Page 46 of The Moorwitch

Someone is walking over the moors, their lantern swinging gently. I freeze, thinking again of Sylvie’s ghost—but then the figure turns, and the light illuminates his profile.

“There you are, you bastard,” I mutter.

When I emerge from the house, I’m met by a low wind and a clear night. The darkness is only temporary; my eyes adjust quickly, and the waxing moon is bright, providing just enough light to find my way. Above, the stars are silver stitches in the sky.

I spot Mr. North a short distance away, walking not to the house, but in a wide loop around it. He walks unhurried and limping slightly, on one of the many paths crisscrossing the heather. Captain walks beside him, a low, dark shadow, and every few steps, Mr. North reaches down to scratch the dog’s ears.

He hears me coming, because I don’t know the paths well enough and end up crashing over the heather like a floundering sheep. I’m forced to walk for what feels like an eternity while he watches, his free hand in his pocket and his expression obscured by the shadows cast from his lantern. By the time I reach him, I’m breathing hard.

“Rose Pryor,” he says, shaking his head slowly. “I suppose your unnatural stealthiness does not extend to moorland?”

“Not much heather growing in London these days,” I pant. “Why are you out here so late?”

With a deep sigh, he raises his lantern, the light illuminating his frown in a wash of flickering orange light. “How have I offended you now, pray tell?”

Fury rolls through me like relentless waves beating against a stony shore. I trace the gold-limned lines of his face, noting the weariness in his eyes. Were we really laughing together by the fire, just hours ago? I was a fool to feel anything toward him, anything but anger. I let my guard down and nearly forgot what he was.

One moment of laughter does not erase the damage he has done.

“Why do you hate magic?” I demand at last.

“I beg your pardon?”

“There must be a reason besides bad family luck,” I say. “Did something happen to you?”

“Hm.” He begins walking; I trot to catch up. His course seems to more or less encircle the manor. It looms to our left, as if we are tethered to it by a long and invisible lead.

I remain silent. It’s a trick Sister Elizabeth used to play on me—waiting, eternally patient, until I couldn’t bear the quiet and confessed to whatever transgression I’d committed. I shiver and pull my shawl tighter, looking back at the house. All the windows are dark; it looks like a ruin from this distance.

Finally, he breaks. “I don’thatemagic.”

“Does it run in your family? Was one of your parents a Weaver?”

For a few seconds he only looks at me, then he curses. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Don’t lie to me, not abouther. Magic runs in families, and you’ve no doubt seen something in my house to make you think it runs in mine, and now you’re wondering about Sylvie. What happened?”

“You never had her tested, did you?”

He turns his back to me, his hand raking his hair. “Mrs. MacDougal told me this was a bad idea, allowing you to stay. She said your eyes were too prying and your fingers too meddling, and of course she was right.” Whirling around again, he asks, “Did Sylvie ask about your magic? Has she seen you Weaving? You promised me you wouldn’t.”

“If she doesn’t have the ability, why does it matter?”

“Because I don’t want her involved with any part of your craft.”

My chest swells with anger, my breaths quick and short. “Is that why you’ve tried to sabotage her magic, letting it rot on the vine because you don’t like its flavor?”

“Because it is poison!” His shout echoes across the heather and fades into the starry sky.

I take a step back, regarding him with wide, horrified eyes. He seems to realize then that he’s confessed to everything, and he gives a low growl of exasperation.

“Miss Pryor—”

“So it’s true,” I whisper, my very bones curdling with disgust. “You knew she had magic, and you chose to neglect it.”

He raises his hands, curling his fingers in the air as if he wishes he could shake something. “I chose to keep hersafe.”