Half Wild (21 page)

After burying Mercury and Pers, I join Annalise. She’s been given the task of continuing the search of the bunker and wants to make a map of it. She says, “I keep getting lost. All the corridors look the same.”

I draw the map: the main corridors and the numbers of doors off each. There are three main levels of rooms, each with sublevels, and each connected by steps and slopes. The top level is smallest, the middle a bit larger, and the bottom is the most extensive; that’s the one with the great hall and the entrance tunnel to the bunker. There is definitely no way in other than the one we came through.

The kitchen and food stores are on the top level. The bedrooms, hallway, library, and music rooms are on the lower level, and the intriguing rooms are in the middle. These are the storerooms. The rooms full of the stuff that Mercury has acquired over the years. These are the rooms I expect might contain some weapons—not guns but maybe magical things similar to the Fairborn.

One room is full of clothes and shoes stored in drawers and wardrobes. Annalise holds a dress out. It’s pale pink, silk. “So beautiful,” she says. “Do you think she ever wore them? They all look like new.”

“I don’t know. Mercury only ever wore gray dresses as far as I know.” All the clothes appear to be for the same-sized woman. Mercury-sized. But also the size of her beloved twin sister, Mercy.

The next room contains men’s clothes, but there are fewer things. Three suits, some shirts, three hats, two pairs of shoes, and two pairs of boots. I hold one of the suits up against me. I can tell it’ll fit. I think these might be the clothes of Mercy’s husband, my great-grandfather.

Annalise says, “Do you think it’s OK for me to take something? Something different to wear and maybe something to sleep in? Some shoes as well?”

“No one else is going to use them.”

I wait outside while she tries things on. She joins me, smiling nervously, looking a bit like Van in a masculine pale gray suit.

“It’s nice to put clean things on. They aren’t musty or stale at all. Maybe you should try one of the suits?” I know she’s joking but I don’t want to wear my great-grandfather’s clothes.

“What’s the matter?” she asks.

I shake my head and realize that I don’t feel good but I try to ignore it and say, “I’m glad you’re happy. You seem like you have a purpose.”

“Trying clothes on?”

“No, you know what I mean. The Alliance seems to have inspired you.”

“Yes, it has, and you have too. You’ve shown me that you can do so much if you fight for it. For the first time in years, I can see there’s hope. Hope for me and you and all witches.”

Annalise slips round to stand in front of me and reaches up to kiss me but I feel dizzy and lose my balance and have to lean against the wall, taking deep breaths. The bunker is like a dungeon. The walls feel like they’re coming in on me. It’s the feeling of being inside at night. I say, “I need to get outside.”

On the way we find Nesbitt in the great hall.

He says, “Van thinks that now Mercury’s dead her spell to make it bearable inside is fading. It’s back to the nightsmoke.”

He has already poured some into a bowl and now he lights it. We both lean close and inhale.

The nightsmoke lights the bedroom with a pale green glow. I move my hand through the cool green flame and watch it move across the surface of the milky liquid. Annalise is behind me, snuggling against me; she slides her hands up my T-shirt, saying, “Let’s go to bed.”

I turn and kiss her but hold her arms and back away a little. “I’ve been thinking about that.”

“So have I.” She slides her hands inside my T-shirt again.

“I mean . . .” I can’t say it. We’ve slept together but I can’t talk about it.

“What do you mean? Are you trying to say we should be taking precautions?”

“I don’t want . . .”

She kisses me. “And I definitely don’t want . . . But . . . but I feel that I’ve been given an amazing second chance at life and I’m so lucky to have found you and I don’t want to be sensible; I want to be with you. I don’t want to sleep alone.” She kisses my lips. “I want you to stay with me.”

“And I want to stay with you but . . .”

“We’ll be careful.”

I think I know what she means.

“Or you could just resist me?” And she slides her body against mine, smiling.

“I don’t see how if you do that.”

“I’ll wear a nightdress.”

“I really don’t think that’s going to help.”

She kisses me. “Has it occurred to you that I might be finding you irresistible?”

It hadn’t.

“Well?”

“Um. No.”

“Well, you are.” But she folds her arms and steps back from me. “However, I’ll do my best to resist.”

“OK. Me too.”

“So . . . what shall we do? Play cards?”

I laugh. “Haven’t got a pack.”

“I Spy?”

“I don’t really like games.”

“Me neither. And I’ve just discovered that I don’t really like resisting.”

* * *

We’re lying in bed, cuddled together, going through my lists of good and bad qualities. I’m giving her my good points and she’s giving me the bad.

“Thoughtful.”

“Ha! Uncommunicative.”

“I communicate OK when I have to.” I kiss her. “See, like that. That means . . .” and I was going to say
I like you
but it means more than that and I can’t say it and I know I’m stuck.

“What does it mean, Mr. Communicative?”

“It means . . .”

She kisses me back and says, “I think it means I’ve won that point.”

“Your go then.”

“Loner.”

“What’s wrong with being independent?”

“Silent.”

“I think you mean ‘thoughtful,’ as I’ve just said.”

“Grubby.”

“I knew that one was coming. Tough.”

“Rough.”

“Am I?” I try to be gentle with her.

“I mean the skin on your hands is rough.”

“As I said, tough.”

“Your turn.”

I say, “How about . . . sexy?”

She laughs.

Obviously I’m not sexy. I didn’t think I was and I was sort of joking but I didn’t think she’d laugh at me.

She says, “I love it when you blush and look confused.”

“I’m not blushing.”

“And you can add ‘liar’ to the list too.”

“So I’m not sexy?”

“I really don’t think that’s the right word. That makes me think of fains who spend lots of time in front of the mirror, styling their hair. Which definitely isn’t you. But there’s something about you that makes me want to kiss you and hold you and stay with you.”

“Sweet. I remember you called me sweet once.”

“I don’t remember that. You’re not sweet.”

“Phew!”

“But you are gentle and huggable.” She hugs me.

“I thought you were doing the bad points.”

“Let’s do mine,” Annalise says.

“OK. You do good points, I’ll do bad.”

She says, “Right, well, obviously . . . I’m highly intelligent.”

“A little big-headed.”

“Accurate and precise.”

“Yet unable to follow simple instructions to give one point at a time.”

“Accurate and precise are the same thing.”

Something suddenly occurs to me and I ask her, “Have you found your Gift yet?” It’s almost a year since her Giving.

“Whoa! That’s a change of subject! Or is that a weakness?”

“No, I was just thinking about you being intelligent, accurate, and precise. I mean, it does all sound like potions will be your thing.”

“Oh, I see. Well, I always thought it would be potions but I’m really bad at them. It’s definitely not that.”

“You must have some hidden strength then, one we haven’t worked out yet.” And I kiss her nose. Then I kiss her cheek and ear and neck, climbing over her.

“Um, Nathan, I thought we weren’t . . .”

“I’ve realized what your Gift is.” And I’m kissing down her neck and on to her shoulder.

“What?”

“Being irresistible.”

The next day Van wants Annalise to spend time in the library with her and Gabriel. Nesbitt and I are to continue to search the bunker for anything that will be of use to the Alliance. We head for Mercury’s corridor, as we call it.

There are two rooms of “treasure”: jewels and furniture and several paintings, which we assume are either valuable or magical in some way. “But it’s impossible to know what they do, and I can’t see them being bugger-all use to us,” Nesbitt declares and walks out of the room.

The next room is the “blood room.” Shelves of bottles of blood, stolen from Council stores, that Mercury used to sell for potions or to carry out the Giving ceremony for those without parents or grandparents willing or able to do it. There must be one for my mother here: the blood Mercury would have used if she’d performed my Giving. Each bottle has a glass stopper fixed with a wax seal. Through the wax is a ribbon and to that is attached a label giving the name of the blood donor. There are eleven shelves on three walls and each shelf holds thirty or more slim bottles. Except that some bottles are missing—there are gaps. Perhaps where a bottle has been used or sold. The blood will be useful for Half Bloods, such as Ellen, who helped me when I was in London after I escaped. Ellen’s father is a fain, her mother dead, and the Council will only allow her a Giving if she works for them. Her mother’s blood is probably here:
we
could ensure she had a Giving.

“This stuff is more valuable than all those jewels and paintings. It’ll bring in more Half Bloods to the Alliance than anything else.” Nesbitt grins at me. “Power to the people, eh?”

We move on to the final room in the corridor, which is hard to move around in because it’s so full of jars, packets, and sacks.

Nesbitt says, “It’s like a Californian wholefood salad: packed with natural ingredients.” He passes me a jar and adds, “Not for the strict vegetarians, though.” It’s hard to see through the frosted glass and the light is dim but I can make out two eyeballs floating in clear liquid.

“What use would they be?” I ask.

“None to Mercury now. And, like most of this crap, not much use to the Alliance either.” Nesbitt puts the jar back on the shelf.

We head to the library to find the others. I’m surprised to see Gabriel and Annalise sitting at a table, talking to each other. Before I can join them Van takes me by the arm, saying, “They’re getting on better without you, I think. Leave them to it.” She steers me to the back of the room. “Anyway I want to show you something.”

It’s a tall bookcase filled with absurdly large leather- bound books, each almost a meter high and some as wide as my hand. In the wood of the bookcase is a small brass keyhole. Van takes one of Mercury’s hairpins from her pocket and puts the point into the keyhole. The front of the bookcase opens out to reveal another behind it. This too is filled with leather-bound books but they are all small and flimsy, like school exercise books.

Van pulls one out at random. “They’re Mercury’s diaries. A daily record of all she did and whom she met. I started going through them yesterday, hoping to find details of when and where she made her cuts. I think that’s the way Mercury traveled, and it’s certainly quicker and easier than by car.”

“You’ve not found anything yet?”

“Not about the cuts but Mercury describes everything, including the people she meets. She assesses them, working out who will be of use, how they can be manipulated or controlled, who’s a danger, and who can be trusted—not many in the latter category.”

“Does she say anything about me?” I ask.

“I’m sure she does but I’ve not come to that yet. However, there are other things that might interest you.” She picks up a book that’s lying apart from the others, and I see a page has been marked in it.

She says, “Gabriel found this. Let me read it to you.”

“
In Prague for three days. Saw Dresden. She had a child she wanted me to take, a girl, six years old. A nasty little thing, scrawny, sulky, and far too intelligent for her age. Dresden was keen to show her off, as if I might be impressed. The girl’s clever, I’ll say that for her, but I wouldn’t trust her for two seconds. Dresden calls the girl Diamond, as if she’s a precious little star, but she needs far more than a polish. She would not be worth the effort. I wouldn’t train her for all the diamonds in the world. I’d rather eat my own liver.

“Dresden is an amazingly simple soul. I can almost feel sorry for her. She’s no great beauty: slight, small, brown hair and eyes; she should be forgettable but when she smiles . . . ah . . . her Gift is as simple as a smile, and the room changes, the mood changes. She is mesmerizing. When she wants to she can even lift my mood, make me smile. And Dresden’s laugh is a thing of beauty even to my heart. Her Gift is joy, which is ironic, of course, given that she really brings little true happiness.

“Dresden used her Gift to work her way upward in Black circles, most interestingly with Marcus. She met him when he was going through a particularly miserable phase, and expected to bring joy to him as was her wont. But, while to start with he was captivated, her influence on him grew weaker and he eventually saw her for what she was: a simple girl with a big smile.

“I asked Dresden where she met Marcus. ‘Near Prague’ was her answer, and I got the feeling that could have meant as near as New York or Tokyo. When they met? Here she was a little more giving—
‘
last summer.’”

Van breaks off and goes back a page. “This was written thirteen years ago. So Dresden met Marcus when you were four.” She carries on reading.

“Dresden is bitter about Marcus. She tries to pass it off as if she broke up with him but everyone knows that he has no real interest in her—or any other woman for that matter. A day with Dresden these days is a dreary time and I couldn’t wait to leave once I realized I wasn’t going to get more from her.

“Pilot joined us for one evening. She’s a good companion, such an intelligent contrast to Dresden. She’s moving to Geneva. Told me of a remote valley that I’d like. I’ll go to see it, travel with her. It sounds a suitable place for visitors.

“Pilot seemed taken with the girl. I couldn’t be bothered to argue. I think Pilot is somewhat under Dresden’s spell—though I don’t think that will last long either.”

That’s all Van reads and I don’t feel like discussing it.

I walk to the corner of the room, sit on the floor, and lean against the wall. I wonder about my father. I do believe he loved my mother and I’m sure she loved him. But she was married to another man, to a White Witch, one of her own, and maybe she did try to make that work. Gran told me that my mother agreed to see Marcus once a year, when it was totally safe. But there’s no such thing as totally safe and their final meeting ended in disaster: her husband dead and me conceived. And because of me my mother was forced to kill herself. As for Marcus, what did he get? Not even one meeting a year but a son who’s predicted to kill him.

So it’s not surprising if he sought solace, sought love, elsewhere. I can’t blame him. I wish he’d found it. But I think it’s clear it didn’t happen, and Dresden doesn’t sound like a promising candidate. She definitely smacks of desperation.

He must feel very alone. Totally alone.

And I look across the room at Gabriel and Annalise and I know they love me and I love them and maybe with the Alliance we have a chance of changing the world and making things better, not just for me but for those who care about me.

Gabriel comes over to sit with me.

I say, “You’re speaking to Annalise.”

“Know your enemy,” he replies but smiles.

I’m not sure if he’s joking so I say, “She’s not your enemy.”

“Don’t worry. I’m being polite. We’re both being very polite.” He holds up another of Mercury’s diaries, saying, “Annalise found this; she thought I should read it to you.”

“In Berlin, what was East Berlin. Rain. Damp apartment. Met Wolfgang. Haven’t seen him for twenty years. He looks much the same, only a few more lines on his face. But he’s different: weary, older obviously, and surprisingly a lot wiser too. He wasn’t happy to see me and he made the point that he was leaving for South America now he had.

“He’d spent a few days of the previous month with Marcus. They were never exactly close friends but then Marcus has no friends, though for some reason Wolfgang was one person Marcus could put up with, one person who didn’t irritate him. It is Marcus who has irritated Wolfgang, offended Wolfgang, as he offends all people eventually, by killing someone Wolfgang loved. Wolfgang’s friend Toro, it seems, irritated Marcus in the extreme and Marcus killed him. Toro was jealous of their friendship, Marcus dismissive, then angry, and then violent. Toro sounds like a fool and Wolfgang admitted as much but he says, ‘Marcus knew that. He could have let him go, let him live, but he has this power thing and no patience. None. I mean, not even for a second before the whole animal thing takes over. He can control it but he chooses not to. He killed Toro. Ripped him apart. I found them. Marcus covered in blood. Covered in Toro.’

“Wolfgang went on to say, ‘Marcus should have killed me. I could see he was thinking about it. He washed himself and chunks of Toro fell off him, off his shoulder; a piece was stuck on his arm. He washed in the lake and dressed and walked up to me and I’m sure he was thinking of killing me—not eating me, not that—but just killing me, cold-blooded, with a bolt of lightning or whatever he chose. But he didn’t. I think that’s all about his power too. He takes life, he doesn’t take it. He can do what he likes.’

“Marcus had said to him, ‘I know you don’t believe me, Wolfgang, but part of me is sorry about Toro: the part of me that loves you. I know you hate me for killing him. I think you should go. Don’t come back.’

“Wolfgang’s response was: ‘I left. That was a month ago.’

“He was quiet. A tear ran down his cheek and I thought it was because of Toro but it was because of what he was about to tell me. Because he was about to betray Marcus.

“He told me where Marcus was living. He said, ‘He’ll have moved on but it shows you the sort of place he likes. Always places like that. That is where he feels comfortable. That is where he can make a safe place to live.’

“And I have to say I’m surprised. Marcus has no home. He lives mostly like an animal. In a den. A den made of sticks. Partly underground. A small clearing near a lake. He spends long periods as an animal. He hunts and eats as an animal. Wolfgang says, ‘Sometimes it’s as if he’s losing his humanity.’

“Wolfgang asked him about the infamous vision that his son would kill him. Marcus said, ‘Yes, Wolfie, I believe it. I’ve avoided Nathan all my life. Best put it off for as long as possible, don’t you think? The inevitable. Or do I get it over with?’

“Wolfgang thought Marcus was so lonely, so sad, that part of him, the human part, wanted to get it over with but ironically the animal in him was the part that wanted to live. Marcus told him, ‘As an eagle I know nothing. I feel nothing but flying and living. Imagine that . . . wonderful . . . forever.’

“Wolfgang told me that Marcus meets others only rarely, to keep aware of what’s happening within the different witch communities and to hear any news of his son. That is his only real interest in the human world now—Nathan. For the rest, I think he’d gladly leave it all behind. Marcus washes, pampers himself, and dresses smartly for the few occasions he meets others. There’s still a lot of vanity left in him: he still likes to look in the mirror and the human side comes back. But when he’s in the woods he’s wild.

“Wolfgang said, ‘Wild is an interesting word. We imagine wild to be untamed and out of control but, of course, nature isn’t like that; nature is controlled, ordered, extremely disciplined by all its elements. Animals in herds have leaders and followers; there are disputes but still there is an organization. And animals hunt in certain ways, at certain times and for certain kinds of prey—it is terribly predictable. Marcus is like that—know his ways and you’ll find him. And, if you have his son, eventually he’ll come to you.’”

Gabriel looks back a few pages in the book. “This was dated just a year ago. Mercury must have thought she’d won the lottery when you came looking for her.”