Gabriella Poole - Blood Ties (Darke Academy)

Cassie pressed her ear to the door. The footsteps had paused, for a little too long, but now they were shuffling away again towards the

elevators at the end of the corridor.

‘Look, can you go? Please?’ Perry was turning fractious. ‘I’m expecting a friend.’

Cassie leaned close to the door again, and she heard a faint but distinct ping, and then the muted hiss of the elevator doors. She took

Isabella’s arm.

‘Let’s go. Good luck with your friend, Peregrine.’

He went purple above the collar and opened his mouth, but the girls were already outside and Isabella had shut the door firmly in his

bemused and angry face.

Isabella giggled. ‘Pompous ass.’

‘You got that one right. Quick, Marat’s gone.’

Cassie slid the hairpin back into the lock. One decisive twist and the door swung open.

‘Goodness. That was a piece of pie.’

‘Cake. Well, I’ve done it before.’ As Cassie ducked under the tape and closed the door, though, she found her heart was thrashing with

fear. She couldn’t shake off the worry that Marat might come back and find them. That guy was like a fungus – he popped up everywhere

you didn’t want him.

Jake’s room was neat and tidy. If Vaughan and his FBI buddy had searched the place, they’d been pretty careful. But Cassie didn’t think

they had – they had been more interested in getting Jake out of the Academy and into the Confine. Hastily, Cassie ran the flat of her hand

between the mattress and the base of the bed, and then began to hunt behind the desk, the nightstand, the headboard.

Isabella was searching frantically too, pulling books out of a shelf, rummaging in drawers. ‘I don’t know where to start. If it’s here, Jake

must have hidden it really well. Horrible thing.’

Too well. Find it, Cassandra! Find it!

‘I’m trying,’ she muttered. Yanking a drawer out of Jake’s desk, she upturned it, and pens and paperclips and notebooks scattered to the

floor. No knife.

FIND IT!

Estelle was getting really agitated. Standing stock-still, Cassie clenched her fists and gritted her teeth. She could feel the bubbling energy,

the burning that rose from the base of her spine to her blazing eyes and out. No! No, she mustn’t …

Where is it, Cassandra? WHERE IS IT?

‘Oh my God.’ Isabella was gaping at her, but Cassie’s attention was on the mirror on the wall beside the wardrobe. Something was

drawing her to it . . .

Through a red filter Cassie stared at the mirror, and the shimmering aura that was building around her reached out to touch it. The frame

was heavy, solid steel, but it began to melt in front of her eyes. The frame warped and buckled, while the silvered glass ran like treacle,

sliding down inside the frame until both girls were suddenly twisted versions of themselves in its reflection.

Cassie clamped her hands to her face in horror, desperately blinking the red film away from her eyes. She took a breath, then ran to the

mirror, running her hands across the melted frame, the distorted glass, her own warped reflection. Beneath her fingertips the glass surface

seemed to tremble. Frowning, she tugged the mirror out from the wall and slid her fingers round the back of the frame. Something was

resting precariously on the back ridge of the frame, and as her fingertips touched it, it clattered to the floor.

‘Here it is,’ she whispered. She lifted the knife, gazing at its elaborately carved hilt.

‘OK.’ Isabella’s mouth twisted with distaste as she eyed the brutal knife. ‘What just happened?’

Cassie looked up momentarily from the blade. ‘Do … do you mind if we don’t talk about it?’ Gently, she stroked the twisted figures with

her thumb: the mermaids, the caryatids, something half-cat, half-snake. She could have sworn they responded to her touch, stirred and

stretched … It felt almost as if it belonged in her hand, against her skin, and somewhere in her head she heard Estelle give a shuddering

sigh of pleasure.

Isn’t it beautiful?

Cassie shivered and tucked the knife inside her coat.

‘I don’t like that thing,’ said Isabella.

Mildly irritated, Cassie avoided Isabella’s gaze. ‘We need it.’

‘But could you use it?’

Cassie didn’t answer.

The air outside was electric with an impending storm: Cassie could taste the charge in the air, feel the tips of her hair lifting. As they dodged

the traffic and made their way to the 79th Street entrance of Central Park, she could feel the knife inside her coat, warm against her body.

Isabella was right – was she really ready for this? Could she actually use the knife, if it came to it?