“Why not from me? Just because I’m your sister, that doesn’t mean-”
“Yes, you’re my sister! If you’re going to call me a witch you have to accept that you’re one, too!” His words echoed loudly through the corridor, and belatedly he thought of the two ministers upstairs in the sanctuary.
“I’ll thank you to keep your voice down,” she said with cold intensity. “You may have forsaken the Lord and His word, but I have not. Neither has Geoffrey, nor our children. This is our church, and I won’t have you desecrating it.”
Ethan inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to keep his temper in check. “I haven’t desecrated anything. This murder is the true desecration. I merely want to find the person responsible. Is that so terrible?”
Bett stared at the girl again. “You’ve gotten Mister Pell in some trouble, you know.”
“Pell had nothing to do with this.”
“ Mister Pell was asked to keep vigil over this girl,” she said. “Instead, he left her with you. He should have known better.”
“I sent him away, Bett. I asked him for a cup of wine. That’s why he left me.”
She pursed her lips, and Ethan held his breath, hoping that Pell had been smart enough to tell a similar tale. Apparently the minister was better at all of this than Ethan had thought, for at last Bett said, with some reluctance, “He told Mister Troutbeck the same thing.”
“Then perhaps you should believe him,” Ethan told her, masking his relief.
“Still, he shouldn’t have left her side.”
“Perhaps,” Ethan said wearily. “I hope you’ll be kind enough to speak with Tr-with Mister Troutbeck on his behalf. Feel free to blame me. That should come naturally.”
Her expression soured, but when she spoke again, her tone had softened. “You might also wish to consider the danger to yourself. I felt your spell, Ethan, and so did anyone else who… comes from a family like ours. Even if you don’t respect this church you should be fearful enough for your own life to keep your blade in its sheath and your blood in your veins.”
“Unless you believe that Mister Caner and Mister Troutbeck are conjurers, I really don’t think I have much to fear on that account. Anyone saying that he felt my spell would be declaring himself a conjurer as well.”
Bett frowned. Clearly this hadn’t occurred to her. She had spent too many years pretending that she didn’t have spellmaking abilities.
“Well, then,” she said, drawing herself up. “If you don’t care about yourself, and you won’t respect this church, then I have no choice. I’ll reveal you as a witch myself. I’ll tell Mister Troutbeck exactly what you were attempting to do.”
“Even if it means that you also will be revealed as… as a witch?”
“I’ll tell him that our mother was a witch, and that she lured you to her ways. Mister Troutbeck knows that I’m a pious woman. And Geoffrey will vouch for me. He’s as well respected as any man in Boston.”
Ethan had always thought that Bett’s husband was a prig and an ass. But he was also a fairly well-placed British customs official, and that probably counted for something among those in Bett’s congregation.
“Fine, Bett.” He sheathed his knife and began to roll down his sleeve. “It’s been a pleasure seeing you as always.”
She looked disappointed, as if she hadn’t expected him to give up so easily. “You’re sure that a conjuring killed her?”
He threw his hands wide. “I don’t know how many different ways to say it! Yes, she was murdered with a spell! I don’t know what kind or who cast it, but a conjurer killed her.”
“And you’ve been hired to find her killer? I didn’t know you did that.” She said it without any trace of malice, which surprised him.
“Actually, I don’t,” he said, lowering his voice. “I recover stolen property, and that’s what I’m doing here. Something was taken from her, presumably after she was killed. Berson hired me to find it, no doubt hoping that I’ll also find the person who killed her.”
She said nothing.
Ethan finished rolling down his sleeve and reached for his waistcoat. “Good-bye, Bett,” he said, starting toward the stairway.
“Wait.”
He stopped, sighed. His sister still faced the stone table, her back to him.
“Was your spell really stronger here?”
Ethan nodded, then realizing that she wasn’t looking at him, said, “I don’t know. It felt stronger. Would that really be so surprising?”
She glanced back at him, her expression dark. “Of course it would.”
“Why? If I could paint like Copley or work silver like Revere, you would tell me that my talent was a gift from God. Why is this any different?”
Ethan wasn’t sure he had ever seen her more offended. “Don’t you dare claim your… your black art as a gift from the Lord!” she said, her voice trembling. “When you’re alone, or with your witch friends, you can justify your conjuring any way you like! But in this chapel, in my presence, you will say no such thing!”
Ethan started to respond, but stopped himself. He and his sister had battled on similar terrain too many times before, and too many of their wounds remained raw. “Very well,” he said, turning once more to go. “I’ll leave it to you to explain to Abner Berson why I couldn’t find his daughter’s killer. It’s really not a conversation I wish to have.”
“That’s unfair,” she said, actually sounding hurt. “You know how I feel about this, Ethan. I haven’t said anything today that I haven’t told you a thousand times before. What did you expect?”
“I expect nothing, Bett. But however much you hate me-”
“I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you. I pray for your redemption every night.”
It would have been rude to laugh. “Thank you for that. What I meant to say is that whatever you might think of me and what I do, you must know that I never seek to do harm with my conjurings. Surely you understand that I never use my spellmaking to kill.”
“I know.”
“But whoever murdered Jennifer Berson did just that. Wouldn’t you like to see that person punished?”
He watched her, hoping in spite of all he knew of her that she would listen to reason this once. But she showed no sign of relenting and at last Ethan crossed to the archway leading back to the stairs.
“All right,” she said, her voice echoing so loudly that it startled him. Then she said more softly, “Speak your spell. You’ve already desecrated our church. You might as well learn something of value.”
Ethan didn’t say a word or hesitate, lest he give her an excuse to change her mind. He put down his waistcoat once more and walked back to where she was standing. He eyed her briefly, expecting her to leave. When she didn’t, he pulled out his knife, pushed up his sleeve, and cut himself for a second time. Ethan felt self-conscious with Bett there watching him, no doubt disapproving of everything he did. But he tried to ignore her as he dabbed blood on the girl again in the same pattern.
“ Revela originem potestatis, ” he said, “ ex cruore evocatam. ” Reveal source of power, conjured from blood.
Again, the air in the chamber came alive. The ghost appeared beside Ethan, and Bett let out a small gasp. Reg leered at her. Ethan saw Bett shudder and fold her arms over her chest, even as he felt the blood on his arm evaporate and watched it vanish from the dead girl’s face, neck, and chest. The glow surrounding the corpse flickered briefly, like a flame in a sudden breeze, but otherwise the light didn’t change at all.
They stood utterly still for several moments. At last Ethan frowned and cast a quick look at his sister. He half expected her to gloat at the apparent failure of his spell, but she merely continued to stare at the still form on the slab and rubbed her arms to keep warm.
“Well, that was damned peculiar,” Ethan said eventually.
She shot him a disapproving look. But instead of chiding him for his oath she said, “You expected more to happen.”
“Aye.” Ethan thought about trying the spell a second time, but he didn’t think Bett would stand for it. He also didn’t expect that it would make any difference. The killer had gone to great lengths to mask the nature of his-or her-conjuring, something Ethan hadn’t thought possible.