‘Go on, then, you incorrigible rogue. Before you explode.’
Cassie declined Richard’s offer to see her back to her room. He was her closest friend next to Isabella, and she loved hanging out with him, and she was certain he understood her feelings perfectly; but still, there was no point leading him on, or risking another impulsive kiss. He was irritatingly attractive, after all.
But Richard didn’t deserve to be second-best to anyone.
Dinner had been delicious, as it always was, but she was uneasily aware of the other hunger sharp inside her, unsated by Mombasa oysters and fresh marlin and mango sorbet. Cassie had finally arrived at the moment she’d dreaded since she stepped on to the plane for Nairobi.
Patrick Malone, her friend and guardian at the care home, had helped her while she was back at Cranlake Crescent for the summer, by allowing her to feed from him in strictly controlled amounts. He knew all too well about the needs of the Few, having been a scholarship student at the Academy years ago himself. It had worked well, a perfect stopgap, but Patrick wasn’t here now, of course. She was going to have to approach Isabella about it again – and there was nothing she was going to hate more.
Dawdling through the hall, reluctant to hurry back to their room no matter how the hunger grew and gnawed, she stopped to touch the Cassandra statue for luck. Stroking the white marble arm, extended in desperate, useless supplication, Cassie found herself sorrier than ever for the poor frozen prophetess, forever on the point of death by Clytemnestra’s blade. When she gazed into the blank but terrified eyes of the marble figure, a shiver of pity went through her.
Oh for Zeus’s sake, Cassie, it’s only a statue! she scolded herself. Stop overreacting!
She was stepping reluctantly away from her namesake when she saw a shadow move out of the corner of her eye. Cassie went still, focusing on the darkness in the passageway that led to the library, then relaxed just a little.
Ah. It was no surprise to see who was lurking: the unmistakable, squat figure of Marat.
All the same, Cassie shivered. The porter still gave her the creeps, and not just because of his surliness. His hostility was palpable, and she knew he’d never forgiven her for the expulsion of Katerina after events in Paris. The little man was oddly fond of that evil Svensson clan. He gave Cassie a glance, but didn’t smile or speak.
His very presence made her quicken her steps and hurry upstairs and along the corridor to her room. As she went inside, she found Isabella sitting almost where she had left her, on her bed, staring out at the night. A book was open on her lap, but she clearly hadn’t been reading it. When she heard Cassie close the door, she attempted a smile.
‘Cassie. How was dinner?’
‘Good,’ ventured Cassie lamely. She was uncomfortably aware that she was hovering.
Isabella eyed her. ‘But not quite enough?’
Silence fell between them. Cassie looked down and began to pick at a fingernail, but that seemed cowardly and disrespectful. She raised her eyes to meet Isabella’s.
‘No.’
Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, Isabella slowly unfastened her cuffs and slipped her sleeves up her bare tanned arms. She flexed her fingers together and then rested them on her knees, nodding slowly at Cassie.
‘You’d better feed, then.’
Cassie’s throat tightened, and an ache throbbed in her temple. She wanted to say No, I won’t. I wouldn’t do that to you. Not after all you’ve been through. I’ll think of something else. Anything.
Instead she said, ‘I’m really sorry. Yes, please, if I could. Isabella, I—’
‘Don’t. Don’t say any more. It’s got to be done. It’s OK.’
Isabella avoided Cassie’s sorrowful gaze and got to her feet. Swallowing hard, Cassie took hold of her wrists. They felt so fragile in her grip, the skin so delicate. She wished very much that Isabella would look at her and smile a little, but she couldn’t ask that on top of everything else. Instead, Cassie simply tightened her hold, and focused on the life-force.
Nothing happened, and Cassie thought for a horrible moment that she wouldn’t be able to feed after all, that she’d somehow lost the connection with her roommate. Then the life-force of Isabella began to flow, with a jolt that made Cassie’s eyes snap open.
Isabella’s were closed. A muscle twitched below her eye, and her throat jerked, but she gave no other reaction as the energy flowed out of her and into Cassie. Cassie stared at the veins in her friend’s wrists, purple and prominent now against skin that was suddenly pale.
It wasn’t at all like feeding from the old Isabella. The energy flowing sluggishly into her was like that of a stranger. There was no fizz, no sparkle, no effervescing life. Just a dark, reluctant sadness. She tasted … bitter, thought Cassie. Isabella was all bitterness and misery and sorrow. Even through the feeding process, Cassie could feel her heart ache for her friend.
As soon as the spirit inside her was satisfied, Cassie abruptly let go of Isabella’s wrists, as if they burned. Taking a step back, she gazed at her friend, willing Isabella to open her eyes, to reassure her she was OK.
Then she saw it: a single tear trickling from beneath Isabella’s long lashes down her pale cheek. Hurriedly, as if only just realising it was there, Isabella brushed it away and smiled – but the smile didn’t reach her warm brown eyes.
‘There, Cassie. That wasn’t that hard.’
Cassie backed off, filled to bursting with Isabella’s unhappiness as well as her own. It was almost unbearable, but she didn’t have the right to cry over it, not in front of her friend.