Free The Midnight Gate by Helen Stringer

standing in the open doorway.
    â€œOff you go, then,” said the boy. “I hope they find your Grandma.”
    Belladonna nodded to him in what she hoped was a discreet manner and joined Mrs. Lazenby.
    â€œWere you talking to someone, dear?”
    â€œNo,” said Belladonna. “Just … you know … telling myself a story.”
    Mrs. Lazenby nodded but looked unconvinced and a little worried. Great, thought Belladonna, now she thinks I’m a loony .
    â€œHave a seat.”
    Belladonna sat in the only other chair in the tiny office.
    â€œThis is Miss Kitson,” said Mrs. Lazenby. “She’s a colleague of mine.”
    â€œHave you found my grandmother?” asked Belladonna.
    â€œNo, dear. Though according to our records, you also have an aunt, living in London. Why didn’t you tell us about her?”
    Belladonna looked from one to the other and shrugged. It was late, she was tired, and she just couldn’t think of stories or excuses anymore. All she wanted to do was go home and get into her own bed and have this all be over.
    â€œWell, as it happens, we haven’t been able to reach her either,” said Mrs. Lazenby in a tone that implied that if Belladonna had mentioned it earlier, they would certainly have been able to do so.
    â€œSo…,” began Belladonna with a sinking heart, “what does that mean? Are you going to send me to an orphanage?”
    â€œNo, dear,” said Miss Kitson, smiling. “We try not to do that these days. The family unit is important, so we try to place our … clients with families.”
    â€œFamilies?”
    â€œTemporarily,” said Mrs. Lazenby quickly. “Foster homes, they’re called.”
    â€œBut, I don’t want to.… My Grandma will be back; she must’ve just gone somewhere. Have you looked?”
    â€œOf course we’ve looked,” said Mrs. Lazenby. “And if she’s still missing by this time tomorrow, we’ll let the police know that she’s a missing person, but until then, we have to deal with you. That is, we need to find you some nice people to stay with.”
    Belladonna just stared at them. She knew that if she tried to speak, she’d burst into tears.
    â€œMost of our foster parents are up to their ears, unfortunately,” said Miss Kitson cheerfully. “But by sheer chance, the Proctors are completely available.”
    Belladonna didn’t say anything. The two women looked at each other.
    â€œThe Proctors are really wonderful people,” said Mrs. Lazenby, patting the fat file in front of her. “You’re a very lucky girl.”
    â€œThey’ve been on our books for years,” added Miss Kitson. “And they live quite close by, so there’ll be no problems with school.”
    â€œSo,” said Mrs. Lazenby, standing up, “let’s get you over there and into a warm bed. I’m sure things will look much better in the morning.”
    Miss Kitson jumped to her feet as well, as if their display of energy would make Belladonna feel better, which of course it couldn’t.
    She picked up her backpack and stood up slowly. Mrs. Lazenby steered her out of the office, pulling a face at Miss Kitson on the way that she thought Belladonna couldn’t see but which communicated her feeling that this particular “client” was being just a bit too sulky and ungrateful for her liking.
    â€œBest of luck!” called Miss Kitson brightly as they disappeared into the maze of cubicles and corridors. “Not that you’ll need it!”
    Belladonna followed Mrs. Lazenby back toward the entrance. It was dark outside now and even the air inside felt cold. She glanced to her left as they neared the front door and found herself looking into the break room. There were old couches, chairs, and tables scattered about and a television suspended from one wall. It was playing cartoons and there was the ghost