Gabriella Poole - Divided Souls (Darke Academy)

‘Um, OK.’ Cassie was lost for words as she watched him walk out of the room and close the door.

She was sorry. She’d just done something stupid. So very, unbelievably stupid. Still – had she misread him completely? He’d looked

almost upset, like this meant more to him than she thought …

Cassie shook her head violently. She couldn’t afford to worry about someone else on top of Ranjit – feel something for anyone else.

She had to focus.

What had Ranjit been looking for? Maybe she should get some sleep and this would all make more sense in the morning. But, turning

back to the pages that detailed the artefacts, she stared at them once again.

The Pendant may, for a spell of time, draw the

Spirit from its Host.

Oh. God.

She flipped a sheet of paper.

The Knife may Sever the connection between

Spirit and Host. Only this Knife, or

Death itself, may break the Bond.

Cassie blinked. What had Ranjit said to her, at the start of term?

I know a way for us to be together. We will be together, I promise you that!

That didn’t have to mean anything sinister. It didn’t. But it was more than that. Something else was at the edge of her mind, something

she didn’t want to remember, but something she had to. Come on, Cassie! She tugged at her hair, trying to wrench the memory free. And

then, she did remember.

Ranjit’s last hyper, frantic phone call.

I know how, now. How to heal old wounds .

BREAK OLD TIES!

A cold shiver of dread ran down her spine. Ranjit had asked her about the Knife. And the symbol he’d photographed at Hagia Sophia:

she was almost certain it bore a distinct similarity to that engraving of the symbol under which the Pendant supposedly lay. Had he found

it, then?

All at once, it hit her. She knew, very suddenly and sickeningly, what had been missing from Sir Alric’s study that day. Darke had been so

distracted, so nervous, and he’d turned his own office upside down looking for something. Yes, something had been missing. That pale,

ornate jade vase, the one that reflected the light so prettily. A vase? No.

The Urn.

Sir Alric must have found the Urn, and where better to hide it than in plain sight? Cassie gulped hard. The Urn, which could contain and

preserve a spirit indefinitely …

Cassandra, NO! It can’t be … Absolutely not. We must walk away NOW!

‘Break old ties …’ Cassie whispered, shock making her voice quiver. ‘Oh my God. Ranjit.’ She shut her eyes, fear thrilling into her bones.

What were you planning?

What have you done?

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Cassie was good at this. And so she should be. From being the Cranlake Crescent insomniac skulker, she’d slipped naturally and easily

into the same role at the Darke Academy. Yes, the school sneak. Why not? Silent and alone, she prowled the halls once more. Though she

was never entirely alone, of course. Estelle’s dissent was almost impossible for Cassie to ignore, but she was trying her level best.

Cassandra, you must listen to me. This is a mistake of magnificent proportion. We must stay as far away from this plot as we can … he

means to separate us … Cassandra, please …!

Cassie took a deep breath and pushed the spirit’s voice as far back in her mind as she could. There was no way she was turning back. If

she’d worked this out right, if Ranjit had decoded the Few manuscript, or at least partof it, and was trying to locate the artefacts, then there

was no doubt at all that Sir Alric Darke had found it out by now too. She didn’t have a choice: she had to search his office, try and find out

what he knew, how close he was coming to Ranjit.

There was no other movement at all as Cassie crept along the darkened corridors or dodged the shadows of the filigree lamps. Even

Marat was lying low, perhaps satisfied with one corpse for now and not in need of intrigue or spying. Outside Sir Alric’s office Cassie

paused, ears alert for any sound. Close by, there was only the rustle of a cat in the garden, the frightened squeak of a mouse, and far in the

distance the city sounds of traffic and horns and faraway music, drifting across the quiet Bosphorus.

The door was locked, of course. This time she couldn’t pick the lock, having no gold hairpin borrowed from Isabella as she’d had on prior

occasions, but that wasn’t problem now. Despite Estelle’s increasing protests, she felt confident enough in her ability to control the bizarre,

invisible power she had acquired with her broken induction ceremony. It was pretty straightforward to focus it on the lock, to feel the