Witch Hunter (44 page)

‘That’s a unique ring,’ Nicholas continues. ‘The sapphire

itself has healing and protective properties, and coupled

with the rune on the back it becomes extremely powerful.

The magic works a little as your stigma does – or did, rather

– though not nearly as strong. It protected you just enough

to keep you from dying.’

It takes a moment for his words to set in.

‘My stigma is gone?’

‘Yes.’

I don’t know what to feel. Relief, maybe; my stigma is

what made me a witch hunter, what tied me to Blackwell.

Worry, perhaps; my stigma is what protected me, what

kept me strong. Fear, certainly; because anything can hurt

me now. Anyone can cause me pain. That frightens me

more than I want to admit. Especially when I know what’s

out there.

And who.

‘Blackwell,’ I blurt. ‘What happened to him? Is he alive?’

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I have so many questions, I don’t know where to start.

‘He had a lodestone; he used it to escape. But where did he

go? What about the king? And Caleb—’ I stop. It hits me in

the chest, knocks the air out of me all over again. The last

time I saw Caleb, he was dying.

Caleb is dead.

I press my hands to my face, against the tears that spring

to my eyes. Nicholas falls silent, allowing me to grieve again

for my friend who became my enemy, who I still love

despite all of it.

‘Blackwell escaped,’ Nicholas says, finally, his voice

gentle. ‘But he didn’t go far. He made it back to Greenwich

Tower, injured but alive. From what we’ve been told, he

reappeared at the masque shortly thereafter.’

‘How?’ I pull my hands from my face, look at Nicholas

in disbelief. ‘I cut him in the face. With the Azoth. It was

a terrible injury. I saw it. How could he just walk away

from that?’

Nicholas shakes his head, the answer as obvious as it is

obscure: there’s no telling what magic Blackwell used, what

magic he is capable of.

‘At midnight, Blackwell unmasked. Revealed himself,

just as he told you he would. Said he was a wizard. Said he

was a victim of Malcolm’s rules, that he was commanded to

carry out laws he never believed in. That now he only wants

what’s best for Anglia, and he’s the one to bring them the

peace they desire.’

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‘Where was Malcolm – the king – during all this? Where

was the queen?’

‘Just before the unmasking, they were taken away.

Blackwell had them sent to Fleet.’

‘Is he going to kill them?’ I don’t like Malcolm; he took a

part of me I can never get back. But he was a victim of

Blackwell as much as I was; so was the queen. I don’t want

to see them die. Then it occurs to me. ‘Or has he already

killed them?’

Nicholas shakes his head. ‘No. And he won’t, at least not

while there’s no advantage in it. Because if he kills them

now, it might make martyrs of them. It might create sides

when right now, there are none. It might even incite an

uprising. And Blackwell, of all people, knows what a

disadvantage an uprising can be.’

‘But – Blackwell is a wizard,’ I say. ‘He lied to everyone.

People can’t believe what he says now. They can’t be happy

he’s king, can they? Surely someone is questioning him?

Or protesting?’

Nicholas smiles then, that hard, bitter smile I’ve

seen before.

‘Blackwell dispatched the king and queen with ease, in

front of the most influential people in Anglia. Not a single

person made a move to help them, not a single person

uttered a word of protest. Perhaps people believed him;

perhaps they were too frightened to pretend otherwise. But

for now, he’s made good on his word. He’s repealed the

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laws against witchcraft. The burnings have stopped; the

tablets are gone – all of them. He’s going to mould Anglia

into a country of his making. It’s no longer a matter of

Persecutors against Reformists. It’s those who want peace

against those who do not.’

‘Peace?’ I say. ‘Blackwell doesn’t want peace. Not unless

it’s on his terms.’

Nicholas nods. ‘And we don’t know what those terms

are yet. He’s approached us, of course. Sent word through

channels that he’s open to discussion. He claims he doesn’t

wish to cause us harm. He just wants to discuss a truce.’

‘I don’t believe that.’

‘None of us do. We know too much about him now,

what he’s capable of. As long as we’re around, we are a

danger to him and his rule. He knows we will try to stop

him, and he will come for us. Maybe not today, not

tomorrow. Maybe he’ll give us enough time to contact allies,

to build an army of our own. But chances are he won’t. And

we need to be ready.’

There are those words again. We. Them. They. Us.

I don’t belong to any of them.

I look up to find Nicholas watching me carefully.

‘We received your note within hours of your leaving

Humbert’s. In it you said, ‘make sure nothing happens to

them’. Not a word about yourself, except your confession to

Peter and your apology to all of us.’

I flush a little, thinking about the note. I didn’t think I’d

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be alive for anyone to cite it back to me.

‘I want to thank you, Elizabeth. What you did for

me, and for John. For all of us. It took a tremendous deal

of bravery.’

I shake my head. I don’t know if it was bravery as

much as it was fear. I wish I knew the difference. If I did,

I could be brave despite my fear, not because of it. If

I’d been brave instead of afraid, things would have turned

out very differently.

Nicholas nods, as though he can read my mind.

‘You can’t undo your past. You know that as well as I.

But you also can’t foresee the future. Not even Veda’s

prophecy can do that. What you want to do next, who you

want to be, where you want to belong, that’s entirely up to

you. As I always say, nothing is written in stone.’

I look up then and see John standing in the doorway. He

looks at me and smiles.

He walks with me through the physic gardens behind his

home, a beautiful rambling stone cottage at the edge of a

river. The grounds burst with life, green and purple, orange

and red, a riot of colour against the oppressive grey skies. I

can’t go far, not at first. But days turn into weeks and slowly,

I get stronger. John is patient: holding my hand when I am

weak, letting me go when I am strong. I stay in his house,

with him and his father. He takes care of me, and he loves

me. And never once does he blame me. His father says I

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saved his life. He says I saved his.

But the truth is, they saved mine.

I don’t know what will happen next or what will become

of me. But I know what I have now and I know what I have

to lose. And this time it’s not an illusion.

This time it’s real.

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It takes, as they say, a village, and I dedicate this book

to mine.

To Kathleen Ortiz: superagent, cheerleader, voice of

reason, fearless and fearsome warrior. Thank you for saying

yes. Without you, none of this would be possible. You know

I’ll always answer your calls, even while driving.

To everyone at New Leaf Literary: Joanna Volpe, Suzie

Townsend, Danielle Barthel, Jaida Temperley, Pouya

Shahbazian, Dave Caccavo, Jess Dallow, Jackie Lindert.

You guys are the coolest. Thanks for inviting me to join

the club.

To my editor, Pam Gruber: thank you for loving this

story, for loving the characters in it, and for knowing exactly

how to make it the best it could be. You are fiercely talented

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and a genius collaborator, and if there’s a better way to be

guided through the publishing process, I don’t know it.

Thank you for making my debut unforgettable.

To the team at Little, Brown Books for Young Readers:

Megan Tingley, Andrew Smith, and Alvina Ling, thank you

for your support and for giving The Witch Hunter the best

home possible. To Kristen Dulaney, subrights director,

for taking it back where it started. My copy editors,

Christine Ma and Tracy Koontz, for your clever, witty edits

and for suggesting what I now refer to as ‘the infamous

bed scene’. Leslie Shumate for being a fellow Anglophile.

Mark Swan for your beautiful, bold cover. Kristina Aven

in publicity, Renée Gelman and Rebecca Westall in

production, and Emilie Polster in marketing, thank you for

being on my team.

To all my foreign publishers: thank you for giving my

book a home in all corners of the world.

To my 2015 YA author debut groups: the Freshman

Fifteens, the Class of 2K15, and the Fearless Fifteeners, for

your friendship and support. Special thanks to Lee Kelly

and Chandler Baker for the vault, Lori Goldstein for

knowing, Stacey Lee for your wisdom, Alexis Bass for the

hashtags. Also thanks to Renée Ahdieh, Jen Brooks, Kelly

Loy Gilbert, Kim Liggett, Jessica Taylor, Jenn Marie Thorne,

and Jasmine Warga for reading, for your encouragement,

and for your heartfelt words when I needed them most.

To Stephanie Funk and Jaime Loren for the laughs.

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To April Tucholke for your generosity and your love of

Thomas Tallis.

To my husband, Scott. If it weren’t for you, I’d never be

able to write the good guys, only the bad. Thank you for

finding me, thank you for keeping me, and most of all,

thank you for giving me a life I thought only belonged to

other people.

To my beautiful children, Holland and August: HI,

BOOGIES! Look, you’re in my book! I love you the most,

my sweet darling babies.

To my family and friends, both here and afar. Special

thanks to Drake Coker, Megan Hollingshead, Sarah Sirna-

Gammill and Jennifer Savage Allison for being my first-ever

readers and for saying, ‘Hey, I think you’ve got something

here.’

To you, my reader, thank you for picking up my book,

for reading my words, and for sticking with them to the

very end.