The Witch Hunter (The Witch Hunter #1)(56)

“Well, that was completely awful.” He points to the door. “Want to go in?”

“Won’t we get in trouble?”

“I think it’ll be all right,” he says. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? I don’t think Humbert will arrest us.”

“I didn’t realize you were such a troublemaker,” I say, but I’m smiling.

“You have no idea.” He smiles back. “Come on. There’s something I want to show you.” He presses his hand against the door and, with a heavy creak, pushes it open. “After you.”

Inside is a vast, cavernous room, with vaulted stone walls as tall as the room is wide, inset with oak shelves and filled entirely with books. The floor is laid with bright green and blue tile, arranged in a complicated geometric pattern. The ceiling is a glass dome, open to the starry sky like an oculus.

But it’s the enormous tree in the center of the room that commands the most attention. It sprouts from the floor, a massive thing, the trunk at least five feet in diameter, its many leafless branches extending like arms into the night sky.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?”

John nods. He’s watching me closely.

“How did you know it was here?”

“My father told me about it,” he says. “But I thought he was exaggerating.”

We make our way toward the tree, our footsteps echoing off the hard tile floor. I don’t make it more than a few steps before the dark room bursts into light, the candles in the many sconces fitted along the wall flickering into flame. I flinch a little.

“It’s just an enchantment,” John says. “The lights come on when the room is safe. If it senses danger, they go off—or don’t come on at all. It’s security, I guess you could say.”

“It’s a library,” I point out. “Why does it need security?”

“Because it’s a library with a very magical tree inside,” John replies.

“The tree is magical?” We’re standing in front of it now. Up close it’s a curious gray color, entirely stripped of bark. It almost looks like bone.

He nods. “If Humbert were to get visitors—say that duchess friend of his—and they happened to stumble inside…” He shrugs. “That’s probably why the library was closed this morning, so Bridget could top up the spell. She’s a witch, you know.”

I’m surprised, but I guess I shouldn’t be.

“What does it do?” I say, finally. “The tree, I mean.”

“Oh.” John runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure, exactly.” But something in his expression tells me he does.

Suddenly, I want to touch it. It’s bold; stupid, even, to want anything to do with magic, especially in front of John. But I want to see what it does. And since those enchanted lights seem to think I’m safe, maybe I am.

I reach out, tentatively, touch the withered gray trunk. Feel the smoothness of the wood beneath my hand. The tree shudders slightly under my palm, and with a sound like striking matches, it flares to life. Leaves bud, sprout, then unfurl, thousands of them—more—in shades of green so bright and vibrant they don’t seem real.

I let out a surprised gasp, then start to laugh. The leaves continue to come furiously, spreading through the branches until the once-dead tree now looks as alive as a summer day. I turn to John.

“Why did it do that?” I say. “What does it mean?”

John swipes his hand through his hair. “They—I don’t know.” Again, something in his expression tells me he does.

“What would happen if you touched it?”

He looks away from me and doesn’t reply. I could swear he’s blushing.

But I don’t let it go. “Go on, then.”

He shoots me a look: half-annoyed, half-amused. After a moment he lifts his hand and presses it against the trunk. Nothing happens at first. But then, with a sudden pop and a soft rustle of leaves, a tiny bird appears on one of the topmost branches. It opens its beak and lets out an unnaturally loud chirp. He shuts his eyes, looking relieved and flustered all at once.

I start to giggle then. I can’t help it.

“Now you have to tell me,” I say. “Surely you know. I know you—”

The bird goes still then, stops chirping. And without warning, the candles in the sconces flare out, plunging the room into near darkness. Without thinking, I grab John’s arm, spin him around, and pull us both behind the tree.

“Don’t move,” I whisper.

“All right,” he says back. “But… what are you doing?” His back is pressed roughly against the trunk, and I’m pressed roughly against him, my fingers digging into the front of his shirt. He’s so close I can smell him: clean and warm, lavender and spice.

“I—you said the lights go out if it’s not safe,” I say, and I’m the one blushing now.

“Ah.” His lips twitch into a smile and I wait for him to tease me, to get back at me for making him touch that tree. But he doesn’t. His smile disappears and he just looks at me. His gaze travels from my eyes to my lips, lingers there, then moves back to my eyes again. I look at him right back, and for a moment I think he means to kiss me. I feel a fierce rush of warmth at the thought of it—which gives way to a cold snap of fear.