Midnight's Twins

by Holly Race

  Dad shakes his head. ‘She never told me. But …’ Dad rubs his eyes, unwilling to continue.

  ‘But?’ I prompt.

  ‘She’d wake up screaming. “Not him,” she’d be shouting, over and over again. “Not him.”’

  I nod. That doesn’t give me much to work with. ‘Him’ could be any number of people: Medraut, her friend Clement who died alongside Ellen, maybe even the dreamer Lord Allenby said died on their patrol.

  I hand Dad the last chip and stare determinedly down at the empty box. The grease coating the paper lining makes me feel a little ill. It’s got a strange illustration on it, though. A crude drawing of a red eye, and beneath it the words, Come back, Cool Eyes.

  Cool Eyes. That’s Rafe’s nickname for me. It must be a bizarre coincidence.

  ‘Shall we go?’ Dad asks, and I nod silently. I fold the paper lining into my pocket before he throws the box away. Maybe the tiredness is playing tricks on me.

  We head down to the canal that runs along one side of the park and point out the prettier narrowboats, imagining what it would be like to live on one. One of the boats is adorned with flowers. Just off the plank that joins boat to path, several bouquets rest in buckets of water. A woman emerges from the open door.

  ‘How much?’ Dad gestures to the flowers.

  The woman looks at me. ‘Oh, I’ve just the thing for the young lady. Here.’ She takes a note from Dad and offers me a bunch of white peonies and lavender. ‘You’ve got a good father there.’ She nods at Dad before disappearing back inside.

  I’m not usually a flower person, but these are really lovely. We’re much further down the path when I register that something is attached to the ribbon that binds the flowers together, but I don’t have a chance to inspect it, because Dad is leading me back onto the main road that will take us home.

  ‘Note for a note?’ a voice utters nearby. A grizzled man playing an accordion nods to an old coffee cup. I dig in my pocket, but Dad hands me a fiver instead. I drop it into the cup and smile at the man.

  ‘Bless you,’ he says. ‘Take your note then.’

  I look between Dad and him. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘A note for a note, I said. It’s there, in the cup, see?’

  I peer into the cup and slide out a folded piece of dirty paper. My name is scribbled on the outside.

  ‘What? Who are you? How do you –’ But the man has hurried away.

  I round on Dad. ‘What’s going on? Why did you bring me here?’

  Dad holds up his hands. ‘We’re just on a walk, Fern. I’ve no idea what your man there was talking about.’

  He’s lying, I’m sure of it. But Dad is already walking ahead.

  I open the paper and immediately recognise the blocky handwriting.

  You are a knight, Miss King. I knew it months ago. We all forget what’s right from time to time. In Annwn, our mistakes have terrible consequences. You are not Medraut, but you are needed if we’re to win the war against him.

  I don’t need the initials LA at the bottom to know that this is from Lord Allenby himself. Choked up, I fold the paper but keep it in my hand. Could he be right? Does he truly not see me as a liability, or is he just saying that to get me back for this one battle?

  ‘Come on,’ Dad calls back at me. ‘I’ve got to do an evening shift and I want a bite of dinner before I go.’

  Trailing him, I fiddle with my flowers. They now seem like a strange gift to give a tired, ill daughter, especially given what else has happened. I examine the ribbon that binds them. Something’s wound into it. I stop to remove it.

  It’s a plastic toy; the kind you get with kids’ meals. A lion. My own little Donald.

  I swallow, hard.

  ‘Wow, Fern, come and look at this,’ Dad says a little way ahead. I join him, still studying the toy.

  ‘I’m not the expert I admit, and I normally don’t hold with graffiti, but that’s a masterpiece, isn’t it?’

  He’s staring at the wall of a building – one that’s been sanctioned for graffiti. Usually these places are just covered in mindless tags, but this one has been taken over by a single, huge work of art. A grey dragon looms over most of the wall. Its face is strangely human, the hybrid of man and beast rendering it even more monstrous. It towers over a small figure dressed from the neck down in armour. Her hair is pale blonde, and it flies out behind her as if buffeted by a gale. In one hand she holds a scimitar, but it’s her other hand that’s raised towards the dragon’s head. From her outstretched fingertips crackles blue lightning. Then I see that the dragon’s head is made of two shapes: a circle for its upper head, and a V for its muzzle. OV. One Voice. In the bottom corner I get the confirmation I need. A tag: S. ‘S’ for Samson.

  ‘Does it make sense to you, Ferny?’ Dad is watching me closely.

  I nod dumbly, still staring at the beautiful mural Samson has created for me. When Dad speaks again, I hear worry in his voice.

  ‘Ollie told me it might help you feel better. He gave me the route and told me what to do. He wouldn’t explain, and he made me promise not to tell you that he was behind it. Was it – did I do the right thing?’

  For the first time, my father has done something that is just for me. For years I thought that the two people I loved the most would have preferred it if I didn’t exist. Today, I can see that I was wrong, just as I’ve been wrong about so many other things. Ollie and Dad have given me a gift greater than Immral.

  ‘Yes, Dad,’ I tell him. ‘You did okay. You did very okay.’

  When we get home, while Dad busies himself in the kitchen, I tap on Ollie’s door. He’s sitting on his bed, reading a book. From his old speakers comes the sound of a smoky-voiced singer and a guitar. I point to the duvet and he moves his legs so I can sit down.

  ‘You arranged all of that for me?’

  ‘I just made the route and did some organising. The others came up with the flowers and the chips and everything.’

  I look down at the plastic lion and the letter still in my hand. ‘You didn’t leave a message.’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  For a moment I wonder whether Dad forgot part of the route, but then I catch Ollie’s meaning. The whole thing was his message.

  ‘I want to go back, but I can’t.’

  ‘Why not? You read Lord Allenby’s note –’

  ‘It’s not that.’

  ‘Why then?’

  I’ve had a lot of time to study my memories over the past few days and I can’t escape the fact that something in me wants to inflict pain. If I wasn’t twisted in some way, I wouldn’t have done what I did to Jenny and Lottie.

  ‘When you told me to meet you at Wanstead Flats,’ I begin, watching Ollie tense at the reference to the fire, ‘did you … Were you looking forward to seeing me get hurt?’

  I can see that Ollie wants to snap back defensively, so I hold my hands out, a gesture of peace. ‘I’m not trying to have a go at you,’ I tell him, ‘I’m trying to explain.’

  Ollie frowns, clearly not understanding where I’m going with this. But when he answers, he answers honestly.

  ‘The thing is, the fire was never really meant to happen. Jenny wanted to scare you, that’s all. She’s a bitch, obviously, but she didn’t actually mean to hurt you. So I just thought I was helping her play a cruel joke on you. And … yeah, I guess part of me was looking forward to seeing how you’d react, even though deep down I knew it was a horrible thing to do.’

  I nod. ‘That’s it. I knew what I was doing to Jenny and Lottie was wrong, but I did it anyway. And with Jenny, right up until she started screaming, I … I really enjoyed having some power over her.’

  Ollie looks at me quizzically. ‘Yeah, but as soon as the reality kicked in you stopped hurting her, didn’t you?’

  ‘But Lottie –’

  ‘Fern,’ Ollie interrupts, standing. ‘You know I can read memories and emotions, right?’

  I nod.

  ‘Well, I’ve read yours, remember? Believe me, sis,
you’re not a monster.’

  I want, so badly, to believe him.

  ‘They’d never let me turn into Medraut, would they?’ I say.

  Ollie snorts. ‘Delusions of grandeur, much? Fern, you’ve only got half the power. We’d both need to turn into maniacs for that to happen. And we’d need to agree on everything, which doesn’t exactly seem likely, does it?’

  I hadn’t thought of it like that. My greatest fear is, it turns out, nigh on impossible.

  ‘All right,’ I say.

  ‘You’re in?’

  I grin at him, joy and excitement coursing through me. Ironically, I suddenly feel wide awake. ‘Yeah. Let’s do this.’

  49

  After Dad’s left for work, we both depart to our bedrooms early. Ollie stops me before I go up the stairs. He says nothing, only holds my hand for a second. There is no arc of inspyre to acknowledge our connection, but we understand each other.

  For the first time in nearly a week, I sit on my bed with gladness. I rest my portal in my palm for some time. I never thought I’d be able to do this again. I let my heart fill up with gratitude before I open the mirror and almost squeal with delight as the blue light engulfs me.

  The sun is only just rising in Annwn when I land on the platform. Ollie is waiting. I speed ahead of him, longing to see everyone, so it takes a while to realise that Tintagel looks different. The doors have been reinforced, and the drawbridge is now held up by metal rods instead of rope. The gatehouse is packed with guards.

  ‘You’ve all been busy,’ I say.

  ‘We’ve had to be,’ Ollie replies, gesturing to the world beyond the castle walls. Perhaps I wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t been away for a week, but the break makes the slightest change jarring. The ancient oak trees that drape over the castle’s walls are dying, their bark flaking off in clumps to reveal a blank space beneath. As I scan the horizon, a great chunk of stone falls from one of the grand buildings opposite the castle, shattering on the pile of rubble already gathered at its feet. Then I realise that something else is missing from this landscape: the sound of wings. I look up. No angels fly above our heads as they used to. A smaller flock of them lie, exhausted and broken, on Tintagel’s roof. One of them tries to preen his wings, but ends up pulling out a handful of feathers. One drifts down towards me but evaporates into inspyre before it touches my upturned face.

  ‘Let’s go in,’ Ollie says sombrely.

  Inside, the atmosphere is more hushed than usual. The harkers’ stations have been pushed back to make a wider space in the centre of the castle. Those at their desks are scribbling intently. ‘No movement yet,’ one of them says into her helmet. ‘Stand by.’ But as we stride deeper into Tintagel, some of them notice me. Reeves and veneurs pause to offer welcome-back smiles. A mutter goes up in my wake; disbelieving, hopeful.

  Lord Allenby lets out a bark of laughter when he sees me. ‘Ollie’s plan worked then?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Your letter –’

  ‘Was the truth. Even at my most disappointed, Fern, I never believed you capable of turning into Medraut.’

  ‘Was that man with the accordian a friend of yours?’

  Lord Allenby’s eyes twinkle oddly. ‘From time to time.’ He accompanies me to the door of the knights’ chamber. ‘You’re back not a moment too soon. Are you ready?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Samson will make sure you’re up to speed. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have harkers to get into position.’

  The knights’ chamber is blessedly empty when I enter to retrieve my uniform and weapons from my locker. Running my hands over the knight emblem on my tunic, I realise that this may well be the last time I wear this, if Medraut’s successful. Well, at least this time I’ll be going out doing the right thing.

  ‘Fern?’ Phoebe is standing in the doorway, and behind her some of the other knights who have just arrived for their shift. She squeals and runs over, enveloping me in a hug.

  ‘Thank you,’ I tell her.

  Rafe enters next, along with the rest of Bedevere. ‘Cool Eyes!’ he crows, and shouts the news of my return to Natasha.

  ‘I’ve missed you!’ Natasha sweeps over. ‘Not as much as Lamb’s missed you, of course, but …’

  After the exclamations of joy, I find myself walking with Samson to the stables, ahead of the rest of the regiment.

  ‘That was really good graffiti,’ I tell him.

  ‘It felt good to do it for a purpose,’ he says, then looks at me with a brightness in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. ‘Did you really leave because you were worried about what you were becoming?’

  I nod. For some reason the idea of Samson thinking badly of me is worse than Lord Allenby’s disappointment.

  ‘I wish I was as strong as you.’

  I look up in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The story everyone tells about me – the one with the house full of vampires.’

  I nod.

  ‘There’s a reason I’ve never told anyone how I killed them all. The truth is, there’s no way I should have gone in there to start with, and definitely not alone.’

  He pauses, but I don’t try to encourage him to say more. Before we reach the stables, he pulls me to one side, so that we’re hidden a little by the drooping branches of a willow.

  ‘When the harkers sent us to that house, I recognised it. My girlfriend lives there.’

  I smile, to cover for the strange weight that has landed in my stomach at the mention of Samson’s girlfriend.

  ‘She’d been sick for a while, you see, her and her sisters. So when I heard that there were a load of vampires in there everything made sense. I told my regiment to stay put and I marched in there. I couldn’t tell you how I killed them. I don’t even remember myself. I was so angry and frightened. When I came to they were all gone.’

  ‘Did your girlfriend and her family get better after that?’

  ‘Yes, but that’s not the point. They were never mine to save. It should have been my whole regiment going in there. I put myself in needless danger for what? To feel like I’m her knight in shining armour?’ Samson snorts, disgusted with himself. ‘I should have told Lord Allenby then and there, but I was too frightened of being turfed out. Not like you, taking responsibility for what you did.’

  I can’t help but smile a little. It’s not exactly akin to torturing someone for information. Even at his worst, this man is heroic.

  ‘Well,’ I say, stepping away from him, ‘I won’t tell anyone. You have my word.’

  Lamb’s greeting outstrips everyone else’s. She nearly kicks her stable door down in an effort to get to me and knocks me over with the force of her nuzzling. I end up in a heap on the ground with half a horse on top of me. It takes twice as long to tack Lamb up because she keeps sniffing me, as if to check I’m still here. When we leave the stables, knights from other thaneships have arrived – nearly three hundred of them from across the country. But what should be a celebratory occasion is starting to feel like what it is: the build-up to battle, forces amassing. Bedevere is joined by knights from the castles stretching across the centre of the country, from Bristol to Peterborough.

  When everyone is divided into groups on horseback, Lord Allenby rides to the front. He raises a gloved hand. His crossbow is slung across his back, and a hooded morrigan perches on his shoulder. A small team of veneurs rides behind each regiment.

  Lord Allenby turns to address us, and the whole company falls silent. ‘Well done, all of you, for the work you’ve put in to pull this plan together in only a week. You know what happens if we fail. If Medraut is allowed to activate those portals and his treitres go through them, then it won’t be a few hundred lives we’ll have on our conscience. It will be thousands upon thousands. We must keep the treitres in London at all costs, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir!’

  ‘Mr King?’ Lord Allenby nods at Ollie. It is Ollie’s job to try to run interference on any mind-manipulating Medraut mig
ht attempt, by casting his power like a shield over us all. It’s something he’s only ever managed a handful of times in training, and then has only been able to protect a few thanes from my Immral. This is on a far wider scale.

  ‘Be careful,’ I mutter to him. I know how much doing this is going to hurt him.

  And we start to march. If we do our job right, the treitres will be trapped in London. We will be lying in wait for them as they leave Madame Tussaud’s. We will have every street in the area blocked off. Nets of fine wire mesh will stretch across the sky, preventing any flying treitres from escaping. Medraut’s army will be surrounded by ours, making them far easier to take out. And with them gone, all that remains is for us to unleash the morrigans on Medraut if he shows his face. With my help, hopefully, they’ll be able to finish the job they started fifteen years ago.

  We cross the drawbridge as a single force, but as soon as we’re outside Tintagel we split into separate regiments. A few larger regiments than usual could be overlooked by any passing spies – an army couldn’t.

  Bedevere, led this time by Lord Allenby, takes the shortest route, while the other regiments approach Medraut’s fortress from different directions, some through Regent’s Park, some doing a huge loop and cutting back on themselves to avoid notice. The harkers keep up a running commentary as we ride, confirming that there’s been no movement sighted from the fortress. Ollie’s nose begins to bleed as the strain of the ever-widening mind shield takes its toll.

  As we pass through Soho I see that the thanes have been busy here too. Every circle – every place that could become a portal to a different part of Annwn – has metal bars nailed over it. Every Underground sign, every drain, every circular fountain. If Medraut wants to create portals to London, we’re not going to make it easy for him.

  ‘Gawain and Palomides are all in position,’ the harker captain tells us. ‘Lancelot and Dagonet are three minutes away.’

  ‘Understood, Maisie,’ Lord Allenby says.

  As we ride down Baker Street, past long lines of violin-playing men in odd hats, the low building that houses Madame Tussaud’s comes into view. I catch a glimpse of Natasha keeping watch from a nearby roof with the rest of her regiment. We halt our horses at one end of Baker Street. Lancelot block the other end.