Midnight Girl

by Will Shetterly

  He shook his head. “If you change your mind—”

  “I won’t.”

  “But if you do—”

  “I wish you hadn’t chosen me.”

  “If, you know, it’s got to be, I think you’re the best choice.” He closed his eyes. Cat thought, I could hit him and run down the hall and charge through the yard and maybe every shot would miss— But they wouldn’t miss. This way is better for everyone else, and it’s just the same for me.

  Mr. Rahman opened his eyes. “My opinion of you has only grown since I came here.”

  “Thank you.”

  In the kitchen, her father was sitting at the table. He turned toward Cat, but before he could speak, Cat said, “Sorbet?”

  He pointed at the bowls, each holding a single white mound. “I found mango chunks, then thought of almonds—”

  “It looks great.”

  “Want two scoops? You could have—” She shook her head. “One’s perfect.” She sprinkled almonds and mango into her bowl, then went to the table and set a chair in the sun. She thought, Sunlight is nice. Hot, but nice. Okay, skin cancer sucks, but sunlight is nice.

  She looked at the coconut sorbet. What if she didn’t like it? It was a bad time to hurt anyone’s feelings.

  She looked at the others. They were waiting for her to take the first bite. She thought, This is easier for me. I’ve only got to be strong for a few minutes, but they have to live with this for the rest of their lives.

  She picked up the bowl. The sorbet didn’t quite look like ice cream. It looked more ice, less cream. It smelled like coconut. She imagined a coconut, brown and furry, split in half, its milk and flesh bare. She should’ve shared one recently with Dad or Tarika.

  She scooped half a spoonful of sorbet and put it in her mouth. Cold was good when it wasn’t too cold. Sweet was good when it wasn’t too sweet. She swallowed. It wasn’t wonderful, but it was really, really good. And really, really good, she realized, was wonderful enough. She nodded. “Good choice.” Professor M looked away. “Glad to hear it, kid.” Ilya said, “Coconut is even better than lemon.” Cat thought, He and I could’ve gotten a pint of each and compared.

  Like, at a picnic, or something. That would’ve been nice. I never had a date, and he would be the best date ever. Maybe he and Tee will go on a date. I could say they should, but that might jinx them.

  She took a bite with mango, then smiled. “Mango’s great with this.”

  Tarika said, “Fruit sugars must not bother, uh, I mean, I’m glad. Mango is great.”

  Cat took a bite with almonds. She liked the crunch between her teeth. She thought, I should’ve eaten more almonds. Would cashews be even better? I should suggest that. No. They’ll think they should’ve bought cashews, and the dessert isn’t what matters. But it’s nice.

  Each bite tasted better than the one before. When she got to the last, she thought, I could save that for a minute. Then she thought, That would be really melodramatic. I just want to finish this treat now as if I’m just finishing a treat.

  The last bite was best. She said, “That was totally ex,” and looked at the clock. 4:20. She thought, The end is near.

  That was funny. But if she laughed, she would have to explain, and no one else would agree.

  She carried her bowl to the sink. Her father said, “I’ll get that.”

  Cat said, “It’s okay.” She turned on the water and set the bowl and spoon under it. The water was cool, and then it was warmer. She should’ve paid more attention to water. She squirted soap into the wash pad. Peppermint was a great scent for soap. She washed the bowl. It had a chip in the side, and she had meant to throw it out, but Dad had said it was still useful, and she was glad he did, because he was right. She touched her finger to the chip, then set the bowl in the dish drainer.

  Tarika was watching her. Ilya was looking at the pepper shaker that looked like a black Scottish Terrier which had a white mate for salt that was broken or lost a long time ago, but Cat couldn’t remember which. Her father was staring at the crayon drawing on the refrigerator that she had made in first grade. A green man in a wheelchair sat beside a purple girl, and they both had huge grins. Under the man was written “DADDy” and under the girl “CAt.”

  She stepped beside her father. He put his arm around her waist, and she rested her hand on his head. After a minute or two, he said, “I love you, Cat.”

  “I know, Dad.” She bent over and kissed his forehead. “I love you, too.”

  Someone was by the door. She looked up. Saeed al-Rahman said, “It’s time.”

  She took the Medianoche ring off her finger and held it out to her father.

  He said, “I don’t—” Then he nodded and took it.

  More people came to the door. She glanced up: Ms. Arkan, Auntie Fong, and Uncle Olujimi. She had never seen Olujimi look sadder. Auntie Fong’s expression made Cat embarrassed: it was respect. But Ms. Arkan’s face seemed the most troubled. Then Cat understood why: Ms. Arkan would be happier if Cat tried to fight or escape. That would prove the vote had gone correctly.

  She didn’t want to think about people who thought she should die. She said, “Dad? Would it be okay to give Tarika the big mirror? I mean, if—”

  “Sure,” he said.

  She looked at Ilya. “I would give you something, but I don’t know what you like.”

  Ilya said, “I like you.”

  She said, “Okay. I mean, I like you. You can have my purple blanket, or—” She looked at Tarika. “You two divide the stuff in my room. Give what you don’t want to someone who can use it, okay?”

  Tarika nodded. “Don’t worry.”

  “Thanks, Tee.” Cat looked at the people she loved. “No one has to stay. Really.”

  Professor M said, “You can’t order me away, kid. Anything else—”

  “It’s not an order. It’s just okay.”

  “Good.” Cat looked at Tarika and Ilya. “Really.”

  Tarika whispered, “Staying.” Ilya nodded. Cat looked at Mr. Rahman. “Okay.” He said, “Where do you want to, ah, go?”

  “Outside?”

  “Sorry. The neighbors.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “The garage?” Cat shook her head. The garage was dark and dusty and full of cobwebs, a great place to play when she was a girl, but not the last place she wanted to see. She wanted to stand at her bedroom window and look at the mountains. But it was a great room. She didn’t want anyone to go there and think about her death instead of her life.

  Maybe the basement? But it was as dark as the garage, and that was where Granny Lupe—where Mama—had lived. Or the parlor? Aunt Ysabel had died there. Maybe Cat should, too.

  But she wanted a place of her own, where she could look at the mountains and try not to think about anything at all.

  No one ever used the dining room. You could see mountains in almost any direction in Tucson. She said, “The dining room?”

  Mr. Rahman nodded.

  Cat said, “Can I be looking out the window and not see what happens?”

  He nodded again. “It’ll be fast?”

  “Very.”

  “Okay.” She stepped toward the door, thinking, Goodbye, kitchen.

  Breakfast was best, but it was always good eating here with Dad and Granny Lupe.

  In the hall, she thought, Goodbye, hallway. You were a great place to skate, even if Dad and Granny Lupe didn’t agree.

  In the dining room, she thought, Hello, dining room. It’s too bad Dad isn’t rich so you can be beautiful again. But you’re pretty. You’re a good place to be.

  She went to the nearest window. Hello, window. This is a good view. If I was a window, I would be proud of a view like this. It’s not as dramatic as an upstairs view, but who needs drama all the time?

  She turned to face everyone. Why didn’t I think of some last words? I should’ve been ready. She said, “Make things better, okay? And don’t worry about me because, you know, it’s been totally the best. Really.” She
looked at her father and Tarika. “I love you.”

  The professor nodded. Tears were rolling down his cheeks, and Cat wondered why she had ever thought his face was a mask.

  Tarika put both hands in front of her, cupping them together in the shape of a heart.

  Cat smiled. Tarika gasped and began crying loudly. Cat’s father squeezed Tarika’s arm, and the crying continued.

  Ilya was staring at the floor. He looked up. Cat realized Tarika’s sobs weren’t the only ones in the room. Ilya shook his head fiercely. His eyes were wide and pleading. Cat bit her lip, then nodded. He stopped shaking his head, but his tears continued.

  She looked at Uncle Olujimi and Auntie Fong, then at Ms. Arkan. She thought, Do I forgive them? How can I forgive them? This is what they wanted. They should live with it. They should live with it forever.

  Then she looked closer at their faces and said, “I know you didn’t want this.”

  She glanced back at her dad and Tarika. Tee still held her hands together like a heart. Dad still held Tarika’s arm. Cat knew she would break into tears in another second, so she told Mr. Rahman. “I’ll look out the window now.”

  He nodded, and she turned away. She had thought she would stare at the mountains, but she was watching the sky. Her last words had been, “I’ll look out the window now.” She smiled. She should tell Dad to put that on her tombstone. People would see it and go, “What’s that mean?”

  But she didn’t want a tombstone. She wanted her ashes scattered in the desert. She had told him that years ago. Did he remember?

  He was her dad. Of course he remembered. She thought, Blue is prettier than I knew. She should have asked for music. Why didn’t she ask Tee to sing something? Not now, but earlier. Eating coconut sorbet and listening to Tee sing would’ve been perfect.

  Someone was crying softly near the hallway. Mr. Rahman stepped behind her. She heard cloth rustling. His suit. He was reaching inside his jacket. He was taking something out. Would it hurt much?

  It would hurt as much as it hurt. Then it wouldn’t.

  Blue is nice, she thought. How far do you see when you see blue in the sky?

  She smelled metal. If it was a gun, would she hear him cock it? Do you only cock old-fashioned guns?

  In the blue, two dark shapes appeared, growing quickly. The silhouettes of birds flying free. As fine a last sight as anyone could want.

  She heard Mr. Rahman inhale softly.

  Two birds. Large and black and beautiful. Flying toward Casa Medianoche.

  She heard cloth sliding between Mr. Rahman’s arm and ribs as he thrust something toward her heart.

  She thought, A fine last sight. Two ravens.

  Chapter Fifteen:

  A Proposal

  Cat spun, catching Mr. Rahman’s wrist, and saw his knife and his amazement. “Sorry.” She pointed with her free hand at the ravens. “Nighters coming.”

  Ms. Arkan reached into her jacket, shouting, “It’s a trick!” Then she, Olujimi, Auntie Fong, Mr. Rahman, and Ilya were all drawing pistols and knives from shoulder holsters, sleeve holsters, and ankle holsters. The guns were smaller than bolt pistols, but they didn’t look like any weapons Cat knew.

  She thought, As if I know what normal pistols look like.

  The knives were all different and all similar: dark metal with grooves on their sides.

  She thought, For letting blood flow.

  Professor M flicked a sword from the back of his chair to touch Alexandra Arkan’s chin. She froze, her pistol half-extended toward Cat, who still held Mr. Rahman’s wrist. Professor M said, “Cat doesn’t lie.”

  Ms. Arkan said, “Valentin. You would make this even worse?” Professor M nodded. “I have a reputation to maintain.” Only Tarika was unarmed. She had moved back to the wall. Ilya handed her his knife, then gripped his pistol in both hands and looked around the room.

  Auntie Fong said, “Val?” She and Olujimi kept their guns pointing upward, but they would only need an instant to aim at Cat or her father.

  Cat released Mr. Rahman’s wrist. “Keep your knife. You may need —”

  Olujimi pointed outside. “It’s true!”

  Two ravens flew at the windows, but two nighters burst through the glass: Zoraida de la Sombra, her black hair tied back in a tail, clad in blood-red boots and trousers and sweater, and Baldomero, his black hair swept back like wings, wearing a black motorcycle jacket, gray cargo pants, and black commando boots.

  The humans scrambled back and fired, their pistols sounding like toy air guns. Sharp wooden bolts as long as fingers flew through the air, but the nighters turned as if dancing, dodging every shot.

  Cat screamed, “Stop it! Everyone! Don’t fight!”

  The shooting stopped. For an instant, she thought everyone was obeying her. Then the weight of the world pulled on her arms and legs, making them too heavy to lift. All around her, pistols and knives clattered to the floor, followed by the clang of her father’s sword. It was easier to turn her eyes than her head as she looked to see what was happening.

  Every human stood perfectly still, with calm faces and desperate eyes. Zoraida kept her gaze fixed on them as Baldomero ran to Cat, calling, “My princess! Thank God we’re in time!” He reached out as if to hug her.

  She flinched, glancing at her mother for help or advice. Zoraida’s face never turned away from the humans.

  Glamour. Controlling people trained to resist it would take all of a nighter’s concentration. But surely her mother could give her a nod, a smile, a word—

  Baldomero let his arms fall to his side. “You haven’t forgiven me. I understand, Catalina. I haven’t forgiven myself. I thought the easiest way to help you was to force you to feed. I was wrong. Very wrong. I’m sorry.”

  Cat looked from the immobile humans to the shattered windows.

  Baldomero said, “The humans who watched outside? They’ve been sent home to sleep until morning. No one will bother us. Now—” He seized Mr. Rahman by the throat. “You dared threaten my beloved—”

  Cat said, “Let him go! A guy with a knife couldn’t hurt me.”

  “Unless he was fast. Or you trusted him.” Baldomero released Mr. Rahman, then narrowed his eyes at Cat. “Or you let him.”

  Professor M made a sound like a groan.

  Baldomero glanced at him. “Ah, father of all our hope. Were you wise, you wouldn’t reveal that you can do anything at all.”

  Zoraida’s gaze flicked at last toward Cat and Baldomero. She said with great effort, “Nephew—”

  “No!” Baldomero commanded. “Catalina and I will speak. No one else.”

  Zoraida’s eyes narrowed, her nostrils flared, her lips tightened. Then she exhaled and nodded.

  Cat thought, He glammed Mama!

  “Catalina, I beg you, hear me out,” Baldomero said. “We can rule this world, you as queen of the day, I as king of the night. Who could stand against us? Palaces would be yours. Your friends would be the people you see on magazine covers, not these no-ones.”

  Cat glanced at Tarika and Ilya. “They’re someones to me.” Baldomero shrugged. “Then make them rich and famous so they’re worthy of you. Let your whims become reality. No one will deny you.”

  “Except you.”

  “Why would I? Do you feel any glamour?”

  “Just a minute ago—”

  “We had to stop the humans so they wouldn’t hurt themselves. But I freed you immediately, didn’t I? Do you feel any glamour now? Even a hint?”

  She thought, I must, because he seems just like my handsome, mysterious cousin. But the only glamour I feel is from his smile. He’s telling the truth.

  His smile grew wider, baring bright, perfect teeth. “I’m speaking to you as an equal, Cat. I hate saying no to those I love. Please me, and you’ll be free of all compulsion.”

  She glanced at her mother. A bruise on Zoraida’s throat was marked with two dark dots.

  Baldomero nodded. “Yes. I had to bind her with a bite. That hurt me, but w
hat could I do? She says we must try a new way, but new ways are weakness, and weakness is death. Could I let her hurt herself? Hurt us all? You’ve seen the Five Clans. Do they consider new ways?”

  Cat glanced at Olujimi, then shook her head.

  Baldomero looked at Professor M. “Let me guess. For the good of the family, the professor told you to sacrifice yourself—”

  “He wanted to fight them.”

  “But you didn’t?”

  “More people would die. And I’d still be dead.”

  “Ah, Catalina. I like the professor more. He’s right. Here’s what you must know to rule. Love yourself more than anything.”

  “I don’t want to rule.”

  “Be patient. You’ll learn to want more than you can imagine. The point of power is to want more every day, then take what you want, then want even more.”

  “But I’ve got all I want.”

  He snorted. “A crumbling house and a father fighting a war he can’t win?”

  She nodded. “A home and someone who loves me.” He stared at her. “I’ve made you hate me.” Should she lie to buy time? What would that gain? She nodded. “Then give me a way to make amends, Catalina. Surely there’s something you want.”

  “If nighters stopped killing humans—”

  “Why? Humans feast on lesser creatures.” He smiled. “You want me to change the way of the world?”

  “But killing’s not necessary!”

  “Power doesn’t care what’s necessary.”

  “Love does.” He smiled fondly. “Oh, my innocent! Master the glamour. Musicians and movie stars will adore you.” She shook her head. His voice softened. “You don’t want that?”

  “If they can’t choose, it’s not love.”

  “I didn’t choose to love you.” Was there a special kind of glamour that no one could detect? She thought, He loves me. He’s gorgeous. He wants me to be happy. Why not join him and be the best ruler the world has ever known?

  Because he doesn’t even know he’s a monster. She said, “You only love yourself.”

  Baldomero put his hand over his heart. “There was a time when that was true. But I love my family. I would’ve gladly died in my mother’s place. Nothing will harm you or Zoraida while I live. You must know that’s true.”