Midnight Hour Read online

  He straightened up and replaced his cap.

  ‘Well that’s a very hurtful thing to hear of me own flesh and blood,’ he said and clutched his heart.

  Emily stamped her foot.

  ‘Stop saying that! You’re not . . .’

  But he was. He was lanky where her mum was short, but they had the same cheekbones, and long nose, and way of looking at you with their head on one side. He was doing it right now, in fact. The black hair tumbling over his piercing green eyes from beneath his battered cap was the final clue. Her mum’s hair hadn’t been a normal colour in years, but it was jet-black underneath when her roots showed through, and her eyes were the same emerald green; electric, alive, and full of mischief. Pat’s eyes twinkled just the same as he winked at her.

  ‘Oh god, you are, aren’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘But you’re a Pooka?’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘So, Mum’s a . . .’

  ‘Yeeees,’ he said, making a winding gesture with his finger. Go on . . .

  ‘So, does that mean, I’m . . . I’m a Pooka too?’

  ‘Finally!’

  He kicked a couple of jig steps in celebration, then slouched back against the wall. He appeared to have an aversion to standing up straight.

  ‘But what, why? HOW?’

  ‘Well, when a mammy and a daddy love each other very much, sometimes they—’

  ‘No, stop!’ she screamed. ‘Not that. I mean, how, why? Why didn’t she tell me?’

  He shifted from foot to foot and wouldn’t meet her eye.

  ‘Well, things haven’t been exactly grand between yer ma and the Connolly clan after her great disgrace, and then her eloping out the Hour an’ all.’ He shrugged. ‘An’ you can’t truly be a Pooka out there, not without magic. Perhaps she just . . .’ He shrugged again.

  ‘What? Forgot!’ Emily wanted to throw up and it wasn’t just from her transformation.

  ‘Was waiting until youse was more grown-up.’

  ‘Into what? A pony!’

  ‘Nah, horses take practice. Yer miles off yet.’ Pat took a long drag on his horrible rollie and puffed a smoke ring. ‘Anyways, I’m here now to tell ye all about it. Think of me as a mental figure.’

  ‘As a what?’

  He frowned.

  ‘Mentor, that’s the one. Ask me anything.’

  Emily whacked herself on the head with her own clenched fist. How, how, how, was this her life?

  ‘Why are you here?’

  He grinned.

  ‘That’s easy. Yer ma popped in on me a wee while ago, dearly beloved to her as I am, and regaled me with a list of the offal troubles she was having, pursued by villainous types and such, and I, without hesitation, volunteered my services to take a message in person to the Daylight realm, and keep an eye on my poor sweet niece, in the face of the dreadful forces of darkness.’ He nodded, green eyes shimmering and trustworthy. ‘It was, in fact, fierce brave of me, and she was very grateful.’

  There was a way to tell when Pat was lying; his lips would move.

  ‘That’s . . . that’s not true at all, is it?’

  ‘Ye doubt the word of yer recently discovered, long-abandoned uncle of yer blood? I’m shocked.’ He clutched his heart. Again.

  ‘Yes, I flippin’ do! You, you, can’t walk straight! You’re a proper Pooka, and that means you’re a bad lot. Not like Mum!’

  ‘Ah, ye’ve heard of her disgrace then?’ He grimaced.

  ‘What flippin’ disgrace? Do you mean running off with Dad?’ Her brain was whirling so fast there was every chance the top of her head would come off.

  ‘What, eloping? Oh no, that’s a family tradition. No, it was the other business.’ He sighed. ‘It was brutal for the clan to have to cope with, it was.’

  ‘If you don’t tell me what you mean, I swear I’ll . . .’

  He held a hand up to placate her.

  ‘I mean, the greatest thief and trickster the Connolly’s ever had, joining the Library and fighting for the common good. The shame of it.’ He closed his eyes at the memory. ‘It was the upset over it all that finished Great-Auntie Aoife off, everybody says so.’

  ‘Wait, Mum being a hero is a disgrace?’ said Emily.

  ‘We’re Pooka, girl! It’s a proud tradition. We’re tricksters and rogues, beasts of ill-omen. We don’t help people! The very thought of it.’

  He mopped his forehead with a grubby spotted handkerchief.

  ‘So why are you helping me then? And don’t lie.’

  ‘Well, there’s plenty of the clan’d deny ever having met our Maeve, of course, but we was always close, and so I had to step up when she asked.’

  She folded her arms across her chest, and just glared at him.

  ‘It’s true!’ His eyes were wide with innocence. ‘She asked me to send a message to yer da and keep an eye on ye. Even gave me her shadow key to get in and out.’ He rummaged in his pockets to show her.

  ‘And . . .’ She tapped her foot.

  He leant in close, and spoke in a hushed whisper.

  ‘And she maybe has a lot of evidence of things she claims I’ve done, that I’d rather not come out. Not that any of it’s true, but y’know. She’s an evil mare when the mood takes her.’

  He patted her shoulder.

  ‘But I mainly did it out the decency of me heart.’

  She smacked his hand away.

  ‘You were blackmailed! You don’t care!’

  He gave her full puppy eyes.

  ‘I do! A bit. If it’s not going to interfere. I’ve got the racing later, y’know.’

  Emily stamped off to fume, but then came straight back.

  ‘Why didn’t you just say who you were when you came to the house? Why? I’d have . . . ’ She trailed off, not quite sure what she would have done.

  ‘Did I not? Really?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Hmm. I thought I was very clear. I had a filthy head on me, though.’ Pat winced in recollection. ‘Daylight and brandy’s a fierce combination.’

  Emily wondered if it was possible to spontaneously combust just from sheer annoyance.

  ‘Argh, you’re infuriating! What was this message you said about? You never gave us a message.’

  ‘Ahhh . . .’ He paused. ‘Did I say a message? I don’t remember that.’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Ah, I can see where ye’re getting confused.’ He smiled and waved his finger. ‘There may, in fact, have been a message, and yer ma asked a man, another man, to take it to yer da, but he may well have been delayed.’

  ‘Was that other man also you by any chance?’ said Emily.

  ‘I really couldn’t say, it’d break a family confidence.’

  ‘Was the delay a pub?’

  ‘I don’t think we should get bogged down in the details here. Let’s just say mistakes were made and we’ve all learnt from them.’ Pat nodded sagely.

  Emily grabbed his jacket lapels.

  ‘What. Was. The. Message?’ she ground out from between clenched teeth.

  ‘Well it might have been something about there being a plot to break the Hour with some unlucky pennies, the need to hide them and ye away so you definitely wouldn’t end up in here, and a place for yer da to meet her while she spied on the Nocturne.’ He mumbled and didn’t meet her eye.

  ‘You, you’re unbelievable! If you’d have delivered the message straight away like she asked you to, my dad would have known where to go, and I wouldn’t be here, and I’d still have the coins and . . . this is all your fault, you eejit!’

  ‘That could actually be the family motto,’ he mused.

  A white-hot fury burnt through her.

  ‘Right, that’s it. You’re going to make this right. We’re going to get my mum and dad and stop the Nocturne!’

  ‘Woah there!’ He held both hands out. ‘She’s a rum sort. We’d be better going for a quiet pint until it all blows over.’

  ‘She’s got your sister and she’s tryin
g to blow the whole Midnight Hour up! You’re going to help me.’

  ‘Am I now?’ He folded his arms and grinned a fox’s grin. ‘Maeve’s a big girl. She’ll be fine, and I’ve got a very pressing schedule vis-à-vis my availability for heroics.’

  ‘You’re going to help me or I’m going to get Mum’s evidence folder out and report you! I’ve got friends in the Watch now.’ Or she used to, anyway.

  Pat had to scratch an itch he’d developed under his cap, but most of the grin was still there.

  ‘Yer bluffing.’

  ‘Am I? Oh, and Pat.’ She lowered her voice so he had to lean in. ‘Even if I am, and you don’t help me, what’s my mum going to say when she finds out what you did?’

  He went pale.

  ‘She is brutal when roused.’

  ‘Yes, she is.’

  She let him picture it, then said, ‘Me now, or her later. What’s it to be?’

  He grinned, and it was sunlight on a winter’s day.

  ‘Ah, you’re a chip off the old block and no mistake. Textbook ominous threats. We’ll make a proper Pooka of you yet. Okay, I’m in. What’s it to be?’

  ‘We’re going straight to the Night Watch!’

  ‘WHAT?’

  It took her a while to calm Pat down. He had definite views about, what he termed, ‘the guard’. She had to explain that she just needed to get to the main station. Once she told them about the Library and the Nocturne, and what was going on, they’d have to help her. Right?

  ‘Right, well, I don’t like it, but I promised I’d keep ye safe, and there’s not much safer than the guard, I suppose.’ He scowled at the thought. ‘We’re going in the back way though. I’ve got me pride. Can ye change?’

  ‘What, shape?’ She rubbed at the little space between her collarbones. ‘I don’t know how I did it the first time, and I still feel sick.’

  ‘Well, on this one occasion, ye being family and all, I’ll give ye a backy. Ye best not be telling anybody.’

  He stared at her, tapping his foot with impatience.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, y’know.’ He flapped his hands at her, waving her away. ‘Turn around. It’s not polite to watch a man change.’

  She turned around and from behind came the springy whooshing noise of air being pushed out of the way, followed by a distinctive whinny. She turned back and the black stallion stood there, proud and tall, with a white blaze in the forelock of its black mane. It still had the extinguished remains of the dirty hand-rolled cigarette hanging from its lips. A big pink tongue came out and slurped it inside its mouth, and the horse began to chew. It moved closer to the wall and tossed its head at Emily.

  After a series of false starts, she managed to step up and throw herself on to the broad, warm back and rocked there, uncertain. She clenched her knees tight and leant forwards to grab a handful of mane. The stallion took two gentle paces and then rocketed off at enormous speed, leaving only her scream behind.

  After a long, sweaty, terrifying ride, Pat pulled up on a quiet street in St James, by a large gate made of iron railings, set into a stone wall. The wall was covered with a vivid purple climbing vine that hissed as they got near. Emily slid off and dug her knuckles into her cramped thighs.

  ‘Never again.’

  There was a whoosh behind her, and Pat walked back into view, rubbing at his lower back.

  ‘Too right,’ he said. ‘Ye need to lay off the cakes.’

  ‘Oi!’

  He’d walked over to the gate and was cagily peering through the bars. There was a lot of grass and some trees in the fog. The Hog was squirming in her pocket. He probably wanted the loo, but she’d have to let him out later.

  ‘Okey-cokey, here we go,’ said Pat. ‘Ye go through the gate, across the lawn, and into the station the back way.’

  Emily peered into the murk.

  ‘Where’s the station?’

  ‘Ah, way in there. That’s why they call it Scotland Yard, ’cause of all this grass out the back. Hop out the moonlight fer a second.’ Something glinted shiny-black in his hand.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s yer ma’s shadow key. Ye have to use the shadow, not the key, and it’ll open pretty much any door. Very useful.’

  He twisted himself out of the light, angled the black key over the lock, and the shadow danced across the gate and into the keyhole. A click of tumblers and it was open. Pat pulled the gate wide and waved her through.

  ‘Right, ye pop in, and I’ll wait here.’ He pulled his collar up high to cover his face. ‘There’s a number of pressing reasons why I shouldn’t go in to a guard station.’

  She walked through, and he leant in the gateway.

  ‘Okay. Thank you, Pat.’

  ‘Uncle Pat.’ He smiled at her, gentler than his normal grin.

  ‘Thank you, Uncle Pat.’ She grinned now. ‘Yup, still sounds weird. Look, will you promise to wait? I’ve got a lot of questions about, what do you even call it? Pooka-ing?’

  ‘Ah, it’s a glorious life, the best of all. Wild and free. I’ll teach ye everything.’

  A thrill of excitement tingled through her. If they got through this, then perhaps there was something here for her. A wild life full of magic and adventure. Something more than miserable school or boring, grey London. Wait. Boring, grey London . . . Since she’d stepped through the gate, something had been nagging at her. The light had changed from silver to a drab orange, and the air was different. There was less sewer in it and more car exhaust. Behind her, where she was sure she’d have seen it from the gate was a . . .

  ‘Hang on, that’s a street lamp. This is my world!’

  In the background now, she could hear the bongs echo across London, the wrong London.

  A clunk and click from across the pavement. Pat had shut the gate behind her. He spoke to her through the bars.

  ‘First lesson then. Never trust a Pooka.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ she blurted. ‘I’ve got to get help.’

  ‘Well, here’s the thing. I promised me sister, on silver and rowan, that I’d keep ye safe, and look, now yer safe and far away from harm.’

  Emily grabbed the bars of the gate, but he held it shut. Their faces were so close together the tobacco on his breath soured the air. The bongs were still ringing out, the bells that could never sound in the Midnight Hour.

  ‘No, no, you can’t! That woman’s got Mum and Dad. She’s going to do something dreadful to your whole world!’

  Silver moonlight shone behind him as he shrugged.

  ‘I’m sure it’ll all be fine. It usually is.’

  ‘What if it’s not?’

  He gave her a sad half-smile, winked once, then as the twelfth and last bong rang out, he vanished. The moonlight disappeared and there was just an empty pavement tinted orange by street lights. It was twelve o’clock exactly back home, and Emily was locked out of the Midnight Hour.

  Getting home was a nightmare. First Emily had to get someone to let her out of the private gardens she was locked into. There was a nasty moment when the police were going to be called by the angry custodian, but she managed to convince him she was part of the Hedgehog Rescue Team and was dealing with a serious case of Bolivian fleas. After that, he gave her a wide berth and let her walk out, carrying the offending Hog as if he was radioactive. Then she got a horrid series of night buses, which were at least less scary than in the Midnight Hour. No one on them had fangs or anything.

  She sat, exhausted, head resting against a window full of lights and her own reflection. Neither of them looked right anymore. Normal was all she’d wanted to get back to but now, with its bright lights, noise and smells, normal was as alien as the Hour ever had been. Her hand reached to the coins for comfort, but they were gone, and guilt hung round her neck in their place.

  It was the early hours of the morning when she got back to the house. At least she didn’t need to find her keys as someone had helpfully barged the back door off its hinges. Inside was all rip
ped up, with every drawer and cupboard emptied out, and rents clawed in the sofas and beds. Someone very big and very angry had searched it for a magic necklace while she was away. She propped the door shut with a chair and picked her way upstairs through the fluff and wreckage without tidying a single thing. In her devastated room, the black glass hares lay shattered on the floor, their endless chase come to a violent end. She found Feesh the crocodile, who was thankfully safe and well, made a nest from her quilt and blankets and passed out.

  She woke up mid-afternoon the next day to something bright on her face. Daylight; she’d forgotten that. The sprawling damage surrounding her made her want to pull the covers back over her head. However, she was sure the Hog was hungry, and after all her sweaty, terrifying adventures, she totally needed a shower. She tiptoed her way through the broken glass of the poor Abbits to grab a towel and headed to the bathroom.

  Half an hour later, she sat on the one remaining chair in the kitchen with the towel wrapped round her head, and fresh pants on. Fresh pants were well known for making everything better, but she wasn’t sure if it was going to work today.

  She turned stale bread into toast and, to make space to eat it, scraped some of the smashed plates off the table and into the bin. What was the matter with her? She was all slow and confused. There was a great big clawing pool of panic underneath the slow progress she was making through the day, but she was disconnected from it. The endless night of the other world was already becoming a dream. She was back in her world, which was what she’d wanted, but now she just wished she could curl up into a ball, and dream her way back to the other one. If only she knew how the dreamlings did it.

  The Hog had eaten his cat food and was already asleep in his box in the corner. His little snores became the snores of all the other poorly hogs she’d seen her mum looking after right here at this table, and water began to flow from her eyes. She cried thick tears, cried after holding it in the whole time she’d been in the Midnight Hour, cried until it dripped from her chin and on to her toast. The great big whirling mass of panic started to claw its way out. Everything was ruined and it was completely her fault. She’d lost the bad pennies, and the key to get back in, her mum and dad were prisoners, and that dreadful woman was going to take the magic and protection of the Midnight Hour for herself and break the whole other world in the process. She’d promised Tarkus his family would be okay, but instead their safe haven would rupture, and they’d be cast back out into the Daylight realm. She’d just been scared and wanted to make things normal, and now they’d never be normal again.