Half Lies (2 page)

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Later: Gab put in some extra holds for me, some big ones that I can use easily, so I can now climb onto the roof. There’s a flat bit at the back over Dad’s studio and Gab’s taken a mattress up there, as well as candles and blankets. Gab doesn’t sleep inside anymore. He was struggling with it before his Giving, but now he says the headaches and sickness are just too bad. If it’s raining hard he shelters inside by an open door or window but doesn’t sleep well like that. I asked him if I could stay up on the roof with him. I haven’t started with the headaches yet, but I’m not 17 for 9 months. And Dad is a full witch and isn’t so sensitive to staying indoors. He sleeps fine in his studio or his bedroom as long as the window’s open. His Gift is potions, but it isn’t very strong. He’s not a powerful witch.

19th February, 2013

Gab is reading. I am bored.

20th February, 2013

Bored.

21st February, 2013

Bored. Bored. Bored.

22nd February, 2013

Gab disappeared before lunch and I walked into town to look for him. I tried all the coffee shops and the secondhand bookshops and eventually spotted the car (noticeable because it’s so old and battered) coming toward me and I flagged him down. Gab took me into Tampa because I was so fed up, but then he said he had to “do something” and he’d meet me “at that coffee shop later.” So I wandered around for a bit and then went to the Bean Counter. Sam, the barista (remember him? I certainly do!), said hello and asked me if I wanted anything. Of course I did, but I didn’t have any money so I told him that I was waiting for someone.

Sam said, “Well, would you like a drink while you’re waiting?”

“Is it OK if I just wait?”

“Sure.”

He asked, “You waiting for the same guy as last time?”

“Yes. We didn’t really set a time.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s called Gabriel. He’s my brother.”

“Your brother?” Sam smiled at me (and I smiled back).

Sam has a lovely smile (doesn’t everyone?) but he really is nice and good-looking and calm. I get the impression nothing gets him flustered or annoyed.

I hoped Sam would stay to chat, but he had to go and clean up as it was near closing time. I read a newspaper and a bit later Sam came to sit with me.

“Your brother isn’t very reliable.”

“No. Well, mostly he is, but sometimes he isn’t . . .”

“Do you want a drink? On me?” I think Sam had worked out I didn’t have any money—I mean, no one would sit there like that otherwise. So I moved to the counter while he made my coffee (extremely slowly—or was I imagining that?). He asked where I came from, so I said, “I was born in France; lived in France and Switzerland.” (I didn’t list the other ten zillion countries.)

“Your English is good.”

“My mother was English. We always spoke English with her. French with my dad.”

I thought he was going to ask about the “was” but he said, “So there’s just you and your brother?”

“And my dad. He’s Swiss.”

“Your accent sounds English to me.”

“Your accent sounds American to me.”

He smiled (perfect teeth!). “My mom’s from Tampa, my dad’s from Tampa, my brother’s from Tampa, I’m from Tampa. It’s a Tampa accent, I guess.” It’s a very sexy, slow accent. And he has a habit of pushing his hair back (blond, straight). His eyes are light brown and he has tanned skin. Sam is sort of golden. Golden Boy.

I had my coffee and the shop closed and Sam hung around with me for ten minutes until my brother appeared, and all the time I was hoping Gab would be even later. When I walked to my brother, I looked back at Sam—the sun was setting and everything was glowing gold.

So that was pretty much a perfectly perfect afternoon.

23rd February, 2013

Bored. Gab and I are just hanging around the house. I want to go to Tampa to see Sam, but not sure if that makes me seem too keen.

24th February, 2013

Gab disappeared and has been gone all day and is still not back (it’s now nearly midnight).

25th February, 2013

We were all reunited at breakfast. Gab had a pile of cash but wouldn’t say how he got it. I ended up shouting at Dad, telling him that it was his fault that Gab was having to steal, and if Gab got into trouble then, like everything else bad in our lives, it was down to Dad. He opened a bottle of wine, took a swig and said, “You sound just like your mother.” Then he walked out of the room and into his studio.

Gab just said, “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I’m careful.” Which is of course a load of CRAP. And I told him that and then threw some things at him (plates and a pan that were to hand) and then I drove into Tampa (I admit I took some of the stolen cash and I’m not sure I should be driving but I was angry).

I went to the Bean Counter and Sam spent his lunch break with me. I told him I’d argued with my dad. Of course I couldn’t tell him the real reason for the argument, all the witch stuff. Sometimes I think the hardest thing about being a witch is not being able to talk about it. But anyway Sam was a great listener. He asked about Mum and I told him she’d died in an accident, but a huge part of me wanted to tell him the truth. I don’t like lying to him.

I spent all afternoon there and Sam sat with me when it was quiet. We talked lots. He told me about his mum, dad, and brother (who all sound normal) and the music he likes (no bands I’d heard of) and that he plays the guitar. I stayed until closing time again and he walked me to my car. It was another perfect afternoon, and was made even more perfect when he asked me to go to the cinema with him on Saturday. Five days away—seems like forever!

27th February, 2013

Everything is so unfair!!!!

I’m not allowed to go to Tampa. Seriously not allowed. And it’s not even because I took the car without permission.

TAMPA IS WHITE WITCH TERRITORY.

I know this because this morning we had visitors—Skylar (the local Black Witch head honcho) and her son Aiden. I think Aiden is a little older than Gab. He didn’t say much but just stood in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the wall, arms folded. It seems that Aiden and Gab met by chance yesterday and Aiden realized that Gab was a witch. He and Skylar came over to explain how things work here. She said, “It’s a little stricter than in France, but not as bad as Britain.” (But then nowhere’s as bad as that.) The Black Witch community in this part of Florida is apparently small in numbers but has a large territory covering smaller towns and vast areas of countryside. The White Witches have city areas, Tampa being the main one, and they have a much bigger community. Skylar said that the Black Witches stick to their “historical lands” and the White Witches to theirs.

Gab said, “Sounds a lot like how things work in France, so how is it stricter?”

“If a Black Witch is caught on White Witch land, they’re punished and sent back.”

“Punished how?” Gab asked.

Skylar held up her left hand and the index finger was missing. “A finger is taken. When I was younger it was a sign of coming of age: a Black Witch would go into the center of Tampa, be seen, be chased, and hopefully get away, though there are a number of us with only nine fingers. Some Black Witches would do it on their seventeenth birthday; some would do it when they’d found their Gifts. Some did it at both stages. Some,” she said, looking round at Aiden, “did it more.” Aiden grinned, but I noticed that he still had all his fingers.

Gab asked, “The Whites can tell that we’re Black Witches?”

“There are a number on both sides who can identify witches by their appearance; we can tell from the way people move and behave. Aiden is particularly good at spotting it.”

Aiden said, “There are some Whites who are good at sensing it too and we each make sure we know who is who. There are nearly five hundred Whites in Tampa and it’s hard to keep track of who they all are, but I do my best.”

“So you go onto their land to spy?” I asked.

“Sometimes. But not so often now; they know me too well. My main job is to catch them when they come over here.”

“And do they come?”

“Yes. They like to show how brave they are by spending the night on our land. We have a much bigger area than they do, and there are only about a hundred and fifty Black Witches so it’s easier for Whites to find quiet spots. There’s a small group of Half Bloods—half Blacks—that I use to patrol our territory. They know the White Witches by sight. Half Bloods are always good at knowing who’s who; they have their own network and can travel freely on both sides.”

“We can trust the Half Bloods?”

“I trust the ones who work for me.”

Skylar added, “We treat Half Bloods with respect, but they have their own community. They’re not true witches.”

“What do you do if you catch a White Witch?” I asked.

Aiden answered, “We scar their faces. It helps us identify them in future, but I’ve never known one to come back.”

• • •

After Skylar and Aiden left, Gab asked me if I’d been to Tampa in the car. I told him I just drove to the beach, on our land.

He said, “I wish you wouldn’t lie to me, Michèle.”

But really I don’t see the problem with going to Tampa as the chances of being caught are minimal.

Michèle, do not—I repeat—DO NOT go to Tampa.

Who is this Sam guy anyway?

Gabriel

Dear Gab,

You’d like him. He’s nice.

M

Michèle,

There are plenty of nice boys living outside Tampa.

GabRIEL

28th February, 2013

In other depressing news: I tried to take my mind off the Sam/Tampa situation today by being busy. I shopped and then cooked dinner this evening—roast chicken. Not too hard, you’d think, but I managed to burn it AND dry it out. Dad took one bite, forced it down with a large glass of wine, lit a cigarette, and went back into his studio.

I’ve noticed that Gab hasn’t let me out of his sight today (“Just thought I’d come to the shops with you,” “Just thought I’d help out in the kitchen”). I suspect lack of trust re the Sam/Tampa situation, and the car keys are not left on the kitchen worktop or in Gab’s jacket as normal.

I trust you, Michèle.

Gabriel

Dear Gab,

Don’t lie.

M

OK. I trust you in lots of things but not always to be sensible.

Gabriel

Dear Gab,

I am about as trustworthy and sensible as you.

M

Exactly!!!

1st March, 2013

I’m supposed to be with Sam at the cinema tomorrow night. This is so not fair. I might as well be in prison. Gab is sticking to me like glue. I thought he’d lower his guard so I could sneak away—but I’m getting the feeling that isn’t going to happen.

Dear Michèle,

Correct.

GabRIEL

2nd March, 2013

I found a payphone in town and rang Sam’s mobile, but he didn’t answer. So I left a message saying that I wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t come tonight. I said I’d ring again tomorrow. He can’t ring me back because we don’t have a phone of any kind. I’d told Sam that I didn’t have a mobile and I’m not sure he believed me (I said my dad wouldn’t let me have one, which is pretty much the truth). Black Witches don’t use them and despise fains and White Witches for relying on them. Gab doesn’t have one, and Dad thinks they’re evil. Dad hates all gadgets. We don’t have a TV and certainly not a computer—we’re lucky to have a car! I have a radio to listen to music, and Dad complains about that. I’ve tried to tell him it’s good for the news and finding out what’s going on in the world, and he says, “Why would anyone want to know that?”

3rd March, 2013

So I rang Sam again this morning and we chatted. I suggested we meet up in Bradenton, but he didn’t seem so keen. He said he was working every day in the Bean Counter and wouldn’t finish till late—but really it’s not that late and he could make it if he tried. Then he said he had to get back to work as some customers had just come in. He asked me for my home number and I said I didn’t have one and he obviously didn’t believe me as he just said, “Right, well . . . Gotta go,” and hung up.

I could tell he didn’t really think that I’d been ill or didn’t have a phone. It’s all so unfair.

I really, really like him.

5th March, 2013

When it stopped raining last night Gab and I went up onto the roof. I’m feeling a bit down—partly the Sam thing, but mainly missing Mum, and I’d had another argument with Dad in the afternoon. I don’t want to argue with Dad, but it just happens. I can’t talk to him. I don’t think he can talk to me either; he hardly even talks to Gab.

Michèle,

You need to get out of the house more. Want to come to the beach?

Gabriel

Dear Gab,

It’s March.

M

M,

It’s Florida.

Gabriel

Dear Gab,

M

15th March, 2013