Dreams (Sarah Midnight Trilogy 1) (6 page)

OK, so he got that right. But what about going through my stuff?

Sarah looked around her. Her room was her sanctuary. The idea of someone touching her things … And what on earth could he be looking for? She took a deep breath. She’d have to wait until after school for an explanation.

She took a quick shower, dried her hair, and got dressed in her uniform: a short black skirt, black tights, a white shirt, and a grey jumper, with a grey and blue tie. Everything she wore had to be spotlessly clean, perfectly ironed and sitting straight. She just couldn’t have it any other way. She examined herself mercilessly, adjusting her skirt, smoothing down her shirt, undoing its buttons and doing them up again. She tied her silky hair back in a high ponytail, making sure not even a single hair escaped from it, grabbed her bag and was ready to go … But hesitated.

She went back to stand in front of the mirror, and did it all over again. She adjusted her skirt, smoothed her shirt, undid her hair and did it up again, and she knotted and unknotted her tie until it was perfectly straight.

Now she was ready.

To think that many girls in school were envious of her beauty, of her obstinate perfection. If they knew how exhausting, how heartbreaking it was for her, to keep doing those rituals of perfection – how much she would have loved to throw on her uniform and run out of the door without feeling that, if she’d done that, the world would collapse around her. How she would have loved to be able to stop tidying, to stop cleaning, to stop straightening things. How she would have loved to lie on her bed and read a book without worrying about upsetting the duvet, to have a shower without having to throw herself on all fours on the floor with a facecloth and dry every single drop, to get out of the house without worrying to the point of tears if she had left everything the way it was supposed to be.

Her obsessions drove her parents crazy. Her parents – her mum especially – would have been happy to live in chaos. They couldn’t understand – or maybe they didn’t want to see – that Sarah’s constant cleaning and tidying wasn’t simply a character trait, but came from her terrible anxiety, a chronic state of terror that had consumed her since she was a child.

Night after night Sarah had lain in an empty house, waiting to hear the key in the door, and her parents’ footsteps on the stairs. Only then, when she knew that her parents were back from the hunt, that they were alive, could she breathe again. Every evening, just after her parents went out, Sarah would clean every surface in her kitchen, she’d practise her cello, she’d tidy her room until everything was sitting perfectly straight; and then she’d slip into bed, arranging the duvet and pillows around her in a way that only she knew, in the way they had to be. If she did all that every night, in the right order, her parents would come home safe. It was her secret pact with God, with destiny, with the universe – she didn’t know with whom or what, but it seemed to work.

As it was working so well, Sarah decided to extend it to every part of her life – her hair had to be perfectly braided, her school uniform impeccable, her books arranged by colour, her shoes neatly aligned against the wall, following an invisible line of perfection. If anything was out of place she’d be beside herself with anxiety, because something terrible was going to happen to her parents, and it’d be all her fault. Before she knew it, her life had been taken over by the tidying and cleaning and arranging and straightening, and not a moment of her day was spent without some sort of ritual.

James and Anne understood nothing of this. They fooled themselves that Sarah was simply a very tidy, precise little girl. It had been Aunt Juliet who noticed that something was not right, and she had mentioned it to Anne.

But Anne had said that Juliet was worrying over nothing.

Sarah understood. They were Midnights. They had to hunt. They had to live that dangerous, impossible life. If their daughter was terrified, exhausted with all the tasks she set herself, they’d rather not see. It would have been too much to bear. So the secret pact went on, swallowing Sarah’s life bit by bit.

When her dreams started she got even worse. Nearly every night – especially around the full moon – Sarah dreamt. And nearly every night she woke up to an empty house, screaming. She’d get up and start tidying, until every single object in her room was perfectly aligned to the invisible grid she had in her head. This calmed her a bit, but not completely.

In the end, her pact hadn’t worked. The force she’d made it with – God, the universe, whatever it was – didn’t keep their part of the deal, and one night she waited in vain for the sound of the key in the door, the footsteps and soft voices. Instead, it was the police, to tell her that her parents were dead.

Harry came out of the kitchen as Sarah was in the hall, putting her jacket on and wrapping her long, cream scarf around her neck – twice, that was the way she
needed
to do it.

“Be good,” he teased. Sarah looked at him, her eyes green, narrowed, like a cat’s.

“Goodness. You’re scaring me.” And he meant it. The Midnight gaze could be very intense, and occasionally it could have a strange effect on people. And on other things as well. He’d seen the real Harry using it a few times.

“Look, Sarah. You need to trust me. Right now, you have no choice.” He was suddenly serious.

“I know. Otherwise you’d be out the door by now.” Sarah used the iciest tone she could find, and turned away.

Then she spun round.

“When exactly did you go through my stuff?”

“While you were sleeping.”

Sarah was aghast.

“How? I’m a very light sleeper. I would have heard you.” Her voice was shaking, and she hated herself for it.

“Let’s just say I’ve got my methods.” Harry held her gaze. They faced each other for a few seconds.

It was Harry who looked away.

“I’ll see you this afternoon. Come straight home, there’s a lot of work to be done.”

Sarah didn’t answer, and walked down the gravelly path, towards the wrought-iron gate that marked the entrance to her home.

“Sarah! Sarah, wait, I’ll give you a lift!” Juliet’s shrill voice reached her just as she was stepping onto the road, but she ignored it.

Juliet stood on the doorstep beside Harry, and sighed.

“Well, I think I’ll go home now. I’ll be back this afternoon.”

“Why hurry, Juliet? Do stay,” said Harry, and his eyes were steely. He laid a hand on Juliet’s arm, and led her back into the house.

Sarah stood frozen on the school’s stone steps. Keira McCarthy had just passed her, blue shadows under her eyes, her pale face set in sorrow.

Keira’s older sister had disappeared two weeks before, at the same time that Sarah’s parents died. She had vanished into thin air. Sarah knew that they were never going to see her again. Because it was she, Lily McCarthy, that Sarah had turned into blackwater. There had been no way to just kill the demon and save Lily. But at least she had been the creature’s last victim. The third and last. Two other girls had disappeared, not far from there. Sarah thought of the creature’s sickly yellow skin, the long, thin claws, the full horror of the hunt rushing back …

“Sarah. It’s good to see you back.”

Sarah jumped out of her skin. A tall man with a handful of papers in his hands had appeared at her side. The head teacher, Mr McIntyre.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He took her elbow in a familiar, gentle gesture.

“Hello, Mr McIntyre.” Sarah waited for her heart to slow down.

“Sarah, I want you to know … Well, if you need to talk, you know where I am.”

She felt choked for a second. She looked into Mr McIntyre’s kind face. He and her mum were not only colleagues, but good friends. Anne had taught music at the Trinity Academy for many years. As much as it could be difficult to go to the same school her mum taught at, Sarah enjoyed seeing Anne around, exchanging a few quick words, a look. At least that way she got to see her mother, which didn’t happen often, given that she and her father were out hunting nearly every night.

Sarah couldn’t believe that she would never see her mother again. She blinked a few times. She wouldn’t let the tears fall onto her cheeks; she’d keep them all in, even if they’d suffocate her.

“Thank you,” she said hurriedly, and walked away. In her haste, she bumped into someone.

“Oh, I’m sorry …”

“Sarah!” She felt a pair of arms squeezing her affectionately. A distinct scent of bluebells enveloped her.

“Bryony.” Sarah returned the hug, hiding her face in her friend’s sweet-smelling hair. It was wonderful to see her again.

“You’re back! This place was a desert without you. Oh, Sarah, I’m so sorry. I wanted to come to the funeral, half the school wanted to, but we weren’t allowed. They said family only. But to me you
are
family …”

Bryony had been Sarah’s best friend since they were three years old. She was a petite girl, with bright, curly red hair that she wore loose on her shoulders like a little beacon. While Sarah was quiet and kept herself to herself, Bryony was chatty, lively, and popular with everyone. She was forever trying to drag Sarah to parties and clubs and after-school classes, without much success. Sarah spent most of her time practising her cello.

“Are you coming tonight?”

“Coming … where?”

“To my house. I’m having Leigh and Alice up; we’ll get chips and watch a film or something … I know it’s kind of … well, it’s so soon after … but a bit of company will do you good. My dad can come and collect you. You know, with those girls disappearing …”

Nobody else is going to disappear now. At least, not at that creature’s hands.

“Bryony, sorry, I just can’t. You have no idea how much I’ve got to sort out …”

No, you really have no idea.

“Of course, sorry.” Bryony’s face fell. “What’s going to happen now? I saw Siobhan a couple of days ago. She said you’d be moving in with them …”

“No. That’s not going to happen.” Sarah’s eyes were blazing.

“You can always come and stay with us. You know the way my mum is, she’d have you any day, just fit an extra bed somewhere …”

Sarah smiled, in spite of her sadness. Bryony was the eldest of five children, and they always seemed to have a crowd staying at their large, messy, cheery house. Sarah was sure that Bryony meant it – that had she asked, her mum and dad would have taken her in. But that was impossible.

“Thank you, but I’m sorted, for now. My cousin arrived yesterday. From London.” The thought of Harry made her tense up.
The man with the dagger, the one I saw in my dream, looked just like him. He was standing at the end of my bed when I woke up. He went through my stuff in the middle of the night.

The girls walked down the corridor to their Maths class, and sat together. Mr Combs, a young man with an incredibly boring, monotone voice, was standing at the desk already, waiting for the bell.

“I didn’t even know you had anyone on the Midnight side of the family,” whispered Bryony.

“I only saw him once.”

“How long is he staying for?”

“I don’t know. Hopefully long enough so that I don’t have to move.”

Mr Combs called for attention, and the double Maths period started crawling slowly to the eleven o’clock mark.

Juliet lay slumped across the living-room floor, her face white as marble, her eyes closed, her hair spread on the carpet. Shadow was sitting upright beside her, her tail tapping menacingly, keeping guard in case
he
came back.

What is a small cat to do, when a six-foot-tall man decides he wants her out of the picture? Shadow knew she didn’t stand a chance, but she was brave, and fearless. She didn’t run away. She kept watch.

If he came back, Shadow wasn’t going to give in without a fight.

Sean was calmly sipping a cup of coffee, sitting at the computer in the basement. James Midnight’s inbox was on the screen, and Sean was scrolling down through his emails, looking for … There. There it was. The solicitor’s note.

        I am sorry to inform you that your nephew, Harry Midnight, has disappeared. He has been reported missing by his housekeeper, Mrs Elizabeth Boyle. Please contact me if …

Delete.

Delete, delete,
delete
.

His body was overflowing with anger, white-hot anger, and his heart was pounding.

Harry is dead. Harry is never coming back.

Then he took a hold of himself. He focused on his breathing, in and out, in and out … Slowly …

After a few minutes he felt calm again. He switched the computer off and stood up.

Harry Midnight, I’ll keep my promise to you. If it’s the last thing I do, I won’t let you down.

Sarah was sitting in the canteen. In front of her, on a tray, was a ham sandwich. She was looking at it with disgust. Plastic bread, plastic ham, probably made two weeks before. She had no intention of eating it.

“Come on, Miss Fussy, it’s just a sandwich!” laughed Bryony.

“No way,” said Sarah, and started peeling an orange.

“Why no lunch with you anyway?” asked Alice, snatching the sandwich from her tray.