast. If he could take blood from the man Ramsey had been using in this manner, he would not only fuel his own conjuring, he might also deny blood to Ramsey until his sailor could cut the man again.
But could he reach the man’s blood? The barrier Ramsey had created was meant to repel attacks, both conjured and physical. Ethan sought not to breach the warding for an assault; he simply wished to use for his spell a source that was located within the shield.
And Ramsey’s warding could not prevent this.
Another flaming sphere flew from Ethan’s hand, striking the ceiling directly above where Ramsey lay.
“Falx ex cruore evocata,” Ethan said, once more drawing on the blood of Ramsey’s hapless victim, this time for a blade spell.
The conjuring crashed against the barrier like a wave and spent itself, as Ethan knew it would. But the glowing wall rippled noticeably, and this time Ramsey’s spectral guide did not appear when the shield was tested. Ethan could tell by the slight fading of its color and the dulling of its glimmer that the barrier was weakened by the impact of his spell. Something in Ramsey’s conjuring, be it the sheer strength of the barrier or whatever spell the captain had used to create it, made it vulnerable to such attacks. It seemed it could hold against anything, but it needed to be renewed constantly. Therein lay its one flaw. And Ethan sought to make the most of it.
He cast again—another blade spell. He didn’t expect that this one would reach the captain either. But as long as he kept conjuring and denying Ramsey access to the blood he so desperately needed, the shield would continue to grow dimmer and less powerful.
“Cut him faster!” Ramsey hissed the words, his widened eyes on the flames which still burned the ceiling above him.
“Discuti ex cruore evocatum,” Ethan said. Shatter, conjured from blood.
Enraged, unable to tear his gaze from the fire, unable even to form words, Ramsey screamed again and pounded his fists on the bed.
And still Ethan conjured. A fire spell. And rather than aim it at the walls or ceiling, he directed it at Ramsey, knowing once more that it wouldn’t penetrate the shield, but knowing as well that it would terrify the man.
At the sight of the fireball, the captain raised an arm, and turned his head, flinching back against his pillows despite his warding.
The aqua barrier held against this spell, but it sagged under the force of the conjuring, like a ship’s sail that suddenly catches a leeward wind. The spell even rebounded off the barrier with less force than had Ethan’s earlier spell; it barely even staggered him.
“Cut yourselves!” Ramsey shouted to the men Ethan had trapped with his conjured wall. “All of you! I need blood!”
The captain’s men were quick with their blades. Ethan managed to cast two more blade spells, each of which made Ramsey’s conjured dome flicker and quake. He thought that a third spell might get through and strike at the captain, but he didn’t get the chance to cast it. Before he could speak another spell, he felt a pulse in the warehouse floor and saw Ramsey’s ghost flash into view.
The captain’s conjuring fell upon Ethan, driving him to the ground and crushing the breath from his chest.
He didn’t believe that his warding had failed; if it had, this spell would have killed him. But whatever conjuring Ramsey had aimed at him was more powerful by far than any other the captain had cast this day.
By the time Ethan could raise his head again, the flames above the bed had been extinguished and Ramsey’s barrier had regained much of its hue and substance.
“That was well done, Kaille. I hadn’t thought you could be so clever. But you won’t catch me off my guard again. Indeed, you’ve reminded me that I have as much blood at my disposal as I could possibly want. Thank you for that.”
A spell made the warehouse tremble and the weight crashed down on Ethan again, stealing his breath, making his heart labor. It was like having Afton and Gordon both stand on his chest. Even with his warding intact he feared that the sheer might of the conjuring would kill him.
“How long can you endure this, Ethan?” Ramsey asked, seeming to sense his desperation. “I have all day.”
Chapter
TWENTY-FOUR
Ethan had little time left, and no idea how to regain the upper hand in his battle with Ramsey. He cut his arm, but rather than aim a conjuring at the captain or his men, Ethan cast an illusion spell, sending an image of himself out of the building and up the road to where Mariz stood with Sephira.
“I need help,” Ethan made the figure say. “An attack, Mariz. Or a distraction. Anything. I don’t know if the warehouse is warded; I expect it is. But if it’s not, light it on fire. I’ll get out somehow. If it is warded, then an illusion of some sort. Ramsey is terrified of fire. Try—”
Within the warehouse, another spell hit him, tearing a gasp from his beleaguered lungs. He opened his eyes to the dim light of the building and the glow of Ramsey’s power.
“I felt that,” the captain said. “An illusion spell. You were speaking with Sephira’s conjurer, or perhaps Miss Windcatcher. They can’t help you. Not from that distance.”
The building shook. Ramsey glanced up at the ceiling and then laughed.
“A fire spell. You told them to burn us out. You’re a desperate fool, Kaille. Of course I warded the building.”
Ethan rolled off his back and pushed himself up to his hands and knees. Glancing at Ramsey’s crew, who remained behind the wall he had conjured, he saw that all but one or two of them had blood on their arms.
And then, with a pounding of magick, the blood was gone. All of it. Ethan was mashed to the floor; it felt like the warehouse roof had fallen in on top of him. He could not keep his arm from being trapped beneath him. The bone snapped and he howled with pain.
So much blood. If Ethan could have drawn upon it he might have been able to defeat the captain’s warding. But as it was …
He had been in such straits before. The memory of one such circumstance came to him now. He had cast the killing spell that took the life of a dog, Pitch, Shelly’s mate. It had been an act of last resort, and to this day he had not forgiven himself. He had vowed that he would never cast such a spell again. And if his choice was between dying and taking the life of one of Ramsey’s sailors, he would choose to die.
But there was someone else. The man lying on that low pallet beside Ramsey’s bed was going to die. Ramsey would kill him with his spells; Ethan himself had robbed the man of blood. He doubted that the poor soul could survive much longer. Wouldn’t it be a mercy if he could take the man’s life with a single conjuring?
He started to recite the conjuring under his breath—another blade conjuring. Sourced in the life of another it might be strong enough to carve through Ramsey’s warding and kill the captain. But after a few words, Ethan stopped himself. He had made this choice once, and had justified it to himself with the belief that he hadn’t acted to save his own life, but rather to save the life of Holin, the son of Marielle Taylor, his former betrothed. If he cast such a spell now and managed to survive his battle with Ramsey, how would he excuse it this time?
Better to die than to live with the knowledge that he had traded his own life for that of an innocent.
But perhaps there was one other way.
Of course I warded the building, Ramsey had said. But both of them knew that he had only warded it against attacks from outside. Ethan had already proven that the walls within could be burned. Clearly the captain assumed that Ethan had tried to burn them in order to distract him from the maintenance of his shield and from his attacks. Perhaps Ethan had made the same assumption. Not anymore.
He cut himself. “Ignis ex cruore evocatus.”
And before the flames he threw had reached the near wall, next to Ramsey, he cast a second spell.
“Tegimen et impedimentum ex verbasco et marrubio et betonica evocata.” Warding and barrier, conjured from mullein, horehound, and betony.
The rumble of another spell followed on the heels of this one, but it had no effect. The blaze began to spread along the warehouse wall, and the shimmering russet shield Ethan had conjured over it rendered Ramsey’s extinguishing spell impotent. He cast the spell again, using more of Janna’s herbs. He would fortify the conjuring every time Ramsey attacked, so as to make certain that it held. He knew that his supply of leaves wouldn’t last forever, but he thought that he could maintain the conjuring with blood if he had to. And he wasn’t sure Ramsey could tolerate flames in such proximity for very long.
Ramsey tried to douse the fire again, and again he failed.
Ethan cast his spell once more.
“Enough of this, Kaille.” The captain sounded panicked. “You won’t kill yourself to kill me.”
“Actually, I will.”
Ramsey seemed to know better than to argue. “What about my men? You won’t let them die. I’m sure of it.”
“I can’t say what I’ll do. I haven’t decided yet. But what about you, Ramsey? Would you let them die to save your own life? I believe you would. Your men have faith in you. They think that you’ll protect them. Look at them now, and tell them that you would rather die than see them perish.”
The captain looked to his men, wet his scarred lips. “I would,” he said. “I would die for them.”
“Discuti ex cruore evocatum,” Ethan said. Shatter, conjured from blood.
The wall of the building just to the side of Ethan’s barrier shattered like glass.
“Reloca impedimentum ex verbasco et marrubio et betonica evocatum.”
Ethan’s conjured shield shifted a few feet, enough to give the men access to the hole he had made in the warehouse wall.
“Tell them to leave. Without delay, Ramsey. The fire is spreading.”
Ramsey stared up at the flames and tried to slide himself to the far side of his bed. He said nothing.
“I thought as much,” Ethan said.
Smoke began to billow into the rafters of the building and the fire continued to grow, creeping along the wall toward Ramsey like a bright spider.
“Make it stop!” Ramsey said.
“No. If burning this building to the ground and dying by my own conjuring is the only way I can rid the world of you, then so be it.”
Ethan cast his barrier spell again so that the warding widened to cover the spreading flames. But he also started to recite in silence a second spell, in anticipation of what he thought Ramsey would do next.
He knew the man well.
“Cut yourselves, damn it!” the captain called to his men.
The sailors had been eyeing the flames, but now they cut themselves once more, drawing more blood.
Prepared as he was, Ethan might still have failed to finish his conjuring before Ramsey cast whatever spell he had in mind. But at that moment, another spell whispered in the wood. It was weaker than those Ramsey and Ethan had cast over the past several minutes. But that hardly mattered.
It was an illusion spell: Bright yellow flames erupted from the floor in the middle of the warehouse, near to where Ethan stood. He was certain Ramsey knew that this fire wasn’t real. But with flames burning so close to where he lay, and with his face and body covered with scars from the Drake’s Wharf fire, the captain couldn’t help but be distracted, albeit for only an instant.
That was enough. Ethan cut his arm and spoke the last words of his conjuring. Once more, he cast a blade spell, this time drawing not only upon his own blood, but also on that of Ramsey’s crew. Eleven men in all.
The spell shook the warehouse to its foundations. And when Ethan’s attack struck the aqua dome—the warding that had guarded Ramsey from so much—light flared, forcing him to shield his eyes. When he looked again, the dome was gone.
Ramsey cried out—fury, dismay, terror. Already Ramsey’s men were hacking at their arms with their blades, ready to give more blood to save their captain.
Ethan didn’t wait for them. He cut himself, and, hoping his aim was true, shouted one last time, “Falx ex cruore evocata!”
The blade spell thrummed. Ramsey had started to shout out a spell of his own, the Latin ringing high and clear. But his voice was cut off abruptly, the last sound from him sharp, choked.
And then his head rolled off his neck and blood fountained across his pillows and blankets.
Ethan could hardly believe what he had done. He stared at the body, at the head, at the torrent of crimson that stained the blankets and bedding. His hands shook, and he could hear that his breathing was uneven, ragged.
After some time he became aware of Ramsey’s men, who made not a sound, but stared at the bed. Some wore expressions of shock, others revulsion. As he watched, they turned individually and in pairs to look at him.
“Go,” he said, his mouth dry. “I’ve no quarrel with any of you. Stay far away, and you needn’t fear me.”
He didn’t know if they would heed his words. He should have. These men, perhaps more than any others in Boston, understood the power a conjurer could wield. They dared not challenge him. Rather, they filed out of the warehouse through the jagged opening his shatter spell had created.
Ethan cast one spell to remove the warding he had placed before the warehouse wall, and a second to extinguish the flames.
Smoke continued to gather in the building. He knew he should leave, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Not yet.
He stood, and walked toward the captain, his steps stiff. Only when he was within a few strides of the foot of the bed did he remember the last of Ramsey’s men, the one who had been harvesting blood on the captain’s behalf.
The man had been hiding, crouched on the far side of the bed. Now he lunged at Ethan, his blade held high. Ethan raised his uninjured arm to block the blow, felt a searing pain below his elbow. Ramsey’s man pulled the blade from Ethan’s arm and raised it to attack again.
“Discuti ex cruore evocatum!” Shatter, conjured from blood!
The blade broke, and the sailor’s eyes widened. Ethan stepped and spun, kicking him in the side with his bad foot. The man let out a grunt, his body seeming to crumple. Before he could do more, Ethan kicked him again in the the side of the head.
“That was nicely done, Ethan! As I’ve said before, you should come and work for me.”
Ethan turned. Sephira stood by the doorway, a pistol in her hand. She strode toward him, her boot heels scraping on the rough floor.
“Is that Ramsey?” she said, pointing at the blood-soaked form in the bed as she halted beside him.
“Aye.”
Her gaze lingered on the corpse and her voice was more subdued as she said, “Once again, nicely done.”
“There’s another man lying beside the bed. Ramsey was harvesting blood from him for spells. He needs healing; I’ll see to his wounds when I return. Otherwise he’s not to be touched.”
“And what about you? You look like you could use a bit of healing as well.”
Ethan wanted to refuse. He didn’t have time even for this. But one arm was bleeding and the other was broken. “I need to find the sheriff and bring him here.”
“That arm looks broken.”
He hesitated. “It is.”
“Then don’t be a fool. Let Mariz heal you and the
n you can find the sheriff.”
She was right. They went outside, where Ethan was surprised to see that the sun still hung in the eastern sky. It was not yet midday, though his body felt as it might if he had battled Ramsey for hours upon hours.
Upon spotting Ethan and Sephira, Mariz strode toward them, concern on his face.
“He needs healing,” Sephira said. “And he’s in a bit of a hurry.”
“Then I shall work quickly.”
Mariz cast spells to heal both of Ethan’s arms. The break was a clean one—Ethan thought of Diver, and his breath caught in his throat—and the knife wound, though deep, was straight and not overly long. Within a few minutes, much of the pain from both wounds had subsided. The arm that had been broken remained tender, but at least he could use it again.
“Thank you, Mariz.”
“Of course. You have other wounds?”
“None that matter. It’s time I went in search of Greenleaf.” To Sephira he said, “I’ve let Ramsey’s crew go. But they might return for their captain’s body.”
“Should we let them take it?”
Ethan considered this. “They can have the body, but the head remains here. I have to prove to the sheriff that Ramsey is dead.”
To his surprise, Sephira blanched. “All right.”
He started up the lane.
“I’ve never seen you this way before, Ethan. So … cold.”
He faltered in midstride, but then walked on, saying nothing.
At the first corner he reached, he paused, unsure of where he ought to look for Greenleaf. It was a few seconds before he recalled their exchange on King Street during the night. There was to be a town meeting in Faneuil Hall. He hurried back toward Cornhill.
* * *
Had he not witnessed it himself, Ethan would never have believed that so many people would fit into Faneuil Hall for any reason, and certainly not for a town meeting. But the previous night’s events had left the citizenry of Boston shaken and angry. Forced to guess, Ethan would have said that there were at least three thousand people in the building and the streets surrounding it. There were soldiers here as well, and tension hummed in the air like a conjuring.
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