Dreams (Sarah Midnight Trilogy 1)

by Daniela Sacerdoti

  Harry feared that Sarah couldn’t have faced a fight in the state she was in.

  He was wrong.

  Sarah heard the growling first. “Harry,” she said, and her voice was hoarse from the silence.

  “Yes.” Harry had heard it too. Simon’s slave had arrived. The wait was over.

  “Open the door and hide behind it,” whispered Harry, for the second time since they’d known each other. Sarah looked at him, and didn’t answer. Harry blinked. She looked strange. She looked different.

  In an instant, Harry knew that she wasn’t going to do what he’d said. Again.

  Oh God, she wants to get herself killed! Harry thought in dismay.

  But he was wrong again.

  Sarah opened the door and stood there, unflinching. The woman that once had been Lucinda was growling, a low growl that came from the back of her throat. Lucinda had been dead for days now, and her body was beginning to come undone – her fingertips black already, her eyes empty, staring. The eyes of the dead.

  Lucinda was poised to spring, her stiff body working to bend according to the demon’s will. Her movements were painful, jerky. That split second allowed Sarah to look her straight in the eyes. Time stood still as the Midnight gaze worked on the demon.

  Lucinda shuddered and tried to attack – but it was a faltering, lopsided jump that didn’t take her anywhere. She wailed, a sound that was still horribly human.

  Sarah grabbed Lucinda’s short hair with both her hands and pulled her to the ground, holding her down without ever looking away.

  Harry couldn’t believe it. Was that Sarah? How did she manage that?

  It dawned on him. He’d seen the real Harry do it. Of course. The Midnight gaze. She had just looked at Lucinda, looked her in the eye, and it was enough. She had never been able to do that before.

  Lucinda whimpered. She couldn’t move, her muscles twitching, drool coming out of her mouth.

  “Harry, the dagger,” called Sarah, keeping her eyes fixed on Lucinda.

  Harry threw the sgian-dubh to her, and Sarah raised her hand to catch it, looking away for a split second. Harry caught a glimpse of her face. He gasped.

  Morag Midnight.

  The pictures that the real Harry had shown him. The same eyes, the same expression.

  Finally. Sarah was becoming what she was meant to be. One of them.

  And then a revelation: Harry hated to see Sarah like that. She was becoming a true Midnight now, like her grand-mother. It was what was needed, what he had been trying to tell her since they’d met, but he hated it. It was like taking a rose and dipping it in steel. The realization made his head spin.

  The moment that Sarah’s gaze had left Lucinda had been enough for the demon to get on its feet, shaking its head stiffly, jerkily, to try and shake off Sarah’s spell. They faced each other again, Lucinda’s face contorted in an animal growl, Sarah’s face as cold as the moon. The Midnight gaze was on the demon again, making it whimper and double over, legs giving way, until it fell. It wailed again, a cry full of pain.

  This is where Sarah tries to spare her, thought Harry. This is where she tries to get out of the killing.

  But it didn’t happen. Not this time. Sarah grabbed the demon’s hair, forcing it to raise its head and expose its neck. It was a deep, wide cut, from one ear to the other. Lucinda stood no chance.

  A strange sound came out of Sarah, a growl of triumph and hatred. Dark blood sprouted from Lucinda’s wound and from her mouth, trickling down her chin. She gasped and spluttered, struggling for breath, suffocating in her own blood.

  There was no sign of mercy on Sarah’s face. She waited until the demon stopped twitching. Then she stood up, without a word.

  It was Leigh’s death that did this to her. It was Leigh’s death that changed her, Harry realized.

  “Are you OK?”

  Sarah looked at Harry to answer, but it was too soon, and the Midnight gaze cut him, a sharp pain, like a blade between his eyes.

  Sarah blinked quickly. “Sorry.” She took a deep breath. “I’m going to clean all this up.”

  Of course. What else is there to say?

  Harry rubbed his forehead. It still hurt.

  He watched Sarah kneeling beside Lucinda, ready to liquefy her; this new Sarah, this stranger that had taken her place. He locked the door, and chained it for good measure.

  At least she’s speaking again.

  Sarah felt better after her hunt. She felt herself again, even if she was in so much pain for Leigh. She was ready to fight again. It was the first time, the first time in her whole life, that she had felt that sense of release. It was like she could understand them, now – her parents, Harry, her grandmother – how the hunt made them feel. Empty. Light. Spent. Like some terrible tension had gone from their minds, from their limbs.

  Released.

  Sarah knew the dreams would take her that night. When she felt sleep coming, she didn’t fight it. She was scared, but she let it take her. She needed to see what the dream would tell her; she needed to bring all that to an end. Nobody else was going to get killed, she had sworn to herself. Nobody.

  Sarah closed her eyes, and opened them in the dream. She was standing on the heather, in the familiar purple-skied place. The grass shone, wet with dew. Someone was walking towards her. Sarah recognized him at once – his way of walking quickly, as if he was always busy, leaning forward a bit, heading towards his next task, his next adventure.

  It was Harry. Sarah started running towards him. They met halfway, on a little slope between two hills. She was so happy to see him. Him, instead of some horrible, horrible creature. She looked into his face, and he smiled, his eyes full of warmth. Sarah smiled back.

  But the smile died on her lips.

  There was something not right.

  Harry wasn’t Harry anymore. His face was changing, as if he was turning into someone else. One minute he was himself, with his startling blue eyes, and one minute he was a blond man with green eyes, the same shade as her own. The same face as her own. He looked like her father’s twin. He looked like her twin.

  Sarah was about to ask him who he was, when the man turned into Harry again, the clear eyes and the dimple in his left cheek. But he looked distraught.

  “Sarah, I have to go,” he said. His face was full of pain.

  “You have to go? Where? I don’t understand.”

  “I have to go. I have to leave you. I’m sorry.”

  Sarah felt like her heart was being ripped out.

  “Why?”

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated. He turned away, and started walking. Sarah wanted to run after him, but she was rooted to the ground. She couldn’t move.

  “Harry!” she called.

  He didn’t turn around.

  “Sarah! Wake up! Sarah!”

  Harry knew that he shouldn’t have woken her, that he should have waited until the vision was finished so that they could get the most information out of it. But he couldn’t bear to see her like that.

  Sarah opened her eyes, and saw Harry leaning on her bed. She threw her arms around him, and hid her face in his neck.

  “Shhhh … it’s finished … don’t be afraid.”

  Harry felt furious, full of unspeakable anger. Why does she have to be tormented like this? For goodness sake! Can they not help themselves?

  He had no reverence for the Midnight mission any more. No sacred respect. Being a Dreamer was just a curse, and he was quickly losing patience with it. They saved lives, yes. But not their own. And Sarah’s life was all that mattered to him.

  Sarah was shaking; she couldn’t find peace. Harry started worrying. She should be a bit calmer by now. What did she see?

  “Sarah, it’s ok …” She clung to him even tighter.“What did you dream?”

  Sarah shook her head. She didn’t want to say. It was too painful.

  “Sarah …”

  “That you were leaving me,” she whispered.

  “I have no intention of going anywher
e.”

  Sarah looked at him for a long time, as if searching for something in his eyes.

  “I dreamt that you weren’t … you. And that you were leaving me.”

  “Oh, Sarah.” He took her face in his hands. “It was just a stupid dream. Not one of your visions. Everybody has dreams like that. I’ll never go, I’ll never leave you.”

  Sarah looked at him with desolate eyes, and took her place in his neck again. Harry stroked her hair and held her until she took a big sigh, and relaxed.

  “That you weren’t you,” she said.

  It couldn’t be one of her visions. I’m never going to go. Unless she asks me to.

  “You’re all I have,” he whispered into her soft hair.

  “You’re all I have,” said Sarah in return.

  What do you call this feeling? That you can’t live without someone? I can’t give it a name. I can’t give a name to something I should not be feeling.

  37

  In Great Haste

  All the dreams beneath the sea

  Of all of them just one

  Belongs to me

  Grand Isle, Louisiana

  “Niall, come here.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s the Sabha. I think I’ve found some sort of channel they use to communicate.

  Niall tore himself from his own computer and stood behind Mike’s, leaning over his chair. The screen reflected their faces, Mike’s as black as the night, Niall’s Irish-white, both wide eyed, both horrified.

  “My God. It’s the traitors.”

  Niall felt dizzy. He looked out to sea, its opaque green waters under a yellowing sky. A fine drizzle covered the windows, its drops thickening by the minute. A storm was coming in, rolling in from the Gulf of Mexico. He could see the fog starting to rise, rolling towards the land like a marching army.

  “We need to call Sean.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “Wait a minute. There’s something else. Look.” There was something in Mike’s voice that sent a shiver down Niall’s spine. Fear. Icy-white fear.

  “Niall. It’s a map – it’s a satellite view of Louisiana. It’s Grand Isle. Oh hell, it’s our shack! They’re on us!”

  “Shut this down! Shut it down!” Mike grabbed the wires and tore them off the wall, while Niall was switching off any equipment he could get his hands on. The screens all over the room went dead, the computers buzzed softly and then they stopped. Without the glare of the screens the room looked suddenly dark, a surreal grey-yellow light, the light that announces a storm, seeping from the window.

  Mike stood up and ran his hands through his hair. Niall looked into his friend’s face, and a million unspoken words passed between them.

  They both knew that it was too late. They both knew that they had been found, that it was just a matter of time before the traitors in the Sabha caught up with them.

  38

  Spell

  On the threshold

  Who am I?

  I’m something soft, there is no fight

  It was happening more and more often. Even when Sarah wasn’t sleeping. Even when she just closed her eyes, she’d see Leaf.

  Every time, her mind emptied, her heartbeat slowed, her thoughts blurred. She wanted to see him, and at the same time she dreaded it. Every time he was in her dreams it was as if she’d been bleeding for a long time, and she felt weak and hazy.

  And still, she didn’t want it to stop. She longed for him as much as he scared her. His power over her was addictive.

  Once again, Sarah had barely closed her eyes when he came to her under the oak trees. The light was golden and the sky was a perfect blue, and she felt like she didn’t know where she ended and the rest of the world began.

  He was standing in front of her with his burning eyes, raven hair, his strange, earthy scent that made her head spin, like some sort of ether.

  “Welcome back,” he said. Sarah felt her legs give way, and he sustained her, his arms against her waist, his mouth against her ear.

  “You’ve got to forgive me.”

  “Forgive you what?” she said dreamily, confused.

  “You have to forgive me for this,” he whispered, and without warning, he took a step closer to her. Sarah wanted to step back, but she couldn’t – her limbs were unbearably heavy. She couldn’t have lifted a finger.

  He put a hand under her chin, to look her in the eye. When their gaze met, Sarah felt like she could never look away. He put a hand on the small of her back, and entwined the other in her hair. In spite of herself, she felt she was moving closer – her body did it for her, as if she had relinquished control, as if she were like seaweed carried by a strong current.

  His face was against her, his lips were close to hers, so close …

  It’s happening. My first kiss …

  “The Mistress is coming.” A woman’s voice had filled the moonlit room, and Sarah opened her eyes with a sharp intake of breath. The sapphire was shining on her bedside table, casting a blue light over the walls and ceiling.

  Sarah drew herself upright. It’s not supposed to do that. That’s not how the spell works!

  In her diary, her mother had warned her about spells working differently for each person who cast them, and being unpredictable – like a recipe coming out differently every time.

  Was it always going to be that way? Casting a spell and not knowing what came of it?

  She lay awake until dawn broke on the moors, wondering if the sapphire would speak again, thinking of her interrupted dream and fearing the day ahead.

  39

  Childhood Dreams

  Wind and rain hiding my plight

  Standing in the cold

  Daughter of a place that is no more

  Knowing you must go

  The rain was tapping on he roof, trickling down the windows, soaking Anne’s garden. It was dark, and the sky was so low, so swollen, that it looked as if it wanted to open up and swallow the earth. Sarah loved the rain, but she had a deep sense of foreboding that had followed her since the sapphire spoke, and the weather added to it.

  When she’d told Harry about the sapphire singing again he had nodded quietly. It was as if they’d made the unspoken choice to wait calmly, to grab those last moments of peace. It had been a slow day, slow and dreamy, just the two of them in a world of their own. Sarah playing, Harry listening intently. Sarah writing her diary, Harry reading books he’d found among James’s things. And then music, and tea, and chatting in a low voice about things that had nothing to do with death, and danger, and what was ahead of them.

  Swirling in Sarah’s head were thoughts of her almost-kiss.

  Trust me to be weird in this as well. Can I not be normal, for once?

  She drew a deep breath. The Mistress. At last. At last. It’s nearly over. There’s only one name left on the list. It must be her. Catherine Hollow.

  “Not long to my audition,” Sarah said dreamily, her fingers touching some music sheets piled neatly on the coffee table.

  “Let’s focus on staying alive, we’ll think of your career later.”

  “Fair enough.” Sarah sighed.

  “If you don’t get into the RCS then you can go somewhere else. There are plenty of places that teach music.”

  “My mum went there. And I don’t want to leave this house.”

  “It’d only be for three years. I’d come with you.”

  “You’d come with me?”

  “If you want me to,” he added quickly. “Not if you’d rather share with friends.”

  “What would these friends think, when they see what I do at night?” she said sadly.

  “I suppose. I’m used to that.” He smiled.

  “Exactly. And you keep the caffeine flowing.” She smiled back.

  “I’ll cook for you and polish your cello.”

  Sarah laughed.

  “Make you soup after the concerts.”

  “Iron my evening gowns.”

  “No, I’m terrible a
t ironing. You’d be one shabby musician.”

  They looked at each other. A few unspoken words.

  And then Harry chose sarcasm. “Perfect timing, the Valaya. Just before your audition.”

  “Yes, perfect. Just in time to destroy my future!”

  “As long as there is a future.”

  He has a point. She thought of Leigh, and a lump of tears formed in her throat. How could I have laughed, just a minute ago? How can I ever laugh again, when she’s dead?

  “I’m going to have a shower,” she said, a catch in her voice.

  Harry felt the change in her mood, and wished he could bring her back from the sadness. But he couldn’t.

  “I’ll cook dinner,” he said instead.

  I’ll look after you was what he meant.

  Sarah undressed under Shadow’s watchful eyes, and ran the shower. She sat on her bed, wrapped in a towel, waiting for the water to get hot.

  A distant thunder resounded in the room, followed by another fanning of hard rain against the glass. The sky was yellow. A proper storm, coming in from the sea.

  Sarah shivered. She couldn’t get her heart to beat slowly; she couldn’t get her blood to run the way it should. She felt anxious, as tight as the strings on her cello.

  She closed the bathroom door and shut the world out. Steam had covered the mirrors, and the room was hot and damp. It was a world of her own, full of lovely scents and potions, the place where she could be alone and safe. Sarah folded the towel neatly, placed it beside the sink, and got into the shower. It was wonderful. She closed her eyes, letting the water run down her hair, her face, her body, like a hundred gentle hands caressing the fear away. She lathered herself in her peach-scented soap, breathing in the beautiful scent. A deep breath ran through her, releasing some of the tension.

  Better.

  Sarah couldn’t let herself get away with more than fifteen minutes under the hot water. She forced herself to get out of the cabin, reaching quickly for the towel sitting beside the sink. She wrapped it around her, her hair dripping …

  Standing in front of the steamed-up mirror, Sarah grabbed another towel and started drying the length of her hair. She caught a glimpse of herself, blurred by the steam – the ghost of a pale girl, white skin and night-black hair, troubled eyes, a long story to tell. She opened the body lotion and started massaging it into her legs, enjoying the sweet perfume and the feeling of softness against her skin. Her hands felt rough, made raw by the cleaning rituals. Sarah looked at them with a pang of shame.