The Midnight Before Me

by Elizabeth Lo

  The man jerks to the side, knocking over the last mahogany table left standing. His hand, shaking and white-knuckled, reaches up to grab a leg of the table.

  More gunshots ricochet through the halls, hitting more people, only for them to rise. The dead souls in their bodies refuse to let them die—the weight of two souls is too much to be able to leave the body for a proper death. They look like walking corpses, and I guess there isn’t much of a difference between corpses and them.

  A sway of white porcelain catches my attention. A vase teeters on the edge of a table.

  Someone else pushes me to the ground, his hands pressed to my throat. His magic builds up again. Someone’s going to explode again.

  That person bumps the table again.

  The magic builds up even more. His hands find a way around my throat.

  I can’t breathe.

  Once again, I fit my legs underneath whoever’s strangling me. My feet plant themselves on a soft belly, and violently, I thrust my legs upwards into it. Spit flies in my face.

  I roll away, cutting my hand on debris as I scramble like mad to stand up. Instantly, two of them jump on top of me once more, pinning me to the ground again. It’s endless. There are so many of them surrounding me.

  I buck and wiggle underneath the bodies above me.

  That telltale feeling—that buzz in the air—rattles my senses into a panic as I realize another survivor is going to blow a Decomposition explosion at any moment.

  I duck.

  BOOM! Right above my head. The last vase crashes on the ground sending glass skittering everywhere on the floor. A shard digs into the palm of my hand.

  The moment I straighten up, I almost fall over again. Blood drips down my back—part of the blast caught my right shoulder blade. I choke back a whimper and crawl out of the zombie’s reach as fast as I can. Fuchsia light bursts in my eyes inexplicably, and I struggle to stand.

  A blast explodes from behind me. Annabelle goes flying across the room. I can hear her scream. Blood splatters across the floor. The world is starting to spiral away from my fingers.

  The closest survivor catches my eye.

  He turns to look at me, but I cut him off, taking a swing at his head. This time, my arm goes in sure and steadily. No shying away. I can’t afford to hesitate.

  My fist makes a crater in his head, and his screams fill my ears. It fills me with guilt, but somehow, I can’t bring myself to regret it.

  “You won’t kill me!” one of them wails.

  “NO! Not again!” more of them yell.

  One of them has bloodshot eyes staring out of a sooty, sullen face.

  “Have you suffered as much as we have? What makes you think you’re so special? You think you have it worse than us?”

  “Do you know what it means to suffer?” they ask. “Do you know what it feels like to die? Do you know what it feels like to have your life ripped away from you?”

  Something in me finally snaps. The world starts moving faster and faster around me. I have to run just to keep up with it.

  There’s something boiling within.

  It’s then that I realize all of us feel it. Like something just went missing.

  The air seems too heavy, our chests tighten, and somehow, despite their insanity, even the Hanburians seem to be able to feel the overwhelming sense of grief. Some of them look more scared, some start groaning.

  “What… What’s going on?” I breathe, looking at Lafayette.

  He looks unfazed. Stoic as always, but unfazed.

  “It feels like someone died,” he says. “Someone important.”

  “Who…?”

  He glances at me, and somehow, in that instant, I know.

  It’s Sucre. The great magical being of our country has passed. His death has created a hole in all of us—we all got so used to his presence that without it, it feels empty. Which means… a certain queen will arrive soon.

  The world seems to sway in place. I can’t find my bearings. Why… of all the things, Sucre? Unlike me, the country needs him alive. There’s already been so much lost—yet Sucre also had to die for this cause.

  So then, there’s no way I’m getting away with living today. Not when the only way to stop losing things to the curse is through me.

  My body won’t move.

  “Save us!” the Hanburians wail. “Spare us.”

  “We never… we never even got to live.”

  Live… Live… When did I ever get to live?

  I’m facing the end, too, you know.

  I’m here to save you, people.

  I’m here to die.

  And yet, only now does the fear really set in, setting up camp in my chest and hijacking my every function. The eyes of Fantastique down the hall seem to pass judgment on me.

  There’s no going back.

  I know that.

  I spent a good part of my life wishing to die. But after so much has happened and after learning so much, now staring the one thing I wanted in the face, I wish I could try again. As a whole new person. As a new Midnight. Not this… shattered, broken Midnight who has done nothing but let others lead her life.

  Destiny? Isn’t it a terrible thing?

  No, Midnight.

  Indecision. That’s what got me here. My own indecision on what to do with myself. I have no place—and I never bothered to find one.

  It’s only now that I realize how truly scared I am. It’s only now that I realize the severe mistakes I made in my life, and the fact I can never fix them.

  I thought I understood Lafayette, but I wonder if this is how he really feels. Irreparable. That there are so many ripped seams in the past that it’s better to throw it all away instead of trying to stitch it all together.

  It’s easier to keep running forward than it is to turn around. The first law of motion, right? Maybe the reason why all of us couldn’t break out of our loops was simple. Because breaking out or turning around means something we all fear: Regret. Maybe to be a person means to be in a loop. So there is a constant, something you can call you.

  What is it that I want? Do I want to keep running or do I want to turn around?

  Can I even turn around?

  No. Midnight. You can’t. You know that.

  It’s too late now. This is a responsibility as the bearer of these eyes and this magic. This is a responsibility as a Galvitonian. This is my responsibility.

  This is my punishment. This is what I deserve.

  I’m standing here, with nothing but a wall and a spell separating me from death.

  Just moments ago, I was smiling.

  But now, I feel sick to my stomach. I want to scream and cry and laugh all at the same time. This is happening. The end is right there.

  Lafayette’s running towards me now. I can faintly hear yelling in the distance. But I can’t hear anything else.

  A flash of creamish-white hair jumps in front of me. Who is it? They all have pale hair.

  “KILL HER!” he screams.

  I spin on him wildly, my body jerking in motion.

  In a wild flurry, my fist makes contact with the side of his head, sending him reeling. I catch the look of sheer pain and surprise on his face as he falls.

  My shock matches his.

  “Arte—”

  A new body enters the picture.

  Flames careen towards me, led with a fist in the middle.

  The heat singes my skin as it just misses me. Glorieux stumbles forward almost drunkenly, her arms already engulfed in fire.

  I try to say something, but she cuts me off with a shriek that sounds like something straight from the pits of hell.

  Her eyes are wild… but they’re crisp. She’s different from before. This time, her eyes are not unfocused. No, this time, even though they are not looking at me yet, they gaze at her flaming wrists with utmost clarity.

  Her head turns to me, those mirror eyes flicking to me. Confusion. Anger.

  She’s lost again.

  Tilting her head bac
kwards, she sobs then looks back at me.

  “It’s your fault!” she screams. “It’s everyone’s fault! Stop blaming me!”

  She almost seems to Teleport towards me as she pushes off the remnants of the carpet, moving faster than I thought was humanly possible.

  Automatically, my hand pumps with magic once more, and I push it into her face, effectively shearing off her cheek.

  She doesn’t even flinch. My feet scramble to push me out of the way of her body-slam.

  Run.

  Every single one of my muscles contracts and dives around her, narrowly missing another flaming fist.

  Her speed carries her into the ground.

  Just as her fist hits the floor, BOOM!

  A miasma of heat erupts from her body all at once turning the world a shade of light yellow for a flaming moment.

  That invisible force punches me in the gut, knocking the wind from my chest, and slamming me against the ruthless wall of the Summer Palace. I sharply inhale. My body won’t move. My head jerks back and strikes the wall hard enough for me to see stars.

  Dust and smoke cover everything, fogging the air.

  Move. Move!

  I manage to push myself up. Where is she? Where’d she go?

  The gray haze parts enough for me to see a glowing figure marching towards me like a hurricane of fire. Flames swirl around her body like dragons waiting for their kill. The air starts to speed up when she gets closer. The feverish waves relentlessly push on me.

  But is it just me, or does it feel more tepid than before?

  I manage to stand up, after absorbing some of the shock. Blood is dripping down my arm. My back is on fire.

  “Wake up!” I shout at her.

  I’m staring at a walking nightmare.

  She’s got fire. What do I have? A few spells, wind, and a body that can come back to life… but that’s it.

  “There’s no point…” she mutters. “There’s no point in living in this world.”

  I begin to run along the wall in the other direction.

  She stops, watching me.

  “EXPECTATION,” she spits. “Just grow up, meet the expectations, have a baby, meet the expectations, do what you’re told, die. A life like that… What’s even the point?!”

  Another blast from behind sends my feet tripping over each other.

  She’s running again.

  Panic is the main fuel for my legs. I don’t even feel pain for a moment—just sheer mortal fear.

  Run, I keep repeating in my head. Not again. Not again.

  It’s the same nightmare all over again. Once in Hanbury. Now, again.

  I’m defenseless. Why… How did she get here?

  The ground shakes from underneath me. She’s coming.

  Something in me makes me take a glance behind. Alight with rage, drenched in a dress of hell, a broken woman speeds towards me.

  Why are my limbs moving so slowly?

  A moment of hesitation costs me. One moment she’s just five feet away, the next, in less than a blink, I’m breathing in flames. My nose explodes in pain and heat.

  I’m going to die again.

  A streak of black whisks past me and takes Glorieux with him. A flash of light blinds me, just for a moment. I didn’t even see what happened.

  Glorieux crashes to the ground. I can hear her whimper. Lafayette has pinned her down, pushing her head into the ground with an arm wrapped around her back.

  “Hello again,” he says.

  Glorieux screams back in return, wriggling underneath. Did he get her?

  “Stay back!” he yells at me before I can even take a step.

  His breathing… Wasn’t it a little steadier before? Why isn’t he moving?

  He coughs as an answer to my question. Blood drips onto her.

  “Lafayette…?”

  He tilts a little to the left… And then falls over into a heap on the ground.

  “Lafayette!” My feet have already started moving.

  Glorieux unsteadily rises from the ground, her arms dangling. Her spine rolls back as if she’s just moving out of a stretch and her head lolls back. Her eyes, like frigid mercury, peer back at me then swivel over to Lafayette. From here, I can just see a charred hole on Lafayette’s chest. She prepares for a finishing blow.

  I don’t know what comes over me.

  My knuckles crunch against the back of her skull, knocking her forward. I’m lightheaded from how shallow and fast I’m panting.

  “Ha,” she huffs, her eyes still looking elsewhere. A manic chuckle shakes her body. “Every day… Every day I saw people. Smiling people, masked people, and… happy people. Was it my envy for them that caused me to get here?”

  Her voice is cracking, and she ignores my punch as if nothing happened. Her eyes are searching the world, not me.

  Her hair whirls in a white tornado. She spins so fast I barely register it, her eyes burn once more.

  “Tell me, was it just my envy?!”

  Run?

  No. Not with Lafayette right there.

  I can’t run anymore from my fate. I have to face it. I have to face everything.

  Wind rushes into me at my beckoning. One step. Two steps.

  My hand locks onto her face before she can even react. Her nose cracks underneath my palm, her breath tickles my arm, and her scream fills my ears.

  Black acid starts to spread from my hand like a plague in an urban city. It eats away at her flesh moving faster than any disease possible, reaching her ears before I can even register I had moved.

  Blood starts to drip down from her face and body. Red, sinewy muscles are exposed as the skin dissolves away only to be eaten away in mere moments. Then the white bone reveals itself. Hair that is spared falls to the ground as it detaches from her scalp. I can feel her eyeballs against my fingers, her teeth shrinking on the bottom of my palm. My hands are sinking into her like butter.

  This is the power of Decomposition.

  Heartless and unstoppable, it turns anything around it into nothing but the simplest of particles.

  It scares me. It’s not explosive like it usually is on windows and objects, just simmering away like it did the morning I used it on myself. I’m holding back again.

  Why?

  No, I know why. It’s because this isn’t what I want. All this does is cause pain.

  The skull is getting thinner.

  She’s not screaming anymore—I am.

  It’s a mix of crying, wailing, and crazed yelling as the magic seems to drip straight out of me by the gallon. Blood sticks to my hand as I can no longer hold on. Her body falls to the floor while I hold my hand out in shock. How far did I go?

  People start emerging from the dust and rubble again. The double-souled from Hanbury.

  Am I crying?

  They’re coming again. The zombies of Hanbury. Approaching with a slow walk, with glassy eyes.

  “Don’t kill me again,” they say, their eyes tearing up. “It hurts. Everything hurts.”

  Blood drips from them onto the floor. Their faces and bodies are filled with holes and bruises as they stare at me.

  “Save us,” they beg.

  “Save you?” I ask, even though I know they can’t understand me. “How?”

  “Don’t kill us,” they moan.

  There’s a glassy look in their eyes. It’s hard to tell, but some of them have been crying. Their mutilated faces make their expressions unreadable, their words slur together but can only repeat the same phrases.

  It’s twisted logic, but what if they actually want to die?

  What if the only way to save them is for them to die? To finally end their suffering.

  They raise their hands again, mindlessly.

  Mindlessly.

  I look down at my hands. Their crude forms of magic gave me an idea that could set them free. And unlike with Glorieux, I think this time I can do it. Properly. In one explosion for each one of them.

  But will this save them? Or will it only be my arrogan
ce?

  It’s not like I have a choice in that either.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Glorieux

  Glorieux can’t seem to move. Or rather, it seems she doesn’t want to move.

  Above her, people are screaming. But there doesn’t seem to be much fear in their cries.

  Her face burns. Or at least what’s left of it.

  The Regeneration is kicking in slowly, slower because of the enchantment that that boy put on her—a magic transferal enchantment meant for nuagepanthères more than ten times her size.

  Maybe it’s because of that enchantment that she feels it again.

  Lucidity.

  Just slightly.

  Like waking up from deep sleep.

  The feeling that had gripped her chest, that held on and on and on… she got so used to feeling it that only now that it’s disappeared, does she realize her heart can finally beat again.

  Pulses of magic shake her and move her around. She’s somewhere in the middle of the destroyed foyer, close to the wall. Many parts of the ceiling have fallen in and let in small blotches of light, one of which singes her fingertips. All the noise seems to be coming from the other side of the hall.

  When she finally sits up, to gather her surroundings, her newly made eyes peer at the blurred world, hastily reconstructed and imperfect. She can make out the sight of a small girl in a stained blouse and a black skirt with silver hair whipping all around as she runs through haphazard explosions with a clumsy sort of speed and returns each explosion with her own calculated burst, turning large, swaying figures into dust. They scream at her and run at her, but their attacks don’t seem serious.

  Decomposition. Black magic. One of the easiest spells to cast, yet the hardest to control. An undiscriminating spell that will destroy anything in its way no matter the substance.

  It’s easy for mindless beings to pick up on. To use them as weapons and protection.

  But somehow, as each figure bursts into air with their same spells cast at them with needle-like precision, Glorieux feels that she has lost.

  The people she gathered to use at her expense seem almost to be begging for death, their hoarse voices fading one by one as each bursts into nothing but separated particles.

  The girl doesn’t say a word. The only sound she makes is the delicate taps her shoes make on the floor as she weaves through the bodies like a thief sneaking through a marketplace.