Gabriella Poole - Blood Ties (Darke Academy)

Wish me luck, she told them mentally, and then she was trailing Marat through the revolving doors and into a magnificent entrance hall.

The interior was spectacular. Its elegance reminded her more than anywhere else in New York of the Darke Academy in Paris – the

sweeping staircases, the white marble columns, the tall arched windows, the painted ceilings. It would have taken her breath away, if she’d

had any to spare. As it was, she felt small and vulnerable. Marat was enjoying her discomfort at this mystery tour, she knew it. Cassie,

meanwhile, was feeling increasingly intimidated by the height of the marble ceilings and the splendid paintings of gods and mythical

creatures. It didn’t help that they were reminding her of her train station date with Ranjit. God, where was he … ?

Enough! she told herself. Don’t worry about Ranjit! He’d be here eventually. She knew he would: he’d promised.

There were plenty of people milling around, but no one challenged Marat as he led her along corridors and through ranks of reading

desks. No one caught her eye, not even the security guards, but she saw Marat give one of them a sly nod as he led her deeper and deeper

into the library. Now there were fewer people about. Lights glowed, but in corners and passageways the shadows were thick. The warren of

corridors seemed endless, as if she’d never find her way out. Cassie shivered.

Finally, Marat came to a large oak door. Without hesitating, he pushed it open and led her into a large, shadowy room, closing the heavy

door behind her with a thud. It was as splendid as anywhere else in the library, panelled in dark wood and lit by sconces, but she couldn’t

pause to admire the ornate marble fireplace or the huge tapestries flanking it. A long and beautifully carved table faced her, with twenty or

more figures seated silently behind it on gilded chairs. Candles in silver holders cast flickering light on to their shadowed faces, so that

Cassie could see only flashes of feature: an ear, a sharp cheekbone, an aquiline nose. What she could see best, though, was the glint of

their eyes – and every single one was fixed on her.

As her own vision adjusted to the dimness she held her breath. However obscured by shadows, some of these faces were familiar. Two

strikingly beautiful women and one man were instantly recognisable film actors. There were faces that were completely unknown to her,

too, but she definitely knew that high-profile entrepreneur, and that fashion designer. She even knew the female senator who’d stood in the

last Presidential race. And the British cabinet minister – wasn’t he in New York on a trade mission? That’s what it had said in the paper …

They observed her wordlessly. Were they waiting for her to speak? OK, she’d played a game or two of chicken in her life, but this was

pretty unnerving. A chair had been set down facing them; she didn’t wait for an invitation, but sat down. Crossed her ankles. Uncrossed

them again.

Studying the line of impassive faces, she did a double take as she spotted Sir Alric Darke. He gave the tiniest nod of acknowledgement,

but she’d never seen him look so severe. Creepier and curiouser … And there was even something familiar about the ice-blonde woman

who sat beside Sir Alric, directly in front of Cassie and in the centre of the table. She had blade-sharp features, and possibly the coldest

eyes Cassie had ever seen. Possibly. She’d seen a similar gaze before …

The voice that finally broke the silence was dry, dispassionate, and terrifying.

‘The Council of Elders is called to order. Brigitte Svensson presiding.’

CHAPTER TWENTY

‘So, Miss Bell. Perhaps you would like to explain your recent … episode?’

Cassie hooked one ankle over the other again, and clasped her hands round her knees. There. That might stop them shaking. And doing

that made her sit forward a bit, so that she couldn’t flinch back from Katerina’s mother.

It must be her. The name, the icy beauty, the hatred oozing out of every pore. Unless Katerina had aged overnight, Brigitte Svensson had

to be the mother of Cassie’s nemesis.

‘Episode?’ Cassie stalled.

‘Tch! Don’t waste our time. The incident at Carnegie Hall.’

Hoping for some moral support, Cassie sought out Sir Alric, but he wasn’t even looking at her. He was studying one of the tapestries, as

if none of this was anything to do with him. Again she felt a bitter stab of betrayal.

‘I don’t know what happened,’ she said curtly.

‘Really?’ The voice held a cold undercurrent of mockery. ‘Perhaps you mean you don’t know what happened apart from a public loss of

control, a display that endangered the very existence of the Few, and a near-fatal attack on a fellow member?’ Brigitte glanced sneeringly at

Sir Alric, but he didn’t react. Cassie was beginning to loathe him. ‘Yes, I can quite see how that might slip what passes for your mind.’

‘I meant,’ said Cassie through her teeth, ‘I don’t know how it happened. It wasn’t intentional.’