The Oxford Inheritance (23 page)

“Enough bickering.” Miles yawned. “Time to trade. Paige?”

“Be my guest.”

The group turned back to their prey, the air shimmering with energy again. Cassie watched, helpless as the bodies twitched and whimpered, drained of something essential, something that should never be taken. She felt a shudder of revulsion. She'd seen enough. But as she eased back from her hiding place, her foot crunched on the gravel.

Hugo's head turned.

Cassie froze. For a terrible moment, it was as if he stared right at her, as if he saw her hiding there in the bushes. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, her muscles screamed in their fixed position. Finally, he looked away without a word.

Cassie exhaled. Paige began talking, something about a party next week, and Cassie took the chance to creep backward, step by excruciating step. She longed to turn and run, flee this terrible scene as fast as her feet would carry her, but she knew the smallest sound would reveal her presence. The hedges stood tall around her, a dense wall of dark, as
she gripped the ribbon with a trembling hand, retreating through the twisting maze until the voices were a hum behind her.

“Cassie.” The whisper came from right behind her. Hugo, a shadow looming in the dark.

Cassie let out a scream. She tried to run, her sneakers scrabbling on the loose gravel, but he was faster—clamping a hand over her mouth and pulling her back into the hedges. She fought, panicked, but he held tight, trapping her arms at her sides. “Shh!” he hissed. “They'll hear you!” He forced her face around so she could see him in the dark. His eyes were panicked. “Trust me, Cassie,” he ordered. “Relax!”

Cassie fought harder, every sense alive and screaming with fear. Her instincts had been right, that first night they'd met. All along, she'd been a target. A potential victim. The night she'd stayed at his house, the open door here at Gravestone . . . What had he done to her? What would he do now?

“Cassie, please!” He was begging, but she couldn't listen. She wouldn't be fooled again. Cassie lashed out with her elbow, making contact with his ribs. He doubled over, and she lunged for freedom, but he caught her, tumbling them both to the ground. She kicked out, but he pinned her down, rolling on top to straddle her, trapping her arms against her sides.

“No!” she cried out, and then she felt it. His hand on her forehead, a dark pressure building where he touched. Cassie struggled again, but it was no use. Something was invading her mind, slipping inside, a darkness snaking deep into her thoughts.

“Relax,” Hugo whispered again. She fought, tried to push it out, blocked it with everything she had, but it wasn't enough. Something in her mind reared up in answer, reached toward the blackness and gripped hold tight.

The shadows came rushing in. Dark and cold, an endless winter's night. Hugo was everywhere, a tidal wave of pure sensation spiraling
through her, burning like black fire in her veins. It felt like home. Cassie fought with everything she had, but her own mind was betraying her. It demanded more, reaching for him, craving release.

“Let go,” Hugo whispered. “It's going to be okay.” He held her gently, and Cassie was powerless to resist. The shadows rose up to claim her completely, and then there was nothing but black and red, anger and power, an ecstatic whirlwind in her veins.

CASSIE WOKE TO DAYLIGHT FLOODING THROUGH THE HEAVY
drapes. She stretched, disoriented for a moment under foreign sheets and blankets, the mattress below her soft instead of the lumpy narrow college bed.

Then it came rushing back to her. The maze. Olivia and the group, caught up in fevered celebration, the whimpers of distress from the bodies on the ground. And Hugo, holding her down, the dark shadow slipping into her mind.

Cassie jolted upright, breathing fast. How had she gotten back to her room? What had happened to her after Hugo caught her? She checked under the covers, but she was dressed in her nightclothes, sweatshirt and boxer shorts. Her jeans were folded over a chair in the corner where she'd left them, before—

Before what?

There was a light tap at the door. It swung open before Cassie had a chance to react. Hugo leaned into the room. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” he said, greeting her with a smile.

Cassie tensed, but Hugo just yawned. His hair was in disarray, and he was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. “Breakfast is ready downstairs. You might want to get a move on if you want any bacon,” he added with a wink. “Miles is determined to devour every rasher in the county.”

He closed the door behind him. Cassie sat there, her heart racing, trying to process what had just happened. Hugo was acting as if nothing
was wrong, as if he hadn't discovered her hiding in the maze. As if he hadn't held her down, and . . .

What?

Cassie shivered, trying to fit the fragmented memories into something real, but now, in the light of day, the shadows of the previous night seemed to shift and blur in her mind. Just what had she thought she'd seen? Her memories were fantastical. Impossible. With every moment that passed, the darkness of her mind seemed to mutate even more, until she wondered with a shudder just what had been real, and what a terrible dream.

But as Cassie dressed and packed up her things in her overnight bag, her heart clutched with the same deep instinct she recognized so well. Run. Run now, and far away. Run before it was too late.

Cassie forced herself to calm down. Hugo had acted as if nothing was wrong, so she needed to take her cues from him. Maybe he'd told the others about finding her in the maze, or maybe there was nothing to tell. She just had to keep it together until she was safely away from this place.

Downstairs the hallways were empty, but Cassie found the group in the kitchen, groaning with hangovers. The smell of fried bacon filled the air, and everywhere there were mugs of coffee and plates of food. It was chillingly domestic, as if nothing had changed.

“You're awake!” Olivia bounced out of her seat and greeted Cassie with a hug. “I thought we were going to have to send a search party to drag you up. How are you feeling? You didn't look too hot when you left us last night.”

“I'm fine,” Cassie answered automatically. She forced a smile as she looked around the room, shocked to notice the guests she'd seen with them last night: the two waitresses and the boy. All three were ravenously eating toast and chatting with Miles and Paige like nothing had happened. “What about you?” Cassie turned back to Olivia, accepting the cup of coffee the other girl thrust in her hand. She looked at her carefully, studying her face for any hint of revelation. “Did you guys party long after I left you?”

“A little.” Olivia gave her a sunny grin. She didn't look as if she'd been up all night. Her skin was glowing, her eyes bright with energy. “But these guys couldn't take it. They're getting old, isn't that right, cuz?” She playfully nudged Hugo as he passed her to get more toast.

“Ancient,” he replied, laughing. “Decrepit. I'll be needing a walking stick and wheelchair soon enough.”

Cassie swallowed back her unease. She took a couple of slices of dry toast and slid into a free seat beside Lewis. Out of everyone, he looked the worst for wear, with dark shadows under his eyes and a slightly vacant look behind his spectacles. “Are you okay?” she murmured, remembering with a shiver the way he'd cried out in pain under Olivia's touch.

“What's that?” Lewis blinked. “Oh, yes. A few too many glasses of champagne.” He gave her a rueful smile. “I must remember I'm not as young as I used to be.”

“I thought I'd find you here.” A cool voice came from the doorway. It was Henry Mandeville, immaculately dressed. Cassie remembered his conversation with Tremain and tensed. Henry's gaze flickered over the group, landing on Hugo with a twist of dissatisfaction. “Remember we have the New Year's Day race at noon. You'll be needed for photos.”

Hugo's jaw tensed. “I thought Olivia was doing that instead.”

“We need the whole family,” Henry said, his tone final. “The car leaves in an hour.” He looked around the room again, his eyes landing on Cassie. They seemed to pierce through her.

Black is the badge of hell . . .

Cassie broke the stare, looking away. Henry murmured a few more instructions to Olivia, and then left.

“Big plans?” Cassie asked Hugo.

Hugo gave her a rueful look. “Some local charity tradition. We need to go smile and wave for the campaign cameras.” He leaned over to snag some bacon from the plate in the middle of the table. “You should come,” he suggested. “I mean, it's a drag for us, but it could be fun for you. A slice of British rural life.”

“I don't know,” Cassie replied quickly. “I need to get back to Oxford.”

“Are you sure?” Hugo's smile turned flirtatious. “We didn't get a chance to talk after last night.”

Cassie almost choked on her coffee. “Last night,” she repeated, her mind racing.

“Midnight,” Hugo replied. He looked at her, his smile fading a little. “You remember? We . . . celebrated. Then you rushed off to bed so fast, I didn't know what happened.”

Cassie stared at him. Was this all part of an elaborate lie, or had she really dreamed up the whole thing? Hugo's face seemed guileless and open, but she couldn't forget the darkness in his gaze, the shadows slipping through the edges of her mind.

“I'm sorry,” she muttered, looking away. “I wasn't feeling too good.”

“Tell me about it,” Paige yawned, interrupting. “We all went kind of crazy.”

“Speak for yourself.” Olivia laughed, slipping one hand through Lewis's hair, a gesture of ownership, Cassie couldn't help but think. Of possession. “I feel just fine.”

Olivia invited her to stay another day: they'd be holding a movie marathon
that evening, and taking a traditional countryside hike. Cassie did her best to sound regretful as she explained she couldn't stay. “I have to get back to work.”

“At the library, right?” Olivia's gaze was inquisitive. “That must be useful. You probably have access to all the old files and archives.”

“Not really,” Cassie lied. “I just deal with the front desk stuff. You know, returns and shelving. They don't trust us with the really important things.”

“Oh. Well, it's been great having you down. We'll have to get together when term starts. Lunch, and cocktails.”

“Absolutely.” Cassie managed to sound enthusiastic, and when Olivia hugged her good-bye, she did her best not to flinch. “I can't wait.”

“I'll walk you out.” Hugo picked up her bag before Cassie could
object, heading outside and down the front steps to the drive. “I'll be back in Oxford next week,” he told her, setting her bag down by the car.

“Okay.” Cassie was trying her best to seem calm, even as her pulse raced with fear. She waited, wishing the driver would arrive.

Hugo took two steps closer and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “It's all right, I didn't tell them.”

“Tell them what?” Cassie jerked back from his touch.

“Last night.”

Cassie's heart raced. Was this a test? She swallowed back her fear. “You mean, the kiss?” She tried her best to seem confused. “I'm sorry, it's all kind of a blur. I didn't sleep too well. You know me and nightmares.” She gave a careless laugh. “I guess it really was too much champagne.”

Hugo studied her, searching. “That's all right,” he finally said, stepping away. “We can talk back at Oxford. What's your number?”

Cassie didn't want to stay a moment longer so she quickly rattled it off. “Thanks for having me.” Cassie's voice sounded high and panicked to her ears, but she forced herself to reach up and land a quick kiss on Hugo's cheek before she got into the car.

Hugo closed the door behind her, but she didn't relax, not until the engines started and they pulled away.

Cassie let out a shaking breath, her whole body trembling.

“I can turn the heat up, if you need?” The driver turned from the front seat.

She hugged herself tight. “I'm fine,” she said quickly, counting down until Gravestone disappeared in the rearview mirror, swallowed up by the woodlands and hills. Then she pulled out her phone and tapped a text to Charlie.

I'm coming back. We need to talk.

Cassie had the driver drop her back at Raleigh, but as soon as he drove
away, she turned in the opposite direction and made straight for the
place Charlie had texted her, an address past High Street on the other side of town. The whole way, she couldn't help but check over her shoulder, wondering if someone was watching her. She knew Olivia and Hugo were miles away at Gravestone, but she couldn't shake the knowledge that Mandeville and Tremain had known about Charlie—known he'd been asking questions at the police station, known someone had called up the records in the library. What else did they know?

She walked fast, regretting her heavy overnight bag, which dug into her shoulder by the time she reached the address. It was a newly built apartment block, drab concrete and red brick, and when Charlie buzzed her up, the interior was no more uplifting: three flights of concrete stairs, echoing with the sound of TV broadcasts on the other side of the doors.

“It's not exactly Raleigh,” he greeted her with an apology as he ushered her inside.

“I don't care, as long as that lock works.” As Cassie stepped inside the neat apartment, she let out the breath of tension she'd been holding for two days now. She dropped the bag to the floor and looked around as Charlie drew the dead bolt across. The apartment was small and sparsely furnished, with a large flat-screen TV mounted in pride of place on the wall, and a lone houseplant wilting in a pot in the corner.

Charlie fetched her a glass of water, looking at her with concern. “What happened?” he asked.

She caught her breath, wondering where to begin, but there was no easy way to say any of it, so she opened her mouth and simply told him everything. The conversation she'd overheard between Henry Mandeville and Tremain, the room from the photograph, and what she'd witnessed in the maze that night—everything except Hugo discovering her, and what happened after. She didn't even remember for sure herself, and she knew Charlie would only worry if he learned about the danger she'd been in. “I know it doesn't make any sense,” she finished before he could say a word. “But I saw them. What they were doing . . . This isn't normal, Charlie. This is . . . something else.”

He watched her for a moment, then got up. “I've been digging too, looking at the deaths.”

“Charlie!” Cassie felt a flash of panic. “I told you, they have a source at the station. They'll know you've been looking for something.”

“Relax, sweetheart.” Charlie gave her a familiar cocky grin. “I used Bradshaw's password and login. They won't know jack.” He went to the stack of boxes in the corner and began taking out files. “I was looking for a pattern, something that linked the deaths besides their being students.”

“What did you find?” Cassie leaned forward in her seat. Part of her had been scared Charlie would back off, or worse still, not believe her, but he'd taken her account of the New Year's party in stride, as unruffled as ever. Maybe she wasn't crazy, after all.

He spread photos out on the floor, grouping them by date. “They fit a pattern. First of all, they're smart. Not just Oxford clever, but brilliant. Winning prizes, publishing papers—these kids were all at the top of the pile. Not just kids, either; there were grad students, some professors too.”

“Like Lewis,” Cassie said.

Charlie nodded. “But they weren't rich kids like the Mandevilles; they didn't move in those circles. A lot of these guys were scholarship kids, working class. Except your Evie,” he added with a frown. “That one doesn't fit.”

“Hugo said so,” she replied, remembering. “He was angry at Olivia for pushing her too far. He said, ‘She was one of us.'”

“Makes sense; they don't shit where they eat, to put it bluntly,” Charlie agreed. “Some kind of twisted class loyalty. The lower classes are disposable, but they protect their own.”

“But from what?” Cassie asked, chilled. She looked at the faces, so many tragic deaths. “We know from what Mandeville said they're involved in the deaths somehow. But they weren't killing those people, out at Gravestone. I don't even know what they were doing.” The shadows.
The darkness creeping into her mind. Cassie had no words for it, no explanation. She still wasn't sure if that part had been real, or just her fear and panic, her imagination run riot.

“You said they mentioned the Rose death.” Charlie rocked back on his heels. “That it was different, somehow.”

Cassie thought back. “Badly done, that's what Henry said. It's like he was angry with Tremain, specifically over that one. He was worried,” she added. “As if that was a loose thread.”

Charlie nodded. “I found the next of kin for Rose. She's local, just a few miles away.” He offered a hand to help Cassie up, giving her a wry grin. “Let's go unraveling.”

Rose's aunt Doris was in her seventies, a wiry gray-haired woman who
shuffled around the house using a metal walker. She insisted on settling them in her floral-papered living room with tea and biscuits before they could even get around to asking any questions. “Such a shame,” she said, sighing as she settled awkwardly in a rocking chair in the corner. She nodded at a photo on the mantel, showing Rose beaming in her matriculation robes on what must have been her first day at Raleigh. “It's been close to twenty-five years now. She would be married, have wee ones of her own.”