He doesn’t reply and I turn to him, annoyed. He knows where it is—he should help me.
But as I turn to him I see what he’s looking at. There’s someone standing on the ridge of the roof. A woman. Tall, slim, dressed in black, a Hunter. And as I look at her more Hunters appear and stand watching us. And my left hand is now frantically searching for the cut. And I say to Gabriel, “Where is it? Where is it?”
And I can feel his hand gripping my hand but he says nothing and I’m shouting at him to tell me where it is. And all the time I’m trying to find the cut and the Hunters are coming toward us.
There must be twenty of them now; more are climbing through the window onto the terrace. And still I’m desperately searching and I’m shouting at Gabriel to help me. “Where is it? Where?”
But he doesn’t answer. The Hunters are all around us. Standing over us. They each hold a truncheon, like the one Clay used on me the first time he met me. He beat me unconscious with it. A Hunter raises hers and swipes it through the air onto Gabriel’s shoulder, and I feel the blow reverberate up my arm. Another Hunter swings her truncheon hard into the side of Gabriel’s face. Blood and teeth spray out but again all I feel is a shock wave up my arm. Yet another Hunter steps forward and I try to move to protect Gabriel—but I’m stuck in place, and all I can do is watch as they form a black wall round Gabriel and take it in turns to step forward and attack him. No one has hit me. Nothing has hurt me. And I know I should find the cut; if I could find it we could still escape. But my left hand won’t even move now—I’m paralyzed.
Then Soul climbs out of the window onto the terrace. He smiles at me. He says, “I’ve always liked you, Nathan. Thank you for bringing this Black Witch to me.”
And he moves to the side and I see that Mr. Wallend is with him. He has a pair of shiny chrome clippers in his hand. He says, “It really won’t hurt at all.”
He snaps shut the clippers and I laugh because it really doesn’t hurt. My little finger is cut off and resting in the palm of his hand. He puts it into a bottle, stops the top with a fat cork, and holds it up and smiles at me. The bottle fills with green smoke. And I too seem to be surrounded by a green mist.
I’m choking in it. I can’t breathe and I have to gasp for air and I hear Mr. Wallend say, “Shoot the Black Witch. Shoot him and you’ll be able to breathe again.”
And I feel a gun in my left hand and I’m choking and in the mist all I see is a gray outline of Gabriel and I know I’ll die. I can’t breathe. I need to breathe. I know I’ve only got seconds.
Wallend says, “Shoot him. Shoot him.”
“No!”
And Wallend takes the gun from me and points it at Gabriel’s head, pulls the trigger, and the green smoke engulfs me.
a a a
*
My eyes open and Gabriel is gripping my hand and staring at me and I know he has had the same vision as me. I shake my head at him. “It’s not real.”
But, before Gabriel replies, the pain in my hand takes over. Van is turning the stake. My hand before was warm and numb but now it is hot and throbbing. I realize it’s dusk. A whole day has gone by but it seemed like minutes.
Van says, “More potion. Then I rethread the stake.”
She holds another small cup out to us. Gabriel’s eyes are on mine. I want to tell him that I will make sure we live. I won’t let us die. I want the drink now. I want to feel dizzy and out of it so I swallow it down in one gulp and shudder at the bitter taste and then let the cup drop from my hand. Gabriel has drunk his too.
“I’ll find the way next time,” I tell him.
He nods.
Van says, “Now I’ll draw this out and put a new stake in.”
And I’m surprised by how drawing the stake out is not painful at all but feels good, a relief. My hand is hot and sore. Van holds up a newly prepared stake and puts the sharp point against the wound in my hand. She pushes it through and the pain is excruciatingly intense and I gasp and—
The Second Stake
We’re climbing up steep, bare rocks. Gabriel is above me and he helps me onto a narrow ledge, pulling me up until I stand next to him so that our arms are touching. I look around. We’re in the mountains: Switzerland, judging by the green slopes below and the snow-capped peaks in the distance.
“They’re coming.” Gabriel points down into the valley at the numerous black specks, like ants crawling around below, but crawling in our direction.
“We need to go,” I say, and turn to head up the mountain.
“How far is it?” Gabriel asks.