Dreams (Sarah Midnight Trilogy 1) (36 page)

He was wrong.

Sarah heard the growling first. “Harry,” she said, and her voice was hoarse from the silence.

“Yes.” Harry had heard it too. Simon’s slave had arrived. The wait was over.

“Open the door and hide behind it,” whispered Harry, for the second time since they’d known each other. Sarah looked at him, and didn’t answer. Harry blinked. She looked strange. She looked different.

In an instant, Harry knew that she wasn’t going to do what he’d said. Again.

Oh God, she wants to get herself killed!
Harry thought in dismay.

But he was wrong again.

Sarah opened the door and stood there, unflinching. The woman that once had been Lucinda was growling, a low growl that came from the back of her throat. Lucinda had been dead for days now, and her body was beginning to come undone – her fingertips black already, her eyes empty, staring. The eyes of the dead.

Lucinda was poised to spring, her stiff body working to bend according to the demon’s will. Her movements were painful, jerky. That split second allowed Sarah to look her straight in the eyes. Time stood still as the Midnight gaze worked on the demon.

Lucinda shuddered and tried to attack – but it was a faltering, lopsided jump that didn’t take her anywhere. She wailed, a sound that was still horribly human.

Sarah grabbed Lucinda’s short hair with both her hands and pulled her to the ground, holding her down without ever looking away.

Harry couldn’t believe it. Was that Sarah?
How did she manage that?

It dawned on him. He’d seen the real Harry do it.
Of course. The Midnight gaze. She had just looked at Lucinda, looked her in the eye, and it was enough. She had never been able to do that before.

Lucinda whimpered. She couldn’t move, her muscles twitching, drool coming out of her mouth.

“Harry, the dagger,” called Sarah, keeping her eyes fixed on Lucinda.

Harry threw the
sgian-dubh
to her, and Sarah raised her hand to catch it, looking away for a split second. Harry caught a glimpse of her face. He gasped.

Morag Midnight.

The pictures that the real Harry had shown him. The same eyes, the same expression.

Finally. Sarah was becoming what she was meant to be. One of
them
.

And then a revelation: Harry
hated
to see Sarah like that. She was becoming a true Midnight now, like her grand-mother. It was what was needed, what he had been trying to tell her since they’d met, but he hated it. It was like taking a rose and dipping it in steel. The realization made his head spin.

The moment that Sarah’s gaze had left Lucinda had been enough for the demon to get on its feet, shaking its head stiffly, jerkily, to try and shake off Sarah’s spell. They faced each other again, Lucinda’s face contorted in an animal growl, Sarah’s face as cold as the moon. The Midnight gaze was on the demon again, making it whimper and double over, legs giving way, until it fell. It wailed again, a cry full of pain.

This is where Sarah tries to spare her,
thought Harry.
This is where she tries to get out of the killing.

But it didn’t happen. Not this time. Sarah grabbed the demon’s hair, forcing it to raise its head and expose its neck. It was a deep, wide cut, from one ear to the other. Lucinda stood no chance.

A strange sound came out of Sarah, a growl of triumph and hatred. Dark blood sprouted from Lucinda’s wound and from her mouth, trickling down her chin. She gasped and spluttered, struggling for breath, suffocating in her own blood.

There was no sign of mercy on Sarah’s face. She waited until the demon stopped twitching. Then she stood up, without a word.

It was Leigh’s death that did this to her. It was Leigh’s death that changed her,
Harry realized.

“Are you OK?”

Sarah looked at Harry to answer, but it was too soon, and the Midnight gaze cut him, a sharp pain, like a blade between his eyes.

Sarah blinked quickly. “Sorry.” She took a deep breath. “I’m going to clean all this up.”

Of course. What else is there to say?

Harry rubbed his forehead. It still hurt.

He watched Sarah kneeling beside Lucinda, ready to liquefy her; this new Sarah, this stranger that had taken her place. He locked the door, and chained it for good measure.

At least she’s speaking again.

Sarah felt better after her hunt. She felt herself again, even if she was in so much pain for Leigh. She was ready to fight again. It was the first time, the first time in her whole life, that she had felt that sense of release. It was like she could understand them, now – her parents, Harry, her grandmother – how the hunt made them feel. Empty. Light. Spent. Like some terrible tension had gone from their minds, from their limbs.

Released.

Sarah knew the dreams would take her that night. When she felt sleep coming, she didn’t fight it. She was scared, but she let it take her. She needed to see what the dream would tell her; she needed to bring all that to an end. Nobody else was going to get killed, she had sworn to herself. Nobody.

Sarah closed her eyes, and opened them in the dream. She was standing on the heather, in the familiar purple-skied place. The grass shone, wet with dew. Someone was walking towards her. Sarah recognized him at once – his way of walking quickly, as if he was always busy, leaning forward a bit, heading towards his next task, his next adventure.

It was Harry. Sarah started running towards him. They met halfway, on a little slope between two hills. She was so happy to see him. Him, instead of some horrible, horrible creature. She looked into his face, and he smiled, his eyes full of warmth. Sarah smiled back.

But the smile died on her lips.

There was something not right.

Harry wasn’t Harry anymore. His face was changing, as if he was turning into someone else. One minute he was himself, with his startling blue eyes, and one minute he was a blond man with green eyes, the same shade as her own. The same
face
as her own. He looked like her father’s twin. He looked like
her
twin.

Sarah was about to ask him who he was, when the man turned into Harry again, the clear eyes and the dimple in his left cheek. But he looked distraught.

“Sarah, I have to go,” he said. His face was full of pain.

“You have to go? Where? I don’t understand.”

“I have to go. I have to leave you. I’m sorry.”

Sarah felt like her heart was being ripped out.

“Why?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. He turned away, and started walking. Sarah wanted to run after him, but she was rooted to the ground. She couldn’t move.

“Harry!” she called.

He didn’t turn around.

“Sarah! Wake up! Sarah!”

Harry knew that he shouldn’t have woken her, that he should have waited until the vision was finished so that they could get the most information out of it. But he couldn’t bear to see her like that.

Sarah opened her eyes, and saw Harry leaning on her bed. She threw her arms around him, and hid her face in his neck.

“Shhhh … it’s finished … don’t be afraid.”

Harry felt furious, full of unspeakable anger.
Why does she have to be tormented like this? For goodness sake! Can they not help themselves?

He had no reverence for the Midnight mission any more. No sacred respect. Being a Dreamer was just a curse, and he was quickly losing patience with it. They saved lives, yes. But not their own. And Sarah’s life was all that mattered to him.

Sarah was shaking; she couldn’t find peace. Harry started worrying. She should be a bit calmer by now. What did she see?

“Sarah, it’s ok …” She clung to him even tighter.“What did you dream?”

Sarah shook her head. She didn’t want to say. It was too painful.

“Sarah …”

“That you were leaving me,” she whispered.

“I have no intention of going anywhere.”

Sarah looked at him for a long time, as if searching for something in his eyes.

“I dreamt that you weren’t … you. And that you were leaving me.”

“Oh, Sarah.” He took her face in his hands. “It was just a stupid dream. Not one of your visions. Everybody has dreams like that. I’ll never go, I’ll never leave you.”

Sarah looked at him with desolate eyes, and took her place in his neck again. Harry stroked her hair and held her until she took a big sigh, and relaxed.

“That you weren’t you,” she said.

It couldn’t be one of her visions. I’m never going to go. Unless she asks me to.

“You’re all I have,” he whispered into her soft hair.

“You’re all I have,” said Sarah in return.

What do you call this feeling? That you can’t live without someone? I can’t give it a name. I can’t give a name to something I should not be feeling.

All the dreams beneath the sea

Of all of them just one

Belongs to me

Grand Isle, Louisiana

“Niall, come here.”

“What is it?”

“It’s the Sabha. I think I’ve found some sort of channel they use to communicate.

Niall tore himself from his own computer and stood behind Mike’s, leaning over his chair. The screen reflected their faces, Mike’s as black as the night, Niall’s Irish-white, both wide eyed, both horrified.

“My God. It’s the traitors.”

Niall felt dizzy. He looked out to sea, its opaque green waters under a yellowing sky. A fine drizzle covered the windows, its drops thickening by the minute. A storm was coming in, rolling in from the Gulf of Mexico. He could see the fog starting to rise, rolling towards the land like a marching army.

“We need to call Sean.”

“I’m on it.”

“Wait a minute. There’s something else. Look.” There was something in Mike’s voice that sent a shiver down Niall’s spine. Fear. Icy-white fear.

“Niall. It’s a map – it’s a satellite view of Louisiana. It’s Grand Isle. Oh hell, it’s our shack! They’re on us!”

“Shut this down! Shut it down!” Mike grabbed the wires and tore them off the wall, while Niall was switching off any equipment he could get his hands on. The screens all over the room went dead, the computers buzzed softly and then they stopped. Without the glare of the screens the room looked suddenly dark, a surreal grey-yellow light, the light that announces a storm, seeping from the window.

Mike stood up and ran his hands through his hair. Niall looked into his friend’s face, and a million unspoken words passed between them.

They both knew that it was too late. They both knew that they had been found, that it was just a matter of time before the traitors in the Sabha caught up with them.

On the threshold

Who am I?

I’m something soft, there is no fight

It was happening more and more often. Even when Sarah wasn’t sleeping. Even when she just closed her eyes, she’d see Leaf.

Every time, her mind emptied, her heartbeat slowed, her thoughts blurred. She wanted to see him, and at the same time she dreaded it. Every time he was in her dreams it was as if she’d been bleeding for a long time, and she felt weak and hazy.

And still, she didn’t want it to stop. She longed for him as much as he scared her. His power over her was addictive.

Once again, Sarah had barely closed her eyes when he came to her under the oak trees. The light was golden and the sky was a perfect blue, and she felt like she didn’t know where she ended and the rest of the world began.

He was standing in front of her with his burning eyes, raven hair, his strange, earthy scent that made her head spin, like some sort of ether.

“Welcome back,” he said. Sarah felt her legs give way, and he sustained her, his arms against her waist, his mouth against her ear.

“You’ve got to forgive me.”

“Forgive you what?” she said dreamily, confused.

“You have to forgive me for this,” he whispered, and without warning, he took a step closer to her. Sarah wanted to step back, but she couldn’t – her limbs were unbearably heavy. She couldn’t have lifted a finger.

He put a hand under her chin, to look her in the eye. When their gaze met, Sarah felt like she could never look away. He put a hand on the small of her back, and entwined the other in her hair. In spite of herself, she felt she was moving closer – her body did it for her, as if she had relinquished control, as if she were like seaweed carried by a strong current.

His face was against her, his lips were close to hers, so close …

It’s happening. My first kiss
…

“The Mistress is coming.”
A woman’s voice had filled the moonlit room, and Sarah opened her eyes with a sharp intake of breath. The sapphire was shining on her bedside table, casting a blue light over the walls and ceiling.