The fire alarms had finally been switched off, and St Wilfred’s grounds were uncannily quiet. With the stone spires and cloistered walkways, it was like being alone in a castle. It was nice to be by themselves.
‘What happened back there?’ Sacha cast a sideways glance at her. ‘Why did you walk towards him? Was he hypnotising you or something?’
Taylor, who hadn’t yet worked out that answer for herself, stared across the empty quad. Golden blades of late afternoon sunlight stretched towards them.
‘I don’t really know,’ she admitted. ‘I can’t explain it. Whatever that was, I couldn’t fight it at all. I don’t even remember walking. I remember that cane, the snake, its horrible eyes… and all of a sudden I was in front of him. If you hadn’t grabbed me, I think I might have walked right up to him. Sacha, he would have killed me.’ She took a sharp breath. ‘And I would have let him.’
Sacha stared. ‘Why? I don’t understand.’
‘I don’t know,’ she said again, a defensive edge to her voice. ‘I’ve never experienced anything like it. It was incredibly powerful. It took over everything. It’s like I wasn’t me anymore.’ She shuddered. ‘It was terrifying.’
More than a minute passed before either of them spoke again.
‘At least you know what to expect now,’ he said. ‘Next time you’ll be ready.’
All the tension of the afternoon coalesced into that one phrase. The one thing that wasn’t true.
‘I’m not ready to fight him, Sacha,’ she said. ‘He is unbelievably powerful. I can’t even lift rocks. You have to accept it. I can’t beat him.’
‘Don’t say that.’ His voice was sharp. ‘Don’t say you can’t.’ She opened her mouth to argue but he talked over her. ‘You’re not weak. You can’t be’ – he raked his fingers through his hair with frustration – ‘fatalist. Merde. I do not know the English word.’
Taylor rounded on him.
‘What do you know about it? I’m telling you he is unbeatable and your response to that is “you’re fine”? That’s just bollocks.’
They stopped walking.
‘You’re twisting my words. That is not what I said,’ he argued.
‘Yes it was.’
They glowered at each other.
‘Well, maybe if you and the other alchemists didn’t shut me out of everything, I might have more useful advice,’ he snapped.
She rolled her eyes. ‘What does that even mean?’
‘You know what it means.’ His voice rose. ‘You go out and train without me, leaving me locked up in the library. You all stand around watching me die and come back like I am an experiment to be studied. It’s horrible. Inhuman.’
‘Nobody is experimenting on you.’
‘Well,’ he said, folding his arms. ‘Not you. You’re off with Louisa all the time, training.’
It was the wounded look in his sea-blue eyes that did it.
As quickly as it began, the storm passed. Taylor took a half-step towards him.
‘Oh Sacha, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why I got angry. You’re right. It is horrible.’
He let out a long breath.
‘It’s not your fault,’ he conceded, softening. ‘But I have to tell you the truth – I don’t like it here, Taylor. Aside from you, the only person who’s nice to me is Alastair. Everyone else treats me like a freak.’ He kicked a pebble off the path. ‘I hate it.’
‘They treat me that way, too,’ she said, thinking of the stares and the whispers.
‘No they don’t.’ He held her gaze. ‘You’re one of them. I never will be.’
She couldn’t argue with that.
‘I meant what I said earlier,’ he continued. ‘I didn’t want to be insulting, or pretend I know everything. But you can defeat him.’
Taylor’s throat tightened.
She longed to believe him but she felt so defeated. Her actions had got him killed today. And the Dark practitioner had controlled her like a puppet.
‘How do you know that?’
‘I know you.’ Unexpectedly, he reached for her hand, pulling her closer. ‘I know how strong you are. That’s all I need to know.’
They were so close she could feel the heat of his body. Smell his scent of soap and dust.
It was hard to breathe when he was so near – her lungs seemed to stop working properly.
He moved even closer. Near enough to hug. Or to kiss. Did he want that? Did she want that?
‘Please don’t be angry, Taylor…’ he whispered, and she felt his breath on her face, warm and soft.
‘I’m not angry.’ Her lips parted to say something else, or to kiss him – she wasn’t sure which. His proximity made it hard to think all of a sudden. His hand began to slide up her arm.
‘Oh good, there you are.’
They jumped apart guiltily, and turned to see Alastair walking towards them from the direction of the administration building.
‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’ His tone was mild, but his eyes were knowing.
Taylor’s cheeks burned.
‘We were just talking,’ she heard herself say, and she could have kicked herself.
His eyebrows winged up.
‘I’ve been sent as a messenger boy,’ he said, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘The dean wants you to head over to his office. Says there’s something you need to know.’
* * *
When they reached the imposing lobby of the administration building, the sun was beginning to dip, sending long shadows across the grey marble floor.
The place was usually packed with professors and school administrators, but now the lobby had a hollow, empty feel. Rows of orderly columns held up an ornate plaster ceiling that soared high overhead. Enormous windows let in a flood of fading lemony light. Even the art was intimidating – the walls held huge oil paintings of tall-masted ships atop roiling grey-blue waves. Somewhere, in an office they could not see, a phone rang and rang, unanswered.
All the way there, Taylor remained silent, trying to figure out what had just happened. Had they really been about to kiss? Or maybe not? Was he just being nice?
Sacha’s expression gave nothing away – he was walking alongside Alastair, always just a few steps ahead of her.
What if he was embarrassed? What if she’d misunderstood the signals and now he didn’t know how to tell her he didn’t like her that way?
Oh God, she thought with a sudden flash of icy conviction. That’s probably it.
She didn’t know what had made her think he wanted to kiss her. They’d never been anything other than friends. He’d put his arm around her from time to time when she was upset, but that was all.
She’d just misunderstood. Now he wouldn’t look at her.
God, what was wrong with her? The school was about to be destroyed, they were all about to die and she was thinking about kissing Sacha who didn’t even like her that way.
I’m in shock, she decided. Or maybe I’m having a nervous breakdown.
That would be her excuse if Sacha brought it up later.
‘Sorry I tried to kiss you,’ she would explain. ‘I was having a nervous breakdown.’
They hurried up the wide, sweeping marble staircase. Alastair and Sacha took the steps two at a time. Taylor fell behind.
By the time she reached the top, the others were already heading down the long corridor to where Louisa stood with the dean outside his office. As Taylor turned to follow them, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out hurriedly and glanced at the screen. It was a text from Georgie:
Bored and trying to decide what colour to paint my nails. Sunset Lava or Organic Fuchsia. HELP.
The message might as well have come from another planet.
She shoved the phone back into her pocket without responding.
The hallway ahead of her was lined on one side with portraits of all the former deans at St Wilfred’s. The first images were paintings of fierce-looking men and women in old-fashioned clothing. Aft
er a while, there were no more paintings – photographs took over. At first black and white, then, colour. The last image was of the current dean, who stood watching her now.
Tall and thin in a dark blue suit, Jones was a little apart from the students, hands clasped behind his back, his pale, angular face impossible to read.
Ever since she’d arrived at St Wilfred’s, Taylor had been trying to decide whether or not she liked him. He was consistently polite but distant. She had the feeling he was watching her closely. Judging her.
She hadn’t liked how he’d handled Sacha’s death, but she had been impressed by his actions in battle. He’d been an avenging warrior – fearless and ferocious.
She’d never seen that side of him before.
‘Good,’ the dean said as she neared. ‘We’re all here. Now we can begin. I’m not going to make you wait to find out why you’re here.’ His cool blue eyes swept the circle of faces. ‘Today, we learned who we are up against. We are up against Mortimer Pierce.’
He pointed at the photograph hanging on the wall next to his own image.
The man in the photo stood in front of a desk. He had thick dark hair and a thin moustache. He looked deeply ordinary. Taylor took a step forward to see his face more closely. The photo was more than a decade old. The man’s hair was grey now, and his face no longer smooth and unlined. But, those were the same small, dangerous eyes.
She heard Louisa’s quick intake of breath; Alastair swore under his breath.
So they hadn’t known either.
Taylor turned to the dean, apprehension settling in her chest like a stone. ‘Why is his picture on this wall?’
‘Mortimer Pierce was Dean of St Wilfred’s until fifteen years ago,’ Jones explained calmly. ‘He disappeared after he left the college. And now we know why.’
For once lost for expletives, Alastair stared at the dean with disbelief on his tired face.
‘Tell me this is a joke, Jones. Come on.’ But the anger in his voice said he already knew it wasn’t funny at all.
‘I wish it was,’ the dean said quietly.
‘Dammit.’ At his sides, Alastair’s hands curled into fists.
Louisa stepped forward, eyes blazing. ‘How did we miss this?’
‘We always knew we were up against an insider.’ Jones’ voice was steady. ‘I never once suspected it could be Mortimer. How could it be him?’
For a fleeting second, there was real emotion in his expression, and he turned away, rubbing a hand across his face.
‘All right, let’s think this through.’ Louisa took a deep breath. Calming down. ‘This explains everything. How he got past our defences to Aldrich. Why he knows so much about how we work.’
‘But it doesn’t explain what happened today,’ Alastair pointed out. ‘His strength was exponential. That thing with the cane – that’s not alchemical.’
‘That was demonic energy.’ The dean raised his head. ‘It had to be.’
There was a pause as they absorbed this.
‘Demonic…’ Louisa exhaled.
‘Incredible,’ Alastair said.
Their earlier rancour was forgotten. They were a team again.
Taylor couldn’t believe it.
‘That’s it?’ She stared at them. ‘You’re all over it now? A dean of St Wilfred’s turned Dark and you didn’t know? A dean murdered my grandfather? And you didn’t know?’
Her angry voice echoed in the quiet building.
Instead of replying, Jones pushed open the door to his office and motioned for everyone to follow.
‘Come in,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you all I can.’
Eight
The dean’s office was cool and austere, with the clean, lemony smell of furniture polish. A modern desk dominated one end of the room; the school’s red and gold flag stood in a corner nearby.
Jones directed everyone to a table at the other end of the room.
Sacha lowered himself into a chair across from Taylor and looked around guardedly. Taylor was biting her lip, her brow creased. Louisa and Alastair sat together at one end.
Alone at the opposite end of the table, Jones set a manila folder down in front of him.
‘I will get to the hows and the whys in a moment, but first I want to tell you that our goal remains the same. We must understand the curse that threatens Sacha.’ His gaze flickered in Sacha’s direction. ‘We must stop it from coming to pass. We are still fighting the same battle. Now we have something we lacked before: knowledge.’
He glanced at Louisa and Alastair. ‘I know what the two of you are going to say. But for now, we must focus on keeping the college safe. We must continue to immerse ourselves in research. There will be no hunt for Mortimer Pierce in the short term – first we will need to understand the demonic power he used today. And prepare.’
‘You can’t be serious.’ Louisa’s expression was incredulous. ‘We don’t have time to read books. Mortimer Pierce has to be stopped. He’s one of us. He knows how we work, our practices, our plans, where we live. He can walk right through our defences. We have to go after him right now.’
‘I am fully aware of what Mortimer knows,’ Jones said. ‘Nonetheless, we must approach this situation in a calm and professional way. We have two hundred and fifty students who need us to keep them safe. You saw what we were facing out there today. We can’t fight that. We don’t even know what it is.’
‘We will figure it out.’ Louisa’s voice rose sharply.
‘At what point?’ the dean asked. ‘And at what cost?’
‘The problem is, we haven’t got time for anything else,’ Alastair said.
‘We must approach this rationally —’ the dean began but Louisa cut him off.
‘Your bloody rationality will get us all killed.’
‘Oh, stop being so dramatic.’ Jones’ voice grew icy. ‘Louisa, Aldrich may have been endlessly patient with you, but I am not going to let you say anything you want, whenever you wish. If you’re in a meeting, you must behave.’
Louisa’s face reddened. For the first time, Sacha felt sorry for her. The dean, he felt, was being unduly harsh. Also, he thought Louisa was completely right. They’d done nothing but research for weeks. It was time to fight or die.
Before he could say any of this, though, Louisa stood up, her hands on her hips. With the dark tattoos snaking down her arms and up her bare legs from her ankles, even in denim cut-offs and a vest she looked like a pagan warrior princess.
‘Screw your rules.’
‘Please sit down, Louisa,’ Jones said. ‘Let’s keep this civilised.’
But Sacha could see she wasn’t about to back down. Every muscle in her body was tense.
‘Our lives are being destroyed and you want us to stay civilised?’
‘As a matter of fact,’ the dean responded, ‘I do.’
‘Well you’re an idiot, then,’ Louisa said. ‘I’m not going to sit here and have a business meeting about Mortimer Pierce. I’m going to go find him.’
She stormed from the room without looking back, the angry thumps of her biker boots against the marble floor fading slowly in the distance.
Alastair half-stood, as if to follow her, but the dean stopped him.
‘Please wait, Alastair.’ There was weariness in his tone. ‘I’ll need you to tell her later what we discussed. She will want to know.’
Alastair hesitated then, with slow reluctance, sat again.
‘She’s not wrong, you know,’ he said. ‘You were too hard on her.’
‘I will give her views due consideration,’ the dean said with a sigh.
Sacha decided now was the time to enter this conversation.
‘I just want to know how you are going to stop Mortimer Pierce. What if it had been Taylor he killed today, instead of me? This is…’ He paused, searching for the right English phrase. ‘… a mess.’ It wasn’t the phrase he wanted, but it would have to do. ‘I thought we were safe here.’
‘I’m afraid, Sacha, you are not s
afe anywhere. Not as long as Mortimer Pierce is alive.’ The dean opened the file folder. ‘You see, Pierce is one of the most brilliant alchemists I’ve ever met. He was a professor when I was a student.’ His gaze settled momentarily on Taylor. ‘Your extraordinary power, Miss Montclair, is a natural gift bestowed by your lineage. Mortimer’s gift is the product of sheer determination and a brilliant mind. He truly understood the science of what we do. He read the histories of alchemy, studied the ancient manuscripts. His intellect was voracious. He became assistant dean while still in his twenties, and then dean fifteen years later. He was on a fast track to the very top. Until something went wrong.’
They’d all fallen quiet. Even Alastair had tilted his long frame forward as if hanging on every word.
‘Our rules strictly limit how we can use our abilities, as you know,’ Jones continued. ‘We cannot influence government or courts. Our work must be benign and scientific. That has been the situation for hundreds of years. Mortimer broke those rules. He came to believe in a new natural selection. The extra gene we all share – he believed it represented evolution in practice. He once told me, “We are modern gods.”’ Jones shook his head. ‘The more he studied, the more he believed in this mad theory. That we are not just unique – we are destined to rule. We alchemists are… God.’
His fingers toyed with the folder.
‘Inevitably, he went too far. He challenged the board of governors. He threatened the life of a former dean who dared to speak out against the dangers of his teachings. Eventually, the board voted to remove his tenure and deny him teaching rights. The move was unprecedented. The greatest humiliation imaginable.’
Sacha waited for more, but Jones had fallen silent.
‘When did he go Dark?’ Taylor asked.
‘That’s the problem,’ Jones said. ‘We didn’t know until today that he had.’
He picked up the top paper from the file in front of him.
‘For a time after his dismissal, Pierce stayed in Oxford. In fact, we believe he lived here for three years before disappearing. He claimed he was relocating to London to pursue other interests, but I now suspect this was when he began researching demonic techniques in earnest. In the subsequent years, he visited alchemical institutes in Germany, Spain, Morocco and France, conducting research in their libraries. It seems obvious now that he was looking for something quite specific. A book that could tell him how to raise a demon.’ He closed the file carefully, neatly. ‘And what’s more than clear, too, is that somewhere along the way he found what he was looking for.’
The Secret City Page 5