The Oxford Inheritance

by Ann A. McDonald

  “No! It’s a suicide mission.” Tremain cut her off, his face pale. “They can’t be stopped.” He shook his head, then grabbed his coat and made for the door. “It’s madness, all of this.” His eyes moved past Cassie to Charlie, his face softening in a twisted plea. “Talk some sense into her, please.” Then he left, closing the door behind him.

  Cassie fought to stay calm. She didn’t know why she’d expected more from him. For years, Tremain had done nothing but take the easy way out, cowering in the shadows while Henry Mandeville and his ilk ran rampant across the city, leaving a trail of devastation in their wake. She turned to Charlie. “You understand, don’t you?”

  Charlie unfolded his arms and walked toward her, his expression grim. “I understand that you want to go blazing in there, but that doesn’t mean you have a hope in hell of pulling it off!” He reached her, staring down into her eyes. “Cassie, think about this, please. You don’t know anything about this ceremony. How many there’ll be, or what—”

  “Two dozen for the ritual at least, I’m guessing,” Cassie interrupted. “Plus the offerings. This is a big deal, renewing their power, so there’ll be representatives from every family, and the new members they want to induct. I don’t know where it’ll be held, but it has to be somewhere on Raleigh lands. Somewhere they can hide. Underground, maybe, in the catacombs. Rose talked about the tunnels.”

  “And how will this go down?” Charlie demanded. “How can you even be sure what to expect? You can’t go in there unprotected.”

  “Hugo will be there—”

  “Hugo’s one of them. He won’t have your back.”

  “It’s the only way,” Cassie said quietly. She looked at him, pleading. “Can’t you see? There’s no way to stop them if they just keep renewing their power. Tremain was right; there are too many of them, the bloodlines don’t just fade away. But if I interrupt that power somehow, find some way to sever the connection to the original darkness—”

  “If,” Charlie spat. “Why don’t you just admit you don’t know what the hell you’re playing at. You’ve seen what they’ve done!”

  “I’ve seen it, and I’ve felt it too.” Cassie swallowed, not wanting to admit what she’d done with Hugo. “I know how their power works. I know I can beat it.” She’d felt the hunger, knew what it took to invade someone’s mind. She could turn that ability back on them when they’d least expect it.

  Charlie walked to the window and took a ragged breath. “You won’t back down,” he said, sounding resigned.

  “I can’t.” Cassie took his hand, pulling him back around to face her. “Don’t you see? It’s already too late. They know I’ve seen too much. I can run, but we both know they’ll find me. Some day my body will show up: here, or in America. My mom had to change her name, take on a whole new identity just to get away. They won’t let that happen twice. I would spend my life running, Charlie, but . . .” Cassie took a breath. “But it’s not too late for you.”

  He looked up sharply. “What are you talking about?”

  “You can’t help me anymore,” she said simply. “This is my battle now.”

  “No, Cassie—”

  She squeezed his hand. “I have the invitation. They think I want to try and achieve power and glory like the rest of them. They’ll never see it coming.”

  “It’s too dangerous,” Charlie argued.

  “Since when did that ever stop me?” Cassie smiled weakly.

  His brow knitted. “If you find out where the ritual is taking place, I can find a way in. We could—”

  “No, Charlie,” Cassie said firmly. “You have too much to lose. If they know you’re in this with me . . . Think about your family. Are you going to put them at risk too? Laura and Kirsty and little Daisy and Liam too?”

  Charlie stared at her. “That’s a low fucking blow.”

  “The School of Night doesn’t care about morals. I’m only saying what you already know. You’ve done so much for me already,” she added, softer. “I couldn’t have gotten this far without you. But this was always my fight. I have to see it through alone now.”

  “Don’t bullshit me.” Charlie tried to pull away, but she held tight.

  “I mean it. You’ve had my back, and nobody . . .” Cassie felt a lump in her throat, a wave of emotion she fought to keep back. “Nobody has ever done that for me before. Thank you, okay? You always do the right thing.” She dropped his hand and turned away. It was true. Charlie was the first person she’d trusted in years, perhaps her whole life. He’d put himself in harm’s way simply because it was right, risking everything to help her, no matter the cost.

  “I didn’t do it because it’s right. I did it for you.” Cassie felt his hand on her shoulder, and then Charlie yanked her around, lowering his mouth to capture hers in a kiss. She froze against him in surprise, feeling his lips hard on hers, and the ragged desperation in his tense body. His mouth searched hers, searing, before abruptly pulling away, cool air where his lips had been. “Don’t go getting yourself killed,” he said gruffly. And then he was gone, leaving her alone in the study with the sound of his footsteps on the stairs and the burning imprint of his lips on hers.

  Cassie’s sneakers pounded on the frostbitten dirt the next morning. She ran hard, her lungs burning, her body not yet recovered from the attack in Wales, but she pushed it on regardless. She needed the space to clear her head, the action to distract her from the itch in her veins.

  She was hungry. Not for food, or sleep, or anything else she could so easily satiate. This was a darker craving, one that clawed in her system, demanding and sharp. She wanted to feed again. To taste the power. It had been building ever since that night with Hugo, blossoming in her a little more with every passing day. She was trying to ignore it, drown it out with her determined plans for the ritual, but after four days, it was loud enough to taste. She’d woken with it screaming in her veins.

  Cassie ran on, sprinting hard. The route was busy, students out for a stroll, and some tourists too, idling at the lookout points to snap photographs of the meadow view, the Raleigh tower looming above the quiet sandstone walls.

  She wondered how their minds would taste.

  She’d only had a moment with Sebastian, only begun to explore the depths of his mind before Hugo pulled her out of the daze. But it had been enough to awaken that wild hunger. If this was driving the School of Night, they would never be stopped. It had been unlike anything else she’d ever felt before. Except . . .

  Cassie stumbled on the hard earth, coming to a sudden stop. Her breath steamed the frosty air, and memories she’d fought to keep back invaded her mind. A dark night. The sound of her bedroom door. Her stepfather, drunk, the way he’d been every night since before her mother died. But this time, he didn’t just pass out on the couch like usual. This time, he wanted something more.

  He didn’t get it.

  She’d told the local sheriff he’d been unconscious when the fire started, and that much was true. They said he’d probably left the gas on, knocked a candle over. A drunken shame. But she still could hear the rough grate of the match striking, bright in her rage, and feel the victory that had pulsed wild in her chest as she watched it all burn to the ground.

  She’d always been this way.

  At least she had a reason now. The things that had made her different, made her wrong, they were because of this. She couldn’t have fought them if she’d tried.

  Cassie forced herself to breathe deeply, turning to begin her run back in the direction of Raleigh. It may have been in her nature—this hunger, this ruthless violence—but that didn’t mean she couldn’t make a choice. She’d been fighting the legacy of her mother’s undoing her whole life; now, it was a new inheritance she had to resist.

  She would stop them all, before it was too late. It was the only chance she’d have. Tomorrow would be the end, one way or another.

  She ran on—and prayed her hunger would fade.

  Cassie was still aching from the run when she let h
erself in the apartment and went to the kitchen to run a glass of water.

  “Good morning, Miss Blackwell.”

  Cassie startled, whirling around so fast water splashed to the floor. Henry Mandeville was lounging in a chair by the window, watching her with an amused icy stare.

  She forced herself to act calm. “Your family has a way with locked doors,” she commented. She turned back to the sink and refilled the glass before taking a few steps toward him. “To what do I owe the visit?”

  Henry raised an eyebrow. He was dressed immaculately in a three-piece suit, a pocket square peeking from the breast of his jacket, his white hair combed neatly back. “I understand you’re to be our offering,” he said.

  Cassie met his gaze. “That’s correct.”

  Henry narrowed his eyes. “It’s a great honor to be chosen to represent us,” he said slowly. “To have the opportunity to ascend to our ranks.”

  Cassie remained cool. “I understand.”

  “And you know what the ritual will demand of you?” Henry rose to his feet, slowly crossing the room to her.

  Cassie nodded, her heart beating fast. Henry came to a stop in front of her. “You’re a hard girl to find, Miss Blackwell.” He emphasized her name, as if he knew it was a falsehood. “Few records, even fewer friends. We are some of the greatest families in the land. Our lineage stretches back for generations, unimpeachable. What makes you think you deserve to walk among us?”

  Cassie swallowed. “I thought I had to prove I deserved my place. Isn’t that what the ritual is all about?”

  Henry didn’t seem impressed. “My grandson is very important to me. It’s time he left this . . . nursery behind and took his rightful place at the head of the family. This ceremony will cement his fate.” His hand shot out to clasp Cassie’s jaw. She flinched back in shock, but he gripped her tight with bony fingers. “Let’s see, shall we?” he murmured, running his thumb across her cheek.

  Cassie shivered. She could feel the coldness of his stare, the black depths of those eyes, but somehow, she couldn’t look away.

  She felt the darkness, creeping on the edges of her mind.

  Cassie gulped. This was a test, to see if she was worthy of being their sacrifice. She couldn’t resist him, not unless she wanted to reveal her strength.

  Closing her eyes, Cassie let him in. It took everything she had not to fight it, the coldness slipping into the recesses of her mind, the shadows that blotted out her thoughts, her memories, but Cassie forced herself to hold back. To stand, silent, compliant, and let him explore with chilling leisure. She wanted to run screaming, she longed to fight. Not now, she told herself, clenching her nails deep into her palms, feeling tears sting the corners of her eyes. Not yet.

  Henry released her, stepping back. Cassie surfaced, shaking.

  “Interesting . . .” Henry paused, watching her, as if savoring a fine wine. Cassie’s breath came fast. She wondered if he could tell she was different, if, somehow, her mind had revealed her secret.

  Finally, he nodded. “You’ll do.” His business completed, he turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Cassie found herself calling after him. “What happens after the ceremony? When—If I pass the test?”

  Henry gave her a cool smile. “Then, my dear, your real life begins. As one of us, you will achieve anything you desire.” He tilted his head. “What is it you want from life? Fame, fortune, riches?” There was a note of derision in his voice.

  Cassie blinked. She couldn’t think of a lie, so she told him the truth instead. “I want to be so powerful that nobody can ever hurt me again. I want to be untouchable.”

  Henry’s face was almost approving as he surveyed her again. “A noble aim. Good luck to you, Miss Blackwell.” He nodded, and then he was gone, a dark shadow on the stairwell, a black smudge beneath her window as she went to watch him walk away.

  31

  SHE DREAMED THE SAME AS BEFORE: OF DUSTY CATACOMBS AND flaring torches, of running and panic and fear. She dreamed of darkness, and when she woke, the hunger was thick in her veins.

  Cassie lay awake, and she counted the minutes. This was her last night. Her only night.

  This was the end.

  32

  AFTER ALL HER RESEARCH, ALL THAT TUGGING AT THREADS AND loose ends, Cassie still didn’t know the true danger she was walking into that night. That was the real secret of the School of Night; let people whisper about privilege and power, but in all the centuries of rumor, there was not one hint of the darkness lurking beneath their aristocratic surface. She had nothing to guide her through this mysterious ritual, nothing but instinct and a desperate hope that whatever she was facing, she would have the strength to match it. Destroy it.

  Tremain wasn’t sharing their secrets, perhaps out of a misguided hope she would still call off her plan, and Hugo remained frustratingly vague. All he would tell her is that the night would begin with dinner, a formal meal for the whole society in one of Raleigh College’s private dining rooms. He picked her up at nine P.M., dressed in a suit, his expression nervous.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, taking in her appearance. Cassie had chosen Evie’s black dress to wear. An honor, and a reminder.

  “Thanks,” she said, self-conscious. “I just need to get my purse.” She went back to her bedroom, slipping on a pair of heels and fastening her mother’s necklace at her throat. Her expression in the mirror was anxious and full of secrets. Cassie forced herself to take a breath, fighting back the nerves that were twisting in her stomach.

  This was it. There was no time for fear, not anymore.

  Back in the living room, Hugo helped her into her coat. “You packed,” he said, looking around the sparse room.

  Cassie shrugged. “Just in case.” Packing her things, she’d methodically stripped the apartment, wanting to save some poor porter the task of collecting her belongings the way she’d done for Evie. It was easy to dismantle her life in Oxford: to pack away her notes and return library books, file her last essay and lay her robes out on the bed to be returned. As usual, she wouldn’t leave a mark on this town; she would disappear as quickly as she’d arrived. Aside from Charlie, there would be no one to remember her. It would be as if she’d never existed at all.

  Charlie had tried to call her in the days since their last meeting, but Cassie had forced herself not to answer the phone. It was futile talking to him again: he would only try to dissuade her, and now she was more determined than ever.

  “Shall we?” she asked, holding out her arm, but Hugo suddenly moved to block the door.

  “It’s not too late,” he said urgently, his dark eyes meeting hers. “You don’t have to do this.”

  Cassie blinked, startled. He couldn’t be wavering now. “You said it would be okay, that you’d protect me.”

  “I know, but . . .” Hugo trailed off. He looked conflicted, and Cassie couldn’t help but feel a bitter irony. Now, of all times, he was having a crisis of conscience. He thought she was going into this blind, another willing sacrifice, and Cassie had to play that part right up until the end.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked carefully. “Have you changed your mind?”

  Hugo swallowed. “No, I just . . .” He looked away. “You know the risk. Nobody has ever survived,” he admitted quietly.

  “Nobody is like me.” Cassie replied, before realizing she might have given away too much. She knew she had the society blood running through her veins, but that secret was her only advantage going into this ritual. She tried to play it off as brashness. “I mean, you said it yourself, it felt different, when you tried to connect with me. I can do this.”

  “But even so . . .” Hugo paused. “This life, the cost . . .” His expression hinted at an inner anguish. “It traps you, Cassie. It’s a gilded prison, and once you’re inside there’s no way out.”

  She watched him, wondering how deep this indecision ran. Could she use it for her plan? “Would you take it back, if you could?” she asked. “End it all—the power,
the pain?”

  Hugo frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Cassie knew she had to tread carefully. “I mean, be your own man for a change, instead of following the family line.” He’d complained to her before of the frustrations of living up to his name—the expectations that came with being a Mandeville, all the weight that entailed. If he would help her, during the ritual, if he could turn his back on everything . . . “Imagine if you could just be free,” she urged him. “To do whatever you wanted. No pressure, no rules.”

  Hugo gave her a resigned smile. “There’s no use imagining. My destiny was decided a long time ago.”

  “But wouldn’t you want the chance to choose?” Cassie pressed. Having him as a true ally could make all the difference. “Tonight—”

  But they were interrupted by a clatter of footsteps on the stairs. “You’re going to be late!” Olivia cried, bustling into the room. She moved between them, linking her arm through Cassie’s. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’ll be joining us,” she said, offering a brittle smile. “I know you’ll do just great.” Her dark eyes were guileless, her expression bright and sincere. Cassie would have believed her, had she not seen the truth hiding behind Olivia’s perfect smile that night in the maze.

  “I think I will, too.” Cassie faked a smile, following her to the door. She shot a glance back at Hugo, but he was looking away. “I’m so excited about the ritual,” she continued, to Olivia. “Do you know what will happen?”

  Olivia shook her head. “It’s my first time too. But everything will be fine; it’s just a formality,” she reassured as they crossed the quad, their silk dresses whispering in the night breeze. “A lot of funny old role-play. Don’t even worry about it.”

  Cassie couldn’t even feel surprised by the lies. “What a relief,” she said, playing along. “I’m sure it’ll be fun.”

  As they walked along the pathways, Hugo following behind, Cassie couldn’t help but notice the other students heading in noisy groups to the bar for a drink, or walking back from the library, weighed down with books. They were in a world of their own, oblivious to the ancient rituals about to play out inside the walls of their beloved college, the darkness corrupting the very foundations beneath their feet. Could that have been her life, Cassie wondered, if she hadn’t stumbled onto the School of Night? What if she’d let her quest for the truth about her mother drop at the first hurdle and turned her attention instead to her essays—joined clubs and teams, thrown her determination toward a different goal?