*
When it’s light I go to the castle to look for Van. I’m frustrated by my Gift; I’m frustrated by everything. We’re not getting closer to helping Annalise, and Gabriel needs to get back to his witch form. I stomp from kitchen to dining room, music room to ballroom to gunroom, eventually coming across Nesbitt, who says, “Van’s in the study. She’d like a word.”
I head the way Nesbitt has come, pushing open a heavy oak door, and am greeted by, “You look like you could do with one of these.” Van lights a cigarette and offers me one but I shake my head.
The study is wood-paneled. There’s a large desk made of chrome and black glass, covered with rows of plates. I go over to take a closer look. On each small plate is a heap of different-colored material. The piles are mostly fine grains, herbs perhaps, but some are coarser than others and some look like large seeds.
I reach out to touch one of the piles. “Please don’t,” Van says and I withdraw my hand. She’s sitting on a chair at the side of the room and is dressed in a pinstriped man’s suit today. “I’ve been working on the potion for Gabriel, finding the correct combination of ingredients.”
“You’ve got it?”
“Yes, now that the final two ingredients are here.”
“Which are . . . ?”
“The rain that fell when we were in Geneva is one. Nesbitt collected some of it: fallen at night, at full moon.”
“That really makes a difference?”
She looks at me as if I’m mad. “Everything makes a difference, Nathan.”
I remember my gran said that plants’ properties were different depending on the cycle of the moon when they were picked, so I guess rainwater could be different too. And why not anything else? My healing abilities change with the moon.
“And what’s the other ingredient?” I ask.
“Oh, I think you know that,” Van says, and stubs out her cigarette.
And the way she says it and looks at me gives me the feeling that something of me is the ingredient. “My blood?” I guess.
Van smiles up at me. “Oh no, dear boy—it’s much darker than that. We need to use your soul.”
Magical Mumbo-Jumbo
I’m sitting behind the desk in Van’s study, watching her smoke another of her cigarettes.
“Gabriel can’t find his way back to himself because his Gift is so strong—exceptionally strong. He has become such a good fain that he can’t recover that element of himself that is the Black Witch.”
“I guess that sounds plausible,” I reply.
“Gosh, thanks, Nathan.” She comes over to lean on the desk close to me. “But that Black Witch element of him is still inside. He needs to find it and he needs a strong witch to guide him to it.”
“But why me? I’m not a Black Witch; I’m a Half Code.”
“White, Black, half and half—it doesn’t matter. He needs a witch he trusts. And he trusts you completely. He also believes you’re a great witch.”
I shake my head. “No, he doesn’t.”
“Have you any idea what he really thinks of you?” She drags on her cigarette. “He sees you as the ultimate witch.”
“What?”
“The rejoining of Black and White in one person. As the original witches were, with the strengths of both sides.”
“Oh! But . . .” But I really don’t know what to say to that.
Just then there’s a knock on the door and Nesbitt comes in, carrying a tray. “Grub’s up!” he says. “Just brought you some tea and toast, Van.”
“Thank you, Nesbitt. Could you ask Gabriel to join us as well, please?”
“Now?”
“That’s the general idea,” Van says.
And Nesbitt disappears, saying, “I’m not actually a servant, you know. I’m a partner in this relationship and I think we both know who the most hardworking one is . . .” But his whinging fades as he walks down the corridor.
“I’d be lost without him.”
I’m not sure how to say that they seem totally incompatible so instead I go with, “He’s very handy.”
“Yes, he is. I trained him in most things. And, to be fair, he’s a good learner. We’ve been together for twenty-five years.”
“Twenty-five?” Van looks no more than twenty to me but she always acts much older, more experienced. “How old are you, Van?”
“A rather rude question if you don’t mind me saying. But one of the many uses of potions is the option to keep a more youthful appearance.”
Gabriel comes into the room and closes the door, virtually pushing it in Nesbitt’s face. His complaints can be heard through the heavy wood.
“Gabriel, thank you for coming so quickly. I was just telling Nathan that we are nearly ready to help you get back to your true self.”
“OK,” Gabriel says cautiously, and sits down opposite me.
“So what do we do?” I ask.