by Sally Green
“He’s called Gabriel. He’s my brother.”
“Your brother?” Sam smiled at me (and I smiled back).
Sam has a lovely smile (doesn’t everyone?) but he really is nice and good-looking and calm. I get the impression nothing gets him flustered or annoyed.
I hoped Sam would stay to chat, but he had to go and clean up as it was near closing time. I read a newspaper and a bit later Sam came to sit with me.
“Your brother isn’t very reliable.”
“No. Well, mostly he is, but sometimes he isn’t . . .”
“Do you want a drink? On me?” I think Sam had worked out I didn’t have any money—I mean, no one would sit there like that otherwise. So I moved to the counter while he made my coffee (extremely slowly—or was I imagining that?). He asked where I came from, so I said, “I was born in France; lived in France and Switzerland.” (I didn’t list the other ten zillion countries.)
“Your English is good.”
“My mother was English. We always spoke English with her. French with my dad.”
I thought he was going to ask about the “was” but he said, “So there’s just you and your brother?”
“And my dad. He’s Swiss.”
“Your accent sounds English to me.”
“Your accent sounds American to me.”
He smiled (perfect teeth!). “My mom’s from Tampa, my dad’s from Tampa, my brother’s from Tampa, I’m from Tampa. It’s a Tampa accent, I guess.” It’s a very sexy, slow accent. And he has a habit of pushing his hair back (blond, straight). His eyes are light brown and he has tanned skin. Sam is sort of golden. Golden Boy.
I had my coffee and the shop closed and Sam hung around with me for ten minutes until my brother appeared, and all the time I was hoping Gab would be even later. When I walked to my brother, I looked back at Sam—the sun was setting and everything was glowing gold.
So that was pretty much a perfectly perfect afternoon.
23rd February, 2013
Bored. Gab and I are just hanging around the house. I want to go to Tampa to see Sam, but not sure if that makes me seem too keen.
24th February, 2013
Gab disappeared and has been gone all day and is still not back (it’s now nearly midnight).
25th February, 2013
We were all reunited at breakfast. Gab had a pile of cash but wouldn’t say how he got it. I ended up shouting at Dad, telling him that it was his fault that Gab was having to steal, and if Gab got into trouble then, like everything else bad in our lives, it was down to Dad. He opened a bottle of wine, took a swig and said, “You sound just like your mother.” Then he walked out of the room and into his studio.
Gab just said, “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I’m careful.” Which is of course a load of CRAP. And I told him that and then threw some things at him (plates and a pan that were to hand) and then I drove into Tampa (I admit I took some of the stolen cash and I’m not sure I should be driving but I was angry).
I went to the Bean Counter and Sam spent his lunch break with me. I told him I’d argued with my dad. Of course I couldn’t tell him the real reason for the argument, all the witch stuff. Sometimes I think the hardest thing about being a witch is not being able to talk about it. But anyway Sam was a great listener. He asked about Mum and I told him she’d died in an accident, but a huge part of me wanted to tell him the truth. I don’t like lying to him.
I spent all afternoon there and Sam sat with me when it was quiet. We talked lots. He told me about his mum, dad, and brother (who all sound normal) and the music he likes (no bands I’d heard of) and that he plays the guitar. I stayed until closing time again and he walked me to my car. It was another perfect afternoon, and was made even more perfect when he asked me to go to the cinema with him on Saturday. Five days away—seems like forever!
27th February, 2013
Everything is so unfair!!!!
I’m not allowed to go to Tampa. Seriously not allowed. And it’s not even because I took the car without permission.
TAMPA IS WHITE WITCH TERRITORY.
I know this because this morning we had visitors—Skylar (the local Black Witch head honcho) and her son Aiden. I think Aiden is a little older than Gab. He didn’t say much but just stood in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the wall, arms folded. It seems that Aiden and Gab met by chance yesterday and Aiden realized that Gab was a witch. He and Skylar came over to explain how things work here. She said, “It’s a little stricter than in France, but not as bad as Britain.” (But then nowhere’s as bad as that.) The Black Witch community in this part of Florida is apparently small in numbers but has a large territory covering smaller towns and vast areas of countryside. The White Witches have city areas, Tampa being the main one, and they have a much bigger community. Skylar said that the Black Witches stick to their “historical lands” and the White Witches to theirs.
Gab said, “Sounds a lot like how things work in France, so how is it stricter?”
“If a Black Witch is caught on White Witch land, they’re punished and sent back.”
“Punished how?” Gab asked.
Skylar held up her left hand and the index finger was missing. “A finger is taken. When I was younger it was a sign of coming of age: a Black Witch would go into the center of Tampa, be seen, be chased, and hopefully get away, though there are a number of us with only nine fingers. Some Black Witches would do it on their seventeenth birthday; some would do it when they’d found their Gifts. Some did it at both stages. Some,” she said, looking round at Aiden, “did it more.” Aiden grinned, but I noticed that he still had all his fingers.
Gab asked, “The Whites can tell that we’re Black Witches?”
“There are a number on both sides who can identify witches by their appearance; we can tell from the way people move and behave. Aiden is particularly good at spotting it.”
Aiden said, “There are some Whites who are good at sensing it too and we each make sure we know who is who. There are nearly five hundred Whites in Tampa and it’s hard to keep track of who they all are, but I do my best.”
“So you go onto their land to spy?” I asked.
“Sometimes. But not so often now; they know me too well. My main job is to catch them when they come over here.”
“And do they come?”
“Yes. They like to show how brave they are by spending the night on our land. We have a much bigger area than they do, and there are only about a hundred and fifty Black Witches so it’s easier for Whites to find quiet spots. There’s a small group of Half Bloods—half Blacks—that I use to patrol our territory. They know the White Witches by sight. Half Bloods are always good at knowing who’s who; they have their own network and can travel freely on both sides.”
“We can trust the Half Bloods?”
“I trust the ones who work for me.”
Skylar added, “We treat Half Bloods with respect, but they have their own community. They’re not true witches.”
“What do you do if you catch a White Witch?” I asked.
Aiden answered, “We scar their faces. It helps us identify them in future, but I’ve never known one to come back.”
• • •
After Skylar and Aiden left, Gab asked me if I’d been to Tampa in the car. I told him I just drove to the beach, on our land.
He said, “I wish you wouldn’t lie to me, Michèle.”
But really I don’t see the problem with going to Tampa as the chances of being caught are minimal.
Michèle, do not—I repeat—DO NOT go to Tampa.
Who is this Sam guy anyway?
Gabriel
Dear Gab,
You’d like him. He’s nice.
M
Michèle,
There are plenty of nice boys living outside Tampa.
GabRIEL
28th February, 2013
In other depressing news: I tried to take my mind off the Sam/Tampa situation today by being busy. I shopped and then cooked dinner this evening—roast chicken. Not too hard, you’d think, but I managed to burn it AND dry it out. Dad took one bite, forced it down with a large glass of wine, lit a cigarette, and went back into his studio.
I’ve noticed that Gab hasn’t let me out of his sight today (“Just thought I’d come to the shops with you,” “Just thought I’d help out in the kitchen”). I suspect lack of trust re the Sam/Tampa situation, and the car keys are not left on the kitchen worktop or in Gab’s jacket as normal.
I trust you, Michèle.
Gabriel
Dear Gab,
Don’t lie.
M
OK. I trust you in lots of things but not always to be sensible.
Gabriel
Dear Gab,
I am about as trustworthy and sensible as you.
M
Exactly!!!
1st March, 2013
I’m supposed to be with Sam at the cinema tomorrow night. This is so not fair. I might as well be in prison. Gab is sticking to me like glue. I thought he’d lower his guard so I could sneak away—but I’m getting the feeling that isn’t going to happen.
Dear Michèle,
Correct.
GabRIEL
2nd March, 2013
I found a payphone in town and rang Sam’s mobile, but he didn’t answer. So I left a message saying that I wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t come tonight. I said I’d ring again tomorrow. He can’t ring me back because we don’t have a phone of any kind. I’d told Sam that I didn’t have a mobile and I’m not sure he believed me (I said my dad wouldn’t let me have one, which is pretty much the truth). Black Witches don’t use them and despise fains and White Witches for relying on them. Gab doesn’t have one, and Dad thinks they’re evil. Dad hates all gadgets. We don’t have a TV and certainly not a computer—we’re lucky to have a car! I have a radio to listen to music, and Dad complains about that. I’ve tried to tell him it’s good for the news and finding out what’s going on in the world, and he says, “Why would anyone want to know that?”
3rd March, 2013
So I rang Sam again this morning and we chatted. I suggested we meet up in Bradenton, but he didn’t seem so keen. He said he was working every day in the Bean Counter and wouldn’t finish till late—but really it’s not that late and he could make it if he tried. Then he said he had to get back to work as some customers had just come in. He asked me for my home number and I said I didn’t have one and he obviously didn’t believe me as he just said, “Right, well . . . Gotta go,” and hung up.
I could tell he didn’t really think that I’d been ill or didn’t have a phone. It’s all so unfair.
I really, really like him.
5th March, 2013
When it stopped raining last night Gab and I went up onto the roof. I’m feeling a bit down—partly the Sam thing, but mainly missing Mum, and I’d had another argument with Dad in the afternoon. I don’t want to argue with Dad, but it just happens. I can’t talk to him. I don’t think he can talk to me either; he hardly even talks to Gab.
Michèle,
You need to get out of the house more. Want to come to the beach?
Gabriel
Dear Gab,
It’s March.
M
M,
It’s Florida.
Gabriel
Dear Gab,
M
15th March, 2013
We’ve spent the last week hanging out at the beach and made some friends, mostly fains. My friends back in France were fains, so I’m used to being careful not to say or do the wrong thing in front of them, though the only thing I can do magically at the moment (until I’m a full witch—7 months, 16 days, and 3 hours away) is heal quickly. So the two best fain friends are Jaz (Jasper, 19) and Chase (geek, 18). Chase has glasses and spots and is just grateful to be with people who don’t beat him up for being Chase. Jaz is funny and interesting and nice, though he’s clearly gay and struggling with it, and is totally in love with Gabriel. They think Gab is 21, because that’s what he told them, and that I’m 18, because that’s what I told them.
Aiden (son of Skylar) sometimes goes to the beach too. I’m not sure if I like him—he acts as if he’s better than everyone else. He’s good-looking in that American footballer/full-set-of-teeth way (tall, light-brown hair, broad shoulders, tan). Aiden knows Gab’s 17 and I’m 16—Gab made sure he knew how old (young) I really was.
Jaz/Chase are nice, but they’re really Gab’s friends. Their conversation is usually limited with me to: “Hi, Michèle. How are you?” “You’re so funny!” And the old favorite (always from Chase): “I love your accent.”
I tell him, “I love your accent too,” and every time he finds this absolutely hilarious.
I’ve always spoken English the same way Mum did, and Gab says I sound just like her. I don’t want to lose that—it’s one of the few things I’ve got from her. Gab speaks English with a strange French/American accent, which makes Jaz swoon. I should add at this point that Dad sounds just the same, though he’s still not speaking much (his drinking has leveled out to just one bottle of wine a night—not really bad). But back to swooning: Gab isn’t friends with the girls at the beach, though they all parade on by—shoulders back, super perky, smiling and giggling in his direction—and if he returns their smiles, well, I don’t know if there is such a thing as a group female orgasm, but they definitely look like they’re having one.
But most important of all I’ve made one girl friend. Caitlin. She’s 16 too. She’s a Half Blood (half White!!!!) and I can really talk to her. No need to censor any witch stuff. It’s so great! I’ve told her all about Mum and Dad, me and Gab, and EVERYTHING.
Caitlin’s mum is a fain and her White Witch dad is “not around,” which turns out to mean he’s gone to Scotland “to find his roots” or something.
I asked her, “But what about you? You’re his roots here.”
Caitlin just shrugged. “I think he’s trying to forget I exist.”
Gab wasn’t sure about me being friends with Caitlin. She’s a Half Blood for a start and while there are a few Black Half Bloods around (most working for Aiden, it seems) she’s the only half White. They aren’t considered to be proper witches and the rules about territory don’t apply to them. But if Aiden’s around she won’t join us. She says he’s “nasty.”
3rd April, 2013
I’ve spent the last couple of weeks with Caitlin at the beach and she’s even been to our house twice. We talk and talk and talk.
22nd April, 2013
I have amazing news! Sit down and take a deep breath . . . THIS IS VERY EXCITING!
This morning at breakfast Gab was grinning. I mean really grinning and humming and almost skipping around the room—definitely not the usual grunting/coffee-drinking/reading bundle of limbs and hair I’m normally sitting across from.
My first thought was “love”—in fact my first thought was “LURVE!” So I asked him, “What did you do last night, Gab?”
“Nothing.”
“Got a new boyfriend?”
“I’ve never had a boyfriend.”
“Jaz? Wasn’t he . . .?”
“He was—is—a friend.”
“If you haven’t got a new boyfriend then why are you behaving so . . . happily?”
He grinned at me and tucked his hair behind his ears. He buttered his bread and made a coffee but didn’t answer.
“I can tell something has happened.”
He spread his jam, humming. And I thought he would tell me if he’d found a boyfriend because he does tell me who he likes (very few). So if it’s not LURVE it must be . . . OMG!!! “You’ve found it, haven’t you? Your Gift?”
He turned to me and licked the jammy knife. “Maybe . . .”
“Tell me, tell me, tell me! It’s not potions, is it?”
“No, not potions. I need to work on it.”
“What? What?”
“Don’t hassle me until I’ve worked on it a little more.”
Aaaggghhh! He’s so cruel to me.
23rd April, 2013
Imagine a small, rundown kitchen with a rickety old table. Sitting on one side is a lonely girl (prettyish, dark hair, aged 16) and opposite her a barely sober man, her father. They’re having breakfast.
“Where’s Gab?” asks the girl.
The father grunts and says, “I’ve not seen him.” This is said in ENGLISH!
The girl carries on eating her Cheerios but notices that her father is not enjoying his usual morning cigarette. She is further surprised when her father leans forward over the table and asks, “How are you, sweetheart?”
The girl warily says, “OK.”
“Me too.” Then he gets up and says, “That is why I feel like having croissants this morning.”
The girl is suspicious. Her father never eats breakfast. At a push he has a coffee with his cigarette. Her father never calls her sweetheart and—
“With jam.”
Her father hates jam.
“Or perhaps . . . chocolate spread.”
This, the girl thinks, is very, very strange. Her father is often unusual and unpredictable, but this is beyond weird! He covers half a croissant with jam and half with chocolate spread. He eats it all and says, “I’ve seen Gabriel have it like that. It’s good. I should tell him.”
That is when the girl starts to laugh. That is when she begins to work out what’s happening.
The father says, “Have you seen that wonderful boy Gabriel anywhere?”