Darke Academy 4: Lost Spirits (5 page)

Isabella’s were closed. A muscle twitched below her eye, and her throat jerked, but she gave no other reaction as the energy flowed out of her and into Cassie. Cassie stared at the veins in her friend’s wrists, purple and prominent now against skin that was suddenly pale.

It wasn’t at all like feeding from the old Isabella. The energy flowing sluggishly into her was like that of a stranger. There was no fizz, no sparkle, no effervescing life. Just a dark, reluctant sadness. She tasted … bitter, thought Cassie. Isabella was all bitterness and misery and sorrow. Even through the feeding process, Cassie could feel her heart ache for her friend.

As soon as the spirit inside her was satisfied, Cassie abruptly let go of Isabella’s wrists, as if they burned. Taking a step back, she gazed at her friend, willing Isabella to open her eyes, to reassure her she was OK.

Then she saw it: a single tear trickling from beneath Isabella’s long lashes down her pale cheek. Hurriedly, as if only just realising it was there, Isabella brushed it away and smiled – but the smile didn’t reach her warm brown eyes.

‘There, Cassie. That wasn’t that hard.’

Cassie backed off, filled to bursting with Isabella’s unhappiness as well as her own. It was almost unbearable, but she didn’t have the right to cry over it, not in front of her friend.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so sorry, Isabella.’

She turned, and ran from the room.

That was it. She couldn’t do this any more.

Cassie couldn’t go back to the room till she was certain Isabella was asleep, and she was desperate not to run into any of her fellow students: not even Richard. She strode along the beach until the lights of the Academy had almost vanished behind her, then slumped down in the sand and finally allowed herself to cry for five minutes.

Five minutes, she thought fiercely, gasping out a single sob. That’s all. And then I’ll start to do something about this. She rubbed her eyes with her sleeve, then the palm of her hand.

Isabella had lost the love of her life to the Few and their hideous twisted history. And Jake and his parents, before that, had lost Jessica. Cassie herself, despite her Few status and the protection it was meant to offer, had lost Ranjit to them. The Few had taken too much from all of them – were still taking it – and yet Isabella was still allowing Cassie to feed on her, to drain her of life-force. Despite all that had happened, all that Isabella had lost, she was spending her school career feeding a Few spirit, and she was doing it consciously and willingly.

It was too much. It was too much to ask of a girl who’d never shown her anything but friendship and trust and loyalty. It had to stop. Cassie gritted her teeth and wiped away her last tear. This was never something she had asked for, never something she’d wanted. She’d been tricked into becoming one of the Few, or the half-breed she ended up being with her broken induction ceremony. None of this should ever have happened.

There were two people who mattered more to her than anyone in the world: Isabella and Ranjit. They mattered more than her Few status, more than the spirit Estelle herself. By losing her Few status she would be able to have
both
of them back in her life, properly, with no demands and no guilt. How could she ever have hesitated? She had to sever herself from Estelle, whatever the cost. Sir Alric Darke be damned. He had known all along that spirits could be split from their hosts. He’d kept it from her, the bastard; well, now he owed her big time, and she was going to collect. Finally, and conclusively.

The artefacts in his office: the ones that had caused such grief and strife? Well, the Pendant could draw a spirit out, and the Knife could sever the connection between spirit and host. Sir Alric possessed both of them; it was time for him to give them to Cassie. That wasn’t in doubt.

Now all she had to do was ask him.

Well. Nobody had said it would be easy.

S
triding into the corridor outside the head of the Darke Academy’s office, Cassie didn’t even need to take a breath. She had never been so certain of anything in her life; she needed no courage – after all, she had only Sir Alric Darke to fight, not herself.

My mind’s made up, she thought. I’m not sure I ever knew what that really meant before.

The anteroom to Darke’s office was far less forbidding than the one in Paris, or even the one in Istanbul. Most of the windows were flung wide, so that Cassie could hear the gentle rustle of palms and smell the gardenia-scent that drifted into the room. Shifting sunlight dappled the colourful rugs, and she saw the shadow of a hummingbird dart across the floor; somewhere outside, a monkey screeched. The elaborately carved Maasai masks hanging on the wall behind Darke’s desk should have been intimidating; but in the mood Cassie was in, they only seemed to encourage her. They couldn’t look any fiercer than she felt.

The only blot on the interior landscape was Marat, who was kneeling at the open office door with a box of tools beside him. He didn’t spare her a glance, but went on sulkily unscrewing the lock plate on the door. Cassie frowned a little, confused, then glanced up.

‘Cassie Bell. Good to see you back.’

Sir Alric Darke: as imposing as ever, his mouth a severe line, his granite eyes frighteningly piercing. She would never conquer the twist of awe and slight fear in her gut at the sight of him, but it didn’t matter any more. It was a feeling, that was all. She had more important ones to deal with.

Cassie took his proffered hand, knowing that despite his stern formality there were layers of relief beneath his greeting. He couldn’t afford to have her going rogue, not after all that had happened.

‘Good to be back, Sir Alric.’ Despite everything, that was true. ‘What happened to the door?’

‘An attempted break-in last night,’ he said, nodding towards the door. ‘Nothing serious.’

Her eyes widened as she looked back at Marat and the toolbox. ‘Nothing serious? A
break-in
?’

‘Whoever it was failed,’ Sir Alric said sternly.

Strange and unsettling how Cassie’s mind went straight to Jake and his old habit of sneaking round the school after dark. But Jake was gone; and who else would do this? None of the students would dare. At least, none she could think of – not since Katerina’s expulsion, and Jake’s death.

‘But who would—’

Sir Alric interrupted. ‘Who knows? All that matters is that they didn’t have the chance to do serious damage. It was a clumsy attempt. Marat and I both heard the commotion. Marat got here even faster than I did, but whoever it was had already got away – they must have been interrupted when they heard us coming.’

Cassie shuddered inwardly at the thought of anyone being caught in a crime by the strange, menacing Marat. ‘That’s all right, then.’

‘It was a silly dare, I expect.’ Sir Alric made a dismissive gesture. ‘At the start of term I always expect some foolishness.’

Why didn’t she believe him? Still, in front of the truculent Marat, she would take it no further. As Sir Alric gestured for her to enter his office, she followed, ignoring the sensation that Marat’s eyes were boring into her turned back. What was going on inside that ugly bullet-head of his? Did he suspect
her
of doing this? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been guilty before.

Just not this time.

Inside Darke’s sanctum, little had changed. Little ever did, wherever the school went. The shelves were lined with the same books; the ornaments on the desk were familiar; even the atmosphere had the same taste of calm but intimidating authority.

Something was missing, of course. Its absence sent a horrible shiver down her spine: the Urn. Last time she’d seen it in his Istanbul office, set on a shelf as casually as if it was a mere ornament, Cassie hadn’t known what it was, or what it could do. Now there was empty space where it should have stood; and to Cassie that gap seemed like a dreadful, menacing void. She knew now, of course, that it was one of the trio of powerful Few artefacts. And worse still was the sickening knowledge that the Urn had been in Ranjit’s backpack when he fled from them all – and from himself – at the Hagia Sophia.

‘I’d like a private word with Miss Bell,’ Darke told Marat. ‘Please leave us for a moment?’

Again Marat didn’t speak; he simply gave a curt nod and got to his feet, picking up his tools and withdrawing from the anteroom.

The headmaster closed the office door firmly, but he didn’t sit down at his desk. Instead he nodded to a more comfortable chair beside the small table. Cassie recognised it as the one where she had shared tea with Estelle Azzedine, the former host of that troublesome spirit of hers, the woman whose name it had taken on. That was before the old woman had chosen Cassie as the new host, before she became Few. It felt like a century ago.

As she sat down hesitantly, Darke took a chair opposite her.

‘Not many changes at the Academy, Cassie, are there?’

‘There never are,’ she murmured, glancing at her surroundings.

‘And yet so much is different.’

‘You read my mind.’ Cassie blew out a breath, looking around. ‘Hey, are those the Tears?’ She pointed at an elaborately carved box on Sir Alric’s desk, rather surprised that he’d left the cask of precious vials of healing Few liquid exposed.

‘Yes. I brought them out to check on them after the break-in, naturally.’ He went over and picked them up, locking them back in his safe, then sat back down in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. ‘Not that there’s much left of them. The Tears of the Few are sadly depleted these days.’

‘It was worth it to save Richard.’

‘Indeed.’ He gave her a dark smile. ‘I only use them in direst need, as you know.’

‘Yes, it’s partly my fault they’re nearly gone as well, I suppose,’ said Cassie crisply. Sir Alric had had to feed her with them at the start of her second term, when she’d still been fighting the notion of draining Isabella’s life-force. Well, using up the Tears was something she
wasn’t
going to feel guilty about. ‘So you think whoever broke in was after them? Or maybe they were after the artefacts?’

Sir Alric blinked, but otherwise his face didn’t flicker. ‘I told you, it was more than likely a post-holiday prank. Why would anyone wish to steal these relics? They have no intrinsic value. At least, not to young people as wealthy as Academy students.’

‘Except for the scholarship ones,’ she put in acidly. She was so tired of the man’s games. ‘Sir Alric, just be straight with me. I know what the artefacts can do, and so do you. Why didn’t you tell me sooner, before things went so wrong, with Ranjit and—’

‘Why would I be
obliged
to tell you anything?’ Sir Alric interjected sharply. He flexed his fingers and leaned forward, but Cassie didn’t let her eyes drop from his.

‘You had led me to believe that what they do wasn’t possible.’

In silence they stared at one another. Cassie sat quite still, her jaw clenched. She could wait him out; let him be the one to break and explain himself. For once she felt not the least overawed by him. She could hold his gaze all day if she had to.

She didn’t. Sir Alric finally cleared his throat and sat back.

‘Fine. Indulge me, Cassie.’ He no longer quite met her eyes. ‘What is it that the artefacts do?’

‘Shall I quote?’ Anger sparked in her chest. ‘
Only this Knife may break the bond. The Pendant may be used to draw the Spirit from its Host. The Urn may contain and preserve a Spirit indefinitely
.’

Sir Alric closed his eyes and sighed.

‘So,’ she went on silkily, ‘all that stuff about the ritual being irreversible was a lie, wasn’t it? There was always a way to help me. You just didn’t want to use it.’

‘I’m sorry, Cassie.’ He spread his hands. ‘But it’s true. I didn’t want you to use the artefacts, and I still don’t. Besides, at the time I wasn’t in possession of all three, and now, thanks to Ranjit, I’m still not. So how are we any further forward?’

Cassie found she was breathing hard through her nose, determined to keep control. There would be no lashing out; not this time, because she had the upper hand. Sir Alric wouldn’t provoke her into losing her temper, and with it the argument. Pressing her lips together, Cassie gave him a tight smile.

‘I have a proposition for you, Sir Alric.’

‘Ah. You do?’

‘Yes. But first, you’re going to need to explain something to me.’

He laughed out loud. ‘Cassie, I should have known when I saw you at my office door that I was in trouble. You had that look in your eye. What is it I have to explain? You seem to know such a tremendous amount already.’

She ignored his slightly waspish tone. ‘I know how
I
found out about the artefacts. I want to know how
you
did. Is it common knowledge in the Council of Elders or something?’

‘Yes and no.’ He stood up, placed his hands on his desk with his back to her and gazed at the palms beyond the window. ‘I lived in ignorance for quite a while myself.’

Clearly it pained him to make such an admission, she was glad to notice. ‘Then you know what it feels like.’ Cassie sat back and folded her arms.

He rubbed his forehead, clearly a little irritated. ‘All right. I discovered the second half of the Few manuscript from which you so
accurately
just quoted some years ago. You know, of course, it was deliberately split into two halves by the ancient Elders?’

‘Yes. That much I gathered.’

‘I took it to the Council. We agonised over its rediscovery, we argued amongst ourselves, but we debated too long. We were too afraid of what the artefacts might do if they were discovered. Too willing to hope that if they remained unsought, they would remain unfound. Let sleeping demons lie, in other words.’ He blew out a sigh. ‘Probably our biggest mistake. Looking back, we were extremely short-sighted, and the rest of the Council regret that as much as I do.’

‘Well, the first half of the manuscript told of exactly where the Knife and Urn could be found …’

Sir Alric shook his head. ‘By the time I found the first half, it was too late anyway, the damage was done. Earlier, with the second half, we were all too afraid, and paralysed by indecision. We gambled that if we kept the existence of the manuscript and the artefacts to ourselves, the secrets would remain hidden. Perhaps we were too arrogant.’