Midnight Academy. Born at midnight. Edgars Auziņš

whole.

      No, this building also looked clean and tidy. But at the same time, it felt like Her Majesty the Queen in a fluffy crinoline dress was stuck between modern families from an advertisement for toothpaste or mayonnaise. I was even afraid to go inside. No, I wasn’t afraid that the walls would suddenly collapse, but I was sincerely worried whether we could even go there.

      What if, instead of a library, there has long been a museum with the most valuable exhibits from the times of that same queen?

      I was wrong. Inside, the treasury of knowledge resembled the most ordinary library, as I imagined it in my imagination. Not a school one, of course, there were many times more books here, but it was not forced to the point of “impossible to pass through.”

      Along the walls there were neat, identical cabinets made of light wood, up to the ceiling. They stood inside the hall in such a way that they created endlessly stretching rows, at the very end of which only dull darkness could be seen.

      To the right of the entrance, behind the long counter, a dressing room with elongated floor hangers with dozens of hooks was visible through a wide window. And right in front of us there was a narrow table, behind which, under the dim light of a table lamp, a stern older lady was revealed.

      Everything seemed strict: the neat bun of gray hair, the look, and the light gray dress, which I could see only after the woman stood up.

      – A psycho has been chasing us for eighteen years, and we came to the library? – I was puzzled, shivering under the gaze of almost colorless gray eyes. – What do you want to find here, mom? A guide on the topic “how to properly bury the corpse of a maniac”?

      Mom tried to stop me:

      – Don’t be sarcastic and stop being angry.

      – But you don’t explain anything! Although I promised! – I was indignant, raising my voice.

      “It’s not customary to shout here, mademoiselle,” the librarian croaked colorlessly.

      And I had a persistent desire to poke her with a stick from a distance to ask: “Is she even alive?” Because of the echo, the voice seemed otherworldly, as if distant and at the same time three-dimensional.

      Turning to me, the parent hugged me tightly, squeezing my shoulders. And when she pulled away, her gaze found my eyes. She looked carefully, piercingly, directly, as only she could.

      If she now says that we will now live here, I will certainly bite her.

      “Sally, I just don’t have that much time to tell you everything right now.” One question will lead to another. This conversation is not for one minute,” she tenderly touched my cheek with her palm. “But I want you to know, daughter, that I love you very much.” Everything that I have done, am doing and will do is solely for your sake.

      – Why did we come to the library? – I persistently repeated my question, because the answer to it was the simplest.

      And something else will definitely not follow him. Just one word: information, books, manual. About how to survive autonomously in the forest for a whole year if a maniac is chasing you.

      But my mother couldn’t fit it into one word:

      – Because this is where there is a passage to places where ordinary people cannot get.

      – But we are ordinary people!

      I became stubborn. She became stubborn because she wanted to finally hear at least some specifics. The recognition that I had been secretly waiting for for the last four years – ever since I realized that I was a little, but still different from normal people. Ever since I began to subconsciously guess that the maniac was somehow connected with my abilities.

      Guess, yes. But don’t believe in it, don’t think about it, don’t reflect. Out of fear of being right, I cut off my guesses in the bud.

      The lady in gray was clearly starting to get angry:

      – Silence.

      “One more second, please,” Mom asked, turning around for a moment, after which she said with a soft smile: “No, Sally.” We are not ordinary people. At least I do. I'm Midnight, honey. One of those who never sleeps at night. Of those who maintain order on this side of the world and on the other.

      – Which one? By Dark? – I remembered her words in the car.

      – This is what I was talking about. Behind one answer there is the next question, but I really don’t have time now, although I would really like to finally get rid of this burden. One thing I can say for sure: you will get all the answers to your questions elsewhere. Then when you are safe. We're on the second floor.

      The last statement she made was no longer for me. Hearing this simple phrase, the Gray Lady silently took her chair again and feigned painstaking work. We freely walked past her desk to the massive gilded door that was located on the right.

      The simple curls on the canvas sparkled under the dim light of the lamps. The door looked like the entrance to a treasury and nothing else, but behind it there was a wide staircase of two flights, with carved railings and finials in the form of folded wings of bats.

      I even dared to touch one.

      Having gone up to the second floor, we just as easily found ourselves in another room. It was almost no different from the previous one, but what is most striking is that we were greeted by the same Gray Lady with a face that did not express any emotions at all.

      There were two options: either I had gone crazy, or my mother had gone crazy. However, it could not be ruled out that we had both been out of our minds for a long time.

      Questions, questions, questions… Biting my tongue, I kept expecting that we would now meet with someone from the top of this mental hospital. With someone who will quickly and succinctly insert all the necessary information into my head, and then we will go on a new trip. Somewhere where the maniac who was pursuing us will definitely not get to.

      But reality, as always, did not agree with the fantasies.

      Silently nodding to the librarian, my mother took out a dagger with large red stones in the hilt from her jacket and suddenly turned to me. More precisely, to the door behind me, and therefore I had to actively step aside.

      I watched, feeling confused, as she inserted the blade into the gap between the door and the floor. Repeating the outline of the doorway with its point, the mother straightened up and opened the door, turning the round gilded handle.

      She let me go ahead.

      I went down with caution. So far nothing has changed in the surroundings. The same staircase, the same walls and tops. Even the hall on the first floor is still the same. And the Gray Lady is the same. Stands there, doesn't blink.

      Looking at my mother, I received a warm, indulgent smile. And it was a no-brainer that she knew something that I had no idea about yet. But the longer I had to wait for the explosion, the more terrible the pictures of my near future became.

      And yet I was the first to go out onto the porch. She went out, looked around and almost counted the steps. The parent caught me by the shoulders literally at the last moment.

      Her gaze again expressed understanding. She seemed to know how much confusion was in me now and what feelings and doubts were overwhelming me.

      Now I was going down much slower. Firstly, because it finally dawned on me: instead of bright day, we were greeted by night. Secondly, the street was radically different from Ashwool Street. Instead of sprawling construction projects and brand new townhouses, there were long Victorian-style houses with white trim, carved corners and low railings around the balconies.

      Two horses harnessed to a dark carriage rushed past us. Here and there there were passers-by who seemed to have stepped out of the pages of a history textbook or the frames of a pseudo-historical film.

      “You will study here,” my mother said, as soon as we stopped at the gates of the academy, behind which stood a gloomy tall building with spiers and ugly gargoyles on the ledges.

      “I’ve already graduated from school,”