Secret Lives (17 page)

‘Get out of my sight, dark-sister,’ growled Ranjit. ‘Before I kill you.’

‘Never,’ hissed Katerina, one bloody hand clutching her cheek. ‘Never. It’s her I’ll kill. Oh, you won’t kill me.’

She stared at him greedily for a moment. Then she leaped to her feet, and ran.

For what seemed an age, the four of them stood in silence. Jake was the first to move, lifting Isabella to her feet. Cassie was not at all sure her roommate needed to press so close against Jake, or hang quite so limply in his arms, but what the hell. Cassie managed a smile, but it died as Jake leaned down and fumbled once again for the knife. It trembled in his fingers as he pointed the tip of it at Ranjit. His mouth was twisted with rage.

‘Katerina said you … said you
delivered
her. To be killed.’

Ranjit didn’t blink. His eyes were normal again, if dull, and the skin of his face was pale and taut. ‘She was lying. How could I hurt Jess? I loved her.’

‘You didn’t help Katerina?’

‘No. I had arranged to meet Jess. But I was late, somebody delayed me. It was deliberate, I realised that afterwards, but I was too stupid to see it at the time. I swear, Johns— Jake. I didn’t kill her, and I didn’t take her to be killed.’

For the first time, Jake looked uncertain.

‘So why was she?’ he asked, and in the terrible silence added quietly, ‘Killed.’

‘Katerina.’ Ranjit shrugged helplessly. ‘I didn’t know how much she … how much she—’

‘Wanted Jess out of the way?’ said Cassie, realisation dawning. ‘So she could have you all to herself?’

He gave her a long, unhappy look. ‘Yes.’

‘And what about Keiko?’

Ranjit sighed. ‘She used to be Jess’s best friend, before she was chosen. But after she joined the Few, she changed. Became more reckless – dangerous, even. She was crazy enough to go along with Katerina just for the hell of it.’

Cassie didn’t say anything. If she opened her mouth she’d say, And who delayed you, Ranjit? Who was it that held you back long enough for them to kill Jess?

But the truth was, she didn’t want to know.

Ranjit lowered his head. ‘But even though I didn’t hurt Jess, it’s my fault Katerina and Keiko knew where to find her, so it’s my fault that she’s dead. I’m sorry, Jake. So sorry.’

To Cassie’s ears, he sounded more than sorry. He sounded heartbroken. No wonder the guy had been keeping the rest of the school at arm’s length. It wasn’t snobbery, it was pain. How could anyone cope with that sort of guilt?

Cassie reached out for the knife, sliding her hand gently over Jake’s and squeezing it. ‘Jake? I think he’s telling the truth. Please?’

His fingers tightened, holding the knife rigid, then suddenly went limp, and Cassie eased the knife away. Turning to Ranjit, she held it out to him.

‘No.’ He took a step back, wary. ‘It’s Jake’s now.’

Jake stood there stiffly, still angry and confused. But as Cassie watched, Isabella slipped her arms comfortingly round his waist. A moment later, he put his arms round her, too.

‘Take it, Jake,’ said Cassie. ‘Please.’

He looked at the knife for what seemed like an age. But when his mind was made up, he reached out and gripped it, grim and certain.

‘What about the others?’ Cassie pointed back down the dark passageway.

‘They won’t follow yet. Not without Katerina. They were just supposed to keep me occupied while she got to you. We … argued.’ Wincing, Ranjit touched a deep gouge on his forearm. ‘But they saw my point of view in the end. Still, I suggest we go quickly.’ He raised his head. ‘If Jake will let me.’

Jake hesitated, tensing. Isabella squeezed his shoulders. ‘He took us to Cassie,’ she whispered. ‘He helped us.’

The air in the passageway, cold as it was, seemed heavy and oppressive.

‘Jake, do you believe me?’ Ranjit asked. ‘About Jess?’

‘Why would I?’

Ranjit gave a tiny shrug. ‘No reason. Except I’m telling you the truth.’

‘Maybe,’ said Jake.

‘Will you trust me, then?’ Ranjit sounded almost desperate.

Jake took Isabella’s hand firmly in his, and turned towards the hidden door.

‘No. But I’ll pretend I do. For now.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

S
tupid pyjamas
.
Shouldn
’
t these be too small for her
?
They
were baggy and misshapen and faded; she remembered
them well. She tugged out the shapeless hem and scowled
down at the Bratz pictures all over the fabric. Wasn’t she too
old for these?

The corridor was in darkness. But a shadow moved, thin
and malevolent as a crow. A click-click of heels. Jilly Beaton,
checking to see if the children were OK. Because if they were,
something must be done
…

She grinned.

No hurry. No fear. Cupping her hands against the landing
window, Cassandra peered down into the scruffy yard. One of
the bins was upended, rubbish disgorged over the cracked
concrete. That must have been what had woken her. A
scrawny fox rooted around in the debris, but as if feeling her
gaze, it froze and stared back at her, one forepaw still raised.

She smiled at it. The fox turned back to the spilled bin,
and she turned back to the stalking shadow. It had paused
outside Lori’s door, pressing an ear to the thin wood to drink
in the girl’s homesick sobs. How old was Lori? Eight. Same
age Cassandra had been when Jilly started destroying her
from the inside out.

Tutting silently, she shook her head and followed. How
had the woman got this far? Right to the door of Lori’s room?
Oh, yes. Because
she’d
let her. Poor, poor Jilly. A rat in a trap,
she was.

Now, what to do? A threat to go to the authorities? Phone
Patrick and demand he listen? Or simply raise hell and the
whole house?

Nah.

Jilly had placed a hand on Lori’s door, had started to turn
the handle, but she stopped at a sound. Turned. Stared.

Hello, Jilly.

The woman’s smile of sadistic anticipation died, and she
shrank away as Cassandra walked towards her. Cassandra
was only ten years old but the woman was terrified of her!
She laughed. If this was a memory there was something
wrong with it – she’d never dared confront Jilly when she
was ten. But who cared? This was delicious. The woman
cowered, whimpering.

Pathetic. Just like that senator’s wife, Flavia Augusta, the
one who’d tried to poison her. Pathetic, like the greedy priest
in Renaissance Turin, the one with the not-very-celibate
appetites. Like the foppish Lord Acton when she’d caught him
alone – Christmas, 1790, wasn’t it? – slow and staggering with
drink and lust. They’d all been terrified of her, in the end.

Quite right too.

On to this one, then. Cassandra hated her. She’d made
Cassandra afraid, she’d made her hate herself. She’d tried to
suck out Cassandra’s soul, and that wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do
at all. Well, now it was the woman’s turn to be afraid, and
wasn’t she just! That was an understatement. She looked as if
she might soil herself.

A kiss then, dear Jilly! One little fond kiss! Just to show
there’s no hard feelings. Just to show how it feels, to be drained
of one’s self. One kiss
…

She put a hand on either side of the woman’s head. Bending
down, she smiled right into her eyes and squeezed, crushing
those tight, vicious lips into a parody of a pout. And through
her distorted mouth, the woman began to scream.

Behind the door, undisturbed, Lori sobbed herself softly
to sleep.

But Cassie jerked awake.

*

She hadn’t screamed out loud; Isabella’s reassuring snores went on without interruption. Willing her heartbeat to slow down, Cassie rubbed the back of her neck. On her face she could feel a cold breath of December air: the window was open. A window on to Paris, not Cranlake Crescent. She wasn’t a ten-year-old in Bratz pyjamas; these ones might be cheap but they were her size. And if there was anything lurking outside, it was no urban fox.

What a dream. What a nightmare.

Slipping out of bed, she padded to the window and leaned right out, gulping in cold air. It made her dizzy.

Careful. You might fall
.

‘Of course I won’t fall!’

Stiffening, she stared out at the web of lights that was the city. That hadn’t really been a murmuring voice in her ear. So why had she answered it?

‘Estelle?’ she whispered.

Nothing. She breathed deeply. This was stupid.

What’s stupid about justice, my dear? You could have it, you
know that
.

‘What?’

You know what’s possible. You know what you want. You
promised me you’d take what you want. You
promised
me
.

Cassie recoiled, gripping the windowsill, staring fixedly into the night.

You let her get away with it, Cassandra. Didn’t you?

‘What was I supposed to do? What
could
I do? Nothing!’

Because you were scared. That’s all. Let me in, Cassandra!
Let me in and you’ll never be scared again. Of anyone!
Together, you and me! Let me in!

Silence, a long dragging silence. She was imagining the voice, Cassie decided. She was sleepwalking. That was all. Hallucinating.

One day we’ll find her, Cassandra.

She put her hands over her ears. ‘Go away!’

She’ll be there for us. Easy meat. LET ME IN!

‘NO!’

‘Cassie?’ Isabella’s sleepy grunt made her jerk away from the window and turn. ‘Cassie, what’s wrong? Who are you talking to?’

‘Nobody!’ Cassie’s voice shook. ‘Sorry, Isabella, I was dreaming.’

‘Beside the
window
?’ Isabella sat up, sceptical.

‘I was, um … getting some air. I started to doze off. Go back to sleep.’

‘Are you OK?’

‘Fine.’ Cassie turned back to the night, and muttered, ‘We’re fine.’

She waited until Isabella’s breathing deepened and a snore rattled out, then she tiptoed to the bathroom. Tugging down her pyjama top, she peered at her shoulder blade in the mirror. The mark wasn’t as clear and defined as Richard’s, and it didn’t burn fiercely like Keiko’s had done as she died. It looked a little blurred, and there seemed to be lines missing, places where the pattern was broken. But it was there.

She wouldn’t sleep now. Trying her hardest to be quiet, she eased open the wardrobe and pulled out the dress Isabella had insisted on buying for her.
For Heaven’s sake,
Cassie! Shut up and call it an early Christmas present!

Versace: the one she couldn’t pronounce. Cassie grinned. The fabric rustled as she laid it on her bed, and she paused, but Isabella didn’t stir. She never did, thought Cassie fondly. Cassie hadn’t had a single unbroken night’s sleep since the events at the Arc two weeks earlier, but none of her night-time pacings had disturbed her roommate. The sign of an easy conscience, of course.

Cassie stroked the beautifully cut dress. It felt cool and rich and smooth: everything she wasn’t. She couldn’t think how she was going to carry it off, but maybe it was fabulous enough to eclipse her lack of confidence. Was the taffeta greenish-yellow or yellowish-green? She couldn’t decide. Isabella said it matched her eyes.

Shame she didn’t have a partner for the ball. She couldn’t even
use
Richard, she thought guiltily. He’d been avoiding her like a virus. A contagious, fatal one. In fact he’d barely spoken to anyone since he’d been called to Sir Alric’s office, the day after the ceremony at the Arc. God knew what Sir Alric had said to him, but it had left Richard silent and ashamed and, thought Cassie, a touch resentful. He wasn’t himself.

Hah.
Not himself
: that was for sure.

Neither, of course, was she.

Richard had got off lightly, and so had the others, compared to their ringleader. From the tree-shaded colonnade, Cassie had watched Katerina’s elegant exit from the Darke Academy, just twenty-four hours after she’d fled from them in monstrous form. The blonde beauty had sashayed down the steps, head high, hair and skin shining like any normal prom queen’s. She’d worn big dark glasses, blood-red lipstick, and a brand new diagonal scar on her cheekbone. That, thought Cassie, had healed remarkably quickly, but it wasn’t going to go away entirely. How did the immaculate Hitchcock blonde feel? she wondered. About scarring, disgrace, expulsion? Was she regretful? Not likely. Vengeful?

Sir Alric had stood at the top of the steps, watching Katerina until she slid gracefully into the black limousine and the chauffeur had closed the door. Then he’d turned, and his eye caught Cassie’s, just for a moment.

She was sure he’d shivered.

For two weeks Cassie had waited in trepidation for her own summons to his office, but it had never come. Darke seemed to be avoiding her almost as keenly as Richard was. Not that either of them would be able to avoid her tonight. It was the Christmas Ball. And everyone, even if they no longer felt like it, was required to go.

Despite recent events, the whole school was buzzing with subdued excitement. She couldn’t feel any of it. The preparations, the plans, the gossip and anticipation: none of them meant anything. The Darke Academy was finished for her. It was finished
with
her.

She wouldn’t see its enigmatic founder again. He was going to leave Cassie to work this mess out for herself, that was clear. She was an embarrassment, a mistake, a nasty accident dumped on him by a few of his indisciplined favourites. Sir Alric Darke probably couldn’t wait to see the back of her. Well, Cassie didn’t care. She was anxious, frightened, confused, but she didn’t
care
.

She’d learned a lot. She’d go back to her old life, and survive. She always had.

In the meantime, she might as well party.

*

School wallflower, Cassie thought ruefully. What a way to end her less-than-glittering career at the Darke Academy. At least the atmosphere was a lot happier without Katerina and Keiko: the band was good, the mêlée of students was in end-of-term high spirits, and the teachers chatted among themselves, watching the dancers fondly. They avoided Cassie, though. Even Herr Stolz had treated her with nervous politeness for the last fortnight.

Jake was a fabulous dancer, and so was Isabella, and though they’d tried to include her, Cassie was glad they were so wrapped up in each other. She didn’t feel like being sociable, and loitering beside Cassandra and Clytaemnestra suited her fine. There was no better company for her in this mood.

‘Good evening, Cassie.’

She jumped but didn’t turn round. The voice was unmistakable, after all: burnt honey mixed with gravel.

‘Hello, Sir Alric.’

‘You’re not dancing?’

‘No.’ She paused, then thought: What the hell. ‘Estelle doesn’t feel like it.’

There was a long silence while they stood together in the shadows watching the band and the shrieking, laughing students. Alice was looking well, thought Cassie, if a bit wobbly and tearful after four glasses of champagne. Richard was nowhere in sight; he’d put in an appearance, then slunk away early. The rest of the Few seemed on top form. She’d been trying to picture each of them in a crimson hood, but it was no use.

‘You don’t know which of them were involved?’ asked Sir Alric quietly.

Cassie shook her head. ‘No. But it doesn’t matter now.’

‘It matters to me.’

‘Well, then, you work it out. Thanks, by the way. I’ve had a great time.’ She bit her lip. ‘Mostly. Except for the bit with the chains and the demons.’

‘Cassie …’

She waited for him to go on, and when he didn’t, she turned her head to examine his face. It was very sober.

‘You must come back next term,’ he said.

‘No, I don’t think I must. Thanks all the same.’

‘You don’t understand.’ He gave her an exasperated look.

‘Tell me, then.’ She cocked an eyebrow.

He sighed in defeat. ‘The ritual may have been interrupted, but there’s part of a spirit in you now. It wants to join with you fully. And it won’t stop until it does.’

Cassie shrugged. ‘Tough.’

‘That’s brave of you, my dear, but it isn’t enough,’ Sir Alric said with dark amusement. ‘You either accommodate it, or defeat it. You can’t run away from it.’

‘I can try.’

‘You’ll never run fast enough for that, Cassie.’ His tone was kinder than his words. ‘Never.’

Uncomfortably she fiddled with her corsage. Isabella had chosen the stunning white orchid, plucked from the plant Jake had given her. She mustn’t spoil it. She nibbled on a nail instead, then clasped her fingers.

‘Go on,’ she said at last.

‘We’re not all evil, Cassie. You’ve met the worst of us. You need to come back so that you can meet the best.’

Her lip curled. ‘I don’t want anything to do with any of you.’

‘That’s not an option, believe me. I’m sorry. I should have taken Estelle’s little fantasies more seriously, but I never thought she’d have the nerve to defy me. It’s a stubborn spirit you have inside you, Cassie. Stubborn and malevolent.’

‘Half,’ Cassie corrected him. ‘
Half
a stubborn, malevolent spirit.’

Sir Alric hesitated, took a deep breath. ‘And one that still needs to be fed.’

With a small moan, Cassie put her face in her hands.

‘You must have suspected it. Now do you see, Cassie? You have to return to the Darke Academy.’