by Sally Green
“I get the feeling this discussion isn’t just about what’s for breakfast,” he says.
“Nathan will tell you,” Van replies. “We’re leaving soon but first food and a small celebration—it’s not often that the potion works.” And she walks out of the room.
“I think that’s her idea of a joke,” I say, turning back to Gabriel.
“Yep,” he agrees and opens the door fully. “So, what do you think?”
“Of the new you?”
He nods. “The original version.” He holds his arms out and does a slow turn so I can see him from all angles.
“You’re . . . remarkably like the fain version. Except that your grin is so wide it’s going to break your face open.”
He just grins even more.
“But your eyes are different, really different. And there’s something else. Turn again.” I watch him closely and I try to analyze it but there’s nothing I can actually point to. “I guess it’s the way that Black Witches move but I can’t say exactly what it is.” He’s hardly moving anyway but something about the way he holds himself is different. “You look more comfortable in your skin, more relaxed.” I shrug. “But I’m not sure it’s that; you always look comfortable.”
He turns back to me and controls his grin. “Thank you. From you, that’s a great compliment.”
“I’m not paying compliments. I’m just trying to describe you.”
“And what I’m trying to say is that”—he hesitates and even, I think, blushes a little—“you’re very comfortable in your body.”
“Me?” For someone who’s normally so right about people, he couldn’t be more wrong.
“I thought I understood you before but now I realize more than ever how strong a witch you are,” he says. “Your real Gift is your connection to the physical world and when we went to Wales—”
“We didn’t actually go to Wales. We were in a trance.”
“We went to Wales. You and your animal and me, we were there. I’m not sure how to describe it but you became part of the earth and the earth became part of you.”
I just shake my head quickly and I’m about to say, “We didn’t go to Wales,” but I don’t. I’m not sure what happened. I don’t know where we went. But something significant did happen and the animal in me came too.
* * *
“So?” Nesbitt says to Gabriel as he piles bacon into a toasted sandwich and holds it up to take a bite. “Can you do Obama?”
Gabriel sighs dramatically. “This is the problem with my Gift. Everyone thinks I’m some sort of performing monkey. ‘Do Obama.’ ‘Do Marilyn Monroe.’ ‘I’d love to see Princess Diana,’ ‘Hitler,’ ‘Kanye West’—whoever he is.” He’s complaining but grinning all the while.
We’re sitting at the ridiculously long dining table. Nesbitt has cooked and laid out a buffet for twenty. Scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, mushrooms, tomatoes, some kind of fish, porridge, boiled eggs, bagels, honey, hams and cheeses. Meters of food. Van is having toast and coffee.
Then something occurs to me. “But they’re fains. You didn’t become them, did you?”
“Yep.”
“But you didn’t get stuck as them?”
“No. I only got stuck as me being a fain.”
Van says, “When Gabriel was being Obama he was just taking on the outward appearance. Inside he was still Gabriel. He was trying out what it was like to look like a fain. But when he made the more radical decision to actually try to be a fain—inside—then he got stuck. He did it far too successfully.”
“I’m too talented for my own good.”
“Yes, Gabriel, you have a wonderful ability; however, please no transformations just at the moment. Let’s savor having you back with us as yourself.”
Nesbitt starts to clear the table. He’s on the other side of it from me when he says, “I’m still waiting to see Nathan turn. Not sure what he becomes: wolf or wild dog.”
“You want to spend the night with me and find out?”
“No thanks, mate,” he replies. “I want to cook breakfast, not be it.”
“You know, Nesbitt, I really don’t think I’d eat you. I can’t imagine you’d taste that good. Too fatty for me.”
“Don’t worry about me, kid. The second you start to turn, I’m getting my gun out and shooting you.”
I stare at him but before I can think of anything to say, he adds, “Don’t look so alarmed, mate, my aim’s spot on. I’d just wing you. You heal quick—no harm done.”
And from his voice I know he’s serious. I mumble to Gabriel, “See? People ask you to show your Gift by turning into Obama; me, they shoot and say, ‘No harm done.’”
I’m trying to keep light and happy for Gabriel. I need to ignore Nesbitt but when I reach for more bread I see my hand and all the scars on it and the black tattoo and I want to scream at Nesbitt that it hurt, that every scar I have hurt, and my body is covered in scars that have healed quickly but they all hurt, and I can’t say about any of them, “No harm done.”
I stand up, push my chair back, and walk out of the room, saying, “I thought we were leaving.”
Barcelona
We’re back in the car and roaring up the drive with a spray of gravel. Nesbitt is driving. Gabriel and I sit in the back.
I say to Van, “You said you were going to a meeting of the Alliance but we still have to find Annalise. That’s the top priority.”
“We’re doing both. We need to find Mercury’s home. And Mercury only trusted a few people with that information. Pilot is one of those people.”
“So we’re going to see Pilot?” I ask.
“We will when we know where she is,” Van replies. “But she’s being almost as elusive as Mercury at the moment. She fled from Geneva when Clay and the Hunters arrived, apparently heading to Spain, but I don’t know where in Spain and it’s a big place.”
“So, what do we do?”
“We go to Isch, a supplier. She’ll be able to help.”
“Supplier of what?”
“All the things that a Black Witch might desire. Ingredients, information, assistance.”
“And this Alliance meeting you mentioned, that’s also in Barcelona?”
Van drags on her cigarette. “As luck would have it.”
But the way her face is serious and drawn doesn’t make me feel lucky at all.
* * *
We drive straight through to Barcelona, only stopping to change cars once and using the nightsmoke to make it bearable after dark. We park up on a busy Barcelona shopping street the next morning. Nesbitt looks like shit with stubble and I tell him so. He just says, “And you’re looking beaut too.” We’re all crumpled and tired except for Van, of course, who seems as fresh as when we set off, as fresh as she always does. Gabriel looks good whether he’s crumpled or not.
Nesbitt nips out of the car to get two pizzas for me and Gabriel. We’ve got to wait in the car while the grown-ups go and talk business.
Van eyes the pizza boxes with disgust when Nesbitt returns. “Fortunately, Isch is very hospitable. I’m sure we’ll be well catered to there. She travels for most of the year but always spends a few weeks in the summer in Barcelona.”
It’s August now and I can only hope that Isch does know where Pilot is cos I’m sure we’re running out of time to help Annalise. It’s been two months since my birthday, two months since Annalise was put in her sleep. I’ve no idea if this is all in vain and Annalise is already dead anyway. But, as ever, it’s best not to think about that too much.
“Keep him out of sight, Gabriel,” Van says.
“I am here. You can speak to me.”
“Yes, of course.” Van turns her eyes on me. “Please, don’t get out of the car. Don’t do anything until we’re back.”
Nesbitt says, “Don’t want a stray Hunter seeing you.”
Nesbitt opens his mouth but for once no words come out. He looks genuinely sorry, though.
“How long will you be?” Gabriel asks Van. “When should we start to worry?”
Van smiles. “You really don’t need to worry about us. We’ll be a couple of hours, maybe more. Mustn’t rush; manners at all times.”
It’s mid-morning and the car is hot in the August sun. I sprawl across the seats, open a box, and start to eat a slice of pizza. But Gabriel says, “I’m going to follow them. Stay here.” And he’s out of the car and walking up the road.
I catch him up in a few seconds and tell him, “I’m coming with you.”
“OK, but keep well back. I’ll follow them. You follow me.”
I drop back as Gabriel turns into an alley but I keep him in my sights. He moves fast up another alley, which is darker and a lot quieter. I follow Gabriel down a couple more alleys, still keeping my distance, and then he goes right and when I reach the corner he’s gone.
Shit!
This alley is even narrower. The houses are all four stories high. I move slowly forward. All the doors are shut and I can see nothing through the grubby windows. I reach a dead end and turn to work my way back when Gabriel appears out of a door on the left. He beckons me forward.
“They’re in there. Some sort of meeting. I think this is Isch’s house but I heard them mention the Alliance. Do you want to try to listen in?”
I nod.
He turns back to the door of the house, which is shut again.
Then he pulls a hairpin out of his jacket pocket. It has an unusual black skull on the end of it but I’ve seen it before. It’s one of the pins that unlocks doors.
“Did you steal that from Mercury?” I ask.
Gabriel shakes his head. “Rose gave it to me.”
He puts the pin in the lock and pushes the door slowly open. I follow him inside. This seems to be the entrance to a large apartment. There are cooking smells coming from the room ahead. I follow Gabriel up the wide stone stairs and through a door on the landing into a dining room. At the far end are French doors that lead onto a narrow balcony that stretches the width of the apartment. The doors from the dining room lead onto the balcony but so do the doors from the next room. These other doors are open. I move so that I’m against the wall and out of sight from the room but close enough to hear the people inside talking.
Van is speaking. Talking about a Black Witch. She seems to be assessing whether this person will join the Alliance. Nesbitt gives his opinion, which isn’t very positive. A woman’s voice joins in. Van replies to her. Calls her Isch.
And then I hear another voice. A voice I recognize straightaway. I’d know it anywhere and I feel like I can’t breathe. My impulse is to run. I look at Gabriel and he sees that something is wrong and grabs at me as I take a step toward the doors and he pushes me back against the wall. And I manage to hold myself back. I calm myself, taking deep breaths.
Gabriel mouths, What’s wrong?
I whisper, “It’s OK. I’m OK.”
And he stares at me, questioning me with his look.
“I’m OK,” I insist, holding his gaze. And I think I am. “I know who’s in there. Why they didn’t want me here.”
He looks at me intently still. “Who?”
It’s strange but I can’t say her name. I shake my head, and feel like the choker is on me again and I can’t breathe. And all the times she hit me and slapped me and shackled me and deafened me with her Gift, all that floods into me. I push Gabriel away as I pull out my knife and step into the open doorway, and I say, “My teacher and guardian.”
My Teacher and Guardian
Celia stands. She’s dressed the same, in her army gear, black boots, green canvas trousers, green shirt. Her hair is the same short, spiky crop, so thin I can see her scalp. Her face is as pale and ugly as ever.
“Nathan. It’s good to see you.” She says it as if I’m some old friend she hasn’t seen for a few weeks.
I shake my head. “No. It’s not.”
I step forward, my knife out. Nesbitt stands then and I see he’s pointing a gun at me. Gabriel steps forward too and his gun is pointing at Nesbitt.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “Why is she here?”
Van stands up and motions to Celia to sit down. “Celia is working with the Alliance. She’s one of the White Witch rebels helping us bring down Soul, the White Council, and the Hunters.”
I shake my head. “No.”
Van says, “Nesbitt, please put that gun away. I’m sure Nathan isn’t going to harm any of us.”
Nesbitt spins the gun on his finger. “I wouldn’t kill you, kid, you know that.” And he puts the gun back in his jacket.
“Gabriel, please, you too,” Van says.
But Gabriel keeps the gun on Nesbitt. “Not until Nathan says.”
“Point it at the White Hunter, Gabriel,” I say, and he swings his arm to point the gun at Celia.
Van sighs. “Nathan, this is exactly why I didn’t want you here, not until I’d met Celia, and not until I’d had a chance to talk to you, to explain how the Alliance will work and who is joining.”
“And you expect me to join! With her!”
“Yes, I do.” Van sits down and gets out her cigarette case. “Who did you think would be involved, Nathan? Who? Just the nice White Witches? We need fighters, people who know how Hunters work, and I can assure you there is no one better than Celia.” Van lights her cigarette, inhales deeply, then sends a plume of red smoke in my direction. I don’t think she’s trying to calm me with it but just show how annoyed she is.
“I wasn’t going to tell you about Celia until after Annalise was rescued but perhaps it’s better this way. If you can’t work with Celia then you can go and live under a stone somewhere for all I care. If you want my help in rescuing Annalise then you will be part of the Alliance afterward and that means working with Celia.”
She knows I don’t really have any option. But she must also know that I could still leave after she upholds her part of the bargain. I guess she’s assuming I’ll feel honor-bound to help the Alliance once they’ve helped me. Well, we’ll see about that.
Van drags on her cigarette again and says, “Nathan, please tell Gabriel to put the gun down.”
I hesitate and then I make a show of putting my knife away. I say, “Gabriel, please . . . give me your gun.”
He holds it out to me without hesitation and I take it and walk over to Celia and push the barrel against her forehead. I want to know what it feels like to be able to do it, to have power over her for once.
Celia looks up at me and holds my gaze. Her eyes are pale blue with a few small specks of silver. I make a shooting sound and she doesn’t even blink. I keep the gun there, feeling what it’s like.
I say to her, “You haven’t used your Gift.” She could bring me to my knees with it.
“I won’t use it on you, Nathan. We’re on the same side now.”
“Are we?” I don’t take my eyes off Celia’s but I ask Van, “How do you know she isn’t a spy?”
“She is a spy, Nathan. For us. Celia has been useful in providing us with information about Soul, the Council, and the Hunters.”
“I’m in Spain on official Council business, Nathan,” Celia says. “They’ve brought me out of retirement. I’m meant to be tracking down a list of the most-wanted Black Witches. You’ll be pleased to know that your name is at the top, along with your father’s.”
“I’m a Half Code.”
“Since your escape from the Council building you’ve been designated as Black. I don’t know how much Van has told you but your escape led to many changes. Soul took over the Council and his friend Wallend got free rein to do what he likes. Which is why I’m helping the Alliance. I’m no lover of certain
Black Witches, Nathan, you know that, but I’m no lover of criminals or monsters either, and Soul is the former and Wallend the latter.”
“You didn’t seem to mind Soul or Wallend before. You didn’t seem to mind keeping me in a cage under Soul’s orders.”
“As I say things have changed since your escape.”
“Yes. Now I’m the one with the gun at your head.”
She looks at me, still calm, still the same controlled Celia. “I understand that you’re angry with me, Nathan. But I am not your enemy. I never was.”
I swear at her. And again.
“Soul is your enemy. He’s the enemy of all true witches, as is Wallend. They’re corrupt. They’re not true witches. Soul is a danger to all of us, Black and White. I’ve spent my life protecting White Witches from the dangers of Blacks but now they are less of a threat to the White community than Soul is.” She blinks. “I honestly believe that, Nathan.”
“I have a gun to your head. I’m a danger to you.”
“Well, there is that. But if you don’t pull the trigger I intend to work with the Alliance to bring Soul and his cronies down. It isn’t possible to do that with White Witches alone. They’re either in Soul’s pocket or too weak. If anyone complains about him they’re punished.”
My thoughts go to Arran and Deborah but I can’t ask about them. I don’t want to hear about them from Celia.
Van says, “Please put the gun down, Nathan.”
“No.”
“I can show you the atrocities that Celia has uncovered.” Van holds some papers out to me. “Photographs of White Witches being tried and executed for objecting to Soul’s regime, memos about each one. Details of who, when, and where. Death warrants signed by Soul.” She flicks through more paper. “Black Witches in France being slaughtered. Lists of names.”
“I’m not interested.”
“You should be.” The other woman speaks now. This must be Isch. She has papers in her hands too. “Some Black Witches think I have no feelings, no concern for others, but these things”—she holds a piece of paper out to me—“are a concern to all witches.”