The car journey was excruciating. Normally she would have been happy to leave the city on a sunny summer day, but as London’s crowded streets gave way to rolling green fields dotted with white sheep dozing in the warmth, she felt a wave of loneliness. The mood in the car didn’t help. Her parents barely acknowledged her presence. Her mother held the map, and offered occasional directions.
Huddled in the back seat, Allie stared resentfully at the backs of their heads. Why couldn’t they get a GPS like everybody else?
She’d asked them this same question many times, but her father just said they were happy to be ‘Luddites’ and that ‘everyone should know how to read a map’.
Whatever.
Without access to the map, Allie was left trying to figure out precisely where she was going.
She’d never been told where the school was, and the town names whizzed by (Guildford, Camberley, Farnham …). Then they left the A-roads and began to wind their way up and down hills on tiny country lanes surrounded by high hedges that blocked any view, through villages (Crondall, Dippenhall, Frensham …). Finally, after two hours, they turned down a narrow dirt track. Her father slowed the car to a crawl. The road passed into thick forest where it was cooler and quieter. After a few minutes of jostling and bumping as her father swerved to avoid deep holes in the road they arrived at a tall iron gate.
They stopped. The rumble of the car engine was the only sound.
Nothing happened for a long minute.
‘Do you need to beep the horn or push a buzzer or something?’ Allie whispered, taking in the forbidding black fence, which extended into the trees as far as she could see.
‘No.’ Her father’s voice was also hushed. ‘They must have CCTV or something. They know when someone’s here. Last time we only waited a few …’
The gates shivered and then, with a clanging metallic sound, swung slowly inward. Inside, the forest continued, and the sun barely filtered through the thick branches.
Allie stared into the shadows ahead.
Welcome to your new school, Allie. Welcome to your new life.
While the gates swung open, she counted her heartbeats. Boom-boom-boom … Thirteen beats and she could see the road ahead. Now her heart sounded so loud that she checked surreptitiously to see if her parents had noticed. They were waiting patiently. Her father drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
Twenty-five beats and the gates had locked into place with a shudder.
Her father put the car into first gear.
They were on the move.
Feeling her throat closing Allie focused on breathing. She really didn’t want to have another panic attack right now. But she couldn’t shake an overwhelming sense of dread.
Stop freaking out, she told herself. This is just another school, Allie. Stay focused.
It worked; her breathing steadied a little.
Her father pulled the car forward onto a smooth gravel drive that rolled through thick trees. After the rutted dirt road outside the gates, the drive was so smooth and well maintained that the car seemed to float.
Allie continued to monitor her heartbeat; for one hundred and twenty-three beats nothing but trees and shadows, then a coronary drum roll as they emerged into the light and she saw a building ahead.
She lost count.
It was worse than she’d feared. Looking out of place in the bright sunlight at the foot of a steep forested hill sprawled an enormous Gothic mansion of dark red bricks. The three-storey structure looked as if it had been ripped from another time and place to be dropped here in … wherever they were. Its jagged roof jutted sharply in peaks and turrets, topped with what looked like daggers of wrought iron stabbing the sky.
Holy shit.
‘It is such an impressive building,’ her father said.
Her mother snorted. ‘Impressively ghastly.’
Terrifying. The word they are looking for is ‘terrifying’.
In contrast to the intimidating structure, the gravel road ahead was transformed by the sun into a piece of ivory, curving towards a big, mahogany door in the dark brick wall. As they entered the shadow cast by the school, her father slowed the car.
The second the car stopped moving, the door swung open and a slim, smiling woman slipped out and ran lightly down the stairs. Her thick, dark blonde hair was held back loosely with a clip, and it curled up at the ends as if it were happy to be there. Allie was relieved to see how normal she looked: her glasses were pushed up on top of her head, and she wore a creamy cotton cardigan atop her pale blue dress.
Allie’s parents climbed out and walked over to meet her. Lagging behind unnoticed, Allie reluctantly opened her door and left the back seat of the Ford, which suddenly seemed so friendly and familiar. She didn’t close the door.
Rather than joining the group ahead, she leaned against the car and warily watched the scene in front of her. Waiting. Twenty-seven heartbeats.
Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine.
‘Mr and Mrs Sheridan, it’s so nice to see you again.’ The woman’s voice was warm and lilting; she smiled easily. ‘I hope the drive wasn’t too tedious for you. The traffic can be awful between here and London. But at least the weather is lovely today, isn’t it?’
Allie noticed she had a faint accent, but she couldn’t identify it. Was it Scottish? It added delicacy and complexity to her words, as if they were filigreed.
After more pleasantries were exchanged and the conversation lulled, the three turned towards Allie. Her parents’ polite smiles disappeared, replaced with the cultivated blankness with which she’d grown uncomfortably familiar. But the headmistress smiled at her warmly.
‘And you must be Allie.’
Scottish, definitely. But such an unusual accent – very subtle.
‘Allie, I’m Isabelle le Fanult, the headmistress at Cimmeria Academy. You can call me Isabelle. Welcome.’
Allie was a bit surprised to hear her nickname, rather than ‘Alyson’, which is what her parents always called her. To be told to call a headmistress by her first name seemed weird too.
But quite cool.
Isabelle held out a slim, pale hand. She had oddly beautiful golden brown eyes, and up close she looked younger than she’d appeared from a distance.
Allie didn’t want anything to do with this place – anything to do with this woman – but she found herself reaching out. As her hand was grasped in a surprisingly strong, cool grip, shaken and then released gently, she relaxed a little.
Isabelle held her gaze a second longer, and Allie thought she saw sympathy in her expression, before she turned back to her parents with a smile and an apologetic shrug.
‘I’m afraid it is our policy that parents bid farewell to their children here. When the students cross the threshold they start their new lives at Cimmeria, and we like them to do that independently.’
Turning back to Allie, ‘Do you have many bags? Hopefully we can carry them between the two of us. Most of the staff are busy at the moment, so I fear we must fend for ourselves.’
For the first time, Allie spoke. ‘I don’t have too much.’
It was true. The school supplied most things and allowed so little that in the end she only had two medium-sized bags, mostly filled with books and notepads. Her father carried them from the boot. Isabelle lifted the larger of the two with surprising ease. She exchanged a few final pleasantries with Allie’s parents and then stepped back away from them.
‘Work hard and drop us a line now and then,’ her father said. He was still distant but he looked sad, and he gave her a quick hug.
Her mother smoothed a strand of hair out of Allie’s face, avoiding her eyes. ‘Please give this place a chance. And call us if you need us.’ For just a second she hugged Allie tightly, and then she let go and walked to the car without looking back.
Allie stood still, her hands at her sides, watching the car turn and head back down the smooth gravel drive. She felt tears prickling the backs of her eyes, and she shook her head fiercely to ward them off. Picking up the remaining black bag, she turned towards Isabelle, who was watching her.
‘It’s always difficult the first time,’ Isabelle said, her voice gentle. ‘It gets easier.’
She headed briskly towards the steps saying over her shoulder, ‘I’m afraid we have a little distance to go. You’ll find this building is simply endless.’
Her voice faded as she walked inside. After a moment’s hesitation, Allie followed.
‘I’ll give you the pocket tour as we go …’ Isabelle was saying, but Allie hardly heard as she gaped at the vast entrance hall.
Inside it was dim and chilly, the bright sunlight filtered into colourful shade by a stained glass window far above her head. The ceiling was at least twenty feet high, held aloft by thick stone arches. The stone floor had been polished smooth by thousands of feet over hundreds of years. Candle holders five feet tall stood like sentinels in each corner. Some walls were covered with old tapestries, though Allie didn’t get a good look at them as she hurried after the headmistress.
From the entrance hall they moved on into a wide hallway with dark wooden floors. Isabelle turned into the first room on the right. Inside were more than a dozen large, round, wood tables, each with eight chairs around it. Along one wall an enormous fireplace reached well above her head.
‘This is the dining room. You’ll have all of your meals here,’ she said, pausing a moment for Allie to take it in before striding off down the hallway.
A short distance away and on the opposite side of the corridor, she walked through another arched doorway. This vast room had polished wooden floors, a ceiling nearly as high as the one in the entranceway, and was largely empty. Its fireplace dwarfed Isabelle, and huge metal candelabra hung from the ceiling on chains.
‘This is the great hall. We have events here, balls, gatherings, and so forth,’ Isabelle said. ‘This is the oldest part of the building. Much older than the façade. Older even than it looks.’
She turned on her heel and headed back into the hallway. Allie scrambled to keep up, panting slightly from the exertion. Isabelle was surprisingly fast. Turning to the left she gestured at another door, explaining that it was the common room. Then they began climbing a wide wooden staircase with an impressive mahogany banister. Isabelle’s espadrilles made a soft shushing sound as she skipped upwards, all the while reeling off facts and figures about the building. Allie was a bit dazed by it all – the staircase was Edwardian, or had she said Victorian? The dining room was Reformation … or was it Tudor? Most classrooms were in the east wing, but what did she say was in the west?
At the top of two flights of stairs, Isabelle turned left and walked down a wide corridor, then climbed a narrower flight of stairs which led to a long, dim hallway lined with wooden doors painted white.
‘This is the girls’ dormitory. Let’s see, you’re in 329 …’ she hurried down the hall until the appropriate number appeared, and swung the door open.
The room was very dark and small with a single, bare bed, a wooden dresser and desk, and a wardrobe, all painted the same clean shade of white. Isabelle walked across the room and flipped a latch Allie couldn’t see, swinging open a wooden shutter covering a small arched window. Instantly the room glowed with golden afternoon light.
‘All it needs is a little fresh air,’ she said cheerfully as she headed for the door. ‘Your uniforms are in the wardrobe, your parents gave us your sizes but let us know if anything doesn’t fit. You should have everything you need. Shall I leave you to unpack? Dinner is at seven, you know where the dining hall is. Oh by the way …’
She turned back. ‘I noticed you’ve been having trouble in English class lately so I’ve added you to my own class. It’s a special seminar with a smaller class; I hope you’ll find it interesting.’
Overwhelmed with information Allie nodded silently; then, realising that words were needed, she said haltingly, ‘I … I’ll be fine.’
Isabelle tilted her head to one side, studying her for a second, then nodded. ‘There’s lots of information about the school and your classes in the envelope on the desk,’ she said. Allie hadn’t noticed the big envelope with her name on it at first glance, but now she wondered how she’d missed it.
‘Any questions before I go?’
Allie started to shake her head then stopped. She looked down at her feet and then up again. She tugged at the edge of her T-shirt hesitantly. ‘You’re the headmistress, right?’
Isabelle nodded, looking slightly puzzled.
‘So why are you doing all of this?’ Allie made a sweeping gesture.
‘I don’t understand,’ Isabelle said, obviously baffled. ‘Why am I doing what?’
Allie tried to explain. ‘Meeting me at the door, showing me to my room, giving me a tour …’
Isabelle hesitated, crossing her arms loosely across her chest. Her voice was gentle. ‘Allie, your parents told me a lot about you. I know what happened, and I am so very sorry about your brother. I know what it’s like to lose somebody close to you, and I’m aware how easy it is to get caught up in that … horribleness, and never get out again. But you mustn’t let what happened destroy your life. You have a lot to offer, and my job is to get you to realise that. To help you get yourself back.’
Isabelle walked to the door and rested her hand against it.
Three breaths in and two out.
‘I’ll send a prefect around to introduce herself and answer any questions you might have,’ Isabelle said. ‘She’ll come at six, which should give you time to get everything sorted before dinner. Mealtimes are strict – please be there on time.’
She whirled out at her usual speed, but the door shut lightly behind her and latched with a quiet click.
Allie exhaled.
With the room to herself Allie had time to think. Why had her parents told Isabelle about Christopher? That had always been a private family matter. And how strange was this school? Why hadn’t they passed a single student in the hallway on the way here? The place felt empty.
It was weird.
She lifted a bag up onto the bed. Unzipping it, she began pulling things out and finding places to stow them. Books went onto the narrow bookshelf beside the desk. Clothes went into the dresser, but as she opened drawers she found many were already full of T-shirts, shorts and jumpers in white or midnight blue, with the Cimmeria crest above the heart.
Curious, she opened the wardrobe to find skirts, shirts and jackets, all in the uniform’s style. She rummaged through the back of the wardrobe until her fingers felt something light and filmy. Pulling out the hangers she found they held delicate frocks in various colours. Isabelle had mentioned balls, but she hadn’t said that the school would supply formal gowns. She held up a dress in dark blue velvet – it looked vintage, with a full, knee-length skirt and a sophisticated, beaded V-neck.
She stared at it, baffled. What was it doing there?
She’d never been to a real dance – it was not the kind of thing her former schools offered. The idea of wearing an expensive frock and going to a proper ball sent a thrill of nervousness through her. What would she do? She didn’t know how to dance.
Stroking the soft fabric, she tried to imagine herself nibbling canapés and making small talk. She gave a bitter laugh.
Not my world.
Allie returned the clothes to the wardrobe, shut the wooden door and sat at the small wooden desk in front of the window. From the chair, her view was of blue sky and the green tops of trees. The afternoon was cooling, and the air smelled of pine and summertime. She opened the envelope and pulled out a sheaf of paper. Isabelle hadn’t been joking about ‘too much’ information.
Inside was a map of the building, sketching out where the dormitories were in respect to classrooms, dining halls, and teachers’ quarters. The second sheet held her class schedule: English, history, biology, algebra, French – all the usual suspects.
Next in the stack was a black binder on which was written:
Inside was sheet after sheet written by hand in a lovely old-fashioned script. Before she could read it though, someone knocked on her door.
The door swung open and a pretty girl in a Cimmeria uniform – white short-sleeved crested shirt, pleated dark blue knee-length skirt – walked in. She had a serious face, Allie thought. Her straight, white-blonde hair brushed the tops of her shoulders, and she wore pink Birkenstock sandals. Allie noticed that the girl’s pedicure matched her shoes perfectly and she instantly felt awkward and tomboyish.
When was the last time I painted my nails?
She got the feeling the girl was trying not to stare.
‘Allie?’ She had a husky voice that didn’t seem to match her appearance.
Allie nodded and stood up from the desk.
‘I’m Jules, the prefect for your class. Isabelle asked me to come and meet you.’
‘Um, thanks.’ Allie tugged anxiously at the hem of her top, wondering if she should have changed.
There was a pause. Jules raised an eyebrow enquiringly and tried again. ‘She thought you might have questions that I could help you with?’
Allie struggled to think of interesting questions. And failed. ‘So, are we supposed to wear a uniform every day? All the time?’
Jules nodded. ‘Whenever we’re anywhere on the grounds, we wear the uniform. There’s a whole section on it in the papers Isabelle left for you.’
‘I was just sort of reading them.’ Allie wished she would quit stumbling over her words. Jules seemed so confident. ‘But there’s a lot to read.’
‘It’s a lot to take in on your first day,’ Jules conceded. ‘I think my first day would have been awful but my brother was here already, so he helped. Lots of kids have relatives who went here – do you?’
Allie shook her head. ‘I’d never heard of the place until a few days ago.’
Jules seemed surprised by that, but said only, ‘Well then I better show you around the dorm, although there’s not much to it, to be honest.’
Allie took a step towards the door but Jules looked at her outfit meaningfully.
‘Why don’t you change into your uniform first?’
Flushing, Allie crossed her arms across her chest but Jules didn’t seem to notice.
‘I’ll wait outside,’ Jules said. Without waiting for a response she walked out the door.
As soon as the door closed behind her, Allie yanked open the wardrobe door and pulled out a white shirt and neat blue skirt like the ones Jules wore and threw the outfit on the bed.
Had Jules been making fun of her clothes? She couldn’t be certain, but she was so … perfect.
Of course she was making fun of me, Allie thought bitterly. That’s what girls like her do.
Girls with perfect pedicures … She unlaced her boots violently and kicked them under the bed.
Girls with perfect hair …
She launched herself at the wardrobe to find acceptable shoes, but unearthed only practical rubber-soled black Oxfords and prim, schoolgirl white socks. She made a face as she put them on.
Stupid perfect girls.
Checking herself in the mirror on the back of the door she felt self-conscious about her heavy makeup – Jules wore only lip gloss. But there was nothing to be done right now.
Smoothing her hair with her hands, she walked out. Jules was leaning against the wall.
‘Now you look like one of us,’ she said approvingly as they walked down the narrow hall.
Allie didn’t know what to think about that.
‘This area used to be the servants’ quarters,’ Jules explained, oblivious to Allie’s simmering resentment. ‘The building was expanded over the years, though, so it’s much larger than it used to be. The bathroom’s here …’ she gestured at the only door they’d passed that wasn’t numbered. ‘Everyone shares it so go early or late or expect to wait.’
They turned back towards the stairs. The building felt busier now, with uniformed students talking and laughing everywhere.
‘I take it Isabelle showed you the dining room?’ Jules said. ‘Did she take you to the common room?’
Allie shook her head.
‘It’s the most important room in the school,’ Jules said, leading them down the staircase. ‘Most of us are here after class whenever we’re not doing our prep.’
‘Prep?’ Allie asked.
Jules looked at her as if she couldn’t believe she had to ask.
‘Homework,’ she explained, opening a door at the foot of the stairs.
They stepped into a comfortable space with leather sofas, Oriental rugs scattered on the floor, a piano in one corner, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stacked with books and games. Several tables had chessboards painted on top. The room was empty save for one deep chair at the far side of the room where a boy sat watching them over the top of an ancient-looking book. He had straight black hair, a firm mouth and huge, dark eyes surrounded by thick lashes; his feet were propped casually on a chessboard. Their eyes met and Allie had the strangest feeling that he knew who she was. He didn’t smile at her, or say a word, but he kept looking. After a moment that seemed longer than a moment, she tore her eyes away and looked back at Jules, who was watching her expectantly.
Say something.
‘There’s, uh … no television? Or … stereo …’ She thought she heard a stifled chuckle from across the room but she refused to look back over at the boy.
Again she saw bafflement on Jules’ face, as if she’d asked her what the bright golden globe in the sky was.
‘No, definitely not.’ Jules’ voice was stern. ‘No TV, no iPod, no laptops, no mobiles … No twenty-first century, really. Surely your parents mentioned this to you?’
As Jules listed off the things the students couldn’t have, Allie’s heart sank with each forbidden device. In answer to Jules’ question, she shook her head mutely.
Jules seemed astonished but gathered herself enough to explain.
‘We’re expected to learn how to amuse ourselves in more traditional ways. Like conversation and reading. Trust me, they’ll keep you so busy with schoolwork you won’t have time for TV anyway.’ Jules turned to walk out of the room, ‘It’s all in the packet …’
That stupid packet. It will take me all bloody night to read it and learn more about how rubbish this place is.
Without looking back at the boy in the chair, she followed the prefect down the hall. Jules lightly touched a door as they passed it. ‘This is the library – you’ll get to know it very well.’
They crossed the main hall and she pushed open a heavy door, letting them into the east wing of the building.
‘This is where the classrooms are. It’s easiest to find your way around by number when you first start here. On your schedule, each of your classes has a room number. We all know them by teacher, but that won’t be much help to you at first, since they don’t put their names on the door. Rooms one to twenty are on the ground floor, one hundred to one-twenty are on the first floor, and anything higher than that is off limits to you.’
Allie shot her a surprised look but before she could ask why, Jules said, ‘So, you’ve got about twenty minutes before dinner, and I’d suggest you read through the packet while you’ve got the time. That stuff is really important. Otherwise I think you’ll be a bit lost tomorrow. Your teachers will give you your books in each class, by the way, so you only need to bring paper and pens; there should be plenty in your desk.’
They were climbing the stairs by that point, heading back towards the dormitory. ‘I’m in room 335 if you need me, but anybody will help you if you get lost, OK?’
She waved and turned away down the hall, as Allie returned to her room.
Setting the weird-looking Rules aside for later, she flipped through the stack of papers on the desk and tried to focus on class guides (‘Students must be in their seats before the instructor begins each class …’) but her thoughts returned to the boy in the leather chair. She searched her memory for any past encounters but could find none filed there. He definitely seemed to recognise her, or, if nothing else, to know who she was. She twirled her pencil between her fingers, remembering the way his dark eyes had studied her.
As she turned over another page she glanced down at her watch.
Bollocks.
It was one minute until seven o’clock. Where had twenty minutes gone? Dinner was starting.
She dashed out the door and barely avoided colliding with a girl with short blonde hair who was hurtling down the hall.
‘Watch it!’ the girl yelled without breaking her stride. Allie stepped in right behind her.
‘Sorry! I didn’t see you.’
The girl didn’t look back, and they both ran downstairs and skidded to a stop at the dining room entrance at the same time. Without exchanging a word they walked into the room with the same air of contrived insouciance, as if they’d been chatting casually on the way down. The blonde girl glanced at her and winked before sitting at what appeared to be her regular table, judging by the way everybody greeted her.
The room looked very different now than it had appeared to her when she’d breezed through with Isabelle. Lighted candles sparkled on tables draped in white tablecloths. Plates in the school colours and crystal glasses glittered in front of each seat. Spotting an empty chair, Allie slid into it. As if somebody had hit the mute button, conversation at the table died instantly. Seven pairs of eyes gazed at her curiously.
‘Is it OK if I, uh … sit here?’ She glanced around nervously.
Before anyone could answer, the door to the kitchen opened and waiting staff appeared dressed in black and carrying platters of food. Somebody placed a clear glass jug of water at Allie’s elbow. Until that moment she hadn’t realised how thirsty she was, and she longed to fill her glass but she waited to see what everybody else was doing. Nobody moved.
‘Please do.’
She followed the voice, with its French accent, to her left side where a boy with tawny skin, thick dark hair and exquisite blue eyes was watching her.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Sit here. Please do.’
She smiled at him gratefully. ‘Thank you.’
He smiled back and she thought she might actually melt into a puddle on the floor. He was gorgeous.
‘You’re welcome. Would you be so kind as to pass the water to me?’
She handed him the jug and, to her relief, he filled her glass before his own. She drank half of the glass very quickly, and then served herself from the platter of beef and potatoes he passed to her. Silence fell again, and she glanced over at him.
She cleared her throat. ‘I’m Allie,’ she said.
Something told her he knew that already. ‘I’m Sylvain. Welcome to Cimmeria.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, momentarily glad to be there.
The food was delicious. She hadn’t had anything to eat since that awful, stilted breakfast, and now she ate ravenously. As she speared the last piece of potato into her mouth, though, she glanced up to find everyone watching her. The piece of potato seemed enormous and she chewed with difficulty then reached for her glass of water, which she noticed too late was empty.
Smoothly, Sylvain picked up the glass and filled it for her. His expression was sympathetic, and his light eyes glittered in the candlelight. But as Allie tried to think of something interesting to say, her thoughts were interrupted.
‘You’re from London.’ The abrupt voice came from a red-haired girl across the table.
‘Yes. How did you …?’
‘They told us a new student was coming. You’re Allie Sheridan.’ The redhead stated this matter-of-factly, as if she were reporting the day’s news.
Allie’s reply was guarded.
‘So they tell me. Who are you?’
‘Katie.’ Nobody else volunteered their names.
Allie squirmed a bit in their combined gaze, and felt the need to fill the awkward gaps in the conversation. But small talk had never been her strong suit.
‘This school is … huge,’ she fumbled. ‘The building is kind of scary.’
‘Is it?’ Katie asked, sounding a bit taken aback. ‘I think it’s beautiful. Everyone in my family went to school here. Did your parents go here?’
Allie shook her head. Katie arched one perfect eyebrow as the girls on either side of her whispered to each other.
‘How strange.’
‘Why is that strange?’ Allie asked.
‘Most of the kids here are legacy – I am, Sylvain is, and Jo is too.’
Allie was confused. ‘Who’s Jo?’
Katie looked bemused. ‘The girl you came in with.’
‘Miss Sheridan.’ The booming voice from just behind her seat cut Katie off, and Allie turned sideways to see its owner, a balding man who looked to be her father’s age. He was very tall – well over six feet – and although he wore a tired-looking suit, he stood with almost military carriage. Allie sat up straighter. The room fell silent.
‘Has anyone explained to you the rules on meals at Cimmeria?’ The look he gave her felt like contempt.
‘Yes.’ Allie’s voice quivered slightly, and she hated that.
‘All students must be in this room before the start of every meal. You cut it a little too close today. As did you, Miss Arringford.’ He spun on his heel and pointed at Jo, who regarded him fearlessly. He looked back at Allie. ‘Don’t let it happen again. New or not, the next time you’re late you’ll face detention.’
He strode away, his heels making a clicking sound in the hushed room. Allie stared at her empty plate, feeling the room’s eyes on her. Her cheeks flushed with anger. She was two seconds late. He had no right to humiliate her in front of the entire school for that.
She couldn’t believe it. She’d only just arrived, and already she was in trouble.
Looking over at the nearby table she saw Jo watching her. Briefly their eyes met and Jo gave a cheeky smile and another wink before she returned to talking and laughing as if nothing had happened. Allie watched as a boy rubbed Jo’s arm and she rested her head on his shoulder for a moment smiling at something he’d said.
Allie felt both better and worse.
The others at her table were talking busily to one another, pointedly ignoring her. All except Sylvain, who looked concerned.
‘Who was that?’ she asked, folding and unfolding her linen napkin, pretending that what had happened wasn’t that important.
‘Mr Zelazny,’ he said. ‘History teacher. A bit officious as you’ve now seen. He sees himself as the school’s enforcer. I’d like to say that you shouldn’t worry, but in reality you don’t want to get on his bad side. He can make your life … unhappy. If I were you, I’d be early for meals for the next few days. He will be watching you.’
‘Great,’ Allie said resignedly.
Just my bloody luck.
All around them students began rising from their tables and walking out. Allie saw that they left their plates and glasses on the table.
‘Don’t we help clear the tables?’ she asked, surprised.
The girls around Katie giggled.
Katie looked puzzled. ‘Of course not. The staff do that.’
Allie turned to Sylvain, but his seat was empty. He was gone. She could hear more giggling and whispering around the table, and she’d had just about enough of that today, so without another word she joined those walking to the door.
She felt tired and defeated. What she wouldn’t give to go back to her room and listen to her MP3 player while texting Mark and Harry about the weird people she’d met today. But that world seemed very far away from Cimmeria’s stuffy, antiquated universe where technology didn’t exist, and people were too pampered to pick up their own dinner plates and carry them to the kitchen.
Out in the hallway she saw the students were walking in several directions. Some were going outside, while others headed into the common room or library. They all seemed to be travelling in groups of friends, talking and laughing.
Alone, Allie climbed the stairs towards the girls’ rooms.
Twenty-four steps to the first floor, and twenty more to the second, then seventeen steps down the hall to her room.
Once inside she saw that somebody had been in while she was at dinner. The window was closed, although the shutter was still open. The bed was now covered in crisp white sheets and a fluffy white duvet; a dark blue blanket folded neatly across the footboard. The clothes she’d thrown on the floor had disappeared, replaced by a pair of soft white slippers. Two white towels were folded up on the chair with a bar of soap on top. The papers on the desk had been straightened into a neat pile.
Somebody around here’s a neat freak.
Kicking off her shoes, Allie picked up the papers and threw herself onto the bed. She’d only made it halfway through, though, when the evening light began disappearing from the sky.
She yawned into her course schedule.
Shoving her feet into the slippers, she grabbed her toothbrush and headed towards the bathroom. She opened the door with slight trepidation, but the room was empty. As she cleaned her teeth she studied herself in the mirror. Did she look older now than she had a week ago? She felt older.
Back in her room she closed the shutter over the window and climbed into bed. But when she switched off the desk lamp the room was plunged into total darkness. It was way too dark. She groped for the lamp on the desk, knocking over her alarm clock as she hurriedly switched the light back on.
Jumping out of bed, she opened the shutter. The last light of the summer day bathed the room with a soft glow.
That was better.
Switching off the lamp, she lay watching the last glimmers of sunlight disappear and the stars appear. She’d counted one hundred and forty-seven breaths when she fell asleep.
‘Allie, run!’
The scream came from ahead of her in the darkness. Allie didn’t know why anyone felt it necessary to say that – she was already running, and running as fast as she could. Her hair flew behind her, and although she couldn’t really see the trees clearly – she could just make out their shapes – she could feel the branches grabbing at her clothes; the twigs tearing her flesh. The forest floor was uneven and she knew that eventually she would lose her footing. You can’t run blindly in the dark through the woods. It’s impossible.
Suddenly just behind her she heard footsteps and felt the air move as if someone were right …
Hard fingers cut into the skin on her left shoulder and she cried out, swatting whoever it was with her hands, beating them away from her.
Then she heard a contemptuous laugh right behind her and, screaming, she was pulled off of her feet by hands she couldn’t see.
Allie sat bolt upright. For a short moment she had no idea where she was, and she scrambled into the far corner of the bed, her back to the wall and her arms wrapped around her knees protectively.
Then she remembered. Cimmeria. School.
That dream again. She’d been having it regularly for weeks. Each time she woke up sweating.
The room was still dark – the clock showed that it was just after twelve-thirty. She felt wide awake and anxious, and yet somehow still groggy, as if nothing were real.
She climbed out of bed, and leaned across the desk to look outside. The moon cast the world in an unearthly blue light. She clambered up onto the desktop and opened the window, feeling the cool breeze as she rested her chin on her arms and gazed out into the darkness. She listened to the night birds and breathed the fresh air in deeply. She loved that smell – pine needles and loamy soil – it was comforting.
Suddenly she heard footsteps … above her? Was that possible?
She strained to see what was above her window and could have sworn she saw the faintest shadow moving on the roof.
She sat still for a moment, listening, and thought she could hear, very faintly, a susurration of voices.
She closed the window, tested the latch to make sure it was secure then climbed back into bed. She was unconscious within minutes.