The Witch Hunter (The Witch Hunter #1)(60)

He knows.

I take an involuntary step backward. 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 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.

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.”

“Which is?”

“That you’d be better off dead,” she says flatly. “Racked, hanged, burned at the stake. It’s what you deserve. I guarantee no one would miss you.”

I flinch at the hate in her words, at the truth of them.

“But until you find this tablet for Nicholas, you’re better off alive. And for the next few hours it’s up to me to keep you that way. So when we get to this party, stay close to me. Be pleasant to people, but don’t talk too much. Not about magic, or curses, or, for God’s sake, witch hunters. Don’t say anything about Nicholas, or about his being ill. Don’t mention Humbert. Or John, for that matter, or George.”

“Maybe I just won’t talk at all,” I mutter.

“And whatever you do, stay away from other revenants,” she continues. “I can protect you against Schuyler, but you saw how fast he had you figured out. If any of the others realize what you are, I don’t know what might happen.”

I do. It happened to a witch hunter, once. He tried to take on three revenants alone and wound up torn limb from limb, eviscerated. There wasn’t even enough of him left to bury.

“Scared?” Fifer smirks.

“You wish. Now get out of my way.” I push past her to the window, climb up on the ledge—hard to do in this dress—and look down. Schuyler is standing below me, grinning.

“Go on, then, little mouse. This wolf isn’t going to hurt you.”

I scowl. Schuyler laughs. Then I jump.

With a muffled thud, I land securely in Schuyler’s arms. He stares at me a moment before setting me down. “Not as heavy as you seem, are you?”

I don’t know what he means by that, but there’s no time to figure it out. He sets me to my feet and catches Fifer, who leaps out the window without hesitation. Then the three of us take off across Humbert’s vast property in the direction of the nymph lights.

We walk along for several miles, Fifer on one side of me and Schuyler on the other. I feel like a prisoner. A tortured prisoner at that, since I’m forced to listen to their inane flirting. For a boy who’s been around as long as Schuyler probably has, you’d think he’d have more interesting ways of talking to a girl.