‘Satisfied?’ she asked the empty room.
As she made her way down the hall she tried to clear her head of the memory of Mark’s expression as she told him she’d decided to stay at Cimmeria. Isabelle had given them a few minutes alone before he was put on a train back to London.
‘You must be joking.’ Disbelief had filled his eyes. ‘I’ve just been held prisoner. For hours. You’re covered in scars and your teachers are fascists, but suddenly everything’s fine?’
Allie hadn’t known what to say. How could she explain to an outsider everything she now knew?
‘Look,’ she said, ‘there’s a lot you don’t know —’
He’d cut her off with an impatient gesture. ‘Come on, Allie. I’ve seen your school – it’s like a bleedin’ castle. And I’ve heard how you talk – you were always a little posh but now you sound like the bloody Queen.’
Stung, Allie felt the blood rush to her face. ‘That’s not fair, Mark. I’m still the same person.’
‘No you’re not.’ With his hands resting on his narrow hips, he studied her as if he was seeing her for the first time. ‘Maybe you don’t know it but it’s obvious to me. You’re not one of us any more. You’re one of them.’
Remembering how he’d looked at her then, Allie shivered and pulled the robe more tightly around her.
With a sigh, she pushed open the door to the girls’ bathroom. It was blessedly empty at this hour. In a pure white shower cubicle, she turned the hot water up until the temperature teetered on the brink of painful and let it flood over her, washing away the grime of the last twenty-four hours.
She ran the soap across her skin, noticing the changes the car accident had made to her body – the scars were slick bumps beneath her fingertips.
Each one was a reminder of what she still had to do.
Something Dr Cartwright had said to her in one of their meetings nagged at her. ‘It is OK,’ he’d said, ‘for you to be alive even if Jo isn’t.’
She hadn’t believed him at the time.
But maybe he was right, she thought now. Because I have to be alive to kill Gabe.
Back in her bedroom, she wrestled a comb through her tangled hair and dabbed on foundation. But even when she’d done it, dark shadows still underlined her grey eyes; her skin looked sallow.
Flinging open the wardrobe, she surveyed the row of dark blue options in front of her. The choice of what to wear at Cimmeria was rarely complicated. Dark tights and a short pleated skirt went on first. Then a crisp, white, button-down blouse topped by a blue blazer. A pair of sensible, school-issued shoes and she was fully disguised as a Cimmeria student.
She glanced at her watch – it was nearly dinner-time.
Now, she thought with grim determination, let the atoning begin.
As she hurried down the stairs, the low roar of conversation and laughter emanating from the crowded dining hall grew gradually louder. The happy buzz felt alien and for a long moment she stood outside, unable to make herself go in. She’d been skipping dinners for weeks.
But in her office today Isabelle had made it clear that was no longer an option. She had to be in the dining room on time for every meal from now on, as The Rules required.
That was just one of many things Allie had agreed to do. Because once she’d agreed to stay, Isabelle had read her the riot act.
Allie would attend all classes and make up for all the work she’d missed so far this term. She would maintain perfect grades.
And she’d rejoin Night School.
The last requirement was the one that frightened her – the one that twisted her stomach into knots.
She knew it would be irrational to refuse – she had to be in Night School to train, to learn, to find out the truth about what was happening. It was the heart of Cimmeria, and she had to be there. But the idea of doing that again – of slipping into that world – scared the hell out of her.
But what was the point of telling Isabelle that? She knew it already. And she didn’t care.
When she hadn’t agreed immediately, Isabelle had fixed her with a cold gaze.
‘Participation in Night School is a requirement for your continued attendance at Cimmeria. So you need to make up your mind now, Allie. Do you want to stay at Cimmeria Academy? Or not?’
Defeated, Allie had nodded her acquiescence. She did want to stay. She wanted her revenge. She would do anything for it.
And if she could rejoin Night School, then she could walk through that door now, into the dining hall. And eat supper.
Setting her jaw, she marched resolutely through the door just as Zelazny began to shut it. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him shoot her a strange look but she didn’t slow down until she reached an empty seat at her old table and slid into it.
At the table, all conversation stopped.