though he couldn’t help thinking that those who knew him best—Kannice, Diver, Henry—wouldn’t have seen the irony. They thought him grave, even ill-tempered at times, and they were right. The years had left him far more like Bett and his father than he had been in his youth.
“It’s an odd color,” Bett finally said, her voice low.
“I was thinking the same thing before you came in.” He regarded her slyly. “Maybe you have a knack for conjuring.”
One might have thought from the smoldering look in her eyes that he had accused her of thievery, or worse. “That’s not funny.”
Susannah would have laughed. So would Mother. But he kept these thoughts to himself. When they were young, their mother had taught all of them to conjure. But while Ethan and Susannah had quickly shown an aptitude for spellmaking, Bett had not. It was one more reason why Ethan and Susannah had been so close to each other and to their mother. As a boy he had thought Bett difficult; only later did it occur to him that she had probably felt left out, lonely.
“I don’t know what that color means,” he said. “I suppose it could be the color of the spell that killed her, though I’ve never seen conjuring power that looked like this. It’s more likely that her killer is strong enough to mask his or her castings.” He glanced at her. “That’s why I was going to try the second conjuring. It might tell me something more about the spell itself.”
“You shouldn’t be using witchery in here. Not for any purpose.”
He gestured toward the body. “Not even to find out who killed this girl?”
“If God wants us to learn the identity of her killer, He will reveal it to us in His own way.”
“I was just noticing that my conjuring feels stronger in here than it does anywhere else in Boston. Maybe this is His way.”
The look she gave him would have kindled damp wood. “You are speaking of witchcraft in a house of God!”
“Witchcraft?” Ethan repeated, his voice rising. “You know better, Bett! I expect that kind of nonsense from people who know nothing of conjuring, but not from you!”
“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,
“It’s an odd color,” Bett finally said, her voice low.
“I was thinking the same thing before you came in.” He regarded her slyly. “Maybe you have a knack for conjuring.”
One might have thought from the smoldering look in her eyes that he had accused her of thievery, or worse. “That’s not funny.”
Susannah would have laughed. So would Mother. But he kept these thoughts to himself. When they were young, their mother had taught all of them to conjure. But while Ethan and Susannah had quickly shown an aptitude for spellmaking, Bett had not. It was one more reason why Ethan and Susannah had been so close to each other and to their mother. As a boy he had thought Bett difficult; only later did it occur to him that she had probably felt left out, lonely.
“I don’t know what that color means,” he said. “I suppose it could be the color of the spell that killed her, though I’ve never seen conjuring power that looked like this. It’s more likely that her killer is strong enough to mask his or her castings.” He glanced at her. “That’s why I was going to try the second conjuring. It might tell me something more about the spell itself.”
“You shouldn’t be using witchery in here. Not for any purpose.”
He gestured toward the body. “Not even to find out who killed this girl?”
“If God wants us to learn the identity of her killer, He will reveal it to us in His own way.”
“I was just noticing that my conjuring feels stronger in here than it does anywhere else in Boston. Maybe this is His way.”
The look she gave him would have kindled damp wood. “You are speaking of witchcraft in a house of God!”
“Witchcraft?” Ethan repeated, his voice rising. “You know better, Bett! I expect that kind of nonsense from people who know nothing of conjuring, but not from you!”
“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,
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