“Kaille,” he said. “I thought you didn’t fancy yourself part of Adams’s rabble.”
A few men standing nearby stared daggers at them both.
“I came looking for you, Sheriff.”
Greenleaf frowned and eyed Ethan’s shirt, coat, and breaches, which looked a mess from all that Ethan had endured in the warehouse on Wiltshire Street. “More trouble with Ramsey, I take it.”
“He’s dead.”
The sheriff’s gaze sharpened. “I’ve heard that before.”
“Not from me you haven’t. You know that as well as I.”
“Aye, I remember. You’re sure he’s dead.”
“If you’ll come with me, I’ll show you the body.”
Greenleaf, scanned the chamber and appeared to convince himself that he wouldn’t be missed. “All right, then,” he said. “Take me to him.”
They left Faneuil Hall, strode past the barracks on Brattle Street, and crossed through New Boston. Greenleaf’s strides were long and quick; Ethan struggled to keep pace. In no time, his bad leg had started to ache. But he was as eager to show the sheriff that Ramsey was dead as Greenleaf was to see the corpse for himself. The nearer they drew to the rope yard and its warehouse, the more uneasy Ethan grew. He knew what he had done and seen; he knew Ramsey was dead. But a part of him couldn’t help but wonder if somehow the captain had managed to bring himself back, to use the awesome power he wielded to cheat death one last time.
When at last they reached the warehouse, however, they found Sephira and her men waiting outside, appearing bored and impatient.
“Good day, Miss Pryce,” Greenleaf said, removing his tricorn.
“Sheriff.”
“Why are you out here?” Ethan asked her.
Sephira regarded him as she might an insolent child. “Because I didn’t wish to remain in there with that dead … thing.”
“Have Ramsey’s men come back?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. I’m not convinced they will.”
Ethan entered the warehouse, Greenleaf behind him. Sephira, he noticed, followed them.
To Ethan’s profound relief, the inside of the warehouse appeared exactly as it had before he left to find the sheriff. The body of Nate Ramsey still lay in the bed, half covered by his blood-soaked blanket and bed linens. The captain’s head lay on the bed as well, a pool of blood beneath it.
“Damn,” Greenleaf whispered. He stepped past Ethan, and approached the bed, moving with caution, perhaps fearing that at any moment the corpse might animate itself and attack. “He was bedridden?”
“Aye,” Ethan said. “The burns from the Drake’s Wharf fire left him incapacitated.”
“And yet he could do his mischief.”
“He remained a powerful conjurer until the very end.”
The sheriff glanced back at him. “But not so powerful that you couldn’t defeat him.”
“I was fortunate.”
“You call it fortune. I call it witchery.”
Ethan was too weary to argue.
Greenleaf grinned and faced forward once more. He halted at the foot of the bed and bent low to examine the hairless, fire-ravaged head. He made no effort to touch it. “You’re sure this was Ramsey? It looks nothing like him.”
“I’m sure,” Ethan said.
“I saw him last night and-”
“You saw an image Ramsey conjured for my benefit and that of anyone else who saw him. He might have been cruel and mad, but he was also proud. He wished to hide from all the world what he had become. But this is him. I swear it.”
“It’s true, Sheriff,” Sephira said.
“But…” Greenleaf straightened and shook his head. “Very well. I’ve little choice but to believe you.”
“I wanted him dead as much as you did. Probably more. I’ve no reason to lie to you.”
“You have every reason! Jonathan Grant’s murder remains unexplained, and your life hangs in the balance!”
“Ramsey killed him. I’ve told you that.”
“I would have preferred to hear it from Ramsey.”
Ethan threw his hands wide. “You wanted Ramsey dead! You can’t tell me to kill him and then hear his confession. That is, unless you’re a witch.”
Greenleaf’s face shaded to crimson. Sephira snorted.
“Fine,” the sheriff said at last, the word clipped. “What of his crew?”
“I let them go,” Ethan said. “Though there was one who I beat senseless.” He looked at Sephira.
“He awoke while you were gone,” she said. “I told him to leave.”
“They’re guilty of crimes as well,” Greenleaf said. “They gave aid to Ramsey in all he did.”
“Then I would suggest that you find them before they sail the Muirenn out of the harbor. But you’ll have no help from me in that regard. I defeated Ramsey, as I told you I would. I’ll not fight the crew for you as well.”
He thought the sheriff would argue, but instead he said, “Very well, Kaille. I assume that after today, I won’t have to hear again of Nate Ramsey and his damned witchcraft.”
“I assume so as well,” Ethan said.
Greenleaf eyed the head and body again then turned and strode back toward the warehouse entrance. “I should return to Faneuil Hall. The lieutenant governor wants me to keep an eye on Adams and his friends.”
“I’m sure he does.”
The sheriff’s expression soured. “You’d best watch yourself, Kaille. With Ramsey dead, you won’t have anyone else to blame for the magicking that happens in this city. It’ll be you and that African woman who thinks she’s so smart. And eventually I’ll find a way to slip a noose around both of your necks.”
“You’re welcome,” Ethan said. “I was glad to help.”
Greenleaf frowned. If anything, Sephira’s laughter served only to deepen his consternation. He regarded them both and then stormed out of the building.
“He doesn’t like you very much,” she said, staring after the man.
“Neither do you, if I remember correctly.”
Sephira smiled. “Not very much, no. But I do find it convenient to have you around, for the entertainment you provide, if nothing else.”
Ethan grinned. “Thank you for all that you did today. And also for allowing Mariz to help me.”
She waved away his gratitude, much as Janna often did. “Greenleaf has a point, you know. Ramsey was a common enemy. Now that he’s dead, you and I have no one left to fight but each other.”
“We’ve done that before.”
“Yes, we have. And I look forward to our next encounter.” She sauntered toward the door.
“Sephira.”
She stopped, turned.
There was much Ethan wanted to say, but not to her, not yet. There were others to whom he would have to speak first.
She quirked an eyebrow. “You have something else to say to me?”
“No. Again, my thanks.”
Sephira gave a small shrug and left him there in the warehouse. Ethan took one last look at the body of Nate Ramsey and then at the damage his own fire spells had done to the building. He walked around to the far side of the bed, where lay the unfortunate man from whom Ramsey had been taking blood for his spells, the man whose life he had considered using as the source for a spell of his own. Sitting on the floor beside the man, he cut his own arm, dabbed his blood over the worst of the man’s many wounds, and whispered a healing spell.
While his spell was still humming in the floor and walls, he heard footsteps behind him. He looked to see who had come, fearing that Ramsey’s men had returned. But it was Mariz.
“I sensed your conjuring. What are you doing?” He halted at the sight of the man. “Ah, meu Deus! What happened to him?”
“Ramsey was using his blood for spells. I couldn’t bring myself to leave him here. So I’m healing him.”
“I can help you, if you would like.”
“I’d be grateful.”
Mariz joined him beside the man, cut himself, and cast a healing spell. And for the next hour or more, Ethan and Mariz cast spell after spell, until the worst of the man’s wounds had been mended. When they were done, Ethan took the bloodstained blanket off of the bed and draped it over the man.
“He’ll wake eventually,” Ethan said. “And hopefully he won’t remember too much from this ordeal.”