The Midnight Gate (31 page)

But there were no people. Or creatures.

On the far side, she could see an elaborately carved mahogany door covered with endless knots of sculpted wood. Two carved women stood sentinel on either side of the door, tall and straight with enormous feathered wings, one wing at rest behind the back and the other extended up over the doorway where they crossed at the top, forming a pediment.

“You know what they look like?” whispered Steve.

“Yes.”

They took a few steps into the room, then stopped and listened. Silence.

“Hello?” said Belladonna finally.

“They speak.” The voice was female, velvety and languid.

Belladonna and Steve spun around. The voice was definitely behind them.

“And they're alive,” said a second voice.

Belladonna's fear was quickly replaced by irritation, and then anger.

“Look,” she said, “we don't have time for any more stupid games! Show yourselves and let's get this over with!”

There was silence for a moment, and then she heard soft laughing from the far side of the room. They spun around again, just in time to see that the carvings of the winged women weren't carvings at all. The left-hand figure had folded her wings elegantly behind her back and stepped down from her station at the side of the door. She was soon joined by her opposite number, and then by two more from either side of the entry door.

They were unmistakable, with their long bloodred hair, their sleek black dresses that pooled on the floor like oil, and their wings. Above all, the wings. Massive and black, shining blue like the wings of crows and draping behind them like half-discarded cloaks.

“Keres,” muttered Steve.

“Clever boy,” cooed one of the Keres. “Have you seen our kind before?”

Steve nodded.

“We need to see the Queen of the Abyss,” said Belladonna, eager to get the encounter over and done with. “We have to leave a gift.”

“You are in a great hurry,” said the Kere who was lingering behind them.

“Yes, well, it's just that—”

“Life is short,” said another. “Often shorter than you think. It's a mistake to hurry things.”

“Why don't you both sit down?” asked a third, gesturing toward the red sofa.

“N-No,” stammered Belladonna, “we're … We really can't wait.”

The fourth woman stepped closer to them. She seemed slightly taller than the rest and leaned forward, staring at Belladonna with eyes that were completely black—there was no white in them at all.

“Now,” she said gently, her red lips revealing perfectly white teeth, “if you've come this far and managed to get past our little pet next door, you must be at least a bit tired.”

Belladonna shook her head and started to speak, but as she did so, one of the great black wings swept up and out over her head, making a small warm breeze, and she realized that she was quite tired after all.

“Do sit down,” said the tallest woman.

Belladonna glanced at Steve, but he seemed tired too and gratefully took the hand of one of the Keres when it was offered. This seemed wrong, somehow, but her mind was eager for sleep and she couldn't think why.

“Come,” said the tall Kere softly, holding out a long pale hand, the wrists of which were wreathed with ebony bracelets that rattled gently as she moved, like wind chimes on a summer day.

Belladonna smiled, took the hand of the woman, and allowed herself to be led to the sofa.

It had looked uncomfortable before, but as she sat on it, she realized that it was softer than anything she'd ever known. She sank into the downy cushions next to Steve and, although she tried to sit up straight, she kept finding herself slipping backward into the burgundy depths.

“So … you know who we are,” said the tallest one, sitting next to her on the couch.

“Do you know what we do?” said one of the others as they swept across the room, surrounding the couch and hemming Belladonna and Steve in with their wings.

“No,” said Steve.

“Why don't you take that off?” said another, moving behind the couch and gently removing Belladonna's backpack. “It can't be comfortable and it must be heavy.”

“It was, but it's alright now,” said Belladonna, retrieving the backpack and placing it carefully on the floor at her feet. “It's nearly empty.”

“I see,” said the tallest one, smiling. “You left everything as gifts.”

“Yes.”

“Did you save anything for us?” asked another.

“I think so…” began Belladonna.

“I'm sure you have,” said the tallest one quickly, “but there's no rush. Would you like some sandwiches? You must be starving.”

She waved a long-fingered hand to the left and Belladonna saw a tea table, laden with food.

“No … thank you,” she said.

“Of course not,” said the one behind her. “What child wants sandwiches when she can have cakes?”

Belladonna blinked as the table was suddenly covered in cakes, plates and plates of them. Her mouth watered at the sight of all the pastry, cream, and tiered dishes of multicolored iced macaroons.

“No,” said Steve, as if speaking was an incredible effort. “No. We can't eat the food here.”

The tallest woman seemed momentarily taken aback, but quickly regained her composure and her friendly smile.

“Good boy,” she said. “Very wise.”

Belladonna was beginning to feel better and thought they really needed to get off the couch and go through the last door.

“I think we'd better go,” she said.

She was about to jump off the sofa when one of the women readjusted her wings, brushing one of them against her cheek. The feathers felt like satin, and Belladonna suddenly felt slightly breathless. She gulped for air and fell back into the cushions again.

“I think she sat up too suddenly,” said one of the women.

“Yes,” said the tallest one, stroking Belladonna's forehead with an icy hand, “you should be careful of that. Just sit for a moment. I'm sure your friend could do with the rest … in his condition. ”

“My condition?” whispered Steve.

“Well, your arm,” said the tall one, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “The manticore. It must hurt quite a bit.”

Steve was clearly about to tell her that there was nothing wrong with his arm, when he suddenly seemed to realize that it did hurt. It was his right arm. Belladonna looked at it and saw that one of the tallest woman's wings was covering it. Steve tried to move it away and winced in pain; it looked heavy and almost useless, as if he'd broken it.

“Ow,” he said, drawing it into his chest with his good arm. “I don't remember the manticore doing that.”

“That's often the case in battles,” said one of the other women. “It just becomes a blur.”

“No,” he said, “I think I remember everything. I have a very good memory.”

“Of course you do,” whispered the tallest one. “You're just tired.”

“Why do you keep telling us that we're tired?” said Belladonna, but the words were hardly out of her mouth before the wings rose again and stirred the air.

This time she felt more than tired—she felt as if she were falling into a pit. A deep, red, soft pit. She looked up, but the women and the room seemed to be far above, like something at the top of a well. She could see them looking at each other and smiling.

“What are Keres?” she thought.

“She still speaks,” said one of the women far above.

The tallest one smiled slightly and Belladonna realized that she hadn't just thought it. She had spoken.

“What did she say?” said another of the women.

“What…” Belladonna marshalled all her strength, but her lips were dry and the effort of speaking seemed almost too much. “What are Keres?”

Had she managed to say it? She wasn't sure. But she knew it was important.

The tallest one leaned down and suddenly she too was in the pit, her lips against Belladonna's ear.

“We are the takers of souls, of course,” she whispered. “We come where people die in violence. In battles we are there, at accidents, at the scenes of murders. At the last we are always there to rip the souls from their bodies and take them to the Dark Spaces. Our mistress needs minions—dead but not dead, bereft of breath and yearning to return.”

Belladonna turned her head and stared at the beautiful face with the glistening black eyes, and realized that the breath was foul and the white teeth a little too pointed.

“But sometimes,” continued the tall woman, her voice purring, “sometimes, we don't like to wait.”

The black wings closed above Belladonna and Steve, forming a feathered dome at the top of the red pit. Belladonna gazed helplessly up at the pallid faces as she felt her heart beat more and more slowly, until she wasn't sure it was beating at all. She could see Steve at her side, his eyelids fluttering as he slipped into oblivion. Belladonna wanted to close her eyes too, to sleep, to let everything go. Her lids felt so heavy, and it was only with a superhuman effort that she kept them open.

“She's a fighter,” the voice drifted down to her, though she had no idea who spoke.

“They're the only ones worth having.”

She breathed in slowly, but the air seemed thin. It didn't fill her lungs with life but with the chill of death. She was so tired and the red pit was so soft.

“She's going,” said another voice.

Belladonna looked up and, with an effort, made her eyes focus on the faces above. They were no longer beautiful, but old and gaunt. Their red lips were thin and cracked, and as they drew them back, Belladonna could see that the teeth that had seemed a little too pointed a few moments before were now gaping maws of rotting fangs.

She wanted to do something, but her mind seemed incapable of concentrating on anything. She kept imagining she was back at home with the aroma of dinner drifting into the sitting room as she watched television with her father; or up in the attic at school sorting through the trunk of papers with Steve and Elsie; or finding Ashe's book in the wall of the launderette; or touching the handle of the scenery door that had led them to the Other Side; or sitting on the train to the abbey, listening to Elsie; or laughing in the old Cadillac, the wind rushing through her hair; or …

The door. There was something about that. She opened her eyes again and looked at the faces of the Keres.

“The door,” she whispered.

“What did she say?”

“I couldn't hear.”

“Why won't they die?”

She remembered the door. She reached for the handle.

“What's she doing?”

“Nothing. Reaching for her mother, I suppose. Lots of them do that.”

She could see it shining just in front of her, the brass handle of the fake door. She touched it and gasped. Air rushed into her lungs. Good air, not the Kere's breath of death. She sat up and pushed the women back as the Words poured from her mouth.

It was the same ancient language she always spoke, but this time, more than any other, she understood exactly what she was saying. She knew she was sending them back to the black place where they waited and forbidding them to set forth from that place unless they were called.

The women screamed and reached for her with their long thin hands, but Belladonna had strength now and she backed away and repeated her command.

“This is not the end!” spat the tallest woman. “The walls between the worlds are coming down! And then will come a day when such mewling words from the mouth of a child will have no power! None!”

And then there was silence. The women were once more nothing but carved wood on the doors, and Belladonna was alone in the dark.

“What happened?”

She turned around. Steve was sitting on the couch, rubbing his eyes and looking as if he'd just woken from a long sleep and had no idea where he was.

“Keres,” said Belladonna grimly, hoping she'd never see them again, but suspecting that she would.

She went back to the couch, helped Steve to his feet, and picked up her backpack. She opened it and peered inside.

“It's okay,” said Steve. “I'll do this one.”

He pulled out his thermos, marched to the door, and placed the thermos carefully in front of it. It swung open and they both ran through, eager to leave the sickly presence of the Keres far behind.

This time they emerged into a narrow passage with flowery green wallpaper and tall wainscoting. There were lights here, flickering gas lights behind amber globes high on the walls. They stopped running and looked ahead. There was one more door.

It was simple and poorly made, with a wrought-iron handle. Belladonna reached for the handle and turned, but it was locked.

“That's not right,” said Steve. “Seven guardians. There were supposed to be seven. We've passed them all. This door should open.”

“I know. See if you can find a key or something.”

Steve ran his hands over the surface of the door as Belladonna felt in the corners for hidden keys.

“Wait,” said Steve. “There's a button.”

Belladonna looked up—he was right; there was a small button to one side of the door. A doorbell?

Steve pushed the cobwebs away.

“Ready?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “Ready.”

Steve pressed the button. There was a pause, then the sound of a distant buzz followed by silence. He looked at Belladonna.

“Try it again.”

He nodded and was about to press it again when something inside the door clicked softly.

Belladonna reached out and turned the handle once more and this time the latch gave way and the door swung slowly inward. It was heavier than she had expected, and she had to lean hard to get it to open wide enough for her to get through, but she could already see that this room was light. Bright, even. And there was carpet.

She stepped into the room and blinked at the sunlight streaming in from the two windows on either side of her. There was a large desk and a Picasso print. A woman was sitting at the desk and staring at her.