The Oxford Inheritance

by Ann A. McDonald

  “Cassie? What the hell? I’ve been calling all day!” Charlie’s voice was frantic with worry.

  “I’m sorry.” Cassie swallowed, her mouth dry. “I guess I didn’t hear.”

  “You can’t ignore my calls,” Charlie told her. “I was about to come over there and knock down the bloody door.”

  “I’m fine,” she told him, tired. “I just had a rough day. What’s going on?”

  “You might be right, about Rutledge,” Charlie replied. “I checked property records and nothing showed up. But there was an incident report from a town out in Wales, ten years ago. Police were called to an address there, and Rutledge is listed as a witness on the scene.”

  “What was the place?” Cassie asked, alert now.

  “A care facility,” he replied. “Long-term mental and elderly support.”

  “A psych ward?” Cassie breathed.

  “Near enough.” Charlie let out a sigh.

  Cassie looked around the room, trying to collect her thoughts. “How soon can we leave?”

  “I can’t get away. The chief’s put me on paperwork duty, and I’ll be snowed under all weekend,” Charlie replied. “If you can wait until next week, I’ll make some more calls, maybe we could find someone there who—”

  Cassie cut him off. “I’m going. Not next week, now. Tonight. There’s no time to wait. Whatever this rising they’re planning is, we need to know more. Rose is the only one with the answers now.”

  “But what if she’s in no state to give you any?”

  Cassie caught her breath. She didn’t know what the School of Night had done, but this was her chance to finally learn more about the society—and her mother. “Send me the address,” she told Charlie. “I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

  28

  CASSIE MADE HER WAY TO THE OXFORD RAIL STATION WHEN IT was still dark out the next morning. The streets were empty except for the garbage collectors and early deliverymen; still, she couldn’t help but check over her shoulder at every turn, wondering if the footsteps she heard behind her were real, or just the product of her nervous imagination. Ever since she’d heard about Elliot’s new job, it had struck her just how far the School of Night’s power extended. They knew enough to have the police cover up the suicides and press Charlie to stop his digging, but this was different: smaller, specific, and too close to her. Did they know about her own research yet? Who knew where else their power reached?

  When finally she spotted the station, brightly lit and just bustling to life, she let out a sigh of relief. She purchased her ticket, and a greasy morning sandwich from the stall just inside, but even when she was settled in a seat in a half-empty carriage, she couldn’t quite relax. As the train pulled away, and the houses and looming spires of Oxford gave way to the rolling green hills and fields of the countryside, Cassie rested her cheek against the cool glass and tried to pull herself together.

  Evil was lurking at Raleigh, the kind she’d never allowed herself to believe in before now. All her life, Cassie had known the terrible deeds humans could inflict upon each other, out of rage and lust and selfish desires. She’d always accepted with a numb resignation the sins that could reside in a man’s heart as a part of his nature. But this, this was a darker evil than she’d ever before imagined. This was unnatural. And if her theories were right, this had been happening for years. Decades.

  Centuries.

  And the darkness wasn’t just at Oxford, but spreading across the world, Rutledge had told them. Each new generation’s members of the society going their own way: feeding and using that power to fuel their own ambitions. Cassie shivered to imagine the power a group like this could wield for its own ends. Power that could form governments and start wars, power that could reshape the world in the society’s own selfish, cruel image.

  Could a group like that be stopped, with such a dark legacy running through it? Cassie watched the countryside bleed and blur into a mess of gray outside the windows, and she hoped with everything she had that Rose would have the answers. She was in too deep now to turn back.

  The train was almost empty by the time it deposited Cassie at a tiny, rural station, hours later. She stepped off the train alone to find the skies were dark and drizzling, and the countryside extended around her in a sea of murky green, one lone road twisting into the hills. The local stationmaster was the only sign of life, dozing on his stool behind the ticket counter.

  Cassie tapped on the window, her trepidation growing. “Excuse me?”

  He slowly blinked. “What’s that? Ah, yes. Can I help you?”

  “I’m looking to get to . . . Edgeley Falls Home.” Cassie checked her scribbled address. “I didn’t realize it was so far from everything.” She’d been imagining a town, at the very least, somewhere with taxis and streetlights and a place to stay for the night before the long trip back tomorrow.

  “Don’t worry, there’ll be a bus along soon.” The man checked the clock on the wall. “It’ll take you to Edgeley Village, about ten miles thataway.” He nodded vaguely.

  “Is that where the home is?”

  “No, for that you’ll need a car. Ask at the local pub for Arthur, and he’ll drive you out.”

  Cassie remembered Charlie’s insistence that she text regular updates. He’d been anxious enough about her going on this trip alone, she didn’t want him to worry more. She pulled out her phone to text him, but the stationmaster chortled.

  “No signal out here, love.”

  He was right. The bars marking her cell reception were completely flat.

  “It’s just the valley, you should have better luck in the village.”

  “Thanks.” Cassie picked up her bag and headed down the steps, waiting with a shiver at the bus stop on the corner. She looked around at the swath of nature and found herself wishing for the busy traffic of Oxford.

  The minutes ticked past until eventually a bus rolled into view from around the hill. Cassie bought a ticket to the village and climbed aboard, taking a seat behind a couple of women clutching grocery bags and gossiping loudly about their various family goings-on. By the time the bus pulled into a small village several miles later, Cassie knew the intimate details of their wayward sons’ lives and was almost reluctant to disembark and leave their friendly chatter behind.

  Edgeley Village itself was a touch more comforting than the wide open wilderness beyond: old houses clustered around an overgrown square, with a small church, general store, and wood-beamed pub on the corner. Cassie quickly texted Charlie to say she’d arrived, then headed for the pub and Arthur the taximan.

  “The home, eh?” The plump, brassy barmaid gave Cassie an inquisitive look. “What do you want up there?”

  “Just visiting,” Cassie said vaguely, casting a sideways glance at the other patrons, a cluster of old men in the corner and two boys who couldn’t have been more than sixteen, drinking pints of beer with feigned nonchalance. “The stationmaster said Arthur would take me up?”

  The barmaid clucked. “If you’d called ahead . . . Our Arthur just went out on a job to Withyham; he won’t be back until tonight.”

  Cassie’s heart fell.

  “You could always walk it,” the woman suggested.

  “Is it far?” Cassie asked, brightening.

  “Two miles, maybe, but the road takes you right up. You can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks.” Cassie cast another look outside the windows. She’d be back later than planned. “Is there any place to stay around here for the night?”

  “We have a room upstairs,” the barmaid replied. “Small enough, but it’s only twenty quid a night.”

  “I’ll take it. Thanks.”

  The weather didn’t seem to be clearing any time soon, but faced with a wasted day, Cassie resigned herself to the damp and set out, following the barmaid’s directions along the one country road. The wind whistled around her, sending chills down the edge of her coat and up under her cuffs, but Cassie put her head down and pressed on, and before too long, Ed
geley House loomed into view.

  Cassie stopped. Edgeley House was perched on the top of a hill, silhouetted against the cloudy sky: a square-fronted stone mansion, eerie and dark. She made her way through the heavy gates and up the drive, climbing the stairs to ring the front bell.

  After a moment, the door swung open. A girl about her own age looked out, wearing a navy nurse’s uniform, her hair caught in a bun. “Can I help you?” She had an Australian accent, friendly and warm.

  Cassie felt a wave of relief. “Hi, I’m so sorry I didn’t call ahead, but I’m here to see one of your . . .” She searched for the correct word, finally settling on, “Residents.”

  “Come on in before you catch your death.” The girl held the door wide, ushering Cassie indoors. “Christ, it’s awful out there. Nothing but rain, every day for a month now. I don’t know how they stand it, I’d be slitting my wrists by now. Shit.” She caught herself, looking guiltily around. “I probably shouldn’t say that here.”

  “It’s okay.” Cassie smiled, immediately warming to her. “I’m Cassie, by the way.”

  “Trish.” She shook Cassie’s hand. “I’m new. Nurse Janice is out for the morning.”

  She headed deeper into the warm, simply decorated reception area. Cassie looked around. It had the feel of a doctor’s office: old magazines on a coffee table, framed sailboat pictures on the wall, a faint smell of antiseptic lingering in the air. “It’s nice in here,” she remarked, surprised.

  “Bet you were expecting a real spooky haunted house.” Trish gave her a grin. “Me too. Man, when the taxi dropped me off on my first day, I was pissing myself. But it’s not so bad, really. We’ve got about twenty patients, lounges, a games room, even gardens for when the weather clears up.” She checked her computer screen behind the desk. “Who are you here to see?”

  “Rose,” Cassie replied, hoping Rutledge hadn’t changed her name completely.

  Trish brightened. “Rose Anderson? That’s great. She doesn’t ever get visitors. She’ll be so pleased.” She tapped at the computer, then paused. “I don’t have anything down here. . . . Are you family?”

  “She’s my godmother,” Cassie lied. “I’m only visiting England for a few weeks, so I thought I’d come by and see her.”

  “Well . . . I’m not supposed to let just anyone in without clearing the paperwork.” Trish looked around, before giving Cassie a wink. “But I’m sure it can’t do any harm.” She rounded the desk again and beckoned Cassie to follow as she headed down a hallway.

  “How is she?” Cassie asked. “I mean, is she . . . ?”

  Trish gave her a sympathetic look. “She has her good days and her bad. The medication helps, when she’ll take it, anyway. Most of the time she just keeps to herself. She likes to draw, landscapes, some still life too. She’s in the craft lounge now, I think.”

  Trish turned a corner, toward the back of the house, and then they arrived at a large, light-filled atrium. Several patients were sitting around the room, watching TV, reading, or simply sitting alone. Their expressions were blank or sleepy-eyed, and many of them were dressed in pajamas and thick fluffy dressing gowns. Trish led Cassie to the corner, where a dark-haired woman in her forties was standing in front of an easel. She wore a pair of loose slacks and a knitted sweater in splashes of blue and violet. A paintbrush was poised in her hand, the canvas empty in front of her.

  “Rose?” Trish approached gently. “Rose, dear, you have someone here to see you.”

  Rose turned, blinking at them with vacant eyes. “Janice?”

  “No, dear, I’m Trish, remember?” Trish took the paintbrush from Rose’s hand and steered her to a nearby armchair. “Your goddaughter Cassie is here to visit, isn’t that nice?”

  Rose stared blankly at Cassie. She looked like a different person from the girl in the photograph with her mother, emptied out somehow, a faded recollection of what once had been.

  “How about I get you both some tea?” Trish offered. “And you can have a nice chat.”

  Thank you, Cassie mouthed gratefully, taking a seat beside Rose. Trish retreated, and they were left alone in the corner, looking out across the wet, windy valley.

  “Hi,” Cassie said softly to Rose.

  Rose crumpled her forehead in a frown. “I don’t have a goddaughter. Do I?” Her voice wavered, her eyes watery and distant.

  “No,” Cassie reassured her quickly. “But you knew my mom. I’m Margaret’s daughter. Do you remember her?” She reached into her pocket and unfolded the photograph, showing it to Rose. “Margaret,” she pressed again. “You were at school with her, remember? At Raleigh College.”

  At the mention of the school, Rose’s expression became fearful. She half bolted up from her seat. “I’m not supposed to, not supposed to say. My uncle—”

  “It’s all right.” Cassie calmed her. “Your uncle says it’s okay. Pete, right? I know him and Doris. Everything’s okay.”

  Rose stared at her, trembling, then slowly sank back into the chair. “It was a dream,” she whispered, twisting her bracelets around her thin wrist. “It was all just a dream.”

  “What was?” Cassie asked, leaning forward. “What do you remember? Do you know what happened, before you came here?”

  Rose’s eyes flicked away. “Maggie?” Her voice rose. “Did Maggie come back? She was only supposed to be gone an hour, she told me, she was coming right back.”

  “No, it’s just me. Cassandra, her daughter.” Cassie forced herself to stay patient. “I need you to think carefully, Rose. I need to know what happened. Is there anything you remember from back then? Anything at all. You were studying English,” she reminded her. “You lived above Granville quad, do you remember that?”

  Rose looked at her again, and her eyes seemed to shift into focus. “The roses bloomed in summer. They were everywhere, white pillows, like clouds.”

  “That’s right.” Cassie’s hopes rose. “They’re all along the pathways, they’re still there in the late summer. And you roomed with Margaret. With Maggie.”

  Rose smiled. “We were a pair, all right. The times we had . . . Where is Maggie? Why hasn’t she come?”

  “She wants to,” Cassie lied again, feeling a pang. “She’ll come as soon as she can.”

  “She was a good friend.” Rose’s eyes became watery. “The best.”

  “I know.” Cassie reached across and patted her hand. “I’m sorry she can’t be here.”

  Rose absently patted back. “You look just like her, you know. I can see it, right here.” She cupped Cassie’s jaw and turned it from side to side.

  Cassie’s heart clenched in her chest. “Really?” she whispered.

  “Clear as day.” Rose nodded. “You’re a good girl to come see me. Nobody comes anymore. It’s been so long.”

  “I’m sorry.” Cassie took Rose’s hand from her face and squeezed it. “What about your friends from back then? The others, not Maggie. Do you remember them?”

  Rose smiled. “Oh yes. The parties . . .” She sighed wistfully. “I wore blue to the winter ball. Maggie found the dress first, but we tossed for it, and I won. She was fine though; she looked good in anything. Richard was so dashing in his suit. We danced so long, my feet bled. The blisters!”

  “Richard?” Cassie asked with a jolt. “Not Richard Mandeville?”

  “We all called him Dicky.” Rose giggled as if she was a teenager. “He hated it, especially when his daddy came around. You should have seen his face.”

  “What happened with Richard?” Cassie dropped her voice, watching Rose intently. “What did they offer you, Rose? Your aunt said there was a job, do you remember? An opportunity you couldn’t pass up.”

  Rose stared at her. Slowly her smile faded. “It was supposed to be beautiful,” she whispered, her eyes turning bleak. “They told me the centuries would open and the truth would rise. Rising, the rising, it was all so beautiful.”

  Cassie swallowed, feeling a chill whisper down her spine. “What happens, Rose? What happens
at the rising?”

  Rose took a shaking breath. “There’s no way out,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Once you go down there, there’s no way back. The tunnels will eat you alive.”

  “Tunnels. What tunnels? Where does it take place? How can I stop them?”

  “You can’t.” Rose stared at her. “In fine est principium quoddam ad cognoscendum verum. In the end there is a beginning, for the knowledge and the truth.”

  “What does that mean?” Cassie asked, trying to hide her urgency. “Is that from the ritual? Were you there?”

  “To become, you must end. It all ends, everything dies!” Her voice rose.

  “It’s okay.” Cassie tried to hush her, but Rose looked at her wildly, her eyes suddenly fevered and bright.

  “Where did you get that?” she demanded, suddenly grabbing hold of Cassie’s necklace. “You can’t take it, it’s mine! They told me I was special, that I would rise, rise. The darkness is inside of you. You can’t get it out!”

  Cassie pulled away in vain, choking, until suddenly Trish was there, tearing Rose back. “What did you say to her?” Trish demanded, as another woman rushed over. Around them, the other patients took up Rose’s wail, some of them crying and babbling in confusion.

  “There, there,” the other woman said briskly. She carefully pinned Rose down against her chair, pulling a syringe from her uniform. She pushed back Rose’s sleeve and punctured inside her elbow with a swift, well-practiced movement. The plunger went down; Rose flailed a moment more, then stilled, whispering, “You can’t get it out. You can’t get it out.”

  Cassie, shaken, rubbed at her throat, trying to breathe normally. The woman spun to face her, her face drawn in a thin-lipped scowl. “What did you do?” she demanded. “She hasn’t had an episode in months.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cassie stuttered, her throat raw. “I didn’t mean to, we were just talking . . .”