Gabriella Poole - Divided Souls (Darke Academy)

Cassandra, what have you done? We’re already hungry, my dear, we must be careful, we mustn’t lose her …

‘Shut up, Estelle,’ Cassie murmured bitterly. She felt rotten. Sheer, bloddy, miserably awful. The last thing she wanted in the world was to

fall out with Isabella, and she didn’t give a damn right now as to whether Estelle was concerned about keeping her appetite in check.

Even that horrible fight was only the surface, she knew it. Isabella had probably been wanting to spit those words at her for most of the

term, and maybe there was some truth in them. There was a lot more to it, though. Cassie knew how much Isabella loved Jake. She knew

her friend’s ferocious, burning loyalty, and how violently she defended those she loved; it was just that she’d never been on the receiving

end before.

But there was more. Isabella was hiding something.

The girl hadn’t been surprised about Jake being here. The Isabella Cassie knew would have leaped up, whooping, and demanded they

go searching for him that very moment. No, Isabella had known Jake was in Istanbul, and if she knew that, then she’d also been in contact

with him. She wouldn’t not.

And layered over everything was the memory of Yusuf’s body, and Cassie’s certainty that the Knife was responsible for the state of it.

What if … what if Ranjit … She couldn’t bring herself to add that all into the equation. She could only hope. Wait.

But since they’d wrenched it from Keiko’s grip, only one person beside herself had had access to that blade.

Jake Johnson.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Cassie woke wishing she had another hangover; anything would be better than feeling the way she did. That brown dove was squatting

complacently on the windowsill again, cooing its head off. She flung her bedside book at it, missing by a mile, and it took off with an

indignant flapping of wings. In the new silence she slumped back, then heard a muezzin begin to call from some mainland minaret. Then

another. Groaning, Cassie pulled her pillow over her head.

She’d heard Isabella leave an hour earlier, but she just wasn’t up to facing her roommate, so she’d kept her eyes shut and her breathing

regular, and Isabella had left in very unusual silence. Each had known the other was awake, but both of them had kept up the pretence.

It wasn’t as if the girl had had an early night; Cassie had heard her creep in very late. She suspected Isabella had known she was still

awake then, too, but just like this morning they had both pretended otherwise. Not a word had passed between them since their bitter

quarrel.

And this morning there she was, up and out without so much as a good morning. Cassie sat up and ran her hands miserably through her

hair. Since when did Isabella choose an early breakfast? This whole situation was unbearable.

No point trying to get back to sleep, not with her head whirling like this. She couldn’t really blame muezzin and birds. Cassie headed for

the shower, realising why she hated hearing the morning sounds. Even for one morning, she missed Isabella’s snoring, her grunts and

loud yawns as she woke; she missed her cheerful morning bitching about the godforsaken hour.

As she trudged to her maths class with a heavy heart, Cassie felt more alone than ever. No one seemed to want to speak to her or sit

with her; no one even met her eye. Maybe she was getting paranoid, but Herr Stolz’s was about the only friendly face in the room, until

Richard, Ayeesha and Cormac sloped in; even the other Few ignored her.

To her face, at least. Behind her back they were taking plenty of notice.

She couldn’t miss the whispers, the looks, the muttered asides. No sniggers: at least she wasn’t being laughed at. And, though she

strained her ears to check, so far no more brutal discoveries seemed to have been made.

Herr Stolz must have been well aware of the events of last night, and Cassie’s part in them, because he was kindness itself, giving her

far too much attention, too many encouraging smiles, and more than her fair share of quiz questions. It did help, if only a little. She loved

maths: its certainty, its simplicity, its capacity to take your mind off finding a greasy mummified corpse on your doorstep. Equations, she

thought. God love ’em. She was aware that Richard was watching her surreptitiously, but she chose not to return his look. Algebra was a

lot more soothing.

Soothing?

So where did she get the notion that Richard was remotely unnerving? Perhaps it was just the memory of their last encounter together,

how it ended …

By the time the bell rang, she was involved enough to be sorry the class was over. She could have used double maths today. She was

pleased though, that she was finally able to catch Torvald before he left the classroom. She tapped his shoulder and he turned, his face

serious as though he could guess what she wanted to ask.