“So. Hi there, Van. Good to see ya, good to be back. This is Nathan.”
Van inhales deeply on her cigarette and then slowly breathes out a fine trail of smoke. She comes closer to me and says, “Delighted. Genuinely delighted.” Her eyes are pale blue, as pale as her suit. I’ve only seen the eyes of two Black Witches before now: Mercury and my father. Both were different and totally unlike White Witches who, to me, have silver shards that twist and tumble in their eyes. But Van’s eyes have jewels of sapphire that turn, grow, and diminish, and then when they touch each other give off sparks that seem to turn into more sapphires. They’re the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.
“You have Gabriel’s letters?” she asks me. I notice that the smoke trailing out of her mouth isn’t gray but extremely pale pink, like her tie. The smoke almost seems alive as it curls slowly up Van’s cheek, then turns and mingles with the air in front of her eyes, and the deep blue of them deepens further.
I’m vaguely aware that I reply but I’m not sure what I say.
Van’s eyes remain locked on mine and sparkle even more as she says, “Nesbitt, you were supposed to get them.” And she turns her gaze on him.
I take a step back but it’s hard. I have to force myself to look away from Van.
Nesbitt says, “I was supposed to bring them to you, which I’ve done. I could’ve taken them off Nathan if I’d had to but it would have involved violence and it seemed best to avoid that. He’s a decent fighter, this kid, in an unconventional sort of way—brings out the animal in him. Anyway, he’s here, he’s got the letters, and he’s keen on seeing his mate Gabby.”
“So . . .” she says. She has come closer to me again, closer than before, close enough for me to feel her breath on my face. I expect it to smell of cigarette smoke but it’s strawberries.
“So . . .” I say.
The strawberry smell is faint and I inhale deeper, to get more of it. This woman is the most amazing I’ve ever met. I inhale more and say, “My friend Gabriel . . . Nesbitt told me that you saved his life. Thank you. I’d like to see him.”
“I’m sure you would,” Van replies. “And I’m sure he’d like to see you. And we’d all like to see the letters.”
The letters are in the tin that Gabriel has always kept them in and I’ve not opened it, except the one time when I first found it in Mercury’s apartment. But now I have an urge to take the tin out of my rucksack. As I bend down to reach inside I breathe different air, air that doesn’t smell of strawberries. I stand up again, holding the rucksack, not the letters.
Van smiles at me and I feel my knees buckle a fraction. Annalise is beautiful but there’s something mesmerizing about Van. She’s literally stunning. But I’ve got to keep her at a distance.
“I need fresh air,” I say, and walk to the windows and draw the door to the side. “Let’s talk out here.”
The air outside is clean. Though it’s intensely hot.
Van follows and gestures to a shaded seating area on the patio. I walk to a low sofa but I don’t sit until I see where she goes and then I move opposite her.
She calls to Nesbitt. “Ask Gabriel to join us, and bring lemonade and tea for four.” She gestures to the seat, saying, “Please, do sit. I’m sure Gabriel won’t be long.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes, Van smoking her cigarette, then I say, “Nesbitt told me that Gabriel had been shot but that he’s recovered. Is that true?”
“He was shot twice and Hunter bullets are nasty things but, yes, Gabriel is over that.” She knocks the ash off her cigarette and takes another long drag before adding, “He hasn’t quite recovered himself, though. He cares for you very much, Nathan, and I’m afraid that Nesbitt, my idiot assistant—”
“Business partner,” Nesbitt corrects as he walks out onto the patio with a pitcher of lemonade that he places between us. He mutters, “Gabby was in the kitchen so I’ve broken the news that you’re here.”
Van continues. “Nesbitt, my idiot assistant, told us you were dead. As I say, Gabriel cares for you very much. He—”
I see a movement to my right and, as I turn, Gabriel steps onto the patio and stares at me. I can see he can’t believe I’m here. He looks frail and thin and he says something very quietly.
I stand and I’m not sure what to say. Words won’t cover any of it. I want to tell him I owe him my life but he knows that.
I step toward him and he strides to me and holds me tight and I hug him back. He says something under his breath, the same as before, I think, but it’s in French and I don’t know what it means.
He holds his head back to look into my eyes. He’s not smiling and his face is drawn and gray. His eyes are the same fain brown but the whites are veined with red.