Tide - By Daniela Sacerdoti Page 0,40

and Elodie held onto his fingers, reluctant to let go.

Nicholas walked alone. His face was a mask, expressionless. He was quietly seething. Sean wasn’t supposed to be there. And that other heir. The girls were supposed to be alone. Alone with him. So that he could be Sarah’s saviour. So that Bryony would die. His plans had been spoiled. But it wasn’t too late. There was still a chance of success.

“Look!” called Bryony dreamily. From where she stood the moon was reflected in the still waters of the pond, a perfectly white, round twin to the one in the sky. She took hold of her camera. “I’ve just got to get that …”

Sarah took advantage of Bryony’s distraction to reach Sean. “Everything OK, it seems,” she murmured.

Elodie crossed her arms. Her face was stern. “Hopefully it’ll stay that way.”

“Stop this, Elodie. What else could I do?” hissed Sarah. She’d had enough.

“Find friends of your own kind,” replied Elodie, her delicate face set hard.

Sarah breathed deeply. I’ve only known her five minutes and I already want to slap her.

Bryony kept taking pictures around the pond, from different angles. The torchlight made a circle of yellow around each of them. The moon, the pond, the circle of torches, the people inside it; circles within circles, in the centre of the Midnight garden. A cold breeze began to rise all of a sudden, twirling around them.

And then the breeze seemed to whisper, a ripple of sound that swept everything – the tops of the trees, the black bushes, breaking the glassy surface of the pond into ripples – imperceptible movements, imperceptible sounds that Bryony didn’t notice, but the Secret people did. A shiver took them all.

“Sean … Harry,” whispered Elodie.

“Ready. Sarah?”

“What’s happening?” Sarah looked left and right.

“I don’t know yet.” Sean took a step towards her, ready to shield her.

Taking picture after picture, Bryony was oblivious to the sudden tension and to the whispers passing between the others. She kept snapping, dotting the snap-snap-snap with little comments. “That’s beautiful – another one. Can you just move that torch a little bit, Harry?”

“Sarah!” Nicholas called.

“I’m ready,” she murmured, flexing her hands.

Instinctively, they had all gathered around Bryony in a circle, looking outwards. The wind was even stronger now, twirling and whirling around them. The sky? The soil? The water? Where will it come from? Sarah’s heart was pounding, her hands scalding hot already.

Sean jerked his head towards the house. “We need to go.”

“Bryony. We need to get inside, now.” Sarah’s voice sounded strong, controlled, in spite of her terror.

“What? But I haven’t finished.”

“Now, Bryony.” Sean walked over and grabbed her arm.

“Hey!” Bryony looked shocked.

“I saw someone on the wall, there,” Sarah explained quickly. “Somebody tried to burgle me last week – didn’t I tell you? We need to get inside.”

“I don’t understand …”

A sudden noise, a thud, a growl. Then nothing. The torchlight started moving frantically, illuminating sections of the pond, of the trees, of the ground around them.

“Everyone! See to Bryony!” Sean commanded.

In a second Bryony found herself surrounded – Sarah, the man she knew as Harry, Nicholas and Elodie crowding her, shielding her. Harry and Elodie each carried a torch in one hand, and, to her horror, what looked like a knife in the other.

A knife?

“What are you doing?” Bryony whispered. The camera in her hands was trembling.

“Be quiet!” Sean said.

The torches continued their dance.

“Nothing,” said Sarah.

“Then what was that noise?” Elodie retorted.

Sarah swung round to glare at her. But Elodie spoke before Sarah could snap at her. The French girl’s voice was small now, all anger gone. “Sarah.”

Elodie’s torch was pointing at the ground. In its beam, a furry shape, still and crumpled.

A black cat with a white paw, lying lifeless in a pool of blood.

17

Goodbye

Had I known the days were numbered

I would have said goodbye

“Shadow!”

Sarah threw herself on the ground. She lifted the cat’s bloodied little body, cradling her. It was soft and limp, every bone broken. She felt the heat of the Blackwater leave her hands and flow away. A lump of tears formed in her throat, but there was no time to cry.

“Oh my God,” whispered Bryony. “Shadow. What’s going—”

Before she could finish the sentence, she was thrown flat on her face with bone-shattering force. Some kind of beast had jumped over the protective circle around Bryony and landed straight on her.

“Bryony!” yelled Sarah.

The torches swung down to illuminate the terrible scene. Bryony was smothered by something between a tiger and a hyena, with an enormous muscular body