Halfway down the alley is a wooden door, and above that, hanging out over the street, rather than a written sign, is a metal gourd, small and more rusty orange than red. This is the place.
The door is oak and almost black with age. Nesbitt pushes it open and enters. Gabriel is ahead of me and he holds his arm up toward me as an indication to go slow and take care. We move forward, down four stone steps which curve to the left, and go through a dull red, heavy, woven curtain that hangs from a black metal rail.
We’re in a low-ceilinged, narrow room with a bar running the length of the wall and a number of wooden tables with red candles on them and chairs with red padded seats. Behind the bar is a tanned, middle-aged man with spiky blond hair and intense blue eyes with black glints crackling in them. A Black Witch.
Nesbitt greets him and introduces us. The barman is called Gus. When he’s introduced to me he doesn’t shake my hand as he does Gabriel’s. He says in a strong German accent, “Half and half, eh?”
Nesbitt laughs. “You got that right: half human, half animal.”
Gabriel says, “And always pissed off—though I can’t imagine why when he’s in your company, Nesbitt.”
“Anyone else here yet?” Nesbitt asks Gus.
“Celia and a Half Blood girl with her. Two more Whites due any minute.”
So Celia has avoided being caught since we last saw her in Barcelona.
I walk to the end of the room to check it out. There’s a cubicle at the far end and it’s occupied. I expect to see Celia but she isn’t there. A girl is. She stands when she sees me and smiles.
“Good to see you, Ivan,” she says. “You’re looking as scruffy as usual.”
I go to her and put my arms round her. “Nikita.” And it really is her, my friend from London. I keep hold of her. She feels small and I look at her face, still so young, her eyes that amazing blue-green of Half Bloods.
“It’s good to see you, Ellen,” I say.
She suits the name Nikita better. That’s what she said her name was the first time we met, when I called myself Ivan. But, whatever she’s called, I trust her totally. I hug her again.
She smiles. “You’ll ruin your reputation. You’re supposed to be mean and moody.”
Nesbitt appears at my shoulder and says, “Don’t worry, kid, he can change in an instant.”
I don’t, though. I really am in a great mood, seeing Ellen again.
I introduce her to Gabriel and Nesbitt and, while she explains who she is to Gabriel, I scan her face, trying to gauge if she has any news, any bad news, from the world of White Witches.
She says to me, “I know you’re worried about Arran but he’s fine. He’s left London and is on his way to France. I’m going up to meet him after we leave here.”
“He’s joining the rebels?”
“Yes. Things are moving fast now. It’s all gone crazy. The Hunters attacked a gathering of Black Witches outside Paris a week ago. Twenty were killed in the fighting and the rest were captured; the adults were taken prisoner but the children were executed. Jessica had them all hanged. Soul put out an announcement about it, saying it was an important victory and a step forward for all White Witches. He said the children didn’t have to suffer Retribution in this case, that he was being lenient. But the adults he took aren’t to suffer Retribution either. He’s using them for research into witch abilities.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“Basically Wallend is experimenting on them.”
I shake my head but somehow I feel I shouldn’t be surprised. “He’s sick” is all I can think to say.
“The Council says that it’s valid research for the protection of all White Witches. Course no one knows exactly how this will protect them, but the Council says that anyone who objects is against White Witches and is supporting Blacks. Everyone is having to declare which side they’re on. And most of the White Witches are saying they support Soul and Wallend.”
“And Deborah?” I ask. “Is she in France with Arran?”
“You’d better ask Celia about her. That info’s above my pay grade.”
“And what is your pay grade? Aren’t you a little young to be a rebel fighter, Ellen?”
“I’m not a fighter; I’m a scout. But, Nathan, you have no idea how useless most White Witches are. Honestly, most of them are like fains; none of them have ever learned how to fight. They left it all up to the Hunters. The best you can say about them is that they’re good at healing potions. The most useful people in the Alliance are the ex-Hunters and the Half Bloods. Except there are only two ex-Hunters and nine Half Bloods.”
“What about Black Witches?” I ask.
“Some have joined but few have your skills, Nathan.” I reel round to face Celia, who continues: “Which is why we’re grateful that you’re here.”
“I don’t care how grateful you are.” I swear at her and my hand is on my knife. “Keep away from me, Celia. I’m serious. Don’t sneak up on me.”
“I wasn’t sneaking up, Nathan.”
“And don’t fucking argue with me!”
I walk away from them to the far end of the room. Gabriel comes with me.