Shadows in Edinburgh
Is this love
If every time you go
I fall?
The night was busy and full of sounds, as always around the Royal Mile approaching Christmas time. Bright shop windows, people coming in and out of restaurants and pubs, voices in many languages and the inevitable piper entertaining the tourists. And still, there was something in the mist curling around the stones of the ancient buildings, something in the white moon above and in the dark winding streets, that made Edinburgh look mysterious and slightly sinister even on the busiest, liveliest of nights.
Nicholas felt at home there. Nowhere else in the world, no other places he had passed through or lived in during his years of wandering resonated with him as this Scottish city did. There was something black and rotting in the heart of Edinburgh, a taste for death that called to him. He often walked the streets and closes and wynds until late, and sometimes until dawn – he hardly needed any sleep to sustain his human body – letting the cold and dark seep into his bones.
As he strode down the Royal Mile, Nicholas attracted quite a lot of attention – with his black clothes and his height, he towered over the passers-by. He always got a few second glances, especially from girls and women mesmerized by his perfect, flawless face and his muscular frame. Nicholas never seemed to have to yield to anyone in his path. People moved left and right to avoid bumping into each other, with unspoken agreements of looks and body language, but Nicholas walked straight on. He wasn’t aggressive with it – he didn’t elbow people, he didn’t glare at them, he didn’t even look at them. They seemed to move of their own accord to let him pass, the stream of people opening up in two wings, with the black-clad young man in the middle.
That night he felt unusually peaceful. Things with Sarah were going according to plan. He hadn’t lied to her about her safety; she would be spared. She was no longer in danger of losing her life by the hand of that deranged woman, Cathy Duggan and her Valaya. She wasn’t in danger of being attacked by the Surari at all. They’d keep coming at her, but it’d just be a well-rehearsed dance, under Nicholas’s supervision.
They won’t touch a hair on your head, my Sarah. You’ll follow me to the Shadow World, and be my wife for the rest of days. You and I will guard the opening between worlds, and my chains will be so much more bearable, and the darkness less daunting because of you. Your skin will turn as pale as mine, and you’ll dream more than ever – you’ll hardly ever be awake.
But Nicholas knew that there was some way to go before he could call Sarah his own. He needed to convince her that going with him was her only choice. No woman could be forced to be the King of Shadows’ bride. She wouldn’t be able to be tied to the Shadow World then. No, she had to come willingly, as his mother had.
Once again, his mother’s face came to haunt him, shimmering in the shop windows, in the moonlit puddles, in every woman he saw. It was the face that appeared in his sweetest dreams, a distant memory of happiness never to come back.
Ekaterina Krol chose to marry the King of Shadows. He’d used her newborn baby, little, vulnerable Nicholas, and the desperate need of mother and son for each other as a bargaining tool to convince her. Her whole family had warned her of the dark stranger, a man who often disappeared for days without a word – even the King of Shadows, with all his powers, couldn’t be away from the Shadow World for long periods at a time. She didn’t listen, of course. Nicholas’s father had used on her the same mind-moulding that Nicholas was using on Sarah, and it didn’t take long for him to own her mind. By then, he knew Ekaterina’s thoughts inside out; he came to believe that the best way to break her would be to make her a mother, and use the baby as a way to lure her into the Shadow World.
And he was right. Ekaterina’s and the King of Shadows’ son, the heir of Shadows, came into the world not long after. Ekaterina was smitten with her son; she called him Nicholas, after her own father, and for a short moment she was happy.
But one night, when the baby was only a few days old, she woke up to find him gone. She and her family searched everywhere, day after day and night after night. Ekaterina wandered the woods in despair, calling her son’s name. It was on one of these lonely expeditions that the King of Shadows appeared to her and told her the whole truth: who he was, where he’d taken Nicholas, and how the only way for her to ever be with her son again was to shed her body and follow them both, son and father, into the Shadow World.
Many long years of life in the darkness as a spirit, with the man – or what was he? – who had betrayed her was a horrifying prospect, but a life without her son, or even one more day, one more hour without him – was worse.
And so Ekaterina shed her body and was bound to the Shadows.
Sarah Midnight, Nicholas thought dreamily. I’ll be the one who saves you over and over again, from the Surari, from your family’s interference, from feeling alone, with nobody knowing what your life is really like. I’ll be the only one who knows your secrets, I’ll be your lighthouse in the storm, the one you can rely on in a chaotic world. I’ll make you weak so that I can be strong for you. I’ll make you unable to stand on your own two feet so that I can be the one who props you up. I’ll make your body ill and worn so that you’ll long to be free of it. I’ll make sure you’re alone, and then I’ll be the one who rescues you from the ice in your heart.
The thought of Sarah broken and dependent on him filled Nicholas with anticipation. He walked on, revelling in his human body and his god-like powers. The night enveloped him and filled him with blessed, welcome darkness. For a moment, the constant whirlpools of his mind had stopped, giving him some relief – and life, and his predicament, and his future, seemed nearly bearable.
And then, the flames in his mind exploded again. No warning, no hint that it was all about to start. It was a sudden explosion of voices, screaming at him from inside his brain. His head spun for a moment, the night sky and the pavement swapping places, and the familiar smell of burning and of rotting, hidden things hit his nostrils. The smell of death. The smell of home.
The voices from the Shadow World were screaming, calling, clamouring for attention. And among those voices, the one that had no need to scream, the one that would always be listened to, the one that claimed his life, his will, his very own soul: that of his father, the King of Shadows.
Nicholas regained his balance and walked on, wincing, trying with all his might to keep his thoughts on the Edinburgh night, on his steps, on the people around him. On reality. He just didn’t want to be cut up inside again, he didn’t want to open his mind to his father. Not that what he wanted mattered at all. Peace, for Nicholas, never lasted long.
There was only one solution, one way to block out the voices at least for a little bit: human company. Human voices and human bodies to keep him tethered to this world, away from the shadows.
Nicholas made his way into a club and came out not much later with a small, blue-haired, bird-like girl on his arm. It was as simple as that for him. Like picking a flower from a field. It wasn’t entirely natural, of course. Some of Nicholas’s charisma was very much about mind-moulding – and often the girls would have flashbacks for weeks and months afterwards, wondering what made them follow the tall, dark-haired man who whisked them away so easily and then didn’t speak a word the next morning.
Her name was Laura. Nicholas held her hand tenderly on their way to his townhouse. For all the hatred in his heart, for all the anger he felt and that terrible, irresistible desire to destroy that ran in his veins, he would not harm her. He kept the anger for himself and burnt silently. For one night he would caress her, and touch her hair as gently as a mother, and kiss her as if he was in love.
Love was part of the fantasy. Tenderness was something he looked for in them, the girls he couldn’t tell one from another. They had to be beautiful, and none of them could have long black hair; he couldn’t bear that, he couldn’t bear to be reminded of the girl from long ago. Only Sarah would do that for him and still be there the next morning, still be his.
Laura. She would talk about her job and her family, she would laugh nervously and accept another vodka. She would be wholly and entirely human, with her worries about make-up and a compact mirror falling out of her bag and a run in her tights, and the photo of her nieces in her wallet. He would hold her and speak to her long into the night, and prevent her from falling asleep so that he would not be left alone to the calls of the Shadow World. Until her eyes would close, and eventually he’d have to give up and answer his father’s call, as the noise in his head grew louder, unbearable.
Nicholas couldn’t stop thinking of Sarah as he kissed the blue-haired girl. It would have to be just Sarah and him in the world soon. Nobody else for her, nobody else for him, ever again. So this is what he’d have to do: the people closest to her would have to die. They’d just distract her otherwise. She’d have to be properly alone but for him, and she couldn’t be if she had aunts and best friends and all that bloody farce of a family, could she?
I’ll take my time, and when you’re ready, the journey will begin. From Scotland to the gate of the Shadow World, every step forward will be another drop of your faith in life trickling away. Shame I couldn’t just move in with you now. It would be so good to spend all my time with you, day and night. But it’d be too soon. My control of your mind is not strong enough yet, though it seems to be working extremely well – and you might get suspicious. I hardly sleep, I hardly eat, my father contacts me when I least expect it. And I’m often surrounded by my Elementals. How much I would have loved it to be me and you, as good as married already … but I have to be careful.
The last time they had worked on breaking a chosen wife … It didn’t end well, and all their plans were shot to pieces. They couldn’t make that mistake with Sarah.
The girl from long ago.
For a second, the blue-haired young woman resting on his pillow looked at him with black eyes, and not her own blue ones – and the arms entwined around his back were amber-skinned and not white. For a second the girl from long ago, the one chosen before Sarah, the one he’d loved … she lay on his bed and called his name.
Laura lay asleep beside him, her dress draped over the end of the bed, her shoes and her coat abandoned on the wooden floor.
Another girl he wouldn’t remember the name of, who held no meaning, who left him with no memories. Just a short-lived relief from the voices that screamed constantly in his mind, from the terror that grasped him more and more often as the time to be bound in the Shadow World grew closer. A desperate way to grab some crumbs of human life for himself before he’d have to shed his human form and his spirit life would begin. A warm body, lips that smiled, the need to eat and drink and sleep – a girl who smelled and felt like life.
Until she fell asleep, and the dark closed on him again. He considered waking her up and throwing her out, but he had no energy left for that – the voices were crippling him already.
There was no escape.
You might think that being a Dreamer is a curse, Sarah, and it is – but you have no idea what it’s like to be born of a mortal woman and of the most powerful Surari of all time. Try that, then you’ll realize that in comparison, being a Dreamer is as easy as breathing.
Nicholas sat up on his bed and took his head in his hands, moaning softly. The voices from the Shadow World were ripping his mind, refusing to be silenced any longer.
The night was spent in agony.
A few painful, burning hours later, the blue-haired girl woke with a smile, make-up strewn on her face. With her eyes still closed, she stretched out her arm and felt the sheet beside her, looking for Nicholas. But the bed was empty.
He was sitting on the floor in a corner, his arms around his knees, sunken, red-rimmed eyes. When he saw she was awake, he got up without looking at her, crossed the room in his bare feet and stood framed in the doorway.
“I’m going out. By the time I come back I want you gone.”
Evening Star
A hidden place
Heather and myrtle
Gorse and mist
The in-between
Take me there with you.
Sean
I hold Elodie against me again. My mouth feels strange, stretched into a smile like that. How long has it been since I last smiled? Or laughed? Even the sound of my voice right now, so happy, seems to belong to someone else.
And then a terrible dread hits me: that the heir Elodie was protecting, Aiko Ayanami, is dead, and that’s why she’s here.
I take her by the shoulders and look into her eyes. “Aiko?”
“Aiko is alive.” And then she corrects herself. “She was alive when I left. One of the Gamekeepers I lived with is looking after her. But …”
“What happened?” I urge her gently.
“A Gamekeeper – a friend – was killed.” Elodie clasps her hands over her mouth, her voice laden with unshed tears. “She was so young. Marina Frison was her name. I had to go, Sean. I couldn’t hide away any longer. We must do something more than just protect the heirs. We must do something more.”
She’s getting distressed, her eyes feverish all of a sudden. I hold her hands against my chest. “Yes, yes. We must. But first, come on, come and sit near the fire. You need something to eat, and some sleep. You look terrible.”
“Thanks!” She smiles in the midst of her tears.
“No, no, that’s not what I meant …” I lead her to one of the worn, threadbare sofas.
“I know. I do look terrible, though.” She leans against me as we sit. “I’ve been feeling strange lately. I’m sure it’s just the strain of hiding, watching, waiting …” She shakes her head. “Never mind. Sean, there’s something I need to tell you.” Her brown eyes burn into mine. “I have seen Sarah’s death in a vision, on my way here.”
I stop in my tracks, my heart in my throat.
“She was being murdered. I couldn’t see his face, the killer’s, I mean. I don’t know what he was doing, but Sarah was dying right there, slowly in front of him.”
I feel a terrible cold invade me, sharper and crueller than the winter cold outside, in spite of the sweet-smelling peat burning on the hearth. I stand and stoop in front of the fire to turn the peat with the metal tongs. “When?” My voice is deadly calm, deadly quiet, though my heart is beating so hard I think the whole world can hear it.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t spot any clues, when, or where.”
“And the man? Who was he? A demon?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t make out his features.”
How far in the future is Elodie’s vision? And who is the man, or demon, who’s destined to do it? I walk to the window, watching the purple sky turning orange over the hills as dawn breaks slowly. “I must go and see Sarah. I must tell her. She’s not …” I take a deep breath. “She won’t speak to me.”
Elodie is aghast. “Why? What happened?”
“Harry had asked me to take his place. His identity. Did you know?”
“Yes. He often mentioned how distrusting the Midnights are. I think he felt it was the only way.”
“It was. But when Sarah found out … You see, the woman who told her, Cathy Duggan” – her name is so odious to me – “was the head of the Scottish Valaya. She’s dead now. She told Sarah that I killed Harry to take his place.”
“Oh no …”
“I don’t know if Sarah really believes that. But she knows I’ve been lying. She threw me out of her house, she doesn’t want anything to do with me. I’m still guarding her, of course.”
“Is that where you’ve been all night?” Elodie crosses the room to stand beside me. She takes my still icy hands in hers. “That’s why you’re freezing.”
“Yes. I was keeping watch.”
“We need to tell Sarah everything. No more lies.”
“I know. I know. You see, someone is … with her.”
“Someone? Another heir?”
“He says he is. I don’t know if it’s true. His name is Nicholas Donal.”
Elodie frowns. “I’ve heard of the Donal family, yes, but I never knew any of them, and I don’t think Harry did either.”
“The thing is … There’s something strange going on. Nicholas and Sarah are together now. It happened so quickly.”
Elodie looks at me as if to say what’s so strange about that?
“You don’t know Sarah. She is … she was … It’s just that I think this Nicholas has some kind of a weird hold on her. I don’t know. I …” I stop myself from saying any more. I just can’t tell Elodie about my feelings for Sarah.
“I’ll come with you. I’ll speak to her.”
“No. I’ve got to do it. You can come with me, but I need to speak to her alone. I need to convince her to let me back into her life. ”
“Fine.” She shrugs in a very French way. “I need to show you something. Wait.” Elodie takes hold of the brown canvas rucksack she had left beside the fireplace, and takes out something wrapped in a linen cloth. “I took this from Harry’s desk.” She unwraps the book, carefully holding the linen cloth. I notice it’s embroidered in red thread with the letters MF, intertwined in a delicate pattern. I take it gently from her hands and examine it. On the cover there’s a grim illustration: a girl in a long dress, wandering in a wood at night. The girl holds a stick with a skull perched on top of it, and blue rays of light are streaming out of the skull’s eyes.
“I went through Harry’s things, looking for a hint, a clue about what’s happening. I found this. And now I think he wanted me to find it. It was in a box on his desk, under lock and key. I took it, together with some letters he sent me. I wanted to keep a part of him with me.”
I nod.
“I read it over and over again, but I just couldn’t understand why this book was precious enough to be kept in a locked box. And then, on the way here, I saw something. Look—” She takes the book from my hand and opens it a few pages in. “Look at this word. There’s a little dot under the S. It’s so tiny, I didn’t see it for ages. And look, there too.”
“Oh, yes.”
“And there are others throughout the book. When I made a list of all the letters that had been marked, I didn’t recognize them as anything English or French. I can’t even pronounce them. So I began to think it could be Gaelic. You see, Harry’s family spoke Gaelic, and Harry had a few Gaelic books around. I’d seen the language before. Harry has used asterisks here and there, and I think they mark the different words.” Elodie takes the book from me and opens to the last page. She’s scribbled a few words on the back cover.
Sann*an*Ile*a*tha*n*fhreagairt*cum*faire*air
Morag*airson*gur*ise*an*iuchair.
I recognize it as Gaelic, but I can’t pronounce it either, and I have no idea what it means.
“The only word I understand is …” I begin.
But Elodie is quick. “… Morag,” she says. “Could it be Morag Midnight, Harry’s grandmother?”
“Yes. I’m certain that it is. Sarah told me that Morag used to speak Gaelic with her dad, and she can speak it a bit herself. She’ll know what it means. But why did Harry leave you a message in Gaelic, knowing you wouldn’t understand?”
“Maybe it was a way to tell me that I needed to go to Scotland and find Sarah. And you. I mean, I couldn’t risk asking anyone, or Google it or something. The Sabha’s people are everywhere, and he was aware of that.”
“I’ll show it to Sarah when I go and see her.”
“I won’t be parted from this book, Sean. We’ll show it to Sarah together if she agrees to listen to you.”
“Yes.” I know Elodie is right. What if something were to happen to me tonight and the book fell into Nicholas’s hands? Or got lost?
“What about Mike?” Elodie asks. “Have you heard from him? Is he still in Louisiana with Niall Flynn?”
“I don’t know. We were in constant contact until a few weeks ago. Then, nothing.”
Elodie wraps her arms around herself. “Maybe they’re hiding somewhere else. I can’t think that … I can’t believe … Harry had complete faith in Mike. I’m sure they’re alive,” she says. She doesn’t sound sure at all.
“Yes. Of course. Harry always told me that Niall wa— is – amazing.” Is. He is amazing. There’s no way I’m using the past tense until I know for sure what’s happened. I shake my head. “I can’t believe you’re here, Elodie.”
She smiles, her shy, bashful Elodie smile. “It’s so good to see you, Sean. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” She looks so young. And so weary.
“You need some rest now.”
“So do you.”
I shrug. “You know me, I never sleep.”
“You must. Hey, you must.” She looks at me, concerned. “I’ll have a quick shower and make us something to eat, then I want you to go straight to bed, d’accord?”
I look into her face, and her features are so familiar, so … Elodie. My kind, old friend who’s been with me since the beginning of it all.
“Deal. But I’ll cook,” I warn her.
“Oh, not that again!” she laughs, and the sound of her laughter is so inconsistent with the situation – a ray of sunshine in the middle of a storm. “I’m not that bad!”
“You’re a terrible cook, Elodie Midnight. Terrible. Admit it.”
“I’ll never admit it!”
“Even Harry used to say—”
I don’t finish the sentence. Elodie’s face is frozen, her mouth open in a little “o”. I’ve hurt her. I shouldn’t have mentioned him like that, laughing.
“At last,” she whispers.
“What … what do you mean?”
“It’s the first time I hear his name spoken like this. You know, in a normal conversation. Not about the Sabha, or his death or whatever. Like we actually used to have a life, me and him. Not a normal life, but – well, it was our life. And there was more to it than all this … destruction.”
I wonder if any of us will ever lead normal lives again. Or a life at all.
When You Return
If only you and me
Meant something more
Than bittersweet memories
Sean
It’s nearly midday. Elodie is sleeping, snug among the sofa cushions, like a child. I have wrapped the duvet around her and brushed her hair away from her face. I should sleep too – I’ve been awake for nearly twenty-four hours now – but of course I can’t. My days and nights are a daze, mixed up in what seems like a constant, freezing twilight. Making myself invisible for such long periods has a strange effect on my body. My breathing gets slower, my blood goes cold, my metabolism slows down: like a sort of frozen state, a kind of sleep that gives no rest to the body, but instead wears it out. I’m not sure how long I can keep my vigil up.
I watch Elodie as she sleeps. She couldn’t stand being hidden in Italy, waiting and hoping to come out of this alive. She couldn’t stand it, and neither can I. The Secret Families are being decimated, the Surari are stronger than ever – soon there will be nobody left to protect humanity from them. We need to rise up and confront the Enemy, not just try and survive, hiding away like mice in their holes.
My fingers close around the protection charm Sarah made for me. I always carry it around my neck – to keep a piece of Sarah with me.
Finally, I shake myself and take a hot shower. Changing into clean, warm clothes is such a relief. After that, I’m at a loss, as I wait for night to fall again so I can look for Sarah. It’s her audition for the Royal Conservatoire, today – the eighth of December. I remember when she got the letter confirming the date – in the middle of Cathy’s attack, not knowing if an hour later we’d still be alive. That letter meant so much to her. Music means so much to her.
Sometimes, as I sit still and hidden in her garden, I build a little world in my head. A world with no Surari, no Secret Families, no Gamekeepers. A world where Sarah and I meet like two normal people – a doctor and a cellist – somewhere in the world, here in Edinburgh, or Christchurch, or Tokyo, who cares? Anywhere in the world where we can be ourselves.
Just Sarah and Sean, no lies, no secrets.
I might as well try and get some rest. I force myself to lie on my bed, trying without success to invoke sleep. Out of the window I can see the top of the pines, swaying in the breeze against the milky sky, and wonder if it’s going to snow soon.
“Hello.” Elodie’s face, framed by her blonde hair, appears in the doorway.
I sit up, propping myself against the pillows. “You’re awake. Enjoyed your nap?”
She crosses the room to sit beside me, her footsteps silent on the dusty floor. She smells fresh, of shampoo and mint shower gel. She’s wearing clean clothes too, a white top and jeans – she loves wearing light colours, she always has. Her hair is hanging in long damp strands. She looks better than when she first arrived. Her face is not as tired, not as lined, but there’s still a pallor, a frailty about her that used to not be there.
“I had a dream.”
“An attack?” I ask, alarmed.
“Not exactly. It’s strange. I dreamt of a woman, a girl with silver hair. She was swimming in the sea. I was in the sea too, the water came up to my neck.” She touches her white throat with her fingers. “And then a wave came, a weird wave that seemed to have … arms. Out to get me.” She trembles for a second. “The wave took me under, but the woman with the silver hair saved me. She held my head out of the water and took me to shore.”
“Do you have an idea of who she was?”
“I’ll find out sooner or later, I suppose. You can’t sleep?” Elodie asks, but she knows the answer.
“You know me.” I rub my forehead.
“Yes. I remember the way you were in Japan. I don’t know how you keep going on no sleep.”
“I don’t know either.”
“Harry always said he only slept when he was happy.”
“No chance for me, then!” I try to smile, but it’s more like a grimace.
“Why don’t I sit here with you, and you can give it another try?”
Elodie walks over and perches herself on the windowsill, hugging her knees. An invisible hand squeezes my heart – Sarah loves doing that, sitting on her windowsill looking out to her garden, wrapped in that white jumper she has.
I’m about to tell Elodie that there’s no point, I’m awake, it’s not going to happen, but I’m tired, so tired, and my eyelids start feeling heavy. Elodie’s profile looks exquisite, nearly angelic against the white sky and the black, swaying trees. She’s humming a tune under her breath, a slow, soft song I’ve never heard before, sweet as a lullaby. I feel myself relax …and then my heart flutters, my limbs tense up in sudden alarm – they don’t want to let go, they don’t want to give into sleep.
But I haven’t rested for so long, and Elodie’s voice is cradling me. Before I know it, I drift away with it. At last.
I wake as gently as I fell asleep, without the usual jolt of panic. My mind goes straight to the first thought I always have when I awake – where’s my sgian-dubh? I check – it’s on my bedside table.
Next, as ever, is a thought of Sarah. I need to see Sarah.
“Ça va?”
I rub my face with my hands. Elodie is sitting on my bed. I notice her fingers curled around her silver star necklace – the one Harry gave to her. I was with him when he bought it. Only yesterday, it seems.
“What’s the time?”
“It’s just past midnight. British time.”
“I haven’t slept so long in months.”
“Maybe you just needed some company.” She smiles.
“I’m going to see Sarah.” I jump out of bed and slip the sgian-dubh in the leather strap tied around my ankle.
Elodie’s smile wanes, replaced by an anxious expression. “Now? In the middle of the night?”
“Sarah is very powerful. She has the Blackwater and the Midnight gaze. If she uses her powers on me, I’m gone in a minute. I need to come back in one piece. My best bet is to catch her asleep.” I laugh, a hollow laugh, slipping my trainers on and making my way down the stairs.
Elodie follows me, grabbing her jacket hanging on the banister. “Would she hurt you?”
I hesitate. “I don’t know. I’d like to think not, but I can’t take any chances. There’s something strange going on with her. Remember what Harry used to say about Morag Midnight? Well, they seem uncannily similar.”
“Oh. I see.”
We make our way through the silent, still night. The sky and the air all around us are now dark purple, with the orange tinge of the lights over the city of Edinburgh. I feel full of energy after my sleep, as if I’d shaken off a lead suit I’d been wearing for days.
“Come,” I call, striding down the overgrown path. “We’re walking. I don’t want anyone to spot my car.”
Elodie looks around nervously. “I wonder when they’ll come next,” she whispers. “It’s just a matter of time, isn’t it?”
There’s no need to ask who “they” are.
“True. And they will get Sarah if I’m not there.”
“You said she’s very powerful.”
“She is. But she’s also new to the fight. Sometimes she sort of … forgets she’s a huntress. I always have to convince Sarah to fight. She’s been so sheltered by her parents.”
“Not a wise idea, to shelter a Secret heir. With all we need to face …”
“Well, she’s a Dreamer, so she knew what she was going to have to face one day. I suppose her parents were trying to protect her. Maybe because of what happened to Harry’s aunt … They never even told Sarah about that.”
“They never told Sarah her aunt died?”
“They never even told her she existed.”
“Seriously?”
“Weird, I know. And Sarah even reminded me of Mairead … the way Harry used to describe her. His father, Stewart, was very close to Mairead and he often told Harry about her. She was shy, sensitive. Very quiet. Just like Sarah. But something happened, just a few weeks ago. That’s when she changed.” I take a breath, remembering the terrible day Leigh was killed. “One of Sarah’s best friends was murdered by a Surari. The bastard said that if Sarah sacrificed herself, he’d spare Leigh. Sarah agreed, of course. But I was there. I couldn’t allow it to happen. So it was Leigh who died.”
Our feet make a crunching noise on the frosty grass. There’s silence all around and darkness as we walk across the moorland towards the outskirts of the city.
“After that Sarah changed. The Surari’s slave had possessed a woman – she was the one who killed Leigh. The woman turned up at our door, and well … Sarah slaughtered her. I mean, she slaughtered her. The look in Sarah’s eyes when she finished … It was as if she really was Morag Midnight.”
I haven’t quite managed to finish explaining when the ground rises up to meet me. I hit my face, hard, on a tree root. I taste my own blood as a voice rasps in my ear.
“Back … soil.”