*
Later I’m sitting by a fire I’ve made near the lakeshore, still not properly warm. It starts to rain but I stay there, trying to remember more about being an animal. I see through the animal’s eyes, feel his pain, smell and taste the blood, hear Kieran’s scream . . . it’s like I’m experiencing the animal’s body, feeling what he does, but I’m not inside his mind. I’m not making decisions. I’m a passenger.
The light shower turns to a downpour and I’m soaked and shivering. The fire is out and I head toward the house to shelter under the eaves. I’m nearly there when I see a figure dart out of the house and onto the patio. He places five large, wide bowls on the table, then runs back round the side of the house and inside, out of the rain. I’m not sure what Nesbitt is up to but I follow him and look in the bowls as I pass. They’re just empty bowls, though they’re all unusual: they’re made out of stone and have thick, uneven sides.
Round the side of the house I see Nesbitt has gone into the kitchen. A green glow is coming from nightsmoke he has lit by the window. I quietly open the back door and step inside the small cloakroom. There’s another door that opens onto the kitchen. It’s not quite shut but Nesbitt won’t know I’m here if I’m still. Then I hear voices and realize that Van is there too.
“I’ve put the bowls out.”
“Good. We should have enough from tonight. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Nesbitt says.
“Oh dear, must you?”
“About the kid.”
“Hmmm?”
“I think you should tell him.”
“Tell him what?”
“Who you’re working with—”
“Who we’re working with,” Van corrects.
“He’ll find out eventually and . . . well, I don’t think he’ll like it.”
“He doesn’t have to like it. I don’t expect him to like it. I don’t care if he likes it. The point is he will do it. He’ll join because he doesn’t have any other option. So there really is no point in muddying the waters.”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“But what?” Van sounds impatient now. “You really are getting more and more like an old woman, Nesbitt.”
“He’s a Half Code. And . . . you don’t know what it’s like, Van, but I do. Or at least I know what it’s like being a Half Blood. He doesn’t know where he belongs and at the moment he doesn’t belong anywhere, not with the White Witches and not with the Blacks. He could belong with the Alliance, but to belong to them he’ll have to trust them—trust you—and, well, that’s going to be a problem.”
“Yes, you’re quite right, Nesbitt. How surprisingly thoughtful of you. May I ask what you are doing to build a bond of trust and friendship between yourself and Nathan?”
Nesbitt snorts. “He doesn’t know it but he’s my friend already.”
Van laughs, which I’ve never heard before; it’s pleasant and genuine and amused. Her voice is softer now. “Nesbitt, all I can do is reassure you that it’s a problem I’m aware of and will deal with but I’ve got other problems stacked up in front of me. First we have to rescue the girl and I’m not entirely sure how we’re going to do that.”
Nesbitt barks a short laugh. “Yeah, well, ain’t that the truth of it.”
Van opens the door and says something I can’t hear and the door closes.
Who could the rebel be that I’d take offense to? Just about any White Witch would be the obvious answer.
The rain is easing and soon stops. I look down and there’s a puddle around my feet. Nesbitt will guess that I’ve been here but there’s nothing I can do about that. I head off back to the lake, walking through the trees to the side of the lawn. I find a huge, spreading cypress tree where the ground is still dry under its canopy. I stop there and then move to hide further behind the trunk.
There are two boats on the lake. They have small lights at their sterns and both are traveling at the same slow speed. There are four people in the boat nearest and two in the one further off, and they’re all looking to the shore, toward me; they all have binoculars.
Hunters!
And there’s something about the stance of the most distant Hunter that tells me who it is. She’s tall and slim and straight.
Jessica.
I race back to the house and into the kitchen. The bowl of nightsmoke by the window is like a beacon. I pick up a cloth and smother it. Nesbitt begins to object and I tell him, “Hunters! On the lake. Six of them at least.”
Nesbitt is already leaving the room. “Get Gabby and come to Van’s room. There’s stuff to take. We leave in five minutes.”
“If they’ve seen the nightsmoke we won’t have five minutes,” I reply, running after him.
“Then hope they haven’t seen it.”