Night School: Legacy

All that night, Allie went through the paces of normal Cimmeria life. But in her head her thoughts swirled in a tornado of worry. Everything seemed all tangled up and horrible. Carter and Gabe, the spy among them, Nathaniel … Somehow she had to figure it out. Why had Gabe asked Carter those things? What was he hoping to learn?

The one person she thought would understand – the one person who would know what she should do – was Rachel. And she couldn’t tell her. In fact, she couldn’t tell anyone at all.

Except …

She could tell Isabelle. But if she did that, what would happen? Would Carter get into trouble? She couldn’t bear it if she was the reason Isabelle lost faith in Carter – she was the closest he came to having a mother on this earth.

Her thoughts tormented her. She couldn’t focus on her studies. She couldn’t focus on anything.

After dinner, as the other students settled into their normal routine of studying in the library or playing games in the common room as the rain continued to fall outside, she paced the wide hallway near Isabelle’s office. Her footsteps were soft and rubbery on the polished oak floor as she walked from the common room to Isabelle’s office and back again, over and over.

What he said wasn’t that big a deal. We know Gabe was with Nathaniel and we know Nathaniel has a thing about me. So I don’t see why it matters so much.

Turning, she paced the other way.

But what if it did matter? Isabelle said she wanted any information about Gabe that might help them understand when he joined with Nathaniel and why.

And again.

‘You’ll wear a hole in the floor.’

Standing at the foot of the main staircase, Sylvain stood watching her. She had no idea how long he’d been there – she couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked up.

Even in his school uniform blue sweater and trousers, he managed to look sophisticated. He’d pushed the sleeves up to the elbows, and the sweater looked as if it had been tailored just for him.

As she fumbled for a response he added, ‘And then the builders will have to come back with all of their equipment and rebuild it, and everyone will blame you.’

Allie’s eyebrow arched. ‘Your pessimism … Is that a French thing?’

‘Not pessimism,’ he said. ‘Pragmatism. It is a French word, you know. Pragmatisme.’

‘Isn’t pessimism a French word, too?’

‘Yes.’ His shrug was eloquent. ‘But then, all the best words are French.’

She smiled, despite herself.

He tilted his head to one side, his expression open. ‘So tell me, Allie. Why do you pace the floor like a prisoner? Are you working something out in your head?’

His eyes held such open curiosity and concern she had to fight off the urge to tell him everything.

I trust him again. When did that happen?

All this term he’d been nothing but thoughtful and kind. And heaven knew she needed help now.

‘There’s a thing.’ She rubbed the toe of one of her sturdy school-issued loafers against the other. ‘I’ve got to decide what to do. And whatever I do, I think it could be misunderstood by someone I care about. It might hurt him … or her,’ she added hastily. ‘So, I guess what I’m deciding is … which misunderstanding would be best.’

‘Ah.’ He leaned against the wall. ‘That is the worst kind of problem, I think. The kind where there is no right answer. Only two wrong ones.’

‘Exactly! So then how do you decide?’

‘I suppose you trust your instincts.’

‘Trust my instincts?’ she scoffed. ‘Nightmare.’

He studied her thoughtfully. ‘I think, Allie, you make the right choice more often than you know.’

She started to make a joke, but then realised he was serious and the words died on her lips. For a long moment she stood still, staring at him without seeing him. ‘I have to go and to talk to Isabelle.’

Without another word, she turned to walk away, intent on seeing the headmistress as quickly as possible. Then, just as quickly, she spun back towards him. He hadn’t moved – he was watching her with such an affectionate smile, it threw her off-kilter.

‘Sorry,’ she said, flustered. ‘I shouldn’t walk off without saying goodbye. That’s rude. And … We’re still doing our thing tomorrow, right?’

‘Yes.’ She could see the amusement in his eyes. ‘We will do the interview after dinner.’

‘Cool.’

Light on her feet, she dashed under the staircase to Isabelle’s door. Knocking, she turned the handle without waiting to be invited in; it sprang open at her touch. The room was empty. But the headmistress must have just stepped out – the light was on and the warm room smelled of her Earl Grey tea.