Chapter 22
Wyatt
Three days after Mr. Rabbit’s surgery, and one short drive to Three Ravens College later, Alice and I are sitting in Professor Adelaide Waterhouse’s office, waiting while she brews a pot of tea. Alice is reading the professor’s notes, which are upside down to her view from across the desk.
Dr. Waterhouse is related to our Widow Harkness in some distant way—one of her ex-husbands’ nieces, I believe—and was thus approved by the coven as a resource for our investigation.
She’d only meet with us in person, so we made the drive.
I was surprised to find that she wasn’t a middle-aged scholar, but rather some sort of genuine academic prodigy.
From the dates on the multiple degrees that have been shoved into a box on the small couch by the deep casement window, it looks like she’s been out of school for at least three years.
By my reckoning, that makes the redhead witch who enters the office carrying a tray of tea supplies just about Caden’s age.
Her thick, round glasses are perched atop her head, her wavy copper hair sticking out every which way.
She’s got the shine that all witches have, that inexplicable sparkle of magic sticking to her like a burr on wool.
Much to Alice’s obvious chagrin, she sets the tray down on the notes my girl was trying to read on the sly. “Fix your own tea,” she mutters absently. “I don’t know what you want in it.”
Alice cocks her head to the side a little, arching an eyebrow, but she does as the professor asks.
I don’t actually want tea, so I stay put.
The woman in question doesn’t sit, instead pulling a wooden step stool from nowhere discernible, only to climb atop it and drag a series of black notebooks down from one of the top shelves of her built-in bookcases.
The shelves in question are stuffed full, and it takes me a moment to see the traces of magic on them.
Nobody’s getting anything out of there that she doesn’t approve of.
Adelaide Waterhouse is a tiny thing, height-wise, but voluptuous and fierce, with a sharp seriousness to her that feels familiar and alien at the same time.
I wonder if I’ve run into her before somewhere.
Doesn’t seem like she’d take teasing particularly well, but she’s got that certain something that makes me think she’ll help us if we approach this right.
We won’t be able to joke with her the way we do with Alice, but that’s alright.
It’s good to know how to handle valuable contacts like her.
I wonder why Caden didn’t brief me better.
“Your brother says you’re looking for information about the Hunt,” the professor says, matter-of-factly. The way she says “your brother” makes me think he’s been exasperating her. That’s not much of a surprise. “And from what I can parse out, the lot of you are woefully misinformed.”
She stares straight at me when she says this. Alice gives me a pointed look, a mean little smile on her face, like she’s getting off a little on me being the one in the dark for once.
Dr. Waterhouse points a delicate—and slightly accusatory—finger at Alice. “And you. You punched a Wallingford at OrthCon. Got yourself kicked out over it.”
Alice startles at the professor’s tone, and it takes all the willpower I’ve got in me not to snicker. The professor is quite severe, and I hope to all the gods in heaven and below that Caden never meets her in person, because she’s whatever the wolf equivalent of catnip might be for him.
“Yes,” Alice admits with one of her wicked smiles. “I did punch that fuckface Aston Wallingford, and I’d do it again.”
The professor sits primly in her seat. “Good. Glad you got out of that ridiculous program. You should’ve come to our folklore program in the first place. I’ve spoken to the Chair about you; she’s also my coven leader, and if you so desire, your application will be fast-tracked for spring.”
Surprise lights Alice’s face. “What?”
“LuvCroissants1212 and I are old friends,” Dr. Waterhouse says, conspiratorially.
Alice pales a little at the name but doesn’t comment.
One of her friends from the cooking blog, I surmise.
“So, I’ve vetted you a bit. Also, I summoned your transcripts.
You have potential. Let me know if you’re interested. ”
Alice takes a deep, shuddering breath, all the sass gone out of her countenance, and I wonder what she’s thinking.
But the good professor has already moved on.
She taps her teacup lightly with a long, unpolished nail, pursing her lips slightly.
“Now, you’ve been operating under the notion that the Hunt is some infernal device of the Courts to steal souls to amuse Them, yes?
Running around willy-nilly kidnapping people. ”
Willy-nilly. I’m tucking that away for game night. I shrug. “Sure, along with all the maiming and killing and eating folk whole—that’s about the size of it.”
The professor shakes her head, pulling a notebook from her little stack.
She pulls her glasses down onto her nose and flips the pages until she murmurs, “Here it is,” and flips the open notebook around.
There’s a hand-drawn sketch of the region, vertical lines passing through various towns.
One goes straight through Blackbird Hollow.
“These are ley lines. Once the Hunt roamed freely—Their purpose with the Courts was vague to us. There are stories, of course, that paint Them in a variety of lights. But there’s really only one observable fact to pay attention to, in my opinion.”
Alice leans forward, rapt in her attention. “Which is?”
“They travel the ley lines now, persistent and constant, practically relentless in what looks like an organized, gridded search to me, which is a stark departure from Their past behavior. In the past decade, either Their aims have changed, the world has—”
“Or it’s a combination of the two,” Alice breaks in. She leans back in the old Windsor chair, shaking her head. “Something about the world’s changing, and so is the Hunt.”
Dr. Waterhouse nods. “That’s my feeling. Conditions have changed, and Their behavior appears to be less erratic, less random.”
Alice crosses her arms in her lap, leaning forward again. “So what do you think the Hunt is doing? Off the record, of course. What’s your unofficial hypothesis?”
It warms me to see Alice in her element like this, batting ideas about with an equal.
I hope she’ll take Dr. Waterhouse’s offer and join the department here.
Brick by brick, the shape of a new life for her forms in my mind, and I’m selfish enough to hope she sees my place in it.
That she can stay in Blackbird Hollow and have some semblance of the life she was hoping for in the big city.
“My best guess?” The professor narrows her sky-blue eyes, steepling her fingers.
“There’s always been a pattern to it; we just didn’t understand it.
They’re not wreaking havoc. They’re on a mission.
The only reason it’s seemed random in the past is because whatever They were chasing was behaving erratically.
And now? Well, the Hunt goes where its prey does.
” She stops abruptly, like she was going to say more but thought better of it.
Alice shakes her head. “Please say whatever it is you’re thinking. We need to know as much as we can if They’re coming through Blackbird Hollow.”
“And They are,” Dr. Waterhouse says, a definitive edge in her voice that sends a chill through me.
“Think,” she says quietly, tracing her finger up the ley line that goes through Blackbird Hollow and Three Ravens.
“What does Blackbird Hollow—this whole area, really—have that other towns around here don’t? ”
Alice looks at me. She’s out of her depth here, but I’m not. “Witches,” I growl. “We’ve got more witches than any other county in the tri-state area.” I follow the line of the professor’s finger. “And more of Them. That’s because of the ley lines, isn’t it?”
Adelaide Waterhouse nods. “We’re all attracted to these lines of power.
The world used to be full of magic; the ley lines radiated it out, sending it in a reciprocal loop between Faerie and here.
But they don’t radiate anymore. They just pulse, so we go to the pulse, rather than letting magic come to us. ”
“And why do you think that is?” Alice asks.
Dr. Waterhouse takes another notebook from her stack, but she doesn’t open it. She just holds it to her chest. “You ever just have a feeling about something, Miss Blythe? The evidence is all scattered, not adding up to much, but in your gut, you know a thing?”
Alice nods furiously. “Yes.”
The professor nods back. “I thought so—”
She’s about to say more, but there’s a knock at the door. A raven-haired young person sticks their head in, their brown eyes worried. “Dr. Waterhouse, please come. Janice tried playing Metallica to the—you know—and something’s gone very wrong.”
Bluecap emergency, Dr. Waterhouse mouths to us as she stands, handing the notebook to Alice.
“You can look my notes over, but this is probably going to take a bit.” She pauses by the door.
“Mr. Hayes, please tell your brother to come see me if he needs help finding relief from the pain after the change. I have ideas.”
Before I can ask how she knows about Caden’s condition, she’s gone.
Alice’s eyes go wide. “Are they doing experiments on Them here?” she whispers when the professor’s footsteps in the hallway die off.
I shake my head. “Not likely. But some of Them, like bluecaps, are curious about witches and hedgeriders. They’re attracted to our lineage, and if we’re interested in Them, too…well… Odd collaborations do happen.”
Alice nods, opening the black notebook the professor handed her carefully. She spends a few minutes glancing through it, shaking her head. “So no one really knows where the source of magic is?”