Half Lies (6 page)

18th February, 2014

Gab’s making plans to go. He needs to get some money for flights, but he’ll be gone as soon as he has enough. He wants me to go with him. I’m not sure.

I said, “But what about Dad?” Gab didn’t reply and I really don’t know what to do about Dad at all.

19th February, 2014

Aiden’s been round to see Gab, and Gab told him we were both leaving. I didn’t stay to talk to Aiden but afterward Gab told me the latest. There’s been more trouble. Worse trouble. A White Witch, a girl, was killed on our territory. A gang of Whites came over, hoping to trap Aiden and the Half Bloods. There was a running battle and the girl was knocked over and killed by a van driven by one of Aiden’s Half Bloods.

Gab says, “The next Black caught on their land will be killed. I know it. I’m glad we’re leaving. You have to get away from here, Michèle.”

I think Gab suspects I’ve been to see Sam—he knows what I’m like. I’m still hiding my journal and I don’t think he’s ever found it.

• • •

I’ve decided I’m going to go to Switzerland with Gab. I want to stay and be with Sam, but that can never happen. I dream of us running away together, but I know that’s impossible. Where would we go? There’s nowhere that Black and White Witches can live together. Nowhere. And I want to be with Gab too, and he wants me with him. But if I stay I have a bad feeling that Sam will come over here. If Aiden catches him, it would be terrible and it would be my fault. The only option is to leave.

20th February, 2014

I had a dream last night that I transformed to look like Caitlin and I went to the Bean Counter and met Sam and he started to make me a coffee and I asked if he’d give me a free chocolate-chip cookie and he said he only did that for Michèle. I told him I was Michèle, but he ignored me and spoke to Ethan, who was working at the till. I transformed back to me to show Sam, but he still saw me as Caitlin. He called me Caitlin. I told Ethan to back me up, to confirm I was Michèle, but he just showed me his leg that still had the dagger sticking out of it, and said, “Look at that. Look at that.” And I woke up.

• • •

I do believe that our Gifts reflect our true selves, but I’m not sure what my Gift says about me. I thought it meant I was in tune with Black Witches and Half Bloods, as I can transform into Gab and Caitlin, but I don’t feel in tune with Aiden. Gab thinks it’s simpler than that. He says it shows how much I love him and Caitlin. He added, “But, when you transform, you don’t really become those people—all you do is experience how the world reacts to those people. When you transform to look like Caitlin, you aren’t her. You’re still you.”

I asked him, “And you? Are you still the Black Witch Gabriel?”

He didn’t answer.

22nd February, 2014

I’m going to see Sam tonight, one last time. I sent a message to the Bean Counter with Caitlin. We’ll meet at the cemetery like before. I know he’ll understand about me going to Switzerland, but I need to tell him. I really love Sam. I want to tell him that too.

Dad,

I found this diary of Michèle’s when I was going through her things. I think you should read it.

I found the letters from Sam too, and I’ve left them on the kitchen table. They’re beautiful—and remind me of the ones you sent to Mum.

I’ve been trying to make sense of it all. I’m still not sure exactly what happened, but I know for certain that Caitlin betrayed Michèle to Ethan, and he and his friends killed Michèle. My hands shake when I write that. I’m still so angry and afraid for Michèle. I hope she didn’t suffer too much for too long, but I lie awake at night thinking the worst.

Despite what he has done—taken Michèle’s life from her and from us—I can’t blame Ethan for wanting revenge for the attack on him. I can’t blame Sam either; he loved Michèle and I’m certain he knew nothing of what Ethan had planned. The Whites have punished Sam: from what I’ve heard, he was imprisoned for a month, which is nothing, but his life is ruined forever. Caitlin, I do blame—she knew Sam and Michèle were in love and knew they were going to meet. Michèle would still be alive if it wasn’t for her. The worst of it is that she was Michèle’s friend. Michèle trusted her.

Aiden and his Half Bloods caught Caitlin three days ago (they went onto White territory to snatch her). She’s dead now. I hoped I’d sleep better after that, but I realize now that it will take much more time. And that hurts me so much too—to think of my time, my life ahead, without Michèle in it.

Skylar has asked the White Witches to send Michèle’s body back, but they’ve refused. I fear that’s because her injuries are worse than we would want to know. (Aiden’s informer says she was hanged but before that who knows what they did?) Now the White Witches are using Caitlin’s death as an excuse for further reprisals, and Aiden is loving it. He delights in fighting and will never stop; this is all just an excuse for him. As for me, I’ve had my revenge and I want to forget it if I can.

I loved Michèle, and I love her still, and I’ll always have her in my heart. She was, is, and shall remain my darling, wonderful, kind and loving, plate-throwing sister. I want to remember her as she was on the beach when she had her Giving—that was a perfect evening and she was truly beautiful. I can’t think of her without tears in my eyes now, but I believe I will someday smile at the thought of her, as I do when I think of our mother. Michèle wanted what she couldn’t have—maybe we’re all guilty of that—but the more I think of it I don’t see that as a fault. She loved you and I hope you know how much.

I’m sorry to leave you. Skylar will check up on you, and Aiden too. I’ve tried to tell you all this, but I’m not sure you’ll remember any of it. I’ve left as much money as I can with Skylar, but she will not buy you any booze.

I have to go, both to get away from this place and to see Mercury in Switzerland, in the hope that she’ll help me get back to my true self. Whatever happens, I doubt I’ll ever come back here.

So much of this breaks my heart, and I know yours is broken too.

Gabriel x

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The routine is okay.

Waking up to sky and air is okay. Waking up to the cage and the shackles is what it is. You can’t let the cage get to you. The shackles rub but healing is quick and easy, so what’s to mind?

The cage is loads better now that the sheepskins are in. Even when they’re damp they’re warm. The tarpaulin over the north end was a big improvement too. There’s shelter from the worst of the wind and rain. And a bit of shade if it’s hot and sunny. Joke! You’ve got to keep your sense of humor.

So the routine is to wake up as the sky lightens before dawn. You don’t have to move a muscle, don’t even have to open your eyes to know it’s getting light; you can just lie there and take it all in.

The best bit of the day.

There aren’t many birds around, a few, not many. It would be good to know all their names, but you know their different calls. There are no seagulls, which is something to think about, and there are no vapor trails either. The wind is usually quiet in the predawn calm, and somehow the air feels warmer already as it begins to get light.

You can open your eyes now and there are a few minutes to savor the sunrise, which today is a thin pink line stretching along the top of a narrow ribbon of cloud draped over the smudged green hills. And you’ve still got a minute, maybe even two, to get your head together before she appears.

You’ve got to have a plan, though, and the best idea is to have it all worked out the night before so you can slip straight into it without a thought. Mostly the plan is to do what you’re told, but not every day, and not today.

You wait until she appears and throws you the keys. You catch the keys, unlock your ankles, rub them to emphasize the pain she is inflicting, unlock your left manacle, unlock your right, stand, unlock the cage door, toss the keys back to her, open the cage door, step out—keeping your head down, never look her in the eyes (unless that’s part of some other plan)—rub your back and maybe groan a bit, walk to the vegetable bed, piss.

Sometimes she tries to mess with your head, of course, by changing the routine. Sometimes she wants chores before exercises but most days it’s push-ups first. You’ll know which while still zipping up.

“Fifty.”

She says it quietly. She knows you’re listening.

You take your time as usual. That’s always part of the plan.

Make her wait.

Rub your right arm. The metal wristband cuts into it when the shackle is on. You heal it and get a faint buzz. You roll your head, your shoulders, your head again and then stand there, just stand there for another second or two, pushing her to her limit, before you drop to the ground.

You get up. She will have been counting, but never letting up is another tactic.

She doesn’t say anything but steps toward you and backhands you across the face.

After push-ups it’s just standing and waiting. Best look at the ground. You’re by the cage on the path. The path’s muddy, but you won’t be sweeping it, not today, not with this plan. It’s rained a lot in the last few days. Autumn’s coming on fast. Still, today it’s not raining; already it’s going well.

“Do the outer circuit.” Again she’s quiet. No need to raise her voice.

And off you jog . . . but not yet. You’ve got to keep her thinking you’re being your usual difficult-yet-basically-compliant self and so you knock mud off your boots, left boot-heel on right toe followed by right boot-heel on left toe. You raise a hand and look up and around as if you’re assessing the wind direction, spit on the potato plants, look left and right like you’re waiting for a gap in the traffic and . . . let the bus go past . . . and then you’re off.

You take the drystone wall with a leap to the top and over, then across the moorland, heading to the trees.

Freedom.

As if!

But you’ve got the plan, and you’ve learned a lot in four months. The fastest that you’ve done the outer circuit for her is forty-five minutes. You can do it in less than that, forty maybe, ’cause you stop by the stream at the far end and rest and drink and listen and look, and one time you managed to get to the ridge and see over to more hills, more trees and a loch (it might be a lake but something about the heather and the length of summer days says you’re in Scotland).

Today the plan is to speed up when you’re out of sight. That’s easy. Easy. The diet you’re on is great. You have to give her some credit, ’cause you are super healthy, super fit. Meat, veg, more meat, more veg, and don’t forget plenty of fresh air. Oh this is the life.

You’re doing okay. Keeping up a good pace. Your top pace.

And you’re buzzing, self-healing from her little slap; it’s giving you a little buzz, buzz, buzz.

You’re already at the far end, where you could cut back to do the inner circuit which is really half the outer circuit. But she didn’t want the inner circuit and you were going to do the outer whatever she said.

That’s got to be the fastest yet.

Then up to the ridge.

And let gravity take you down in long strides to the stream that leads to the loch.

Now it gets tricky. Now you are just outside the area of the circuit and soon you will be well outside it. She won’t know that you’ve gone until you’re late. That gives you twenty-five minutes from leaving the circuit—maybe thirty, maybe thirty-five, but call it twenty-five before she’s after you.

But she’s not the problem; the wristband is the problem. It will break open when you go too far. How it works, witchcraft or science or both, you don’t know, but it will break open. She told you that on Day One and she told you the wristband contains a liquid, an acid. The liquid will be released if you stray too far and this liquid will burn right through your wrist.

“It’ll take your hand off,” was how she put it.

Going downhill now. There’s a click . . . and the burning starts.

But you’ve got the plan.

You stop and submerge your wrist in the stream. The stream hisses. The water helps, although it’s a strange sort of gloopy, sticky potion and won’t wash away easily. And more will come out. And you have to keep going.

You pad the band out with wet moss and peat. Dunk it under again. Stuff more padding in. It’s taking too long. Get going.

Downhill.

Follow the stream.

The trick is not to mind about your wrist. Your legs feel fine. Covering lots of ground.

And anyway losing a hand isn’t that bad. You can replace it with something good . . . a hook . . . or a three-pronged claw like the guy in
Enter the Dragon
 . . . or maybe something with blades that can be retracted, but, when you fight, out they come,
ker-ching
 . . . or flames even . . . no way are you going to have a fake hand, that’s for sure . . . no way.

Your head’s dizzy. Buzzing too, though. Your body is trying to heal your wrist. You never know, you might get out of this with two hands. Still, the trick is not to mind. Either way, you’re out.

Got to stop. Douse it in the stream again, put some new peat in and get going.

Nearly at the loch.

Nearly.

Oh yes. Bloody cold.

You’re too slow. Wading is slow but it’s good to keep your arm in the water.

Just keep going.

Keep going.

It’s a bloody big loch. But that’s okay. The bigger the better. Means your hand will be in water longer.

Feeling sick . . . ughhh . . .

Shit, that hand looks a mess. But the acid has stopped coming out of the wristband. You’re going to get out. You’ve beaten her. You can find Mercury. You will get three gifts.

But you’ve got to keep going.

You’ll be at the end of the loch in a minute.

Doing well. Doing well.

Not far now.

Soon be able to see over into the valley, and—