The Witch Hunter (The Witch Hunter #1)(61)

“Where’ve you been hiding, love?”

“I haven’t been hiding.”

“Then why haven’t I seen you?”

“You know why.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

On and on they go. Eventually I start daydreaming of different ways I could kill him. I’m halfway through a plot that involves a tree branch, a knife, a length of rope, and a sock full of gravel when Schuyler turns to me.

“So, Elizabeth”—the way he says my name sounds like “Elizabef”—“you’re a bit bijoux for a witch hunter, hmm?”

I haven’t a clue what he means, but Fifer leans around me and slaps his arm.

“Did you just call her cute?”

He shrugs. “She is a bit twee. Doesn’t look as if she could harm anyone.”

“She’s a violent, deranged, lunatic murderer!”

Schuyler laughs. “So am I. But you still think I’m cute.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

I go back to plotting his death.

Eventually the nymph lights grow closer and brighter. When a shower of them erupts in the sky directly above us, Schuyler lets out a little whoop and takes off running.

When we catch up to him, he’s lounging against a tree, an enormous grin on his face.

“I hope you’re ready, Elizabeth. ’Cause this here’s an eye-opener.” He takes me by the shoulders and pushes me forward. I suck in a breath. I can’t help it. I’ve seen a lot in my life. But never anything like this.

Through the trees is a valley, like a bowl sunk into the middle of a forest. Inside is a dizzying array of people, creatures, magic. And somehow, it’s not dark here. It’s as bright as a summer day: blue skies, dotted with puffy white clouds and brightly colored birds.

I don’t know where to look first. At the beautiful naked women lounging in the lake? The lush grass that grows around the water, dotted with brilliantly colored flowers I know only grow in spring? Or the trees that sprout lemons, limes, and figs, fruits I know don’t grow here at all?

Music drifts through the air, so beautiful, like nothing I’ve ever heard before. And are those butterflies? I watch one flutter by, its blue wings unnaturally bright, even against the unnaturally bright blue sky. Fifer looks around, nodding approvingly.

“How is this happening?” I ask.

“Nymphs,” Schuyler says, still grinning. “I love when they’re in charge of decoration.”

We make our way down the hill. The vast space below is crowded; there are witches and wizards everywhere. Where did they all come from? Shouldn’t they be in hiding somewhere? How are they not afraid? And with this much magic in one place, why haven’t I heard of this party before?

“Doesn’t anyone worry about getting caught?” I wonder aloud.

Schuyler shrugs. “Who in their right mind would try to take on this crowd?” He looks relaxed, bouncing on his toes and looking around. But Fifer seems wary, looking from me to Schuyler to the crowd then back to me again, as if she’s afraid I’m going to charge in and start attacking.

“Settle down, love.” Schuyler turns to her. “She’s not getting stabby, so stop worrying.”

“She’d better not. But if she does”—she glances at me, a nasty gleam in her eye—“you have my permission to rip her to shreds.”

Schuyler winks at me and blows a kiss.

Finally, Fifer spots a group of people she knows. They see her and wave.

“Fifer, where have you been hiding?” says one boy as we approach. He’s got dark hair and a nose that looks as if it’s been broken several times. “We were worried something happened to you.”

Fifer laughs. “I’m fine, fine. Just keeping my head down.”

“Studying, I imagine,” says another girl, short and blond.

“How is it coming along? He as tough as he seems?” asks a plump, brown-haired girl. She looks at Fifer with admiration.

“Is he well?” asks another boy. “We heard rumors he was sick—”

Fifer grabs my arm and pulls me next to her. “I haven’t introduced my… friend.” She nearly chokes on the word. “This is Elizabeth.” She proceeds to tell them a story that paints me out to be some kind of nitwit: too dumb to know I was a witch until recently, too foolish to hide it once I did. The only truth she does tell them is that I came from Upminster, where apparently I spent my time wandering the streets like an idiot magical vagrant until Nicholas came along and rescued me.

They look at me with sympathy.

“We’re so glad he found you,” says the blond girl, Lark. “Imagine if you’d been caught! I hear the burnings are getting worse—”

“And all those rebellions,” adds Bram, the boy with the crooked nose. “Just adding fuel to the fire, so to speak.”

Another girl, who has been glaring at Fifer ever since we walked up, breaks in.

“Where’s John?” she demands.

“Hello to you, too, Chime.” Fifer gives her a cool look. “He couldn’t make it this year. He’s attending to some patients.”