Free Witch Hunt (Witch Finder 2) by Ruth Warburton Page A

need to leave, now.’ She began pulling on her boots, her face pale.
    ‘You need to heal yourself,’ Luke said, watching her as she struggled with the small buttons, her burnt, blistered fingers clumsy.
    ‘I know.’ She spoke shortly. ‘I will. But I haven’t got much magic to spare. I want to conserve it – you know, in case.’
    In case Sebastian turned up. Luke shivered. He wanted to argue, but he could see her point. Better a scarred arm than a dead body. And he could see she was right to be worried about having enough to spare: her magic was still a thin, pale thing compared to the roaring flame of a few weeks ago. The realization made him frown.
    ‘Look, your magic . . .’
    ‘Mmm?’ Her head was down, tugging at the buttons.
    ‘How long does it usually take, to – you know, to come back?’
    ‘Depends. On how tired I am. On how much rest I get.’
    ‘But still . . .’ He trailed off. But still, he wanted to say. Shouldn’t it be coming back by now? It was true that she’d given all she had at the factory, wrung out every drop of magic in an effort to keep them both alive. But that was one, two nights ago. And she had barely more strength now than when they’d woken up on the banks of the Thames, wet and cold and covered in ashes.
    ‘I need gloves,’ Rosa said, looking ruefully at her burnt hands, and the ruby, like a great red eye on her knuckle. With a wincing effort she turned the ring, the tight band grating over her sore red skin, so that the stone was inwards, towards her palm.
    ‘I don’t know,’ Luke said. ‘You’re supposed to be my sister. My kind doesn’t wear gloves.’
    Rosa bit her lip and stood, twisting the shawl about her shoulders and head.
    ‘Well, if it comes to it, that didn’t go so well, did it? The brother–sister thing. I don’t think the landlady was fooled, even last night.’
    ‘They don’t need to be fooled,’ Luke said impatiently. ‘They just need to give us a bed and not drum us out of the place for adulterers. What else can we tell them – that we’re married?’
    ‘Maybe,’ Rosa said defiantly. There was a flush high on her cheek. ‘It’s more believable than pretending we’re related. We look nothing alike.’
    Luke turned away, pulling his greatcoat on, and snatched up the bundle from beneath the bed.
    ‘Come on. Let’s get Brimstone before they try to charge us another night’s lodging. We’ve already been robbed once. I’m not giving that woman any more money.’
    Down in the yard Rosa waited, huddled into Phoebe’s shawl, while Luke fetched Brimstone from the stables. It was a cold, crisp morning, the sky as blue as speedwell, and there was ice in the puddles. She rested her boot on the thin skin, waiting for the satisfying crack as she put her weight on her heel.
    ‘Hey, you!’ A man’s voice rang across the yard, above the sound of a horse’s hooves, and she looked up. ‘Yes, you,’ he said impatiently. He was a runner of some kind, in a uniform. ‘D’you work here?’
    She was about to say no , but he pulled a piece of printed paper out of his saddlebag and shoved it into her hand, without waiting for an answer.
    ‘Here, get that put up in your mother’s bar, will you?’ he said, and then turned his horse around and cantered out of the yard.
    Rosa was about to call after him that she was a guest, not his errand girl, when her eye fell on the page. It was a poster.
    She crumpled the paper in her fist, her heart beating. Then slowly she edged the shawl further up around her face, trying to hide her bright, incriminating hair. It seemed almost impossible that the man should have failed to notice, failed to make the connection. Thank God she had not spoken.
    The sound of hooves came again, from the other corner of the yard, and her heart quickened horribly until she thought she might throw up, there on the straw of the yard.
    But as the rider turned the corner she saw, with a great lurch of relief, that it was