And it started striding towards her.
Sarah was ready, hands raised, eyes flashing. The Midnight gaze hadn’t worked on the demon-bird the night it had attacked her, and it wasn’t working now. Unperturbed, the Surari walked on, nearer and nearer. Sarah’s chest tightened once she could see its face, the almond eyes, dark as coal, the black mane falling over its shoulder, and the long, bony beak.
Suddenly the demon-bird took flight, rising with its wings outstretched, readying itself to pounce on Sarah from above. Sarah raised her hands, her eyes wide with terror and flashing green. In a single bound the creature landed on her and threw her to the ground, its beak inches from her face.
Sarah’s eyes were deadly green, but the creature was still unaffected. Furious, Sarah grabbed its wings with her burning hands, but again, the demon didn’t flinch.
Her heart missed a beat.
Is the Blackwater not working either?
She fumbled, trying to take hold of the demon’s flesh. Its almond eyes were fixed on hers, its beak poised to strike. Finally, Sarah managed to grab its shoulders, and the demon froze just as its beak readied to pierce Sarah’s face. It groaned, a muffled sound that to Sarah’s ears sounded too human for comfort. But she would show no mercy. She tightened her grip on the demon-bird and watched it squirm while the Blackwater dissolved its skin.
“Sarah!”
Sean?
Sarah’s concentration wavered for a split second, and the demon took its chance, slashing at her with its claws, wounding her bare throat. She screamed in pain and fury. She knew exactly what it was aiming at – her jugular. In a haze of pain, Sarah grabbed at its shoulders again, digging her fingers into its flesh. When she dared to turn her head slightly towards Sean’s voice, there he was, tracing the runes with his sgian-dubh, slashing the air.
The demon-bird began thrashing, pummelled by Sean’s runes. With enormous effort it freed itself from Sarah’s grip and leapt up, staggering between Sarah and Sean, watching them with eyes full of pain.
Pain. Sadness. What is this demon about? How can a demon look … sorrowful?
Sarah shook herself. She saw Niall, Elodie and Mike rushing up the slope towards Sean, Niall already humming his song. Frantic now, the demon swept around to face them all, then turned back to Sarah. It was her blood that was on its claws.
Then, as if a brake had been put on the world, they heard the creature say, loud and clear, “Sarah Midnight.” Everybody froze.
Sarah’s heart stopped for a second. Stars danced before her eyes as she clutched her bleeding skin. Strange. She felt no pain. She looked at her friends, but they stood stunned in the rain. Niall’s song was rising higher and higher, and a subtle pain was beginning to make its way into their ears, but the Surari seemed unaffected, just like he’d been by Sarah’s gaze.
“What are you? What do you want from me?” demanded Sarah, trying to disguise the panic she was feeling.
“You’re talking to demons. Again!” yelled Sean, punctuating each word with a hit of his blade. The Surari brought a clawed hand to its chest, mirroring Sarah’s gesture, and it came away bloodied, its blood mixed with Sarah’s. With one last look, the creature spread its wings and lifted itself without effort, despite the blood pouring from its chest.
Sarah growled in anger as she watched it fly upwards. “Running away again? Scared to face us, you coward?”
The demon rose up to the height of Winter’s window, and they watched in horror as the Surari and Winter, frozen in fear, looked at each other.
“Winter!” Niall called frantically.
But the demon wasn’t interested in attacking her, and instead continued its ascent, gliding on the wind. It rose towards the clouds and disappeared into the stormy sky.
Sean wrapped his arm around Sarah’s waist. “Are you OK?”
Sarah nodded. “I’m fine,” she said. “I’m just fine.” And then she fell unconscious into Sean’s arms.
42
Wounds of the Body
Wounds of the soul
The ones you don’t see
Will never heal
“It was worse than we thought.” A voice, coming from afar.
And another voice. “Pretty deep wound. Shit, it nearly got her.”
Sarah opened her eyes and blinked repeatedly, letting the world fall into focus. Her throat was dry, and her entire body ached.
“You’re awake.” The first voice again.
Sarah turned towards the sound. It was Elodie. Yes, Elodie. Sitting on her bed, holding her hand.
“What happened?” her voice came out weak and croaky. Her lips were parched.
“That bird thing hurt you. Quite badly. You lost a lot of blood.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry, Sarah, you’ll be fine soon,” Elodie said gently, stroking her face. Sarah closed her eyes, relishing in that unexpected tenderness. Gradually, memories began to answer some of the questions hurtling round her head.
“The demon-bird. Did we kill it?”
Elodie shook her head. “No. Not yet.”
Sarah winced.
“Don’t think of that now. We’ll find it, I promise you,” Elodie reassured her.
“Sarah!” It was Nicholas, barging into the room.
“Where were you?” said Elodie, getting up to make room for him on the edge of Sarah’s bed. Nicholas ignored her.
“Sarah, what did they do to you?” he murmured.
“Really, I’m OK. Please stop fussing,” she repeated with as much irritation as she could muster. She felt so weak. “Help me sit up.”
It took a while, and it hurt, but once Nicholas had propped her up with all the pillows he could find, Sarah could see, out of the corner of her eye, that there was someone else sitting in the armchair beside the fireplace. Once her eyes had become accustomed to the light she saw that it was Sean, mute and pale, watching her.
“I’m fine,” she called to him, anticipating the question.
He nodded, still silent.
Sarah could sense his fear. An invisible hand squeezed her heart. “Really, Sean. I am,” she said, softer this time.
Sean rose slowly and walked towards the bed. Nicholas, his head bowed, didn’t move an inch. Sarah stretched out her hand to Sean, and when he took it, she drew him closer. Nicholas was forced to step aside as Sean sank onto the bed.
He looked ghastly. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“No way. Not for a stupid bird, anyway.” She laughed briefly, her breath catching at the pain in her side.
Sean smiled wanly.
“How did you know what was happening? Was it Winter who called you? Some sort of sea call or something? A power she didn’t tell us about?”
Sean smiled, more broadly this time. “Sort of,” he said. “It was a mobile phone. She called me.”
Sarah laughed weakly despite herself.
“Winter asked me to give you this,” Sean added, handing her a rolled up piece of paper he was holding. “She said that you had been looking for it.”
It was the missing letter. Sarah clutched it as a thought darted through her mind: Where had Nicholas been when she’d needed him?
43
A Child in the Water
In between two worlds
In between two bodies
One whole me
Winter saw her hair floating on the waves: the Midnight child, the blonde, quiet little girl she had played with so many times. She dived at once and swam towards her as quickly as she could. The water was freezing. In her human form Winter felt the cold on her skin, a million tiny needles piercing her. It was unbearable, but she knew that if she changed, she wouldn’t have arms to hold Mairead with, so she tried to endure it. The cold took her breath away. She thought her heart would stop. After a few seconds she just couldn’t take it anymore, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t move. She willed herself to keep going, and she did, though pain ripped through her chest and black sparks danced before her eyes.
Winter had no time to ask herself what had happened for Mairead to be floating in the frozen sea, but she knew that whatever tragedy had befallen the little girl, it was a long time coming. She had sat beside Mairead on the beach many times, basking in the moonlight the way her father used to do. She had heard Mairead crying and calling in despair after her dreams, and nobody comforting her.
At last Winter was there, so close to Mairead that she could entangle her fingers in her hair, pale strands twisted around her human hands. She tried holding the little girl in every way she could – by the arms, by the chest, by the head – but she was just a little girl herself.
Finally the cold and distress had the best of Winter. Her breath faltered and her body started turning by itself. She had no way to stop the transformation. She kept swimming around Mairead in a circle, begging her with her seal eyes to hold onto her. Winter had no more power of speech, no arms, and her skin was slippery, but she could have helped her. Mairead could have held on, had she wanted to.
She didn’t.
Winter caught her eyes for a second, those green eyes, her wet eyelashes – from tears or seawater, Winter couldn’t tell – and they were far gone, somewhere else already. She watched the girl sinking slowly. She watched the black sky, the black waters, the faint glow of the lighthouse beam moving slowly on their stretch of sea, from east to west, from west to east, until there was no more blonde hair left to illuminate. When it was finished, Winter pushed her body back to shore for her mother and father to find. Then she looked for a lonely place among the sea rocks, to cry and mourn in peace the girl she couldn’t save.
Winter’s mother had always told her, since she was a little girl, to keep her real nature a secret. Nobody would understand, she’d said. The other children from the island would be scared, even if stories about creatures like her have been told here since the beginning of time. Selkies.
But most of all, she had to keep her nature a secret from the Midnights, her mother always admonished her. And Winter managed to do that, even though she used to play with Mairead all the time, and even though she was at Midnight Hall a lot when her mum was working there.
For years, it was easy to hide her true nature. From babies to young men and women, people with Elemental blood grow at a normal pace, like everybody else. It’s only once they reach young adulthood that they start growing older slowly, so slowly as to give the illusion they stayed young forever. Winter always knew that when she reached the age of eighteen or so, she would have to isolate herself from the community on the island, and live somewhere truly wild where nobody knew her, or they would notice that she wasn’t growing old.
But before that time came, the Midnights found out about her in an entirely different way.
Mairead had been dead two years. Winter was seventeen. It was a perfect sunny day, and she was on the beach with the seals, sitting among them. They were lying in the sunshine, basking in the light and the fresh wind. Winter was happy and relaxed, and for the first time in her life – the first and last time – she took to her seal form without first making sure that she could not be seen. It was a mistake.
When she clambered back on the rock, she saw him watching her.
For a second Winter thought it was Stewart. Stewart and Winter had played together as children, though he was three years older than her, and as they grew up, he’d started looking at her with different eyes. Winter knew he liked her, and he was gentle and kind. Not like the rest of the family. Had it really been Stewart, Winter could have explained, she could have begged him to keep it a secret.
But it was James.
Winter, having changed back into her human form, was frozen to the spot, horribly, painfully aware that she was naked, though it had never bothered her before. He strode towards her, an avenging angel with a black soul.
“How could you, Winter? I don’t even want to look at you.”
“James …”
“You’re not even an animal! You’re a monster!”
Winter thought she’d never forget his eyes as he was shouting at her, so intensely green. And his hair so golden. He looked like the prince from a fairy tale, like a knight in shining armour, and yet she’d always known that beyond his appearance there was a soul as hard and as cruel as a blade.
“Your mother is a whore, and so are you. Cover up.” He averted his eyes, as if Winter’s body disgusted him. “Come to the house. Now. We’ll have to decide what to do.”
She didn’t go up to the house, of course. She ran home and cried with her mother. Murdina Shaw was beside herself with worry. The man everybody thought was Winter’s father, Hugh Shaw, had died the year before, and her real father had left long ago. Winter and Murdina were alone, and they had no idea what to do.
They were summoned. Hamish himself went to their cottage – something never seen before, the laird walking into the little house – and asked them to go and speak to him and Morag, that they would sort it all out, that Murdina could keep her job and her home and everything would be fine.
Winter and Murdina stood in the grand hall, ready to take judgement. Murdina had her head low, though she’d done nothing wrong, while Winter felt James’s eyes burning into her, travelling over her body in a way that made her cringe. When he’d seen her on the rocks there was something in his eyes that wasn’t loathing, or righteous indignation. His gaze had lingered on Winter a little longer than it should have had he been so thoroughly disgusted by her as he’d said he was. Fear blossomed in Winter’s chest. She knew then that she had a place somewhere in James’s black heart, the place where he kept cruelty and desire.
Morag and Hamish reassured Murdina that she could keep her position as housekeeper and that there was no need to leave the cottage. They told her that they knew she’d been deceived, and misled, and it wasn’t her fault she’d ended up having a child out of wedlock, and with a …spirit, Morag said, spitting out the word. They said they could accept Winter’s presence on Islay as long as she kept herself hidden, and as long as they were happy with her behaviour. Things would change if she were to mate with another Elemental. That’s the word they used, as if Winter were a beast.
“If we get the slightest hint that you’re conniving with demons, Winter, we’ll crush you,” Morag said calmly.
“Why would I?” Winter replied, aghast. “Why would I ever do that?”
“Some Elementals end up serving the Surari, Winter. They become their minions, or even their slaves. If that happens to you, I’ll make sure I’ll rip that seal skin off your body myself.”
As Morag said that, Murdina sobbed and brought her hands to her face. The sound of her fear and horror echoing in high-ceilinged room was burnt forever in Winter’s memory – and the sight of Morag, with Hamish and James on either side, sitting in judgement of them like a heartless queen.
They were dismissed with a wave of her hand.
Stewart met them on the way back to the cottage. Murdina held onto Winter’s arm, gasping as she saw him.
“It’s fine, Mrs Shaw. I’m here to help.”
Murdina breathed out, relaxing ever so slightly, but Winter didn’t allow herself to hope.
Stewart continued, “Winter, listen. They’re not going to harm you. They just want to keep an eye on you, that’s all. I’m sorry.”
Winter looked into his face, so similar to James’s and yet so different – gentler, with dark green eyes, mellower than the harsh emerald of his brother’s. “You knew, Stewart. Didn’t you?”
“I’ve seen you a few times,” he said, blushing. “I never told anyone, I promise you.”
“Of course. I believe you. So, do you think it’ll be OK? Do you think I can stay?”
“I’m sure. They just wanted to scare you. They’ve made their point now. Just … don’t step out of line and you’ll be fine. Mrs Shaw?”
“Yes, my lad?” Murdina put a grateful hand on his arm.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
Since that moment, Winter often wondered what w
ould have happened between Stewart and her had she not left. She doubted he would have gone against his family, but she’d never know.
Stewart was wrong, of course. They didn’t leave Winter alone. James didn’t. She kept well away, trying to melt into the landscape, spending most of her time in the sea on the other side of the island. She hoped that would be enough, that she wouldn’t have to leave.
But one afternoon, James came looking for her. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t out of control. It wasn’t rage that had taken hold of him and brought him there to Machir Bay, looking for silver-haired Winter. She saw him from afar, striding on the sand, a young man of nineteen with cold eyes and something in his hand: a silver dagger, engraved with Celtic patterns. She stood from where she was sitting on the rocks overlooking the sea.
Rage burnt inside her. With all her heart and soul, she hated him. And she hated Morag Midnight. They had destroyed Mairead, and they had sat in judgement of her mother. They’d called her a monster, an abomination. She hated them both, and Hamish too.
James stopped at the feet of the sea rocks and looked at Winter with cool, calm eyes.
“I’m getting married soon. To Cathy.”
She was taken aback. What was he expecting her to say, congratulations?
“Poor Cathy,” she replied.
“Very funny. By the time I get married, I want this island to be clean.”
Winter understood at once what he meant. She knew that the blade he was carrying was for her.
“I won’t use the Blackwater, Winter. It’d be too painful for you. I’ll use this,” he raised his sgian-dubh, “and I’ll make it quick. You might as well let me do it, because sooner or later, I’ll get you.”
Tide (The Sarah Midnight Trilogy) Page 22
