CASSIE WOKE WITH A HEADACHE SCREAMING THROUGH HER skull, and every limb stiff and aching. She flinched back from the light flooding through her open drapes, her throat dry.
She was back in her room, collapsed on her bed, still dressed in last night’s clothes.
She struggled to sit up, shocked at the pain ricocheting through her body. She felt used up, a crumpled shell of herself, and it took all her energy to creep slowly from her bedroom, hand by hand along the wall to keep her balance. “Evie?” she called out, the words catching in her pained throat. But there was no reply; the attic rooms lay empty.
As Cassie stumbled toward the bathroom, she caught sight of her reflection in the bureau mirror. She stopped. Bruises were laced across her throat, dark violent smudges on her pale skin, and there was another mark blooming on her right cheekbone. She stared in horror, tracing the tender flesh as she tried in vain to remember what had happened. Sebastian . . . the late gate. She remembered him grabbing her, and then—
Then there was nothing but black.
She locked herself in the bathroom and let the shower beat against her tired bones, as hot as she could bear, until her headache was thundering, red and raw. In the kitchen, wrapped in her bathrobe, she swallowed three aspirin with a gulp of cold coffee. Then she sank slowly to the kitchen floor, her back against the cabinet, and waited for the painkillers to work their soothing magic. She stared at the bruises on her wrists—ugly, shadowed blotches—and tried to remember, but the night only came in fragments: the tap of her heels on cobblestones, the glitter of the chandeliers at dinner, the hum of conversation in the Union lounge.
The crack of bone against concrete.
Slowly, Cassie’s unease blossomed into fear. This darkness, this gap in her memories, she’d known it before—right down to the familiar taste in her mouth: bitter and metallic. Panic gripped her. Those other times, she’d surfaced from the blackouts to find a terrible wreckage in her wake. Broken bodies, buildings burned to ash. But she’d been a child then. Not to blame. Now, here in Oxford, where her secrecy mattered more than anything . . .
What had she done?
Cassie wasn’t sure how long she sat there shivering, or even what time it was when she finally registered a knocking on the main door. She startled, tensing. “Wait a second,” she called, the words painful in her bruised throat. She pulled herself up to her feet, paranoia sending her to the bedroom to make sure her research files were hidden out of sight behind a loose panel in the wardrobe.
She yanked the bathrobe tightly around her body and crossed to the door. She cracked it, cautiously, and peered out.
“Miss Blackwell?” Rutledge was standing there, wearing his usual heavy cable-knit sweater. His eyes widened at the sight of her, and she heard his sharp intake of breath.
“What’s going on?”
He cleared his throat, looking apologetic, and that’s when Cassie opened the door wider, revealing another man standing farther back at the top of the staircase, wearing a battered jacket and corduroy trousers.
“We, uh, need you to come to the master’s lodgings and answer some questions.” Rutledge met her gaze, clearly uneasy. Cassie looked back at the other man. He was in his forties, perhaps: a weary, balding man with an impatient air about him, who seemed to be looking everywhere except at the bruises on her face.
“This is Detective Inspector Bradshaw,” Rutledge added. “They, uh, need you now. I’m sorry.” His voice dropped, and she could see the sympathy in his eyes. “I said I could bring you, but they insisted on the escort . . .” He trailed off.
Cassie nodded. “It’s okay,” she told him, her mind racing. “I’ll be right out.”
“You can put some clothes on,” Bradshaw said curtly, from his position down the hall. “We’ll wait.”
Dressed, but feeling no closer to human, Cassie followed the men across campus. It was late in the afternoon, gray skied, and the pathways were empty, a weekend lull as students busied themselves with sports or coffee dates or catching up on their sleep. Cassie was glad of the empty quad. The group was drawing looks from the few people they passed.
The last time she had visited Sir Edmund’s lodgings the trees had stood full and green, but now the sandstone was fringed with bare branches, stripped and wet, the grass muddied and wilting underfoot. Inside, Rutledge led them directly to Sir Edmund’s study, but Cassie registered the ominous sense of hush that had fallen over the office as she trailed across the plush crimson carpets. It confirmed her very worst fears.
They were afraid of her.
Rutledge held the door open for her. Cassie braced herself and stepped inside. Sir Edmund was behind his desk, looking stern and tired, with Professor Tremain seated on one of the wing chairs. There was another man by the windows, and as he turned, Cassie inhaled sharply in recognition. It was Charlie, except now he was in full police uniform. She opened her mouth to speak, but Charlie quickly shook his head.
“Miss Blackwell.” Sir Edmund gestured to the chair. Detective Bradshaw was behind her, blocking the exit. Cassie sat.
“We need to talk to you about the incident last night.”
Cassie swallowed, her heart pounding. Had someone witnessed the attack, reported it to college authorities? But if that had been the case, surely she would be sitting with some sympathetic female officer by now, not surrounded by an array of accusing, male faces.
Again, the question taunted her. What had she done?
“Sebastian Rhodes,” Detective Bradshaw announced gravely. He flipped a notebook open, pen raised to take notes. “You saw him last night?”
Cassie paused, wary. “Yes,” she admitted at last. “I ran into him at the Oxford Union.”
“And then you left together?”
She looked up sharply. “No. I barely spoke to him. I walked back to college alone. He followed, and . . . attacked me.” She didn’t remember everything, but she knew that much was true. The image of his face was branded in her memory: sneering, furious, delighting in her pain.
Detective Bradshaw exchanged a look with Sir Edmund, who leaned forward onto his elbows, fixing her with a stern glare. “You need to be truthful with us, Miss Blackwell.”
Cassie tried to stay calm. “I am,” she said, biting back her anger. “Or do you think I choked myself, for the fun of it?” She yanked down the neck of her sweater, revealing the bruises on her throat. “He tried to rape me.”
There was a pause, the word hanging dirty in the air between them. She could sense the discomfort, the way Sir Edmund and Tremain looked to the side and cleared their throats.
“Mr. Rhodes was admitted to hospital last night,” Sir Edmund said at last. “He was severely beaten. He sustained several broken ribs, a fractured jaw, and internal bleeding.”
The words slowly sank in. He was alive.
Her relief must have shown, because Sir Edmund glared. “This is a serious matter, Miss Blackwell. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“What do I . . . ?” Cassie echoed, her momentary relief turning to disbelief. “Didn’t you hear what I said? He tried to rape me.” She looked to Bradshaw, stoic and worn, and Charlie, still standing by the windows. Charlie looked down.
Then she knew. They weren’t there to take her account of events, or check if she was all right, to press charges on her behalf. They were there for him.
Cassie let out a short breath. She should have known. The furnishings might be elegant, these men, educated and refined, but it was the same here as everywhere else. She didn’t matter to them, and she never would.
“What do you want from me?” Cassie asked, icy. “Since you’re clearly not here to check on my well-being.”
The men exchanged more looks. Detective Bradshaw flipped his notebook shut. “His family wants to press charges, for grievous bodily harm.”
“Then I have some charges too,” Cassie spat back. “Assault, battery, attempted rape.”
“Sebastian was very badly injured.” Sir Edmund sounded aghast.
Cassie felt the fight leave her. “He attacked me.” she told them, worn-out. “He followed me back and grabbed me. He wouldn’t stop, even when . . .” She shook her head. “You’re worried about his injuries?”
They were interrupted by a noise from the hallway outside. “Please, Mr. Rhodes, if you’d just wait—” the secretary was saying, her voice rising.
“Get out of my way,” a loud male voice demanded. The door swung open and a man in his fifties, well fed and graying at the temples, burst into the room. He was wearing an immaculate charcoal suit and thick red tie, and his eyes blazed with anger. “I won’t stand for this,” he barked. “I want to know what’s being done.”
“Mr. Rhodes—” Professor Tremain rose from his seat. “If you could just wait outside.”
“No, I won’t wait, not after what she did . . .” Mr. Rhodes’s gaze landed on Cassie. “You!” he yelled, stabbing a finger in her direction. “What did you do to my boy?” His face was mottled pink with fury, a vein bulging against his forehead.
“What he deserved,” Cassie snapped. “Since you clearly never taught him that no means no.”
“How dare you?” Rhodes quivered with rage. “My son would never—” He stopped. “That you would—” Another breath. “You almost blinded him. He may never recover vision in his right eye!”
“He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.” Cassie’s reply was matter-of-fact, but they would never know how true the words were. She could see Sebastian in his father now, see the mirror of entitled rage. The short fuse, the reckless fury. She barely had a moment to process it before he lunged toward her. Tremain and Bradshaw scattered out of range, while Cassie scrambled back.
Only Charlie moved to restrain Rhodes, casually blocking with his hands as if he was just another drunken lout on a Friday night. “Easy now. Calm down.”
“Did you hear her? What she said?” Rhodes struggled for a moment, then deflated, breathing heavily.
“Jeffery, please,” Sir Edmund added, looking concerned for the first time. “We can handle this. Detective, perhaps you could escort Mr. Rhodes back to his car? If you don’t have any more questions.”
Cassie caught a look between Charlie and Detective Bradshaw, but it was Bradshaw who spoke. “No more questions.” He tucked his notebook away. “Thank you for your time.”
The police officers ushered Sebastian’s father out, and Sir Edmund followed them into the hallway. Cassie could hear his voice through the door, the soothing tones reassuring Rhodes that everything would be settled.
When Sir Edmund rejoined them, he regarded Cassie with a look of weary resignation. “As you can see, the family is very distressed, and for good reason. Sebastian underwent emergency surgeries. He lost a lot of blood.”
Cassie didn’t reply. The mood had shifted now, without the police present, and just Sir Edmund and Tremain left with her in the room. She looked between them, wondering what their next move would be.
“I think I could be able to dissuade him from pressing charges,” Sir Edmund continued slowly, “and allow us to handle this internally. That would be in everyone’s best interests, don’t you think?”
“As long as I don’t press charges either, you mean,” Cassie said, realizing what he was really saying.
“If you do, then I’m afraid Mr. Rhodes will also file. And that won’t help anyone. You see, criminal proceedings will revoke your visa,” Sir Edmund explained in a helpful tone. “And of course you would be asked to leave Raleigh.”
“Which you still may be.” Tremain spoke up for the first time, his face a mask. “We’ll hold a formal disciplinary investigation, and if we find evidence of violence or—”
“I don’t think so.” Cassie cut him off, furious. “If there was evidence, the police would be the ones investigating, but they don’t seem interested.”
“Raleigh has an ongoing relationship with the local police force,” Sir Edmund replied. “They trust us to handle this internally, rather than waste their time.”
Cassie thought fast. They didn’t want a scandal, news reports muddying the good Raleigh name. “Then it looks like we’re done here. After all,” she added bitterly, “if you can’t believe me when I say he tried to rape me, you can’t very well believe his claims that I was the one who beat him.” She got to her feet.
“Miss Blackwell—” Tremain objected, but Sir Edmund waved him silent.
“I’ll discuss this with the disciplinary board and let you know our findings.” He rose too and ushered her toward the door before pausing. “We do demand confidentiality when investigating accusations like this. You mustn’t talk to anyone, especially the press.” His eyes bore into her, flint gray. “The college has a reputation to protect.”
“Of course it does.” Cassie let her gaze drift over them: Sir Edmund, so concerned with the good Raleigh name, and Tremain, his obedient lapdog. She would have felt anger, if she hadn’t been so drained. Instead, she was left with nothing but contempt. “The college comes first.”
Back outside, Cassie wandered blindly. She was burning with rage, with helplessness—and relief. She’d been let down by the system for so long—an endless rotation of ineffectual bureaucrats and spineless social workers—that she’d thought her faith in the rules of authority was long since stamped out. But now, Sir Edmund’s soothing voice still echoing in her mind, Cassie realized she’d had some last shred of faith left to be destroyed.
It made a cruel kind of sense. Sebastian was one of them. They would never punish him, not against her word.
And perhaps she did deserve punishment, after all.
Cassie pushed the thought away. Whatever she’d done to Sebastian, he’d deserved it. She was a survivor, she always had been. And if she’d lost control, gone too far . . . Well, there was no changing it now.
She was turning to cross the main courtyard when she saw Charlie and Detective Bradshaw talking by the porters’ lodge. Cassie dropped back a moment, watching as Charlie reached to answer his phone, then gestured for Bradshaw to go on ahead. The detective exited through the main gates and was soon out of sight on the street beyond.
Cassie strode quickly toward Charlie, arriving just as he ended his call. “What was that?” she demanded fiercely. “What the hell happened in there?”
“Shh,” Charlie hushed her, glancing around. Before she could object, he pulled Cassie to the edge of the courtyard, out of sight down a back alley.
“What’s the problem?” she demanded, pulling away. “Don’t want to be seen with the dangerous crazy chick?”
“Cassie—” Charlie tried to calm her.
“Is that what you were talking about when you said I had nothing to worry about from you?” she spat angrily. “That it was your job to protect and serve?”
“I tried!” Charlie hissed, looking again to see if they were being watched. “You think I don’t know what they did back there? It was a sham.” He spat the word like a curse. “This whole thing was a fucking sham, from the start.”
“What do you mean?” Cassie asked, her anger fading. She’d expected weak excuses and denial, but instead, Charlie looked bitter.
“When I got to the hospital, old man Rhodes was already there,” he explained. “The family solicitor too. When I found out it was about you, I tried to get them away, question the kid properly, but they wouldn’t leave him, not for a minute. Sebastian barely even spoke, just let his dad do all the talking. And then Bradshaw comes in and tells them we’ll sort it out with the college, doesn’t even ask for a statement. I tried to press it, but Bradshaw gave me a bollocking for even suggesting we investigate. I can’t risk it again.” Charlie looked torn. “I’m on probation as it is.”
“Why?” Cassie asked, curious. “What did you do?”
Charlie sighed. “There was a brawl on Cornmarket a couple of weeks ago. I made the mistake of booking the guy who threw the first punch. Turns out daddy’s on some government committee, so he gets off and they move me to college liaison duty. Now I’m stuck logging stolen laptops.” He shook his head as if brushing the distraction away. “Don’t you see? I can’t dig into this. Even if I did, it wouldn’t make a difference—these colleges are like fucking embassies: what goes on inside stays there.”
“And the police turn a blind eye,” Cassie finished.
Charlie nodded. “Bradshaw’s been running this beat for years. I didn’t know before, but he makes it all disappear. It’s way out of my hands, and above my pay grade.”
Cassie slumped back against the wall. “So Sebastian just gets away with it?”
“He’s got three broken ribs and a cracked jaw,” Charlie pointed out. “That’s hardly nothing.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Guess I should have believed you when you said you could take care of yourself.”
Cassie couldn’t smile. “I did what I had to,” she said, as much to convince herself as him. “It wasn’t like I enjoyed it.”
Charlie’s face changed. “Are you okay?” he asked, moving closer. “Did he . . . ?”
“What, get what he was after?” Cassie flinched back. “Don’t worry, I didn’t let him get that far.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Charlie looked hurt.
Cassie looked away. “I’m fine.”
He nodded slowly, then reached into his pocket. “Here, take my card.” He pulled a business card and a cheap ballpoint pen from his jacket pocket and scribbled a number on the back. “This is my cell too. Call me if you have any trouble with Sebastian, or anyone else.”
Cassie took the card and slipped it into her back pocket without looking at it.
“I mean it,” Charlie added, his tone so intent Cassie looked closer. “Rhodes was demanding all kinds of stuff,” he warned her. “Charges, deportation . . . Most of it was probably bullshit, but you can’t get mixed up in something like this again, not if you want to stay out of trouble.”
“I didn’t—”
“I know,” Charlie cut off her angry protest. “It’s not you. But that won’t make a difference. You’re the outsider, and the system is fucking rigged. You’re the one who’s going to get hurt. Understand?”
Cassie gave a short nod. She did understand, better than he would ever know.
“I’ve got to get back. The attack, where did it happen?”
“The late gate,” Cassie replied. “He followed me back from the Union, down Holywell, and got me just inside the walls. By the auditorium.”
Charlie nodded. “I’ll see if I can dig up anything.”
“You already said it’s too late. It won’t matter.”
“Maybe.” Charlie exhaled. “But it would give you something, leverage maybe, if they tried to kick you out.”
Cassie felt a chill. If there was surveillance showing Sebastian attacking her, it would show what happened after too. “Don’t risk it,” she told him. “I can handle it.”
Charlie looked as if he wanted to disagree, but Cassie’s determined expression must have been deterrent enough. “Take care of yourself,” he offered softly, before walking away.
Cassie watched him go, brown head ducking out of the main gates, black police jacket dark against a tide of returning college students wrapped in Raleigh colors. He was as much an interloper as she, and for a moment Cassie envied his ability to simply walk through those heavy wooden gates and slip back into the real world that lay beyond.
She could leave anytime she wanted, she told herself. Get on a plane, disappear back to her old life, leave the mysteries here rotting into dust. She could just walk away.
But Cassie knew that was just an idle fantasy. She couldn’t stop now, not with so many questions still unanswered. The photograph. Her mother’s secret life. And all the reasons that haunted Cassie late at night, the secrets her mother took to the grave.
Cassie turned back toward the spires of Raleigh, and let the gates fall closed.