Gabriella Poole - Blood Ties (Darke Academy)

His beautiful face smiling down at her, and his hand gently laid on her shoulder, made her head spin once more – but for the right

reasons.

This is ridiculous, she thought. You’re not Jessica. It’s not the same. Don’t talk yourself out of this before it’s begun.

Forcing a smile, she stood up. ‘Tired? Come on then, I’ll race you back to the Academy!’

CHAPTER FOUR

The corridor was dark. Cassie was running, urgently searching for something. Someone. She rounded the corner into yet more darkness.

No, not darkness – two eyes, glowing red, were there ahead of her. Looming out of the black. Coming towards her. No. She was moving

towards them …

There he is, Cassandra! Grab him. Take him, He’s the one for us. Don’t let him convince you otherwise. We belong together. We need him.

Cassie’s arms reached out blindly, snatching at the void.

You don’t want to be alone, do you, Cassandra? Reach for him. Grab him. We don’t want to be alone. We want them both. You and I, he

and his . . .

‘Ranjit?’

Cassie’s voice was a growl, echoing through the empty space. She lunged forward once more, her hands grabbing on to something.

Shoulders: hunched, muscular. His bare skin almost burning under her touch. Then his arms, encircling her, squeezing her until she could

barely breathe. Her fingernails like claws, digging into the flesh of his back.

Yes, Cassandra. Don’t let him go! We mustn’t let go!

‘I won’t.’

You won’t. You won’t? But you’ve abandoned me! Why have you abandoned me, Cassie? There’s a part of me alone, you know. The part

we left behind.

‘What? I’m here! Estelle?’

You felt that void, didn’t you, dear? Only for a little time, but you felt it. Imagine being trapped there. It’s not nice. Why are you being so

unkind? Poor, poor Estelle. Are you going to let me stay out here, Cassandra? Are you going to keep me apart? Keep us apart?

HOW COULD YOU?!

Cassie woke with a start, shaking. Throwing off the blankets, sweating and gasping for breath, she sat up straight and raked her fingers

through her hair. It was still dark: the faint glow from outside was street lighting.

It was a nightmare, that was all. Cassie sighed. With all that had happened, it was a wonder she hadn’t had more bad dreams. She gave a

wry half-smile. Sometimes it seemed like her whole life now was a bad dream. It didn’t help that she had Estelle inside her head, messing

with her mind. Although all was quiet now, so maybe the spirit had spent her fury for the time being and Cassie could sleep in peace.

Still, her heart continued to thrash, and it wasn’t just from fear. She had a terrible sense of sadness, guilt and regret in the pit of her

stomach, almost in spite of herself.

Poor, poor Estelle …

Cassie rubbed her fingertips against her temples, groaning inwardly but not making a sound in case she woke Isabella. Part of her was

sorry for Estelle. When the ritual that was supposed to bind them together forever was interrupted, part of the Few spirit had been left

stranded outside Cassie’s body, divided from the rest. Ever since, Estelle’s voice had begged Cassie to let her in. But even if she knew how

to do that, Cassie was far from certain that she wanted to. Fractured visions of the Few woman’s past revealed her to be proud and strong,

yes, but also vindictive, cruel and selfish. If she joined fully with Estelle, how could Cassie be sure that she wouldn’t follow the same path?

Fumbling for the tumbler of water on her nightstand, the back of Cassie’s hand bumped against one of her framed photographs.

Irritably, she picked it up to move it aside, and froze.

Something was wrong. The frame felt strange beneath her fingertips. She brought it close to her face. Even in the dim glow of an artificial

dawn, her hand trembled.

The metal frame had melted. That was how it looked, anyway. Twisted, buckled and warped – as if it had been left too close to a fire. The

grinning faces of Patrick and the Cranlake kids had melted into hideous masks. Alarmed, she reached out to touch the nightstand. It was

quite cool. Cassie swallowed hard. Swinging her legs down on to the floor, she picked up the other photograph, the one she had

surreptitiously taken of Ranjit at the end of last term. It too was badly distorted: the silver frame looked as if it had turned liquid in the night

then re-solidified, like candle wax. And Ranjit’s shyly smiling face – it was unrecognisable.

She stroked it remorsefully, tears springing to her eyes. What had she done?

Hang on. What made her think she’d done anything?

A feeling, that was all …

Miserably, she cursed, but not far enough under her breath. In the other bed Isabella stirred and stretched, yawning. Cassie had barely