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  “Any time. But this was the last one for a while now. We need to get home,” said Sarah, and her eyes met Sean’s. He held her gaze, unspoken words passing between them.

  “Yes, we need to get home,” Sean echoed, and Sarah’s heart skipped a beat. Would they go home together? Live together? They’d been back from the Shadow World for a week now, and they had slept in separate rooms. That was what they’d been offered, and neither of them had complained or asked to change. Not that there had been much sleep anyway, with the intense hunting they’d done. Sarah had focused on the hunt, frightened of the moment they’d have to decide what to do next. Would he tell her what she feared the most, that they were going to part ways, that he would go back to New Zealand, or to Japan to look for Mary Ann, or to France with Elodie? Would he tell her that after the culling of the heirs, it was her duty to breed powerful children with another Secret heir?

  “I can’t wait to be home,” said Niall. Since he’d been reunited with Winter, Niall had had a constant smile on his face. He and Micol had seen to a particularly vicious kind of demon-eel, five of them let loose in the city’s canals. But whatever else had seeped through was for the Vendramin to take care of: Niall and Winter had plane tickets to Dublin booked for that night.

  “Wow, Sarah, you look shattered. You need a holiday,” Niall said mischievously.

  “Niall!” Winter scolded him gently. “Don’t listen to him, Sarah. You look amazing,” she said. Sarah’s cheeks had filled out again and her hair was lustrous and shiny once more, the effects of the Shadow World washing away with every day spent back on the human side.

  “Are you going back to Edinburgh, then?” Elodie asked Sean. Sarah looked at him, holding her breath as she waited for his reply.

  “Yes. If Sarah puts me up for a bit.” He grinned, but there was a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. Sarah studied his face for a moment, trying to read his intentions. He was going back with her, but it didn’t mean that they would be anything more than friends, or comrades in the hunting. She sighed inwardly. The night they’d spent together at Nicholas’ castle kept playing in her mind; unbearably sweet memories teased her and confused her.

  “Please come with us. At least until you decide what to do,” Sean said to Elodie.

  Elodie seemed pretty much back to her old self, but both Sarah and Sean were worried. Once back in the human world her eyes had regained their old brown tones and lost the otherworldly obsidian of Nicholas’ eyes. She’d been given a clean bill of health by the Vendramin physician – no trace of the Azasti was left – and apart from being very tired and a little pensive, she’d been all right. The night before, Sarah had woken up thinking she’d heard Elodie scream in her sleep, but as she lay awake in the darkness, she didn’t hear anything again. She decided she’d dreamt it.

  “Thank you, Sarah. But I must go to the mountains and look for Aiko Ayanami. Something tells me she’s still alive. And after that . . . well, I think I’ll go back to Annecy. Start again. The Brun Family is not finished yet.”

  “No. The Secret Families are not finished,” Alvise intervened. “We need a new Sabha. We need to find out who survived and get organised again.”

  “But with Nicholas in the Shadow World, the Surari won’t come through any more, will they?” said Micol, looking for reassurance. “I mean, if we get rid of the ones who are here already . . .”

  Elodie looked down. “I’m not sure it’s entirely up to Nicholas. I think the separation between the worlds is not watertight and never will be. There’ll still be gaps. Things will go back to the way they were before, I think, with Surari drifting in every once in a while, to be dealt with by whoever is left of the Secret Families and the Gatekeepers.”

  Sarah thought of home, of Aunt Juliet and Bryony. She thought of the Midnight mansion in Edinburgh, and her garden, of her cello in its purple case, waiting to be played again.

  Sean slipped his hand in hers. “Fancy a walk?”

  “Sure,” she said, and suddenly, irrationally, she felt cold with apprehension. What was he going to say? That he had no powers, and therefore they could never be together? Would he raise the same wall between them, still unmovable, unreachable? Sarah’s stomach knotted up and her mouth went dry all of a sudden.

  “Sure. I’ll just have a quick shower. Down in twenty minutes,” she said and went to step out of the room. Suddenly, she felt the impulse to turn back for a moment. She wasn’t sure why. She gazed at Elodie. Her hand was resting on her belly, and there was a look in her eyes that made Sarah’s heart flutter. Elodie felt her watching, and their eyes met. She didn’t move her hand away from her belly, but she didn’t look down.

  Sean was already gone, Niall and Winter were absorbed in each other, Micol was shuffling songs on her iPod. Nobody noticed, but in those few seconds, in that look, Elodie spoke to Sarah.

  No, the Brun Family wasn’t finished.

  59

  Love on the Water

  All the time in the world

  For us to see

  That life is what we make of it

  Venice sparkled under the winter sun, the air freezing and the sky pure and perfectly blue. Sean and Sarah wandered along the calles, hand in hand, until they got to a little campo, a small square, surrounded by beautiful buildings with arched windows and stuccoed façades. Schoolchildren and tourists with cameras and old ladies carrying groceries hustled all around them, busy and unconcerned with their conversation. Strange, Sarah thought. My whole life is being played out, here, and nobody knows, nobody suspects.

  “Sarah . . .”

  “Please don’t say it,” she blurted out, her hands raised to form a barrier between them.

  “Don’t say what?” he smiled.

  “Don’t say you’re going away. That I have to marry a Secret heir. That you’ll look after me, you’ll never be really gone, but we won’t be together. Just don’t say it.”

  “Sarah, Sarah, stop!” He laughed, and held his own hands up too, braiding his fingers through hers. “Oh. Maybe I should have asked before doing this,” he said.

  “Doing what?”

  “Touching your hands. In case you try to kill me. You did that before.” He laughed again.

  “Don’t laugh!” she said, looking down. She was getting really flustered. He seemed to be playing a game while she consumed herself waiting to hear what he had to say.

  “Okay, sorry. Listen. I—” He drew a deep breath. It wasn’t easy for him either, to put his thoughts into words. “I . . .”

  “Picture? Take picture?”

  Sean blinked and stared as a Japanese woman stood in front of him, camera in hand, a big smile on her face. “Picture, please?” she repeated, gesturing to Sean and then to the man and child behind her.

  “Of course. Of course,” he muttered, taking the camera from the woman. Sarah tried not to roll her eyes so as to not seem rude, but she sat rigid, willing the tourists to go.

  “Thank you! Thank you!” the Japanese tourists repeated over and over again, and they even bowed slightly before walking away.

  “So, yes. Where were we?” said Sean, sitting on the stone bench again.

  “I don’t know where we were, Sean. I don’t know where we are. I don’t know what’s going to happen!” Sarah blurted out, finally out of patience.

  “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, Sarah,” said Sean, suddenly serious. He cupped her face in his hands. “You were right all along. I’ve seen the effects of inbreeding among the Secret Families. It’s time for a new era and a new generation whose blood is strong again . . .”

  Sarah’s eyes welled up and she smiled between her tears.

  “I don’t want to see you crying ever again,” said Sean, and dried a rogue tear that had rolled down her cheek. He stroked her hair, then took her face in his hands again and kissed her.

  Sarah closed her eyes and let happiness flow through her. They were going to be together. After all the pain and fear, and the lies and the reconciliation . . . and
all the times they were so close to death they could feel its cold breath on their necks . . .

  They were going to be together.

  It didn’t seem possible.

  Sarah’s mind went back to the first time they’d met. She’d heard his voice before seeing him. His deep, warm voice with a hint of a New Zealand accent, and then she’d stepped into view and took him in, those light blue eyes, impossibly clear, and with a warning in them: Don’t come too close. Now the warning was gone, the barriers had fallen, and his eyes were full of love.

  “Does this mean you’re coming back to Scotland with me? As in . . . you’ll live with me again?”

  “Of course. And Sarah . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “I just can’t wait to hear you play your cello again,” he said, and kissed her again, the warm Italian sun shining on them both.

  60

  When You Return

  My hand in yours

  The end and the beginning

  Of a butterfly life

  Fragile and brief, so brief

  But beautiful and ours

  To keep at last.

  Edinburgh was grey and dreamy and blustery, and Sarah’s heart leapt as she stepped out of the taxi. At last, the Midnight mansion was waiting for her. The lights were on and shone yellow in the lilac dusk. Aunt Juliet was on the steps, waiting for her. Sarah ran into her aunt’s arms and held her tightly. She couldn’t help noticing the jagged scars running over her cheeks and arms, from when the demon had clawed her nearly to death. Her fingers traced Aunt Juliet’s scars, her eyes full of sorrow.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m alive and it’s in the past.” She fixed her niece with a direct gaze. “I won’t ask you what happened, Sarah. I just want to know one thing. Are we safe now? Is it all finished, whatever was happening?”

  “Yes. Yes, Aunt Juliet. We are safe.”

  Her aunt smiled and held her again. “And Harry . . . welcome home.”

  “Sean. My name is Sean Hannay.”

  “Right,” said Juliet, looking at Sarah with raised eyebrows.

  “Long story . . .” she began, but stopped midway through.

  Because on the pavement, with a mane of red hair, bright-blue eyes and a purple dress – she always wore a hint of purple somewhere – was her best friend. She was holding a shoebox.

  “Bryony!” Sarah called, racing towards her. They fell into each other’s arms, negotiating the shoebox, tears streaming down both their faces.

  “I was so worried!” Bryony whispered into Sarah’s hair.

  “I know . . . I’m sorry I worried you. I’m here now.”

  Bryony handed her the shoebox. “This is for you.” Only then did Sarah see that the box had holes dotted all around it, and there was a soft towel folded inside. She pulled the lid of the box off. Within the towel, curled up asleep, was a little black kitten. For a moment she couldn’t speak.

  “I thought . . . with Shadow gone.” Bryony stumbled to explain.

  She hugged her friend. “Thank you. Thank you so much!”

  “It’s a girl. What will you call her? I was thinking maybe Moonbeam?”

  Sarah and Sean shared a look. The fleeting image of the moon-demons, skeletal and translucent among the trees, danced between them.

  “Er . . . I think there are much better names,” said Sean, scratching the back of his head.

  “I’d go for Sunshine,” said Juliet. “Not very Sarah, but it’s cute.”

  Sarah smiled. “Sunshine is perfect,” she said, caressing the kitten between the ears. “I need to know, Bryony. Did you get into the School of Art?”

  Bryony’s face broke into a smile. “Yes!”

  “Oh, I’m so happy for you!” Sarah squealed under Sean’s delighted gaze. It was amazing for him to see her so happy at last, so carefree. He watched as Sarah, Sunshine and Bryony entered the house.

  When he and Aunt Juliet followed, they couldn’t believe what they saw. Sarah had taken her shoes off and kicked them aside, and hung her jacket on the peg hurriedly, like it didn’t matter if it hung straight. Was the old Sarah really gone, the one who would have a panic attack if her shoes weren’t lined up, if her coat didn’t hang perfectly even? The girl who had to dust and polish every surface over and over again before leaving the house?

  Juliet’s smile just got bigger. “Now, you must be hungry,” she said, trying to suppress her joy at seeing Sarah so . . . careless. “The cupboards and fridge are full. All the beds are changed and the place is gleaming. I had everything ready for you.”

  “Thank you so much, Aunt Ju . . .” But once again Sarah’s voice trailed away. She’d seen a letter on the table, one that Aunt Juliet had set aside from the pile of bills and brochures that had arrived while she was away.

  Sarah knew what it was.

  She took a few slow steps towards the table. “I want to open this alone,” she said, lifting up the letter with shaking hands.

  “Of course, sweetheart,” said Juliet, and they watched Sarah step out of the kitchen.

  She went upstairs to her room. So many memories were there, all her things that had lain in wait until she returned: the silvery-grey walls, the long, white voile curtains, the freshly made bed on which Aunt Juliet had placed a sprig of lavender from the garden. Her cello in its purple case sat against the wall, waiting to come back to life. She wanted to play so badly that her fingers hurt with desire.

  Sarah sat on her bed. Her hands trembled so much that she struggled to open the envelope. Her eyes scanned the text, looking for “we regret”, or “unsuccessful” . . .

  Tears were streaming down her face as she walked back to the kitchen, slowly, deliberately. Sean, Aunt Juliet and Bryony looked at her, expressions of encouragement but also worry visible on their faces.

  A smile of pure happiness spread across her face as she showed them the letter offering her a place in the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland.

  Finally, they were alone. A sliver of moon was shining white and pure on Sarah’s garden as they strolled hand in hand, unafraid at last.

  “Look. I kept this all along,” Sarah said, lifting the white and scarlet opal to the palm of her hand.

  Sean took it from her, rolling the stone between his fingers. It was smooth to the touch, and cold. “I wonder if it’s just a stone now, or if it still has a piece of your soul in it.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We can’t run the risk, I suppose. If part of you is inside here, we need to—”

  “Keep it safe.”

  “Yes.”

  Sarah stopped and stood in front of him. “Will you do that for me? Will you keep a piece of my soul?” Sarah’s green eyes burnt in his, full of tenderness.

  Sean shook his head. “I won’t. Your soul is your own, all of it. I love you, but I won’t own you. Not even a piece of you.”

  Sarah smiled. “In that case, I know what to do with this.”

  She led Sean towards Anne’s herb patch. Memories of her mother were everywhere. She could see Anne planting and digging and pruning, her black hair down her shoulders, the same raven hair as Sarah.

  She kneeled on the damp soil and started digging delicately under the thyme bush. That was where her mother had concealed her magical diary, buried for Sarah to find. The opal went into the ground, interred deep, safe in the heart of her home. Sean looked above him. A few stars were visible in the cloudy night sky, the sky of home, so different from the harsh, vivid sky of the Shadow World and its sea of stars. The new moon above them was a maternal, tender face – not the hunting goddess of the Shadow World.

  Sean had often thought that Sarah was like the moon: white, luminous, distant. Untouchable. But not any more. She was with him. And all the world was calm.

  COPYRIGHT

  First published 2014

  by Black & White Publishing Ltd

  29 Ocean Drive, Edinburgh EH6 6JL

  www.blackandwhitepublishing.com

  This electronic edition published in 2014 />
  ISBN: 978 1 84502 545 8 in EPub format

  ISBN: 978 1 84502 540 3 in paperback format

  Copyright © Daniela Sacerdoti 2014

  The right of Daniela Sacerdoti to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Ebook compilation by Iolaire Typesetting, Newtonmore