The Midnight Gate

by Helen Stringer

  The brown scratches slowly formed into a new set of words.

  “Thy beating heart is not the best

  For this the darkling perilous quest.

  Find one with a heart whose time is through

  Yet constant holds with brightness true.”

  “Got it?”

  “Yes.”

  He stood back and rolled up the parchment.

  “It’s weird,” said Belladonna, looking at the rhymes. “Edmund de Braes said there was a thing, one thing that needed to be found and rehidden, but this makes it sound like there are nine.”

  “And one of them, whatever they are, is lost,” grumbled Steve. “This is so stupid. Why can’t they just—”

  “Hey, you!”

  They spun around. A tall, skinny man in an ill-fitting uniform was striding across the car park toward them.

  “What are you up to?!”

  Belladonna glanced up. There were three security cameras focused on the cars.

  “Nothing!” yelled Steve, shoving the parchment back in his jacket. “Just frying some eggs! Come on, Belladonna!”

  And he was off, dodging between the cars and heading for the stairs. Belladonna hesitated for a second, thinking that it might be easier just to explain, but a quick look at the thunderous face of the parking attendant told her it would be useless, so she took to her heels and raced after Steve.

  They banged through the door to the stairwell and racketed down the flights until they burst, laughing, into the street. Another guard leaned out of the payment booth.

  “Hey!”

  They stared at him for a second, then took off again, running back down the street to the alley and the safety of the old theatre.

  Belladonna stopped at the door and glanced at her watch.

  “Yikes! I’d better go. I told Mrs. Proctor I’d be back for lunch. Are you around tomorrow? We should probably start working this out.”

  “No.” Steve shook his head. “We’re going to my Auntie Viv’s for Sunday dinner.”

  “Your Mum’s sister?”

  “No, my Dad’s. We go every Sunday since … well, my Dad can’t really cook or anything, so…”

  Belladonna was sorry she’d mentioned his mother, but a little something had jumped inside her at the thought that Mrs. Evans might have a sister. A sister would mean that she was just an ordinary mum after all and that Belladonna had been wrong when she had suspected that she knew more than she ought to about the door to the Other Side.

  “That’s okay,” she blurted, afraid that his effort to appear cool about everything might fail and subject him to the ignominy of crying in front of a girl. “Monday, then.”

  She turned to go, but Steve reached out and stopped her.

  “Wait,” he said as she turned around in surprise. “Um … I wanted to give you this.”

  He unzipped his pocket and pulled out a square envelope.

  “It’s a DVD. You need to see it.”

  “Alright.”

  She took the DVD and put it into her bag.

  “Alone,” said Steve. “You should watch it alone. Promise?”

  Belladonna nodded.

  “Okay. See you Monday, then.”

  He hesitated for a moment as if there was something else he wanted to say, then turned and disappeared into the darkened theatre.

  Belladonna felt that she should go after him and find out what it was, but just as she reached for the door, the town hall clock began to strike twelve. Now she really was late for lunch.

  She hoiked her bag onto her shoulder and took off running.

  10

  Gran

  IT WAS NEARLY half past twelve when Belladonna finally reached Shady Gardens. She raced across the scrubby grass and worn drive, ran up the stairs, and burst in the front door.

  “Sorry I’m late!”

  Mrs. Proctor poked her head out of the kitchen. She didn’t look very pleased, but managed a smile anyway.

  “There you are! We were beginning to worry!”

  “Sorry. I was in town and I just … I forgot. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s alright. Get your coat off and take a seat. Beans on toast okay?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  Belladonna hung her coat on one of the hooks in the hall and slid into a chair.

  “Mr. Proctor had to go out,” said Mrs. Proctor, popping the bread into the toaster. “So we couldn’t wait.”

  Belladonna smiled a little sheepishly as Mrs. Proctor gave the beans a stir and plonked them on top of the toast.

  “There you go. Nice and hot for a cold day. D’you think you could wash your own plate? I have to pop out for a few moments.”

  Belladonna nodded.

  “Right you are, then.”

  She disappeared into the hall and returned buttoning up her coat and pulling an old woolen hat over her ears.

  “Is it very cold?”

  “No. Better than yesterday, I think.”

  “Good. Won’t be long. You can watch the telly if you like.”

  Belladonna smiled and listened for the click of the latch, then ran to the door and waited until she heard Mrs. Proctor’s sturdy footsteps marching across the broken tarmac of the drive. She quickly finished her lunch, rinsed off the dish, and retrieved Steve’s DVD from her backpack.

  She went into the sitting room, turned on the TV, and slipped the disk into the player.

  There was a pause and a faint whirr as the disk loaded. The machine was far from new and she was beginning to think that it might not load at all, when the TV screen suddenly sprang to life with the image of a family picnic. A much younger Steve and his mother were sitting on a blanket on a beach somewhere. They waved to the camera happily.

  They were just an ordinary family, thought Belladonna. Here, on the beach, Mrs. Evans looked so unthreatening, just another slightly overweight mum out with her family. But why had Steve wanted her to see this? And why did she have to watch it alone?

  The picture changed. It was another day and Steve, his mother, and the beach had gone. Instead of sand, rocks, and the sound of water, Belladonna found herself looking at a building. A window on a building. People were talking, there was shouting. The picture zoomed back and revealed … Shady Gardens!

  “When are they going to do it?” asked the much younger voice of Steve.

  The camera swung down to look at him and he waved at the lens. The camera swung back to look at the building.

  “Soon,” said his father’s voice. “Look, they’re clearing everyone out now.”

  Belladonna could see the tiny figures of the workers running away. It couldn’t be the same building. She squinted at the picture, looking for something that would confirm that it was a different circular apartment building. Similar, but not the same. It couldn’t be the same.

  There was a muffled boom, then another, and another. Clouds of dust and smoke bloomed out of the sides of the building and it slowly collapsed in and down. The site was nothing but concrete rubble and settling dust. There was the sound of a crowd cheering.

  Steve’s younger voice said, “That was amazing! Did you get it? Show me!”

  The screen went black. Belladonna kept staring at it as if the picture was still there. She wanted to shrug and know that Steve was wrong, that it was obviously a different building—the roof was the wrong color, it was taller, it was clearly in a different part of town. But she couldn’t, because it wasn’t true, and because just before the first explosion, she had seen it—a concrete sign set into the front of the apartments right next to the arched entrance that read: SHADY GARDENS.

  There could be no doubt now. She’d seen it with her own eyes. The building where she was now living had been demolished over three years ago. But how could that be? The Proctors were so nice, and Mrs. Lazenby’s office had a thick file on them. Mrs. Lazenby herself had said that she’d known them for years.

  She took the disk out of the machine and stared at it. Now, more than ever, she needed to speak to her Mum a
nd Dad. She thought about going to the house to see if they were there, but somehow she didn’t think she could bear calling through the letter box and hearing nothing in reply. She had just put the disk back in her bag when there was the sound of the key in the front door lock and Mrs. Proctor came back in, carrying a plastic shopping bag containing a single pint of milk.

  “Here we are!” she said cheerily. “And look who I found! I didn’t have to walk after all.”

  Mr. Proctor smiled as he followed her inside. Belladonna managed a small smile as they hung up their coats with much stamping of feet and exclamations about how cold it was and how sometimes it seemed like spring would never come.

  It was all just what you’d expect and, in spite of what she had just seen, Belladonna found it hard to believe that there was anything strange about the place at all. She needed to be alone and think, but she was soon swept up in the Proctors’ Saturday, sitting and watching television while the smell of the evening’s dinner meandered out of the kitchen and the late afternoon sun scattered across the sitting room carpet. She sat cross-legged on the floor and finished her homework, then wandered into the kitchen, where Mrs. Proctor was peeling potatoes.

  “Do you need any help?”

  “No, dear. Everything’s under control. Why don’t you play outside for a while? Dinner’ll be ready in a jiffy.”

  Belladonna smiled. At last. Now she could think.

  She put on her coat and wandered over to the swing. She didn’t spin around to see the Shadow People, though. She wanted to pretend that they weren’t there and that everything was perfectly normal. Perhaps there had been two Shady Gardens buildings. One had been demolished and the other one—this one—was being restored.

  But somehow, even as she repeated it in her head, she knew it was wrong. Two buildings would never have been given the same name, and even though Steve had only been about nine when he’d come with his Dad to see the demolition, surely he would have noticed if there had been another one. She stopped swinging and stared at the silent walls around her, then thought of the parchment and the Words.

  What if…?

  “Igi si gar.” She said it quietly at first, then more loudly: “Igi si gar.”

  Nothing happened. She got off the swing and walked slowly to the center of the circular garden. She stood for a moment, then began to turn slowly, repeating the words over and over. Igi si gar—Reveal yourself. Igi si gar. Igi si gar.

  When she had turned completely around, she stopped and waited. And waited. Nothing was happening. Perhaps the building was too big. Perhaps you needed different Words for brick and concrete. She closed her eyes and concentrated again, but the only Words that came into her head were the ones she had said.

  And then it started. Imperceptibly at first, as if a haze was settling over the building. Then the structure itself started to shimmer, the concrete and brick quivering like jelly until the massive edifice was nothing but a vague outline of itself.

  “Belladonna!”

  She spun around. At first she thought it was Mrs. Proctor, but the voice came from ground level … and she recognized it. Her eyes searched the shadowy structure, straining to see.

  “Over here!”

  She turned. It was coming from the flat she’d looked at the other day. The one where she thought she’d seen a movement. She ran toward it, afraid that the building would reconstitute itself before she could reach it.

  “Belladonna!”

  As she ran, the tears sprang to her eyes. She was here! She was alive!

  “Gran!”

  Grandma Johnson was standing at the edge of what had been the outer wall of the flat, the only solid thing in a roughly sketched home. She looked alright. A little tired, but not hurt. Belladonna wanted to hug her, to feel her arms around her, but as soon as she reached what had been the wall, she realized that she was dealing with a magic much stronger than her own.

  “No!” She wiped the tears away and closed her eyes, desperate for Words that would release her grandmother, but nothing came. She opened her eyes.

  “I can’t,” she said. “Nothing will come.…”

  “It’s alright, Belladonna, it’s alright,” said Grandma Johnson softly. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you…” Belladonna hesitated, hardly daring to ask. “Are you really there? Here, I mean?”

  “Yes, I’m here. Though I must say I really thought I’d seen the last of this monstrosity when they knocked it down.”

  “But how…?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. But the last thing I remember is that tall woman, Grace Shapwith—”

  “Your new client?”

  “Yes, she came back for another session. Said she felt the spirit of her mother wanted to reach her. I went to make a cup of tea and … then I was here.”

  Belladonna tried to concentrate and reach across the line of the wall, but it was no good. It was as if the concrete was still there, as hard and gray as ever.

  “You’re trapped. I can’t—”

  “You can’t do everything.”

  “I can’t do anything!” she shouted, suddenly angry at herself. “I’m supposed to be the Spellbinder and I couldn’t even tell that the stupid building wasn’t real!”

  “It’s alright.”

  “No, it isn’t! How can this be alright? What am I supposed to do!?”

  “Well,” said Grandma Johnson, dropping the soft approach and going back to her usual no-nonsense manner, “you could pull yourself together for a start.”

  “What?”

  “You’re no use to man nor beast like this, are you? Wipe your eyes and calm down. Some girls look pretty when they cry, but I’m afraid you’re not one of them. And have you combed your hair at all this week?”

  Belladonna sniffled and pushed her hair behind her ears. There was something comforting about being told off by her Gran. It made her feel that somehow everything would turn out alright.

  “Now,” said her grandmother, “the first thing you have to do is get away from here. Those people upstairs are no more human than that stone over there.”

  “But what are they doing? Why have they gone to all this trouble? Who are they?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t see anything from here. I’ve been hearing noises at night, though, out in the center of the building there, near the playground. The point is that they’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to get you and…”

  She stopped and looked up. The building was becoming solid again.

  “There’s no time. Belladonna, you have to get away from here. You can’t do anything while you’re living in their house. Are you listening?”

  “Yes,” said Belladonna, straining to stand as close to the rapidly solidifying wall as she could.

  “You look tired.” Grandma Johnson’s voice was getting more faint. “You have to get away.”

  The wall was all but solid concrete now.

  “I love you!”

  The last word faded away, snatched from Belladonna’s ears by the gray stone. She stepped back and took a deep breath. Her Gran was right: There was no point going all wibbly. She had to pull herself together and sort things out.

  “Dinner’s ready!”

  Mrs. Proctor’s voice echoed across the empty gardens.

  “Belladonna?”

  Belladonna stepped back from the wall of the ground-floor flat and waved up to Mrs. Proctor.

  “Coming!”

  She climbed the steps slowly, unsure of what would greet her. Would the Proctors know what she had done? If they did, what would they do? She hesitated near the top, her right foot frozen in space just above the last step. Maybe she should run. She lowered her foot and began to turn.

  “There you are!” Mrs. Proctor was beaming at the top of the stairs, her face glowing from the heat of the kitchen. “Come along now, you don’t want it to get cold!”

  Belladonna smiled in what she hoped was a normal way, though she had a feeling it might have looked more like a grimace, and w
alked into the house.

  Mr. Proctor strolled out of the sitting room, folding the paper as he came and muttering something unintelligible about the local football team. He smiled at Belladonna and helped her hang her coat on one of the hooks in the hall.

  “Don’t know why I’m interested in sports at all,” he said, smiling and tapping her lightly on the head with the folded newspaper.

  Belladonna smiled back and slid onto her chair. The dinner was roast beef with all the trimmings, followed by a jelly trifle. Just the sort of thing that she would usually adore, but today she could do little more than push her food around the plate and sneak glances at the Proctors. They didn’t seem to notice her and talked to each other about the architects’ plans for the building and when the construction crews were going to arrive.

  They were very convincing and Belladonna almost began to doubt what she’d seen. One thing was clear, though—they didn’t know she’d discovered that the building didn’t really exist. But who were they and why were they doing this? And if they were powerful enough to create and maintain a whole imaginary building, what on earth could she do about it?

  “More trifle, dear?”

  “Oh, no,” Belladonna smiled. “No, thank you. It was really nice. May I leave the table?”

  She was anxious to get away, upstairs, outside, anywhere where she didn’t have to keep pretending and where she could get her thoughts straight.

  “After you help me clear up, there’s a good girl.”

  Belladonna’s heart sank, but she did her best to seem willing and cleared the dishes from the table as Mr. Proctor ambled back into the sitting room. No sooner was the table cleared and the tablecloth folded than Mrs. Procter put a tea towel into her hand.

  “You dry,” she said.

  Belladonna smiled thinly and took up her position to the left of the sink. It seemed to take forever for it to fill with water and then another age to actually wash the dishes. Mrs. Proctor treated each plate as if it was antique Wedgwood, slowly lowering it into the soapy sink and then gently rubbing it, examining it, rubbing it again, and finally setting it into the dish rack. Belladonna then took them out, dried them, and stacked them on the table. Through all of this Mrs. Proctor prattled on about the price of beef these days, memorable meals from her past, the importance of learning to cook, the weather, being tidy, and the general state of the world today. Under normal conditions, Belladonna would have sort of tuned out and lost herself in her own thoughts, but now she hung on every word, looking for a sign that Mrs. Proctor knew she had discovered that everything was a lie. But there was no sign. Everything was just the same as it had been the day before.