A small frown wrinkled Greenleaf’s brow, but a moment later, he started leading them back toward the chapel. Ethan and the minister followed him up the deserted lane, onto Hollis Street, and then onto Clough. They skirted the edge of the Common, following a narrow country lane toward the Granary and King’s Chapel. Pell said nothing, and Ethan thought it best to follow his example.
At this hour the lanes of Boston were far less crowded than when Sephira’s men had forced him into their carriage. Still, the few people who were abroad stared at him as the sheriff marched him past. A few gave him a second, closer look.
Ethan’s side ached when he inhaled, his head hurt from where Sephira’s man had kicked him, and his shoulder throbbed. He had been bloodied and beaten more in the past few days than at any time since the beatings he had been given upon arriving at the plantation in Barbados so many years ago. It hadn’t escaped him that every time he learned something new, something that moved him closer to discovering the identity of Jennifer Berson’s killer, Sephira showed up to threaten him, or that ghostly little girl confronted him in the streets around his home. He knew this was no mere coincidence.
Before long they reached the chapel grounds. They entered the yard through the gate on Treamount Street, and Pell stepped past Greenleaf, leading the sheriff and Ethan up the steps and into the sanctuary. The minister indicated that Ethan should sit in one of the pews.
“I’ll stay with Kaille, Mister Pell,” the sheriff said. “You can inform the rector that we’re here.”
“Actually, Sheriff, I prefer to remain here with Mister Kaille. Mister Caner can be found at his home across the burying ground. Would you be so kind as to tell him what’s happened.”
Greenleaf’s frown was more pronounced this time. “Forgive me, but I’m not sure that would be wise. If Kaille tries to escape you won’t be able to stop him.”
A look of annoyance crossed Pell’s face. “Of course. You’re right, Sheriff.” He cast an uncertain look Ethan’s way, but then left the chapel.
For several moments neither Ethan nor the sheriff said a word. Greenleaf watched him, though, his pale eyes narrowed.
“If you’re not a witch where did those flames come from?” he asked at last.
Ethan kept his eyes trained on the chapel floor. “Don’t you think Sephira is capable of lighting a fire?”
“Of course, but why would she?”
“You should ask her.”
Greenleaf came closer, so that he loomed over Ethan. “I’m asking you.”
Ethan looked up at him serenely. “You might wish to consider, Sheriff, that if I am a witch, and I have all this blood on my clothes, I can reduce you to a pile of ash with little more than a thought.”
“But… but you said…”
“I know exactly what I said. I also know that you didn’t believe me. Do you believe me now?”
Before the sheriff could answer, the chapel door opened again and Pell entered. “Mister Caner will join us shortly,” he said. He looked from Greenleaf to Ethan, a question in his eyes.
Ethan gave a small shake of his head. Greenleaf moved away again.
Pell came over to stand by Ethan, as if protecting him. Silence descended on the chapel once more, save for the patter of rain on the sanctuary windows.
“Does the bullet wound hurt much?” the minister asked after some time, his voice low.
Ethan kept his gaze fixed on the sheriff. “It still hurts, yes,” he said in a whisper.
“There’s a welt on your temple, too.”
“One of Sephira Pryce’s men kicked me there, and in the side. I may have a broken rib.” He glanced up at the minister. “Again.”
Pell’s eyes danced with mischief. “I’m beginning to think that you’re not as good at thieftaking as I first thought.”
Any other time, Ethan would have laughed. But they were waiting for Caner. Pell might have trusted Caner to help them with this pretense, but Ethan had his doubts. The rector hated him. Regardless of any friendship Ethan and Pell had built these last few days, Caner might well see in this night’s events the perfect opportunity to rid himself and his church of what he saw as a dark threat.
Seconds later, the door to the chapel opened once more, and Caner entered the building.
“It will be all right,” Pell mouthed.
Ethan merely shook his head.
The rector strode down the central aisle of the sanctuary to where Pell waited for him. With some effort, Ethan stood. Caner looked Ethan over, his eyes lingering on the welt on his head and the bloody hole in his coat. Then he turned to Greenleaf.
“What is all this, Sheriff? Why have you brought this man into my chapel?”
Greenleaf blinked. “Mister Pell didn’t tell you?”
“I’m not speaking to Mister Pell, am I?” the rector said. “I asked you a question. What is this man doing here?”
“We… we found him with Miss Pryce. He was… he was standing at the center of a ring of flame that I believe he started with some kind of… witchcraft. And two of Miss Pryce’s men had been wounded. One had been burned. I believe the other had broken bones in both legs. I expect those injuries also were the result of some devilry.” He turned to Pell, looking for help. “Don’t you agree, Mister Pell?”
“He’s wounded, too,” the rector said, before Pell could respond. “Did you notice that?”
Greenleaf shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Well… um… yes. Yes, I did.”
“Do you believe that those injuries also came from witchcraft?”
“No, Reverend, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Well, because one of Miss Pryce’s men had a pistol that might have been used to shoot his arm.”
“I see,” Caner said. “And what about that bruise on his head?”
“I don’t know how he got that, Mister Caner,” Greenleaf answered. “I suppose one of Pryce’s men could have done that, too.”
“Did you actually see this man cast any sort of… spell?”
The sheriff rubbed a hand over his mouth. “No, Reverend, sir. But Miss Pryce said-”
“They were fighting-this man, and Miss Pryce’s men. Is that not so?” Caner’s expression was severe.
“Well, yes, it is. But-”
“I understand that Miss Pryce enjoys some renown in this city, but for all she does on behalf of the people of Boston, we must remember that she is a creature of the streets, just as Mister Kaille is. Did it never occur to you that she might have made the accusations she did to bring injury to an enemy?”
“Well-”
Caner regarded Ethan dismissively. “You’ve got the wrong man.”
“But, the fires-” Greenleaf began.
“The fires must have been set by Pryce’s men,” Pell said. “As you say, Sheriff, we found Mister Kaille standing in the center of the ring, and Miss Pryce’s men were all around him. It retrospect it seems that he was the one most at risk from those flames.”
The sheriff gaped at Pell. “But you said that he-”
“I’m afraid I might have been mistaken,” the young minister said. “My apologies.”
Caner laid a hand on Pell’s shoulder and offered an indulgent smile. “Mister Pell is new to the ministry and is still subject to some of the foibles of youth. I’m sure you understand.”
Greenleaf straightened and glowered at Caner and the minister. “I think I do, Mister Caner,” he said pointedly. He eyed Ethan again.
“You did all that you could under the circumstances,” Caner told him. “You have my deepest gratitude.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” the sheriff said. The rector’s words were a clear dismissal. He regarded Ethan once more. “I’m sure our paths will cross again, Kaille. I, for one, will be looking forward to it.” He nodded to Pell, cast one last dark look Ethan’s way, and left the chapel.
Even after the door closed, Ethan waited several moments before asking Caner, “Why would you do that?”
The rector shrugged, opened his hands. “I saw you taken. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t have thought to intervene. A dispute between two thieftakers is no concern of the Church. But in this case, I thought to make an exception. Not for your sake, but for that of Abner and Catherine Berson.”