The Secret City

  The Secret City

  An edge-of-your-seat Young Adult Fantasy Novel

  CJ. Daugherty

  Carina Rozenfeld

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  About the Author

  Also by C. J. Daugherty

  Also by Carina Rozenfeld

  Also by C.J. Daugherty and Carina Rozenfeld

  Copyright

  One

  ‘Don’t be such a baby. Try it again.’

  Louisa lifted another heavy rock towards an already teetering stack. The stone was nearly as big as her head; her muscles bulged from the effort as she carried it across the dark, wet sand of the river bank, sending her elaborate tattoos rippling.

  Once it was in place and balanced on the other rocks, she backed away rapidly, as if she feared the stack might explode.

  Her arms crossed, Taylor watched this display in the glare of the bright afternoon sun. The old boathouse was the only building within sight. Beyond it, meadows shimmered green.

  They were alone. A few rowers had sped by earlier – skimming across the water. But it had been a while since anyone had passed. The only sound was the wind, hissing through the grass, and bees buzzing among the wildflowers.

  It was the perfect place to practise.

  The afternoon had grown hot; blonde curls clung to Taylor’s damp cheeks as she squinted at the stones dubiously.

  ‘Come on, Lou. Why so many?’

  Leaning against the wall of the boathouse, Louisa shot her a withering look. ‘If I got paid every time you complained,’ she goaded, ‘I wouldn’t be standing here stacking rocks. Now, are you going to focus, or what?’

  Her blue hair caught the sun and converted it into bright azure sparks.

  Giving up the fight, Taylor closed her eyes.

  In the darkness behind her eyelids the alchemical world sprang to life. Molecules of energy danced around her, translated by her mind into tangible objects – waving golden strands of power from the high grass in the meadow behind the boathouse, silken copper cords from the molecules of light in the air.

  It was the river that held the most potential – seen this way, it was a molten stream of amber lava, rolling slowly through the flower-strewn field.

  Molecules are invisible to the human eye, but she’d taught herself to see them. She had to see what she was about to touch. To manipulate. To change.

  Taking a deep breath, Taylor carefully selected one of the finer strands from the water and directed at the stones.

  Lift.

  When alchemy worked, she could sense it. A dizzying rush of energy filled her veins. A starburst of power.

  She opened her eyes.

  The tall stack of heavy rocks bobbed light as balloons, high above the slow-moving river, each rock neatly aligned with the one below it. A multi-layered stone cake.

  Taylor surveyed her work with satisfaction. ‘Did it.’

  ‘Brilliant.’ Louisa sounded unimpressed. ‘Now set them down gently on the water.’

  This was the bit Taylor had been struggling with all day. Picking them up was one thing. Putting them where she wanted them was much harder.

  Frowning with concentration, she clung to the strand of energy and tried to lower the rocks gently towards the slow-moving waves.

  Float.

  She could almost feel the weight of the heavy stones. They seemed to fight her power. The pull of gravity was relentless.

  Sweat beaded Taylor’s forehead; her hands tightened into fists at her sides as she struggled for control.

  For a second, the stack did as she demanded, wafting, light as rose petals, towards the grey-blue water. Then, without warning, the golden strand of molecular energy sprang free, dancing at the edge of her vision like a sprite.

  ‘No!’ Taylor reached out with her hands as if to physically stop what happened next, but it was too late.

  The rocks shot out in all directions.

  One heavy stone soared straight towards Louisa, who cursed and flung up one hand.

  The rock seemed to hit an invisible wall above her. It bounced hard, before landing with a soft thud at the edge of the meadow.

  Two other rocks splashed in the water far upstream. One disappeared on the opposite shore.

  After that, even the birds fell silent, like they needed a second to marvel at Taylor’s incompetence.

  ‘Bollocks.’ Taylor wiped the sweat from her forehead. ‘Stupid rocks.’ She turned to Louisa. ‘Can’t we light candles again? I love candles.’

  The other girl shook her head. ‘This is about control, Blondie. You’ve got this crazy natural ability. Now you’ve got to learn how to harness it before someone ends up dead.’

  ‘Oh thanks, Lou.’ Taylor pushed her hair out of her sticky face with a weary swipe of her hand. ‘I feel so much better now.’

  Before the other girl could zing back a tart reply, her phone rang. She gave Taylor a ‘just a minute’ signal and walked over to the boathouse to take the call in private.

  Taylor watched her receding back with contemplative eyes. There were still things she didn’t know – things Louisa hadn’t told her. St Wilfred’s College Oxford held hundreds of years of mysteries. And Taylor was at the heart of it.

  With a sigh, she lowered herself onto an old bench, the rough wood worn smooth by years of wind and rain. The intense concentration involved in her training was hugely draining. She felt as if she’d run miles. Sweat streamed down her face, and her body felt weak. Her white t-shirt – with the slogan ‘I like big BOOKS and I cannot lie’ – clung to her torso.

  Taking a swig from a bottle of lukewarm water, she looked back across the meadow. In the distance, St Wilfred’s soaring stone spires rose high into the sky. It looked for all the world like a white castle glimmering in the sun.

  She still couldn’t believe this was her home, now. Every morning she woke up in her unfamiliar dorm room and looked around at the plain white walls and old-fashioned furniture, wondering where the hell she was. Then the memories would come flooding back. The fight in London. The Bringers surrounding her on the street, crushing her. Sacha roaring towards her on a gleaming motorcycle. The overwhelming surge of power when the two of them joined hands, and destroyed the demonic creatures together.

  Her own phone buzzed in her pocket, disrupting her thoughts. When she pulled it out, a message from her mother glowed up at her.

  Missing you, honey. Call tonight?

  Something in Taylor’s chest tightened and she held the phone close.

  Louisa and the other alchemists had taken them to Oxford for their own safety. And maybe they were safe here. As safe, at least, as they could be. But it didn’t feel like home.

  She missed her mu
m more than she was willing to admit to anyone. She texted back:

  Yes! I’ll call before dinner.

  She missed her home so much. She even missed her little sister, Emily. And she really missed Georgie. Her best friend messaged her constantly but they were miles apart now in more ways than one. Georgie was back in Woodbury, taking her exams and dreaming of the summer trip to Spain with her family that awaited her when it was all over.

  Taylor was learning how to fight monsters.

  Shooting a surreptitious glance at Louisa who was still talking on the phone, she took a deep breath and pushed the melancholy away. She couldn’t let anyone know how she felt. They had to believe Taylor could do this. They all had no choice but to believe that.

  Over by the boathouse, Louisa shoved her phone into the pocket of her cut-offs and strode back towards her.

  ‘We have to head back,’ she announced. ‘Jones wants to see me.’

  ‘Jones’ was what everyone called St Wilfred’s dean, Jonathan Wentworth-Jones. There wasn’t much of a power hierarchy at the college, but when the dean called, you jumped.

  Secretly thrilled to leave the rock-lifting behind, Taylor followed Louisa to the footpath stretching across the water meadow to the school.

  The path was narrow, and crowded by tall grass and wildflowers that pressed in towards them, tickling the sides of her legs. As she walked, she twisted her unruly blonde curls up into a knot, letting the soft breeze cool the skin on the back of her neck.

  It was the hottest July she could remember. Every day a scorcher. Like the world was about to end.

  She was so lost in her own thoughts, they were halfway across the meadow before she noticed Louisa hadn’t said a word. Normally, she’d have been insulting her for what happened with the rocks, and threatening hours of extended training. But she was silent; her face taut and thoughtful.

  Taylor studied her curiously. ‘What’s going on?’

  Louisa glanced up. In the bright sunlight, her eyes were the colour of warm toffee.

  ‘It’s nothing.’ She shrugged, looking away. ‘Jones is always worrying about something or other.’

  Taylor could tell she was hiding something, but she let it go. She had problems of her own.

  With every passing overheated day, her alchemical abilities strengthened. Maybe she couldn’t control the stupid rocks, but there was no question she was getting better. Even now it was hard to focus on the solid path ahead because molecules of energy seemed to pursue her. Golden orbs of it got in her way. Fat, honeyed blobs and streams of it surrounded her. It was a constant distraction and made her dizzy if she looked at it directly while trying to walk, so she was teaching herself to focus on seeing the world as normal people saw it. Blue and pink flowers. Silky green grass. Sunlight.

  At the end of the path, a weathered wooden door was set in the middle of a stone wall, dotted with deep-set windows. Ancient symbols had been carved deep into the stone above the door. When she’d first arrived, Taylor barely noticed them. Now she was constantly conscious of them – they were everywhere at the college. The sinister power of the ourobouros – a snake eating its tail. The simplicity of a perfect circle entwined with a triangle. The perfection of the all-seeing eye. There were dozens of them. Each represented an element of ancient alchemy – copper, mercury, tin – with corresponding power that repelled Dark energy. Gold, symbolised by the sun, and silver, by the moon, were the strongest symbols of all. Sun and moon carvings topped every doorway, every window, every wall.

  Together they formed a protective barrier around St Wilfred’s. Normally, this would be enough to keep the school safe. But things were changing.

  Nothing was safe anymore.

  The door had no handle. Louisa pressed her fingertips against the scarred wood. Seconds later there was a metallic click, and the door swung open.

  On the other side, students and professors hurried across a grassy quadrangle, bounded on all sides by tall stone buildings. Above their heads, elegant towers and spires soared upward. It looked like a perfectly ordinary Oxford College. And in a way it was.

  They stepped into the flow of students.

  ‘Look, don’t sweat the practice.’ Louisa spoke so suddenly Taylor jumped. ‘You’ll get it. You’re making progress.’

  ‘I know,’ Taylor said. ‘I just wish it was faster.’

  Louisa’s smile was grim. ‘It is fast. It just doesn’t seem that way because we’re in a hurry.’

  A group of girls clustered together by a stone column and stared at Taylor. They made no effort to hide their interest, and the hiss of their whispers seemed to ring in her ears.

  ‘Is that her?’

  ‘I don’t see anything special about her.’

  This happened so often Taylor knew she should be getting used to it, but it still bugged her. Her cheeks flushed red, and anger swelled inside her.

  Rumours about her and Sacha had swirled ever since they arrived at the college. They didn’t know the whole story – Jones was keeping it quiet to avoid panic – but everyone knew the troubles they faced were connected to the two of them. And they weren’t happy about it.

  Before she could think of an appropriately cutting response, though, Louisa swung in front of her and faced the girls, arms folded, eyes blazing.

  ‘What the hell has happened in your life to make you act like this? This isn’t high school. Get going or I’ll report you to Jones.’

  The girls wilted in the heat of her glare. In seconds, the group had melted into the general hubbub of the quad.

  ‘What morons,’ Louisa grumbled. ‘Come on.’

  Grabbing Taylor’s elbow, she pulled her down the stone walkway.

  When they reached the steps of the tall, gothic admin building, shadowed by lizard-like gargoyles that leered down at the crowds below, Louisa paused.

  ‘You could wait here, if you want, but I don’t know how long I’ll be.’ She thought for a second. ‘Why don’t you check in with Alastair and the others?’

  ‘Sure.’ Taylor shrugged.

  Louisa’s expression grew stern. ‘Go straight there, OK?’

  Taylor bit back a sharp reply. She and Sacha were constantly guarded even on the college grounds, and they were both tired of being treated like children.

  Keeping her expression smooth, she nodded. ‘I promise.’

  Once the other girl had gone inside though, she didn’t head to the lab, where the researchers were still experimenting on the bits of the dead Bringers they’d brought back from London.

  Instead, she turned in the other direction, and headed off with purpose.

  Two

  St Wilfred’s Library was a round columned building, built of the same golden limestone as most of the buildings in Oxford. Its domed, copper roof gleamed green in the hot sun as Taylor slipped through wide doors encrusted with alchemical symbols into the cool dimness of the main reading room.

  Inside, tables arced out from the front door in symmetrical semi-circles, each topped with two brass reading lamps, and surrounded by leather chairs. Most of the tables were empty. This wasn’t because St Wilfred’s students didn’t study, but because this entire room was mostly for show. The workaday parts of the library stretched out beyond the decorative structure for more than a city block. Stacks of books were layered on thousands of shelves across four storeys, and there were more levels of books beneath the ground. It was a massive labyrinth of reading.

  Despite the sheer size of the place, she still had a pretty good idea where she’d find Sacha.

  With quick steps, she made her way across the hushed room, past carved marble columns thick as tree trunks, and headed straight for a set of towering double doors. These opened into a vast atrium. She could smell coffee brewing in the student cafe downstairs and for a second she thought longingly of their lush, chocolate chip cookies, but she didn’t stop, turning instead towards the main staircase, which twisted up around a statue of four leaping horses.

  They’d barely been at St Wilf
red’s three weeks, but already every part of this felt normal to Taylor. Faced with a complex new world in which everyone was older than them, more assured, and not, as far as they knew, facing immediate death, she and Sacha had quickly developed daily routines they followed with almost religious strictness. Every afternoon Taylor trained with Louisa. And Sacha buried himself in old French books in the library. Looking for answers.

  Barely glancing at the lunging stone beasts, she sped upwards, passing loitering students and shuffling professors.

  As soon as she reached the next floor, she turned right, heading straight into the stacks, where bookcases towered high above her on all sides.

  In his usual black t-shirt and blue jeans, Sacha sat alone at the last table in a corner. He was bent over his books, his head resting lightly on the fingers of one hand. Strands of straight brown hair fell forward, hiding his face. His long legs were stretched out into the aisle.

  If the alchemists’ energy was warm and bright, Sacha’s was entirely different. His was an oasis of cool blue calm, edged with darkness. There was danger in him, and Taylor was drawn to it.

  Ever since they’d killed the Bringers together they’d been connected somehow. They’d never talked about it, but she knew he felt it, too. She could see it in his face – a kind of thoughtfulness in his eyes.

  But he didn’t look at her now. He was so engrossed in his reading, he jumped when she dropped without ceremony into the leather chair across from him.

  ‘Merde, Taylor. Don’t sneak up on me like that.’

  His silky French accent made each word sound so amazing that Taylor smiled involuntarily.

  ‘Sorry.’

  His gaze swept across her face, taking in her flushed cheeks and tangled hair. The irritation faded from his expression.

  ‘How was training?’

  She sighed. ‘Pants.’

  He frowned, sweeping a confused look down to her bare legs. ‘Trousers? I don’t know what you mean.’

  She was teaching him the important bits of English – the parts they didn’t teach you in school. Swearing. And things like ‘pants’.