Dreams (Sarah Midnight Trilogy 1) (31 page)

Harry didn’t reply. He went to the kitchen, and started making himself a double espresso. He knew he had shocked her. He knew that she thought what he’d done to Laura was wrong. But Laura had tried to kill Sarah. She would have gladly given Sarah to the demon-shadow. She deserved to be taught a lesson.

Really, Sarah was so naive! Where had she been all those years, while her parents went hunting? It’s like they had sheltered her from the realities of life,
their
life, which was very, very different from most people’s. She seemed to see her parents as these idealistic superheroes who always did what was right and never strayed. How wrong she was. The real Harry knew better than that. He had told him how ruthless his uncle and Anne could be. They’d
had
to be.

But Sarah was from different stock. Did she share their blood at all? Because he, Sean, seemed more of a Midnight than she did.

Sarah hated violence.

Sarah couldn’t bear to touch a gun.

Sarah was in the habit of trying to
negotiate
with demons!

Her grandmother would have been shocked to have a granddaughter like Sarah. Morag Midnight was the toughest of the lot. The real Harry had told him so much about Morag. He would have loved to meet her. She was a warrior, an Amazon – ruthless, hard, even cruel at times.

Mairead Midnight had been different, though …

Sean sat at the table with his coffee, and tried to remember what the real Harry had said about Mairead. He’d said that she was a shy little girl, constantly frightened. That she had a lovely voice, and she enjoyed singing. Morag had taught her the hunting spells, but she didn’t like doing them – she preferred the gentler spells, the protection charms, the potions, the invocations. Now that he thought about it, Mairead sounded spookily similar to Sarah.
It’s such a shame that she’d died – maybe Sarah would have had someone to lean on now, someone to help her through all this madness
….

The real Harry hadn’t gone into details about Mairead’s death. He was just a baby when Mairead died; it was Stewart who’d told him all that he knew about her. He had just said that she was killed, and that it had something to do with water. She had drowned, maybe. Like Morag. From Stewart to Harry, from Harry to Sean, the stories about Mairead Midnight were losing details and becoming more and more threadbare.

“Hello! Anyone home?”

Harry jumped up and went into the hall. He could hear Sarah playing her cello upstairs, a haunting, beautiful sound. Before opening the door Harry checked he had his
sgian-dubh
.

“Yes? Oh, Bryony. Hello.”
What is she doing here? Does she have a death wish?

“Hi Harry. Is this a bad time?” Bryony had noticed the lack of enthusiasm in his voice.

“Yes. Sarah is practising – you know she has the audition in a month, and with all that’s been happening … Maybe another time,” he said ruthlessly. He liked Bryony, but he had no choice. He couldn’t risk her life, he couldn’t allow anyone else to share the danger they were in. He was about to close the door when a tall, lanky boy appeared from behind one of the columns. “Hello,” he said awkwardly, as he realized Harry had noticed him.

“Jack.” Harry’s voice had just gone from cold to icy.

“Yes. I’m Sarah’s friend. We were wondering if she wanted to come out for chips …”

“I know who you are. And she can’t.”

Let her say that, you freak! Who are you, her prison guard?
Jack had disliked him instantly. If anything, because he looked like someone out of a film, and Jack didn’t want anyone like that around Sarah.

“Bryony …”

Harry turned around. Sarah was coming down the stairs. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders, and she looked distraught, her eyes big and red-rimmed, her lashes moist.

“Sarah! Are you OK?” Bryony cried out when she saw her face.

“Yes, yes, of course. I was just playing.” Sarah froze as she saw Jack.

Harry noticed that.
Good. Her face didn’t light up as she saw him.

“Oh, sweetheart, come here! What’s wrong?” Bryony made her way into the house and hugged Sarah, leading her upstairs. “Jack, maybe another time, OK?” she added, barely looking over her shoulder.

“Right.” Jack had got the message.
Between Bryony and Harry, Sarah is unreachable. I’ll need to bloody phone them, get an appointment. Worse than trying to see the Queen,
he thought grumpily, and walked down the gravelly path.

Before he could stop them, Bryony and Sarah had gone up the stairs, arms linked. Harry heard Sarah’s door closing.

Great. If something happens now, how do we explain it to Bryony?

He sighed, and went back into the kitchen. He didn’t dare go down to the basement, in case something happened upstairs and he wasn’t there to sort it, quickly.

“What’s wrong?” Sarah looked into Bryony’s soft brown eyes.

“Where do I start … ?” said Sarah desolately.

“Oh, Sarah.” Bryony hugged her again, and Sarah held her tight, breathing in her bluebell perfume. Bryony was the closest thing to a sister she’d ever have.

“It’s not Harry, is it? He seems strange. I don’t know, he’s so possessive of you …”

Sarah looked away.
He has his reasons, believe me.

Bryony misunderstood Sarah’s embarrassment. “Is it him? Has he been horrible to you?” Bryony was ready to go give him a piece of her mind.

“No, no. He’s good to me. I don’t know what I’d do without him. There’s so much to sort out. You know the way my parents were …”

Bryony nodded. She thought that Anne was OK, but she had never warmed to Sarah’s dad. She had always thought that there was something … hard about him. He had the same green eyes as Sarah, but their expression was completely different – James’s eyes had something wild about them.

Anne was never there. She was dreamy, always doing something else – working in the garden, playing the piano, or down in the basement doing her art; she had told everyone that she was a painter, though nobody had ever seen a painting of hers. She lived in James’s pocket – whenever he was around Anne wouldn’t leave his side. She never seemed to have much time or energy for Sarah.

But James. He looked like someone you wouldn’t mess with. Bryony remembered his tall, strong figure, his blond hair, fairer than Harry’s – and those incredible green eyes, so piercing that she couldn’t look straight into them. When they were wee girls Bryony used to be scared of him – he looked like the prince from a fairy tale, and then he looked at you like he was Bluebeard.

Bryony knew that she was being unfair. She knew that Sarah adored her parents. But she was a very intuitive girl and she felt there was more to them than met the eye.

“What do you mean? Is it about this house? Is it financial problems or something?”

“No, not financial. I suppose you can say problems … with the inheritance. Look, it doesn’t matter. Really, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure you can make it for November?” asked Bryony, gesturing at Sarah’s cello.

“I’ve got to.” Sarah jumped at the chance to change subject. “And what about you? How’s your portfolio? I’m so sorry, I haven’t asked you in a long time …”

“My portfolio is nearly finished. Hopefully I’ll get into the Glasgow School of Art. Otherwise there’s always Dundee.”

“You’ll make it, I know. We can take the train to Glasgow together, next year …”

“Oh, and there’s something else.” Bryony looked all coy, all of a sudden.

I can see where this is going
, thought Sarah.
Boyfriend number … what is it? Seven, eight, since we’ve started Secondary?

“It’s Michael, isn’t it?”

“Yes. We’re together!” Bryony beamed.

Sarah smiled. She liked Michael. She was happy for Bryony.
Thing is, it’s going to last three months, maximum.

“And what about you, Sarah? I suppose it’ll never be Jack, will it?” she sighed.

Sarah shook her head, blood rising to her cheeks. “No. Not Jack.”

“Wait a minute … There’s someone! I can read it in your face!”

“Not really.”

“Not really … But there
is
! You’ve got to tell me!”

“There’s nothing to say. I met a guy, and I like him.”
In my dreams, though.

“At last! I can’t believe it! This is the first time in the fourteen years I’ve known you that you tell me you like someone!”

“Well, I’ve always been busy.”

“Yes, with that!” Bryony pointed at the cello. “That’s your boyfriend!” Sarah laughed. “Now, who is he?”

Oh God. How am I going to explain? I met him in my dreams, he said he was sent to me, that he didn’t expect me to be so beautiful … He saved my life, and gives me … leaves? I don’t even know his real name
.

“I’ll tell you another time.”

“What? This is torture! You can’t do this to me!”

Sarah smiled. “Be patient.”

“Sarah!” Harry was calling. There was an edge to his voice that Sarah didn’t like.

“Wait here.” She ran out, and down the stairs.

“You’ve got to send Bryony home,” Harry whispered. Sarah sighed.

“Just a few more minutes …”

“Now.”

“I’ll go with her then,” she retorted.

“Look.” Harry took her by the arm, and led her to the living-room window.

Sarah couldn’t believe her eyes.

Her oak trees.

They were bare. Completely bare. Not a leaf on them. The leaves were lying under them in a soft blanket, a few inches thick.

“Was this your friend, the one you call Leaf?” murmured Harry.

Sarah was horrified.

“I don’t know …”

“You’ve got to send Bryony home now, do you understand me? I won’t be responsible for her death. I won’t tell her parents.”

“Tell my parents what?” Bryony had appeared on the threshold of the living room.

Harry and Sarah rearranged their faces, quicker than the eye could see.

“To come and have dinner with us, soon. Bryony, I’m sorry, you need to go now. The solicitor is on her way. You know, those inheritance problems I was telling you about …”

“Of course, sorry. I’ll text you later then.”

Sarah walked her to the door.

“Oh my God, Sarah! What happened to the trees?” Bryony gasped, and brought her hand to her mouth.

Standing on the stony steps Sarah could take in the full extent of the devastation. The four oak trees at the entrance, two per side, were now bare skeletons, with their branches thrown up to the sky, like an invocation. The blanket of golden leaves at their feet was so thick that you could have slept on it.

“It’s a parasite. A parasite of the oak trees,” said Sarah in a small voice. “We need to get the gardener in.”

“But they were fine when I arrived! Not even half an hour ago!” Bryony protested. Then she saw Sarah’s face, and decided not to insist.

“Hopefully our garden won’t get it,” she muttered. She hugged Sarah quickly. “Call me if you need anything. Anything, OK?” she whispered in her ear.

Sarah nodded and followed her friend’s flaming hair with her eyes, down the path and through the gate, as if she were watching the last beacon of normality leave her, before the night began.

Wherever you go

I’ll find you

Sarah looked up at the sky. It was darkening slowly, the afternoon turning into twilight. She shivered in the evening air, and went back inside.

“Harry … who – what did
that
?”

“I have no idea. Maybe it was your friend, the leaf man.”

“That looks like a threat. Why would Leaf threaten me? He saved my life. Our lives. Twice!”

“I don’t know. But I did say not to trust him, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.” Sarah lowered her head. Fear had taken hold of her mind, her very bones. She knew that what had been done to her trees was a warning of something horrible to come.

“It must be one of the two demons left. Simon Knowles’s, or Catherine Hollow’s. Or the Mistress’s demon, if that’s a different person altogether.”

“Yes.”

Could Leaf be Simon Knowles? No, that’s impossible. It can’t be.

“Maybe there’s something about it in your mum’s diary. Something about leaves, or trees …”

Sarah shook her head.“No. I mean, there’s a lot about leaves and trees, but they’re … ingredients, if you know what I mean. Nothing like this. The only thing I can think of is the sapphire’s song, to tell us if there’s any intruders.”

“But if we do that …”

“We’d need to wash the sapphire in salt and water. And maybe it won’t speak to us anymore.”

“Exactly. I don’t think we can do that one again until all this is finished.”

“There’s a scrying spell. It’s to find demons, to locate them. It’s one of the dangerous ones.”