by Sally Green
Half Truths
Sally Green
Viking
VIKING
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street
New York, New York 10014
First published in the United States of America by Viking, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, 2015
Copyright © 2015 by Half Bad Books Limited
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ISBN 978-0-425-28724-8
Version_1
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Epigraph
The story so far . . .
Characters
Half Truths
Special Excerpt from HALF BAD
Special Excerpt from HALF WILD
Si nous ne trouvons pas des choses agréables, nous trouverons du moins des choses nouvelles.
If we do not find pleasant things, we shall at least find new things.
Candide, ou l’Optimisme, Voltaire (1759)
The story so far . . .
Our hero Gabriel, a Black Witch, has been trapped in the body of a fain (a non-witch). Following the murder of his sister, Gabriel has left the USA and traveled to Geneva to work for the Black Witch Mercury, in the hope that she will help him regain his true witch nature.
Characters
Black Witches
Gabriel Boutin: Eighteen years old. Black Witch trapped in the body of a fain. Half English, half Swiss. Gift: the ability to transform into any other person, old or young.
Mercury: One of the most powerful Black Witches. Nationality unknown. Gift: the ability to control the weather. A businesswoman at heart. She meets Gabriel at her remote cottage in the Swiss mountains, but she lives in another secret location.
White Witches
Rose: A White Witch with the Gift of becoming a forgettable mist. Nationality unknown. Works as Mercury’s assistant. Slightly unstable.
Fains (Non-Witches)
Jon: A climber. Blond. English.
Marc: A climber. English.
Rob: A climber. English.
Half Bloods
Geena: Half fain, half White Witch. English.
George: Half fain, half White Witch. English.
Mathieu: Half fain, half Black Witch. French. Leader of the Half Bloods in the Geneva area.
Nesbitt: Half fain, half Black Witch. Works with Victoria van Dal, a Black Witch. Gift: the ability to see in the dark. Australian. Good at tracking, fighting, and cooking.
Oscar: Half fain, half Black Witch. French.
Half Codes (Half Black Witch, Half White Witch)
Nathan: Son of Marcus, one of the most infamous Black Witches. Sixteen years old. English. Has spent the last two years as a prisoner of the White Witches. Desperate.
Some Aspects of the Witch World
cut: A magical portal linking two geographically distant places. It can be used by anyone: witches, fains, and Half Bloods.
fain: A non-witch.
gathering: A social celebration, party, or formal occasion that only witches attend.
Gift: A magical power specific to an individual witch.
Giving: A ceremony held on a whet’s seventeenth birthday after which they become a full adult witch.
whet: A witch younger than seventeen years old.
Gabriel
“I imagine you feel slightly foolish.”
“I’m angry at myself, of course, but . . .” I shrug. “The only way to find out what you can do with Gifts is by experimenting.”
“Yes, and now you’ve found your limitations you want my assistance.” The hiss of the final word is a chill breeze in my face even though we’re standing inside, in Mercury’s cottage in the Swiss mountains. I glance over to Rose, who’s sitting in the corner watching us. I’ve known Rose, Mercury’s assistant, a few days and she has been trying to help prepare me for this meeting, but now she’s not giving me any clues.
Mercury walks round me, inspecting me.
I say, “My appearance hasn’t changed. This is how I look normally. Everything’s the same as before—except I’m a fain.”
Mercury stares into my eyes. Her eyes are strange black hollows and I’ve already found it’s best not to look into them. She says, “Your eyes are not the same. They are the eyes of a fain now.”
“Is that significant?”
“Can you self-heal?”
I shake my head. “No. That ability has gone too.” I add, “And I don’t get sick when I stay inside at night anymore.” The only benefit of not having a Black Witch body.
She walks round me again, saying, “You stand like a fain.”
I glance over at Rose. She nods and mouths, That’s true.
I ask Mercury, “Does that mean you can’t help me get back to my real body, my witch body?”
“Of course I can help you. But can you help me?”
I’ve been warned by Rose that Mercury will want something in return for her assistance, but I don’t have much to offer. I have an old paper amulet, something my nan “found” years ago, but it’s ripped in half and has no magical power. But Rose says Mercury is a collector and so I hope she’ll be interested in it.
“I have an amulet. It’s ancient and—”
The temperature drops, literally and figuratively.
“Do you think that regaining your Gift can be bought with a cheap trinket?”
“I think it’s quite a rare, valuable piece, but I suppose I should be flattered that you value me and my Gift even more.”
Mercury looks like she might even smile at that. The temperature of the room warms a little.
“Perhaps you could tell me what my Gift is worth?” I suggest.
“Isn’t it worth everything to you?”
Well, it’s worth a lot, but not everything.
“Yes,” I say. “I have to get back to being a witch.”
I expect her to name her price, but instead she changes the subject and asks about my family. Most of the story is common knowledge so I tell her the briefest version.
“My mother and father split up years ago. Finn, my mother’s boyfriend, killed her in an argument. Nan caught the end of the fight and killed Finn. I wasn’t there at the time, but when I got home I rang my father and told him what had happened. He loved my mother still; I had to tell him. The following day my father came to help clear up the mess and ended up in an argument with Nan. She attacked him; he defended himself. The house burned down with Nan in it. So that left me, my sister, Michèle, and my father. We left France, traveled a bit, and ended up in Florida. Michèle had her Giving there. She had the same Gift as me: transforming into other people. I was trying to help her control her powers, showing her different things I could do, but I was still learning about my own abilities. But then I transformed to be a fain on the inside and got stuck like this.”
“And where is Michèle now?”
“She was killed by White Witches.”
“And what has happened to those witches?”
“I don’t know. I don’t care about them.”
“Really?”
“The girl who betrayed Michèle is dead. She’s the one to blame for . . . what happened to Michèle.”
Mercury leans
closer. “You killed this girl?”
I remember Caitlin on the ground at my feet, her hands tied, the gun in my hand. I manage to say, “Yes.”
“And you’re still angry?”
I don’t reply. I remember pulling the trigger, shooting Caitlin three times.
Mercury studies me and then says, surprisingly gently, “It’s good to be angry. Much better than wallowing in sorrow.”
I can’t imagine Mercury ever wallowing in anything, but then neither am I. I’m not some miserable, suicide-ideating Holden Caulfield. Should I be losing my mind over Finn killing Mum, Nan killing Finn, Dad killing her? It would be understandable, a normal reaction. Maybe I should be raging about what the White Witches did to Michèle—how her life was wasted, cut short. I miss my sister and I want her back. I loved her—still love her—more than I imagine I’ll love anyone. But I know now that her death won’t kill me, just as the death of my mother and grandmother hurt me but didn’t break me. I’m sad sometimes and I miss them all, but I refuse to be a victim.
Mercury asks me about my father, about Florida, and more about my life. I confess that I have sought help from someone before her: Raul in Miami. For that I get a cold sneer; however, she seems amused when I describe the ways he tried to cure me. It was Raul who recommended I come to Mercury, though I know that there aren’t many other options. Mercury is one of the most powerful Black Witches alive. If she can’t help me, no one can.
Only when I feel like I’ve told her my whole life story does Mercury come back to the subject of payment. She says, “I need information. You spied on the White Witches in Florida. Now you can spy on the Half Bloods in Geneva for me. Get to know them, gain their trust. Mathieu is their leader. Find a way into his group.”
And with that she leaves.
I sit down. That was intense.
I glance at Rose. Her eyes are on me and she smiles. “You did fine.”
I laugh. Nervous energy, I think. Mercury left before I could even reply so I guess the payment isn’t up for debate.
“Just do what she asks,” Rose says, “and she’ll help you. Cross her and . . . well, things could get pretty chilly around here.” So that confirms it.
Rose tells me about the Half Bloods in Geneva. They are led by Mathieu, who is a fair and reasonable guy. The Half Bloods are ignored by most Black Witches, but Mercury uses them for buying and selling stolen goods.
“Mercury steals things?” I ask.
“So do I,” Rose replies. “And don’t pretend you don’t either.”
Well, of course I do. Or I used to: little presents for Michèle; paint and even canvases for my father; food and money when we were desperate, which was more often than not. Stealing I don’t mind, though I know I can’t do it as smoothly and easily now as I used to when I had a witch body.
I leave Mercury’s cottage and hike down the valley. I’m heading back to the apartment in Geneva that Mercury has provided for me. There is a cut between the cottage and the apartment that I could use to be back in seconds, but I want to walk and think. I don’t mind stealing, but I don’t want to spy for Mercury. Yes, I’ve done that before too, but when I spied on the White Witches in Florida it was fun, almost a game. It’s not a game now, though, and in fact it never has been. Spying is not a game. Betrayal is not a game.
But I want my Gift back. I want to be a witch again. I need to be a witch again, and for that I need Mercury.
• • •
The next morning in Geneva I go to the cafe where the Half Bloods hang out. It’s a modern place with a TV on the wall. Sitting at a table near the back, joking with a waiter, is a guy who answers the description Rose gave me of Mathieu. He certainly has the blue-green eyes all Half Bloods have. I watch him for a while and he glances at me but looks away, uninterested. He can tell I’m not a Half Blood and definitely not a witch. I need to work out a way into the group.
I go back to the apartment, lie on the bed, and come up with a cover story to tell Mathieu. Then I make coffee and try to read but can’t concentrate. I imagine being like this—a fain—forever and having an ordinary life. Working for a living! What would I do?
I go back to the cafe the next morning and every morning after that, but it’s the end of the week before I spot Mathieu with two other Half Bloods. I glance at him, catching his eye for the briefest split second as I sit down at a table near him. I order a coffee and my eyes meet Mathieu’s again. I smile and say, “Hi.”
“American?” he asks.
“Canadian. Can I get you a coffee? I’m sort of on my own here.”
He joins me and I tell him a bit of my cover story, introducing myself as “Luc” and concluding with “My mother’s family were originally from Québec.” I pause and then quietly say, “That’s the Black Witch side of my family.”
He replies, equally discreetly, “But you’re not a Half Blood.”
“No. Quarter.” I shrug. “Lowest of the low. But my nan, my mother’s mother, is a Black Witch and she says I have something not totally fain about me. She thinks I should live with Half Bloods.”
He looks skeptical. “So you’ve come all this way to meet us?”
“Well, I admit I’ve tried other places first, but I’m hoping that somewhere I’ll find some Half Bloods who’ll accept me. I’ve no Gift, nothing magical about me, but still . . .” I try to look hurt and angry at the same time.
It seems to work. Mathieu pats me on the shoulder and invites me to join his friends. I sit with them all afternoon, and by my conversation I prove I know about the witch world. Mathieu keeps me talking and joins in, but all the time he seems to be weighing up everything I say.
I leave late in the afternoon, not sure what I’ve achieved, although I am sure it won’t impress Mercury. As I walk back to the apartment I think of Michèle and how she’d love it here in Geneva. I know she wouldn’t like me working for Mercury, though. She’d think it was too dangerous and say I was made for better things. This job isn’t good; I don’t feel good about it at all. Doing this means I’m not much better than Caitlin.
Again in my head I see Caitlin at my feet, her blue-green eyes full of tears.
Shit, I need a break from this.
A bus stops a few meters ahead of me and I get on and hear a couple behind me talking about rock-climbing. That’s what I need to do: climb. The harder the route, the better—so I can’t think of anything else. I can easily get a train to one of the good spots south of here and spend a few days away.
Jon
Oh, my poor tortured soul! My prayers have finally been answered. I have just met a real live angel from heaven.
Me and the others have been here a week, but I saw him for the first time yesterday morning. He was alone, bouldering, moving fast and smooth. I was climbing with Rob and kept turning back when I could, to watch, but Rob was getting annoyed so I had to stop that. Later I spotted someone racing up one of the routes to the left of us. Soloing it, FFS. I knew it had to be him—he was so effing fast.
After that, late in the day, I saw him packing up his stuff. And it was really weird because he was obviously so experienced, but all his gear was brand-new, like he’d just bought it from the shop in town. There was a price tag still on his rucksack, FFS. I went over and said, “Hi,” and he said, “Hi,” back in the most amazing French accent and I went weak at the knees. He’d packed up and was lifting the rucksack onto his shoulder and I said in French how I’d watched him climb and how good the routes were here and he looked me in the eyes and smiled and agreed with me. And I couldn’t think of anything else to say other than My knees! Your eyes! Your voice! which I didn’t say, and he smiled again and then he left.
I spent the evening at the campsite looking out for him. Marc and Rob didn’t help at all, though they know just from seeing me that I’m into him. I was up early this morning and keen to get back to Céüse ’cause I just knew he’d be
there. And he was, bouldering again. I didn’t want to look too keen so I left it a whole fourteen minutes before I wandered over and said, “Hi.” And then, just at that crucial moment, my brain decided to implode and I started talking about the freaking weather.
The weather, FFS!
In French, FFS!
But he just smiled and we talked. He told me he used to come here years ago and it was good to be back. Then I couldn’t follow what he said next and I confessed I was English.
He smiled and said, “I guessed. I’m half English. I’m Gabriel by the way.”
And my knees weakened again at the way he said his name. “Gabriel” is not pronounced like the angel Gabriel but like a girl: Gabrielle. (He is nothing like a girl.) So I told him my name and we talked (in English, my knees just about holding up) about where we’re from—he’s lived in lots of places, most recently America, but now he has a flat in Geneva. And the weather talk maybe wasn’t so embarrassing because then the rain started and so we packed up and went for coffee. We talked for ages and he was basically wonderful and then he said, “I’ve got to go.” And I knew he meant not just for the evening.
I asked, “Are you coming back?”
And he looked really confused and said, “I don’t know. I really don’t know.”
Rose
Quick, quick, slow. Quick, quick, slow.
This apartment needs a full-length mirror. And I need a partner for this. Gabriel isn’t here. I’ve been waiting all night for him to come back. Quick, quick, slow. It’s as if he thinks he can come and go as he pleases, as if he thinks his time is his own. His time belongs to Mercury now. Quick, quick, slow. She’s being surprisingly tolerant. She likes him, which is incredibly rare. Quick, quick, slow. Turn. Quick, quick, slow. She will help him too, in the end. He’ll be a useful contact in years to come.