Secret Lives

by Gabriella Poole

  ‘But of course he was. Now, I think we’ve seen everything except the gardens. And the sixth-form building, of course, but that is separate, on the other side of the street. Meanwhile, here we are! Back at the main entrance hall.’

  Really? Cassie must have lost her bearings. She had been in this soaring space before, of course, but only just, peering in to watch Madame Azzedine disappear into the shadows. Now she had to gasp.

  A great curving staircase swept down from where they stood to a marble-tiled hallway. The stairs were supported by massive pillars, and between each pillar was a white statue on a plinth. Gods and monsters again, gleaming like alabaster. The gilding was lavish enough to take Cassie’s breath away, and even Isabella was starry-eyed with pride.

  ‘Isn’t it beautiful, Cassie? I hope we will stay here longer than a term. It is one of the most beautiful venues we have had. Well, in my time. I think the school has been here before, but a very long time ago.’

  ‘What d’you mean? It hasn’t always been here?’

  With a peal of laughter, Isabella linked her arm through Cassie’s. ‘We have only just come here! The Academy moves every term, you didn’t know?’

  ‘No. Every term? Seriously?’

  ‘Every term. Last term we were in Sydney! So exciting. Spring term, Moscow. And last year at this time it was Rio de Janeiro! I loved Rio.’

  Cassie gaped. ‘It moves all over the world?’

  ‘But of course! With the Academy I have studied in Cape Town, in Bangkok, in Madrid … Oh, I can barely remember.’ Isabella tossed her hair. ‘It is what makes it so exciting to be a student here. They did not tell you this?’

  ‘No, they never said. But I mean, why move?’ Cassie was surprised at the stab of disappointment. ‘It’s so beautiful here.’

  ‘Everywhere the Academy goes is beautiful,’ said Isabella dismissively. ‘Sir Alric would not have it any other way. Ah! Jake! Jake Johnson! Don’t you dare pretend you haven’t seen me!’

  At the foot of the stairs a boy turned from a blonde girl and looked up. Close-cropped brown hair and beaten-up jeans: Cassie recognised him straight away. The American – the macho one with the bad manners. He grinned up at Isabella as she ran down the stairs two at a time, then glanced at Cassie, raising a hand in hesitant greeting. There was no time for more. Isabella threw herself into his arms and gave him a smacking kiss on each cheek.

  Which was brave, thought Cassie, considering how Jake’s companion was glaring at her.

  If Jake was good-looking, the blonde girl was stunning. Her eyes were icy-blue and her face was rigid with disdain, but she was still beautiful. Like the Snow Queen, thought Cassie, remembering old picture books. The diamonds sparkling in her ears weren’t as hard and cold as she was, but boy, was she lovely. Her skin was just radiant. Like winter sun.

  ‘Jake!’ whooped Isabella, detaching herself.

  ‘It’s great to see you, Isabella,’ he said, with a sidelong glance at the blonde goddess.

  There was something formal and withdrawn in his tone, and Isabella’s face clouded with disappointment. Her smile grew a little nervous as she turned to the blonde. ‘Hello, Katerina.’

  ‘Hello, Isabella.’

  The voice was throaty, the accent clipped. Scandinavian? wondered Cassie. German? She was reminded of old movies on boring Saturday afternoons in Cranlake Crescent. Katerina was ethereal and distant, like Greta Garbo, maybe, or Ingrid Bergman. Cool as a Hitchcock blonde.

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful to be back, darling? And who is this?’ Her intent smile made Cassie fidget. ‘Were we permitted to bring personal staff this term? I wish they had told me.’

  Blood rushed to Isabella’s face. ‘No, Katerina, this is—’

  Managing to contain her irritation – just – Cassie made herself hold out her hand. ‘I’m Cassie Bell. I’m the new scholarship girl.’

  Isabella sagged with relief. Katerina put her fingers to her mouth.

  ‘Oh, do forgive me.’ Gracefully she took Cassie’s extended hand. ‘Always, always I am so clumsy. Am I not, Jake?’ Her smile sparkled.

  ‘No way, Katerina!’

  ‘That’s kind of you, Jake. Cassie, welcome to the Academy. I’m sure it will be a completely new experience for you, and that you will learn very much.’

  With a superhuman effort, Cassie kept smiling. She wished Katerina would wipe her own off her face. The girl was all teeth.

  ‘Well. So much to do. The Few have called a Congress for tomorrow, and I must help with the preparations.’ She gave Isabella a glance that to Cassie seemed sly and taunting.

  Oh, for crying out loud, thought Cassie. Her imagination was working in overdrive. Katerina had smiled at Isabella, that was all. The girl had the tact and sensitivity of a Rottweiler, but she wasn’t Cruella de Vil. If Cassie didn’t stop making these snap judgements, she was never going to make any friends.

  ‘Bye, Katerina,’ she managed. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  ‘Likewise, I’m sure. Goodbye, Jake.’ Katerina let her hand linger on his arm. ‘I’ll see you later.’ With a last smile, she stalked off, graceful as a panther.

  Isabella had fallen silent. Jake’s cheekbones reddened as he stared after Katerina with yearning. Cassie cleared her throat and swallowed her pride.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said brightly. ‘You saved me from a messy death this morning.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Under a car? At the gate?’

  ‘Oh. Yeah.’ Jake scratched his neck awkwardly. ‘That’s OK. I’m sorry I was kinda curt. You gave me a … a fright.’

  ‘Well. They wouldn’t really have run me over, of course.’

  ‘You reckon?’ he said darkly, before abruptly changing the subject. ‘So you’re enjoying Fresh Meat Day?’

  Cassie made a face. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Jake!’ scolded Isabella.

  ‘I’m sorry, did I say Fresh Meat? I meant Freshman Day, of course.’ Cassie blinked at his bitter sarcasm. ‘Listen, Isabella, it’s great to see you, but I need to go register for classes. See you later, ’kay?’

  ‘Oh. OK.’ Her disappointment was way too obvious.

  ‘Nice to meet you, then,’ said Cassie.

  ‘And you,’ said Jake abruptly. ‘Welcome to the Academy. Oh, Isabella?’

  ‘Yes, Jake?’

  For heaven’s sake, thought Cassie. The girl might as well have Ask anything of me tattooed on her forehead.

  Jake nodded at Cassie, but he was looking at Isabella. ‘Take care of her, OK? You know this place. She doesn’t.’

  ‘Sure, Jake. You know I will.’

  ‘Patronising git,’ muttered Cassie as he strode away.

  Isabella tore her gaze away from his retreating back to stare at Cassie. ‘No, really, he’s just a bit …’

  Cassie gave her a slow grin.

  Isabella shrugged, bit her lip ruefully. ‘Just a bit up himself?’

  ‘You got it.’

  They both laughed, Isabella a little too hysterically.

  Isabella linked her arm through Cassie’s. ‘Let’s go and register.’

  ‘All right. I—’

  Something prickled the back of Cassie’s neck. Frowning, she turned.

  At the curve of the stairs stood a boy, immaculately dressed in a stylish black suit. A book was open in his hand, but he wasn’t reading it; he was watching her, intently, and he seemed to be holding his breath. She expected him to be embarrassed, but he didn’t turn away. His dark, pellucid stare was riveted on hers, but he didn’t smile.

  Cassie didn’t either. Her neck tingled again. She felt a sort of thrilling surprise at his nerve, but if he wasn’t going to look away, why should she? He was black-haired, tawny-skinned, and beautiful. As beautiful as Katerina, but in a different way. His beauty wasn’t cold. It was serious and warm and the word noble popped into her head—

  For God’s sake! What was she thinking? She tugged at Isabella’s arm.

  ‘Come on!’ she hissed.

  ‘It
’s OK.’ There was laughter in Isabella’s voice. ‘You can look, you know. You might as well. That is all anyone gets to do with him.’

  ‘Why?’ She would not, would not, would not turn back to see if he was still there. Even though the effort was killing her.

  ‘That,’ said Isabella, ‘is Ranjit Singh.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  Cassie kicked off the last cotton sheet and lay spreadeagled, staring up mesmerised at the chandelier. It winked in the moonlight, tinkling gently. Half an hour ago she’d pulled the heavy damask curtains a little apart and slid the window open, but it hadn’t helped. The room was too hot, the bed way too soft. Her cheap supermarket pyjama T-shirt clung to her skin. And Isabella, sleeping the comatose sleep of the innocent, was snoring gently.

  Cassie gave her roommate a wry grin. Nice that even tempestuous Latin American beauties snored. Anyway, Cassie had no intention of waking her. Of course Isabella wasn’t going to be as over-excited as a scholarship girl on her first night.

  Oh, this was hopeless. Sliding off the bed, she padded back to the window and pulled the curtain a little wider. Recognisable landmarks sparkled like huge jewels, familiar from the books Patrick had shown her: the Arc de Triomphe, the towering obelisk in the place de la Concorde, the Eiffel Tower. Earlier tonight, Isabella had hauled her across to the window.

  ‘It’s so beautiful, look! La ville lumière, Cassie – the City of Light!’ Isabella had laughed with delight. ‘What better place for the Darke Academy?’

  Their room was three floors up. How much more, Cassie wondered, would she see from the top?

  In the oppressive heat Cassie couldn’t bear to pull on her dressing gown and slippers. Anyway, her T-shirt-and-baggies ensemble was perfectly decent, if a bit lacking in the Parisian style department. As she eased open the door, Isabella stirred, turned over, and resumed her snoring. Exhaling, Cassie slipped out into the corridor.

  She was relieved to see that small wall lamps burned softly, creating pools of light in the darkness. Not that she was afraid of the dark. She knew there were worse things to be afraid of than ghosts and vampires and werewolves.

  Words, for instance. Words were like fangs, if they were sharpened by an expert like Jilly Beaton. Words could bite deep.

  Oh, you’re a worthless little slut, Cassandra Bell. Even a worthless big slut like your mother didn’t want you.

  She used to be scared of Jilly Beaton. Too scared to tell anyone about her vile bullying.

  No one will believe you, anyway, filthy little liar that you are! It’s in your file – compulsive liar. You try telling anyone and I’ll have your privileges withdrawn again.

  So Cassie never had told anyone. She learned to fend for herself instead. And as she got older and taller, and discovered that a cold, blank gaze of hatred worked better than crying or shouting, Jilly Beaton left her alone and picked on smaller kids instead. Only now Jilly never knew when she would turn away from tormenting some poor girl to find Cassie watching silently, her eyes full of the silent promise of retribution, one day. That seemed to put her off. Made her keep her distance and bought the other girls some relief, if only for a few weeks.

  Cassie shivered, wishing she’d worn her dressing gown after all. At least she’d had Patrick. She trusted him – just not with everything, that was all. He’d brought her out of herself, made her laugh, taught her she wasn’t worthless. And now here she was, at one of the most prestigious schools in the world.

  Life was funny …

  Barefoot, she crept towards the grand staircase. She wasn’t scared, but boy, this place was creepy. If she thought too much, if she listened too hard, she could almost hear sounds. Creaks. Whispers. The sigh of a faint breeze. A footfall.

  Oh, don’t be daft. She gave herself a mental slap.

  No. There it was again. Freezing, she strained to listen.

  Yes. Definitely. The sound came from below. A very soft step; if it hadn’t fallen on the marble floor of the entrance hall, she’d never have heard it. This wasn’t the careful tread of someone who didn’t want to disturb sleepers – it was someone who didn’t want to be discovered. Cassie knew the difference.

  An intruder? Hesitantly, she put a hand on the gilded banister and peered down into the gloom.

  Moonlight and shadows, and for an instant the hall was full of ghosts. Her heart turned over in her chest, but a second later Cassie recognised the white shapes. The statues she’d seen earlier.

  Something was still wrong, though. Achilles was slaying Hector, mercilessly, but there were only two marble figures on that plinth. So why were three shadows cast on to the floor?

  Someone was hiding. Whoever it was had ducked behind the plinth when they heard someone coming. Now Cassie could also hear unmuffled footsteps. As she watched, holding her breath, the squat porter appeared and stood still, silently alert.

  Cassie didn’t dare breathe, and she didn’t dare move back in case the movement drew his attention. She could only hope he wouldn’t look up. She couldn’t say why, but she knew, instinctively and for certain, that she didn’t want that dead-eyed, brutish porter to catch her out of her room. She wouldn’t want him to catch anyone. Not even a burglar.

  At last he turned, clearly unwilling to investigate every shadow in the hallway, and his footsteps faded.

  Beneath Hector’s dying body, the third shadow moved, slipping from the shelter of the statue and heading for the grand staircase. Her heart in her throat, Cassie backed away, hunting frantically for a place to hide. The prowler was going to come up the grand staircase – right past her. Damn. She went cold with fear. There were no convenient curtains, only shadows and a small alcove. She pressed herself back, staying absolutely still.

  His footfalls were almost silent now on the rich carpet, but when she sensed him coming she took a small breath and held it, making no sound. Except for her heart, of course, thrashing like a triphammer, but luckily he couldn’t hear that. Nor did he see her, as he passed close by like a phantom.

  Jake Johnson.

  She frowned. What was he up to? For a moment she longed to go back to her room. Her nice, safe, beautiful room with her softly snoring roommate. She could put up with a little insomnia.

  Only one thing wrong with that scenario, decided Cassie: she didn’t like night skulkers. They were never up to any good. If something was wrong, she wanted to be first to know. Knowledge was power: she’d learned that lesson well at Cranlake Crescent.

  Anyway, what was there to be afraid of? Waiting until Jake had turned on to the next landing, she slipped from the shadows and followed.

  Damn, he was good. His antennae were a lot better than Jilly Beaton’s. He knew to pause unexpectedly, to listen for someone following. He could move swiftly and use the darkness just like she did. At the top of the stairs, she almost lost the trail.

  He had slipped into an upper corridor. The blackness was more complete here on the deserted topmost floor: the ceiling was low and the only light leaked up from the lower levels. Cassie’s curiosity was strong enough to beat her nerves, though. She stepped into the corridor.

  As her eyes adjusted, she made out an arched smear of light. Curling her bare toes into the soft, comforting carpet, she took another trembling step, then another. OK: now she was committed. Go, Cassie! What are you scared of?

  Her progress was painfully slow. She half-expected Jake to leap out, but he was nowhere to be seen. Then, after far too long, she made out his silhouette ahead. About to hurry after him, she came to a dead halt.

  That couldn’t be another set of footsteps? Surely they had to be Jake’s.

  No. These steps were behind her. Less guarded, but still furtive. And definitely on the grand staircase. The sinister porter? Maybe. What would he do if he thought she’d been sneaking around? Shop her to the teachers? Or deal with her himself? And what if it wasn’t the porter …

  Oh, God.

  Cassie broke into an uncertain run. Just as panic began to swamp her, she saw the arch of light
grow larger, and then she was beneath it. Grabbing the plasterwork, she leaned back, trying to get her terrified breathing under control. Once more she heard a footfall, and made her decision. She swung round the corner and into a smaller stairway.

  It was like bright day after the terrible darkness of the corridor. She wasn’t even worried about alerting Jake any more; somehow that wouldn’t be as bad as being caught by whoever – or whatever – was behind her. Jake was a fast-moving blur, slipping round the stairs two floors down, but she was almost desperate to catch up with him now, whatever the consequences. Grabbing the banister, she went silently down.

  Reaching the third floor, Jake turned through an archway. Swallowing her fear, Cassie waited a moment. The footsteps behind her still echoed softly. Not much time. Setting her jaw, she peered cautiously round the corner.

  The new passageway was maybe thirty feet long. It was well, if eerily, lit by rows of small alcoves, each one occupied by a classical bust. Jake must have a colossal nerve, thought Cassie. The guard of marble heads looked scarily real, their blank eyeballs terrifying. Yet Jake must have passed between them, because he was crouching at a door at the end of the corridor, testing the handle.

  It wasn’t giving way to him. He worked something into the lock, pushing and twisting frantically, but when he tried the handle again it still didn’t give. He glanced fearfully up into the recesses on either side of the door, but nothing moved, no one challenged him. After a few more tries at the lock, he leaned against the door, pressing his head to the wood like someone in despair.

  Uh-oh. He was about to give up, and if he turned now he’d see her for sure. Time to go. Taking three quick steps backward, she hesitated.

  No way was she retreating upstairs to that pitch-black corridor, towards that second set of echoing footsteps. No. She’d go down instead, and try to find her way back another way. She plunged down the stairs, breaking into a half-run. If she could just get to the bottom, she’d be safe, she was sure. Almost there …