The Oxford Inheritance (31 page)

THE EARTH LET OUT ANOTHER VIOLENT RUMBLE. CASSIE REELED
back, shielding her head from the storm of debris raining down around her. She grabbed the bloody knife from the floor and stumbled across the room, skirting the flames just as another quake gripped the cavern. She clutched onto the door frame as the world shook, watching in horror as the tunnel caved in ahead of her.

Wheeling around, she tried to remember what Tremain had said. There was another exit, right from the main doors. She felt along the wall until she found the ridge of a hidden door. She wrenched it open and raced into the tunnel just as the ceiling gave way behind her. Stumbling and gasping, she ran, grabbing a torch from the wall to send shadows bouncing along the wall as she plunged deeper into the dark.

Cassie felt a black fear grip her heart as she ran. This was the place of her dreams. The tunnels, the torchlight. Her feet were bare on the dusty ground and she gripped the knife tightly in one hand. She heard echoes of the ritual chanting humming off every wall, and she told herself it was all in her mind. It had to be. A shadow suddenly reared up in the gloom, and she stumbled in fear, falling hard on her hands. But there was no time for pain, not with the knife gripped, slick in her hand, or the faint clatter of footsteps getting louder. Closer.

Scrambling to her feet, Cassie plunged on, climbing higher up the twisting staircase until she stepped through an open door and emerged with a gasp in a dungeonlike room. There was light through a slim window ahead, the surface at last, but Cassie's relief only lasted for a split second.

Inside the room, Olivia stood over Charlie's crumpled body, her eyes black, her smile a mask of cruel delight. “You're too late,” she told Cassie, breathing heavily. “He was delicious. Like Evie,” she added with a smirk.

Cassie had no time to think. With a cry of rage, she launched herself at Olivia, sending them both crashing to the ground. Olivia clawed at her, nails scratching at Cassie's skin, but Cassie still held the knife. With all the force she could muster, she thrust the knife into Olivia's stomach.

Olivia let out a cry, going rigid against her. Cassie pulled the knife out, and Olivia flinched back, whimpering in pain as she clutched at the wound.

Cassie scrambled away from her, her hands wet with blood. “Charlie?” she cried, panic freezing her blood to ice. “Oh God, Charlie?” She crawled over to him, reaching out, cradling his head in her hands. “Please,” she whispered. “Oh God, please, Charlie. Please wake up!” Terror and guilt crashed over her. He was the one good man, the one good soul in all this.

He let out a low moan. Her heart surged. “Wake up,” she whispered. “It's okay, I've got you now.”

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open. Cassie let out a sob of relief. “Are you hurt?” she asked, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “What did she do to you?”

Charlie stared back blankly, his blue eyes empty and expressionless. Cassie felt her blood turn to ice. “No,” she gulped. “No, you're going to be okay. You have to be!” She tried to reach out with her mind, to smooth and mend the damage Olivia had left behind, but she was too weak. She could barely touch the edges of his broken mind. She shook him, desperate, but he just lolled back, a rag doll, unseeing. Unthinking.

“Charlie!” Her sob broke. She felt the earth quake again, but Cassie didn't care. She clutched his body, sobbing, as grief shattered around her. He shouldn't have been there, shouldn't have paid the price for her fight. She was the one who deserved this, not him.

There was another violent shudder, and the door from the tunnels burst open. Hugo stumbled into the room. His eyes landed on her, frantic. “We have to go!” he ground out. “The foundations gave way. The whole place is caving in!” He moved past her, toward the last steps to the surface. “Cassie, come on!” Hugo grabbed her hand, trying to drag her to her feet.

Cassie resisted, blind with tears. “I can't leave him!”

“It's too late,” Hugo exclaimed. “Cassie, we have to go!” He pulled at her, but she clung to Charlie, refusing to let him go. She was suspended between them, strung taut.

And then she realized.

Cassie sucked in a breath, and before she could think twice, she reached out with her mind again—not to Charlie this time, but to Hugo. She latched on tight to his mind, clawing deep in a savage sweep that made him cry out in pain. Cassie gripped deeper, pulling at all that darkness, that ancient force, so fresh and ripe in his mind. She drank it in, dizzy with the sudden rush of power, filling her up to the brim.

Then she cast it out. Into Charlie, into his empty mind. She poured everything she had into Charlie and then more besides. She reached with her mind, smoothing over the broken, jagged edges, filling him with power and potential again.

“Cassie,” Hugo gasped, falling to his knees beside her. But Cassie didn't stop, didn't pause for a second as the life rushed out of him, flowing through her in a thick rush. It glittered in her veins, channeled into Charlie, making him whole and new until his eyes flew open and he lurched forward with a gasp.

“What . . . ?” he panted, clawing at the air. His gaze met hers, widening with blessed recognition this time. “Cassie? What are you doing to me?”

It beat around her, a crescendo in her ears. She felt it flow, calling to her, demanding.

“Cassie?” Charlie's voice seemed distant and weak. “Cassie, let me go!”

She jolted awake, wrenching free from the darkness with a gasp. Charlie gripped both her hands, searching her gaze, alert. “Can you hear me, Cassie? What did you do?”

She gulped, her heart racing. “I brought you back.” She turned. Hugo lay motionless on the ground beside his cousin, Olivia's blood pooling around them both.

The earth gave another shake. “Come on.” Charlie pulled her to her feet and dragged her to the stairs. She stumbled upward behind him, her limbs like a deadweight. “Almost there,” he urged her on, half carrying her up the stairs.

They stumbled through the doorway into the shock of freezing night air. Cassie looked around, blinking. They had emerged on the far side of the college, through an opening in the very walls of Raleigh itself, the thick stone hiding their tunnel escape. Across the meadow, she could see the sandstone of the college lit up. The North Tower was engulfed in flames, blazing against the dark night. Sirens sounded, noise and commotion filtering through the dark. Cassie sank to the wet grass.

“It's over.” Charlie gripped her tightly. “You did it. You're okay.”

Cassie didn't reply. She held him in the darkness and listened to the sirens scream.

MATTHEW TREMAIN WAS BURIED ON A BRIGHT SPRING MORNING,
in the churchyard overlooking the river. Cassie stood at his graveside and watched the casket lower into the earth. They'd found his body in the rubble, along with the rest of the School of Night. A cave-in, the official report had said. Unsound foundations. A private supper club gone terribly wrong.

Nobody objected to the official investigation verdict, Charlie had made sure of that. The TV news networks ran glowing obituaries to Richard Mandeville, a promising politician whose great career had been cruelly cut short. There were murmurs about what exactly had led to his demise, but nobody wanted to raise any more questions about the goings-on at Raleigh College. Soon, attention turned to the next scandal: another government minister in a compromising position, a new celebrity feud to fill the column inches. The deaths faded to memories; they would not be mourned for long.

Except by her.

Cassie listened to the priest read and felt the sting of tears in her eyes. She'd barely known him, but in his final moments, her father had proven his worth. He'd sacrificed himself to save her, just as her mother had done so many years before.

She hoped she had made their selflessness worthwhile.

The ceremony was small, just a collection of professors and students from the college come to pay their respects. There was to be a reception
too, at a tutor's house, but Cassie ducked away after the service, walking to meet Charlie on the edge of the graveyard.

“So what now?” he asked, as they strolled slowly toward the street.

“I could use a drink.” Cassie gave a rueful smile. “And wasn't your mother promising to cook me Sunday roast?”

“I meant, after that.” Charlie stopped. “You're all wrapped up here, aren't you? I mean, the society is destroyed, isn't it?”

She nodded slowly. “The hunger to feed, it's fading every day. The members out there who weren't at the ceremony should be weaker already. Eventually, their power will be gone.”

“They won't be able to feed off anyone else?”

“I don't think so. The connection is gone; it changed. I just hope it's over for good.”

“So are you heading back home now, or what?” Charlie looked away, casually, but Cassie could see through his façade.

“I don't think so,” she replied. “Not just yet. I have another semester of study on my scholarship. I figured I could stick around.”

Charlie grinned. “Admit it, babe. You can't bear the thought of leaving me.”

She laughed. “Please. No, I just was thinking . . . I don't know what I'm going to do next. I've spent so long focused on my mom, on this, that I never really considered my future.”

“And now?”

“Now I guess I'll find out.” Cassie squeezed his hand. They stepped onto the sidewalk, and into the flow of people passing by. Tourists, pedestrians, and the surge of students. The bells rang out above them, and the spires loomed bright in the sky.

It was springtime in Oxford, and everything was in bloom.

This books contains a mix
of historical fact and fiction, and locations both real and imagined in Oxford, inspired by my time spent studying at the university. Although Sir Walter Raleigh attended the University briefly, Raleigh College does not exist, but I picture it situated in much the same location as Magdalen College, on the banks of the river Cherwell. While Raleigh was a contemporary of Shakespeare and known to have associated with other prominent thinkers of the era, the existence of a “School of Night” has never been proven. The famed quote from
Love's Labour's Lost
is open to many interpretations, and has been debated by scholars and historians with far more knowledge of the era than I.

A huge thanks to everyone
who made this book possible, it really was a team effort. To Richard Abate for all his guidance and tireless enthusiasm; Gary Ungar, and Rebecca Friedman. Thanks to the amazing team at William Morrow: Katherine Nintzel, Marguerite Weisman, Jessie Edwards, Molly Waxman, and Stephanie Vallejo.

A big thanks to my former Magdalen classmates, who donated their old essays to jog my memory of our syllabus. Thanks also to the staff, and my professors, Dr. Christopher Brooke, Dr. Lizzie Fricker, and Dr. Krister Bykvist among them, who made my time at Oxford so memorable—and inspiring.

Finally, thanks to the friends and family who offered me such support and enthusiasm: to Elisabeth Donnelly, Brandy Colbert, Lane Shadgett, and Elizabeth Little. To my mother, Ann, thank you as always for everything.

A native of Sussex, England,
ANN A. MCDONALD
studied Philosophy, Politics & Economics at Oxford University before working as a music journalist and entertainment critic. She is now a full-time novelist and screenwriter in Los Angeles, California.

www.abbymcdonald.com

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C
OVER DESIGN BY
A
MANDA
K
AIN

C
OVER PHOTOGRAPHS
: © J
OANA
K
RUSE
/ A
RCANGEL
; © S
HUTTERSTOCK (
FRAME
)

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

THE OXFORD INHERITANCE.
Copyright © 2016 by 3 Arts Entertainment. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

FIRST EDITION

EPub Edition February 2016 ISBN 9780062400871

ISBN 978-0-06-220367-0

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