“This isn’t right,” I say. “She’s not asleep.”
“No, Nathan. She’s not asleep. She’s in a death-like sleep. No breathing, no pulse to speak of; her body—and her mind—is shut down to the lowest of levels. But there is still life in her.”
“How long can she survive like this?”
Mercury doesn’t reply but goes to Annalise and smooths her hair on the pillow.
“Mercury! How long?”
“A month more. Then it will probably be too late.”
“You have to wake her. Now!”
“I don’t see Marcus’s heart.”
“Wake her and I’ll get it. If she dies I never will.”
Mercury smooths Annalise’s hair again.
“Please, Mercury.”
“Nathan, begging doesn’t suit you.”
I curse her. “Wake her now! Wake her or you get nothing.”
And I’m convinced she’s going to laugh in my face but she says, “I’ve always liked you, Nathan.” She turns to look at Annalise. “And I admit she is looking frail. White Witches have no strength. A Black Witch could survive three times as long.”
“Mercury, you gain nothing by letting her die. You’re not giving me enough time to get to Marcus. It’s impossible.”
Mercury comes to me and looks into my eyes. “So you will kill him? Your own father?”
I look back at her and say it like I mean it. “Yes. I’ll find a way.”
“It will be difficult.”
“I’ll find a way. But only if you wake Annalise. Now.”
“She’ll remain my prisoner until you fulfill your half of the bargain.”
“Yes, yes. I agree.”
“She will be my slave. I warn you, Nathan, I have little patience with slaves or prisoners. I’ll treat her badly. The sooner you destroy Marcus, the less Annalise will suffer.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Very well.”
She turns and kisses Annalise on the lips and, as she does, Annalise’s lips are parted and words on hot breath flow out of Mercury’s mouth and into Annalise. Mercury straightens and smooths her hand down Annalise’s arm, brushes the backs of her fingers down her cheek, saying, “I have begun the process. The spark of life is reignited but it will be hours, maybe a day, before the next stage can take place and she wakes.”
I go to Annalise and take her hand.
“What’s the next stage?” I ask Mercury, turning to look at her, but she’s walking toward the door, leaving already. I’ve no idea if Gabriel’s had enough time to let the others in. I need to delay Mercury but I don’t know how without raising her suspicions. “Is there anything I should do? Will she need water or—”
Mercury half turns, saying, “I told you—”
She’s interrupted by a call. It sounds like Pers but Gabriel wouldn’t be calling. I don’t understand the words but I have a bad feeling.
Mercury looks irritated rather than angry and leaves the room. I go to the doorway, planning on following her. Mercury pulls the tapestry aside and stands there, her back to me. I can see through into the great hall and I can hear Pers again. Now she runs up to Mercury. It’s the real Pers, dressed differently from Gabriel. She sees me too and shouts and points. I’ve no idea what she’s saying but I can guess.
Mercury doesn’t even reply but turns to me and I duck back into the bedroom as a bolt of lightning flashes past. I risk another quick glance into the corridor and see the tapestry falling back into place. Mercury has gone into the great hall. The noise of thunder fills the bunker and the walls of the corridor shake like they might collapse.
I run to the tapestry but before I get there I hear a gunshot, and then an explosion, and another and another, so that the vibrations of each one add to the next until the whole bunker seems to be shaking. There is now a howling gale that I have to battle against to push aside the tapestry and look into the great hall, where I see Van facing Mercury.
Nesbitt is at the far end of the hall, his gun pointed at the body of Pers, who is splayed on the floor, a neat bullet hole in her forehead. For a second, I’m in shock but it isn’t Gabriel; it’s the real Pers—the one wearing different clothes.
Nesbitt turns to point the gun at Mercury but the strength of the wind increases and he can’t hold the gun steady. He can hardly hold himself upright.
I spot Gabriel, no longer in disguise. He’s kneeling in the corner of the room, a gun in his hand, but he can’t hold it steady either. He shoots and misses.
Mercury raises her arms and swirls them over her head and the wind strengthens to a furious pace, picking up all loose items—cushions, papers, a small table—so they circle the room in a tornado. Even the heavy wooden chairs slide around in a strange circular dance and the wind forces me backward into the shelter of the corridor.