Dreams (Sarah Midnight Trilogy 1)

by Daniela Sacerdoti

  I nodded. He was right. “I just can’t believe it. I thought we were fighting the Valaya. The Enemy. Now we have to worry about the Sabha too.”

  “I believe that the Enemy and the Sabha are now one.”

  We looked at each other, Harry’s words weighing between us like stones in our hearts.

  “Sean. Elodie is now my wife.” The shadow of a smile appeared on Harry’s lips.

  “Your … wife?”

  “We got married yesterday. We knew there wasn’t much time left.”

  Harry and Elodie had got married, and the day after their wedding they’d already been separated. I felt a deep sorrow take hold. It’s still with me, and I’m sure that it’ll never let me go, for the rest of my life. I felt the walls closing in on me and I thought I’d suffocate, just like it was slowly happening to Harry. I walked to the window and looked at the sky.

  “The heirs of the Secret Families must be kept alive, no matter what. Do you understand? Sarah must be kept alive. She might be the one who saves us all, in the end. Each and every heir needs to survive, and so many have died already.”

  “I’ll do anything I can, Harry. I promise you. Maybe I should take her into hiding too, like Aiko and Niall. Somewhere secret …”

  “Sarah would never go with you, believe me. She doesn’t even know about the existence of other Secret Families, about the Sabha, or the true nature of the Surari. My uncle kept all that from her. If she were to know the truth now she might go to the Sabha, and we’d lose her. You have to keep up the pretence; you have to win her trust slowly …” Harry coughed again, a painful, burning cough that made me flinch. I nodded, overwhelmed by all these revelations. “Which is why I want you to have all this. This house, my belongings, everything. I want you to become me. Here’s everything you need …” He handed me a leather briefcase. “Leave here as soon as you can. They won’t be long.”

  I struggled to take in what Harry had just said. “You want me to become you?”

  “It’s the only way. Sarah will never let you in otherwise. She’ll never trust you. You don’t know the Midnights. They’re proud, and diffident. They won’t accept help from outsiders. The only time I saw her she was just a baby. She doesn’t know my face at all, and any pictures they have of me – if they have any – will be from when I last saw them, when I was eight years old. We’re both blond, and your eyes could pass as Midnight eyes. She’ll believe you.”

  “I want to stay with you until … until the end.”

  “It’s too dangerous. Listen to me now. You’re the closest thing to a family I’ll ever have. You and Elodie. You must survive this. You must help Sarah survive. You have to go. Now.”

  The green of his eyes was burning into mine. I nodded. I couldn’t speak.

  “They’re coming to finish me off in style.” He smiled bitterly. “I know what they want to do to me. I won’t let them.”

  And that was it. I looked into his face one last time, into his brave, wild Midnight eyes.

  That was the last I saw of him.

  I rented a room somewhere in the East End, out of the way. I went through Harry’s briefcase. He’d been very thorough: all the documents I needed, pages and pages of information about the Midnights, people I could call if I needed help, the deeds of his Mayfair house with a note attached to it: If you need somewhere to stay, when it’ll be safe again.

  Among the documents and papers was a photograph. It was a picture of a girl with long black hair, and Harry’s green eyes: Sarah Midnight. The quality of the photograph was terrible, dark and grainy, so I couldn’t make out her face very well. I stared at it for a long time.

  That night I watched the news on my laptop. I heard what I was expecting to hear: that a man known as Sean Hannay had been found floating in the Thames. I prayed and prayed that Elodie was safe in Italy, somewhere hidden and secure, somewhere she and Aiko, and whoever else found their way there, could find refuge. It had been too late for Harry.

  The last thing I could do for him was to follow his instructions. To become Harry Midnight.

  I accessed Harry’s email account. And there it was, the email he’d been dreading, from the Midnights’ solicitors.

  This is to let you know that your aunt and uncle, James and Anne Midnight, were killed last night in a traffic accident …

  I deleted it at once. There was no way I’d bring attention on Harry – on me.

  Time to go. I walked out into the dark night, looking for a taxi that would take me to Heathrow Airport, and from there to Scotland, the green, windswept place where I would find Sarah Midnight.

  3

  A New World

  Alone what seemed forever –

  Then your beacon shone

  “You have to go to school, Sarah. I know you’re upset, but we need to keep the routine going. You can’t sit around the house all day, it’ll make you worse …” Juliet was going on and on, busying herself around the toaster, spreading crumbs everywhere. Sarah felt her skin crawl at the sight of the mess her aunt was making. She had to get up and pick the crumbs up with a wet sponge, then dry the surface with a kitchen cloth, carefully. To see her cleaning seemed to upset Juliet, which irritated Sarah even more. Only when she was happy that every single crumb had been picked up, and only once she’d gone over the surface a couple of times for good measure, could Sarah sit back at the kitchen table, in front of the frothy cappuccino she had made herself. She looked mutinous.

  “I can’t go, it’s as simple as that. I’ve got stuff to do.”

  “Like what?”

  “Just … things.”

  Juliet rolled her eyes. Her niece must be the most stubborn, strong-headed girl in the whole of Scotland. In a fit of frustration, she threw her hands in the air.

  “All right, then. Just for today. You’re going back to school on Monday though …”

  “She’s going today.”

  Sarah looked up in surprise. Harry had walked into the room, barefoot, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, his blond hair wet from the shower.

  “She needs to go today. You’re right, Juliet. We need to keep some sort of normality here. I’ll see to that.”

  Juliet looked at him, incredulously. Was he really on her side?

  “Yes. Good. I’m glad we see eye to eye.” Juliet took the last sip of her cappuccino and went upstairs to get dressed, a satisfied smile on her face for having won the battle, albeit with a bit of help.

  Sarah was outraged. How dare he interfere in her life like that?

  “What did you do that for?” she whispered, as soon as Juliet was out of earshot. “I need to sort out my parents’ things. You know that. I told you last night.”

  “I know. But to do that, you need Juliet out of your hair. And to get her out of your hair, you need to show her you’re sorted. That we can manage by ourselves, and that I can look after you.”

  “Oh! Of course. Then I can stay home for a few days.”

  “Who said that?” said Harry, his blue eyes twinkling.

  “You said …”

  “I said we need to show her we’re sorted. And letting you miss school is not part of the plan. You’re going. Double maths and all.”

  He’s enjoying this!

  Sarah stopped in her tracks. What did he just say?

  “How do you know I’ve got double maths?”

  “Do you actually have it? I took a wild guess.”

  Sarah eyed him suspiciously.

  “I guessed. Seriously!” He put his hands up in a declaration of innocence.

  “I don’t believe you for a second. How on earth would you know what I’ve got on today?” She was shaking. He creeps into my room at night, and he knows my timetable?

  “Ok, then. I went through your stuff.” He said this in an even tone, as if it was a perfectly normal thing to do.

  “You what?”

  “I had to. I was looking for something.”

  “Oh. Right. And did you find it?” Sarcasm was her only option. The alternativ
e would have been to slap him.

  “Not yet. Now go, or you’ll be late. Actually, wait …”

  Sarah turned to face him. She was pale with anger.

  “What?” she hissed.

  “Do you have a minute to make me a cappuccino? Yours looks amazing.”

  Sarah gasped in outrage. She looked for a suitable answer, but all she could muster was a feeble, “Make your own!” She was so angry that she was nearly in tears. She ran up the stairs, and slammed the door to her room.

  He’s right, a little voice inside her said. If we show them that we’re fine, that we’re in control, they’ll let Harry stay and I won’t have to leave my home. Right now, it’s the best thing to do.

  OK, so he got that right. But what about going through my stuff?

  Sarah looked around her. Her room was her sanctuary. The idea of someone touching her things … And what on earth could he be looking for? She took a deep breath. She’d have to wait until after school for an explanation.

  She took a quick shower, dried her hair, and got dressed in her uniform: a short black skirt, black tights, a white shirt, and a grey jumper, with a grey and blue tie. Everything she wore had to be spotlessly clean, perfectly ironed and sitting straight. She just couldn’t have it any other way. She examined herself mercilessly, adjusting her skirt, smoothing down her shirt, undoing its buttons and doing them up again. She tied her silky hair back in a high ponytail, making sure not even a single hair escaped from it, grabbed her bag and was ready to go … But hesitated.

  She went back to stand in front of the mirror, and did it all over again. She adjusted her skirt, smoothed her shirt, undid her hair and did it up again, and she knotted and unknotted her tie until it was perfectly straight.

  Now she was ready.

  To think that many girls in school were envious of her beauty, of her obstinate perfection. If they knew how exhausting, how heartbreaking it was for her, to keep doing those rituals of perfection – how much she would have loved to throw on her uniform and run out of the door without feeling that, if she’d done that, the world would collapse around her. How she would have loved to be able to stop tidying, to stop cleaning, to stop straightening things. How she would have loved to lie on her bed and read a book without worrying about upsetting the duvet, to have a shower without having to throw herself on all fours on the floor with a facecloth and dry every single drop, to get out of the house without worrying to the point of tears if she had left everything the way it was supposed to be.

  Her obsessions drove her parents crazy. Her parents – her mum especially – would have been happy to live in chaos. They couldn’t understand – or maybe they didn’t want to see – that Sarah’s constant cleaning and tidying wasn’t simply a character trait, but came from her terrible anxiety, a chronic state of terror that had consumed her since she was a child.

  Night after night Sarah had lain in an empty house, waiting to hear the key in the door, and her parents’ footsteps on the stairs. Only then, when she knew that her parents were back from the hunt, that they were alive, could she breathe again. Every evening, just after her parents went out, Sarah would clean every surface in her kitchen, she’d practise her cello, she’d tidy her room until everything was sitting perfectly straight; and then she’d slip into bed, arranging the duvet and pillows around her in a way that only she knew, in the way they had to be. If she did all that every night, in the right order, her parents would come home safe. It was her secret pact with God, with destiny, with the universe – she didn’t know with whom or what, but it seemed to work.

  As it was working so well, Sarah decided to extend it to every part of her life – her hair had to be perfectly braided, her school uniform impeccable, her books arranged by colour, her shoes neatly aligned against the wall, following an invisible line of perfection. If anything was out of place she’d be beside herself with anxiety, because something terrible was going to happen to her parents, and it’d be all her fault. Before she knew it, her life had been taken over by the tidying and cleaning and arranging and straightening, and not a moment of her day was spent without some sort of ritual.

  James and Anne understood nothing of this. They fooled themselves that Sarah was simply a very tidy, precise little girl. It had been Aunt Juliet who noticed that something was not right, and she had mentioned it to Anne.

  But Anne had said that Juliet was worrying over nothing.

  Sarah understood. They were Midnights. They had to hunt. They had to live that dangerous, impossible life. If their daughter was terrified, exhausted with all the tasks she set herself, they’d rather not see. It would have been too much to bear. So the secret pact went on, swallowing Sarah’s life bit by bit.

  When her dreams started she got even worse. Nearly every night – especially around the full moon – Sarah dreamt. And nearly every night she woke up to an empty house, screaming. She’d get up and start tidying, until every single object in her room was perfectly aligned to the invisible grid she had in her head. This calmed her a bit, but not completely.

  In the end, her pact hadn’t worked. The force she’d made it with – God, the universe, whatever it was – didn’t keep their part of the deal, and one night she waited in vain for the sound of the key in the door, the footsteps and soft voices. Instead, it was the police, to tell her that her parents were dead.

  Harry came out of the kitchen as Sarah was in the hall, putting her jacket on and wrapping her long, cream scarf around her neck – twice, that was the way she needed to do it.

  “Be good,” he teased. Sarah looked at him, her eyes green, narrowed, like a cat’s.

  “Goodness. You’re scaring me.” And he meant it. The Midnight gaze could be very intense, and occasionally it could have a strange effect on people. And on other things as well. He’d seen the real Harry using it a few times.

  “Look, Sarah. You need to trust me. Right now, you have no choice.” He was suddenly serious.

  “I know. Otherwise you’d be out the door by now.” Sarah used the iciest tone she could find, and turned away.

  Then she spun round.

  “When exactly did you go through my stuff?”

  “While you were sleeping.”

  Sarah was aghast.

  “How? I’m a very light sleeper. I would have heard you.” Her voice was shaking, and she hated herself for it.

  “Let’s just say I’ve got my methods.” Harry held her gaze. They faced each other for a few seconds.

  It was Harry who looked away.

  “I’ll see you this afternoon. Come straight home, there’s a lot of work to be done.”

  Sarah didn’t answer, and walked down the gravelly path, towards the wrought-iron gate that marked the entrance to her home.

  “Sarah! Sarah, wait, I’ll give you a lift!” Juliet’s shrill voice reached her just as she was stepping onto the road, but she ignored it.

  Juliet stood on the doorstep beside Harry, and sighed.

  “Well, I think I’ll go home now. I’ll be back this afternoon.”

  “Why hurry, Juliet? Do stay,” said Harry, and his eyes were steely. He laid a hand on Juliet’s arm, and led her back into the house.

  Sarah stood frozen on the school’s stone steps. Keira McCarthy had just passed her, blue shadows under her eyes, her pale face set in sorrow.

  Keira’s older sister had disappeared two weeks before, at the same time that Sarah’s parents died. She had vanished into thin air. Sarah knew that they were never going to see her again. Because it was she, Lily McCarthy, that Sarah had turned into blackwater. There had been no way to just kill the demon and save Lily. But at least she had been the creature’s last victim. The third and last. Two other girls had disappeared, not far from there. Sarah thought of the creature’s sickly yellow skin, the long, thin claws, the full horror of the hunt rushing back …

  “Sarah. It’s good to see you back.”

  Sarah jumped out of her skin. A tall man with a handful of papers in his hands had appeare
d at her side. The head teacher, Mr McIntyre.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He took her elbow in a familiar, gentle gesture.

  “Hello, Mr McIntyre.” Sarah waited for her heart to slow down.

  “Sarah, I want you to know … Well, if you need to talk, you know where I am.”

  She felt choked for a second. She looked into Mr McIntyre’s kind face. He and her mum were not only colleagues, but good friends. Anne had taught music at the Trinity Academy for many years. As much as it could be difficult to go to the same school her mum taught at, Sarah enjoyed seeing Anne around, exchanging a few quick words, a look. At least that way she got to see her mother, which didn’t happen often, given that she and her father were out hunting nearly every night.

  Sarah couldn’t believe that she would never see her mother again. She blinked a few times. She wouldn’t let the tears fall onto her cheeks; she’d keep them all in, even if they’d suffocate her.

  “Thank you,” she said hurriedly, and walked away. In her haste, she bumped into someone.

  “Oh, I’m sorry …”

  “Sarah!” She felt a pair of arms squeezing her affectionately. A distinct scent of bluebells enveloped her.

  “Bryony.” Sarah returned the hug, hiding her face in her friend’s sweet-smelling hair. It was wonderful to see her again.

  “You’re back! This place was a desert without you. Oh, Sarah, I’m so sorry. I wanted to come to the funeral, half the school wanted to, but we weren’t allowed. They said family only. But to me you are family …”

  Bryony had been Sarah’s best friend since they were three years old. She was a petite girl, with bright, curly red hair that she wore loose on her shoulders like a little beacon. While Sarah was quiet and kept herself to herself, Bryony was chatty, lively, and popular with everyone. She was forever trying to drag Sarah to parties and clubs and after-school classes, without much success. Sarah spent most of her time practising her cello.