The Witch Hunter (The Witch Hunter #1)(81)

“Dig in, then.”

After we eat, he clears everything away and settles on the deck beside me, his back against the wooden railing. He takes a drink of water from the flask and passes it to me. We’re quiet for a while, listening to the music on the deck and the sound of the water washing against the hull.

“How did Caleb know you were here?” John says, finally.

“He said Blackwell had a seer.”

John nods. “We knew that. Or figured it, anyway. Does he know we’re going to the masque? Was that why he was here? To try to stop you?”

“No. And I don’t think Blackwell knows, either. If he did, he wouldn’t have sent Caleb. He would have just waited. Caleb came because he wanted me to witch-hunt for him again. He said if I went against Blackwell, he wouldn’t be able to save me. He said—” I stop.

“What?”

“He said if I didn’t come back with him, I was on my own.”

“What did you say?”

“I—” I swallow hard. “I said good-bye.” I look at my feet and go quiet. John doesn’t say anything. But I can feel his eyes on me in the moonlight.

“Do you love him?” he asks suddenly.

The question startles me so much that I drop the flask to the deck, water splashing on my feet. John quickly scoops it up and recorks it.

“He was my family,” I say. “Of course I love him.”

“I didn’t mean in that way.”

I think about it. Caleb was my best friend; he was my whole life. There was a time when I thought I loved him as more than a friend, hoped he might love me back. But I knew he found me lacking. Not pretty enough, not ambitious enough. Not enough, period. For all I fought it, I knew we were becoming different people. That the only thing that kept us together was my dependence on him and his sense of duty to me. And when I said good-bye to him today, I knew—deep down, I knew—he was relieved to see me go.

I glance at John. His eyes are fixed on the deck in front of him, but I know he’s listening. I can see it in how still he is, the set of his shoulders, the way he grips the flask in his hand, that he’s listening.

“No.”

He looks up then, and for a minute we just look at each other.

“Why did you ask me that?”

He takes a breath. Looks out at the water, a crease forming between his eyebrows. When he looks back at me, his eyes are as dark and still and deep as the sea around us.

“I wanted to know. That’s all. I guess I just needed to know.”

“Oh,” I say. We fall quiet again. And even in the silence it feels as if he’s trying to tell me something and I him, but neither of us knows what. Or if we do, we’re too afraid to say it.

“You should get some sleep,” he says, finally. His voice is very quiet. “I brought you a blanket.” He pulls it out of his bag and hands it to me. It’s thick and gray and smells of salt and cedar, like the ship.

“Okay,” I say, my voice equally quiet. “Thank you.”

I lie down on the deck, tuck my bag under my head, and pull the blanket up to my chin.

But I can’t sleep. My thoughts are full of Caleb and John and Blackwell and the tomb, wondering what’s going to happen. But there’s no point. Every time I imagine one thing, something worse comes along to replace it. I don’t want to think about it anymore. I open my eyes and look at John. He’s sitting with his back against the railing, his legs stretched out in front of him, head tipped back, watching the sky.

“Is this really your ship?” I say.

He lowers his head to look at me. “Yes.”

“How?” I say. “I mean, I thought you didn’t want to be a pirate.”

“I don’t.” He shrugs. “But when my father joined the Reformists, he got rid of all his ships. All except this one. It was his favorite. He gave it to me, I guess in hopes I’d change my mind. I didn’t, but I still didn’t want to give it up. So I hired someone to run it for me.”

“Oh.” I think a minute. “But if it’s your ship, why did you have to pay the captain to come on board?”

A small smile crosses his face. “Because he’s still a pirate,” he says. “He’s ruthless and crass, and he’s not known for his charity. But I trust him, and I like him. In the end, that is all that matters.”

I close my eyes again. Finally, with the soft rocking of the ship, the strains of off-key music, and John’s steady presence beside me, I fall asleep.





I’M JOLTED AWAKE, THE SUDDEN rocking of the ship rolling me off my bag. I open my eyes and peer through the railing. The skies are cloudy and gray, the waters choppy. Around me, the others are just starting to stir. Fifer and Schuyler are huddled together, talking in low voices. George is yawning, buried underneath his blanket and shivering.

I sit up and pull my own blanket tighter around my shoulders. A sharp, cold wind blows across the deck, lifting my hair and whipping it across my face.

“Where’s John?”

“He went to get food,” George replies. “And to find out when we arrive. I hope it’s soon. If this boat doesn’t stop rocking like this I’m liable to get sick.”

John appears then, the boat lurching as he walks up the stairs. He winces and grabs the railing to steady himself. He sets the food down in front of us and hands me a goblet.