The Oxford Inheritance

by Ann A. McDonald

  “What are you thinking about?” Olivia demanded brightly as they entered the far building.

  “Oh, nothing,” Cassie said easily. “Just an essay I have due next week.”

  Olivia laughed. “Believe me, after tonight essays will be the last thing on your mind. You’ll have far more important things to think about.”

  She was right. It was hopeless for Cassie to imagine some other life. She would never have quit her pursuit of the truth; it wasn’t in her nature. These were her choices. There was no escaping the person she was. And tonight, she would make the School of Night pay for their crimes—or die in the process.

  Olivia led the way up to the second floor of the cloisters, where a stern-faced man stood guard at the door. His gaze swept over them, and then he stood aside with a silent nod.

  Cassie stepped inside with Hugo, her nerves growing. People were milling around the grand room, drinking glasses of wine and creating a pleasant hum of laughter and conversation. It looked like any ornate dinner party. She scanned the crowd, recognizing with a shock several of the faces lit up with excitement and expectation: politicians, titans of business, and the media. Rutledge was right; this stretched to the highest echelons of society. Cassie stifled a tremor. If she didn’t stop them, their power would only grow, unchecked. The death and destruction would be visited upon a new generation.

  “Let’s get some drinks in,” Olivia declared excitedly. Hugo glowered at her, but Olivia just shrugged. “What? It’s supposed to be a party.” She flagged down a passing waiter carrying a tray of glasses of champagne, took one for herself, and handed one to Cassie. “To our newest member.” She raised a glass to Cassie, and Cassie mirrored the gesture, chilled by her carefree demeanor. Did Olivia realize the fate that lay in store for Cassie, or was she simply being naive?

  Cassie saw Lewis enter, looking pale and nervous. He lit up, however, when he saw Olivia and wove through the crowd to meet them. “Don’t you look smart?” Olivia cooed, brushing down his lapels. “Are you excited? I can’t wait.”

  Lewis managed a grin. “Of course, darling.”

  Olivia glanced across the room. “They’re calling for us, Hugo.” She nodded to where Henry was beckoning. “Better go pay our respects.”

  Hugo placed a hand on Cassie’s shoulder. “All right?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Just fine.” She watched as the pair made their way across to their family. Henry was glowering watchfully; Richard, the future prime minister, smiled vaguely with that sense of warmth and comfort that had won him the hearts of the voters. Cassie wondered where their wives were, if they were welcome at events like this or if they kept to their place at home and let the men of the family handle the dark business at hand.

  Cassie turned back to Lewis. He was visibly sweating in his smart dinner jacket, tugging at his tie. “Look at everyone,” he murmured awkwardly. “It’s half the bloody cabinet in here tonight.”

  “Did Olivia tell you much about the ceremony?” she asked carefully.

  “Not much to tell, is there?” Lewis looked at her with a weak smile. “Just a few old incantations, right? Nothing to worry about.”

  Cassie felt a flash of guilt. She knew the truth, but he was going in completely unprepared. “But did she explain how it all works?” she pressed, wishing she could warn him somehow, give him one last chance to back out.

  Lewis swallowed, then gave a brief, reluctant nod.

  “And you’re okay with it?” Cassie said, shocked.

  Lewis looked past her, across the room. “Liv says I’m strong enough.” He swallowed again, as if he was trying to convince himself. “She says there’s never been anyone like me before. She’ll protect me. She’ll make sure I make it through.”

  A chill spread through Cassie’s body. That was what Hugo had told her: that she was different, that he’d protect her. Was it all part of the same lie? Had he fooled her into believing she’d make it out alive?

  A gong sounded before she could reply, and they were called to take their seats at the long, ornate dining table. Cassie was shown to a chair beside Hugo, and Lewis, next to Olivia. Across the table, Miles sat, drinking happily, his hand on the shoulder of a boy Cassie recognized from the Radcliffe library. He was blush-cheeked and clearly nervous, no more than nineteen years old. Paige was farther down too, beside a blond girl whose eyes darted around the room. She met Cassie’s curious stare and gave a tentative smile.

  Henry Mandeville stood at the head of the table and tapped his glass for silence. “It’s a great pleasure to gather you all here tonight,” he began, his voice ringing out across the room. “To see old friends, and share in ancient customs. For society is surely founded on tradition: the passing down of our rituals and history from one generation to the next. Tonight, we share that history, that noble tradition, with a new generation. The sons and daughters we’ve watched so proudly grow will now take their place as adults among us, part of our legacy to this world.”

  Cassie glanced around. The guests were all nodding, smiling. She saw fathers and sons share a shy smile, looks of pride and achievement.

  “But it’s not just those who have inherited our customs who we celebrate tonight,” Henry continued, his voice thick with pride. “As history marches on, it is our newest members who will fuel us in the coming years. These brave souls are taking the ultimate risk to join us, a risk that will be rewarded to the lucky few. Their fresh blood will give us power, expand our horizons, and set this noble group on our course in the coming years.”

  Cassie hid a shudder. Fresh blood . . . It was no lyrical turn of phrase he was using. All around the room, the older members raised their glasses in a gruesome toast.

  “So, as our ancestors before us, let us dine and be merry before the trials to come.” Henry looked around. “We may know—”

  The main doors swung open, cutting him off. As all heads turned toward the interruption, Cassie had to stifle a gasp of surprise. Tremain, dressed in an impeccable suit, strode into the room.

  Whispers filled the air, hushed gossip of surprise and scandal.

  “What’s going on?” Cassie asked, not taking her eyes from Tremain. Her heart began to race. She hadn’t seen or spoken to him since that day in the study. What was he doing here?

  “I don’t know,” Hugo murmured. “He’s not one of us, not anymore.”

  Cassie watched as Henry moved to intercept him. The pair met nearby, close enough for her to hear. “I’m surprised to see you here, Matthew,” Henry murmured, icy and threatening.

  Tremain stared back, unmoved. “I’ve come to make amends,” he said. “You were right, all along. I can’t deny my true self.”

  “You want to join us again?” Henry seemed surprised.

  “I’ve fought it long enough. Rejecting my heritage was a foolish mistake.” Tremain inclined his head in a gesture of compliance. “It’s time I accepted my place again and celebrated the rising with you all, as I should have done years ago. Family first.”

  Henry paused, then finally broke into a chilling smile. “Welcome home, friend.” He shook Tremain’s hand. “Join us for dinner. I’m pleased to welcome you back.”

  Cassie watched them take their seats, her heart in her throat. It didn’t make any sense—until Tremain caught her eye across the table. His face was impassive, but he gave her the smallest flicker of expression as their eyes met. She realized at last what this was all for.

  He was here to help her.

  Cassie felt a surge of gratitude for this man who was a stranger to her, but her father nonetheless. It may not have made up for what he’d done to her mother, but it was something: a gesture, a final attempt to make amends.

  It was all she had.

  Dinner crawled by. Around her, the society members happily tore into the fine food and wines, laughing and chatting with one another. It was a reunion of sorts, Cassie supposed, seeing old friends greet each other and reminisce about times gone by. She was sickened and fascinated all at once, that s
uch a terrible ritual could be made an occasion of joy, that they were so inured to their crimes they didn’t hesitate over their rich slices of venison and game.

  Cassie was struck with the enormity of her task. She’d been so focused she hadn’t allowed herself a thought of failure, but now, looking around the room, she felt the chill of uncertain fear. There were dozens of people here: powerful, ruthless souls with years of dark deeds to protect. Even Henry Mandeville alone would be a formidable opponent, but the rest of them too . . . ? Cassie swallowed, overcome with a nauseating wave of insecurity. Maybe Tremain was right, and this was a foolish flash of hubris, thinking for a moment that she could be the one to dismantle such an ancient, sprawling evil.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the clatter of chairs being pushed back. People were rising to their feet. Hugo touched her hand. “It’s time.”

  Cassie’s pulse quickened. He had been silent for much of dinner, picking at his food beside her. Now, she wondered what was running through his mind. Were his promises of protection nothing but lies, to lull her into security? “Where are we going?” she asked, following him as they filed out of the room.

  “The catacombs beneath the college,” Hugo replied quietly. “We have chambers there, the same rooms that Raleigh and his group used in the beginning.”

  “And nobody notices?” she asked, glancing at the procession. They were quite the group, walking through the cloisters in their formal finest.

  “It’s a private dinner, they happen all the time.” Hugo shrugged. “The entrance is well hidden and protected. We’ll be safe. This is our college.” And it was, Cassie realized. Raleigh, the great institution, belonged to the School of Night completely. Behind these sandstone walls, the society’s members ran a private fiefdom where the rule of law or morals didn’t reach.

  Cassie saw Tremain step into an alcove up ahead. She waited until Hugo turned to speak to another member, then she stopped beside Tremain, pretending to fix her shoe strap. “You changed your mind?” she whispered.

  Tremain looked ill. “It’s still not too late for you,” he murmured. “If you went now, you could be out of the country before dawn. Please, Cassie . . .”

  “No.” Cassie straightened, meeting his eyes. “I’m seeing this through. And either I can count on you, or you’re no use to me.”

  Tremain’s jaw clenched. “I’ll be there,” he said sharply. He glanced around, then leaned in. “Once it starts, they’ll lock the doors to keep you inside. If you need a way out, there’s a back staircase from the crypt. Take a right from the hallway, keep going until you reach the surface. Charlie will be waiting by the north gate.”

  “Charlie?” Cassie felt a pang of fear. “No, he can’t. I told him—”

  “He wouldn’t listen. Don’t worry about him, there’s no time. Listen to me. You’ll need to wait until the connection is open. That’s when all the society will be joined with the darkness. Henry is the key; he’ll be the one you need to take down. The rest will fall.”

  Cassie nodded, thinking fast. “Is there anything I can use as a weapon?”

  “Whatever you can find. I’ll do what I can for you,” Tremain whispered. “But I’m weak. It’s been too long since I fed. I’m no match for any of them. I’m sorry.”

  “Cassie?”

  Cassie turned. Olivia had turned back and was frowning at her. “Thank you,” Cassie murmured, not looking at Tremain, then straightened, going to catch up with Hugo and Olivia.

  “Something wrong?” Olivia demanded.

  “Just these shoes,” Cassie replied. She could feel Hugo’s eyes on hers, assessing, but she turned away. There was no time to falter now. She pulled her coat around her and followed them into the shadows of the courtyard, to the base of the North Tower.

  She tried to reassure herself. She had a plan, allies to help her. Tremain would be in the ceremony, and Charlie was waiting outside. Together, they could bring down the society. They wouldn’t see it coming.

  Then she saw a familiar face at the back of the crowd. Her heart stopped.

  Elliot.

  He was speaking with Henry Mandeville, their heads bent together in hushed conversation. He passed Henry something, some old book, and Henry nodded approvingly.

  Elliot was tangled up in the society too? Cassie didn’t understand. He was supposed to be in London, miles away. Betrayal sliced through her as she watched the man she thought had been her friend. He and Henry Mandeville spoke a moment longer, and then Elliot slipped away, toward the college exit.

  Henry glanced over and saw Cassie watching them. A smug smile splintered cruelly across his face—a smile that told her he knew exactly what she was feeling.

  Cassie felt sick. Her mind raced back over everything she thought she’d discovered: her mother’s name, Rose, the existence of the School of Night at all. Elliot had been helping her every step of the way. It was his research that had guided her down this path, his information that led her to this moment.

  It had been him, all along.

  She realized with sickening powerlessness that Henry had set this up. He wanted her to discover them; he’d been pulling the strings since the moment she stepped foot in Oxford. Every discovery had been laid out for her to find; each piece of the puzzle had been delivered to her like a poisoned gift. He must know about Tremain being her father, that she was one of them. He was testing her, to see if she’d live or die by their ritual.

  She’d been played from the very beginning.

  Cassie wanted to run. The odds were against her now; there was surely no escape. But the group was filing into the tower, and Hugo was by her side, guiding her inside. She’d been here before, during her first official tour: tourists often traipsed through, climbing the twisting staircase up to admire the view from the top of the tower. But now, instead of heading up the stairs, the group had pushed aside a heavy tapestry, revealing a door in the base of the stairs. The tunnel beyond was dark, and full of shadows.

  Cassie paused, and she felt Hugo against her back. “Trust me,” he whispered, urging her on.

  She had no choice. It had all come to this. Cassie gathered her courage and stepped into the dark.

  33

  THE STAIRCASE TWISTED DOWN BENEATH THE COLLEGE, THE narrow path lit by torches bolted to the walls. The lights flickered, leading them on, until Cassie reckoned they must be beneath the great chapel. It was a twisted thought: that deep below the surface, generations had been worshipping a different power, hidden from sight and the world.

  She expected the air to turn damp, but the air remained cool and dry no matter how far down they went. Eventually, the tunnel opened into a series of anterooms, each with heavy barred doors. Finally, they emerged into a large, cavernous space, the walls hung with intricate old tapestries and oil paintings, perfectly preserved. The floor was sunk in a series of shallow circular shapes around a small pool of water, and at the head of the room a stone platform set with candles and a silver bowl served as an altar. Presiding over them all was the great man himself: a portrait of Sir Walter Raleigh, his expression aloof and determined.

  Hugo guided Cassie to the sunken area in front of the pool. The other offerings were arranged around it until they formed a circle; the members of the society took up positions behind them: a second ring, enclosing them.

  Cassie looked around the room, her heart beating rapidly, as the last member stepped inside and the doors swung shut behind them with a low boom. Every instinct was screaming at her to bolt. But it was too late. She forced herself to take a long breath and looked to Hugo, but his gaze was fixed on the ground, avoiding her eyes. Across the room, Tremain did meet her eyes, and gave a jerky nod, but the uncertain expression on his face did nothing to soothe her racing nerves.

  Henry moved to stand in front of the altar. “Here, in the place our legacy began, we come together to renew our sacred bonds,” he began. Other members started chanting along with him, a low hum that chilled Cassie to her core. How many times had they all s
poken these words? Made their sacrifices? “To build greatness, to pursue the highest virtues of all. We make our offerings to you in the darkness, that we may be made strong and know the purity of your great gift.” Henry took a knife from the altar and held it aloft. Cassie could see the strangely curved blade, and an ornate jeweled hilt. “From blood, to blood,” Henry intoned, slowly drawing the blade across his palm. He stepped down to the middle of the arena and let the drops fall, dark into the pool. “This is my claim.”

  He held out the knife and Hugo moved past Cassie, repeating the words in a hurried voice. He didn’t cut deeply enough with the first stroke and had to draw the knife across his skin a second time, wincing as the blood welled to the surface.

  “From blood, to blood.” One by one, the rest of the society members descended to the pool. Their blood dripped into the water, until it was a swirl of dark red in the dim light. Cassie’s heart beat faster with every passing moment. Their voices blended, echoing in the room until she couldn’t tell where one ended and the next began, an ominous chorus humming deep in the background.

  “And now, we make our offerings to you,” Henry announced. “They give themselves willingly, for the sake of our legacy and the true power. As it had been from the first and will be until the last.”

  Cassie felt hands on her shoulders and startled. Hugo had stepped closer, holding her as the rest of the members all moved to hold their offerings in some way: a hand on the crown of the head, a touch to the back. She could feel the heat of his body, just inches behind her, and the tremor in his hand. “Shh, it’ll be all right,” he reassured her, as Henry began a Latin incantation. The words drifted over her, foreign and weighty in the dim light. Lewis was beside her, shaking like a leaf, and on her other side, Paige was stroking her girl’s hair, soothing, whispering in her ear as if to keep her from bolting.