Darke Academy 2: Blood Ties

by Gabriella Poole

  Outside Jake’s parents’ apartment were well-tended plants and a scuffed Welcome mat. ‘If only that were true,’ Cassie muttered.

  Isabella ignored her. Taking a deep breath, she rattled the brass knocker, and almost immediately the cheerful sky-blue door jerked open.

  ‘Honey, thank God you’re back – oh!’ The woman staring at Isabella had obviously been expecting someone else, because she took a breath and closed her mouth mid-sentence.

  She was very good-looking – well, thought Cassie as she remembered Jake, of course she was – but there were shadows under her red-rimmed eyes, and her face was drawn with anxiety. Her tawny hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her teeth bit into her lip.

  ‘Sorry. I thought you were— Oh my …’ Jake’s mother tailed off again as her nervous gaze found Cassie. Her eyes lingered on her for an uncomfortable moment, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Then she shook her head. ‘I apologise. It’s just you … you look so much like my daughter.’

  Cassie found herself taking a step back. She dropped her eyes, swallowing hard. ‘I’m Jake’s friend, Cassie. And this is Isabella.’

  Recognition, followed by discomfort, seemed to flicker across Mrs Johnson’s face. ‘Oh. Isabella. Jake’s girlfriend … He’s mentioned you.’

  ‘Janice?’ came a deep voice from further inside the apartment. ‘Who is it?’

  A moment later, a man appeared at Mrs Johnson’s side. He was unmistakably Jake’s father: tall and handsome, but his large brown eyes too were shadowed with worry. He also seemed surprised to find Cassie and Isabella standing at his door.

  ‘That’s right, I’m Jake’s girlfriend,’ Isabella continued. She took a breath and extended her hand. ‘It’s good to meet you, Mrs Johnson. Mr Johnson. Uh, is there any chance we could come in?’

  Flustered, Jake’s mother touched Isabella’s outstretched hand briefly, glancing over her shoulder at her husband. Then her eyes were drawn helplessly back to Cassie.

  ‘No, I … This isn’t a very good time, I’m sorry …’

  Isabella stepped forward. ‘Please, Mrs Johnson. We won’t take up much of your time. We just want to speak to Jake for a second. Is he here?’

  Mrs Johnson gave a shaky sigh. ‘No, he isn’t. He barely left the house all weekend. He was working on his computer the whole time. Then, this afternoon, he raced out like a tornado. He said he had found what he was looking for, but he had to go back to the Academy. Something about being traced. Listen, what’s going on? Jake wouldn’t tell us anything, but he was obviously worried about you, Isabella. He seemed to think that you were in some sort of danger – that the same thing that happened to Jessica might happen to you.’

  ‘He said that?’ Isabella swallowed.

  ‘Yes!’ snapped Mr Johnson. ‘What did he mean? Look, if you girls know something, you should tell us.’

  Cassie glanced at Isabella, but her face was suddenly calm as she replied, ‘I’m sorry, Mr and Mrs Johnson. Jake and I had an argument, and I think he may have misunderstood a few things. I think we’d better go. Sorry to have troubled you.’

  She gave a polite smile and turned to leave before Jake’s parents could say anything more. Cassie heard the Johnsons’ door slam shut as they made their way downstairs and into the slushy street. Wet snow was falling again. When she glanced up at the window of the apartment, Cassie saw the twitch of a blind, caught a last glimpse of Mr Johnson’s suspicious face.

  ‘We need a cab,’ said Isabella, scanning the streets for yellow paintwork, once again determined. ‘We need to find Jake. Something’s not right, something more than just seeing you feeding on me. Why else would he leave his parents’ apartment again?’

  ‘Isabella, I have to tell you something …’ Cassie’s voice caught in her throat, but there was nothing for it. Secrets and lies had got them into this mess. There was no point keeping things hidden any longer. Cassie took a deep breath.

  ‘I think we may not be the only ones looking for him.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Isabella visibly blanched, then let out a piercing wail.

  ‘The FBI?’

  The cab driver threw her an irritated look via his rear-view mirror.

  ‘Shhh!’

  ‘Cassie, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this!’

  Cassie took a deep breath, trying to avoid her friend’s incredulous gaze. She cleared her throat uncomfortably.

  ‘I’m sorry, Isabella. I should have told you about finding that printout, but I didn’t want to worry you until I’d had a chance to speak to Jake myself. But then he walked in on us and it all just—’

  Isabella’s hand suddenly closed around her own. She realised they were shaking.

  ‘OK, Cassie. It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that we talk to Jake and find out what’s going on.’

  They had managed to catch a cab after ten minutes of desperate flagging, but it felt like an age until they finally pulled up to the Academy. As they walked into the atrium, Cassie glanced back through the glass doors and her heart stopped. Stepping out of a silver saloon car were two burly, stone-faced men in identical suits and dark glasses. They barged past the girls and headed for the elevators. Their suits were cut generously at the armpits, Cassie noticed. She’d seen enough television cop shows to know that meant shoulder holsters.

  ‘Johnson’s room is on the third floor,’ muttered one of the men to his associate as they pushed the elevator call button.

  ‘Shit,’ Cassie whispered, nodding towards the men. ‘Isabella, we have to get to Jake’s room now.’

  ‘Let’s take the stairs.’ Isabella was already breaking into a run. They took the steps two at a time, and arrived, panting, at Jake’s room in a matter of seconds.

  ‘Jake!’ Isabella banged on his door so hard Cassie thought she might break it. ‘Jake, are you there? Please, Jake, open up.’

  Almost to their surprise, the door swung open. Jake stood before them, his expression stormy.

  ‘Forget it, Isabella, I can’t talk now.’

  ‘Jake, listen—’ Cassie began.

  ‘To you? No, thanks.’ Jake made to move past them.

  ‘The FBI,’ she blurted. ‘They know you’ve been accessing their files.’

  ‘I know that,’ snapped Jake. ‘They traced me to my parents’ house this afternoon. That’s why I came back here.’

  ‘Yeah, well I think they’re here now.’

  Jake froze. ‘What?’

  ‘Please,’ Cassie continued, ‘I don’t think we have much time—’

  Before she could finish, the elevator pinged, and footsteps began echoing down the hallway.

  ‘Someone’s coming,’ Isabella hissed. ‘Jake!’

  ‘Get out of here, both of you. I’ll deal with this.’

  The footsteps were getting closer, approaching the corner. Cassie grabbed Isabella’s arm.

  ‘He’s right. Isabella, come on!’ she said, beginning to drag her friend off in the opposite direction from the advancing steps.

  ‘Jake …’ Isabella started, reaching out briefly to touch his hand before Cassie pulled her away, back into the emergency stairwell. From there, they heard the footsteps reach Jake’s door.

  ‘Jacob Johnson?’ intoned a deep, stern voice. ‘Federal Bureau of Investigation. You’re under arrest.’

  * * *

  Cassie knew nothing would snap Isabella out of her desolate mood, but since the afternoon’s events she had refused to eat a bite and wouldn’t step outside of their room. What she needed was food; Cassie knew just how bad things looked through a film of hunger …

  The paper bag full of bagels was warm in her gloved hands, and it smelled delicious. She was on the point of dashing through the Academy’s glass doors when she spotted a familiar figure lounging against a limousine on the corner of the block.

  Richard – she’d recognise his silhouette anywhere.

  He saw Cassie at the same moment and straightened up. The way the streetlight
shone, it was impossible to make out his expression, but the car instantly drew away from the kerb, seeming to purr with malevolent satisfaction as it passed her.

  Cassie froze. The windows were tinted, but one of them was rolled down – the one Richard had been bent to – and the car’s occupant was in no hurry to raise it again. As the glass slid upwards, Cassie stared. A face smiled back at her with absolute chilling coldness: a pale, lovely face. One hand lifted lazily to push back silvery-blonde hair, revealing the familiar brutal scar. Then the black window shut, silently, and the car was gone into the East Side night.

  ‘Cassie!’ Richard’s call was panicked.

  Dropping the bag of bagels, Cassie stormed towards him, red mist shrouding her vision in an instant.

  ‘Cassie, look, it’s not what you think—’

  ‘Just when I think you can’t disgust me any further, Richard,’ she snarled, ‘you find some new low to sink to.’

  Cassie felt the heat prickling up her neck as the peculiar shimmering feeling spread out from her, just like at Carnegie Hall.

  Yes, Cassandra, it’s been too long since you let us play …

  ‘Cassie?’ Richard’s voice was uncertain now, but his stance was wary, poised for defence.

  She knew that if she looked at Richard a moment longer, she would do something they would both regret. With a massive effort, she turned away and the shimmering faded. ‘You’re not worth it.’

  She said it quite softly, to herself. But she had a feeling he heard her anyway.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Ranjit was late.

  Cassie checked her watch for the twentieth time. Isabella had finally decided to go for a walk to clear her head. Their room was still and silent as Cassie paced its length.

  She was due to meet with the Elders in thirty-five minutes and she’d have liked a bit of time to talk it over with Ranjit first, settle her nerves. At least she wasn’t fretting too much over her impending confrontation; she was too anxious about where Ranjit was now. She’d tried to get hold of him to fill him in on what had happened with Jake, but he wasn’t answering his phone, and wasn’t in his room.

  It wasn’t like him to break his word. Had something happened? She felt a little chill of fear. The way things had been going lately …

  She glanced at her watch again, at the minutes ticking inexorably by. Maybe she’d done something, said something? They’d had the argument about how to deal with Jake yesterday, but Ranjit had moved on from that, he’d been fine about it. Besides, now that issue had kind of been taken care of for them. And the way he’d kissed her, there can’t have been any confusion about where they stood.

  But he was such a puzzle. And kind of inscrutable sometimes. Could he have found out something about her power, something that was delaying him? In which case, he could at least phone. All that talk of being there for her, but where the hell was he then, the one time she really needed him? Cassie felt the stirrings of anger.

  Perhaps your hold on him isn’t tight enough, my dear. What did I tell you … ?

  ‘Not now, Estelle,’ Cassie said through gritted teeth.

  Her fury was dissipated by a rap at the door. Cassie gasped in relief. All right, now she could forgive and forget: he’d made it, and she didn’t care that he was late. She flung the door open.

  Blinking, Cassie stared. Instead of Ranjit, she was facing the squat, brutish porter Marat. The one who’d taken such delight in holding her down while Sir Alric injected her with the Tears. And she had a feeling his pleasure hadn’t been in saving her bacon.

  Marat jerked his head and stood back.

  ‘Now? I have to come now?’ Cassie looked in panic at her watch.

  Marat nodded silently and there seemed no point arguing. With a last regretful look at her room, Cassie tugged on her coat, closed the door and followed him. Ranjit would have to catch up. He probably knew where they were going.

  Which reminded her. ‘Where are we going?’

  No response.

  ‘Well, is it far?’

  The porter shook his head slowly.

  ‘You’re a mine of information.’

  As she followed Marat out of the Academy’s doors and on to Fifth Avenue, a blast of cold air chilled her to the core.

  Ranjit, she thought, please come on …

  Snow was falling again, but it wasn’t the thick, soft flakes that at least left the city looking beautiful. This was the driving half-sleet, turning to slush almost as soon as it fell. The wind was biting. Cassie didn’t want to hang about; she climbed into the black car as soon as Marat opened the door, huddling into Isabella’s vicuna jersey for comfort.

  Marat wasn’t kidding about not far. He drove her south on Fifth Avenue and past Central Park, but only as far as 42nd Street. Staring nervously out of the car window, Cassie wished desperately she could be out there among the lights and the hurrying crowds – even the whirling snow – if it meant she could avoid facing the Elders alone.

  Alone. She shouldn’t be alone.

  ‘You have a right to a Supporter,’ Ranjit had said. ‘I’m not going to let you go alone …’

  But so far, he had. He’d left her to it and she was on her own. Fine. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d coped by herself. It was fine.

  If only it didn’t terrify her so much.

  Marat had stopped the car. Cassie didn’t want him to step out and open the door, she didn’t want to leave the car’s comforting leather-scented warmth, but there was no choice. Through the wild snow flurries and the skeletal tree branches she made out a majestic marble facade, pillared and arched and floodlit: the New York Public Library. Things were getting stranger by the minute. Marat led her between two massive marble lions, and as she nervously followed, she heard him speak for the first time.

  ‘Patience and Fortitude,’ he muttered, and gave a barking laugh she didn’t like at all.

  Was that what he reckoned she needed? No, she decided: he was talking about the lions. She glanced nervously back at them. They seemed solid and almost friendly despite their size. Anyway, she’d sooner face two giant cats than what waited for her inside …

  Wish me luck, she told them mentally, and then she was trailing Marat through the revolving doors and into a magnificent entrance hall.

  The interior was spectacular. Its elegance reminded her more than anywhere else in New York of the Darke Academy in Paris – the sweeping staircases, the white marble columns, the tall arched windows, the painted ceilings. It would have taken her breath away, if she’d had any to spare. As it was, she felt small and vulnerable. Marat was enjoying her discomfort at this mystery tour, she knew it. Cassie, meanwhile, was feeling increasingly intimidated by the height of the marble ceilings and the splendid paintings of gods and mythical creatures. It didn’t help that they were reminding her of her train station date with Ranjit. God, where was he … ?

  Enough! she told herself. Don’t worry about Ranjit! He’d be here eventually. She knew he would: he’d promised.

  There were plenty of people milling around, but no one challenged Marat as he led her along corridors and through ranks of reading desks. No one caught her eye, not even the security guards, but she saw Marat give one of them a sly nod as he led her deeper and deeper into the library. Now there were fewer people about. Lights glowed, but in corners and passageways the shadows were thick. The warren of corridors seemed endless, as if she’d never find her way out. Cassie shivered.

  Finally, Marat came to a large oak door. Without hesitating, he pushed it open and led her into a large, shadowy room, closing the heavy door behind her with a thud. It was as splendid as anywhere else in the library, panelled in dark wood and lit by sconces, but she couldn’t pause to admire the ornate marble fireplace or the huge tapestries flanking it. A long and beautifully carved table faced her, with twenty or more figures seated silently behind it on gilded chairs. Candles in silver holders cast flickering light on to their shadowed faces, so that Cassie could see only flashes of featur
e: an ear, a sharp cheekbone, an aquiline nose. What she could see best, though, was the glint of their eyes – and every single one was fixed on her.

  As her own vision adjusted to the dimness she held her breath. However obscured by shadows, some of these faces were familiar. Two strikingly beautiful women and one man were instantly recognisable film actors. There were faces that were completely unknown to her, too, but she definitely knew that high-profile entrepreneur, and that fashion designer. She even knew the female senator who’d stood in the last Presidential race. And the British cabinet minister – wasn’t he in New York on a trade mission? That’s what it had said in the paper …

  They observed her wordlessly. Were they waiting for her to speak? OK, she’d played a game or two of chicken in her life, but this was pretty unnerving. A chair had been set down facing them; she didn’t wait for an invitation, but sat down. Crossed her ankles. Uncrossed them again.

  Studying the line of impassive faces, she did a double take as she spotted Sir Alric Darke. He gave the tiniest nod of acknowledgement, but she’d never seen him look so severe. Creepier and curiouser … And there was even something familiar about the ice-blonde woman who sat beside Sir Alric, directly in front of Cassie and in the centre of the table. She had blade-sharp features, and possibly the coldest eyes Cassie had ever seen. Possibly. She’d seen a similar gaze before …

  The voice that finally broke the silence was dry, dispassionate, and terrifying.

  ‘The Council of Elders is called to order. Brigitte Svensson presiding.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ‘So, Miss Bell. Perhaps you would like to explain your recent … episode?’

  Cassie hooked one ankle over the other again, and clasped her hands round her knees. There. That might stop them shaking. And doing that made her sit forward a bit, so that she couldn’t flinch back from Katerina’s mother.

  It must be her. The name, the icy beauty, the hatred oozing out of every pore. Unless Katerina had aged overnight, Brigitte Svensson had to be the mother of Cassie’s nemesis.