Dreams (Sarah Midnight Trilogy 1)

by Daniela Sacerdoti

  It all happened in an instant. She had just enough time to set her eyes on the stone arcs above her, then the church-turned-library faded away.

  Sarah found herself in semi-darkness. The smell of moss and wet earth hit her. She threw her hands forward, trying to feel her way out, and they met icy, hard stone. She blinked, over and over again, trying to get used to the muted light, and she noticed a wedge of sunlight coming from somewhere behind her. She turned around, and threw herself on her knees, trying to reach it. She crawled on, and squeezed herself through the passage, hitting her shoulders on the hard stone in her haste to get out. The first things she saw when she emerged were the huge grey stones standing in a circle all around her. She realized that she had come out from somewhere under those stones.

  She was on a grassy hill, under a purple sky, in a place that seemed suspended in time. The clouds were galloping on over her head, and the wind was roaring in her ears. Every colour seemed heightened, and the light was strange, sharp and yet muted, feeble, like an eternal dusk. She looked around, to see if anyone else was there. She realized she was alone, and she waited.

  Something was brought to her by the wind, something tiny and black, like a little seed. It flew towards her face and hid in her neck. Sarah brought her hands up, and felt a sharp pain just above her breast.

  There was something there. She took off her T-shirt as quickly as she could, and the wind gave her goose bumps. She could see it now, the little black thing attached to her skin, like a leech. It was feeding on her blood, and it had started growing, growing, becoming more and more swollen the more it drank from her. Sarah tried to call the blackwater, but her hands would not heat up. She couldn’t make her hands burn; she was so cold, and suddenly so weak …

  Sarah whimpered and tried to prize the demon off her skin, but it wouldn’t move. She started to feel faint. It was now as big as a football, and full of her blood. She was shivering, as the demon fed on her.

  She closed her eyes, and waited for death. It had happened so many times before in her dreams, she had died so many times, and every time was as painful and terrifying as the first. She curled up, feeling a single tear roll down her cheek.

  Sarah blinked, and in that split second, someone appeared in front of her.

  It was the pale, black-haired boy she had dreamt of before. He was looking at her with wide eyes, as if he’d been hit by a thunderbolt. His eyes shone like obsidian; his skin was white; his hair was so dark it was nearly blue. A little poem she had read once in a book of fairy tales came back to her:

  Red as blood

  White as snow

  Black as black

  Is the wing of the crow

  “It’s you,” he said simply, like he’d known her forever. Like he’d recognized her.

  Sarah looked into his eyes. She thought she’d seen a flickering fire in them, like burning coal. But as she blinked, the little fire was gone already. The pale boy was holding something, clutching it to his heart with both his hands, but Sarah couldn’t see what it was. A strange feeling came over her, as if all her thoughts had disappeared, as if she couldn’t think any more. She felt as if the sky and the earth had swapped places – disorientated, dizzy.

  I should be in pain, I should be afraid. But I can’t feel anything.

  He kneeled beside her and touched her hair gently, slowly. With his touch, Sarah felt as if all thoughts had escaped from her head, and only one was left: that he was there, there with her. His black eyes were like a spell, leading her beyond the fear and the pain, as if the whole world had disappeared and lay forgotten. She couldn’t look away; she was lost in his gaze, as if she’d dived into a dark pool and was drowning slowly.

  The boy lifted one hand, and placed a finger onto the swollen creature attached to Sarah’s chest. Just one finger, just one touch, and the demon burst into blue flames, burning until it turned into a little pile of ash, blowing away in the wind.

  Why I am not burnt? I should be burnt, I should be cold, but I can’t feel anything. I should be terrified, and I’m not. I can’t think.

  The black-eyed boy took off his jacket and covered her with it. She was so weak she couldn’t move. All she wanted was to keep looking into his eyes.

  “It’s you,” he repeated, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he saw.

  What does he mean?

  “Yes. It’s me, I’m Sarah Midnight.”

  “I’ll stay with you until the dream finishes,” he whispered. He had a deep, warm voice. It sounded as if it came from somewhere far away, somewhere a bit echoey. Like a cave.

  Sarah sighed, and closed her eyes again. He held her hand until the vision disappeared.

  Sarah opened her eyes to realize she was leaning against Harry, her head on his shoulder and his arms around her waist, sustaining her so that she wouldn’t fall. He was propping her up against a cold stone wall. She tried to free herself, but she found that her legs were still shaky and had to hold on for a little while longer.

  The second she realized it actually felt quite good to be leaning on Harry, that his body felt strong – so much stronger than hers, so safe – she took a wobbly step back, blushing.

  “Are you OK?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “A vision?” he whispered.

  She nodded again.

  “Does it happen when you’re awake as well?”

  “Sometimes. Not often. Did anyone see?”

  “No. I held you as you fell. I pretended we were locked in a passionate embrace.” He smiled, a smile that wanted to be cocky, but was somehow shy. Sarah looked away.

  “What did you see?”

  “A demon, but I don’t know where. Some weird place. Unreal. I’ll tell you later, in the car. Let’s go.” Another strange one. No hint as to where that leech thing is… And that pale, black-eyed boy again …

  They walked on into the main hall. Tucked against the back wall was the counter, covered in books and leaflets, and dotted at regular intervals with computers. Three bored-looking employees sat in front of them, two women and a man.

  “It’s him.”

  Sarah followed Harry’s gaze. A middle-aged man, nearly bald, with a shirt that strained on his considerable stomach. A man like many others, the kind of man that could be your teacher, or someone who checks your ticket on a train, or a neighbour you’d say hello to on a sunny morning, as he mows his lawn. Nobody, looking at him, could begin to imagine the secrets he hid, the terrible things he’d done.

  Michael Sheridan, the first name on her parents’ list.

  That sorry excuse for a human being killed my parents. Sarah felt sick.

  “What shall we do?”

  “We’ll ask him to send his demon back where it came from.”

  “Here? In front of everyone?” Sarah whispered urgently, gesturing towards the pensioners in the computers’ bay, the group of schoolchildren listening to a story, the middle-aged woman scouring the DVD shelves.

  Harry walked towards the counter, resolutely.

  “Good—” Michael raised his head from the form he was filling in, and saw Sarah. “—Morning,” he finished. Slowly, he opened his mouth in a smile. Like a crocodile baring its teeth. Sarah felt a chill down her spine. This place is full of evil, she thought. She felt it all around her, as thick as cobwebs.

  “I’m looking for a horror book. A new release,” Harry said coolly. Very apt excuse, thought Sarah.

  “Of course. The horror section is in the back. Follow me.” Michael sounded jovial, happy to help. Creep.

  They walked on. The library was bigger than Sarah would have thought, with rooms and rooms one after the other, and bookshelves at strange angles, like a labyrinth. Sarah’s heart was beating too fast, and her instinct had kicked in: she could feel her hands tickling, getting ready.

  “Here we are.” Michael stopped and turned around. “The horror section. Sarah Midnight, I’m honoured to meet you in person.” He smiled his toothy smile. There was a little blob of saliva at the corne
rs of his mouth.

  “And I’m disgusted to meet you.”

  Michael’s smile didn’t waver, only his eyes got colder.

  “I wasn’t expecting you’d still be alive,” he said, as if he were discussing the weather. Sarah felt afraid. And then she felt a deep, consuming rage burning her from head to toe.

  “You’re nothing, Michael Sheridan. Without your demon, you’re nothing,” she whispered, hitting him with her green gaze. Michael stepped back, imperceptibly.

  “We’ve come to ask you to leave us alone,” intervened Harry, an icy, white light in his eyes. “To send the demons back where they belong, and to dissolve the Valaya. If you do all this, we’ll let you go.”

  “You’ll let us go?” laughed Michael, a fat, hearty laugh, as if he’d never heard anything so funny before.

  “It’s what I said.” Harry ignored Michael’s laughter, and looked at him evenly. Sarah admired Harry’s courage. He seemed never to lose his nerve.

  “This is the last day of your lives,” murmured Michael, taking a step towards Sarah. Harry slipped between them at once.

  Right at that moment, someone entered the room and started browsing the shelves.

  “What about this one? It’s supposed to be very good,” said Michael quickly, picking a book at random from a shelf. There was nothing left to say.

  Harry took Sarah by the arm and led her out of the book-labyrinth, into the fresh, chilly October air. Sarah breathed deeply, trying to forget Michael’s sweaty body odour and the musty smell of the library.

  “It worked a treat,” she muttered.

  “It was worth a try. At least we saw one of them in the flesh. I don’t know how I didn’t kill him there and then …”

  Sarah winced. She hated thinking about killing; she hated talking about killing; she hated anything to do with killing and violence and inflicting pain. She had enough of it in her dreams. She was still struggling with the idea of hunting down Surari – demons, creatures, whatever you want to call them – but human beings?

  Harry didn’t seem to have such qualms. He was different from her mum and dad, in so many ways.

  “Oh …” Harry jumped.

  “You OK?”

  “Yes. Yes, fine.”

  “What shall we do now?”

  “We’ll go home.” Harry was scratching his neck furiously.

  “Are you sure you’re OK?”

  “Yes, yes. Just a bit itchy here, on my neck.”

  “Let me see.” Sarah slid her hands inside his collar, gently. Her face pressed against his chest. He smelled good, she thought. He smelled … familiar. He smelled of soap, and of the sea.

  “I can’t feel anything.” Her voice came out small.

  “It’s OK, let’s go.” They got back into the car, and started driving towards the motorway. Sarah was looking out of the window, lost in thought.

  And then it hit her. It’s like in my dream!

  “Stop the car!”

  “What? Why? Ouch,” said Harry suddenly, putting a hand to his chest.

  “Harry, stop the car. It’s like in my dream! The demon from my dream!”

  Harry had suddenly paled, and looked in great pain. As soon as he could he stopped the car, and they jumped out. They’d been driving along Charlotte Gardens, and they ran in, as fast as they could. Without a word, frantically, Harry ripped his jacket and his shirt off. To their horror, they saw a flash of red on his clothes and on his chest.

  “Harry. In your shirt,” Sarah murmured, her voice even, vibrant with controlled panic. Something abominable, some-thing black and shiny had fallen off him and was writhing on the grass. They jumped back with a gasp. Harry was holding his chest: he had a small, round wound on his collarbone, and it was bleeding.

  “I think it’s …”

  “Michael’s demon. That’s what I saw in my vision,” Sarah finished for him. Of course. That’s what Michael had meant when he’d said that this was the last day of their lives. She took a step towards it, hands raised and ready …

  “Watch out!” shouted Harry suddenly, and grabbed her by the arm.

  Sarah barely had the time to see that the little creature had a round mouth full of minuscule little suckers, before it jumped towards her face. It all happened very fast. Harry pushed Sarah away, just as the demon was about to attach itself onto her face. With a horrible sound the demon bit Harry instead – and this time deeply, mercilessly. He fell on the ground, clutching his chest. Sarah screamed and tried to grab the creature, to prise it off Harry’s skin, but it wouldn’t move. She could see its black body inflating, as it kept drinking Harry’s blood at incredible speed.

  Sarah closed her eyes and started concentrating on her hands, desperately trying to warm them up, desperately trying to call the blackwater. Hurry up!

  Harry whimpered and closed his eyes, and his head fell back. He had fainted. The demon was now as big as a cat, swollen with blood.

  Oh my God …

  Sarah lost her concentration again. She closed her eyes, felt her hands warming up once more. It’s not working. It’s not working. Panic overtook her.

  In despair, Sarah asked for help, a silent prayer.

  Mum, Dad, help us!

  And someone listened. She felt a gust of wind on her back, but it wasn’t wind, it was a flapping of wings – and at the same time, the deafening cawing of a flight of ravens exploded in her ears. Instinctively Sarah covered her head with her hands, ducking, but the ravens ignored her, and flew straight over Harry, covering him in a sea of black feathers, pecking and cawing and flapping their wings. Sarah gasped in fear; she could see that some of the ravens were already stained with red – Harry’s blood. But before she could move, the ravens pulled away, as if of one will. As suddenly as they had come, they flew away in a flurry of wings and more cawing, dis-appearing into the sky.

  The demon-leech was on the grass beside Harry, in a pool of black and red blood. It was pulsing in silent agony, biting the air, opening and closing its round mouth like a fish out of water. Sarah knew she had to make sure that the demon-leech was finished before she ran to Harry. She raised her hands – finally, they were burning – and placed them on the hot, slimy black skin of the creature. With one sudden, single gush the demon dissolved into blackwater, mixed with all the blood it had drunk, soaking the ground with red-black liquid.

  Sarah threw herself on Harry, who was lying bare-chested and bloodied on the grass. His face was white; his chest was covered in bruises – the round wound caused by the demon, and dozens of little wounds all around it, where the ravens had pecked to prize it away.

  “Wake up … please wake up,” she whispered breathlessly. She took his hand into her own, trying to find his pulse. Faint, but there. He was still alive. She covered him with his bloodied shirt and jacket, then she took her own jacket off and laid it on him as well.

  “Harry …”

  I can’t lose him.

  I can’t lose him like I’ve lost my parents. I’d be alone.

  I’d be completely alone.

  Sarah brushed Harry’s hair away from his forehead, tenderly, in a gesture that mirrored what he’d done to her the night he’d arrived. Her touch left a trace of blood on Harry’s skin. She looked at her hands. They were wet with the blackwater, and with the blood that had leaked out of the creature when she had dissolved it. She’d been so worried about Harry that she hadn’t even noticed. She dried her hands on her skirt and on the dead leaves, and placed them on Harry’s chest, trying to give him her energy, her warmth. His skin felt so cold.

  Sarah tried to inhale. She was breathless with fear again, her chest weighed down like she’d been buried alive.

  Wake up, wake up.

  A distant cawing came from the sky. The flight of ravens was still visible, like a black stain against the clouds. Sarah looked up, blinking at the white sky, dizzy from trying to follow the birds in their ascent.

  “Sarah.” Harry had opened his eyes.

  “Harry!” Sarah sq
ueezed his hands and inhaled deeply, air filling her lungs at last. She could breathe again.

  “The demon …”

  “It’s gone, don’t worry … how do you feel?”

  “Like I’ve been hit by a train.” He pulled himself up, slowly, holding on to Sarah’s hands.

  “You lost a lot of blood. That disgusting thing was full of your blood! Had it not been for the ravens ….”

  “The ravens?”

  “They saved your life! They pulled that thing off you and pecked it. There, look.” She pointed at the sky, but above them there were only clouds. The flight was gone.

  “Look, I know it’s hard to believe it, but really, it was ravens that saved us. But how can it be? A demon, pecked to death by … by birds!”

  “Unless …” Harry whispered.

  “Unless?”

  “Unless they weren’t real ravens.” Harry’s voice faded, and he dropped his head in his hands.

  Sarah wanted to ask what he meant, but he looked so pale, and his lips had a hint of blue. She remembered how quickly she had weakened in her dream, how soon she had started to lose consciousness, when the leech was attached to her. Sarah stroked his face again, and Harry put his hand on hers.

  You’re still with me …

  “I’m going to take you home. We can take a taxi, come and get the car tomorrow.”

  “I can drive.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Perfectly sure. One dead, six to go.” He attempted a smile.

  “Harry …”

  “Yes?”

  “I thought I’d lost you.”

  Harry looked at her with his clear eyes, and Sarah felt like she was diving in a loch of icy waters, falling endlessly, helplessly.

  They were barely in the door when Juliet phoned to invite them for dinner. Sarah looked across the hall and into the living room, where Harry was lying on a sofa, deathly pale, a glass of whisky beside him. The journey home had been ghastly, with Harry concentrating furiously on the driving, trying not to lose consciousness again.

  “I’m sorry, Juliet, we can’t. It’s just that …” She thought quickly. “Bryony is coming for dinner; we’ll watch a DVD, she’ll stay over …”