The Secret City

by C. J. Daugherty

  Her eyes searched his face, missing nothing.

  ‘It’s coming?’

  It was two doors away.

  Sacha gave a careless shrug. ‘You could say that.’

  She held up one hand for him to help her up. He’d never known her to let anyone help her before. When she was on her feet, she spit blood on the floor and worked her jaw to test it.

  ‘I don’t think I’m broken,’ she said, wincing.

  She turned to look out over the corridor and her eyes fell on the dead creature, lying sprawled in a pool of dark blood.

  ‘You’ve been busy.’

  Before he could respond to that, a tremendous crash shook the walls, as the second creature burst out of a doorway, its swollen face red with fury.

  Louisa’s eyebrows rose.

  ‘You didn’t tell me he had a friend.’

  ‘I was getting to that part,’ he said.

  The thing roared.

  ‘Well, this has been fun but…’ Louisa pointed at the exit sign.

  Sacha didn’t need to be asked twice. They took off running, side by side. Sacha should have known better than to worry about her strength. She outpaced him, a blue-haired bullet shooting straight at the exit.

  They had their differences, but he had to admire her sheer strength of will.

  He could hear the creature snarl as it galloped after them. It sounded dangerously close, but he was already running full speed. His breath burned his throat, and his lungs ached.

  Ahead, he saw the door – metal and heavy. And surely locked. He was wondering how the hell they were going to get out in time when, without warning, it swung open.

  A tall, broad-shouldered figure faced them. Backlit by lamplight from the street outside, his dishevelled blond hair looked like a halo.

  ‘There you are.’ Alastair stared past them at the creature. ‘Who’s your friend?’

  Sacha couldn’t remember ever feeling happier to see anyone. He and Louisa shot past him out into the fresh air.

  ‘He’s meaner than he looks,’ Louisa shouted breathlessly. ‘Close the door.’

  Alastair slammed it shut, pressing his hand against the metal just as the thing smashed into it from the other side with an inarticulate howl of rage.

  He flinched, his eyes fixed on the heavy lock.

  The door held.

  Gasping, Sacha bent over, his hands on his knees, struggling to catch his breath.

  Now that they were safe, all his limbs felt weak – it was hard to stand. Louisa collapsed on the ground nearby, one arm thrown over her eyes, struggling to catch her breath.

  The creature was banging against the door now, with such force it seemed to shake the foundations but the door didn’t move.

  Apparently satisfied that his work was done, Alastair strode over to Sacha.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘Long story.’ Still breathless, Sacha pointed to Louisa. ‘Check on her first. She’s hurt.’

  Frowning, Alastair dropped into a crouch next to her.

  ‘You look like hell, Lou. What happened?’

  She waved his concern away. ‘One of those things got me.’ Gingerly, she pushed herself up until she was sitting. ‘Sacha saved my arse.’

  Meeting Sacha’s gaze, she gave him a nod. ‘Thanks, by the way. I owe you one.’

  Pride sent heat rushing to Sacha’s face. He tried to appear nonchalant.

  ‘It was nothing.’

  A series of heavy thuds interrupted them, as the creature threw itself against the exit. It wasn’t giving up.

  Louisa held Alastair’s gaze. ‘Will the door hold?’

  ‘It’ll hold.’ He reached for her hand, pulling her up. ‘But there are other doors. Let’s get out of here.’

  Fourteen

  Taylor woke from restless dreams to find herself in an unfamiliar room. Sunlight streamed through an arched window and she raised a hand to shield her eyes against it.

  ‘Ah,’ a German-accented voice said gruffly. ‘She wakes at last.’

  Startled, she jerked upright. Zeitinger sat at his desk on the other side of the room, an unlit pipe in one hand. Reaching down, she felt the soft leather of a battered sofa beneath her. Her gaze skittered across piles of books, crooked pictures on the walls, papers piled everywhere.

  It came rushing back. The book. Her reaction to it. The German professor’s insistence that it held the answers.

  After leaving the dean’s office they’d headed straight to Zeitinger’s crowded little office, its bookcase heaving with heavy tomes, oil paintings of strange faces slightly crooked on the wall.

  It looked so much like her grandfather’s little flat that the sight of it had sent a stab of pain through Taylor’s heart.

  Once they’d arrived, though, the professor seemed to forget she was there – busying himself with his research, muttering to himself quietly in German.

  She’d waited for ages for her part to play, but it never came.

  Although she had no memory of falling asleep, at some point she’d drifted off. Glancing down, she saw that her legs were covered with a faded, red-and-green plaid blanket. It hadn’t been there earlier.

  It didn’t appear the professor had slept at all. His hair was mussed, and he clutched the cold pipe like a lifeline. The book sat on the desk in front of him, open. A notebook covered in excited writing lay next to it.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, rubbing her eyes. ‘I didn’t mean to fall asleep.’

  ‘It is necessary to sleep,’ he said gravely.

  ‘Has anything happened?’

  His nod held grim satisfaction. ‘Progress.’

  ‘Progress?’ She sat up straighter. ‘What kind of progress? Did you find something?’

  He flipped through his notebook and she saw that page after page was covered in that same spidery writing.

  ‘I have translated many chapters of the book, and can verify that I was correct.’ He thumped his finger against the desktop. ‘This is the book we sought.’

  ‘Is it in there?’ she asked excitedly. ‘The cure for Sacha? Have you found it?’

  ‘Not precisely.’

  Some of her excitement ebbed away.

  ‘What do you mean, “not precisely”?’

  ‘The early chapters of the book document Falkenstein’s struggle to understand Dark practice. This was as I expected.’ The professor tapped the empty pipe against his hand as if emptying invisible ashes. The action was automatic and ruminative. ‘It was complex and dangerous work that several times could have cost him his life. Or perhaps his soul. If you believe in such things.’

  He blew on the pipe, tilting it to study it.

  ‘Vell,’ he said, his accent turning the ‘w’ into a ‘v’, ‘what I now know is Cornelius von Falkenstein understood how Dark practice worked. Understood it better than any man. I think he stood on the edge of a very steep precipice and considered jumping. I think he was brave, and angry. Anger is useful but sometimes… it blinds us to what is worth living for.’

  There was worry in the crease of his brow, in the way his gnarled hands toyed ceaselessly with that old, curved pipe as his small steady eyes met hers.

  ‘My dear, Falkenstein proved Dark practice can be undone. But it will be dangerous. Very dangerous.’

  Taylor’s nerves tensed. ‘Dangerous how?’

  There was a pause. ‘He believes undoing Dark practice will likely kill everyone involved.’

  Taylor’s mouth went dry.

  ‘Everyone?’ It came out as a whisper.

  ‘Everyone.’

  The floor seemed to sway just a little under Taylor’s feet.

  She would go through all of this to save Sacha, and then they’d both die anyway? It couldn’t be true. There had to be a way.

  ‘But he did it, right?’ Taylor pointed at the book accusingly. ‘Falkenstein undid a Dark curse and lived.’

  ‘Once.’ Zeitinger’s tone was sombre. ‘He succeeded once. After years of trying. And we do
not have time for many errors.’

  ‘You think we can do it, don’t you?’ She pointed at his notes. ‘You believe it’s possible.’

  He hesitated.

  ‘I believe it is possible,’ he conceded at last. ‘But it will be the most difficult thing you ever do. You will need to be very brave.’ He peered at her from beneath lowered white brows. ‘Are you brave, Miss Montclair?’

  She didn’t think she was. Not at all. But she had no choice. If her grandfather had been right, and the curse had the potential to raise a demon that could kill everyone she loved, then this wasn’t about bravery. It was about survival.

  ‘I will be brave,’ she said. But her voice didn’t sound very convincing, even to her.

  A flicker of sympathy crossed the professor’s lined face. He set the pipe down on top of his notes.

  ‘So.’ He stood so abruptly his chair skidded back and thumped against the wall. ‘We must begin teaching you Falkenstein’s methods. I believe we are ready to understand how he worked, to prepare you for what awaits. First, though, I think you must eat so you do not expire. And I must speak to the dean.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘In one hour we begin.’

  * * *

  Taylor ran all the way to the Newton Dormitory, and jogged up the stone staircase to her room. Her thoughts were racing.

  I can do this. But I might die. I can do this. But…

  Her phone battery had run out at some point during the night, and as soon as she reached her bedroom she plugged it in.

  Grabbing a towel, she all but hurled herself into the shower, scrubbing her hair with more violence than was entirely necessary.

  By the time she stepped out from under the water, she felt calmer. She could do this.

  As she readied herself, she went over what she’d learned the night before, treating it like a science experiment or a fiendishly complicated calculus problem. If she approached it like an exam, it wasn’t so frightening. She could handle an exam.

  She’d finished dressing and was racing out the door when her phone buzzed loudly.

  Her heart jumped. She hadn’t heard from Sacha in ages. It was probably him, asking where she’d been.

  She hurried back, letting the door swing shut.

  But it wasn’t his name she saw at the top of the message when she picked up the phone from the desk. It was her mother’s.

  Hi honey. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you last night. Have a great day. Do you think you can come home next weekend? I’m making lasagne. Bring your laundry. Ems sends love too. xx

  Unexpectedly, tears burned Taylor’s eyes. She missed her mother so much it ached. She missed her room, her best friend, her annoying sister.

  The worst part was, her mother thought she was safe here.

  She held the phone up to her lips.

  ‘I’m not safe,’ she whispered. But nobody heard.

  Swiping a tear from her cheek, she typed a quick reply.

  Hi Mum. Everything is fab. SUPER busy. Lots of studying. Don’t know about the weekend, will ask. Have a great day! Hugs to Ems. xo

  So many lies in so few sentences.

  Leaving her phone on the desk, she fled the room before her mother had time to reply.

  * * *

  The dining hall at St Wilfred’s was one of the most beautiful spaces at the school. The tables were long rows of polished oak, aligned with perfect symmetry, each surrounded by heavily carved chairs.

  The school’s red and gold crest was set out in stained glass in the centre of each of the towering windows lining the far wall. All other walls were panelled with polished oak, and dominated by huge oil portraits of past dignitaries, who stared down unblinking beneath the soaring, beamed ceiling.

  The room was packed. The students’ voices echoed deafeningly as Taylor walked in. Snippets of conversations floated around her.

  ‘Will saw him – he said he looked inhuman.’

  ‘They can’t keep pretending it’s not serious.’

  ‘Why won’t they tell us the truth?’

  ‘It’s about them, isn’t it? That cute French boy and the blonde girl.’

  As soon as the students spotted her, standing by the buffet table, a tray loose in her hand, a hush fell – the loud conversation was replaced with a hiss of whispers.

  Keeping her head down, she resolutely piled her plate with eggs, bacon and toast from the buffet table at one end of the room, and poured herself a steaming mug of tea from a huge copper urn.

  Their narrowed glares were intimidating and horrible, but she had to eat food and this was where they kept it.

  Steeling herself, she took a deep breath and turned to face them. Those closest to her quickly turned away. Others were more brazen, openly staring at her.

  When she spotted Alastair sitting with Louisa in the far corner, heads close together, relief flooded through her.

  Motioning for her to come over, Alastair cleared books and notebooks to one side, and pushed a chair towards her.

  When she was seated, he said, ‘How’d things go with the professor last night?’

  Taylor took a bite of egg and chewed it thoroughly. She thought it was probably best if she didn’t tell them everything right now. They’d find out eventually.

  ‘He says he’s on to something,’ she said vaguely. ‘It’s dangerous but he really thinks the answer’s in the book.’

  ‘Good,’ Alastair said. ‘That’s good.’

  He seemed to be only half-listening. In fact, they both seemed distracted. There was some unspoken tension in the air between them. Louisa, in particular, was unusually subdued, barely even looking at her.

  ‘What’s up?’ Taylor frowned, searching their faces. ‘Did something happen?’

  Alastair made a ‘tell her’ motion with his hand.

  ‘Mortimer has new minions,’ Louisa said with clear reluctance. ‘Big ugly ones. And they are hard as hell to fight.’

  She turned to face her. The light streaming through the windows illuminated the bandage above her eye, and the ugly purple bruise on the side of her face.

  Taylor’s fork fell from her hand, landing on the table with a clatter.

  ‘There was another attack?’ She looked back and forth between them. ‘What happened? Why didn’t someone tell me? Is everyone OK…?’

  Louisa held up a hand to stop the stream of questions.

  ‘It didn’t happen here.’ She dodged the accusing look Alastair sent her. ‘I went out looking for Mortimer last night. I didn’t find him but I found these new things.’ She gestured at the stacks of books and papers surrounding them. ‘Alastair and I have been trying to figure out what they are so we can know how to kill them.’ She picked up her mug with a sigh. ‘So far we’re not having a lot of luck.’

  ‘How bad were you hurt?’ Taylor asked, examining her bruise. ‘You look awful.’

  ‘I wish people would stop telling me how terrible I look,’ Louisa complained. ‘It’s bad for my ego.’

  ‘The worst part isn’t the bruises,’ Alastair said. ‘The worst part is there seems to be no way to fight these things.’

  Picking up a paper that lay on the table between them, he turned it around so Taylor could see the fuzzy black-and white image it held. It appeared to have been taken by CCTV. It showed a hulking man, freakishly muscled, with strange symbols on his face and arms. His enraged eyes peered out from between bulging flesh.

  Taylor turned to Louisa.

  ‘That’s what hit you?’

  Louisa nodded. ‘Not much of a looker, is he?’

  ‘What’s wrong with it?’ Taylor stared at the huge creature. Even in the grainy image, its eyes were dark pits of hatred and torment.

  ‘We’ve been up all night researching it.’ Alastair took a gulp of coffee. ‘It looks as if it was once human – until Mortimer used some intense Dark practice on it.’

  Leaning forward, he tapped at the marks on the creature’s skin.

  ‘These symbols scorched into its flesh. They’re used in a cer
emony of reanimation.’

  ‘Reanimation?’

  ‘Bringing something back from the dead.’

  ‘Bringing something back…?’ Her jaw dropped. ‘But, that’s not possible… is it?’

  He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

  ‘None of this should be possible,’ he said. ‘But here we are.’

  ‘Mortimer can bring people back from the dead?’ Taylor couldn’t seem to accept this sickening idea. ‘But that means he could have an army of these… zombies.’

  ‘He could, but we don’t think he does.’ Louisa leaned forward. ‘If he had an army, he’d send an army. He sent two. But there’s only one left now, thanks to Sacha.’

  ‘Sacha?’ Taylor stared. ‘What was he doing there?’

  Louisa avoided her eyes.

  ‘It was my fault,’ she confessed. ‘I took him out with me to look for Mortimer and —’

  ‘You did what?’

  Taylor couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d thought he was sleeping and all the while…

  Panic swept over her. ‘Where is he? Is he hurt?’

  ‘He’s fine,’ Alastair interjected soothingly. ‘Only Lou managed to get herself bashed around.’

  Taylor’s surprise morphed into confused anger.

  ‘I don’t understand. What was he doing there? Mortimer could have taken him. That was so dangerous.’

  Louisa ducked her head. She looked incredibly guilty.

  ‘I know it was stupid, OK?’ she added with a hint of defensiveness. ‘I don’t know how to drive. I needed his bike.’

  Taylor’s jaw dropped, but Alastair jumped in before she could remonstrate further.

  ‘It was a terrible idea. And a pretty terrible reason to have a really crappy idea. But, at least now we know what we’re up against.’

  Casting him a grateful look, Louisa redirected the conversation away from herself.

  ‘These things have some major mojo courtesy of our friend Mortimer,’ she said quickly. ‘He’s pimped them up in his own special way. They go straight for our abilities. We direct power at them, they suck it up. It weakens us temporarily, making it hard for us to keep fighting. Easier to kill.’