The Midnight Gate

by Helen Stringer

  “But you haven’t!” blurted Belladonna. “You’ve never heard of them before!”

  Even as the words left her mouth, she knew it was the worst thing she could have done. Mrs. Lazenby’s face hardened into a mask and she stood up, pushing her chair back from the desk.

  “I’ve had quite enough of this,” she said. “This office is snowed under with genuine cases of hardship and suffering. I don’t have the time to listen to the lies of one little girl who has been pulling the wool over the eyes of all the people who have been trying to care for her for heaven knows how long. The Proctors are wonderful people and you are being unkind and ungrateful.”

  “But…”

  “Now I suggest you get to school sharpish. And while you’re walking, you can give some thought to your selfish attitude. Close the door on your way out.”

  Belladonna stood up slowly, hoisted her backpack onto her shoulder, and walked to the door. She glanced back at Mrs. Lazenby, then strode away past the row of chairs and through the maze of cubicles.

  “She can close her stupid door herself,” she muttered, her eyes stinging.

  Why had she thought it would be so easy? She should have known that whatever or whoever was behind all this wouldn’t have made it easy for her to get away. She marched past the reception window, banged the wrong door open, and stalked out into the car park. A steady rain had started to fall and it seemed even darker than it had been when she got up. She pulled her hood up and headed for school.

  If only she hadn’t played that trick on Sophie. If only Sophie wasn’t so crabby. What if…? She shook her head. She only had Steve’s word for it that Sophie was responsible—she could’ve just said she’d done it because it made her look really powerful in front of everyone else. Steve was definitely right about one thing, though; they really should’ve closed the curtains in the evening. Even if Sophie’s Mum hadn’t called, it would have been easy for anyone to see inside and place an anonymous call revealing that there was a girl living alone on Lychgate Lane.

  She strode down the High Street, her mind racing, trying to think of what to do. If only Aunt Deirdre was here. She always seemed to see things so clearly; everything seemed sort of manageable when she was around. If only she hadn’t vanished into the night after the Wild Hunt.

  And then she was at the front door of Dullworth’s. She’d got there much faster than she’d intended, but not fast enough. The distant sound of the buzzer marking the end of the first period could be heard on the street where she stood. She didn’t want to go in, but she knew she had to. If she was going to sort this out by herself, she needed to make everyone—particularly the Proctors—think that everything was normal.

  She reached up, turned the handle of the door, heaved it open, and suddenly knew exactly what she had to do.

  * * *

  “You want to do what?”

  “I think it sounds like fun!”

  “Yes, well, you’re already dead and, anyway, as you can’t appear anywhere except in school, you’re not going to be in any real danger, are you?”

  They were in the attic room above the science labs and Miss Parker’s office, and Steve was annoyed because he was having to eat his lunch sitting on a dusty old trunk instead of sitting at the side of the football field (even though it was freezing outside and Belladonna couldn’t even begin to imagine why he would want to be there at all). Elsie was sitting cross-legged on one of the roof beams above their heads. Or pretending to—on closer examination she was actually hovering about an inch above it.

  “But I can’t think of anything else to do! We have to call the Hunt!”

  Belladonna was trying to keep the desperation out of her voice, but she knew she wasn’t doing a very good job.

  Steve looked at her and shoved the rest of his sandwich into his mouth.

  “I still don’t see—”

  “It’s rude to talk with your mouth full,” said Elsie.

  Steve glowered at her, swallowed, and tried again.

  “I still don’t see how it’ll work. Doesn’t it have to be midnight or something?”

  “No,” said Belladonna. “It was daytime when we called them in the Land of the Dead, remember?”

  “Yes, but that was the Land of the Dead,” said Steve. “The rules there are different.”

  “I can’t do it at midnight. The Proctors would notice. And…”

  Her voice trailed away. This wasn’t going at all as she’d planned. For some reason she’d been sure that Steve would think it was a good idea, but now even she wasn’t sure. He was right about the Land of the Dead—things were different there. But what else could she do?

  “And what?” asked Steve.

  “And I have to get away from there!”

  Steve nodded and Elsie slowly descended from her perch.

  “Of course you do,” she said. “I mean … ghost buildings! I’ve been dead for nearly a hundred years and I’ve never heard of such a thing. And kidnapping grandmothers! That really does take the absolute cake.”

  “Okay,” said Steve, putting the remains of his lunch away and screwing the cap back on his thermos. “Let’s give it a go. It’s dark by six o’clock, we can go to the graveyard and call the Wild Hunt then.”

  “But won’t there be services?” asked Elsie. “Evensong or something?”

  “No, only on Sundays,” said Belladonna. “The church is locked the rest of the week.”

  “Oh. Locked? Really? Well … things have changed quite a bit, haven’t they?”

  “Yes,” grinned Steve. “We’ve got cars and everything.”

  “We had cars. And aeroplanes. Besides, it’s not like I can’t look out of the windows, you know.”

  The buzzer sounded for the end of lunch, and Belladonna and Steve headed for the stairs, waving a swift good-bye to Elsie as they went. But she wasn’t watching them. She had gone to the dusty window at the far end of the attic and was staring out into a world that had long since ceased to be hers.

  “Have you had a chance to look at the stuff from the parchment?” asked Steve as they clattered down the stairs, past the upstairs classrooms and the science labs.

  “Yes, I think … I mean, the nine things are all hidden in the chapter house, that much is clear.”

  “But there’s no clue about what they are. And why are there nine when Edmund said there was one?”

  “I don’t know,” muttered Belladonna. “I’m so tired. I feel like I can’t think.”

  She became aware that Steve was staring at her intently, so she lowered her head and let her hair fall in front of her face.

  “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You don’t look well.”

  Belladonna shrugged. “I’m fine.”

  Steve shoved his hands into his pockets as they walked on in silence, past the library and the hot drinks machine, through the assembly hall with its faded blue ceiling and golden plaster stars, and along the corridor to the last of the Victorian houses.

  “So what are these dreams about?” said Steve finally.

  “I can’t really remember,” said Belladonna. “Last night there was a stone circle, though. I remember that. And chanting.”

  “Like monks?”

  “No … it wasn’t lots of people.”

  “D’you think you’d recognize the stone circle? My Mum has loads of books about them. That is … had … Anyway, they’re still at our house.”

  “I don’t know. I can’t really remember.… There were Shadow People there as well.”

  “Shadow what?”

  “Shadow People. That’s what I call them anyway.”

  Steve looked at her as if he couldn’t believe this was the first he’d heard of it, and Belladonna did feel a little ashamed for not telling him before.

  “I thought they were just ghosts,” she said. “But I’m not so sure now. And there are more of them every day.”

  “Spill,” said Steve grimly.

  By the time they reached the
Geography classroom, Belladonna had told him everything she knew about the Shadow People. About how they clustered about inside Shady Gardens, how even she could see them only out of the corner of her eye or when she set the swing spinning, and that there were more and more of them all the time.

  “And they stay in Shady Gardens?”

  Belladonna nodded.

  “What’s this?” said an all-too-familiar, overly posh voice. “Has Steve Evans got himself a girlfriend?”

  Belladonna turned around slowly. There she was: the cause of all her misery. She wanted to be able to do something, to hit her, to say something clever, but as usual she could do nothing except hide behind her curtains of hair and hope that Sophie would move on to other targets.

  “Mind you,” continued Sophie, “I would’ve thought you could do a lot better than this sorry excuse for—”

  “Back off,” hissed Steve, suddenly turning on her. “And take your vacuous little friends with you.”

  Sophie froze, her mouth hanging open in surprise. For a moment it seemed as if she was going to say something else, but Steve’s glare stopped her and she just drew herself up, sniffed, and pushed past them into the classroom.

  “Vacuous,” muttered Belladonna. “Good one.”

  “Wait till they look it up,” said Steve. “Then they’ll be really angry. See you later.”

  And then he was gone, straight to the back of the class where Gareth Warren and his other friends were clustered near an open window dropping chalk on passersby. Belladonna waited for a moment, then walked as quickly and quietly as she could to the nearest vacant desk. She glanced at the clock above the door. One o’clock.

  It was going to be a long afternoon.

  12

  Calling the Hunt

  THE TABLE TOMB was cold. Belladonna couldn’t remember it ever being so cold. Of course she’d never tried to sit on it on a cold winter evening either. She jumped down.

  It was six o’clock and as dark as midnight, but there was no sign of Steve yet. She decided to get started without him, then perhaps it wouldn’t take too long and she could get back to Shady Gardens at a time when “staying after school to play” might come across as a reasonable excuse. Or maybe she’d have to think of another one.

  She walked to a corner of the graveyard, then crossed to the other, dragging a stick behind her in the wet grass to make a visible line. Then she did the same thing for the other corners. She remembered that the last time she’d tried anything like this, she’d ended up summoning Dr. Ashe and things had gone pear-shaped very quickly. Hopefully, tonight would have a better result.

  “What are you doing?”

  Belladonna looked up. Steve was standing near the yew tree by the lych-gate.

  “Casting a circle.”

  “It looks like an X.”

  “Yes, well, I haven’t finished, have I? It’s supposed to be in the center of the graveyard, so I have to find that first.”

  “Okay.” Steve dumped his backpack on the tomb. “But aren’t circles supposed to protect you from the Dead? The Hunt aren’t dead … at least I don’t think they are.”

  “Well, we don’t really know what they are, do we?” said Belladonna, marking out the circle with the stick. “So I thought … you know, better safe than sorry.”

  “Because this worked out sooooo well with Dr. Ashe.”

  Belladonna glanced up sharply, but Steve was grinning and clearly just trying to wind her up. She tossed the stick aside and marched back to the tomb. She opened her backpack and rummaged through it, finally producing the green box. She opened it and handed Steve the horn.

  “Wow,” he said. “Do you carry all this junk around with you all the time? Your bag must weigh a ton.”

  “Well, I’m not going to leave it at the Proctors, am I?”

  She led the way to the middle of the circle.

  “Okay. Go!”

  “Hang on,” muttered Steve. “It’s freezing. I need to warm it up.”

  Belladonna sighed and waited while Steve blew on the mouthpiece and held it between his hands. She knew he enjoyed being the only one who could get a sound out of the thing, but he certainly made a song and dance of it.

  He glanced nervously at Belladonna.

  “Ready?”

  Belladonna nodded. He put the hunting horn to his lips, took a deep breath, and let loose with a clarion call that Belladonna thought must have scared the living daylights out of the charnel sprites in their caverns deep beneath her feet.

  The sound shot across the grass, wound itself around the shadowy tombstones, and disappeared into the dark blue sky. And then all was silence.

  “Should I give it another go?”

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  Steve raised the horn again, but just as he took a breath, Belladonna raised her hand.

  “Wait!” she said, peering at the sky above the church tower. “Is that…?”

  Steve followed her gaze. “Yes, I think … Yikes.”

  The dark gray-blue of the sky had been flat and featureless except for the occasional star, but as they watched, it began to change, to spin and froth, almost like liquid. Thunderclouds started to form high above the church steeple, small at first, then larger and larger until they rolled across the sky, lightning flashing deep within their core. And then there was more than thunder, more than lightning, there was the flash of hooves, the howl of the hounds, and the crashing jangle of stirrup and bridle as the Wild Hunt roared out of the clouds and down to the churchyard.

  As she watched them charge across the sky and then land among the old tombs and gravestones, their horses’ flashing hooves pawing at the frosty grass, Belladonna had a sudden feeling that perhaps Steve had been right and this wasn’t the best idea she had ever had. Still, she thought, as the Leader turned his horse’s head toward her and approached the circle, it’s too late to worry about that now.

  “We meet again, Spellbinder,” said the Leader, his voice silky with menace and his eyes flashing beneath the rim of his hat.

  Belladonna just stared at him. Steve dug an elbow into her ribs.

  “Get on with it!” he hissed.

  “Um … yes … I was wondering—” she began, but the Leader was staring at the grass.

  “What is this?” he said. “A circle?”

  “Yes … sorry, but—”

  “Hey, boys! She thinks a circle will keep us out!”

  The graveyard echoed with the sepulchral laughter of the Hunt. The Leader walked his horse across the circle and right up to Belladonna and Steve, then he leaned down, conspiratorially.

  “They only work for the Dead. We’re not dead.”

  “I wasn’t sure. So you’re alive, then?”

  “Alive … or somewhere in between.” He straightened up, grinning, but the smile seemed joyless. “So why have you summoned us? Be quick—I promised the boys a trip to a campsite in Canada. You should see the way the tent dwellers run. There’s nothing like the great outdoors for amplifying fear.”

  “Is that what you do, then?” asked Steve. “Go around scaring people?”

  “No, that is how we entertain ourselves. Would you like to know what we do, boy? There’s a horse back there without a rider.”

  “Um … no … thanks anyway,” said Steve hastily.

  “So, Spellbinder,” said the Leader, turning back to Belladonna, “why did you sound the horn?”

  “I was wondering—” Belladonna hesitated. It seemed like such a stupid question now.

  “Yes?”

  “I was wondering if you’d seen my Aunt Deirdre?”

  For once, it was the Leader who was surprised.

  “Your Aunt Deirdre? Do I look like a keeper of aunts, a nursemaid to recalcitrant relatives?”

  “No, it’s just that the last time I saw her, she was chasing you … trying to find you … and I just wondered if she—”

  “Bad luck for her if she did!” said a gravelly voice among the Hunt.

  The rest of them laughed,
but the Leader held up a hand and all was suddenly silence.

  “This Aunt Deirdre of yours,” he said quietly, leaning forward in his saddle again. “Does she have a last name?”

  “Nightshade. Deirdre Nightshade.”

  The Leader didn’t move and his face showed no sign that the name meant anything to him, but Belladonna saw a change in his dark eyes, a momentary flash of recognition that was gone almost as soon as it appeared.

  “Do you know her?” she asked.

  “Once. I did know her once.”

  “But you haven’t seen her? She didn’t find you?”

  The Leader shook his head and with that slight movement, Belladonna’s last hope of escaping the Proctors vanished. There was no one else. Not a single family member who could come to her rescue. She felt the tears begin to sting her eyes.

  “Tell me,” said the Leader, “why do you seek her now?”

  Belladonna glanced at Steve.

  “Go on,” he said, “tell him.”

  She nodded, wiped the tears away, and looked back at the Leader sitting high on his black horse, his too-pale face an expressionless mask. Belladonna stared at him for a moment. He hadn’t changed, but knowing that he had known Aunt Deirdre had changed her. Suddenly he wasn’t quite so daunting. She took a deep breath and the whole story poured out. She told him about Sophie Warren and the chair, about being taken into care and realizing that the building she was living in didn’t exist, about the Proctors, the Shadow People, and her dreams of stone circles and chanting. But most importantly she told him about finding her grandmother and the warning that she had to find a way to escape Shady Gardens.

  When she finished, the Leader didn’t move but continued looking at her as though she were still speaking. Belladonna grew increasingly uncomfortable. Had he heard anything she’d said?

  “Tell me about these Shadow People,” he said finally.

  “They’re just shapes, dark shapes but like people. I thought they were ghosts at first, but I can’t see them properly. So then I thought they weren’t. I’ve only seen them inside Shady Gardens, but they don’t seem to do anything. They just stand around in small groups.”

  “And does their number remain constant?”