Free Dead Man's Reach by D. B. Jackson

preceded the assault. Were the two incidents related? Ethan didn’t see how they could be—one mattered only to himself and to Sephira Pryce. The other had implications for all of Boston. Once more he wondered if he and Mariz had imagined that pulse of power the night before.
    On that thought, something else occurred to him. It seemed like folly, but before this night was through he might have no choice but to test his theory.
    He had few ideas of how he might proceed, none of them very good. But he couldn’t sit there doing nothing. Making up his mind, he drained his tankard, stood, and walked to the table Diver shared with Deborah.
    â€œMay I join you?”
    Diver looked up at him, but said nothing.
    Deborah eyed her beau before indicating the chair between them. “Of course you may, Mister Kaille. Please, sit.”
    Still Ethan waited, watching his friend. At last Diver offered a slight shrug, which Ethan took as an invitation.
    He sat and, holding up his tankard, caught Kelf’s eye. “Can I buy you one?” he asked Diver.
    â€œNo, thank you.”
    If Ethan needed further proof of the depth of Diver’s anger, here it was: He couldn’t remember the younger man ever refusing a free ale.
    â€œI was there today,” he said. “I saw Christopher Seider get shot.”
    â€œI thought you might have.” Diver didn’t face him, but at least he replied. “I knew that they were going to be at Lillie’s shop, and I know that you’re working for him.”
    Ethan’s anger flared. Diver had known that there would be a mob on Middle Street, and he had given him no warning. He held his tongue, knowing that no good would come of another confrontation. But something in his chest tightened. Once he had been Diver’s closest friend; now, apparently, Diver felt greater loyalty to the Sons of Liberty than to him.
    â€œI have been working for him. I don’t know if I can anymore.”
    At these words, Diver met his gaze.
    â€œTruly?”
    â€œHe made excuses for Richardson; he said the boy deserved what he got.” Ethan cringed. “How can I take his money after that?”
    Diver leaned forward. “You can’t,” he said. “He doesn’t deserve to have you working for him, Ethan.” It was the nicest thing Diver had said to him in months.
    Kelf arrived with Ethan’s ale and glanced first at Diver and then at Ethan. “It’s nice to see the two of you chattin’ so amiably,” he said, the words a great jumble.
    A smile crossed Diver’s face, though it vanished as quickly as it had come. Once Kelf was gone he said, “I owe you an apology, Ethan. With all the fool things I’ve done over the years, and all the times I’ve made trouble for you—and you’ve always stuck by me. I shouldn’t have said all those things to you last night.”
    â€œIt’s all right,” Ethan said, waving away the apology. “I have to ask you, though—” He dropped his voice. “Do the Sons of Liberty ever use conjurers to help them with all they do?”
    Diver fairly beamed. “You’re ready to join the cause?”
    Ethan was too pleased by the civil turn their conversation had taken to disabuse Diver of the notion. Also, he didn’t think Diver would take well to being told that Ebenezer Richardson might have been the victim of a spell, and was not the villain so many thought him to be. “For now I’m asking out of nothing more than curiosity,” he said, hoping that he sounded coy rather than evasive. “Do they have access to spells?”
    â€œWell, not that I know of, but I’m still new to the Sons. I’ve been to only a few meetings.”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œBut if you want me to ask—”
    â€œNo, that’s not necessary.”
    â€œRight,” Diver said, grinning. He cast a look at Deborah. “Our friend here has had