The Midnight Gate (15 page)

She hung up the phone and smiled at Belladonna.

“She's nice, isn't she?” said the boy. “The last one was really mean. I think they moved her to the probation office or something.”

Belladonna pretended she couldn't hear him and smiled at the receptionist instead. Then the door to the right of the sliding window buzzed and a woman stepped out, holding the door open. It was Miss Kitson, the woman who had helped Mrs. Lazenby the last time Belladonna was here. She was younger and prettier than Belladonna remembered.

“Hello, Belladonna,” she said. “Come on back. Mrs. Lazenby should be here soon.”

Belladonna followed her back through the labyrinth of desks and cubicles, past the break room with the television, and on to the row of chairs outside Mrs. Lazenby's office.

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you,” said Belladonna, sitting down.

“Juice?”

“No, thanks.”

Miss Kitson nodded. “Well, just wait here, she usually arrives about this time.”

And with that she was gone and Belladonna was alone with her thoughts.

Not for long, though.

“Why have you come back?” The boy was sitting in the seat next to her, swinging his legs back and forth.

“Because,” said Belladonna, who really wasn't in the mood to talk to ghosts. “Isn't there anything on the telly?”

“No,” said the boy. “I mean there is, but it's just people sitting and talking.”

“You mean the news?”

“I suppose. I don't like the sitting and talking programs, even if they are in color.”

“No, me neither.” Belladonna smiled at him and he grinned back.

“I like exciting programs, or things where people die. Do you ever watch the one called
Staunchly Springs
?”

“Um … yes,” said Belladonna.

“There's a lady in that who killed her husband and shoved him in a big box—”

“A deep freeze.”

“Yes. Only it turns out that he's not dead and he's got away but she thinks he's still in there. It's really good.”

Belladonna smiled. Her mother had predicted that the husband wasn't dead. She wondered how her parents were managing. She knew that they could turn the television on and off—ghosts were good at that sort of thing—but would they even bother? They certainly hadn't been there when she'd gone around the other day.

“What are you thinking about?” asked the boy.

“My Mum and Dad.
Staunchly Springs
is my Mum's favorite show.”

The boy stopped swinging his legs and stared at her, puzzled. “Your Mum and Dad? Why are you here if … Oh. Are they dead?”

Belladonna nodded and was instantly glad she hadn't spoken her reply because at that moment Mrs. Lazenby marched around the corner. She was carrying a stack of files and a briefcase and was trying to balance a cup of coffee. Even though it was only the beginning of her work day, she already had a frazzled air.

“Belladonna Johnson!” she said, almost dropping the coffee. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Belladonna opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, Mrs. Lazenby dropped some files and her keys.

“Oh, marvelous! Would you get those, dear, and open the door for me, there's a pet.”

Belladonna gathered up the files and picked up the massive set of keys.

“It's the one with the yellow plastic thingy … yes, that's it.”

The door swung open and Mrs. Lazenby staggered in, deposited her belongings, hung her coat up on a hook in the corner, and sat down with a sigh of relief. Belladonna hung back by the door, not quite sure what to do.

“Right,” said Mrs. Lazenby, taking a quick slurp of coffee. “Sit down, Belladonna, and tell me why you're here.”

Belladonna slid into the chair and … hesitated. She hadn't really thought things through past this moment. She couldn't tell Mrs. Lazenby the truth, but how exactly could she make a strong enough case to ensure that she wouldn't have to go back? She knew that what she probably ought to do is make up some dreadful story about the Proctors, but she couldn't quite bring herself to do that, so she found herself rambling on instead about being really unhappy there and it being too far away from school and her friends (she was banking on Mrs. Lazenby not knowing that she didn't actually have any friends except for Steve). By the time she finished, she had genuine tears in her eyes, but as she looked up at Mrs. Lazenby and let one of them trickle slowly down her cheek, she had a sinking feeling that none of it had worked.

“Belladonna,” said Mrs. Lazenby, staring at her sternly, “do you have any idea how many hundreds of children we have to take care of every day?”

Belladonna shook her head.

“No, I didn't think so.”

Belladonna racked her brain for something to say that might tip things in her favor.

“Listen,” said Mrs. Lazenby, “I know it's difficult. I understand, I really do. But there are lots of children in a much worse situation than you and they need my attention too. The Proctors are lovely people; they've been fostering children for years. I really don't think you'd like things any better anywhere else, I really don't.”

Belladonna bit her lip and stared at Mrs. Lazenby through the hair that she'd allowed to fall in front of her face.

“Who?” she said finally. “Who else have they fostered?”

“Why—” Mrs. Lazenby seemed about to say something, then stopped, confused. “Well, actually … I can't think…”

Belladonna's heart leapt: Was Mrs. Lazenby going to realize that the Proctors weren't real?

“Anyway.” Mrs. Lazenby shook her head. “Anyway … it's all confidential, so that's a question I can't answer. You'll just have to believe me when I tell you that I've known them for years and they are wonderful people.”

“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.