Tide (The Sarah Midnight Trilogy) Read online

  This book is for Lindsey

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you Ross, Sorley and Luca, for putting up with me writing, writing, writing, and then writing some more! I couldn’t do it without you three cuddling me, feeding me, making me laugh and being so understanding when my head is somewhere else for days at a time.

  From the bottom of my heart, thank you to my editors, Janne Moller and Kristen Susienka, and to everyone at Black & White Publishing. Thank you to my agents, Lindsey Fraser and Kathryn Ross, my velvet and steel fairy godmothers – what would I do without you?

  Thank you to my families, the Sacerdotis and the Walkers, for their belief in me. Thank you to Irene, my best friend and little sister – our daily emails keep me (relatively) sane. Thank you to my amazing girlfriends and their warm, generous support (and help with the school run when I’m overwhelmed with edits!).

  Thank you to the musicians who soundtracked many hours of writing: Julie Fowlis, The Treacherous Orchestra, Runrig, Manran, Corquieu, and as ever for many years, the wonderful Maire Brennan. Thank you to Kirstyn Knowles and Jenny Masterson for Sarah’s song, “Do it Alone”, Martyn Bennet, Margaret Bennet and BJ Stewart for the lyrics of Niall’s song “Grioghal Cridhe”, Pentangle for their rendition of “Cruel Sister” and Sting, with Robert Louis Stevenson, for the musical version of the poem “Christmas at Sea”.

  Thank you to Jim Sutherland, David Stanton and Peter Kerr for Gaelic help.

  And finally, thank you to Linda Norgrove, one of the women of courage and belief who inspire me to be braver: www.lindanorgrovefoundation.org.

  Contents

  Title

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue: Salt and Lilies

  1 Without You

  2 From Within

  3 Stolen

  4 Shadows in Edinburgh

  5 Evening Star

  6 When You Return

  7 The Night Has Eyes

  8 Makara

  9 Listen

  10 Days and Nights

  11 Crown of Thorns

  12 Scrying

  13 The Watcher

  14 Night Deceives Us

  15 Torn

  16 Full Moon

  17 Goodbye

  18 The Worst Kind of Fear

  19 The Boy Who Disappeared

  20 Slaughter

  21 Seawater

  22 Banished

  23 Islay

  24 Midnight Hall

  25 Deadly Princess

  26 Together We

  27 Blood and Paper

  28 An Infinite Horizon

  29 Turning Tide

  30 Ghosts

  31 Chrysalis

  32 Runes

  33 Adrift

  34 From the Water

  35 Winter

  36 Don’t Let Me Sleep

  37 Darkness

  38 Andromeda

  39 Be Ready

  40 Comet

  41 The Last Letter

  42 Wounds of the Body

  43 A Child in the Water

  44 A Child Ashamed

  45 Broken Destiny

  46 Death Written in Blood

  47 Poison

  48 The Blood Is Strong

  49 Look Behind You

  50 Threshold

  51 And Then I Found You

  52 Between Two Worlds

  53 Christmas At Sea

  54 Things That Come Ashore

  55 One Soul

  56 Like a River to the Sea

  57 Alone With You

  58 Blind

  59 Prophecies

  60 One More Chance

  61 Love Must Be Spoken

  By the Same Author

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Salt and Lilies

  Islay, October 2002

  It was the first time that Sarah ever felt close to Morag Midnight, and the last time she saw her alive.

  The beach was vast and windswept, and the black-haired girl wrapped her scarf around her neck twice, struggling to keep up with her grandmother as they strode towards the sea.

  “Come on, Sarah!”

  Sarah broke into a run. She didn’t understand what the rush was, and she didn’t know why her grandmother was desperate to take her for a walk on the beach all of a sudden. Her parents had driven over to the other side of the island – Secret business, as usual – and they had left her with Morag, in spite of the fact that Morag’s behaviour was becoming increasingly erratic. As soon as Sarah reached her grandmother on the shoreline, Morag took the girl’s hand.

  “The water is very cold,” the old woman said.

  Sarah felt a flutter of apprehension. The sea was wide and grey, and choppy under the wintry wind. She didn’t like to think how cold the water would be, how freezing the white-topped waves. Her skin puckered into goosebumps.

  “Have you ever swum in the sea in winter?” Morag asked. Sarah noticed how the water was lapping their boots now. The bottom of her jeans was wet already.

  “No. My mum and dad wouldn’t let me. It’s too cold.”

  Morag laughed, a brittle laugh that made Sarah shiver. “Of course! Imagine your mother letting you swim in there at this time of year. That would be crazy. What mother would do that?”

  Morag’s grip was tight around Sarah’s hand, and Sarah flinched but she didn’t say anything. She knew better than to provoke her grandmother. Her temper was such that she would fly off the handle at the slightest provocation.

  “It’s so cold that you wouldn’t drown. Your heart would just stop,” Morag continued. Her once blonde hair, now grey, was coming loose from its bun, and long strands framed her graceful face. Morag’s eyes were big and blue, and her features as stern as a northern goddess. She was tall, and always stood very straight. Everything about her spoke of pride and strength.

  Sarah swallowed hard. She fought the instinct to free herself from Morag’s grip and run. She didn’t want to be standing with her feet in seawater, with her grandmother holding her hand so tight it hurt; she wanted to be home with her mum and dad.

  “Gran, I’m cold. Let’s go home.”

  Morag turned to look Sarah straight in the eye. She softened her grip on the child’s hand and bent down, her face now level with Sarah’s. Unexpectedly, she stroked Sarah’s cheek.

  “The world is changing. I won’t be here to see how things map out, but you will be. Remember this, Sarah: whatever happens, the Midnight family must be protected and preserved by all possible means.”

  Sarah didn’t know what to say. Though she was only eight years old, she was an old soul, and could see and feel things much beyond her years. Morag’s intensity petrified her. She nodded.

  “At your age, Sarah, I was hunting already. But maybe you’re not meant for the hunt … like she wasn’t. Maybe there’s something else you need to do. Had I known … had I known what was happening, back then … what I was about to lose! But it’s too late now. It’s your parents’ time. And soon it will be your time, Sarah. Come,” she said, grasping her granddaughter’s hand tight again.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Back to Midnight Hall. There’s something I need to show you.”

  The next morning Sarah awoke to find her mum sitting on her bed.

  “Wake up, darling. Wake up …”

  “Mum?”

  Sarah was startled to see her mother’s face streaked with tears.

  “There was an accident,” Anne began.

  “Gran is dead,” Sarah said. “She walked into the sea.”

  “Sarah … How do you know? Did you dream? Already?”

  The little girl shook her head.

  “Then how … Did y
ou hear your father and me talking? Were you awake?”

  “No. She told me.”

  *

  Morag had kneeled down and held Sarah tight all of a sudden – the little girl had stood tense, breathing in her grandmother’s scent of salt and lilies. “Sarah … They say that people from these islands belong to the sea. I think it’s true. Tomorrow I’ll go back where I belong.”

  A teardrop had rolled down Morag’s cheek, and Sarah had wiped it away with her small finger. “Don’t cry, Gran,” she’d said.

  “No. Of course not,” Morag had whispered. “I won’t cry anymore.”

  1

  Without You

  For all the lovers who had no choice

  Choose now which heart to break

  Sean

  Every night I watch over Sarah, invisible, concealed in her garden. As December approaches it gets colder and colder, but I don’t care if my hands are frozen and my lips turn blue. I must be there for her. The threat is far from over, Sarah is still in danger and Nicholas Donal is not the right person to protect her. I can’t trust him. Even though he saved our lives many times.

  Who is he, anyway? He says he’s the heir to the Donals, a Secret family I’ve never even heard of. Hardly a satisfactory explanation. I watch him walking up the steps that lead to Sarah’s door and follow her inside. It’s clear enough that they’re together.

  Just thinking about it makes me ill.

  Only a few weeks ago, Sarah had feelings for me, before she discovered who I really am … I know she did. How can those feelings have changed so quickly? There’s something strange about the sudden hold Nicholas has over her. And she looks so pale, so thin. Even from the distance I keep she seems … dazed. She walks to and from school with uncertain steps, with her head lowered. Of course, she has been through so much, but even so. She is not the Sarah I know. Or knew.

  Maybe I’m flattering myself that I’m better for her, when what’s between the two of them really is love.

  No, it can’t just be jealousy; it can’t just be the fact that he took Sarah for himself the night he saved her life – him and those ravens, and those cold blue flames that sprung from his fingers. It can’t just be my spite at having lost her to him – not when I see Sarah as she is now.

  What has he done to her? And how could I have allowed this to happen?

  It was Harry Midnight, Sarah’s cousin, who entrusted me with her life. Just before his death at the hands of the Secret Council, the Sabha – the very people who were supposed to lead the Secret Families – he sent me, his Gamekeeper, his best friend, his brother in all but blood, to Scotland to watch over Sarah. Harry gave me his name and his identity – Sarah was just a baby when she’d seen him last – because he knew that it was the only way that she would trust me. And she did, until she found out about our deceit. And now she hates me for it. Even though it was all done to keep her safe.

  We’re apart, and it’s killing me.

  Crouched night after night in Sarah’s garden, I wonder what has happened to Harry’s friends – our friends. Elodie, his wife, was sent to a safe place in Italy, to guard the last of the Japanese Secret heirs. Mike Prudhomme, a Gamekeeper like me, was sent to Louisiana with Niall Flynn, the heir to the Flynn family. For a while we were able to keep in constant touch via secure phone lines, but the lines have gone dead now. There has been no signal – the short message we used to send each other at the same time every day – for weeks. I try to believe that it’s too dangerous for them to be in touch with me right now, because I can’t contemplate the alternative: that they have been killed. Murdered by the Sabha, or by demons, take your pick. The whole world seems to be against us, in one way or another.

  Every day I check our dead drop. Mike knows that if everything else fails, as a last resort I’ll have left them a message folded inside a plastic pocket, hidden in a fissure in Sarah’s garden wall – the north wall. The exact place is marked by a small symbol I’ve painted in such a way that it’s visible, but doesn’t attract too much attention.

  Every day I pray that I’ll find the envelope gone, that they’ll come looking for me at Gorse Cottage. Losing hope is not an option.

  I spend every night in Sarah’s garden, invisible. I can make myself unseen, unnoticed – nobody rests their eyes on me twice, nobody remembers my face. They see me, but their gaze slips away from me like rain trickling off glass. It works best when I’m still, but I can be invisible when I’m moving too, although occasionally my shadow is perceived like a flicker in the corner of somebody’s eye. From my hiding place I can see Anne Midnight’s herb patch, where Sarah found the diary her mother had kept for her. The image of Sarah kneeling in front of the thyme bush, clutching her precious discovery, her hair loose round her shoulders and the full moon above us, is burnt into my memory. She came into my arms, crying for joy; it was me she shared that moment with, me and nobody else. I remember how soft her hair felt under my lips, threaded between my fingers …

  When dawn breaks and cold and hunger have the best of me, I walk home. The sky is grey over my head, and it’s so, so cold. Every step is agony on my frozen feet.

  How long can I keep this up? I want to be with Sarah, I want to know what’s happening to her, what Nicholas is doing in her life. But what about the bigger picture? How many Gamekeepers are left, how many heirs? My promise to Harry was to protect Sarah – but my promise to the world is to fight the bigger fight. Can I spend all my time, all my energy, guarding Sarah and only Sarah, when the survival of everyone is at stake?

  Gorse Cottage is a near-derelict building at the edge of the moorland, as far as possible from any other house, hidden and unkempt. Ivy climbs up the wall and nearly hides the windows, the grass is high and littered with weeds, uncut for what seems like forever. I want to keep it this way – the fewer people who know it’s inhabited, the safer it is for me. My stiff, frozen fingers struggle to turn the key in the lock. Immediately, I sense that something is wrong. I sniff the evening air; it smells of peat. There’s a peat fire, somewhere close – and suddenly I realize, it’s in my house.

  I grip my sgian-dubh at once – James Midnight’s sgian-dubh, with its silver handle engraved with Celtic patterns. The red painted door creaks as I make my way in. The house is warm, and the smell of peat even stronger as I step into the entrance hall …

  There’s a light coming from the living room.

  There shouldn’t be.

  My heart is in my throat. I stand for a second, listening, waiting for a sound, a breath, a whisper to reveal who – or what – has made its way into my cottage.

  I don’t have to wait for long, because a girl with long golden hair steps out of the living room towards me. She’s a lot thinner than she used to be, and there’s a guarded, tired expression on her face that used to not be there, but it’s her.

  “Elodie,” I whisper, and before I know it she’s in my arms and we’re holding onto each other as if we’re all that’s left to hold on to. Which might as well be the case.

  2

  From Within

  To return and see

  What went before me

  The reasons for my heart

  To beat the way it does

  The last notes of the young man’s accordion seeped from the audition room. Sarah sat upright, her back rigid, her hands clutched together, her eyes lowered in concentration. Beside her, her cello in its purple case, and beside the cello, Aunt Juliet, tapping her foot, tap, tap, tap, in rhythm with the music coming from behind the closed door.

  There was no way Sarah could have stopped Juliet coming – her aunt had her heart set on it. But if she was honest, she did want Aunt Juliet with her, for moral support. Nicholas had offered to accompany her too, of course, but Sarah couldn’t risk being distracted by him on the day of her audition for the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland, the day where she was playing her most precious card: her music. When she was with Nicholas, her mind floated, her thoughts unravelled, and she couldn’t have that happeni
ng. Today was her day, and hers only. She didn’t want to be reminded of all that had happened since her parents were killed, she didn’t even want to be a Midnight – just a musician.

  Sarah was determined to win a place at the Royal Conservatoire – she just had to. There was nowhere else she wanted to be, nothing else she wanted to do. Her rational mind told her over and over again how hard it would be to keep up with her music studies and be true to the Midnight mission at the same time, but she refused to acknowledge that set of thoughts. She wanted to be a musician too badly to ever be able to accept that it might not happen.

  And now, the accordionist was finished. Out he walked, his young face flushed, hurrying towards his mother. The woman rose on her toes and ran a hand through the young man’s hair – it was a hesitant, self-conscious sort of gesture, but she couldn’t help herself: that tall young man used to be her little boy, after all. Sarah looked away, a stab of pain through her heart.

  Mum, you should have been here with me.

  “Sarah Midnight.”

  It was her turn. No time to remember the past, no time to think of anything that hurt. It was time for her music to make its mark, at last.

  Sarah picked up her cello and walked into the audition room, heart steady, eyes clear. All of a sudden, her nerves were gone.

  All of a sudden, she believed.

  “So, how do you think it went?” Aunt Juliet stirred her cappuccino. The Glasgow city centre was bustling with early Christmas shoppers. They had been lucky to find a seat in the John Lewis café.

  Sarah shrugged, staring into her hazelnut latte. She was tired after the strain of the morning, but buzzing with the excitement of it. Her dream was so close she could almost touch it. “I don’t know. I can’t really say. It went well, I think. I just need to wait for the letter now.”