The Witch Hunter (The Witch Hunter #1)(77)

“Says who? Nicholas?” Caleb says. His blue eyes flash with anger. “I was coming back for you. I told you to wait for me. You promised me you’d wait.” He takes my arm again. “But when I came back, you were already gone.”

The tears are threatening to break now. I don’t know who to believe. I don’t know what I want to believe.

“I almost died in there. Did you know that? I caught jail fever, and I almost died.” I think of John then, how he saved my life. Of Caleb, how I’m not sure he would have done the same. “If you really were coming, why did it take you so long?”

“Because we knew Nicholas would show up for you,” Caleb says. “Blackwell’s seer told him he would. The whole thing was a setup. Your arrest, everything. It was to get you in jail to lure Nicholas in. Blackwell told me when I went to plead for you.”

My stomach gives a sickening lurch at his betrayal.

“And you went along with it?” I whisper. “You must have known how scared I was. I almost died, Caleb.” I repeat it because it needs to be repeated. “You almost let it happen.”

“I did what Blackwell told me to do,” he says. “I’m your best friend. Do you really think I’d leave you to die?”

I don’t reply.

“Are you saying you don’t believe me?”

I look at him. He’s the same Caleb I’ve always known. Restless, ambitious, always yearning for more. It’s only now I realize how deep that plague of ambition has spread inside him. Like a disease, it rules him now: his thoughts, his actions, the things he chooses to see, the things he chooses to ignore. And, like a disease, one day it will be the death of him.

It was very nearly the death of me.

“I believe you,” I say. “But I don’t believe Blackwell.”

“What are you talking about?” Caleb says. “We’d be nowhere without him. We’d still be in the kitchen, or God knows where else. He gave us a chance when no one else would.” His voice rises with conviction. “You owe him your life. We both do.”

I shake my head. I don’t want to think about what I owe Blackwell.

“Why did he make you Inquisitor?” I say instead.

Caleb doesn’t answer, not right away. He turns away from me for a moment, but not before I see something flicker across his face, an expression I recognize but haven’t seen in a long time: uncertainty.

“He made me Inquisitor because I’m his best witch hunter,” he says finally. “Because he knows he can trust me. Because…”

“Because he knew if he made you Inquisitor, you’d be able to find me.”

Caleb throws me a look, but we both know it’s true.

“There are things about Blackwell—things you don’t know,” I say. “Things that, if you knew, might make you change your mind about him—about what you’re doing for him.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Blackwell’s being a wizard.”

Caleb goes still. Then suddenly, inexplicably, he starts to laugh.

“You don’t really believe that.”

“I didn’t. Not at first,” I say. “But it explains so much. It explains everything. About our stigmas, about training, about his plans.”

“And what plans would those be?” He’s still laughing.

“He plans to take over,” I say. “To overthrow Malcolm and take the throne for himself. And he means to use magic to do it.”

Caleb abruptly stops laughing. “That’s treason,” he says. “Nicholas has got you talking treason. What you just said could land you on the pyre before sunrise.”

“Blackwell already tried that, remember?”

Caleb scoffs. “I told you already, that was just part of the plan.”

I shake my head, but he continues.

“Come back with me.” His voice is low, persuasive. “We could be back at Upminster by morning, and it’ll be just as it’s always been. Just you and me.”

“No.”

“What?” His eyes go wide, stunned. It’s the only time he’s asked me to follow him and I’ve refused.

“I can’t go back,” I repeat. “And I don’t want you to go back, either. I’m afraid for you, Caleb. I’m afraid of what Blackwell is doing and I’m afraid of what he’s doing to you.” I swallow. “I’m afraid you’re in danger.”

“I’m in no danger,” Caleb says. “But you will be, unless you come with me.”

The warning is clear, but I back away anyway. For a moment I think this is my real test: a test of strength and will and a command of fear, every bit as real as the test in the tomb. A test not of Blackwell’s design but one he contrived anyway, to make me choose between my best friend and my freedom, my family and my life.

“If you don’t go back with me, I can’t help you,” he says, his voice tight. “No matter what happens, I won’t be able to save you. Not this time. Do you understand?”

I nod. I do understand.

He steps forward and grasps my forearm for a moment, then quickly lets his hand drop, almost as though it’s not his place to touch me anymore. And it’s this: this small forfeiture of custody that makes me realize he’s releasing me. Letting me go. That now, after spending half our lives together, we’re going to spend the rest of them apart.