Night School: Legacy

by C. J. Daugherty

  ‘Let me go!’ The words burst out of her in a scream.

  ‘Allie. Stop fighting!’ Sylvain was panting from exertion. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’

  ‘I’m going to go and wait for Christopher,’ she sobbed irrationally. ‘If you’re going to Isabelle, I’ve got to warn him.’

  Muttering something in French – she didn’t know the words but she was pretty sure he was swearing – he held her so close she could feel his breath against her ear.

  ‘I won’t tell, OK?’ he said. ‘I won’t tell Isabelle. Now please. Stop this.’

  Instantly, she stopped fighting, and after a second he loosened his hold on her. Pushing wet hair out of her eyes, she searched his face for signs of deception.

  ‘Promise me,’ she said, raising her voice to be heard above the rain. ‘Swear you won’t tell anybody.’

  ‘You have my word.’ His eyes never wavered. ‘Now please.’ He held out his hand. ‘Come back inside.’

  She believed him.

  Suddenly exhausted, she allowed him to take her hand; his skin wet and cold against hers. In silence, they walked back towards the building. The adrenaline that had stopped her from feeling the cold flooded away as quickly as it had arrived and she trembled violently. Casting a sideways glance at Sylvain, she saw that he was shivering, too. His jaw was set as he led her to a small door in the east wing.

  When he opened it, though, she balked. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘If we go in through the main entrances looking like this, people will ask questions you don’t want to answer,’ he said. ‘This is another way in.’

  The door opened on to a short stairway down into a part of the cellar she’d never seen before. It seemed unused – old chairs were stacked haphazardly against the walls. Flickering lights in wall sconces cast moving shadows that chased them down the corridor. About halfway down the hall, he opened another door and flipped a light switch, revealing a narrow, winding staircase. Allie’s teeth were chattering so loudly she was sure he must be able to hear them.

  ‘It’s one of the old servants’ staircases,’ he explained. ‘They’re everywhere. We used another one the night of the fire.’

  They climbed several storeys, finally emerging into a warm hallway. Sylvain led her past two closed doors before opening one. It was a spacious, neatly kept bedroom.

  Instantly she knew just where they were. Her heart thudded three quick beats.

  I cannot be in his bedroom – Carter would kill me. This is so not a good thing. I’ve got to get out of here.

  But when he handed her a thick warm towel, instead of throwing it on the floor and running out of the door she began drying herself, looking around curiously. It was like any other dorm room, except for the extraordinary painting in an ornate gilded frame, of angels carrying an unconscious man.

  Following her eyes, Sylvain gave an embarrassed shrug. ‘A gift.’

  Yanking open a drawer, he pulled out an armful of T-shirts and jumpers, dropping them on the bed. ‘Here. Take off your wet clothes and put these on. They will all be too big but they will do.’

  Through the tangled mass of wet hair covering her face, Allie glowered at him. ‘You think I’m taking my clothes off in front of you? Good luck with that.’

  A flash of amusement sparked in his eyes. ‘Don’t be such a child. I’ll turn my back if you prefer, but you will not get warm if you keep those wet clothes on. Plus, you will make a spectacle walking back to your room.’

  Without waiting for her to agree, he turned around to face the door.

  For just a second she didn’t move.

  Her soaking wet top made a slapping sound when it hit the wood floor. She wanted to leave her bra on, but it was wet through.

  ‘Don’t you dare turn around,’ she said through gritted teeth as she unhooked it.

  His chuckle surprised her. ‘Hurry up or I will,’ he threatened. ‘I want to change, too.’

  Dropping her soaking bra on top of her wet shirt, she pulled on one of his T-shirts. It hung to her thighs. She put a jumper on top of it, then a pair of pyjama bottoms with a drawstring waist.

  ‘Done.’

  ‘Thank God,’ he said. ‘I’m freezing.’ As he turned, his eyes skittered across her body. ‘My clothes look better on you than they do on me,’ he commented. She felt colour rise in her face, but he’d already turned to rifle through the T-shirts and jumpers she hadn’t put on.

  ‘Now, I need to get out of my wet clothes,’ he said in perfectly reasonable tones. ‘I won’t make you turn around, though. I am French, so I’m not shy.’

  ‘I will turn around …’ she said, but before she’d finished the sentence he’d peeled off his wet shirt.

  So there was no point.

  Right?

  His torso was leanly muscled, and his latte-coloured skin held a Braille pattern of goosebumps. Shivering, he dried himself quickly before pulling on a clean T-shirt identical to the one she wore. Then, without any hesitation, he peeled off his wet trousers and dropped them into the pile with her wet clothes.

  Turn around, Allie, she told herself. But she didn’t move.

  He had the long, muscled legs of an athlete, she observed, as he pulled dry trousers on over his dark blue boxers.

  ‘You’re very good-looking,’ Allie heard herself say as if from a hundred miles away.

  Oh good. I’ve gone completely insane.

  Surprised, he looked up at her.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said simply. ‘You are beautiful.’

  ‘I’m a mess.’ Allie sat down on his bed, wondering with only mild interest what she would say next.

  When she glanced up, he was holding a towel out for her. She looked at it blankly.

  ‘For your hair,’ he explained.

  But the stress had taken its toll and, when he handed it to her, she just held it loosely in one hand, thinking about Christopher and Carter and Gabe …

  And … Shut up brain! Please God, let my brain just shut up.

  When she didn’t move, Sylvain lowered himself on to the bed next to her and began drying her hair with gentle hands. ‘I read somewhere,’ he said, ‘that when you are cold you lose most of the heat from your head. So even if the rest of you is perfectly warm, you can still feel freezing if your head is cold. I think that is very strange, don’t you?’

  His hands felt cold when they touched her neck, and she shivered.

  ‘What happened, Allie?’ he asked. ‘Why did you run away like that?’

  She closed her eyes. ‘I get these panic attack things. I can’t breathe.’ She gestured vaguely. ‘Claustrophobic. But …’ she opened her eyes again ‘… you mustn’t tell.’

  His hands quit moving. ‘Tell what? Tell someone about your panic attack? Of course not.’

  ‘No. Sylvain,’ she said with such passion it startled them both, ‘please don’t tell Isabelle about Christopher’s letter.’

  Dropping the towel, he moved until he could see her face. ‘I have promised. And I won’t. But now you must promise me that you won’t go off to meet Christopher by yourself.’

  ‘I have to see him.’ She held his gaze. ‘I have to know what happened. He’s the only one who can tell me. Sylvain, he’s my brother.’

  He held up his hands. ‘Then take Carter with you. And Lucas. And Jules.’

  She shook her head. ‘If I tell Carter he’ll go straight to Isabelle. He won’t listen to me.’ Only when she said those words did she fully understand why she hadn’t told Carter about the letter. She didn’t trust him. And he didn’t trust her.

  ‘Because he’ll want to protect you,’ Sylvain said. ‘It is the right thing to do.’

  ‘I can protect myself,’ she said.

  His reply was chilling and instant. ‘Not from Nathaniel you can’t. Not from Gabe.’

  ‘I have to go, Sylvain.’ She leaned towards him intently. ‘I have to.’

  Their eyes locked – his clear blue eyes sparkled in the lamplight.

  ‘What are y
ou asking me, Allie?’ His voice was low.

  ‘Will you go with me?’ She held her breath.

  For a long moment he studied her face. Then he sighed. ‘I think this is a very bad idea,’ he said. ‘But I won’t let you go alone.’

  EIGHTEEN

  Now all she had to do was get through Friday. That morning, she explained away her disappearance the night before with an imaginary illness. Nobody doubted her. Rachel plied her with herbal tea while Carter checked her forehead for signs of fever and asked if she’d seen the nurse.

  Her whole day was one lie after another. And it was easy.

  I’m a natural, she thought bitterly on her way to the dining hall for dinner. It must be in my blood.

  She glanced at her watch. Five minutes to seven.

  Five hours until she’d talk to Christopher again for the first time in nearly two years. Five hours until she’d learn the truth.

  Nervousness sped her heart rate, and she took calming breaths before walking into the busy dining room. Sliding into her normal seat next to Carter, she smiled at the group already assembled at their usual table.

  Rachel mouthed, You OK? at her from her seat next to Lucas. Allie nodded and smiled to show she was fine. Carter draped his arm loosely across her shoulders and pressed his lips lightly to her temple.

  Guilt stabbed like a needle prick, and she smiled broadly to push it back.

  I’m going to do something, Carter, she thought, watching him chat with Lucas. I hope you’ll forgive me. And, horribly, I don’t think you will.

  Zoe had taken to sitting with them lately and she was chatting earnestly to Jo about a complex chemistry problem she was working on with her tutor. Jo looked baffled but was nodding politely.

  On the next table, Sylvain sat next to Nicole with a group of international students. They appeared to be deep in conversation but, as if he sensed her gaze, he looked up. When their eyes met, she could feel the connection their secrets had made between them.

  ‘So.’ Jo interrupted her thoughts by tapping her spoon against a glass until everyone at the table was looking at her and laughing. ‘I’ve decided it’s time.’

  ‘Time?’ Rachel said doubtfully.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ Lucas muttered. ‘I think I know what’s coming.’

  ‘Time for what?’ Zoe asked, cocking her head to one side.

  ‘Time to start talking about the ball.’

  The chorus of derision was instantaneous.

  ‘I knew it,’ Lucas said, dropping his head back against the top of his chair.

  ‘It’s a month away, Jo,’ Carter pointed out. ‘And all we have to do is get dressed.’

  ‘Don’t be absurd, Carter.’ Jo dismissed him with a wave. ‘It’s much more than that.’

  ‘Isn’t it just like the summer ball?’ Allie asked.

  ‘No, it’s totally different,’ Zoe said before Jo could reply. ‘Everyone comes to the winter ball.’

  ‘She’s right,’ Jo said. ‘Alumni come back, the entire board of directors usually comes. And I’ve heard a juicy rumour about this year.’

  ‘Oh God,’ Carter murmured, sipping from a glass of water.

  ‘Just say it,’ Lucas said. ‘You know you won’t rest until you’ve said it.’

  ‘Go on then, Jo.’ Rachel sat forward eagerly. ‘Spread the goss.’

  ‘Apparently,’ Jo leaned forward and lowered her voice, ‘lots of international politicos are coming this year. As in presidents. Prime ministers. Chancellors.’

  As soon as Jo said the word ‘chancellors’, Allie felt her blood temperature drop.

  She cleared her throat. ‘Any names?’

  ‘Totally.’ Jo looked delighted. ‘Henry Abingdon, Joseph Swinton and Lucinda Meldrum were the names I heard.’

  Carter and Rachel, who both knew about Lucinda, were careful not to meet Allie’s eye. She sat stunned, staring at Jo.

  Lucinda is coming here? For the ball?

  The grandmother she’d never met – who never even travelled across London to meet her – would be at Cimmeria. They’d be in the same room.

  The others were now all talking at once in excited tones.

  ‘President Abingdon!’ Zoe sounded breathless. ‘I wanted him to be my other dad.’

  Under the table, Carter took Allie’s hand and squeezed it gently. When nobody was paying attention, he leaned over and whispered into her ear, ‘Did you know she was coming?’

  She shook her head.

  Before he could respond, the doors at the end of the dining hall swung open and the staff streamed in carrying heaping trays of food. The students gave their customary cheer, but this time Allie couldn’t even fake a smile.

  Everything was too messed up.

  As soon as dinner ended, Carter disappeared. When he turned up in the common room twenty minutes later, he looked pale. Allie was on a sofa pretending to read The Great Gatsby as somebody pounded on the piano, each note sending a shard of glass into her tired head.

  ‘Allie.’ His jaw was tight. ‘Can I have a word?’

  Frowning, she looked up at him. He didn’t sound right and, when she met his eyes, she saw anger there. Fear uncurled near her heart.

  Has he found out about Christopher?

  She followed him into the hallway. His muscles tense, he took quick, jerky steps, shoving open the door of the great hall. When they walked into the vast dark room he didn’t turn on the light. His eyes glittered in the faint ambient glow from the windows.

  ‘Did you tell Isabelle about what Gabe said to me?’

  Her heart seemed to stop. Swallowing hard, she nodded. ‘I didn’t want to, Carter, but I had to.’ She took a panicked step towards him. ‘Not to get you into trouble but just in case the information was useful to the work she and Raj Patel are doing.’ Her words sounded weak and pathetic to her own ears.

  ‘Bloody hell, Allie.’ He walked a few steps away then turned back to face her. ‘Why didn’t you at least warn me? Now I look like a … I don’t know. Liar? Murderer?’

  Aghast, she shook her head with fierce insistence. ‘No, Carter. Isabelle would never think that. They’re just surprised you didn’t mention it – they know you’re not …’

  ‘Do they?’ He crossed his arms. ‘Thanks to you I think they’re not so certain of that any more.’

  Her shoulders slumped and the pounding in her head grew exponentially louder. She’d messed this up, too. Why couldn’t she do anything right?

  ‘I’m so sorry, Carter. That was the last thing I wanted to happen. I just didn’t know what else to do.’ She tried to read his expression to see how much trouble he was in. ‘What are they going to do to you?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he muttered. ‘I mean not really. Isabelle was angry. And she told me she was disappointed in me. That I should know better. The usual. But you’re right. I don’t think she suspects me of anything.’

  The tightness in her chest eased – he wasn’t in real trouble. ‘I’m sorry, Carter. It’s all my fault. I did the wrong thing. I know it sounds stupid but I was trying to help.’

  And I trusted my instincts. Always an idiotic thing to do.

  ‘Damn it, Allie.’ He seemed to be calming down now and he walked back towards her. ‘Just be careful, OK? You can do a lot of damage trying to help.’

  She nodded miserably. ‘Do you believe me, though? That I didn’t mean to get you in trouble?’

  ‘Of course I believe you.’ The question seemed to puzzle him and he pulled her into a rough hug. ‘You wouldn’t lie to me.’

  After that, the throbbing in her head was making it hard to think, so Allie escaped to her room. When the door closed behind her, she glanced at the clock.

  Eight-thirty. If she was going to be any use to Sylvain tonight she needed to get some rest. Setting her alarm for eleven-thirty she lay down on the bed.

  But the moment her eyes closed, last night’s events played out for her like a film. She’d stayed in Sylvain’s room for hours while they plotted out what they would do tonigh
t. It had been odd to feel so comfortable, curled up across from him on the bed, wearing his pyjamas, as he sketched out for her on a piece of paper her precise route for tonight. But the longer they talked the more relaxed she felt.

  She didn’t realise she’d fallen asleep. Just, one minute she was awake and Sylvain was sketching the forest on to the map and talking about footpaths and the next minute she was sitting in the dining room, and Gabe was staring at her through the window.

  The room was completely empty aside from her, Sylvain and Carter. Turning to Carter, Allie grabbed his arm, pointing at Gabe.

  ‘There! He’s right there!’

  But he couldn’t see him, and he shook his head, a worried look on his face. ‘What are you talking about, Allie? There’s no one there.’

  When she looked back to the window, Gabe wasn’t there any more. Instead, he was inside the dining room.

  Walking towards them.

  Her heart pounded in her chest as she spun to face Sylvain, her nails digging into his arm. ‘Can’t you see Gabe? He’s right there.’

  ‘Of course I can see him, Allie,’ Sylvain said calmly. ‘He’s standing right next to you.’

  She didn’t know if her own scream woke her or Sylvain, who held her by the shoulders, shaking her. ‘Wake up, Allie.’

  ‘Sylvain?’ Her eyes scanned the room wildly. ‘Where am …?’ Then she remembered and her speeding heart slowed. ‘I fell asleep.’

  The overhead light was off, although the desk lamp still cast a soft circle of light. At some point he’d put the papers away and covered her with a blanket.

  ‘You were talking in your sleep.’ Sleep and worry thickened his accent. ‘Were you dreaming about Gabe?’

  At the mention of his name, she shuddered. ‘He was in my dream. Nobody could see him except you and me. He was going to kill us.’

  Propped up on his elbow beside her, Sylvain smoothed her hair out of her face. ‘It was just a bad dream. You’re safe.’ His fingers were soft against her skin as her heavy eyelids fluttered shut.