Midnight Ruling (8 page)

I didn’t hear Mom and him argue for the rest of the night. In fact, the Fuller residence was suspiciously quiet for once.

I waited until midnight to sneak out of my bedroom.

Keeping my cellphone in my oversized pajama pocket in case Aidan called, I made my way down the stairs.

Silence and darkness reigned, humbling the household, making it different somehow. I avoided every creak that I’d known of since I was ten. I was sure Mona had figured them out by now too.

It wasn’t until I reached the basement door off the kitchen that I paused.

I couldn’t help it. I glanced at the picture on the wall before opening the basement door.

My hair was naturally blonde then, while Neive’s was still dark, like Dad’s. Otherwise, we twin girls looked the same. We had the same smile, nose, forehead, skin, basically everything except hair and eye color. She looked happy in the picture. Her chin was tilted up while mine was down. Sometimes I’d wished she were still around. I knew she couldn’t be, but to have her around while growing up would have been nicer than hiding a picture in the hallway.

Forcing myself to look away from the photo, nursing the rekindling ache that came with it, I felt my way down the first step before my hand found the light switch.

Closing the door behind me, I flooded the wooden stairs with light, squinting and gripping the railing for balance.

The box with the strange cross-like thing was by my feet. At least no one had found it today.

The basement in my house was used for two things: laundry and storage. The washer and dryer sat in the corner of the cement floor, an old ripped-up rug used as a path from the stairs to the machines. The rest was boxes and Tupperware tubs of storage. There was everything from baby clothes to Easter decorations to snow shoes. I had no idea why we owned snowshoes.

An old rocking chair that Dad had started to build was partially hidden beneath piles of camping supplies, which also hadn’t been seen for several years. We used to go camping every weekend when I was younger, but that stopped shortly after Neive died. I didn’t think Mona had ever gone camping.

Luckily for me, my mother was a label-maniac. Every Tupperware tub had black ink scrawled over duct tape.

I rummaged through the boxes, lifting them out of the way and popping through a few that seemed promising.

After the seventh tub, frustration itched alongside fatigue. Nothing, absolutely nothing. There was even one marked N. Fuller, but it only contained a few of my things from when I was little, like artwork and report cards.

Did we really need to keep all this crap? It wasn’t long before my patience became impaired and I became sloppy. I stopped rummaging through the whole box, peeking instead.

Taking a deep breath, I set the container aside and noticed a cardboard box. The water-stained sides bulged and didn’t have a label.

Opening the flimsy flap, I found a familiar stuffed toy, a bear that once belonged to Neive. I remember my mom thought it was funny because Neive had loved all things Australia, yet she’d adored this teddy bear. I had it in my room before all this. When I’d returned home from the Demon’s Grave, I hadn’t realized it was missing. Mom must have thrown it down here without me knowing.

Plucking it from the box of toys, I turned it over to see a white tag with clumsy children’s writing. I stretched it straight to read it; the felt had faded some.

Damien
.

Turning it back around, I stared at the black, shiny eyes and frowned. Nell had let us watch
The Omen
when we were little. It scared the crap out of both of us, but Neive named her stuffed bear after the creepy little kid. She said she’d rather he was on her side and protected her than cause her nightmares. At the time, I’d thought she was crazy, but as an adult I realized it was pretty smart.

Standing up straight, my back twinged. It made me wonder how long I had been down here.

Maybe this was enough rummaging for one night. Even as I thought of it, I knew I couldn’t stop. What if it was in the next box? Or what if Dad decided tomorrow that I shouldn’t see it and took it away?

Turning, I nearly ran into a tower of boxes, and my toe collided with a wooden crate. My other foot kicked something across the floor as I tried to regain my balance. Raising my hands to prevent Tupperware containers from toppling, I waited until they steadied. With imminent danger averted, I hissed a curse and felt the pain rocket through my socked foot. I grabbed my toe in a tight grip and then noticed what I’d kicked.

Beneath the first wooden step was a dark, thin notebook.

It was a hard-covered book that was about as tall as my hand. The binding was bent and worn, but otherwise it appeared unharmed. Hobbling forward, I picked it up and brushed a film of dust from the blank cover. It must have been on top of a box or between them to fall out like that. Breathing out slowly, I opened it, hearing the binding creak.

Written in black ink, I read:
The Midnight Ruling
.

Mud from a bodiless grave,
I read
. The hair and blood…

I patted the sand to secure it in the plastic yellow bucket. I used the watering can to dampen it and pressed down on the sand again.

To make a successful sandcastle, you had to add water.

Overhead, only a few nonthreatening clouds powdered the sky, offering little relief from the heat.

“I found it!”

I looked up in time to see five-year-old Neive climb into the sandbox. Her one hand gripped a generous helping of protruding blades of grass.

“I’ll make a forest for the castle.” Neive plopped down in the sand beside me.

I nodded and watched my child-like hands add more sand to my bucket.

“Nora,” Neive said in a whisper.

I looked up at her.

“Did you hear that?” she asked and jerked her head left, her mahogany ponytail swinging at a wild arc.

“No.”

“Over there.” She pointed to the tree closest to the alley. The large oak had been trimmed back several times over the years. The amputated stumps had greyed and left a wide view of the gate leading to the alleyway.

The shadow created by the tree had grown darker. I rubbed my eyes with my forearm, it being the only spot that wasn’t sprinkled with sand, and squinted at the spot again. It was as though the sun had no influence on the space. It was so dark beneath the tree that the trunk was a faint outline.

“Over here,” a voice whispered from the dark.

“Do you hear it now?” Neive scrambled to her feet, forgetting the grass she’d dropped.

Something shifted from the blackness. The shadow salivated, inching out into the light, contaminating the light as the darkness took on a shape. Strings of the oily black clung to him from the tree—as if the darkness were pieces of his nature.

I looked to Neive, thinking we’d be safe in the light, until the man stepped out into it. Damien. He didn’t squint as the sun shadowed his sculpted facial feature, every edge distinct and perfect. He didn’t cast a shadow himself, something that seemed as unnatural as he was.

He towered over us, and his crow-colored hair shimmered blue highlights in the sun.

Obsidian eyes met mine, glimmering as if we were sharing a private joke. His skin reminded me of snow reflecting the sun, and I raised a hand to shield my eyes.

He was breathtaking. I’d almost forgotten how shocking he could be. My stomach seized, and my heart stopped for the fleeting seconds of recognition.

As usual, he wore black, a button-up shirt with a collar and pants that clung to narrow hips.

I glanced down at myself to see that I was an adult. I knelt in the sandbox in my purple plaid pajama shorts and white long-sleeved shirt, the clothes I’d fallen asleep in.

At the same time, our attention drew to the dark-haired little girl standing between us. She faced Damien, inching closer.

I opened my mouth to warn her, but the wind strangled my voice.

Struggling for balance, I dropped to my hands and knees and swiped for the back of Neive’s shirt to stop her.

Blinded by sand, I shielded my face with my arms. The sand pelted my skin like tiny bullets, pinching and pricking with every blast. The sun abandoned me, leaving goosebumps to race and up and down my body in a competition.

Rolling out of the sandbox, I waited until I felt grass before I dared to peek through watery slits. I saw only shimmering blurs of color, but I’d barely tried to focus when the ululation of wolves overrode the shriek of the storm.

Frightened, I retained my fetal position, hoping that nothing tried to grab me when I couldn’t see. Through my lashed barrier, I thought I saw movement in front of me.

“Neive,” I called and immediately regretted it.

Sand, dirt, and wind hollowed out my mouth, coated my tongue with cotton.

Struggling to breathe through the wind, I wobbled onto my knees. My eardrums ached, and the windy shrieks made it hard to find her. Swinging an arm, my fingers brushed fabric. I closed my hand around the fabric and pulled to bring her closer. The little body fell back into mine, and I wrapped my arms around her, trying to protect her.

The windy shrieks stopped, my hair falling back over my ears, and I held stone still, anticipating a trick.

My ears hummed, and the little girl against me breathed deep against my chest. She felt so real in my arms, flesh and bone, warm and cool at the same time. Her hair tickled my face, and I squeezed her.

“Let go,” she whispered.

With a jerk, she pulled away, and afraid I was hurting her, I loosened my grip. She ducked out of my arms and twisted away.

My skin felt raw and red from the sand, and I tried to blink away tears as I reached for her again. “Don’t go!” I coughed through the cotton balls in my mouth.

Squinting through my watery vision, I snagged a shirt and tugged.

That’s when I realized it wasn’t Neive.

Wiping my eyes with my free palm, I refused to let the fabric go until I could see.

The shock of seeing him was like jumping into a glacial lake.

Damien knelt at the edge of the sandbox, a bemused smirk playing on his full lips as he watched my expression shift. His short raven hair fell past his ears and over his pale forehead. He looked to be a man who’d never seen sun. His asymmetrical features were like a mask—almost fake. His long lashes hooded his obsidian eyes that shone like black diamonds. I could see my vague outline reflected back to me in them.

My hand had found the center of his shirt. Jerking my hand back to my stomach, I unconsciously wiped it on my hip and fell back with a ragged gasp, still tasting sand.

Looking around the small backyard, I realized Neive wasn’t there. That just left Damien. One of the times I was alone with him, I’d vomited hair.

Cringing, I peeked up at the caliginous sky; not even the stars twinkled. I don’t know how I could even see Damien or the yard, but somehow I could in the pitch black.

“I’m dreaming again,” I said hoarsely.

“I interrupted,” Damien admitted, unashamed.

We stared at each other for several prolonged seconds before I could finally work my mind into forming a question. “You interrupted my dream? It’s really you?” I heard the skepticism in my own voice.

“Yes,” he said.

I swallowed hard past the grit in my throat and sat back on my legs. “Why are you here?”

“You are ignoring the warnings.” He lifted Nell’s black book from his side and wiggled it for me to see.

My eyes widened, and I reached to snatch it away. “Give it back.”

Jerking it away, he held it behind him and out of my reach, “It’s all yours, Nora. This is a dream, remember?”

His amusement at my shock annoyed me. “Then give it to me,” I said, holding out my hand.

Raising his straight eyebrows, Damien looked somewhere between amused and cautious. He held out the book in front of him, closer.

The moment I went to grab it, he pulled it from my reach.

Flushing, I snapped, “You want to tell me why you’re here? In
my
dream!”

Smirking, he turned the book around in his fingers, knowing I’d never be able to take it from him. “Actually, I was invited.”

“Not by me,” I snapped.

He didn’t look at me but kept smiling in that patronizing way.

“Are you here to tell me not to come back to the Demon’s Grave?”

He tilted his head to the side, and his smile faltered. “Never.”

Shocked, I waited for him to explain.

Losing interest in the book, his obsidian gaze shifted back to me, making the goosebumps race once again.

“I encourage you to come back. However, you’ll have to face a Challenge again.”

“I know. I want my friends back,” I said.

Damien clucked his tongue in approval. “So you decided to keep your word. Well then, if you indulge the Midnight Ruling, things will continue as they are.”

I eyed him. “So you’re going to keep giving me hallucinations and weird mail?”

He leaned away from me, something sparking in his vortex eyes that I couldn’t quite understand. “Hallucinations? This is a dream.”

“In the library…”

“Nora, I came here tonight because you found the book. You know what is inside this.” He waved the book at me again. “If you hadn’t found it, I wouldn’t have to be here at all.”

“But why send me an envelope?”

He shook his head, dismissing me. “That wasn’t part of the warnings. Not the Demon’s Grave. You’ve received two so far.”

The cross thingy and the Robin doll,
I realized.
What about the others?
Something told me he wasn’t going to say anything about them. Maybe it was a clue of some sort.

Seeing my eyes widen, Damien sucked his cheeks in, as if he were biting them to prevent from smiling.

“Why come to warn me personally?” I asked.

The charming smile returned, though a corner of his mouth twitched as if distracted. “If you lose this Challenge, you will be trapped alongside everyone else. If you win and fail to rescue the others, they’re trapped. I can hardly lose.”