mullein from a pouch and, on the off chance that Ramsey had lied to him, tried to summon the spirit of Ramsey’s father, Nathaniel Ramsey, whom Nate had tried to bring back from the dead during the summer. The spell thrummed, but the ghost did not answer the summons. Ramsey had told him the truth.
He reached for A Collection of Spells and Conjurings and read once more all the pages that mentioned borrowed spells, thinking—hoping—that perhaps he had missed some vital clue that would tell him how Ramsey was using his power. But he learned no more this time than he had all the others. At last, frustrated and weary, he blew out the candles and climbed into bed.
While it took him little time to fall asleep, he awoke at every creak of the building, every whistle of cold wind outside his room. When morning came, he felt no more rested than he had when he went to bed. He sensed that time was running short. Ramsey would not have come to him, even as an illusion, unless he was sure that he could prevail in a battle, and unless he was prepared for their final confrontation.
And yet Ethan had no idea what he ought to do. He hated the thought of “cowering in hiding,” as he had so brashly accused Ramsey of doing. But neither did it make sense for him to leave the safety of his room merely for the sake of doing something.
Eventually, hunger drove him out-of-doors. He went to the nearest grocer and bought a small round of cheese and some bread. While he was there, he also took a copy of the week’s Boston Gazette, which bore this day’s date, 5 March 1770. He had thought he might learn more of what had happened to the soldiers and journeymen who fought at Gray’s Rope Works. But the newspaper offered no details on the confrontations, except to say, “The particulars of several encounters between the inhabitants and the soldiery the week past we are oblig’d to omit for want of room.”
Much of the paper was taken up with descriptions of Christopher Seider’s funeral, and further denunciations of Ebenezer Richardson and George Wilmot. Apparently discussions of one tragedy caused by Ramsey and by Ethan’s power had taken up so much room that the paper could say nothing more about the other victims of the captain’s scheme. Ramsey would have though it an amusing paradox.
Ethan returned to his room, ate his meal, and scoured his mind for answers. None came to him.
But late in the day, as the sky darkened and another clear winter’s night settled over the city, Nate Ramsey used a second illusion spell to appear in Ethan’s room.
“Still here, eh?” the figure asked. “Still playing with your books and your leaves.”
“What do you want, Ramsey?”
“It’s time for you to choose.”
“I still don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“That’s because you spend too much time alone. I worry about you, Ethan. You need to get out and mingle with the people of Boston.”
“Aye, you’d enjoy that wouldn’t you?”
“My enjoyment is irrelevant. But perhaps you’ve met a friend of mine, a soldier.” The illusion watched him, avid, expectant.
“What are you playing at?”
“I’m not playing. I’m only pointing out that I don’t need for you to be in the streets to do what I have to.”
“Morrison,” Ethan said in a breathless whisper.
“His name is Daniel. He’s a fine lad and a decent conjurer. Not that he’ll have to do a thing. I can use his power—I can use anyone’s really—the same way I’ve been using yours. I won’t even have to worry about those irksome wardings you’ve been casting.”
“Then do it,” Ethan said. “Why should this bother me? As long as you’re not using my power again, I don’t care.”
Ramsey’s illusion flashed a delighted smile. “But you do! That’s what makes you such a wonderful adversary, Kaille. You do care. You care that innocent people might be killed. You care that one conflict might lead to bloodier ones. But mostly you care about your friends, including that young man who has cast his lot with Samuel Adams and the Sons of Liberty.”
Diver. Somehow Ethan was on his feet, a rigid finger leveled at the figure like the barrel of a musket. “If you do anything to hurt him, I swear to God, I’ll spend my last breath hunting you down.”
“It seems Adams and his rabble have something planned for this evening. I assume that your friend will be there.