Night School

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.