‘Come on,’ Sacha called, tugging on her hand. She hurried after him.
They stumbled up the stairs, as the building shuddered around them. When they reached the nave, a fire flickered where candles had fallen. A heavy cross on one wall swung violently but did not fall. Columns swayed dangerously around them. The bells rang with wild, deafening fury.
‘Quick,’ Sacha shouted, pulling her past the row of side chapels to the huge arched doorway. It had been locked when they arrived, but now was flung open, and they hurtled through it, just as one of the stone gargoyles crashed to the ground behind them.
Outside in the church square, people had begun to pour out of nearby hotels and apartments, most of them in pyjamas or dressing gowns, all talking excitedly.
‘It’s an earthquake,’ one exclaimed.
‘Stay clear of the walls,’ a man shouted in French.
‘What did he say?’ someone with an American accent asked in English.
‘Run really fast?’ his friend suggested.
Clutching Sacha’s hand, Taylor stumbled through the crowd, dazedly.
Had these people heard nothing when the world nearly ended? Did they have any idea how close they’d come?
They stopped a short distance away, blending in with the crowd.
When the earth finally stopped shaking a few minutes later, the tourists cheered.
‘I want to come back to France again next year,’ someone said. ‘They know how to put on a show.’
Taylor had forgotten the crowd by now. Sacha stood close, his body warm against hers. His eyes were sea blue and clear.
She reached up to touch his face wonderingly.
‘Promise me you’re really alive.’
‘I promise I’m alive,’ he said.
‘I thought I’d lost you.’
He pulled her closer, pressing the palm of her hand against his chest so she could feel the steady and very real beating of his heart.
‘Never.’
Thirty-Nine
‘You might as well come in.’ Louisa raised one hand and gestured impatiently.
Her hospital room was bright white and clean as a laboratory. The sharp tang of disinfectant tickled Taylor’s nose as she and Sacha stepped inside.
Louisa lay in bed, her head immobilised by a complex metal and plastic brace strapped to her forehead and chest, that looked for all the world like a cage. A long line of stitches snaked down the hairline on one side of her battered face, but her eyes were alert.
Suddenly self-conscious, Taylor smoothed her hair with a nervous brush of her hand. Sacha’s hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans, shoulders loose and slouched.
‘Hi.’ Taylor bit back the ‘How are you?’ that threatened to come out of her mouth and sound ridiculous. ‘Alastair said you were doing OK, but we had to see for ourselves,’ she said instead.
Louisa scanned her face, taking in the dark bruise on her temple. All Taylor’s other wounds had healed already. Sacha had explained that the bruises always healed last.
‘Might as well stop by when you’re in the neighbourhood.’
Louisa’s tone was mild, but Taylor could tell she was glad to see them.
A nurse in green scrubs bustled in, pushing buttons that set a trio of plastic machines beeping in a panicked chorus then, muttering to herself, pushing more buttons to stop the cacophony.
Louisa rolled her eyes. ‘She keeps doing that. I’ve been in quieter roller-derbies.’
The woman breezed from the room, saying something in rapid French.
Sacha failed to suppress a grin.
‘What did she say?’ Louisa demanded, glaring. ‘She keeps doing that to me. All that talking.’
Sacha’s smile broadened. Taylor could sense that his affection for Louisa matched her own.
‘She said, “This one’s trouble”.’
‘Well.’ Louisa tried to scratch under a metal pole connecting to her head. ‘I guess she’s smarter than she looks. Ouch.’
Sacha reached towards her instinctively before shoving his hand back into his pocket.
‘Perhaps it would be best if you didn’t do that?’ he suggested.
‘What does it feel like?’ Taylor gestured hesitantly at the metal contraption. ‘To have a broken neck, I mean.’
‘It feels great,’ Louisa said dryly. ‘I’m having a party in here.’
Taylor grinned. ‘I’m willing to admit it was a stupid question.’
‘It wasn’t stupid.’ Louisa sighed. ‘I’m just sick of being in this place. It’s making me tetchy.’ She touched the metal bars with a rare hesitancy. ‘It doesn’t actually hurt that much now. It just feels like someone’s holding my head hostage.’ She shifted gingerly. ‘Just a couple more months to go and I’ll get this thing off. Nothing to it.’
‘I got your coffee but they simply don’t believe in mocha in this country…’ Alastair hurried into the room, a cardboard cup in each hand. Seeing Taylor and Sacha, he skidded to a stop so suddenly he had to wave the cups around to keep them from spilling.
‘There you are.’ A pleased smile lit up his ruddy face. ‘Alive and well.’
‘You expected anything else?’ Sacha’s shrug was cocky.
‘Of course not.’
Handing Louisa her coffee, Alastair perched on the edge of the bed next to her. The two of them studied Sacha and Taylor with expectant expressions, as if waiting for some big announcement.
‘What?’ Taylor asked, although she knew already.
‘Don’t be coy.’ Louisa waved one hand with open impatience. ‘Jones called this morning and gave us the news. Is it true?’
Sacha and Taylor exchanged a look.
Here we go, they both thought.
‘It’s true,’ Taylor said finally.
‘I don’t believe it.’ Alastair shook his head. ‘It isn’t possible.’
‘That’s what everyone keeps telling us,’ Sacha said. ‘But somehow… it happened.’
‘Show us,’ Louisa demanded. ‘We won’t believe it until we see it.’
Taylor and Sacha had expected this. They didn’t bother to object.
Setting down her bag, Taylor lifted the flap and pulled out a candle. They’d found it in the hospital chapel, and brought it with them, just in case.
She handed the candle to Sacha and stood back. ‘Show them.’
This is silly. Sacha’s voice was clear in her head.
I know, she replied silently, arching one eyebrow. Just do it and make them happy.
Holding up the candle, Sacha looked at it fiercely.
It flickered into life, the flame tall and true.
Louisa exhaled audibly.
Alastair twisted around to see her face. ‘This is mental.’
‘How?’ Louisa asked, although she was perfectly aware that nobody could answer that question with any certainty.
‘Montclair blood in Winters veins.’ Sacha spoke quietly, holding Taylor’s gaze.
The way he looked at her made her shiver.
‘Jones is going to lose his mind.’ Louisa said it with satisfaction, as if a mindless dean was the best possible outcome.
‘I don’t understand this.’ Alastair’s expression was clouded. ‘You can’t make an alchemist. You can’t alter DNA in this fashion. It’s scientifically impossible. How did this happen?’
He looked at them with worry, and a hint of what looked to Taylor not unlike fear.
She wasn’t surprised. They’d already gone through this on the phone with St Wilfred’s. In fact, at this point, everything they said freaked people out. So they didn’t dare tell the whole truth.
Taylor had Sacha’s healing ability now – every wound sealed itself within minutes. She didn’t know yet if she could die – it wasn’t anything she wanted to test.
‘We don’t know,’ she said. ‘Zeitinger doesn’t know, either.’
She thought about what the German professor had told her about Dark ceremonies before she left St Wilfred’s: Performing a D
ark ceremony leaves traces on your spirit. Sometimes these traces pervade. Sometimes they take over.
Was there Dark power in her now? She didn’t know. If it was there, she couldn’t detect it.
The reality was – they both liked the way they were. They weren’t Dark or evil. They were just stronger.
Better.
‘What happens now, you two?’ Louisa asked.
‘We’re going to Paris.’ Sacha said it simply, a statement of fact.
‘Sacha promised his mother he’d come home when this was over, and that’s what we’re going to do,’ Taylor said. ‘And after that, I’m going to Spain. To see my best friend.’
Louisa studied her. ‘Then back to St Wilfred’s?’
‘Probably,’ Taylor said. ‘Back in time for term, anyway.’
She’d kept her expression neutral, but Louisa always could read her. She leaned forward now, looking at Taylor, a hint of suspicion in her gaze.
‘Is something else going on?’
Taylor hesitated. She didn’t want to lie to Louisa. But she didn’t want to tell her everything right now. There would be time to decide how much to share. Time to try and understand what had happened.
This wasn’t that time.
‘Everything’s fine.’ Crossing the room. She took Louisa’s hand. She could feel the warmth of the blood moving in her veins, the strength of the muscle tissues beneath the skin. Mortimer’s violence hadn’t diminished her at all. She would recover from her injuries.
Then maybe it would be the right moment to tell her the truth.
‘I promise.’
It wasn’t a lie. Everything was fine.
We should go.
From across the room, Sacha caught Taylor’s gaze. His motorcycle was outside, packed with their bags. At the thought of it, Taylor’s heart leaped. Their life was just beginning.
Mortimer was gone. No one could stop them now.
‘We have to go.’ Leaning down, Taylor gave Louisa a gentle hug. As she did, she plucked a delicate strand of energy from the electricity buzzing around her and directed it at her fractured neck.
Heal.
Louisa started.
‘What was that?’
One hand drifted towards her neck, tattoos dark against her pale skin.
Taylor didn’t know how well her abilities projected yet. But she’d wanted to try it. Just in case.
‘It was a hug, Lou. Nothing more.’
She headed to where Sacha stood waiting, her bag in his hand.
Turning to say goodbye to Louisa and Alastair, Taylor felt unexpectedly homesick for Oxford’s tall, stone spires. For Zeitinger’s book-lined office and days spent in the library reading dusty old parchment.
She would go back there in the autumn – this time as a proper student. She would work hard. And one day she would understand exactly what had happened during that ceremony in the crypt.
They paused for a moment in the wide doorway.
‘See you at St Wilfred’s,’ Taylor said.
Before they could reply, she and Sacha walked down the wide hospital corridor, their steps in perfect sync, and headed out into the sunshine.
It was time to begin.
About the Author
C. J. Daugherty
A former crime reporter and investigative journalist, C. J. Daugherty is the author of the international bestselling Night School series. She saw her first murder victim when she was 22 years old, and has been obsessed with the darker side of human nature ever since. Her Night School books, set in a boarding school for the children of the British elite, topped sales charts and captured hearts in countries around the world. Her books have been translated into 22 languages. Born in Texas, she has lived in England for many years, where she is currently working on a new novel. Find out more atwww.CJDaugherty.com.
Carina Rozenfeld
When she was 9 years old, Carina Rozenfeld began writing her own stories, because she thought dreaming at night wasn’t enough. Later, she became a journalist for a French youth press, while continuing to write stories at night. After her first novels were published in France, she became a full time author. To date, she has written nearly twenty popular books, including the bestselling trilogy La quête des Livres-Monde and Les Clefs de Babel. In young adult literature, she is known for her series Phænix and La symphonie des Abysses. She has won more than twenty literary awards. She lives in Paris, where she is now working on new science-fiction and fantasy books.
Also by C. J. Daugherty
The Night School Series
Genesis
Legacy
Fracture
Resistance
Endgame
Also by Carina Rozenfeld
Le Mystère Olphite
La Quête des Livres-Monde
Le livre des mes
Le livre des Lieux
Le livre du Temps
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Doregon
Les portes de Doregon
La guerre de l’ombre
Les cracheurs de lumière
* * *
La Quête des Pierres de Luet
La pierre d’Etlal
La pierre de Majilpuûr
La pierre de Goth
* * *
Les Clefs de Babel
* * *
Les Sentinelles du Futur
* * *
Phænix
Les cendres de l’oubli
Le brasier des souvenirs
* * *
La Symphonie des Abysses
Livre 1
Livre 2
Also by C.J. Daugherty and Carina Rozenfeld
The Secret Fire
Published by Bookouture, an imprint of StoryFire Ltd.
23 Sussex Road, Ickenham, UB10 8PN, United Kingdom.
www.bookouture.com
* * *
Copyright © CJ Daugherty and Carina Rozenfeld 2016
* * *
CJ Daugherty and Carina Rozenfeld have asserted their right to be identified as the authors of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.
* * *
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-78681-105-9
The Secret City Page 27
