The Witch Hunter (The Witch Hunter #1)(58)

“Shut it. Why were you lurking outside my door?”

“I thought you were up to something. I wanted to see what it was.”

Fifer pokes my neck with the blade again. “You don’t get to suspect me of anything.”

“But something’s going on, isn’t it? Outside, with the spook lights. And the tea downstairs. What is it?”

She pushes away from me and starts pacing the room, muttering to herself. “Should I tell her? No. But the prophecy… and I can’t exactly show up with a bloodthirsty maniac—”

“I’m not a bloodthirsty maniac.”

“Shut it.”

“Show up where?”

“I said, shut it.”

She walks from the door to the window, back and forth, chewing her fingernail. Finally, she turns to me. “I don’t like you.”

“I realize that.”

“And I don’t trust you. But the prophecy seems to think I should.”

“What does that mean?”

Fifer marches to her bed, pulls a piece of parchment out of her bag, and thrusts it into my hand. I recognize it immediately: Veda’s prophecy.

“Read the third line.”

“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 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 specialty.” 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. 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?” 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.”