When I’m taken in it’s Soul O’Brien sitting in the centre seat this time. I’m not surprised. The woman Councillor is back on the right and Mr Wallend is sitting on the left. At least Clay isn’t here.
They start asking me questions, like the ones in my Assessment. I’m uncooperative, in a silent sort of way. Soul is his usual bored self but I’m more convinced than ever that it’s an act. Everything about him is an act. He asks each question twice and doesn’t comment on my lack of response, but they soon give up and don’t even seem that bothered. After his last question Soul whispers to the woman and then to Mr Wallend.
Then he speaks to me.
‘Nathan.’
Nathan! That’s a first.
‘It is less than three months until your seventeenth birthday. An important day in your life.’ He looks at his nails and then up at me again. ‘And an important day in mine. I’m hoping that I will be able to give you three gifts on that day.’
What?
‘Yes, that may seem a little surprising, but it’s something I’ve been considering for many years, something I would be … interested in doing. However, before I can give you three gifts I must – we all must – be sure that you are truly on the side of White Witches. I have the power to choose your Designation Code, Nathan. I suggest that it is in your interest that you are designated as a White Witch.’
And I used to want that, used to think it was the solution, but now I know for sure that I don’t.
‘Nathan, you are half White Witch by birth. Your mother was from a strong and honourable family of White Witches. We at the Council respect her family. Some of her ancestors were Hunters and your half-sister is now a Hunter too. You have a proud and respectable heritage on your mother’s side. And there is much of your mother in you, Nathan. Much. Your healing ability is a sign of that.’
And I’m not sure if he’s talking a load of bollocks because I’m convinced my father is pretty good at healing too.
‘Do you know the difference between Black Witches and White Witches, Nathan?’
I don’t reply. Waiting for the usual good-versus-evil argument.
‘It’s an interesting question, isn’t it? Something I’ve often pondered on.’ Soul O’Brien looks at his nails and then at me. ‘White Witches use their Gifts for good. And that is how you can show us that you are White, Nathan. Use your Gift for good. Work with the Council, the Hunters, White Witches the world over. Help us and …’ He leans back in his chair. ‘Life will be a lot easier for you.’ His eyes seem to glow silver as he says, ‘And longer too.’
‘I’ve been kept in a cage for nearly two years. I’ve been beaten and tortured and kept from my family, my family of White Witches. Tell me which bit of that is “good”.’
‘We are concerned for the good of White Witches. If you are designated White –’
‘Then you’ll give me a nice bed to sleep in? Oh yes, of course, as long as I kill my father.’
‘We all have to make compromises, Nathan.’
‘I won’t kill my father.’
He admires his nails again and says, ‘Well, I’d be disappointed if you agreed readily, Nathan. I’ve watched you with interest every year since we first met and you rarely disappoint me.’
I swear at him.
‘And in a way I’m glad you haven’t done so now. However, one way or another you will do as we require. Mr Wallend will ensure that.’
I’m not given a chance to reply because Soul nods at the guards and they come up to me and take an arm each.
As I’m hauled out of the room and along the corridors I try to keep track of the directions – the lefts, the rights, the benches, windows and doors – but it’s too complex and I’m soon in a part of the building where the corridors are less straight and this one is descending until it becomes so narrow that one guard is in front of me and one behind. Stone steps take us further down. It’s cold. There’s a row of metal doors on the left.
The guard ahead stops by the third door, which is painted blue, though the paint is scratched off in places to show grey beneath. It’s not a door to fill anyone with hope. He slides it open and the guard behind me pushes me through.
I’m standing in a cell. The only light is from the corridor. The cell is empty except for a chain attached to the wall, which the guard is now shackling to my ankle. Then he’s out of the door, turning the lock and slamming a bolt.
Complete blackness.
I’m still handcuffed. I step forward and make my way around the room, feeling the uneven stone walls with my toes, my body and my cheek. Three paces to the left of where the chain is attached is the corner and then two paces further I run out of chain. It’s the same on the right. The short chain stops me from getting near the door.
The floor is cold and hard but dry. I sit with my back against the wall. Four stone walls, one door, a length of chain and me.