Then I feel hands round me. Holding my arms down. And Gabriel’s voice, quiet in my ear, telling me, “It’s nearly over. Nearly over.”
And my cramps are easing and the banging and scraping have gone. And my stomach retches one last time and the red veil lifts and I see the stone floor and Gabriel’s shoulder. And I want to cry with relief, with joy at the freedom, at being able to see again. I say, “It’s dawn.”
Gabriel moves off me and helps me to sit up.
“If that’s the gradual, less intense method . . .” And I’m going to make a joke but I can’t because I do feel different. I feel intensely aware of everything. Every movement of my body. The dampness of the air. The floor, the grains of loose dirt on my fingertips. And colors, even in this poor light—the grays of the room and the black and brown of Gabriel’s hair. I look into his eyes and see that they’re fain as they’ve always been but I see something else too. “I can see something in your eyes. I’ve never noticed it before. Hardly there. Twists of gold but far back and distant. Things witches have.”
Gabriel smiles. “Let’s go outside.”
He helps me up and as soon as I step outside I heal and the intensity is beyond anything I’ve felt before. The air feels and tastes so incredible that I’m almost drunk on breathing. I sit on the grass and the animal in me flares up and fills me with adrenaline again but nothing more, just the joy of being free.
Van and Nesbitt approach. Van puts a tray on the ground between Gabriel and me. On it is a long strip of wide, fine leather; a bowl containing the potion; two small cups made of stone; and one other thing—a wooden stake, about thirty centimeters long, which tapers at both ends to sharp points and widens to be as thick as a pencil in the middle.
I don’t know what the stake is for. Van hasn’t mentioned this. I thought we were going to cut our palms and hold the cuts together but I see no knife and I have a bad feeling that this is where the stake comes in.
Van picks up the potion and dribbles it into the two stone cups. She holds them out to us. “Drink.”
We watch each other and together lift the cups and drink. It tastes disgusting and gritty, like drinking mud.
I move my arm to put the cup down and already the tray looks wrong, like it’s too far away and my hand can’t reach it. Nesbitt takes the cup from me.
Van has lifted the wooden spike. She’s holding it lightly between us. “Nathan, hold the palm of your right hand against the spike. Gabriel, your left hand. Focus on the stake.” And I do as she asks and that helps: it’s the only thing that isn’t moving in and out of focus. Then Van says, “Push your hands together.”
And I smile because it seems like a weirdly good idea and I push and see the wooden spike come through the back of my hand. I wait for pain but all I feel is warmth and elation at seeing the blood drip off the pointed end. My hand feels hot in its center and then Gabriel’s hand grasps mine, our fingers overlapping, blood running down our wrists.
Van binds our two hands together with the leather strip. She says, “Don’t heal. I will twist the stake and rethread it at dusk and dawn until Gabriel is back with us.”
I feel like I’m floating out of my body. I watch Gabriel and I lower our arms so that our staked hands rest between us on the ground. The tray has gone.
I have an urge to touch the stake, so I stretch my left hand out to it. My fingertips touch the end that appears out of Gabriel’s hand. I wrap my fingers round it and as I do I feel my body sinking and in an instant I’m panicking. Mud rises up from the ground, bubbling around me, and there is no ground and all I see is mud and all I feel is Gabriel’s hand in my right hand.
The First Stake
I wake, drowsy, fuggy, my body aching. I blink my eyes open. It’s daytime, light and sunny, and the sky above me is a perfect deep blue. I look around and recognize the roof terrace of the apartment in Geneva. Gabriel is with me, holding my hand just like he did when we were about to go through the cut to meet Mercury. Gabriel is on his haunches and he’s looking away, his hair hanging forward, sunglasses on. His left hand is clasping my right.
And somehow I know I have to find the cut, that this is the way out. The way to find Gabriel’s real self. I’m crouched in the corner of the terrace, my back to the sloping tiled roof. The cut is above the drainpipe. I’ve seen Gabriel use it, been with him when he slid his hand through it. Now I’ve got to find it and keep hold of him and see where the cut takes us.
I’m confident I can do it. I know where the cut is. I raise my left hand and slide it into the space above the drainpipe.
Nothing happens.
But perhaps I missed. A little higher, I think. Still nothing happens. So it must be to the left a tad. No! Then to the right. No, again. Then lower. Maybe I’m doing it too fast, being too impatient.
I say to Gabriel, “Where’s the cut?”
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.
“Just over this peak,” I say. “Not far.” And somehow I know I’m right. If we get over the peak we’ll be safe. We’ll find the way back on the other side.
I set off and for once I’m faster at climbing than Gabriel. He’s falling behind. But it’s an easy route and I know he’ll catch up. I’m nearly at the top when a gray mist descends. There are narrow paths, each looking the same, each about thirty centimeters wide, like a spider’s web through the rocks. I follow one and it leads to a cliff edge and then I follow another and reach a different cliff edge. I run back but I’ve no idea which way I came up or which way is down.
“Gabriel!” I call. “Gabriel!”
“Here!” a voice replies but I know it isn’t him.
I run in panic and see a figure in the mist and then stop and retrace my steps as I know it’s another Hunter. I run in a different direction and call again for him and someone replies but again I know it’s not Gabriel.
I stop and calm myself. I know I can work it out. I follow a path as far as it goes, scramble over a long, flat boulder, jump down, and reach two large standing stones, squeezing between them. The mist clears for a few seconds and I see the valley below. A new green valley without any Hunters in it. The path is steep but easy to run down. I shout for Gabriel.
He doesn’t answer.
“I’ve found the way!” I shout. “I’ve found it!”
I wait and wait.
“Gabriel?”
Nothing happens. The mist sits there as thick and gray as before.
I know I must go back for him. I tell myself that I’ll remember this path, over the flat boulder and between the two standing stones. I creep back, keeping low, hoping that if Hunters are here I’ll be able to steal between them without being seen. Black shapes move and disappear and I dodge back. I take a different path and hear a grunt and I know it’s Gabriel. I know they’ve got him and are hurting him. I move forward and hear another grunt to my right and I follow it. Further to my right I see one black shape standing over another and I know it’s Kieran. He has a gun in his hand and looks up at me as I approach. I say to myself that Kieran is dead and he can’t hurt me and he can’t hurt Gabriel.
Gabriel is lying on the ground at his feet.
Kieran kicks him hard and Gabriel groans and rolls onto his front. His eyes open, fix on me, and he says, “Nathan.”
Kieran presses the barrel of his gun to the back of Gabriel’s skull.
I can do nothing but plead and plead and plead. I say, “Please, no. Please.” And in my head I’m saying that Kieran is dead, it isn’t real, Kieran is dead.
Kieran says, “But you killed me. So now I get my revenge.” And he pulls the trigger and—
The Third Stake
Van is pulling the old stake out. Gabriel is sitting close to me, his head down. He’s covered in sweat. I am too.
I say, “I found the way but we have to stay together.”
He mumbles, “Yes, together.”
Van gives us each another dose of the potion. She helps Gabriel hold his cup as he drinks. It’s getting light now but I’m not sure what day it is or how long we’ve been here.
Van pushes the stake through the wound left by the previous one and everything now is sore and hot and aching, and I grab the stake when it appears out of Gabriel’s hand.
“We stay together,” I say but I feel my voice is faint and I’m falling forward.
* * *
I wake up lying on the ground in a forest. The trees are not so old but tall and thin. Silver birch.
“France,” Gabriel says. “Verdon.” And his voice sounds happy.
“Your favorite place,” I say.
Neither of us moves. I just want to be here in this special place and watch the trees.
“Take me to Wales,” he says. “Your favorite place.”
I’m about to say it’s too dangerous when I realize that I can do it. I want to show him the place I love. I want to go back there. I stand and Gabriel stands with me, my hand holding his. The hillside slopes down in front of us and I ask, “What’s that way?”
“The gorge,” Gabriel replies.
I don’t know how to get to Wales and I look around and wonder if there are any Hunters hiding in the trees.
“Have you seen any Hunters?” I ask.
“No,” he replies.
“Do you know the way to Wales?”
“No. You show me.”
But I don’t know which way to go: the gorge is too steep to climb down and the rest is just woodland and scrub.
I stand there. Wales is north but hundreds of miles away. We could go that way, though. There are no Hunters; there’s nothing to stop us. I’ve just got to choose the direction and lead the way. And still I stand there. I have the strangest feeling. A feeling I never thought I’d have. For a few seconds, I want my cage back, so I don’t have to make any decisions. But I’ve escaped from the cage. And as soon as I remember that, as soon as I realize I’m free to go where I want, I feel the animal adrenaline in me and I know what to do.
I run.
I’m holding on tight to Gabriel’s hand and running fast, through the forest and down the slope. We’re going faster and faster and the only thing ahead of me is the gorge. And I push harder and faster, gripping Gabriel’s fingers, and as I get nearer I see how wide and deep the gorge is. I hear him in my head, the other me, the animal me, and I want to laugh as he roars at me, not in fear or terror but as if to say, “Yes!” All I can do is run faster and faster and leap off the edge and reach forward. Somehow I find a cut in the air and I’m sucked through it, still holding on to Gabriel and hearing the animal in me roaring. And we are swirled through the black tunnel of the cut, quickly spinning into the light, which hits us as hard as the ground.
We’re on a mountainside and the smell of it, the air, the dampness, the light—everything says that I’m back in Wales. The hillside is grass-covered with some bare stones and to our right a small stream tinkers its way down. Gabriel is still holding my hand and I look at it and see that he is bound to me with the leather strap and the stake is there too.
We go to the stream and drink. The water is pure and clear and cold. I’m home. The animal in me knows it too. And I think I know what to do.
I take hold of the stake and drive it into the earth by my side. Nothing happen
s. The animal in me howls a complaint. The earth is the right way but I’ve not done it properly yet. I hold Gabriel’s hand tight and look in his eyes and pull him to me. Our clasped hands are between us, the stake is between us, over each of our hearts. And I tell him, “This is the way back.” Then I push Gabriel away from me and fall forward and feel the stake enter my chest—my heart—at the same time as it enters the earth and the animal’s heart too. The earth and my blood and spirit mingle. And the earth holds me and something is returning up the wooden stake into my wound and between it all is Gabriel’s hand, still held in mine.
* * *
I open my eyes and see Gabriel looking at me. His eyes are those of a Black Witch. Dark brown with gold and chocolate flecks twisting and fading and exploding.
Do Obama
Gabriel, the new Gabriel, showers first. We’ve gone back to his room. I’ve healed my hand and now have a round wound on both the back of my hand and my palm to add to the other scars. I healed it in a few seconds. Gabriel’s hand healed too. I watched. It took him about twenty minutes but it would take a fain weeks. He was grinning the whole time. I think from the buzz of healing and also the buzz of being himself.
He’s a bit unsteady on his feet but insists that washing is more important than food. I’m spaced out with lack of food and sleep but more than wanting food or a shower I want to be with Gabriel. He’s so pleased, so confident. So Gabriel.
Van enters the bedroom. “You did well, Nathan. And you’ll be pleased to hear that I want to move on quickly. I need to get to an Alliance meeting in Barcelona by tomorrow. We leave after breakfast.”
The door to the ensuite opens slightly and Gabriel stands there, a section of him revealed, bare-chested with a towel round his waist, damp hair, big grin, and eyes that are coffee-bean brown with gold twists moving leisurely around the irises.
“I get the feeling this discussion isn’t just about what’s for breakfast,” he says.