Hearing it explained like that made it all sound so simple. As simple as a sharp knife sliding into a body. As simple as murder.
Taylor had been listening to all of this intently. ‘You’re saying he studied demonology. He found books telling him how to do it. He tried it, and it worked. Now he’s one of them. It was that easy?’
Sacha could hear the shock in her voice.
‘That is what we believe,’ the dean conceded. ‘The ancient books offer two paths to power. One is through science. The other is through Dark practices. Demonic power is an extreme form of this – one I’ve never seen used in this way.’
‘Well… How do we fight that?’ Taylor asked. ‘Today it was like we just couldn’t handle him.’
‘This is why we must turn our attention to research,’ the dean told her. ‘To understand how to defeat him.’
‘Oh for God’s sake, Jones.’ Alastair slammed his fist down on the table. ‘You were out there today. You know we can’t hide anymore. We can’t wait for help or advice. It’s too late. Louisa’s right. All we can do is fight.’
‘We will fight.’ Jones looked unhappy. ‘As soon as we have the weapons to do it with.’
Alastair held up his hands. ‘And when will that be?’
‘Soon.’
But Sacha could hear the doubt underlying that one word. And it seemed to him the dean didn’t know what to do.
* * *
After the meeting ended, Sacha and Taylor walked out of the admin building together, talking soberly. She tried to convince him to go to the library with her, but he made up an excuse to get out of it.
‘I just need some fresh air,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to go back in there yet.’
When she disappeared into the safety of the huge building, he headed towards the front gate to see for himself that Mortimer was really gone.
His phone buzzed. He glanced down to see a message from his sister, Laura. Seeing her name sent a sharp shard of homesickness to his heart.
Are you OK? Maman and I are worried. Please stay alive.
He texted back quickly – if he didn’t reply he knew she’d pester him constantly until she heard he was okay.
I’m fine. It’s been a very boring day. I hate libraries more than ever. You stay alive, too.
After sending the message, he put his phone away and tried not to think of home. Of warm Paris streets, and the soft sofa. Of watching TV with Laura, and then getting into trouble with Antoine.
It had never seemed possible that he would miss that life. But he did.
When he arrived at the front gate, workers in high-visibility jackets had already begun repairing the damage. Temporary fencing covered the hole in the wall. Lights had been set up to illuminate their work. The fire was out, but a faint acrid smell of smoke still hung in the air.
All the emergency trucks had gone, save for two vans from the gas company – the ‘official story’ was that the explosion had been caused by a gas leak.
Louisa and Alastair stood near the damage, heads close together, deep in conversation.
Alastair looked up as Sacha approached.
‘Sacha.’ He sounded surprised. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Looking for the man who’s trying to kill me.’
‘He’s long gone.’ Louisa’s tone was brusque. ‘Unfortunately.’
Frowning, Alastair glanced over Sacha’s shoulder. ‘Where’s Taylor?’
‘Library.’
‘By herself? Is Jones deranged?’ He turned to Louisa. ‘He’s leaving them alone now? When Mortimer could be anywhere?’
‘He’s not deranged. He just doesn’t want to see what’s right in front of him.’ Louisa raked her fingers through her short blue hair. ‘One of us needs to stay with her. And it can’t be me – I’ve got things to do.’
Their eyes locked. Sacha could sense an unspoken struggle between them. Finally, Alastair threw up his hands.
‘I’ll keep an eye on her.’ He shot Louisa a warning look. ‘But don’t you dare go out on your own.’
‘How could you suggest I’d ever do such a thing?’ She was all innocence, but Alastair wasn’t buying it.
‘It’s dangerous, Lou,’ he said. ‘If you leave the grounds, take someone with you. Don’t go alone. Promise me.’
‘I promise,’ she said, not bothering to hide her irritation. ‘All right?’
‘Why don’t I believe you?’ he said with a sigh.
She smiled at him. ‘You’ve got no faith. That’s your problem, Alastair. Lack of trust.’
He didn’t return the smile.
‘You’re going to get yourself killed one day, Lou.’
‘Never.’
Giving up, Alastair turned and loped towards the library, his worry still evident in the set of his broad shoulders.
Louisa exchanged a few words with the workers, then turned to Sacha.
‘Let’s go,’ she said briskly. ‘We’ve got a demon to catch.’
Nine
‘Where are we going?’
Sacha couldn’t keep a hint of puzzled irritation out of his voice. They’d been walking for ten minutes without stopping and he was still tired and weak from dying.
Louisa strode ahead across the darkened college grounds, her hair glimmering blue every time she passed through a pool of light before fading again when she slipped into darkness. Even in the shadows he could make out the tattoos that swirled up her arms and around her calves, inky black against her pale skin.
He didn’t really know why he was following her. He was sick of all of her crap.
‘First we’re going to search the college and make sure Mortimer Pierce left nothing behind him.’ Louisa spoke without looking back at him. ‘No nasty little demonic presents.’ She shoved open the door to the history building with such force it thudded against the wall. ‘Then we’re going to go find him.’
Sacha stared at the back of her head.
‘Find who? Mortimer?’
‘Who else?’ She stormed down the long narrow corridor, past empty classrooms, looking in each one and then speeding to the next.
Still trying to process what she was saying, Sacha lagged behind.
‘You can’t be serious. We’re going to look for him alone? You and me?’
Already at the end of the corridor, Louisa turned into the stairwell. Her voice echoed hollowly.
‘Alastair said I couldn’t go on my own. So I’m not. I’m taking you with me.’
It was too much. For Sacha, the anger and frustration from a long, exhausting day finally boiled over.
‘Like hell you are,’ he replied heatedly. ‘I am not leaving this college to fight the man who just killed me three hours ago, all because you’re not getting along with the dean, OK? T’es complètement tarée, ma pauvre. Fight him yourself.’
Turning on his heel, he headed for the door.
Louisa’s biker boots thumped on the floor as she ran after him.
‘Hang on. Don’t take off. Hear me out.’
There was something new in her voice – a kind of plea.
Sacha hesitated. The door was right in front of him. He knew he should throw it open and storm out. Rush to the library and tell Alastair what she was doing.
But he didn’t. Some part of him wanted to go with her, whatever the risk.
‘We’re not going to try to take him down.’ Louisa stood in the dim corridor, watching him. The demanding tone had been stripped from her voice. She was just talking. ‘All I want to do is locate him, then call the others to come get him. I can’t do it alone, Alastair’s right. I need someone to back me up.’
‘That’s it?’ Wavering, he eyed her suspiciously. ‘You swear it?’
She held up her right hand. ‘Honest to God.’
Sacha couldn’t figure her out. One minute she was treating him like a child. The next, she was doing things like this.
‘I’m not going to fight him,’ he told her.
‘No one’s going to make you.’
>
There was no hint of deception in her voice.
‘Then why do you need me?’
She paused. ‘I promised Alastair I wouldn’t go alone. Anyone else would call him. Besides. You’re the only person I know who can’t die.’
Well, Sacha thought, at least she’s honest.
He let go of the door handle. ‘Fine. I’ll help you.’
She looked relieved. ‘Good.’
‘But call me “kid” one more time and I walk.’
A slow smile spread across her face. ‘It’s a deal.’
They exchanged a look then, not of friendliness exactly, but of complicity. Like thieves who understand each other’s reasons for stealing.
‘First, though, we need to make sure the college is safe,’ she said. ‘I could use your help with that, too.’
He gave a careless shrug. ‘Of course. I’m not busy, as you can see.’
She grinned. ‘I like it when your English goes crooked.’
Turning she headed up the wide, empty staircase. He followed her, frowning.
‘That was crooked?’ he asked. ‘What was crooked about it?’
‘Hard to explain,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘English is a weird language.’
After that they got to work.
On each level, Louisa repeated the speed search process she’d done on the floor below, half-running down the empty corridor, quickly glancing in each room. Sacha followed her, looking for anything out of place.
He paused to peer into a shadowy classroom where rows of chairs were neatly aligned facing a podium. The rooms with their arched, leaded glass windows seemed a thousand miles away from his modern school back in Paris.
He’d never taken a class at St Wilfred’s. All he’d done since they arrived was research his own history. Nobody else’s seemed to matter.
Now looking at these rooms where students learned and laughed and grew up, he felt left out. Left behind.
‘Hurry up, Sacha,’ Louisa called, and he wondered if he’d ever heard her say his name before.
It was quieter up here. And darker. He moved cautiously across the old oak floors. To his right, Louisa peered into each room, her stance alert and cautious.
In the protective darkness, Sacha studied her curiously.
‘I know why I’m doing this, but what about you?’
He expected her to tell him to mind his own business, or to make some insulting joke about French people not understanding things.
But she didn’t do either of those things.
Stepping inside a small room, she motioned for him to follow. It was a professor’s office, typically dishevelled, with books stacked nearly to the ceiling. A desk took up most of the small space, sagging under untidy stacks of paper. An umbrella leaned against one wall.
Louisa stood by the empty chair. In the gloom, he could barely make out the outline of her features – the blue of her hair, the glimmer of her eyes.
‘I am doing this because no one else will.’ Her voice was low but intense. ‘And because Aldrich Montclair would want me to find the person who killed him. So that’s what I’m going to do. And I’m going to make sure the bastard pays.’
She rested one hand on the back of the empty chair, touching it almost tenderly.
Suddenly Sacha knew whose office this was.
Stepping back, he checked the nameplate on the door: ‘Aldrich Montclair’.
‘This is Taylor’s grandfather’s office.’
It was so quiet, he could hear the brush of Louisa’s bobbed hair against her shoulders as she nodded.
‘It was.’
He looked around with new curiosity. He had never met Aldrich – knew very little about him. But Aldrich and his father had been friends. He found himself looking more closely at the black-and-white photos on the walls. He tried to read the words on the spines of the books stacked on the shelves.
Nobody had talked about it, but he knew it was very likely Mortimer Pierce had killed his father, too. He knew just how Louisa felt.
If she was getting revenge, he was going with her.
Abruptly Louisa let go of the chair, and pushed past him. When she strode down the hallway, Sacha was right behind her.
Her words floated back to him in the dark.
‘Let’s go get him.’
* * *
At night St Wilfred’s seemed even stranger to Sacha than it did during the day.
Unfamiliar faces in countless paintings peered out at him from the gloom as he walked with Louisa down a darkened corridor in the admin building.
He suspected the dean would not have been happy to know they were walking through this building at this hour, and he was certain he’d have been furious if he knew why. But Louisa didn’t betray any doubts. Her steps were steady and quick as she led the way down shadowy concrete stairs into a basement level and through a heavy metal door.
The door slammed behind Sacha with a thud and he instantly regretted letting it close. The room on the other side was pitch black – too dark to see anything at all.
He promptly collided with something large, heavy and invisible.
‘Putain,’ he swore, grabbing his knee. ‘Where are the lights?’
Louisa didn’t respond. He couldn’t see her. Couldn’t even hear her footsteps.
He held his breath, trying to detect anything at all in the black cave.
Everywhere he turned he ran into things – heavy, huge things. And a faint but unmistakeable scent of petrol hung in the air.
In the silence, the faint click of the light switch seemed to ring out. The overhead lights buzzed, and flickered on.
Blinded, Sacha blinked. He was completely surrounded by cars.
There was a subterranean parking garage beneath the admin building – and he’d never known. In all the days he’d been at St Wilfred’s he’d never been able to figure out where they kept his bike. Now he spun a slow circle looking for it.
He spotted it almost immediately, parked in a corner.
Happiness made his heart stutter and – forgetting Louisa and Mortimer – he raced over to check it, crouching next to it to run his hands across the glossy black metal curves, murmuring to it in French, ‘God, I’ve missed you.’
To his relief, the Honda appeared undamaged. His two silver helmets had been left neatly on the seat.
Everything was there, except the keys.
Just as he clocked that, Louisa walked up behind him, a set of silver keys shining in one hand.
‘Waddya reckon? Want to go for a ride?’
Sacha snatched them from her fingers.
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ she said dryly.
Handing her a helmet, he pulled his own over his head. The world shrank to the size of the visor’s narrow eye-slit. He liked it that way.
Louisa climbed onto the back of the bike with ease – placing her feet in the right places without being told. She’d definitely been on a motorcycle before.
For some reason, that didn’t come as a surprise.
Sacha turned the key and flipped the ignition switch – the bike roared to life.
He sat still for a moment, just listening to the rumble of the engine – the sound seemed to come from inside him. From his heart.
‘Alors,’ he said in French before remembering to speak in English. ‘Where do you want to go?’
‘Just get us out of here,’ she said.
He guided the machine out of the parking spot, heading towards the closed garage door. Only then did it occur to him he had no way to open it.
He was half-turning to ask Louisa what to do when she reached over his shoulder. The door rattled upwards, and he saw the lane outside, stretching towards the lights of town. And freedom.
He popped the clutch and gunned the engine. With a roar, they sped off into the night.
Ten
Late in the night, Henri fell into a deep sleep from which he cannot be roused. It is a rest like the dead. The apothecary says only time will decide whe
ther he wakes or leaves this earth into God’s mercy.
At first light, we rode to the old church and sought the chamber he described in the ancient crypt. There we found all as he told it – the star, the dagger. Many signs of bloodletting and sacrifice.
The Brotherhood was most distraught at the sight. We have seen sorcerers and encountered many servants of evil in our time together, but never have we witnessed a sight of such devilry and Dark madness.
At our request, the white sorceress Marie Clemenceau joined us. What she saw in that unspeakable place turned her skin pale as milk.
‘It cannot be possible,’ she whispered, reaching down to touch one of the stains on the old stone floor.
‘Tell us,’ Brother Claude urged her, ‘what does this mean? We must know the truth of what we face.’
When he showed her the ceremonial dagger – with its curved blade and handle of carved bone and jet – she flung her hands in front of her face and recoiled from the instrument.
‘This is the Darkest sorcery,’ she said. ‘The most evil and deadly power. In this very chamber, a convocation would call on the devil.’ She turned to me, her lovely face pained and fearful. ‘Matthieu, you must stop this.’
‘I promise I will stop it,’ I said. ‘But I must ask you a question and I require as true and honest an answer as you can give.’
Still trembling, she raised her face. ‘I will answer truly.’
‘Could Isabelle Montclair be the one communing with the demons?’
The Secret City Page 6
