The Midnight Gate (16 page)

“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?”

“No, there are more now than there were at the beginning.”

The Leader was silent again.

“You know what they are,” said Steve, examining the Leader's face.

“Yes. They are Darkness.”

“You mean they're bad?”

“No, I mean they are Darkness. The Darkness itself.”

Belladonna and Steve looked at each other, mystified. Steve tried again. “Darkness like night? Are they pieces of night?”

“Night isn't a thing, boy,” sneered the Leader. “Night is merely a temporary absence of the sun. These creatures are of the Dark Spaces; they
are
the Dark.”

“The Dark Spaces?” Belladonna was starting to get a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. “You mean the place where the Empress is? But I thought that was like a prison. What are they doing here?”

“Who knows? But I'll wager it's something to do with the stones. She always liked the stones. It was the power of the stones that started it all.”

“‘She'? Who's ‘She'? And what stones are you talking about? The standing stones in Belladonna's dream?” The Leader's enigmatic answers were starting to get on Steve's nerves.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. All I know is that the last time it began with the stones too. She said that the stones were the heart, the whole, the breath of what we were, and that they were the key to what we are and could be. To her, there was no future without the stones, no matter what they might bring—good or bad.”

“You're talking about
her,
” said Belladonna. “The Empress of the Dark Spaces. That's who it is, isn't it?”

“Hang on,” said Steve suspiciously. “You said ‘we.' Were you on her side?”

“I'm not on anybody's side, boy. And certainly not on yours.”

He wheeled his horse around to rejoin his men, then stopped and turned to Belladonna.

“I'll tell you this, Spellbinder: She may have been condemned to the Dark Spaces, but if enough of the Darkness were here, I daresay she could slide back through. And then heaven help you all.”

“But how are the Shadow People getting here?” asked Belladonna. “There are more every day. Is it the Proctors?”

“No.” The Leader lowered his voice. “I rather imagine it is you. Take care and keep your wits about you. I shall keep an eye out for your aunt. For Deirdre. Farewell.”

He turned his horse's head away again, pointed it to the north, and galloped up into the night sky, followed by his hallooing men, their horses' hooves cracking against the air like thunder, and the hounds running alongside in full, deep-throated cry.

“Such a cool exit,” muttered Steve as the roiling thunderclouds gradually dispersed.

Belladonna nodded, walked to the table tomb, and picked up her bag.

“It doesn't help much, though, does it?”

“It gives us an idea of what the Proctors are up to,” suggested Steve. “And it sort of underlines that you
really
need to get out of there.”

“I know, but I've
tried
. I went to see Mrs. Lazenby this morning, but she wouldn't listen.”

“I suppose … you can come and stay at mine if you like. I don't think my Dad would mind.”

“Thanks.” Belladonna managed a smile. “But the authorities would just come and get me, and then your Dad would be in trouble as well.”

Steve kicked a nearby stone between two grave markers and sighed.

“That's it for ideas from me at the moment,” he said. “Except that I think we should be concentrating on the parchment and the nine thingies. I mean, it's obvious that the Proctors and Shady Gardens and the Empress are connected with the Dark Times that Edmund de Braes was talking about. And there's no way that some overworked social worker is going to be able to do anything about that. Maybe if we find the thingies, we'll know what to do.”

They walked out of the graveyard and down the street. Then Belladonna stopped.

“I have to talk to my Mum and Dad.”