When he realized that Bryony had survived the attack he’d felt a hint of something unsettling. Something unexpected. It was a while before he could identify the feeling – and then he’d realized that it was relief. Relief on Sarah’s behalf that her friend had survived.
Odd.
Memories from long ago rose in his mind. Another girl, another Nicholas, even. Those absurd, forbidden feelings swept Nicholas while he gently entangled his fingers in Sarah’s hair.
What was happening to him? Was this a sign that he might not be the person his father had raised him to be?
There used to be a boy called Nicholas, long ago – someone real and truthful, someone with a soul – but he was gone. One lie after another, to his mother, to himself – to the black-haired girl all those years ago. Each lie had taken him another step away from that boy.
Now he was lost.
“Are you OK, Nicholas?” whispered Sarah, shifting so that she could look at him. Nicholas realized he must have moaned in pain.
“Yes. Yes. Sorry, just a headache. Lie back.”
Of course. His father must be displeased. He would know about the thoughts he’d had, the relief he’d felt at Bryony’s survival, the memories of the time he had loved and lost. He should not be putting these feelings into thoughts – he should not have these feelings at all. A member of a Valaya would die for less. The King of Shadows might not kill his son, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t punish him. And his punishments could be so painful, so excruciating, that people would rather throw themselves to the Surari than face his wrath.
He stopped stroking Sarah’s hair and she opened her eyes and studied him again. There was a question in her eyes. A question Nicholas couldn’t answer.
“I love you,” he said. The only truth he knew.
20
Slaughter
If I die today
Will you be there to hold my hand?
Juliet opened the boot of her BMW and started taking out the grocery bags piled on top of each other. They were full of Christmas food and decorations, a cheery tangle of tinsel and mince pies and chocolate boxes. It was going to be a small celebration – just the four of them and Trevor’s parents. Still, Juliet felt Christmas had to be marked. If anything, for her daughters.
It was the first Christmas since Anne had gone.
But she wouldn’t think about that now, she decided. She slammed the boot of the car as if she were slamming her sad thoughts away. If only Sarah had agreed to be with them. No, that thought wouldn’t do either. She had to concentrate on good things, happy things. Stop worrying about things she couldn’t control. Like her niece. Instead, she’d think about the outfit she had planned for the Christmas celebrations, a black silken dress; the presents for the girls, a new iPod each, with pink cases; the weekend away she and Trevor had planned for January – maybe a short skiing trip? Yes, a skiing trip would be just the thing, she said to herself, sweeping her golden hair from her eyes.
But Anne was gone.
Her sister was gone.
And what kind of mince pies would she buy, lattice or shortcrust? What colour of tinsel would the girls like this year? What would they to give to the girls’ head teacher?
Nothing really mattered. Except that Anne was gone.
But would it really be much different? For the last eighteen years, the sisters had spent Christmas apart. Juliet had tried to convince Anne to be with them, at least alternate years. She’d done her utmost to try and get their families together. But Anne had always said no, settling for a hurried phone call instead. Juliet knew it was James who’d decided, who’d kept their conversations short, even on holidays. But in the last few years, Anne seemed to be warming to the possibility of confronting James and celebrating Christmas with her side of the family, for once.
But now Anne was dead, and they’d never get the chance to spend a Christmas together again.
Would these terrible thoughts go away? Or were they going to stay with her for the rest of the day, give her yet another sleepless night?
Juliet grabbed the first few bags, clutching the car keys, her handbag strap slipping down her arm. Trevor smiled and waved at her from the window. Her spirits lifted at once. Trevor was home for a rare few days – it was a treat. Her husband’s face disappeared from the window. He was coming to help her with the bags. He’d park the car in the garage for her and make her a cup of tea. They would have a chat, probably centred around their daughters, while putting the groceries away. Maybe she could ask him again if he’d help her talk Sarah round.
Juliet took a step towards the front door. An orange rolled down the path in front of her feet. What was her fruit doing on the ground? She turned around, irritated, towards the bags piled beside the car. She was aware of Trevor yelling.
Juliet turned back towards the house, puzzled.
The pain was so sudden and unbearable, so unlike anything she’d ever experienced. It was as if the skin was being ripped from her face. As she lost consciousness, she screamed at the agony, the sheer impossibility of what was happening to her. A single word seared through her mind, then everything went black. She was mercifully unaware of the wildcat’s claws tearing her apart, tearing at her eyes and ripping into her cheeks with its searing teeth, until she was totally unrecognizable.
She did, though, have time for one last thought: that she’d never see her family again. And she also had time to hear the voices screaming in her head, screaming that one word over and over again – the word that really explained it all, all that had happened in the last few years, all the mysteries and secrets and finally, her sister’s death.
The word she heard before the wildcat sunk its teeth into her neck: Midnight.
21
Seawater
Words between us
From the impossible planet to earth
And every time you and I speak
My heart finds peace
“I’ll never take another boat again,” groaned Mike, wiping his face with his hand as he walked. “I’ve been on land for days and I’m still seasick. All that time we had to stay on the ship after the attack, I never stopped wondering whether the next wave might throw up another demon.”
A soft drizzle was falling over the city of Edinburgh, and white, thin mist shrouded the streets. Mike and Niall were walking towards Sarah’s house, and Sean’s dead drop in her garden, hoping to find news of him. The plan was to tell Sean that the signal they’d intercepted in Louisiana the night they were attacked had come from somewhere in eastern Europe. After that, there was no clear path. Hiding, going to look for the Enemy, maybe searching for more surviving heirs – it was difficult to decide what to do. All Mike wanted, for now, was to find Sean alive and well. And to stay on dry land.
Niall shrugged. “I wasn’t a bit worried.”
“Bull. You were, I saw you.”
“Maybe a wee bit. For you, mainly. I really didn’t want to face another big calamari. Anyway, here we are. We made it,” he said with a sigh.
The journey on the cargo ship after the Makara’s attack had been a ghastly affair. They had seen to the injured as best they could, using the Med kits on board. Captain Young’s wound had been just a graze – Mike was a good shot – but he was in shock, and his distress was horrible to see. He was so sure that Mike and Niall were somehow to blame. His babbling sent shivers down Mike’s spine, and they had to guard him night and day to make sure he wouldn’t attack them again.
They’d come as near to the coast as they could. Then, they sent an SOS for the captain and the crewman to be rescued and left the cargo ship aboard a small lifeboat with a modicum of food and water. Had it not been for Niall’s powers they would have got lost, unable to control the raft, but Niall used the song to force the wind and the waves to take them up the east coast to Edinburgh, where they moored in great secret. Mike struggled to believe that he was still alive, after days and days on a boat that looked and felt as if it might capsize at any moment.
; They never knew what became of Captain Young and the wounded crewman, and whether anyone believed their story about a giant squid attacking the ship.
“A few more minutes and we’ll be at Sarah’s house,” said Mike, checking the map he was holding. “Niall, I was thinking …”
“Yes, I wonder about that too.”
Mike stopped suddenly. “What? You know what I was thinking? Can you read minds, is it a power of yours?” he asked, horrified.
“No, I can’t read minds!” Niall laughed. “I just know you so well by now that I know what you’re about to say.”
Mike frowned. “Are you saying I’m predictable?”
“Very.”
“As in, boring?”
“Yes, that too. I know what you’re going to say next: shut up Niall.”
“Shut u … Oh, for heaven’s sake!”
Niall patted his friend’s shoulder as they walked. “Just messing with you, Mike. It was written all over your face – you’re wondering if Sarah has found out that Sean is not Harry. If you know what I mean.”
“Just as well you don’t read minds, you’d know what I really think of you.”
“You fancy me.”
Mike laughed. “In your dreams. Anyway, yes, I was wondering about just that. I remember that Harry warned Sean about Sarah’s diffidence. But you’d think she’d understand the whole situation by now.”
“The unforgiving Midnights.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“My mum knew someone who knew Morag Midnight. A distant cousin of ours, Amelia Campbell. She ended up somewhere in Australia or New Zealand, I think. Isn’t that where Sean is from?”
“Yes.”
“Anyway, Amelia was in awe of the Midnights, and not always in a good way. That’s what she called them, ‘the unforgiving Midnights’.”
“Harry was a Midnight, and he was the kindest person I’ve ever met.”
“No wonder he didn’t speak to the rest of them, then.”
Mike nodded and shrugged. “You have a point.” He pulled his collar up as high as he could. “Jesus, I’m done in, man. This weather is brutal.”
“You need to eat something. Come on, I’ll go and get breakfast for us. With our last—” Niall counted the coins in his pocket, “—five pounds and forty-four pence. You wait here.”
“You can be useful, sometimes.” Mike let himself down onto a bench, heavily, his rucksack tipping horizontal on the pavement.
“I was sent to you by the angels, Mike.”
“Ha ‘bloody’ ha.”
Niall crossed the road to the first coffee shop he saw. It was uncommonly busy for that time of the morning, somewhere between breakfast and lunch hour – overflowing with mums and prams, students with no lectures or bunking off school, and office workers on their tea breaks. Niall stood in the queue, looking left and right, watching for possible threats.
There were some suspicious looks. He’d slept in the same clothes for days, had the straggly beginnings of a red beard and smelled of some foul Himalayan Pine deodorant they had bought in the chemist’s to cover the fact they hadn’t showered since they got off the boat.
After twenty minutes of queuing, Niall finally got his hands on two bacon rolls and two white coffees. That meant they had twenty-four pence left, unless they found Sean soon. They couldn’t use any of their cards, of course, they’d be easily traceable.
Mike bit into his roll at once. “Oh man, this is good. What took you so long?”
“The world and his granny are having a coffee this morning.”
“The world and who?”
“His granny.”
“Can you please make sense when you speak to me?”
Niall laughed. “Right-o. By the way, this is our last meal. After this, it’s pickpocketing for me.”
“Fine. Just don’t get caught.”
“That’s not like you, Mr we-can’t-do-this-it’s-wrong!”
“What’s the alternative? Find a job, with no documents?”
Niall nodded, chewing. “We should have taken those.”
“They had tentacles all over them, I’d like to remind you! Now get a move on.”
They swung their rucksacks over their shoulders and set off once more. Finally, they entered a long, tree-lined road, with gated villas at both sides.
“I think this must be her street,” said Mike finally. “We’re looking for an wrought-iron gate marked by two red pillars. Let’s go.”
Not even a mile on, they spotted the red pillars, and on top of a small hill, the grey sandstone villa that Sean had described: Sarah’s home. A stone wall ran around the property, high but conquerable.
“Fancy,” commented Niall with a low whistle.
They looked around, making sure no one would see them, and threw their rucksacks over the stone wall. Then they climbed over, letting themselves fall on the grass.
“What are we looking for exactly?” asked Niall, taking in the beautiful grounds around the house, the oak trees at the sides of it, the still water of the pond marked by a fountain in the middle.
“A painted S. On the north wall. Let me see, north … that one should be it,” said Mike, and started walking.
Niall followed suit. He briefly turned his head towards the house. “All the shutters are closed.”
Mike followed his gaze. “Yes. Just as well. I’m not approaching Sarah until I know.”
They walked the length of Sarah’s garden, past Anne’s vegetable patch, now wintry bare, past the pond, towards a small copse of beeches, ashes and hawthorns at the back, their black, naked branches jutting out against the sky. The northern wall ran behind the trees, covered in ivy and moss. Mike and Niall began inspecting the stones, looking for Sean’s sign.
“There!” Mike called finally, pointing at a small, spray-painted S. He started feeling every inch of the stones around the sign with stiff, frozen fingers.
“Ergh … slug.” Mike grimaced. “And random wiggling creatures.”
“Same here.” Niall muttered, kneeling on the carpet of rotten leaves to inspect the bottom section of the wall, and shivering in the chill wind.
After another few minutes of swearing and searching, Niall uttered a small cry of joy.
“And here we are!” Scrunched inside a tiny fissure in the stone was a square of transparent plastic sealed with sellotape. He passed it to Mike.
“Bingo!” Mike ripped the small package open. Inside was a piece of paper torn from a lined notebook, and on it, a series of numbers.
“What’s that?” asked Niall.
“Gamekeepers’ code. Give me a minute.” Mike took a pen from the depths of his rucksack and started scribbling.
“Can you not do it in your head? Bet Sean can do it in his head.” Niall loved irritating his friend and grinned, satisfied, when Mike gave him the usual exasperated look. Niall put his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, I’ll be quiet now.”
“That’d be a first. Right, there, I’ve got it. ‘Not at the Heron’s house anymore. Midnight Hall. Eesley.’ Eesley? Where on earth …?”
“Let me see. It’s Islay – Aye-lah, my American friend! In the Hebrides, islands off the west coast of Scotland. Gorgeous place, lots of great music,” Niall explained enthusiastically. Niall was a keen fiddle player, and he could play just about anything he put his hands on. “There are some great sessions to be found there, I’m told.”
“An island? Oh God … not another boat,” groaned Mike.
“Come on, Mike, you’re in Scotland now, you need to get used to the choppy seas!” said Niall, smiling.
“Shut up, Niall.”
22
Banished
There was you, and me and them
Over a birthday cake
And a photograph, it seems
It’s all that’s left
Sarah leaned over her bed and folded her white jumper. Then she unfolded it, and folded it again. She moved it onto the chair, carefully, and smoothed her bed where the wooll
en jumper had left an invisible indentation.
But by then the jumper was crumpled, lying on her dressing table chair at an angle. Sarah sighed in frustration. At this rate, the packing for Islay would take the whole day.
Sean and Elodie were downstairs, spending time together in the easy way old friends do. They’d been chatting about old times, with a couple of mentions of Mary Anne, Sean’s old girlfriend. Sarah had decided then that her room was altogether a better place to be.
Once more Sarah folded the jumper and smoothed it down in the suitcase that was lying open on the floor. This time it worked. She could move on.
“Sarah! Somebody for you!” Elodie’s voice drifted upstairs.
Sarah turned away from the pile of clothes on her bed. Elodie was at the bottom of the stairs.
“Who is it? Where?”
“A man. About to knock at the door.”
“But the gate was locked! It must be Nicholas, only he can open it.”
Elodie shook her head. “It’s not Nicholas,” she said assuredly.
Sarah raised her eyebrows; she couldn’t help being impressed with Elodie’s gift.
Sean was already up and behind the door, his sgian-dubh in his hand. Elodie’s lips started turning blue, and Sarah stood, rigid and waiting in front of the living room window. Then she saw who it was, and all alarm left her.
“It’s OK,” she muttered to the others as she ran towards the door. “This I can handle.” She pulled the door open. “Uncle Trevor!” She wasn’t overly fond of him, but at least it wasn’t a demon.
“Sarah.”
Sarah frowned. She’d never seen her uncle so dishevelled in her whole life. His eyes were circled blue and red-rimmed.
“You stupid, selfish girl. You thought you could get away with it, didn’t you? Cut us out of your life forever. Well, you certainly accomplished that! With your witchcraft, or whatever it is you and your parents get up to. You’ve got what you wanted. And now you are dead to me. To us. You and your despicable family. Do you understand?”
Tide (The Sarah Midnight Trilogy) Page 12
