Dreams (Sarah Midnight Trilogy 1)

by Daniela Sacerdoti

“To come and have dinner with us, soon. Bryony, I’m sorry, you need to go now. The solicitor is on her way. You know, those inheritance problems I was telling you about …”

  “Of course, sorry. I’ll text you later then.”

  Sarah walked her to the door.

  “Oh my God, Sarah! What happened to the trees?” Bryony gasped, and brought her hand to her mouth.

  Standing on the stony steps Sarah could take in the full extent of the devastation. The four oak trees at the entrance, two per side, were now bare skeletons, with their branches thrown up to the sky, like an invocation. The blanket of golden leaves at their feet was so thick that you could have slept on it.

  “It’s a parasite. A parasite of the oak trees,” said Sarah in a small voice. “We need to get the gardener in.”

  “But they were fine when I arrived! Not even half an hour ago!” Bryony protested. Then she saw Sarah’s face, and decided not to insist.

  “Hopefully our garden won’t get it,” she muttered. She hugged Sarah quickly. “Call me if you need anything. Anything, OK?” she whispered in her ear.

  Sarah nodded and followed her friend’s flaming hair with her eyes, down the path and through the gate, as if she were watching the last beacon of normality leave her, before the night began.

  29

  Ley Lines

  Wherever you go

  I’ll find you

  Sarah looked up at the sky. It was darkening slowly, the afternoon turning into twilight. She shivered in the evening air, and went back inside.

  “Harry … who – what did that?”

  “I have no idea. Maybe it was your friend, the leaf man.”

  “That looks like a threat. Why would Leaf threaten me? He saved my life. Our lives. Twice!”

  “I don’t know. But I did say not to trust him, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did.” Sarah lowered her head. Fear had taken hold of her mind, her very bones. She knew that what had been done to her trees was a warning of something horrible to come.

  “It must be one of the two demons left. Simon Knowles’s, or Catherine Hollow’s. Or the Mistress’s demon, if that’s a different person altogether.”

  “Yes.”

  Could Leaf be Simon Knowles? No, that’s impossible. It can’t be.

  “Maybe there’s something about it in your mum’s diary. Something about leaves, or trees …”

  Sarah shook her head.“No. I mean, there’s a lot about leaves and trees, but they’re … ingredients, if you know what I mean. Nothing like this. The only thing I can think of is the sapphire’s song, to tell us if there’s any intruders.”

  “But if we do that …”

  “We’d need to wash the sapphire in salt and water. And maybe it won’t speak to us anymore.”

  “Exactly. I don’t think we can do that one again until all this is finished.”

  “There’s a scrying spell. It’s to find demons, to locate them. It’s one of the dangerous ones.”

  “What does it involve?”

  “A map.”

  “That doesn’t sound too dangerous …”

  Sarah looked at him. “Wait ‘til you see it.”

  The spell needed an object related to what they were looking for, something that would guide them. Sarah walked out into the garden in the purple-blue twilight, and grabbed one of the fallen leaves, one that was sitting on the last of the stony steps. My poor trees, she thought, looking at the devastation.

  Harry was watching her, standing on the steps. If Leaf is really a demon, well, all we need to do is destroy him. And that’s a worry less for me. But if he’s not … why on earth is he looking out for her, why is he leaving her those stupid leaves? What does he want from her? He couldn’t put the answer to that thought into words. He didn’t want to think about it, because the jealousy he felt was too much to bear. He had never been jealous before, of anyone. Because he had never cared enough. It was a new feeling for him, and he didn’t know what to do with it. All he knew was that he didn’t like it.

  “Come on.” His tone was more brusque that he’d intended.

  They went down into the basement, and Sarah placed the leaf gently on the table. Then she opened one of the boxes, took out a single white candle and laid it beside the leaf. In another box she found a little silver bowl. Next, she surveyed her mother’s ceremonial knives, wondering which one to choose. There was a small silver one, beautifully carved with a Celtic pattern, and something engraved on the handle. It was a name.

  Mairead Midnight

  Sarah gasped. Morag Midnight must have given Mairead the knife and shown her how to use it for magic. Sarah sighed. Why did her mother not do that? Why did she always insist that she was too young?

  Until it had been too late.

  She touched Mairead’s knife delicately, with the tip of her fingers.

  I wish I’d known you.

  “Harry, look,” she whispered. She was choked. Harry took it, looked at the engraving, then gave it back.

  “It’s yours now,” he said softly. “I’m sure Mairead would have been glad of it.”

  “Then why didn’t my parents tell me about her?”

  Harry didn’t have an answer.

  “I don’t know.” Once again, he wished he could have spoken to James and Anne, set them straight on a few things.

  Sarah took a deep breath.“No time to think about that now. Can you go upstairs, get my duvet and my pillows, please?” The idea of upsetting her bed made her quite panicky, but it had to be done. The alternative would have been too painful.

  “Right.”

  “I wish my parents had put carpets in here,” she muttered under her breath. Harry looked at her. No point in asking why, he thought. I’ll find out in a minute anyway.

  “Oh, and the key to the map chest. The one around the doll’s neck.”

  “Sure.”

  “Can you spread the duvet and pillows on the floor for me?” she asked when Harry returned. He obeyed.

  It’s a strange feeling, to follow instructions. To let someone else take the lead. I’m not used to it. It doesn’t feel too bad.

  Sarah opened the chest. “We need a map. But which one?”

  “Maybe the Edinburgh one?”

  “I’m thinking of what you said about the ley lines, remember? The way that map is used to locate things like freak bird migrations, crop circles, anything like that …”

  “The falling of the leaves. Yes. It could be.”

  Sarah took out the Ley Lines map from the chest, and spread it carefully on the table.

  “I just hope I don’t break any bones.”

  Harry looked up, alarmed. “I have no idea of what you’re talking about. I’ll go with it, but be careful.”

  “I will be. Now, let’s begin.” She brought a finger to her lips. Harry nodded.

  Sarah removed all her jewellery – her mother’s diary said that metal could interfere with magic. She took the map, the leaf, the silver bowl and Mairead’s knife, and placed them on the duvet, carefully. She kneeled in front of them. Finally, she lit the white candle. The spell had begun.

  Sarah took Mairead’s knife and cut her arm, only slightly, enough to get a few drops of blood. She let the blood trickle into the silver bowl. She took the bowl in her hands, her arm still dripping blood, and held it over the map. She closed her eyes, and the leaf started quivering. Harry stepped closer, making sure he could intervene if something went wrong.

  The leaf began to float upwards, and over the bowl. It dipped itself into Sarah’s blood, and then floated up again. There was a drop of blood suspended on one corner of it. Harry held his breath.

  The leaf floated above the map, and then brushed it lightly with the bloodied corner, leaving a stain on the paper. It was a spot in the west of Scotland, just over a brown line.

  “Sarah, this just tells us they’re around here. We knew that, didn’t we?”

  Sarah didn’t reply. The leaf kept hovering over the map.

  “Sarah?�
�

  Harry looked up. Sarah’s eyes had rolled over, and they were now completely white. She was kneeling in the same position, her arms stretched out to hold the bowl over the map, as if she had been frozen. Harry took a step back and took out the sgian-dubh, just to be on the safe side.

  Sarah opened her mouth to speak, but what came out wasn’t her voice; it was a haunting, terrible sound, something between a wail and an echo.

  “He will come out of the earth, and darkness will fall.”

  “Who? Who is he?”

  “The King of Shadows,” answered Sarah, or whatever was talking through her.

  The leaf dipped itself into the bowl again and marked another spot. Harry looked closer. It wasn’t on the map, but somewhere right of it, on the duvet.

  As if the map hadn’t been big enough – or maybe it missed?

  “Who is the King of Shadows? Where is he? When will he come?”

  But Sarah was silent. Harry wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her, make her come back, but he wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do. He didn’t want to put her in any danger.

  Sarah started floating an inch above the floor. She was still kneeling, still holding the bowl. Suddenly an invisible force lifted her up, and threw her against the wall. She fell on the hard floor with a thud.

  “Sarah!” Harry kneeled beside her.

  “Ouch.”

  “Sarah, are you OK? Anything broken?”

  “I don’t think so. Just bruised. Oh, that hurts.”

  “That’s why you asked for the duvet!”

  “My mum wrote it could happen. What did I say? What did the map say?” She crawled over the duvet on her hands and knees, and looked at the map. “Where did the blood fall?”

  “Where we are.” Harry pointed at the stain just over the brown line. “And then … here.” He pointed at the little blood stain on the duvet. “Out of the map.”

  “How … what does this mean?”

  “Maybe it missed. Or maybe the map wasn’t big enough. Had the map been bigger – well, that would be somewhere in Eastern Europe.”

  “Eastern Europe?”

  Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Sarah, you said something strange, when you were in that sort of trance.”

  “What did I say?”

  “You said that the King of Shadows will come out of the earth …”

  “Right. I have no idea what that means.”

  The Enemy? The nameless, faceless threat that is destroying the Secret Families? Harry shivered. Darkness will fall.

  “These spells always seem to work in weird ways.” He got up quickly, taking Sarah’s hands to help her up. He had to be alone. He had to speak to Niall and Mike. The King of Shadows – that must be the Enemy. It must be.

  Sarah rubbed her back. “I’m just glad I didn’t break any bones.”

  “That thing could have wrung your neck, Sarah.”

  “I told you it was dangerous.”

  “Next time, I’ll do it.”

  Sarah laughed. “And what will I do? Knit? Watch telly?”

  Harry smiled. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to … demean you. I know that this is what you have to do. It’s just scary to see. I worry about you, Sarah.”

  “I worry about myself too, to be honest.” She stretched, slowly. “Ouch! There, bruise of the day!” She turned around, and showed him a red, angry mark on her hip.

  “That looks sore.”

  “It is. And the attack is still to come.”

  The King of Shadows. Harry felt cold. He knew what that lump in his throat was: it was terror. He was sure that they were closer to the heart of the threat, closer than ever before.

  Sarah limped to the table and blew out the candle. They cleared up in silence. She folded the map away and locked the box, then she washed Mairead’s knife and the silver bowl in water and salt.

  They made their way upstairs. Harry went to his room, muttering something about an urgent call, and Sarah went to the living room to burn the leaf in the fireplace. Just as she was about to throw it in the flames, Sarah saw that there was something written on it, with the same old-fashioned handwriting that was on the envelope she had received a few days before, the one with the red leaf inside. It was Leaf ‘s handwriting.

  I’ll see you soon

  Sarah swallowed. The room swirled around her.

  She didn’t know what to think. Leaf was involved with the destruction of the trees? It couldn’t be. Why would he do that?

  Then it dawned on her. When she’d gone to the garden, she had picked a leaf lying on the stone steps, not one under the oak trees. She had just assumed it must have fallen from the trees. But it must have been one that Leaf had left for her.

  But then … had it been Leaf she was looking for, when she had cast the spell? Was the message about Leaf? Was he in danger? Was that creature – the King of Shadows – after him?

  She threw the leaf into the fire and watched it turn to ashes. Better not to mention this to Harry. Come to me, please. Come and tell me you are OK, she prayed silently, hoping that Leaf would hear her.

  Sarah decided that the best way to help her think and try to make sense of everything was to cook, as a way of meditation. She marched into the kitchen, tied the apron around her waist, and tied back her hair. She didn’t stop or utter a word for two hours. At the end of her cooking session she had a lovely meal laid on the table: minted lamb and potatoes, and a dark chocolate mousse with a hint of chilli. She sighed and took the apron off, satisfied. The end of the world might come – the end of her world, anyway – but at least they would enjoy something perfect.

  They ate, chatting about Harry’s life in New Zealand and about Sarah’s music. It was the calm before the storm, and they knew it.

  Harry finished the last bit of his chocolate chilli mousse. “That was amazing. If I could choose my last meal …” He didn’t finish the sentence, realizing what he had just said. But Sarah laughed, and he joined in, relieved.

  “Hopefully your wish won’t be granted tonight, Harry.”

  What else could they do? Their situation was so desperate, they would have had good reason to hide under the bed and wait for death. They might as well laugh. He looked at her fondly, her cheeks flushed, candlelight reflected in her deep, soulful eyes.

  “So … Where did you learn to cook?”

  “I taught myself. It relaxes me. Aunt Juliet likes cooking … my mum never had time. I won’t either, probably, when all this is finished and I start hunting, like they did.” She was polishing off the last of the chocolate mousse. Harry loved to see her eating heartily, for once.

  “But you hate fighting.”

  “What choice do I have? Someone has to do it.”

  “You can’t deal with it all by yourself. The dreams, the hunting …”

  “I’m not by myself, though, am I?” she said. She got up and turned away quickly, busying herself at the sink, so that he wouldn’t see her face.

  “No. You’re not by yourself.”

  Sarah smiled. Harry looked at her back as she was washing the dishes, her hair like a black waterfall. She needs to know the truth. If I tell her the truth, she might see me with different eyes.

  She thinks I’m her cousin, for God’s sake! It’d be … He couldn’t even bear thinking the word. But I’m not her cousin. I’m not.

  If I told her …

  She’d hate me. She’d never forgive me for lying, for stealing Harry’s life.

  “I’ll clear up, Sarah. Just leave it.”

  “It’s OK, I’ll help. I’m too sore to play, to be honest. Look.” She lifted her top on her slim hip, and Harry saw that the bruise was beginning to turn blue. She slid down her jumper on her left shoulder, and there was another bruise, looking even worse than the other. “This one is agony. That’s why I can’t play.”

  “I’ve got something for it. Wait.” Harry disappeared upstairs, and reappeared with a little tub of cream.

  “It’s Arnica. I used it a lot whe
n I was hunting. As you can imagine.” He handed her the tub.

  “Can you do it?” she asked, handing the tub back.

  Harry felt the blood rise to his face. No? Yes?

  Yes.

  He looked into Sarah’s eyes, expecting to see an innuendo, a hidden message. Expecting to find out that she was flirting with him. But in her face he saw nothing but innocence.

  How could that be? She’s seventeen years old; she should know how this works. She should know what it means, to ask me to touch her like this!

  Harry massaged the cream on her shoulder, then on her hip, breathing in her scent. She smelled of peaches, and her skin was soft as petals. Suddenly he felt terribly, terribly sad.

  I can never have her, he thought desolately.

  Sarah looked at him with those clear green eyes, and smiled. She leaned closer to him, nestling into him with a sigh.

  Harry froze. Does she know how I’m feeling? What other seventeen-year-old girl would not read the signs? He thought of Sarah’s girlfriends – that Alice, for example, or Siobhan – they would have read it in his eyes. Had it been them, this whole scene would have been completely different. It would have been about seduction.

  But not with Sarah. With her, it was like trying to touch the moon.

  Does she know?

  “Cup of tea?” she asked softly, disentangling herself. “Oh, that’s better already,” she added, touching her hip.

  She doesn’t.

  She’s like a little girl. Like part of her has stopped growing. She stopped at thirteen, the day her dreams began. Shock and fear nailed her there. It’s like that fairy tale, what was it? Briar Rose. The girl who fell asleep for a hundred years.

  He wanted to be the one who put his lips on her lips, who broke the spell and woke her up. He wanted to be the one who made sure nobody would ever frighten her again, that she’d never be left alone again. The one who made sure no evil spell would ever be cast on her, that she would not prick her finger on some deadly spinning wheel.

  Sarah handed him his cup of tea, looking him straight in the eye. She could have never imagined, not in a million years, what he was thinking right at that moment – she was still Briar Rose, asleep among the thorny bushes and the roses, still waiting.