Pell rubbed his forehead. “Of course there is.”
“If someone were to cast another revealing spell on her now, my spell would show up as well.” He paused, then, anticipating the minister’s next question, “The residue from my conjurings is rust-colored.”
“Like your ghost?”
“My guide,” Ethan said. “Yes, like him.”
“But if the color doesn’t show up without a… a revealing spell, what’s the use of knowing that? Why does it matter what color this conjurer’s power is?”
Ethan looked at the dead girl. “That’s an excellent question. The truth is, it doesn’t mean much unless I find the conjurer and see his guide. As you’ve pointed out, the color will be the same.”
“Is there a spell that reveals what another conjuring was intended to do?”
“No,” Ethan said. “I’m afraid not.”
“So, you don’t know what the conjurer did with this girl’s life. Or with Jennifer Berson’s.”
“Not yet.”
But even as he said this, Ethan felt something tugging at his mind, taunting him, remaining just beyond his reach. He did know; the answer was right there in front of him. But he couldn’t remember what it was.
“Ethan?”
“There’s something…” Ethan said, shaking his head slowly.
Before Pell could question him further, they both heard footsteps on the stairs. The minister stared at Ethan, the look on his face like that of a child caught in a lie.
“Can you do anything about that glow?” Pell asked.
“I’d have to cast another spell,” Ethan told him. “And it would work too slowly.”
“Damn!” the minister said, sounding very unministerlike.
A moment later, Henry Caner entered the corridor. He was alone-a small grace-but judging from the look on his face, Ethan guessed that the rector would have ordered him hanged had there been men of the watch with him.
“What is this?” Caner demanded, his words echoing loudly in the crypt. “What have you done to her?”
Ethan didn’t flinch from his glare. “I’ve cast a revealing spell, Reverend, sir.”
“In my church? How dare you!”
“He had no choice, Mister Caner,” Pell said. “I gave him leave to do it.”
“You had no right, Trevor! And your decision might well get you dismissed from this church, perhaps from the ministry!”
“It’s not Mister Pell’s fault,” Ethan said. “I would have cast the spell even if he had demanded that I leave. To be honest with you, Mister Caner, the sanctity of your church was the least of my concerns. And it should be the least of yours, too.”
“Meaning what?”
Ethan pointed at the stone table. “She was murdered by a conjurer, the same man who killed Jennifer Berson and quite possibly two other people.”
“That doesn’t excuse what you’ve done here. One act of evil can’t justify another.”
“Evil?” Ethan repeated.
“I warned you when last we spoke that I wouldn’t continue to tolerate your… black arts. I ought to give you over to the sheriff. In actuality this time.”
“I won’t let you do that, Mister Caner.”
“What did you say?” the rector demanded of Pell, his chins quivering.
“You heard me, Reverend, sir. Mister Kaille is trying to find a murderer, a conjurer who uses spells to kill. If you can’t see the difference between his conjurings and those of this monster, then perhaps I should find another church in which to serve God.”
Caner glared at him, and then at Ethan. “You see? You’ve poisoned his mind, set him against me, and against the Lord.”
“I don’t believe I have. You heard him. He still wishes to serve God. Just not necessarily here.”
“What are you doing, Trevor?” Caner asked, as if he hadn’t heard Ethan. “Don’t you see that he’s a threat to all that you believe? Don’t you understand that his very presence here is an affront to the Lord?”
“I don’t believe that’s true, Mister Caner,” Pell said.
Caner recoiled. “You don’t believe that Mister Kaille has desecrated these grounds with his witchcraft?”
“I believe that the circumstances justify what he did.” The minister hesitated, but only for a moment. “And I believe it’s possible that his gifts come not from Satan, but from our Lord God.”
The rector gaped at him, his small mouth hanging open.
“We can discuss theology later,” Ethan said. “For now, I need to know as much about this girl as you can tell me.”
Caner continued to stare at Pell, his expression more sad than angry, his heavy-lidded eyes making him look weary.
“Mister Caner?” Ethan said.
“There’s not much to tell,” the rector said, still eyeing the young minister. “She was found near the wharves in the South End, by a man and woman who were…” He paused, shook his head. “Well, in any case, they found her and sought out a member of the watch. The girl’s mother is a widow, and they have little money. I fear the girl was working in the streets, if you follow.”
Ethan winced. She was too young to have been leading such a hard life.
“You say there have been four murders?” Caner asked.
“I believe so. This girl, Jennifer Berson, the young boy who died on Pope’s Day-Brown was his name-and another who was killed the day that Ann and John Richardson were hanged.”
“The boy was killed by witchery? I thought he was run over by a cart.”
“He was,” Pell said. “But after he died.”
Caner’s brow creased. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“I know you don’t,” Ethan said, feeling sympathy for the rector in spite of all that had passed between them. “These people were killed by a conjurer, who used their lives to lend strength to his spells. And these spells, I believe, were intended to control the behavior of others.”
To his credit, the minister didn’t dismiss these claims out of hand. But neither did he sound convinced as he asked, “Do you know this for certain, or is it conjecture?”
“I have some proof,” Ethan said. He indicated the girl. “You see that glow-”
“You did that,” Caner said.
“Yes, I did. I cast a revealing spell. What you see there is the mark of the conjurer who killed her. If this man had killed her with an attack, the silver glow would be concentrated wherever his spell struck her. Instead, it covers her entire body, because instead of hitting her, like a conjured weapon, the spell drew the life out of her. It used her to bend the will of another. Killing her wasn’t the aim of the spell; her death was the means to another end.”
“This is sorcerous nonsense!” Caner said. “For all I know, you’re concocting all of this to confound me!”
Ethan shook his head. “You’re wise enough to know I’m not. I can take that spell off of her. It would take another casting, but I could do it. Then you would be free to examine her for yourself and see that there isn’t a single physical mark on her. But I don’t think I have to. You’ve already seen her. You know that a conjuring killed her. And now you know what kind of a spell it was.”
The rector regarded him grimly, his lips pressed thin. “The only conjurer that I know of in this city is you, Mister Kaille,” he finally said, the word “conjurer” sounding awkward coming from his mouth. “If she was killed by witchery, chances are you’re the one who did it. I should call for Sheriff Greenleaf right now.”
“Then do,” Ethan told him. “If you really believe I did it, then you’re right: You should have me hanged. A killing spell…” He faltered, his eyes stinging at the thought of Pitch. “It’s a relatively painless way to die, but it’s murder nevertheless. If I had done this, I would deserve whatever punishment you could imagine. But I didn’t.”
Caner shook his head fiercely. “You offer no proof! Your denials mean nothing to me. You’re a witch!”
“I’m a speller who is trying to prevent another tragedy. Consider what I’m telling you, Mister Caner. This girl’s murder had an even darker purpose, just like the other murders this conjurer committed. He used her death to cast another spell. And while I don’t know for sure, I believe that all these murders are connected, that they have some
