The Healer (The Witch Hunter 0.5)(7)

Elizabeth Grey. It’s a common-enough name, which means there could be hundreds of women or girls or even babies who share it. Nicholas sent my father to locate them all the day after we arrived, and he’s already been gone three weeks. There’s no telling how much longer it’ll take.

I’m hunched over my alembic, leather gloves up to my elbows, stirring a potion that gives off a scent so rotten I wish I’d thought to open the window, when there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in,” I call.

The door swings open and Fifer walks in.

“You’re wanted downstairs for supper, and—ugh. What is that stench?”

“Black cohosh and valerian root.”

“Well, it smells horrible,” she says. “And you look horrible. You’ll have to clean up before eating. Hastings won’t allow you at the table looking that way.”

That’s another difference between my home and Nicholas’s: He insists on everyone dining together every night, clean, dressed, and presentable. No exceptions.

I glance down at myself.

“Right.” I lean over the table and push open the window with my elbow. “Let me just finish up here and I’ll come with you. It’ll be about five minutes. Less. Four and thirty.”

Fifer rolls her eyes. “Whatever you say. I’ll be out in the hallway.”

I siphon off the clear potion from the black residue, pour it into a clean glass flask, and set it by the window to cool. Then I peel off my gloves, my apron, and my shirt to change into the clothes that are folded and waiting for me at the end of my bed.

I step into the hall and Fifer gives me an appraising glance.

“You look good. Well, almost good.” She taps her forehead.

“What? Oh.” I reach up, feel for the protective spectacles I’d pushed to the top of my head. I pull them off and hook them onto the door latch. “Wish I’d thought of hanging something here earlier. I won’t get lost now.” This damned hallway is dark and long and all the doors look the same.

“Lost.” Fifer snickers. “It’s the eighth door on the right. How hard is it?”

We reach the bottom of the stairs and turn the corner into the dining room, where I see my father at the head of the table, sitting beside Nicholas.

“You’re back,” I say to him, then turn to Fifer. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know,” she replies, sliding into a chair.

“Just arrived,” Father says.

“Did you find her?” I say. “Them, rather?”

Father nods. “Yes. Turns out there’re not as many Elizabeth Greys as you’d think. Well, there used to be. But…” His voice trails off but I know what he was going to say anyway.

They’re all dead now.

“According to the registries, there were five. One an elderly woman who died two weeks ago. It’s not her, though,” he adds in response to Fifer’s look of concern. “She wasn’t right in the head. Never been out of her own home, barely knew her own name. No chance she could have helped us find anything. The others were children. Babies, really. One a stillborn, the other died of the sweat at three weeks old.”

“What about the other two?” Fifer says.

“One’s an older witch in Seven Sisters. Widow for five years. Lovely woman. The other’s a girl. Works at Ravenscourt Palace, in fact.”

“She works at Ravenscourt?” I say. “Doing what?”

“She’s a kitchen maid.”

“A kitchen maid?” Fifer and I say at once.

Father nods. “The devil to track down. Finally found her at some dodgy pub in the Shambles. Been there a few times myself. It’s no place for a lady, much less a girl.” Fifer shoots him a look, which he either doesn’t see or chooses to ignore. “Up to her eyeballs in ale and absinthe, stumbling around like a roistering sailor. George and I practically carried her back to the palace. She didn’t seem like she had anyone to look after her. Shame.” He shakes his head.

“And?” Fifer prods, impatient.

“It’s not her,” Father says. “Can’t possibly be. She’s too young, never mind that she’s no doubt a Persecutor. Been at Ravenscourt since she was nine, she said. Worked in the kitchen her whole life. I don’t reckon she’s been around much magic. I don’t see how someone like that could be who we’re after.”

Nicholas is quiet for a moment. Then he nods. “Which means it’s the witch in Seven Sisters,” he says finally. “I suppose that makes sense. What did you learn about her?”

“Hearth witch,” Father says. “Lovely home, just as you’d expect. Hidden well enough, and well protected so she’s in no danger of being found. Everyone in town believes she’s a baker. Which isn’t exactly a lie. Her mince pie was magnificent.”

Nicholas, Fifer, and I exchange a glance.

“I had to give her some reason for being there.” Father shrugs. “So I told her I came to buy a pie. She’d have been suspicious otherwise.”

“Very well.” Nicholas’s mouth twitches into a smile. “Would you mind very much then going back and fetching her? I’ll write a letter explaining the situation.”

“Do you really think an old hearth witch is the person to help break this curse?” Fifer says. “How? By keeping us clean and well fed while we scour the country looking? I know what the prophecy says, and I’m not questioning that, and I’m not questioning you. I suppose I’m just…questioning this witch.”