Half Bad (10 page)

I was always afraid to talk about him because the Council might be listening, but now it feels like
he
is listening.

And then I’m angry at him, and angry at Gran, and I say, “He’s powerful and ruthless. He kills White Witches and takes their Gifts. He mainly kills members of the Council, and Hunters too, and their families. His Gift, the one he didn’t steal from other witches, is that he can turn—transform—into animals. This means he can eat the hearts of witches whose Gifts he wants. He becomes a lion, or something like that, eats their beating hearts and steals their Gifts.”

I’m breathing heavily.

“His mother was Saba; she was killed by Clay. Saba killed Clay’s mother, Virginia. Saba struggled with being indoors at night. So do I. And I guess Marcus is the same.

“I’m good at drawing, and Marcus is too. I’m rubbish at reading, and I guess that’s one of the few things Marcus is bad at. I have weird noises in my head, and I bet that runs in the family as well.

“Marcus hates White Witches. I’m not fond of most of them either. But I don’t go around killing them!” I shout that last bit at the treetops.

“He leaves no survivors. He kills women, children, everyone, except he didn’t kill my mother. He would probably have killed Jessica, Deborah, and Arran, but they were with my gran the night he attacked my mother. He killed their father.”

Silence.

I look at Mary and speak quietly now. “He didn’t kill my mother. He didn’t kill Gran either, though you say they’ve met. You say Gran knew him better than you did, so I guess they met more than once . . .”

Mary nods.

“So Marcus knew my mother. And Mother didn’t hate him . . . or fear him, or despise him?”

“I don’t believe so.”

I hesitate. “But they couldn’t be . . . friends . . . or lovers . . . That would be . . .”

“Unacceptable,” Mary says.

“If they were, they would have to keep it secret. . . . Though my Gran found out?”

“Or knew from the start.”

“But either way it wouldn’t make any difference; Gran couldn’t do anything except try to keep it secret too.”

“That was the best way, the only way, in which she could protect your mother. I admit she did well, considering. I believe your mother and father met once a year.”

“So, Marcus and my mother . . . they wanted to see each other . . . they arranged to meet, sent the kids to Gran’s . . . but the husband turned up unexpectedly . . . and Marcus killed him.”

Mary is nodding to each one of my statements.

“But my mother killed herself because of the guilt. . . .” I sense Mary is shaking her head.

“Because she couldn’t be with Marcus?”

Mary is still shaking her head.

I hold my gaze away from her, eventually saying what I have always known. “Because of me?”

Mary’s hand is on my arm and I turn to look at her pale eyes, watery with age. “Not in the way you think.”

“How many ways can there be?”

“I suspect she hoped that you would look like her, like her other children. You didn’t. It was clear once you were born that your father was Marcus.”

So it was because of me.

Mary pushes me on. “What would the Council want your mother to do?”

I remember Jessica’s story and the card she said had been sent to Mother. I say, “Kill me.”

“No. I don’t think the Council has ever wanted that. But your mother was a White Witch; she loved a Black Witch and had his child. And, because of her relationship, her husband—a White Witch, a member of the Council—was killed.”

The truth leaves me hollow. They would want her to kill herself. They made her do it.

The next morning Mary makes porridge. She sucks hers up slowly, making disgusting noises. I haven’t slept, and the slurping sets me on edge.

Between spoonfuls she says, “Your gran has done the best she can with you.”

I scowl at her. “My gran has lied to me.”

“When?”

“When she didn’t tell me that she had met Marcus, that she knew Marcus. When she didn’t deny that my mother was attacked by him. When she didn’t tell me that the Council was responsible for my mother’s death.”

Mary pokes me with her spoon. “If the Council ever found out where I was and what I’d helped you discover, what do you think they’d do to me?”

I look away.

“Well?”

“Are you trying to tell me that they would have killed Gran?”

“And will do.”

I know she’s right, of course, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.

Mary gives me a string of chores to “help me get out of my morning grouchiness.”

As she supervises my scraping out of the chicken house, I say, “Gran told me that you left the Council in disgrace.”

“Well, I suppose that’s one way of describing it.”

“How would you describe it?”

“A lucky escape. Finish that and close it all back up. Then make some tea and I’ll tell you.”

I boil water on the stove in the cottage and Mary sits outside in the sun. When I bring the tea she pats the grass beside her. We lean back against the wall of the cottage.

“Remember, Nathan, the Council is dangerous. They will not allow anyone to show the slightest weakness toward Black Witches. I was foolish enough to once voice a concern I had. I worked as a secretary for the Council. My job was to keep the records. They have many files and I kept them well, but one day when I was tidying up I had a few minutes of free time and I decided to read one. It described the Retribution delivered to a Black Witch. It was horrific.

“I stupidly told one of the Council members that the Retribution was terrible. This was not a problem. Retribution is terrible, it’s supposed to be, and if I had stopped there nothing would have happened. But I didn’t. It bothered me greatly. I couldn’t sleep. I had always known about Retribution but somehow I hadn’t realized how much suffering was inflicted. A month of torture before they let the witch die. I worked for the Council because I believed White Witches were good, superior, and I was now faced with the fact that they were as bad as Black Witches, as bad as fains, as bad as them all.

“There was a Black Witch in the cells and I knew what they would be doing to him.

“It was stupid to even try to help him. He would never be able to escape. But I was full of righteous anger. And so I did what I could.

“I pretended that I was mad with hate at the Black Witch. He had killed the family of one of the Council Members so it wasn’t hard, though in truth they were a stuck-up snotty bunch who always treated me like muck.”

She slurps her tea.

“I made an excuse to get into the cells. I didn’t really have a plan, I had no weapon, but by the door was a table and on that were knives and . . . other things. Instruments of torture, I suppose you’d call them. I picked up a knife and started screaming and shouting and pretending to attack the prisoner. It was pointless as an attack. There was no possibility that I could have killed him. But in the struggle with the guard I made sure that the knife landed within the reach of the witch who was chained in the cell. He stabbed himself in the heart within a second of picking it up.”

Mary put her teacup down.

“I pretended that I was mad. I got off. But there were doubts. Some thought I was faking it. So now I try to . . . Oh, what’s that phrase? Stay off-grid.”

“Wow.”

“Yes, I’m often surprised at what I did. But I don’t regret it. I saved that man from weeks of torture.”

“Who was he?”

“Ah, a good question at last.”

She puts her hand gently on my arm.

“He was Massimo. He was Marcus’s grandfather.”

* * *

Later that morning Mary makes me memorize the instructions for my departure. They are similar to the ones for my arrival.

“Is this a spell to ensure that I’m not followed?”

“One of my specialties and, though I say so myself, quite tricky to accomplish well. Most witches don’t have the patience for it. You have to take time over each step. And, if you do, even Hunters can’t track you.”

“Hunters would follow me here, I suppose.”

“Hunters follow you everywhere, Nathan, and always have. Apart from your journey here. And your journey away from here,
if
you follow the instructions.”

“They always follow me?”

“They’re Hunters, Nathan. The clue is in the name. And they’re very good.”

I nod. “Yeah, I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do. Never underestimate the enemy, Nathan. Never. Hunters follow you everywhere and could kill you at any time. They want to, Nathan. But they work for the Council and the Council manages to keep them in check, just.”

“So I should be grateful to them?”

Mary shakes her head. “The Council is more dangerous than the Hunters, remember that too. They use the Hunters. They use everything they can.”

I’m not sure what she means by “everything.” I say, “Gran has told me they use spies.”

“Yes, spying is one of their favorite methods. Trust no one, Nathan. Not friends, not even family. If they’re White then the Council will use them as spies if they can. And they usually can.

“The Council and Hunters are united in one aim: they want Marcus dead. And all his bloodline too.”

“Yesterday you said that you thought the Council has never wanted to kill me.”

“Not yet. At the moment they think that you are more use to them alive.”

“So they want to use me to trap Marcus?”

“I’m sure they have considered it, probably tried it. But there’s more than that. Don’t go to any more assessments. Find Mercury. She will hide you until your Giving. Go as soon as you can.”

I nod again, but I can tell she is building up to tell me one last thing. But she goes quiet again.

I say, “There’s something else I’ve remembered about Marcus. A few years ago there was an attack on a family of White Witches, the Greys. Marcus killed them. But I think he was trying to get something that they had. Something called the Fairborn. Do you know what that is?”

Mary nods. “Yes, I do. It’s a knife.”

“Why would Marcus want it?”

“It’s a special knife. A vicious thing. Fairborn is the name of the man who made it, over a hundred years ago, I believe. He engraved his name on the blade. I came to know the knife very well during the investigation that the Council made into my attack in the cells: it’s the same knife that I threw to Massimo. It was Massimo’s knife.”

“I see why Marcus would want it back.”

“No. I don’t think you do, Nathan.”

Mary rubs her forehead with the back of her hand and sighs.

“Marcus visited me a few weeks ago. He came to ask me a favor. He sees glimpses of the future . . . possible futures. I think it’s a burden more than a Gift. He told me one of his visions, one that he first had many years ago and still sees today. He wanted me to tell you about it. He thought if you knew, you might understand him better.”

“He has a message for me! And you’ve waited till I’m leaving to tell me?”

“If it was up to me I wouldn’t tell you at all. You must understand, Nathan, this is a vision. A
possible
future. It is only that. But the more store you set in visions the more they have a habit of coming true.”

“Do you have any idea how much I want to hear from him?” I walk away from her and then back again, leaning close to her face. “Tell me.”

“Nathan, there are many White Witches who see visions of the future. If Marcus has seen this vision, you can be sure that the Council will know of it too. Marcus wants you to understand him but also understand the Council.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“There are two weapons that together will kill your father. Both are protected by the Council, until they are ready to be used.”

“What are they?”

“The first is the Fairborn.”

“And?”

“The other weapon is—”

But then I don’t want to hear it. I know what she is going to say, and there is a sound in my head like thunder and animal growling and I want it to stay, grow louder, because this message is not the message I have been waiting for. It has to be wrong. Mary is saying it, but maybe I haven’t heard it right with this noise in my skull. And if the noise carries on I won’t have—

“Nathan! Are you listening?”

I shake my head. “I won’t kill him.”

“That is why you must leave. If you stay any longer with White Witches, the Council will make you do it. You are the second weapon.”

It’s just one possible future.

That’s the mantra I repeat to myself. There are millions, billions, of possible futures.

And I won’t kill him. I know that. He’s my father.

I won’t kill him.

And I want to see him. I want to tell him. But he believes the vision. He won’t want to see me. Ever.

And if I try to see him he’ll think I want to kill him. He’ll kill me.

* * *

Mary has given me the address of Bob, her friend who will help me find Mercury. She says that I should leave immediately and I tell her that I will, though I’m just saying words. I don’t know what I will do.

I head home.

I want to talk to Gran. I need to ask her about Marcus. She has to tell me something. And Arran’s Giving is now only a day away. I want to be with him for that and then I’ll leave.

I arrive in the evening. It’s still light. Gran is in the kitchen making a cake for after the Giving ceremony. She doesn’t ask about Mary’s party.

I don’t say “hello” or “missed you” or “how’s the cake coming on?” I say, “How many times have you met Marcus?”

She stops what she’s doing and glances at the kitchen door saying, “Jessica’s come home for Arran’s Giving.”

I move close to Gran and say quietly, “He’s my father. I want to know about him.”

Gran shakes her head. She tries to persuade me that she’ll tell me tomorrow but I threaten to shout for Jessica to come and hear the story too. Even though Gran must know I’d never do that, she slumps down in the chair and, in a voice that’s only a murmur, she tells me all she knows about Marcus and my mother.

* * *

In our bedroom I open the window. It’s dark now and a thin sliver of moon is rising. Arran gets out of bed and hugs me. I hug him back for a long time. Then we sit on the floor by the window.

Arran asks, “How was the birthday party?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Can you tell me anything?”

“You tell me about tomorrow. How are you feeling?”

“Fine. A bit nervous. I hope I don’t mess it up.”

“You won’t.”

“Jessica’s come back for the ceremony.”

“Gran told me.”

“Will you come?”

I can’t even shake my head.

He says, “It’s okay.”

“I wanted to.”

“I’d rather you were here now. This is better.”

Arran and I talk for a bit, reminiscing about the films that we watched together, and eventually talking more about his Giving. I say I think his Gift will be healing, like our mother’s. She had a strong Gift, and she was exceptionally kind and gentle; Gran has told me that. I think Arran will be like her. He thinks it will be a weak Gift, whatever it is, but he doesn’t mind, and I know he’s being honest.

Much later he goes to bed and I draw a picture for him. It’s of him and me playing in the woods.

I sit on the floor through most of the night, my head by the open window, watching Arran sleep. I know that I can’t stay for the Giving, not if Jessica will be there. And I can’t tell Arran where I’m going. I can’t even tell him good-bye.

I’m still trying to make sense of my mother and father’s relationship, and why Gran hid it from me, but in the end it’s easier not to think about it at all.

It’s still dark when I leave. Arran is sprawled across his bed, one foot over the side. I kiss my fingertips and touch them to his forehead, put the picture on his pillow, and scoop up my rucksack.

In the hall I switch on the table lamp and pick up the photo of my mother. She looks different to me now. Perhaps her husband loved her—he looks happy enough—but she looks sad, trying to smile but squinting instead.

I put the photo down and walk quickly through the kitchen.

As soon as I’m outside I feel the relief of fresh air. I take a step, two at most, before I hear the hiss of mobile phones rushing at me. Two black figures appear and their hands are on my arms and shoulders, turning me and slamming me into the house wall. I struggle and am pulled away from the wall and slammed into it again. My wrists are cuffed behind my back and I am pulled away from the wall and slammed into it again.

* * *

I’m back in the assessment room. My restraints had been removed after the journey down, which was in the back of a car with a Hunter either side of me. I gathered from their conversation that Gran was in another car that was following behind.

I think about Arran’s Giving ceremony. Gran will not be there, and I realize Jessica came back not to attend the ceremony but to conduct it. The Council will have given her the blood. Arran will hate it. And that’s all part of it too. They love to twist the knife.

I stand before the three Council members. The Council Leader speaks first. “You have been brought here today to answer some serious questions.”

I make an effort to look wide-eyed and innocent.

The woman to the right of the Council Leader gets up from her chair and slowly walks around the table to stand in front of me. She’s shorter than I expected. She’s not in the white robe that Council members normally wear for my assessments; she’s wearing a gray pinstriped suit with a white blouse underneath. Her high heels click sharply on the stone floor.

“Pull up your sleeve.”

I’m wearing a shirt over a T-shirt, and the cuffs are undone as the buttons have been lost long ago. I raise the arm of my left sleeve.

“And the other one,” the woman says. Now that she is close to me I can see that her eyes are dark brown, as dark as her skin, but they contain silver shards that spiral slowly, almost fading and then reappearing brightly.

“Let me see your arm,” she insists.

I do as she says. The inside of my arm is marked by a series of faint thin scars, twenty-eight of them, one for each day that I had tested my healing ability.

The woman takes my wrist between her forefinger and thumb, gripping hard and raising my arm so that it’s directly in front of her eyes. She holds it there and I can feel her breath on my skin, then she lets me go and walks back to her seat. She says, “Show your arm to the other Council members.”

I step forward and hold my arm out over the table.

Annalise’s uncle, Soul O’Brien, hardly gives it a glance. His hair is slicked back in a yellow-white sheen. He bends to the Council Leader’s ear and whispers.

I wonder if they know about the scars on my back. Probably. Kieran would have bragged about what he’d done.

“Step back from the table now,” Soul says.

I do as I’m told.

“Can you heal cuts?” he asks.

Denial seems ridiculous but I never want to admit to anything here.

He repeats his question and I stand silently.

“You must answer our questions.”

“Why?”

“Because we are the Council of White Witches.”

I stare at him.

“Can you heal cuts?”

I carry on with the staring.

“Where have you been for the last two days?”

I don’t take my eyes off him but I answer this one. “I was in the woods near our house. I camped out for the night.”

“It is a serious offence to lie to the Council.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You were not in the woods. You were not in any area that the Council has given you approval to be.”

I try to look innocently surprised.

“In fact, we could not find you anywhere at all.”

“You’re mistaken. I was in the local woods.”

“No. I am not mistaken. And, as I said before, it is a serious offence to lie to the Council.”

I’m still holding his gaze, and I repeat, “I was in the woods.”

“No.” Soul doesn’t sound angry, more bored and unimpressed.

The Council Leader holds her hand up. “Enough.”

Soul looks from me to his fingernails and reclines in his chair.

The Council Leader calls to the guard at the back of the room, “Bring Mrs. Ashworth in.”

The latch rattles and Gran’s footsteps approach slowly. I turn to look at her when she is standing beside me, and I’m shocked to see a small and frightened old woman.

The Council Leader speaks. “Mrs. Ashworth. We have asked you here so that you can answer the accusations leveled against you. Serious accusations. You have failed to comply with notifications of the Council. The notifications clearly state that the Council must be informed if there is any contact between Half Codes and White Witches and White Whets. You failed to do this. You also failed to prevent the Half Code from moving to unauthorized areas of the country.”

The Council Leader looks down at her papers and then up again at Gran. “Have you anything to say?”

Gran is silent.

“Mrs. Ashworth. You are the Half Code’s guardian and it is your responsibility to ensure that the notifications are followed. You have failed to ensure that the Half Code remained in certified areas and you have failed to inform the Council of meetings between the Half Code and the White Witches Kieran, Niall, Connor, and Annalise O’Brien.”

“My grandmother doesn’t know about anything. And I had no intention of meeting Kieran, Niall, and Connor. They attacked me.”

“Our understanding is that you attacked them,” the Council Leader replies.

“One attacking three. Yeah, right.”

“And Annalise? Did you intend to meet her?”

I go back to staring.

“Did you intend to meet Annalise? Or attack her? Or something else?”

I want to kill her with my stare.

The Council Leader turns back to Gran. “Mrs. Ashworth, why did you ignore the notifications?”

“I didn’t ignore them. I followed them.” Gran’s voice is shaky and small.

“No. You did not follow them. You have failed to control the Half Code. Or perhaps you knew of his trips to unauthorized places and decided not to inform the Council of these infringements?”

“I followed the notifications,” Gran repeats quietly.

The Council Leader sighs and nods to Annalise’s uncle, who pulls out a piece of parchment from under the desk. He reads out times and dates of when I left home, where I went, and when I returned. Every trip to Wales.

I feel sick. I was so sure that I had not been followed. But there is no mention of the trip to see Mary. Her instructions worked, but clearly my disappearance aroused suspicion.

“Do you deny that you made these trips outside authorized areas?” the Council Leader asks.

I don’t want to admit anything still, but denying it seems pointless now. “My gran didn’t know what I was doing. I told her I was going to the woods, where I am authorized to be.”

The woman says, “So you admit you failed to comply with the notifications. You lied to the Council. You deceived your own grandmother, a pure White Witch.”

Annalise’s uncle says, “Yes, it is clear that he has tried to deceive us all. But it is Mrs. Ashworth’s responsibility to ensure compliance with the notifications. And”—he pauses now to look at the Council Leader who inclines her head slightly—“as Mrs. Ashworth has clearly failed to do that, we will have to appoint someone who can.”

At that moment a huge woman steps forward from the far corner of the room. I had noticed her before but I thought she was a guard. She comes to stand to the left of the table. Despite her size she moves with grace, and though she stands straight, almost to attention, she has a poise that is strange, as if she’s a cross between a dancer and a soldier.

The Council Leader produces another parchment from beneath the table saying, “We agreed to a new resolution yesterday.” She reads slowly:

“
Notification of the Resolution of the Council of White Witches of England, Scotland, and Wales.

“All Half Codes (W 0.5/B 0.5) are to be educated and supervised at all times only by those White Witches who have the approval of the Council.”

“He is educated under my supervision. I am a White Witch. I am teaching him well.” Gran’s voice is timid. It is almost as if she is talking to herself.

The Council Leader says, “Mrs. Ashworth, it is clear that you have failed to comply with at least two of the notifications of the Council. Punishments have been considered.”

Considered? What does that mean? What would they do to her?

“But the Council agrees that we are not here to punish White Witches. We are here to assist and protect them.”

The Council Leader starts reading from the parchment she holds. Annalise’s uncle is looking bored and studying his fingernails; the woman in the gray suit is looking at the Council Leader.

I can’t dodge past the guards behind me, but there is a door in the far wall through which the Council members enter the room.

The Council Leader reads on, but my attention is not on her. “. . . and we realize that the task . . . too onerous. The new notification . . . relieve you of the burden . . . the education and development of a Half Code . . . not to be taken lightly . . . monitored and controlled.”

I run for the far door, leaping onto the table between the Council Leader and the woman in gray. I jump from the table to shouts from the guards and the Council Leader reaches a hand out too late to grab my leg. It is five or six strides to the door and I’m clear of them all. Then the noise hits me.

A high-pitched whirring sound fills my head so suddenly that I’m unable to do anything but clamp my hands over my ears and scream. The pain is excruciating. I am on my knees, staring at the door, unable to move. I scream for the noise to stop, but it carries on to blackness.