“Thank you,” Ethan said. “But I think I should go. I’m… I’m working on something.”
She nodded.
After another awkward moment, Ethan said, “Good-bye, Elli,” and walked past her back toward the door.
Elli didn’t turn, but as he pulled the door open she called, “Thank you for telling me.”
“Tell them I said good-bye.”
Then he was outside, descending the steps and striding back down the lane, eager to be out of the North End. The warm evening air felt good on his face, and he was breathing easier now that he was out of Elli’s house.
He didn’t love her anymore. He grew more certain of that every time he saw her. But he did desperately miss being in love with her. He had been happiest in those months before the Ruby Blade sailed, and during his years as a prisoner he had clung to the memory of that happiness the way a sailor lost amid the swells of an angry sea clings to a scrap of wood. There was a part of him that still feared letting go.
In that moment he wanted nothing so much as to go to the Dowser and see Kannice. He needed to tell her that he was fine and no longer being held by the sheriff. But with night falling, he had an engagement to keep with the illusory little girl of this conjurer he pursued. He started back toward the South End, drawing his knife once more and pushing up his sleeve. He didn’t know what kind of spell might work against a conjurer as skilled as this one, but he wanted to be ready to try anything.
Ethan had faced skilled conjurers before, a few here in Boston in the years since his release from the plantation, and one or two from before his imprisonment. Only two years ago, he had tried and failed to bring to justice a speller who killed two merchants and attempted to murder another. The speller, Nate Ramsey, had sought to avenge his father, whom the merchants had cheated out of ship and fortune. Ramsey had been as potent a speller as any he had known; Ethan still dreaded the day when he might have to face the man again. But he was starting to believe that this conjurer who had summoned the ghostly girl Anna from thin air was even more skilled than Ramsey.
He cut himself and whispered, “ Veni ad me. ” Come to me. The night air pulsed, and an instant later, Uncle Reg was striding beside him, grave and resolved.
They crossed over Mill Creek and cut south at Dock Square. Soon they were in the narrow lanes of the South End not far from the waterfront. The air had grown cooler, and a fine mist crept over the city from the harbor. Still Ethan walked, the ghost with him, and still he saw no sign of the little girl. The moon hung low in the east, nearly full, its glow muted by the haze.
They were less than a block from Ethan’s home when he felt at last that same vague awareness of spellmaking. A moment later, he spotted her, standing in the street next to a darkened storefront. This time he noticed immediately all that had eluded him the previous night. The moonlight touched her clothing, but she cast no shadow, and her face glowed faintly as if lit from within. On the one hand this reassured him: There were limits to this conjurer’s power and skill. On the other hand, seeing these flaws in the illusion made him wonder anew how he could have failed to notice them during their first encounter.
The girl marked his approach, a mischievous smile on her grimy face. “You came,” she said, when he was within a few paces of her. “That was smart, Kaille.” She gazed at the ghost beside him, looking him up and down for a moment before dismissing him with a flip of her hair. “He won’t be of much use to you.”
Uncle Reg bared his teeth at the girl, like a feral dog, but she didn’t spare him another glance.
Ethan looked around, though he didn’t expect the conjurer to allow himself to be seen.
“We’re quite alone,” the girl told him.
“I’ll have to take your word on that.”
“It’s better this way, you know. You’ll get the brooch, you’ll get your money, and no one else will be harmed.”
“I’m not sure that’s true,” he told her, still glancing up and down the street. The conjurer had to be watching them; perhaps if he could figure out his or her vantage point… “Abner Berson wants to see someone punished for his daughter’s murder. He shouldn’t be denied that comfort.”
She smiled. “I agree.”
“You agree?” She had his full attention now.
The smile lingered as she gestured for him to follow her. “Come with me. I’ll take you to the brooch.”
He didn’t move. “What should I call you?” he asked.
“I told you last night,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m Anna.”
“I’m not talking to the illusion,” he said, raising his voice and turning a slow circle in the lane. His gaze flicked from one darkened window to the next. “I’m talking to you. I’m talking to the person conjuring this child. I’m here, I’m ready to take the brooch. But I want to see you.”
At last his eyes came to rest on the girl again. She was regarding him grimly, shaking her head. “I don’t think so. Call me Anna, and leave it at that.”
She started walking away again. Ethan and Uncle Reg had no choice but to follow. Walking after her, listening for footsteps other than hers-for the conjurer had managed to make her steps heard-Ethan began to wonder if his foe was so powerful that he could not only communicate through the girl, but also see and hear through her. If so, walking behind her gave him a moment’s advantage.
His knife still in hand, Ethan cut his forearm, and muttered, “ Locus magi ex cruore evocatus. ” Location of conjurer, conjured from blood.
He felt the blood being drawn from the wound he had made. He felt power flowing through his veins and then out of his body. And then an instant later, he felt that same power whip back at him like the lash of a plantation driver. The force of it knocked Ethan back off his feet. He landed hard on the cobblestones, the air leaving his body as if someone had stepped on his chest.
The little girl didn’t even break stride as she said, “Don’t do that again, or you’ll get worse.”
So much for catching this conjurer off guard. Ethan got to his feet slowly, took a long breath, and followed her once more.
She led him southward, navigating the streets of the South End with the certainty of a chaise driver, until at last they were clear of the smaller streets and were walking past the pastureland at the southern edge of the city. They followed a lonely stretch of road past Rowe’s Field, with its long, thick grass and old dried piles of cow dung.
“Where are we going?” Ethan asked.
The girl didn’t answer. She didn’t slow or glance back, but instead led him down Orange Street toward the Neck. Ethan wiped a sweaty palm on his breeches, wondering how he had been so foolish as to let her lure him out this far.
What truly amazed him, though, was that here in the open, where it would have been much more difficult for the conjurer to keep himself hidden, Ethan still saw no sign of anyone save the little girl. Her movements weren’t as fluid or as natural; she looked less like a child and more like a puppet. It seemed this other speller found it harder to maintain control of the illusion from a distance. But Ethan took the fact that he could maintain it at all as further proof of just how deep his powers ran.
Anna didn’t stop until they neared the town gate, at the end of the Neck. There were few houses or buildings. The breeze off the harbor had stiffened and the moon was higher, its glow brighter.
The girl stepped off the road and cut through the empty fields that lined the lane. The grass was wispy here, the ground more sand than soil. Anna led Ethan to the fortified wall that guarded this end of the Neck and pointed to a small bundle lying on the ground at the wall’s base. “There,” she said, her voice sounding as thin and hollow as a ghost’s.
Ethan glanced around again, then stepped past her and bent to pick up the ball of cloth. It felt light, but he could tell right away that something substantial lay at its center. Peeling away the material, Ethan found a small jewel. He pulled a few strands of grass from the ground at their feet, but then paused, eyeing the girl.