Why didn’t she believe him? Still, in front of the truculent Marat, she would take it no further. As Sir Alric gestured for her to enter his office, she followed, ignoring the sensation that Marat’s eyes were boring into her turned back. What was going on inside that ugly bullet-head of his? Did he suspect her of doing this? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been guilty before.
Just not this time.
Inside Darke’s sanctum, little had changed. Little ever did, wherever the school went. The shelves were lined with the same books; the ornaments on the desk were familiar; even the atmosphere had the same taste of calm but intimidating authority.
Something was missing, of course. Its absence sent a horrible shiver down her spine: the Urn. Last time she’d seen it in his Istanbul office, set on a shelf as casually as if it was a mere ornament, Cassie hadn’t known what it was, or what it could do. Now there was empty space where it should have stood; and to Cassie that gap seemed like a dreadful, menacing void. She knew now, of course, that it was one of the trio of powerful Few artefacts. And worse still was the sickening knowledge that the Urn had been in Ranjit’s backpack when he fled from them all – and from himself – at the Hagia Sophia.
‘I’d like a private word with Miss Bell,’ Darke told Marat. ‘Please leave us for a moment?’
Again Marat didn’t speak; he simply gave a curt nod and got to his feet, picking up his tools and withdrawing from the anteroom.
The headmaster closed the office door firmly, but he didn’t sit down at his desk. Instead he nodded to a more comfortable chair beside the small table. Cassie recognised it as the one where she had shared tea with Estelle Azzedine, the former host of that troublesome spirit of hers, the woman whose name it had taken on. That was before the old woman had chosen Cassie as the new host, before she became Few. It felt like a century ago.
As she sat down hesitantly, Darke took a chair opposite her.
‘Not many changes at the Academy, Cassie, are there?’
‘There never are,’ she murmured, glancing at her surroundings.
‘And yet so much is different.’
‘You read my mind.’ Cassie blew out a breath, looking around. ‘Hey, are those the Tears?’ She pointed at an elaborately carved box on Sir Alric’s desk, rather surprised that he’d left the cask of precious vials of healing Few liquid exposed.
‘Yes. I brought them out to check on them after the break-in, naturally.’ He went over and picked them up, locking them back in his safe, then sat back down in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. ‘Not that there’s much left of them. The Tears of the Few are sadly depleted these days.’
‘It was worth it to save Richard.’
‘Indeed.’ He gave her a dark smile. ‘I only use them in direst need, as you know.’
‘Yes, it’s partly my fault they’re nearly gone as well, I suppose,’ said Cassie crisply. Sir Alric had had to feed her with them at the start of her second term, when she’d still been fighting the notion of draining Isabella’s life-force. Well, using up the Tears was something she wasn’t going to feel guilty about. ‘So you think whoever broke in was after them? Or maybe they were after the artefacts?’
Sir Alric blinked, but otherwise his face didn’t flicker. ‘I told you, it was more than likely a post-holiday prank. Why would anyone wish to steal these relics? They have no intrinsic value. At least, not to young people as wealthy as Academy students.’
‘Except for the scholarship ones,’ she put in acidly. She was so tired of the man’s games. ‘Sir Alric, just be straight with me. I know what the artefacts can do, and so do you. Why didn’t you tell me sooner, before things went so wrong, with Ranjit and—’
‘Why would I be obliged to tell you anything?’ Sir Alric interjected sharply. He flexed his fingers and leaned forward, but Cassie didn’t let her eyes drop from his.
‘You had led me to believe that what they do wasn’t possible.’
In silence they stared at one another. Cassie sat quite still, her jaw clenched. She could wait him out; let him be the one to break and explain himself. For once she felt not the least overawed by him. She could hold his gaze all day if she had to.
She didn’t. Sir Alric finally cleared his throat and sat back.
‘Fine. Indulge me, Cassie.’ He no longer quite met her eyes. ‘What is it that the artefacts do?’
‘Shall I quote?’ Anger sparked in her chest. ‘Only this Knife may break the bond. The Pendant may be used to draw the Spirit from its Host. The Urn may contain and preserve a Spirit indefinitely.’
Sir Alric closed his eyes and sighed.
‘So,’ she went on silkily, ‘all that stuff about the ritual being irreversible was a lie, wasn’t it? There was always a way to help me. You just didn’t want to use it.’
‘I’m sorry, Cassie.’ He spread his hands. ‘But it’s true. I didn’t want you to use the artefacts, and I still don’t. Besides, at the time I wasn’t in possession of all three, and now, thanks to Ranjit, I’m still not. So how are we any further forward?’
Cassie found she was breathing hard through her nose, determined to keep control. There would be no lashing out; not this time, because she had the upper hand. Sir Alric wouldn’t provoke her into losing her temper, and with it the argument. Pressing her lips together, Cassie gave him a tight smile.