Midnight Hour Page 13

  Emily and the Bear sat, jaws agape. The Nocturne nodded once.

  ‘Much as expected. They are proved, and you have near delivered your half of the bargain.’

  ‘Guh – rhino,’ said Emily, and added that to her list of useful things she’d said in moments of high drama.

  The Nocturne produced a small silver box worked with intricate runic carvings. A press of a concealed catch and it popped open to show a velvet interior just the right size for the pennies.

  ‘This box is charmed. It will allow you to complete your part of the bargain and deliver them to me without harm. A good job I thought of it, or you’d have had to come along with us until you could.’ She wagged a warning finger. ‘The detail of these boons is very important. Now, please put them into this.’

  ‘Why?’

  The Nocturne scowled at her.

  ‘Because we have a bargain.’

  Emily shook her head.

  ‘No, I don’t mean that. Why can’t other people touch them? Why can I?’

  A broad grin split the Nocturne’s face. A sharp slice of white exposed bone in a wound.

  ‘You have no idea what you are, do you child?’ She turned to the Bear, laughing. ‘She has no idea!’

  They both laughed, the Bear’s chainsaw gurgle and the musical trill of the Nocturne dancing around her.

  ‘Stop it! Tell me!’

  The Nocturne dabbed at her eye with a tiny handkerchief, still smiling.

  ‘Do you have something else you wish to bargain with? Some other magic trinket, hmmm? Perhaps you’d trade your mother back again to know?’

  Her smile faded and there was only malice on her face now. Emily looked away.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I thought not. Onward then.’

  The Bear brought the little silver box over to Emily, giving the necklace a wide berth. Emily knelt and scooped the pennies into it. The rough metallic hot and cold of them on her hands again hurt her heart more than handing them over in the first place. She clicked the box shut and handed it to the Nocturne. As the pale hand touched it, Emily gripped on to the other end.

  ‘And now you have to do your part.’

  ‘Of course, I have no choice, I told you this.’

  ‘Okay.’ Emily released the box and stood back. ‘I want to take my mum and dad home.’

  ‘And you shall.’ One tiny smile. ‘Once I’ve finished with them.’

  ‘WHAT?’

  ‘When your mother has completed the task I need her for, then I shall release her and fulfil all the other requirements of the boon.’ The tiny smile widened. ‘I shall keep your father locked in a dungeon in the meantime to ensure your mother’s cooperation.’

  Emily slipped under icy water.

  ‘But you said you’d let them go.’

  ‘And I will. Right after she’s done what I need her to do.’

  ‘But that’s not what we agreed!’

  ‘That is EXACTLY what we agreed!’ The Nocturne did not raise her voice, but it swelled to fill the room and the chandeliers trembled. ‘This was a bargain, made in accordance with Ancient Law. Did you say anything of times or dates? Did you name your days? NO. The pennies for your parents and your safe conduct from me, and so shall it be.’

  She turned to go, and Emily shrieked at her.

  ‘But I didn’t know I needed to say that stuff! It’s not fair!’

  The Nocturne turned back, face empty of pity or a trace of humanity now.

  ‘Fair? When has ignorance ever been an excuse in this world or yours?’ Her hand stroked the silver box. ‘Ask the people your empire conquered, whose music was silenced, if they were given leave for lack of knowledge, or the chance to learn.’

  ‘But, but . . .’

  Emily’s throat was so full of fear and regret she was choking on it. The Nocturne’s gaze held no more emotion than if Emily had been an insect.

  ‘Is it fair I should be trapped in here, starving and fading away, forced to subsist on smuggled scraps, whilst out there a feast awaits me? Is that fair? Is it?’

  As she mentioned scraps, her eyes had jumped to the gramophone.

  ‘Burke, bring the music. One of the new ones. I have need.’

  The butler spidered over to the gramophone and cranked the handle, then heaved it up into his arms, groaning as he did, and moved to stand behind his mistress. The unexpected lyrics of ‘Anarchy in the UK’ echoed from the horn and the sound of electric guitars rattled round the ballroom, and the Nocturne threw her head back in exultation. All the edges of her were lined with a crackling electric charge, and she had started to glow. The thick grey streaks in the Nocturne’s hair first shrank then turned to glossy black. The Nocturne opened eyes that now blazed with light.

  ‘I will live like this no more. Ursus, we have both the coins and a trickster to handle them. Start the plan. Unleash chaos, then get them to the Great Working. I will neutralize the guard and force the nag to place them as required.’ She smiled in cold triumph. ‘With the coins to warp the charm, the chimes will ring out, and I can twist the music to do my bidding. The Great Working will work for me alone.’

  Humming under her breath, she walked towards the door, the Bear beside her, and the staggering butler and gramophone following behind.

  Emily sobbed her pain.

  ‘You, you, promised it wouldn’t harm the Great Working! You lied!’

  The blazing eyes were turned on her once more.

  ‘I tell no lies, child. I will not harm the Great Working. Instead, I shall rip it free from this prison, wrap it round me and mine as a cloak of midnight, and walk back into your age with all my magic intact.

  ‘And Bear will hunt in new dark!’ said the Bear.

  The Nocturne smiled at him, the indulgent mother of a terrifying, furry child.

  ‘Yes, you shall. We shall all be free to feast again.’

  Emily was drowning now, with no way to claw back up to the surface.

  ‘But, but, what about the Midnight Hour, the people here?’

  ‘They shall have no choice but to come into the other world, as I had no choice to come to this one when your mother trapped me.’ She glared at Emily.

  ‘But this is a sanctuary! Everything’s changed; they can’t survive out there without magic!’ She was begging now.

  ‘I hunger, and so I will feed. Nothing else matters.’

  Her expression was terrible beyond words, filled with nothing but her own awful need. She was at the door now but turned back.

  ‘Nothing . . . except perhaps repaying your mother’s old insult to my honour. I promised not to do you harm, and I will not, but . . .’ Her bony finger wagged again. ‘. . . your boon did not bind any other nor ask me to. The details are very important, remember.’

  The Bear opened the door and he and the Nocturne went through without looking back.

  Your boon did not bind any other, what did she mean?

  A shape emerged from the shadows in the hallway. The part-squashed, part-torn, and all terrifying shape of Lord Stabville-Chest lurched in, slamming the door shut behind him. His evening suit and opera cape were ripped beyond repair, and one of his red eyes was missing, but the remains of his face split open to reveal he still had all his teeth.

  ‘I haven’t drunk fresh blood in over a century and a half. Guess what I’m going to do to you, little nag?’

  Peregrine lurched towards her, all grace gone but still cat-quick. Fear moved Emily’s feet before her brain caught up. She darted away, throwing the chairs between them as the hungry vampire hurtled after her. The fire burnt hot at her back, and the wrecked windows hung open behind Peregrine. Why hadn’t she gone that way? The vampire didn’t bother to dodge round, but smashed one of the chairs out of the way with a flick of his arm. It flew across the room and exploded into matchsticks on the wall. He was MUCH stronger than he looked. Emily hovered behind the other chair. There was nowhere to run.

  ‘You! You have no respect for the Dead!’ he snarled, and a line of horribl
e bloody dribble went all down the front of his already-ruined shirt. ‘You made me look stupid in front of her.’

  ‘You didn’t need much help.’ It was out of her gob before she could stop it. Why, oh why?

  Peregrine howled in outrage and leapt, knocking the remaining chair aside and grabbing her as she tried to duck away. He was all bone and nails and teeth, and his claws sank through her jacket and into her arm. She shrieked as he pulled her towards him. His one remaining eye glowed red, and his teeth were longer than ever, jutting out of his smashed face, shards of yellowed bone. He could barely talk past them, but one word came out.

  ‘HUNGRY!’

  He drew his head back and darted forwards at her neck, a cobra striking. She didn’t have time to scream. All of a sudden the same odd sensation of liquidness bloomed in her chest, then spread in a flash to the rest of her body, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. There was a horrid squashing and bending sensation, then she was shrinking and falling out of his grip. She rolled and kicked out with her back legs and pushed away, and then all four of her feet hit the floor, and she was off away under the chaise longue, her long ears brushing it as her powerful back legs pushed her forwards in a bounding run, speeding up and out. The soft fur of her paws slid a bit on the polished wooden floor, and she had to carve a wide turning circle but, as the vampire howled with rage behind her she straightened out and sped forwards across the floor, out through the splintered windows and on to the rhino lawn.

  As she hit the night air, her little nose twitched and everything around her flooded in. The grass, the graves, the turn of the wind, and the rotting stink of a hungry and desperate vampire sprinting after her. Her big oval eyes, set on either side of her head, spotted the thickest set of bushes across the lawn, and she was off, long ears flattened, and paws gaining perfect grip on the grass, letting her reach immense speed as she bounded across, dodging between the stationary rhino and going so fast all four of her paws left the ground at the same time as she ran. She flowed and leapt and flew, leaving the anguished vampire far behind, and hurtled into the bushes without slowing down. Her eyes, ears and whiskers telling her left, right, duck, left, left, dodge, and she cannoned through and out the other side into a field. She found a fox-track by the hedgeline, sniffed to be sure it hadn’t been used, then ran up it, glorying in her perfect form and the grass and fields, sensing everything around her. The moonlight silvered her tawny back and black-tipped ears, and she kicked for joy, first back legs then front, boxing at the air. She was free and running, and nothing could touch her. She ran for miles and miles, never tiring, until she reached a stone wall that smelt safe, and hopped over it into the corner of an old walled garden, untouched for years, with a fine clump of clover in. She stopped, sniffed and listened for danger. Finding none, she buried her head and chewed her fill. Once she was full, she turned around and around in the longer grass, flattening it down to form a space perfect for her body, and settled down to rest.

  A little while later there was an unusual noise; like perhaps that of a compressed spring firing a practical joke paper snake out of an opened jar. Emily erupted up out of the hare’s form in the grass, and leapt into the air.

  ‘WHAT THE FLIPPING HELL WAS THAT?’ she screamed, then spat out the remaining grass.

  She stood shivering with shock, hands clutched to her chest, trying to get used to having both eyes back on the front of her head. She grabbed at her ears, and then patted herself all over; head, yes, feet, yes, bum, yes but no tail, oh thank goodness. All limbs present and correct and the right shape. All her clothes were there too, but she’d lost her bag when she’d fled from Peregrine, and . . .

  ‘HOG!’

  She rummaged in her coat pocket and produced a spherical Hog. He had rolled up into a defensive ball and rocked on her palm, tucked into himself and all abristle with spikes.

  ‘Hoggins, are you okay?’

  There was a twitch and he unfolded very gradually. As his nose and little face were revealed, he gave her a wide-eyed look of outrage, and turned to face away from her with a huff.

  ‘Oh Hog, I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened. Where did you go? I mean I was a big rabbity thing or something. They don’t even have pockets.’

  The Hog remained facing the other way. Sulking was one of Emily’s expert subjects, and the Hog had got a bad case of it.

  ‘Oh dear. Here, let me find you a treat.’

  She walked up amongst the overgrown vegetable beds until she spotted a juicy slug. She winced but picked it up, then dangled its horrible slimy body over her palm.

  ‘Hog?’

  There was a snuffling sound and he inched back round to face her. He was still wrinkled up with annoyance.

  ‘Here.’ She dropped the slug on her palm, and he bit it before it could slime away. Terrible slurping and crunching noises ensued. It was all disgusting, but his face uncreased a bit.

  ‘I’m very sorry, and once I figure out what just happened, I won’t let it happen to you again, okay?’

  He didn’t look up from his chewing, but shook his wiggly bum and twitched his nose, and that was that, sulk over. She slid him and the half-eaten slug back into her pocket. Her mum was going to want to wash that when she got it back. Her mum . . .

  The awful disaster that had just unfolded washed over her as an icy wave. She’d ruined everything, and didn’t even have the pennies now. What was that terrifying woman going to do with her mum and dad? With the Midnight Hour? Emily dropped down into the damp grass and sat with her back against a tumbledown shed. A shed . . . the sudden pulse of loss knotted her stomach. It had been an often embarrassing, boring, little life, and yet now, she’d have given anything to be sitting on her own bed with a book, struggling to read over the hammering sounds and blasting punk, or trying to watch telly over the rumble of her dad snoring on the settee. Little things she’d thought were glass she now could see were diamonds.

  She’d been sat there for a long while, staring into space, when a loud cough made her jump and bang her head against the plank behind. It wasn’t a real cough, but one of those coughs someone does when they’re trying to get your attention.

  ‘Ah-hurrmm.’

  The cough was coming from a horse standing just beyond the low wall at the bottom of the garden.

  In fact, it was the horse – the black stallion that had saved her from the Bear. It had the white blaze at the top of its mane and red eyes. It coughed once more, then, sure it had got her attention, it walked behind a tree and, although it wasn’t a very big tree, didn’t come back out the other side. There was a distinct whooshing sound, and what did come out the other side was a tall lean man in a threadbare black suit, with a flat cap and a red scarf. There was a distinct white streak in the thick black hair poking out from beneath the cap. He turned and leant on the wall, and pulled a dirty bit of rolled-up paper from behind his ear. He lit it with a match he struck on the stone in front of him and filled the air between them with foul-smelling smoke.

  ‘Well now, tough woman to find you are.’

  That voice! It was the same Irish voice and the same man who’d come to her front door at the very start of all this. He wasn’t from the truancy board at all. He was . . .

  ‘A Pooka! You’re a Pooka!’

  ‘Oh well, ten out of ten. There’s nothing wrong with yer observation skills at least.’ He dragged again on the horrid roll-up. ‘Although the rest of yer brain-functioning is still in question. Are ye just trying to get killed or what? I can’t be runnin’ round savin’ ye all the time, I’ve important business of me own.’

  ‘You, you didn’t save me. I did. I . . . I turned into something.’

  He waved his hand.

  ‘Ah, I was just about to spring into action there, when ye finally pulled yer finger out and acted the true Pooka. I thought ye’d never get round to it.’

  ‘What?’

  She hurled herself to her feet, then had to clutch at the shed as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed h
er.

  ‘I, oh, I feel wonky.’

  ‘Ah, that’s the change. Is that yer first one? It’s tricksy until ye’ve practised. I normally go for a pint and some peanuts after a long one. Cushions the system.’ He craned his neck and looked around. ‘Speaking of which, did ye happen to spot a pub anywhere round here?’

  ‘But, what happened?’ Emily groped for the right words. ‘Where did the rest of me go?’

  ‘Ah, it all goes up.’ He pointed vaguely at the air above his head. ‘Then it all comes down again. Best not to worry about it. Bound to leave ye feeling a bit peaky though. Do you want a ciggie?’

  ‘What? No! Smoking’s disgusting.’

  ‘More for me then.’

  ‘Why did you call me a Pooka?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Well, the brains don’t run in the family, do they?’

  She slumped back against the shed.

  ‘I can’t handle any more freaky stuff.’

  He frowned, and hurdled the wall, landing smartly on the balls of his feet and strolling over to take a seat on an old upside-down bucket.

  ‘Freaky stuff is a strong family tradition, so it is. Man and boy, I’ve been up to all sorts, barking hymns at priests, going down chimneys . . .’

  Barking? A vision of a big black, whistling dog with a white streak came back into focus.

  ‘Wait, were you that dog too? You were, weren’t you? Who are you and why are you following me?’

  He brightened at that and jumped off the bucket, spun on his heels, sticking both thumbs in the pockets of the waistcoat, and straightening up with a grin.

  ‘That’s an easy one.’ He whipped his cap off and bowed in front of her. ‘I am yer uncle, Patrick Connolly, at yer service, and I’m keeping an eye on yer, all official-like, as deputized by yer ma.’

  Pat looked up from his bow to where Emily sat silent, ashen-faced and open-mouthed.

  ‘Who’s my sister, which is why I’m yer unc—’

  ‘I know what an uncle is! My mum doesn’t have a brother!’ she shouted.