Night School: Legacy

by C. J. Daugherty

  BY C. J. DAUGHERTY

  Night School

  Night School: Legacy

  Copyright

  Published by Hachette Digital

  ISBN: 978-0-7481-3130-3

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 by Christi Daugherty

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  Hachette Digital

  Little, Brown Book Group

  100 Victoria Embankment

  London, EC4Y 0DY

  www.hachette.co.uk

  To Jack

  My navigator

  One for sorrow

  Two for joy

  Three for a girl

  Four for a boy

  Five for silver

  Six for gold

  Seven for a secret

  Never to be told

  Untitled, Old English Nursery Rhyme

  Contents

  By C. J. Daugherty

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  ONE

  ‘Isabelle, I need help!’

  Crouching in the dark, Allie whispered urgently into her phone.

  For less than a minute she listened to the voice on the other end of the line. Occasionally she nodded, her dark hair swinging. When the voice stopped she fumbled with the phone, snapping off the back to remove the battery. Then she yanked out the SIM card and ground it into the dirt with her heel.

  Scaling the low brick wall around the tiny square of London garden in which she hid, almost invisible in the moonless night, she ran down the empty street, slowing only long enough to drop the hollow phone into an open rubbish bin. A few streets away, she threw the battery over a tall fence into somebody’s garden.

  Then she heard something above the sound of her own feet pounding on the pavement. Ducking behind a white van parked on the side of the road, she held her breath and listened.

  Footsteps.

  Her eyes darted around the quiet residential street lined with terraces of homes, but it offered few hiding places. She could hear her pursuer running – she didn’t have much time.

  Dropping to the ground, Allie wriggled her way under the van. The smell of asphalt and oil filled her nostrils. Her cheek rested on the rough tarmac, cold and damp from a rainstorm earlier that day.

  She listened hard, willing her heartbeat to quiet.

  The footsteps grew closer and closer. When they reached the van, she stopped breathing. But without slowing they passed her hiding place.

  She felt a rush of relief.

  Then the footsteps stopped.

  All sound seemed to be sucked from the air and for a moment Allie could hear nothing at all. Then a muffled curse made her flinch.

  After a moment she heard a quiet male voice whispering. ‘It’s me. I lost her.’ A pause then, defensively, ‘I know, I know … Look, she’s fast and, like you said, she knows this area.’ Another pause. ‘I’m on …’ his feet shuffled as he moved to look ‘… Croxted Street. I’ll wait here.’

  The silence that followed stretched on for so long Allie began to wonder if he’d somehow tiptoed away without her hearing. She never heard him move once.

  Just as her muscles began to ache from lying so still, a sound made her spine tingle.

  More footsteps.

  These rang out crisply in the cool night air.

  As they neared her hiding place the hairs on her arms stood up. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. Her palms were slick with sweat.

  Calm, she thought fiercely. Stay calm.

  She practised the breathing techniques Carter had taught her over the summer – focusing on slow breaths in and out helped stave off the panic attacks that would otherwise be uncontrollable.

  Three breaths in, two breaths out.

  ‘Where’d you see her last?’ The low, menacing voice drifted above her as she breathed quietly.

  ‘About two streets back,’ the original voice replied. She could hear the rustling sound his jacket made when he pointed.

  ‘She probably turned off somewhere or ducked into a garden. Let’s backtrack. And check behind the bins – she’s not very big. She could hide behind them.’ He sighed. ‘Nathaniel’s not gonna like it if we lose her. You heard what he said. So let’s not, shall we?’

  ‘She’s fast as hell,’ the first man said, sounding nervous.

  ‘Yeah, but we knew that already. You take that side of the street. I’ll take this one.’

  Their footsteps moved away. Allie didn’t budge until the sound had completely disappeared. Even then she counted to fifty before carefully slipping out from beneath the van. When she was on her feet, she hid between cars and looked as far as she could see in every direction.

  No sign of them.

  Hoping she was headed the right way, she ran, faster this time.

  When things were normal she loved to run, and even now her feet automatically adopted a smooth, easy rhythm. Her breathing steadied as she moved.

  But things were not normal. She fought the urge to look over her shoulder, knowing that tripping and injuring herself could mean discovery. And who knew what might happen then?

  In the dark the houses flew by as if they were moving, rather than her. It was late – the street was quiet.

  Motion detector sensors became her enemy; if she ran on the pavement porch lights clicked on as she passed them – simultaneously blinding and exposing her. So she kept to the middle of the street, although there the street lights harshly illuminated her.

  Suddenly the street ended at a junction and Allie skidded to a stop, panting as she looked up at the signs.

  Foxborough Road. What did Isabelle say? She rubbed her forehead as she tried to remember.

  She said left on Foxborough, she decided after a moment. Then right on the High Street. But she wasn’t certain. Everything had happened so fast.

  As soon she turned left, though, she saw ahead the bright lights of the High Street and she knew she’d been right. But even as she ran towards them she wondered whether the presence of the taxicabs, buses and lorries rumbling down the road meant she was safer. She was out in the open now.

  Without slowing, she powered right down the High Street looking for the place Isabelle had told her about.

  There! At the garishly decorated sandwich shop on the corner Allie veered right and found the little alleyway where the headmistress had told her to wait. Without looking back,
she dashed into the shadows between two massive metal rubbish bins.

  Leaning back against the wall, she paused to catch her breath. Her hair hung into her eyes, clinging to the sweat on her face, and she shoved it back absently as she wrinkled her nose.

  What the hell is that smell?

  The bins reeked but there was also some other awful stench around that she really didn’t want to think about. Focusing on her rescue, she kept an eye on the entrance to the alley. Isabelle had said she wouldn’t have to wait long.

  But as the minutes ticked by she grew impatient. Even here in the dark she felt too exposed. Too easily discovered.

  If I were looking for me, this would be one of the first places I’d look, she thought.

  Frowning, she chewed her thumbnail absently, until a strange shuffling sound drew her attention. Glancing down, she saw a discarded sandwich box moving by itself. At first she couldn’t register what she was seeing then her mouth opened in startled astonishment as the box crept slowly towards her from the far side of the alley. Only when it moved into a pool of light did she see the thin, prehensile tail dragging the ground behind it.

  Allie covered her mouth with her hands to stifle a scream.

  She was crouching in a rats’ nest.

  She looked around desperately but there was no place to go. As the sandwich box made its uneven way towards her, she could feel her heart flutter with fear and she struggled to stay still. She had to remain hidden.

  But when the rat-box bumped against her left foot it was too much – she tore out of the alley as if she’d been scalded. When she stopped, she found herself back on the street with absolutely no idea of what to do now.

  At that moment a sleek, black car skidded to a stop in front of her. Before Allie could react, a tall man leapt out of the driver’s side door and whirled to face her, all in one smooth move.

  ‘Allie! Quick! Get in the car.’

  She stared at him in astonishment. Isabelle had told her she’d send people to help. She hadn’t said ‘I’ll send one guy in a posh car.’ He looked very much like the men who’d chased her earlier – he wore an expensive-looking suit and his dark hair was cropped short.

  Allie raised her chin stubbornly.

  No way am I getting in that car.

  But as she turned to flee two figures appeared out of the darkness on Foxborough Road. They were running straight for her.

  She was trapped.

  Looking back at the man with the sleek car she saw that he was watching her worriedly. He’d left the car running and it purred like a tiger, spotting its prey. As she took a hesitant step away from him, he stretched out his right arm, his hand turned sideways. He spoke rapidly and without punctuation.

  ‘Allie my name is Raj Patel I’m Rachel’s dad Isabelle sent me to get you please get in the car as fast as you can.’

  Allie froze. Rachel was one of her best friends. Isabelle was the headmistress at Cimmeria Academy.

  If he was telling the truth, she was safe with him.

  With only seconds to make up her mind, she searched for a sign to tell her what to do. Any indication that he was who he said he was.

  His extended hand was steady; he had Rachel’s eyes.

  ‘You do not want those men to catch you, Allie,’ he said. ‘Please get in the car.’

  Something in his voice told her he was telling the truth. As if he’d said the magic words that somehow made her function Allie sprang towards him, scrabbling at the car’s unfamiliar door handle and then leaping in. She was still reaching for her seat belt when the car took off.

  By the time the catch clicked into place they were doing sixty miles an hour.

  TWO

  The thing was, the night had started out so well.

  Allie had gone out with her old friends Mark and Harry for the first time in months. These were the guys she’d hung out with back when she was always getting into trouble – she and Mark had been arrested together just a few months ago.

  Her parents loathed them both, so she’d expected a bit of pushback when she announced her plans for the evening. But they hadn’t appeared cross at all.

  Her mother said only, ‘Be in by midnight, please.’ And that was that.

  Ever since she’d come home from Cimmeria Academy that summer they’d treated her differently. With respect.

  It felt weird to go out without a row.

  Weirder still was going back to the park where they used to hang out together every night to find Mark and Harry still swinging on the exercise bars in the dark like overgrown children.

  ‘You lot need to get a job,’ she said, striding through the gate.

  ‘Allie!’ they’d roared, running across the dark playground to her.

  She was so happy to see them she couldn’t stop smiling. And they’d seemed thrilled to see her again – pounding her on the back and shoving a can of lukewarm cider into her hand. But once they’d settled down, the two boys on the swings and Allie perched at the top of the slide, the conversation lagged. All they talked about was skiving school, sneaking on to the railway lines to tag, nicking stuff from Foot Locker. The same things they always talked about.

  Only now it seemed …

  Boring.

  Just two months had passed since she’d last seen them, but Allie felt like she’d aged years; so much had happened during the summer term at Cimmeria. She’d helped to save the school from fire. She’d nearly died. She’d found another student’s dead body.

  Remembering that, she shivered.

  She felt sure they wouldn’t understand if she tried to explain what Cimmeria was like. When they asked her about school she replied in vague terms: it was ‘kind of crazy’, but ‘pretty cool’.

  ‘Are all the people there, like, total toffs?’ Harry asked, crushing a cider can in his hand and throwing it into the park. Allie studied the can as it glinted amid the soft green leaves of grass.

  ‘Yeah, I guess,’ she said, still staring at the can.

  But, she thought but didn’t say aloud, I really like them.

  ‘Do they treat you like the hired help?’ His voice sympathetic, Mark was trying to read her expression. She avoided his eyes.

  ‘Some do,’ Allie conceded, thinking of Katie Gilmore and her group. But by the end of the term, she and Katie had been working together to save the school from fire and they’d developed a grudging respect for one another. ‘But they’re not so bad,’ she finished.

  ‘I can’t imagine going to school with a bunch of toffs.’ Harry stood up on the swing’s seat and launched it into the darkness. His voice floated to them as he swung by. ‘I’d tell them where they could go and then get kicked out, I reckon.’

  ‘Like they’d let you in in the first place,’ Mark scoffed, shoving the chains of Harry’s swing until it gyrated sideways.

  ‘You going back?’ Mark asked, looking at her with sudden seriousness.

  ‘Yeah, my parents say I have to. And I kind of … want to, you know?’ She held his gaze, hoping he’d understand.

  Mark’s background was different from her own – his dad wasn’t around and he lived with his mother in a tower block. His mum went out to nightclubs and bars with her friends – she didn’t act like a regular parent. After Allie’s brother Christopher ran away two years ago, Mark had been as much like a brother as anybody could be. She knew he’d missed her since she’d gone away to school. But the truth was, after the first couple of weeks at Cimmeria she hadn’t thought about him much at all.

  ‘I’ll write you letters,’ she promised now, guilt making her more fervent.

  Mark’s sarcastic smile reminded her fleetingly of Carter.

  ‘Yeah?’ He popped open another can of cider and jumped up on to the swing. ‘I’ll write you notes on the Hammersmith and City line.’

  He shoved off with his feet and arced out towards Harry, who was singing nonsense songs to himself as he swung.

  Allie sat on the slide and watched them joke around – jerking at the swings a
s if they wanted to rip them from the metal frame. Her expression was thoughtful; the can of cider sat untouched next to her.

  It was nearly midnight when Harry’s phone rang. After a brief conversation, he conferred with Mark before turning to Allie.

  ‘We’re gonna hit the bus depot in Brixton – give it a bit of work. You coming?’

  After a pause Allie shook her head.

  ‘I promised the rentals I’d be home early,’ she said. ‘They’re still treating me like a criminal.’

  Harry held out his fist and she butted her own against it. His bag rattled when he picked up.

  ‘Later, Sheridan,’ he said, heading out of the park. ‘Don’t let the posh bastards get to you.’

  Mark lingered behind.

  ‘If you want to write those letters, Allie,’ he said after a long second, ‘that’d be cool.’

  ‘I will,’ she promised, determined to do it.

  At that, he turned and ran after Harry. For a little while she could hear them talking and laughing in the distance. When the sound faded, she climbed down off the slide and picked up all the empty cider cans, depositing them in a rubbish bin. Then she flipped her dark hood up over her head and walked back towards home, her feet moving slower than her thoughts.

  She was almost there when she saw them – four men standing outside her house. Their suits were perfectly tailored; haircuts short and neat. One wore sunglasses in the darkness; as she stared at him her heart began to pound. His athletic stance and intense focus reminded her of Gabe.

  She stopped in her tracks. That was her first mistake – she should have just walked into Mrs Burson’s garden and sneaked out the back.

  But she didn’t.

  When her footsteps stopped the one closest to her swung around. She was half in shadow but he seemed to recognise her. He gestured in her direction.

  ‘Hey,’ he said quietly, snapping his fingers twice.

  They all turned towards her.

  Allie took a cautious step backwards.

  ‘Allie Sheridan?’ the first one asked.

  Another backwards step.

  ‘We just want to talk to you,’ another one said.