The Witch Hunter (The Witch Hunter #1)(74)

I look at George and Fifer for support, but they avoid my gaze.

Humbert gets up from his chair. “Elizabeth, the four of us spoke at length about this last night, and we think you should consider waiting until Blackwell’s at court. He’s scheduled to be there within the week, presumably after he hosts the masque. Then, when his house is empty, you can go in. Peter will go with you, and he’ll bring men with him.”

“No,” I say. “That’s exactly what Blackwell will expect us to do. He’ll expect us to come when he’s gone. Then he’ll set a trap for us, and it’ll be over. He’ll never expect us to show up at the masque.”

Behind me, someone clears his throat. I turn around and see John standing in the doorway. He looks as he did the night I first met him: face pale, eyes shadowed, clothes wrinkled as if he slept in them. Or didn’t sleep at all. The sight of him makes my stomach tumble wildly.

“How are you feeling?” he says to me.

“I—I’m fine.” I’m surprised he’d bother asking. “Thank you.”

He nods and turns to Humbert. “Horace returned with some news.” He holds out a letter. “It’s not good.”

Humbert takes the letter and scans it briefly. Then he sinks into a chair, his head bowed.

“What is it?” Fifer says. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Nicholas,” John says. “He’s dying.”





IMMEDIATELY, FIFER BURSTS INTO TEARS.

“What happened?” I say.

“He took a turn for the worse,” John says. “The healers in Harrow say he won’t make it through the week.”

“We have to do something,” Fifer wails. “We can’t let him die!”

“He’s not going to die,” I say. “Because I’m going to the masque to destroy the tablet.”

“Elizabeth—” Humbert starts again.

“No,” I say. “You have to do what I want, remember? That’s how the prophecy works. Whatever I want to do, we do. And I want to go to the masque.”

Humbert is quiet for a minute. Then he nods.

“Good,” I say. “I’ll need a dress, a mask, and your invitation. And a horse to get to port.” I turn to John. “Where’s the nearest one?”

John thinks a moment. “There are a couple. Hackney is closest, but Westferry is the better bet. It’s safe harbor for pirate ships that stop for provisions before heading south. My father knows all the captains and I’ve met a few. I could probably get us on one of them without too much trouble. If we left tonight, we could catch one in the morning.”

“We?” I say. “There is no we. Just me.”

“Wrong,” John says. “I’m going with you.” I open my mouth to argue, but he holds up a hand. “I heard what you said. But if you try to sneak aboard some ship, and they find you and decide to make an example of you, not getting to Blackwell’s will be the least of your problems.”

“I can take care of myself,” I say.

“Fine,” he snaps. “But who’s going to take care of your stitches? Who’s going to make your medicine? Who’s going to keep you from dying?” There’s an edge to his voice, something between anger and frustration.

“No one!” I shout, brought to anger and frustration myself. Maybe because I know it’s true.

The room goes quiet as we glare at each other.

“I’m going with you,” John says again.

“I’m going, too,” Fifer says.

“No, you’re not,” John and I say at once.

“I am, and don’t you dare try to stop me,” she fires back. “I have a sword, and unless Elizabeth wants a matching set of stitches and you want some of your own, I’m going with you.”

George raises his hand. “Count me in, too.”

“This is ridiculous.” I turn to Humbert, and I don’t need to raise my voice for him, because I’m already shouting. “They cannot go, and you have to stop them. It’s too dangerous. You know it and I know it. They could get captured. They could get killed, and—what?”

Humbert is shaking his head.

“It’s Nicholas,” he says simply. “We all care too much what happens to him to sit back and do nothing. So for me to try to stop them from helping would be wrong, not to mention unfair.”

I start to argue, but Humbert speaks first.

“And you’re going to need help,” he reminds me gently. “You can’t do it alone.”

I snap my mouth shut, gritting my teeth against this foolishness; against the idea that they can help, against the idea that I am anything except alone. But I know that for now, arguing will get me nowhere.

Then I get an idea.

“I guess that settles it,” I say. “Can you help us get ready?”

Humbert nods, then motions for John and George to follow him upstairs. When they’re gone, I turn to Fifer. She’s not crying anymore, but she’s still sniffling, and now both her eyes are swollen and red.

“This is a terrible plan, you coming with me,” I say. “Surely you know that.”

“I do,” she says. “But Humbert’s right. You’re going to need help.”