Midnight Girl

by Will Shetterly

  She showered until the hot water ran out, then dressed in purple high-tops, black jeans, and a purple long-sleeved T-shirt. When she went to the study, her father was typing. Without looking up, he said, “One more paragraph?”

  “The cool.”

  She looked around the room she had taken for granted. Shelves of ancient books covered most of the walls. For as long as she could remember, she had come in here two or three times a day to put away or fetch books her father couldn’t reach. She had never wondered what they were about. She had never thought they might be about her in some way. She looked at the spines. Few had titles, and those were faded or in strange alphabets.

  Over the fireplace was the painting of Senor Ricardo de Medianoche. On his gloved fist perched a hawk. It could have been a nighter. Did he know? The hawk and Senor Ricardo were enigmas. Cat couldn’t tell which one looked fiercer.

  The only other furnishing was a mirror as big as a door. She had always loved its frame: A brass snake coiled around the oval glass to swallow its tail. She assumed that was why her father kept it. In its smoky glass, everything seemed dim and distorted.

  “Vampires hate mirrors!” She jumped in front of it. A sickly gray ghost stared back at her. “Okay, I know why they hate this one.”

  “Oh?”

  “Makes your butt look ginormous.” She frowned at her father in the dark mirror. “So the stuff about vampires and mirrors isn’t true?”

  “Depends on whether the nighter wants to hide. Your mother used mirrors like any— Never mind. You see yourself, right?”

  “As well as I ever could in this.”

  “It was state of the art in Ricardo’s day. Ancient mirrors were usually small. Someday we’ll sell that to a museum, and you can go to any university you want.”

  “What?” Cat whirled to face him. “No way!”

  “Huh. I thought we were going to talk about nighters, but the father in me says your education is more important.”

  “I mean you can’t sell that mirror. You keep selling things like they don’t matter.”

  “This house is full of the past, Cat. We need to look to the future.”

  “And get rid of everything?”

  “Why not? Buy a beach hut in Fiji, and the only thing we’ll worry about is the strength of our sun block.”

  “I might have to worry about that anyway.”

  “So we’ll move to Vancouver Island. I look great in a trench coat.” Cat frowned. “Why’re you talking about moving?” He tapped his fingers on his arm rest, then said, “They can find you here.”

  “Baldomero and Mama?”

  “And every nighter that serves them. They’ll do anything to get you back.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “In their place, I would.”

  “I didn’t tell you what happened after Tee left.”

  “You don’t need to. Xandra called. I talked to Ilya, too.”

  “Baldomero will hate me.”

  “Not after he’s calmed down. And your mother will always want you back.” She didn’t want to think about the de la Sombras now. “So tell me about Senor Ricardo.” He father nodded. “He appears in history in 1204 at the sack of

  Constantinople. You know about the Fourth Crusade? The Crusaders decided fighting Muslims was too hard, so they attacked the nearest Christians instead. In Constantinople, Ricardo joined the Night Council, a secret band of soldiers and scientists. Many of them had seen nighters feast on the wounded on battlefields. They thought all wars were promoted by nighters, so when every nighter was dead, the world would finally have peace.”

  “Do you think that?”

  “I think they underestimated the human capacity to get mad and act stupid, but there’s no question wars are started by people who want power. Back to Ricardo?”

  Cat nodded.

  “Sometime later in Spain, he got his title: el Senor de Medianoche. But a few years after that, he was the lord of a castle in Languedoc in the south of France, and he’s called le Sieur du Chateau du Minuit. His wife’s family were Cathars, pacifist Christians considered heretics by the Catholic church.”

  Cat held up a hand. “Professor M! Professor M! I have a question!”

  “Is someone having fun?” She nodded. “Good. What?”

  “Do crosses protect people from nighters?”

  “Sometimes, but not because nighters are afraid of religious symbols. It’s just tribalism—a Christian nighter would rather feed on a heretic, but hungry nighters take what they can get. May we continue, Senorita Medianoche?”

  Cat nodded.

  “Pope Innocent the Third said Catholics who killed Cathars could keep their land. Before attacking one village, a Crusader asked a papal delegate how to tell the difference between Cathars and Catholics there. The delegate said, ‘Kill them all. Surely the Lord knows which are his.’ No one knows how many Cathars were slaughtered. The delegate estimated twenty thousand.

  “Castle Midnight was plundered and burned. History says Ricardo died protecting Cathars, but the Night Councilors have their own story. They say he thought it was possible to make peace with nighters, so he arranged a secret meeting, but the nighters killed him.”

  The professor reached into his breast pocket. “The rest of your birthday present.” He tossed something small that glistened in the air.

  His silver ring with the turquoise stone landed in her palm. She glanced at the mirror’s frame: it was also a snake biting its tail.

  “The Worm Ouroboros,” her father said. “‘Worm’ is an old word for snake or dragon. ‘Ouroboros’ means tail-eater. It’s a symbol of eternity. That’s how long the Night Council is prepared to fight nighters.”

  Cat looked at the portrait of Ricardo. The blue-green ring was on the little finger of his right hand. She tried it on her ring finger, then put it on her middle one. “What do you think?”

  “The father’s handbook says I should say that’s a rude gesture that’s never called for. But it’ll look great.” His voice grew quieter and grimmer. “The heads of the Five Clans are meeting this afternoon.”

  “Is that the Night Council?”

  “What’s left of it. The Medianoches, the Udofias, the Fongs, the Arkans, and the al-Rahmans.”

  “That’s why Uncle Olujimi, Auntie Fong, and Ms. Arkan have rings like this?”

  Professor M nodded. “Mind pointing that the other way?”

  “Oops!” She closed her hand. “Who’s the head of the al-Rahmans?”

  “Saeed al-Rahman. His mother was the First of their family, but she died last year—of old age, not nighters. I haven’t met him.” Cat nodded. “Where do nighters come from?”

  “No one knows. Some say the first cities were built so nighters would never go hungry. Some say the Night Council began in the time of the Pharaohs.”

  “You don’t?”

  “I think humans fought nighters everywhere, and the Night Council came later, when different groups started working together. It’s a chicken or egg question. What matters is the Ouroboros War has been fought for as long as anyone knows.”

  “What about nighter prophecies?” He squinted at her. “Are there any?” Cat nodded. “‘One born between the worlds will lead the folk to glory.’“ Professor M’s eyes widened. Then he looked out the window and put the tips of his fingers together. “Keep that secret. Prophecies are just wishful thinking, but some of us are superstitious. So far as the clans are concerned, what matters is you haven’t killed anyone and you’re not about to.”

  Cat thought, Is he really so sure I can control it? Wish I was. “What if soy milk stops helping me?”

  “Then we’ll get you blood until we find a solution. Olujimi will have a ball hunting the common elements in soy milk and blood. You’ll be okay, kid.”

  “If there’s hope for me—” Cat hesitated. “Is there hope for other nighters?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re half-human. They’re not.”

  “But if they don’t
have to drink blood—”

  “You think that’s all it’s about?”

  “Sure. Survival.” He shook his head. “Power. Nighters won’t sign up for a feeding program. They want to rule us.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “You don’t think Baldomero loves power?”

  “It’s not just him.”

  “So long as he rules, it is.”

  “Could we convince the others to leave him?”

  “You don’t disobey when mind-control’s involved.”

  “I did.” She remembered the voice that had whispered, Be free! “I think Mama helped.” Her father’s eyes narrowed like arrow slits in a castle wall. “How?” She hesitated. How could Mama have freed her from Baldomero when she couldn’t free herself? “I don’t know. But I think she did something.”

  Professor M shook his head. “Zoraida would love to rule in his place. You’d be useful to her if she turns against him.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I know what happens if you think a nighter loves you.”

  Cat wanted to ask about her parents’ marriage, but that would be like jabbing a wound with a stick. She asked the first question that seemed safe: “Why don’t the Five Clans tell people about nighters?”

  “Like public service announcements?” She nodded. “People are better off thinking they’ve met a crazy person than a nighter. They’re more likely to fight back if they think they’ve got a chance.”

  “Do they have a chance? If nighters do the mind-control thing—”

  “Few nighters are as powerful as Baldomero and Zoraida. And some humans are resistant to hypnotism.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We interview survivors. We study our failures. It explains—” He looked out the window. “A lot.”

  She saw what he thought: either he had been hypnotized by Zoraida, or he had been an idiot. Maybe he was right. Maybe her mother had glamoured him to breed a nighter who could walk in daylight.

  She said, “Dad?”

  He glanced back at her. “Olujimi and Auntie Fong are patrolling nearby. Mind if I call them in? Some questions you might prefer to ask them.”

  She thought, Some questions you might prefer I asked anyone else. She said, “I wouldn’t prefer asking Auntie Fong anything.”

  “Cut her all the slack you can, kid. Thanks to nighters, she’s buried a father, a sister, a husband, a daughter, two sons, three cousins, and a whole lot of friends.” He took out his cell, clicked it, and said, “Lunch time. Come on back.”

  As he put it away, Cat said,”Why do people in the clans have kids? If everyone’s going to die fighting—”

  “You wishing you hadn’t been born?”

  “If I’d been human, what would’ve happened?”

  “Each clan has its customs. Medianoches are told on their eighteenth birthday. You would’ve been free to choose the life you wanted.”

  “Did you feel free to choose?” He closed his eyes. “Sometimes I wish I had a stupid daughter. Yeah, the pressure is on to join the war. But don’t think the clans are for breeding soldiers. We all tell ourselves the war will end before our kids are grown.”

  Before she could decide how to answer that, she heard the front door open. Her father yanked open a desk drawer and set his hand on a bolt pistol. Then Uncle Olujimi called from downstairs, “Didn’t someone say lunch was ready!” Professor M asked Cat, “Want to give ‘em a hand? Soup’s in the fridge.” When she nodded, he called, “Help’s coming!” Then he looked at Cat. “They wouldn’t be here if they weren’t on your side.”

  She thought, Or if they thought you were wrong, so they should solve the problem themselves.

  “Got it,” she said, and went into the hall.

  Chapter Twelve:

  Lunch

  Looking down from the stair landing, she thought Uncle Olujimi and Auntie Fong were dressed for a party. He wore a tan suit with a dark brown T-shirt. She wore matching blue trousers and jacket with a white silk blouse. Cat sniffed. Something smelled like bolt guns. She squinted. Olujimi had a shoulder holster. Anything could be in Auntie Fong’s shoulder bag.

  Cat pointed out the window. “Sun.”

  Olujimi grinned. “Looks very nice on you, Tiger. But telling us you’re a nighter who likes the sun isn’t helpful.”

  Auntie Fong said, “What matters is you behaved like a—” She hesitated. “Your father spoke with you?”

  Cat nodded. “Five clans, killing nighters, got it.”

  Auntie Fong’s eyes narrowed. “You are your father’s daughter. Therefore we’re prepared to conditionally—”

  Olujimi said, “Unconditionally. If I get a hug.”

  Auntie Fong said, “We’re prepared to accept that the misfortune of your birth does not change your position in your family.”

  Olujimi said, “For a few days, if you say boo, everyone’ll wet themselves. But what we’re trying to say is— Well, about last night, it was a natural misunderstanding, so we’re just glad—”

  Cat said, “Do you guys want soup or not?”

  Olujimi smiled. Auntie Fong said, “Yes, dear. We would like that very much.”

  Cat came down the stairs. Before anyone could try to hug her, she said, “No one moved the kitchen, did they?”

  Olujimi frowned. “Not that I heard.”

  “Good.” She walked past them and led them down the hall. “Is it your father’s lentil soup?” Auntie Fong said. “I love that.” Olujimi said, “Never enough garlic.” Auntie Fong said, “You would say that if it was all cloves and one lentil.”

  “You have to have a lentil,” Olujimi said. “For flavor.” Cat said, “What’s with nighters and garlic?” Olujimi glanced at her. “Oh.” Cat said, “Look, I am what I am, so everybody get over it, okay?”

  Auntie Fong said, “You’re a Medianoche, and therefore you triumphed over the beast within you.”

  Cat said, “I’m a Medianoche, a de la Sombra, a human, and a nighter, and I’m not taking sides.”

  “More fool you, child!” said Auntie Fong. “If you don’t take a side, a side will take you. When you saved your friend, you showed what you are. Don’t let a misguided sentiment—”

  Olujimi said, “Also not helpful.” He looked at Cat. “No one wants you to deny what you are.”

  Auntie Fong said, “Speak for yourself, Olujimi.”

  As they stepped into the kitchen, Olujimi said, “Tiger, I don’t want you to deny what you are. But if you romanticize a nighter just because she’s your mother—”

  Cat yanked open the refrigerator and pulled out the soup pot so quickly the lid almost fell off. “It’s Dad’s lentil soup. So what’s the deal with garlic?”

  Olujimi and Auntie Fong looked at each other. Olujimi said, “Confuses their sense of smell. Might dull it, a little.”

  “Huh.” Cat put the pot on the stove, turned it to medium-high, lifted the lid, and inhaled deeply. It smelled like her favorite: lentils, black pepper, serrano pepper, curry, cumin, potatoes, carrots, spinach, and zucchini. But something was different. She glanced at the spice rack. Vegetable bouillon. Dad hadn’t used chicken stock. He must’ve been talking to Tarika, and she mentioned—

  He had heard from Tarika, and he hadn’t been able to do anything, so he had made Cat’s favorite soup. And because Tarika said dead animals made Cat queasy now, he used vegetable bouillon.

  Olujimi said, “Cat? Tiger?” Auntie Fong said, “Does the odor trouble you?” Cat shook her head. “Smells good.” Olujimi said, “Even the garlic?” Cat nodded. “Maybe it dulls things. But it smells good.” She looked at Olujimi. “Still want a hug?”

  “I always want a hug, gorgeous.” They embraced. If her sense of smell was weaker, it did not keep her from recognizing bay rum in his after shave. She released him, and he stepped back, saying, “I’ll never understand girls. I don’t mind that, though.”

  Cat looked at Auntie Fong. “I am what I am, Auntie.”

  “I know, de
ar,” she said. “I honor that.” Then she lifted her arms. Her embrace was tentative, as if she was afraid Cat was fragile, but Cat knew Auntie Fong also was who she was.

  Olujimi took a multigrain baguette from the counter, found a bread knife and cutting board, and began slicing. Auntie Fong took silverware and napkins to the table near the window, then put the kettle on for tea. Cat stirred the soup. It smelled wonderful. It smelled even more wonderful because it meant she could live on other foods than soy milk and peanut butter.

  Unless something could smell good and still not satisfy her. She didn’t want to think about that.

  When Olujimi got out the butter, it stank. Cat said, “Not for me.”

  “Oh, Tiger. You loved butter. I don’t suppose cheese—” Something started to rise in Cat’s throat. “I’ll find something else to love.”

  “Olive oil? I don’t see margarine—”

  “I’ll try olive oil.”

  “Tres chic, Tiger.” He tapped his finger lightly against his chin. “Are nighters lactose intolerant?”

  “The de la Sombras had cake and hot chocolate on my birthdays.”

  “Hmm. The degree of intolerance may vary. Or they may’ve forced themselves to eat for your sake. They have to be able to pass for human.”

  Auntie Fong said, “That dessert could’ve been dairy free.” Cat said, “Please say there’s dairy-free ice cream.” Olujimi said, “Soy ice cream. And rice. And amazing sorbet. For special people, I make mango sorbet. It’s easy, and mm-licious! Perhaps this evening, special person?”

  Cat said, “I’m glad you’re still Uncle Olujimi.”

  “Not as much as I am, Tiger.” Auntie Fong said, “We shall go to the grocer’s and get as many desserts as you care to try.”