Witch Hunter (27 page)

‘Come third winter’s night, go underground in green,

what holds him in death will lead you to thirteen.’ I hand it

back. ‘What about it?’

She stares at me a moment. ‘I’m going to tell you

something, but I need you to hear me out before you say

anything. Can you do that?’

Somehow, I don’t think I’m going to like what I hear.

But I nod anyway.

‘Winter’s night. Nicholas, John, everyone else thinks it’s

a date. The third night after the winter solstice, which is a

week from now. But I think it’s something else.’ She pauses.

‘Winter’s night isn’t just a date. It’s also a party.’

‘A party,’ I repeat.

She nods. ‘It happens every year. Different places,

different times. It lasts for three nights. This year’s party

happens to be in Stepney Green. The very same place

Nicholas sent us to. And see those lights?’ She points out

the window, at the twinkling green lights in the distance.

‘They’re not spook lights. They’re nymph lights. Sent into

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the air every night during Winter’s Night. The first night is

purple, the second red, the third green. Come third winter’s

night, go underground in green. Get it?’

‘I guess,’ I say. ‘But Veda didn’t say anything about going

to a party.’

Fifer narrows her eyes. ‘What are you, fluent in

seer now?’

‘Are you?’

‘As it so happens, yes. It’s my speciality.’ She says this

rather haughtily.

‘Let me guess,’ I say. ‘You wanted John to go to this

party, and he didn’t want to. That’s what you were fighting

about on the way here. That’s why he was so angry tonight.’

Fifer shrugs. ‘He thinks it’s a stretch. He thinks I just

want to go to the party and I’m using the prophecy as

an excuse.’

‘Are you?’

‘If I were, I wouldn’t be telling you about it,’ Fifer

fires back.

I ignore this. ‘What kind of party is it?’

‘Just a little get-together. Well, maybe not so little.

A bit of food, a bit of drink, a lot of chaos. It’s fun.

Everyone goes.’

‘Everyone?’ I don’t like the sound of that. ‘Who’s

everyone?’

‘Witches, of course. Wizards. Revenants, hags, demons…

mostly the nondangerous variety, but not always. Ghosts.

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We try to keep them out, but, you know, that can be hard.

Don’t always know they’re there until it’s too late.’

‘Are you saying you want me to go?’

‘Of course I don’t want you to go,’ Fifer snaps. ‘You

think I want to bring a witch hunter to a party like that?

You’re even more insane than I thought.’

‘I’m not insane. I’m not going to hurt anyone.’

She waves it off. ‘I don’t want you to go to the party.

But after hearing what I’ve told you about it, if you feel

as if you might find something there’ – I notice the

emphasis on the word – ‘I can’t stop you.’

I’m about to tell her to forget it. John’s right: it is a

stretch. The words all line up, but I have a hard time

believing Veda’s prophecy amounts to no more than a

party invitation.

Yet…there is a ring of truth to it. At the very least,

it’s a lot of coincidences. And Blackwell always says there

are no coincidences.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I think we should go.’

Fifer goes quiet. Then her eyes flutter shut in an

expression that almost looks like relief.

‘That was good,’ she says, finally. ‘Very decisive. I could

tell you really felt it. In here.’ She thumps her chest in

imitation of Humbert.

‘No shilly-shally,’ I agree, and I almost see her smile.

‘What should we do about the others?’ I say. ‘If John

didn’t want you to go and finds out we both did – what?’

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A look of guilt flashes across Fifer’s face.

‘That’s the other thing.’ A pause. ‘I drugged them.’

‘You what?’

‘I took something from John’s bag and slipped it in

their tea.’

‘That’s really dangerous!’ I say. ‘You can’t go around

putting herbs in people’s drinks like that. Each dose has

to be measured exactly! The amount you’d need to knock

out someone Humbert’s size would be enough to kill

poor George—’

‘Poisoned a lot of people before, have we?’

‘What? No. Well, sort of. But that’s not the point.’

Fifer shakes her head. ‘They’ll be fine. A little groggy,

maybe, but I know what I’m doing. And why do you care

what happens to them, anyway? Or maybe you just care

what happens to one person in particular.’

I feel my cheeks burn. ‘I have no idea what you’re

talking about.’

Fifer smirks. ‘Right.’

I turn away from her. ‘We should go. We don’t have all

night to stand around talking.’ I walk to the window, push

it open. ‘Look, there’s a trellis here. We can climb down.’

‘Hold on,’ Fifer says. ‘We can’t go dressed like this.’

I glance at our clothes. More of the duchess’s dresses:

mine pale pink and brocade, hers mustard yellow and

velvet. ‘Why not?’

‘Because we look like someone’s mouldy old

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grandmother.’ She walks to her bed and starts sifting

through a pile of clothes. ‘I thought about the party before

we left, so I packed accordingly. I couldn’t decide what to

wear, so I brought a few things. Here.’ She pulls out a dress

and hands it to me. ‘Put this on.’

It’s long and formfitting, made from white silk and

patterned with tiny black, blue, and orange flowers. The

neck, shoulders, and waist are decorated with shimmering

blue and black beads. I’ve never seen anything like it before.

‘It’s pretty,’ I say.

‘Too pretty for you, that’s for certain.’ She wrinkles her

nose. ‘All right. Jewellery. Where’s the stuff you wore at

dinner the other night?’

‘My room.’

She dashes across the hall and comes back with the

sapphire earrings and ring.

‘Put these on.’ She stands back and studies me. ‘I love

this dress,’ she sighs, a dreamy look stealing across her

face. Then she scowls. ‘If you get it dirty, I will kill you

myself. Got it?’

‘I won’t.’

Fifer nods and starts getting dressed. She pulls on a shirt

– a tight, black, strapless thing, more like a corset than a

shirt – a long black skirt, and a pair of tall black boots. She

glances in the mirror, gives her reflection an approving nod,

then marches to the open window and leans out.

‘What is taking so long?’

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‘What?’ I say, startled. ‘What is what taking so long?’

‘Keep your hair on,’ comes a voice from outside. A boy’s

voice. What is going on? I hear a rustling of leaves and the

voice grows louder. ‘You expect me to just drop everything

and run every time you call?’

‘Exactly so,’ Fifer replies, stepping away from the

window. In a flash, a boy swings himself up and over

the windowsill, landing gracefully beside her.

‘Lovely to see you, too.’ He grins and kisses her on the

cheek.

Okay, so Fifer didn’t have a boy hiding under her

mattress. But she did have one hiding outside in the bushes,

which is just as bad. For some reason, I’m filled with a

sudden, immense dread.

‘Schuyler, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.’

Fifer takes the boy by the arm and spins him around to

face me. I suck in a breath. I should have known by his

speed, by the way he leaped through a window two stories

off the ground. But it’s his eyes that tip me off. The second

they meet mine: feral, hard, and knowing – too knowing – I

know who this boy is. Rather, what he is.

He’s a revenant.

And I’m in a lot of trouble.

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I look at him, trying to figure out what kind of revenant

he is. Is he the seventh son of a seventh son, relatively

harmless? Or was he brought back by witchcraft, dangerous

only to whom his necromancer bids him to be? Or is he

the cursed undead, buried in unconsecrated ground, and

dangerous to everyone? I don’t know. It’s difficult to tell

just by looking.

The only thing I can tell by looking is that he’s possibly

the most attractive boy – living or dead – I’ve ever seen.

Bright blue eyes, wicked grin, shaggy blond hair that falls to

his chin. He looks to be around eighteen, but he could just

as easily be a hundred and eighteen. Revenants usually

favour clothes from the time they were alive, but his are too

plain to offer any clue: black trousers, black shirt, long black

coat ending in a pair of heavily scuffed black boots.

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‘This is Elizabeth,’ Fifer says.

‘All right, love?’ Schuyler extends his hand to me, but I

don’t take it. Revenants can tell a lot about a person through

touch alone. They’re like seers in that way, but worse.

Because a single touch from a revenant grants them access

to your thoughts and feelings – forever. And I know exactly

what he’ll see the second he touches me.

Fifer knows it, too. ‘Go on, Elizabeth. Shake his hand.’

Her eyes are alight with anticipation.

Damnation.

I give him my hand.

‘Nice to meet you.’ He curls his fingers around mine.

I can feel his immense strength even in the tiny squeeze he

gives me. ‘Any friend of Fifer’s—’ He breaks off and narrows

his eyes at me, his gaze flicking to my abdomen.

He knows.

I take an involuntary step backwards. What is he going

to do? Attack me? I have no way to defend myself against

him. No knife and no sword, though neither of those things

would make a dent in him anyway. Salt can kill off the

freshly conjured undead, but the longer they’ve been

around, the more indestructible they become. And judging

by his strength, he’s been around a while. He could tear

my throat out or rip me limb from limb before I could

utter a scream.

Instead of yanking my arm out of the socket, Schuyler

leans closer, peering into my eyes. I watch as a variety of

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expressions cross his face. He frowns, raises his eyebrows,

purses his lips, shakes his head. It’s like watching someone

read a book. Right before they rip it to shreds.

Finally, he releases me and turns to Fifer.

‘D’you want me to kill her?’

‘Unfortunately, no. I need her.’

‘Oh?’ He gives her a delighted grin. ‘Do tell.’

Fifer tells him everything: Nicholas’s curse, the prophecy.

The tablet. Caleb chasing us to Veda’s, the guards chasing

us to Humbert’s. The thing we’re hoping to find at the party.

Schuyler is silent for a moment.

‘What’d you call me for then, if you didn’t want me

to kill her?’

Fifer looks affronted. ‘What do you mean? We always go

to this party together.’

‘Last I recall, you said you’d rather lick poison from a

privy than go anywhere with me again.’

‘Last I recall, you said you’d changed,’ Fifer fires back.

‘Or did you lie about that, too?’

‘You know you’re the only one for me, love.’

Fifer rolls her eyes. ‘Fine. But there is just one thing.

John didn’t want us going, so we’ll have to be back by dawn.

Quite a bit before dawn, actually…’

‘Better hurry then,’ Schuyler says. He leaps onto the

window frame, his movements so light and fast it’s as if

he has wings. Then he’s over the edge, slipping like

quicksilver into the darkness.

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I whirl around to face her. ‘A revenant?’ I say. ‘What’d

you call a revenant for?’

‘You heard me,’ Fifer says. ‘We always go to this party

together. Besides, I’m not going anywhere with you alone.

I need him to protect me against you.’

‘Protect you against me?’ I repeat. ‘That’s like asking a

wolf to protect you against a mouse!’

‘You dare call yourself a mouse?’

‘Never mind that! My point is, he’s dangerous. He’s

liable to rip my hand off just for putting it in my pocket.’

‘Better keep your hands where we can see them, then.’

I let out a groan of frustration.

‘I’m not going to hang around all day,’ Schuyler calls

from outside. I can hear the amusement in his voice. He

probably heard every word we said. Damn revenants. And

damn Fifer for bringing one here.

She grabs her bag off the floor and slings it across her

shoulder. Then she turns to me, a malicious glint in her eye.

‘Just because I’m taking you to this party doesn’t mean I’ve

changed my opinion about you.’