Night School: Resistance (Night School 4)

Even he couldn’t keep her safe.

‘They’ll make us,’ she said simply. Then, because it was true, she added, ‘I’ll miss you.’

He looked at her longingly, as if there was something he wanted to say but he couldn’t find the words. His gaze brushed her lips like a kiss.

‘Allie …’ he began but, before he could finish the thought, another guard rushed in saying something Allie couldn’t understand.

Dropping her hand, Sylvain gave her a helpless, apologetic look. ‘My father. I have to go.’

‘It’s cool,’ she said. ‘We’ll talk later.’

But as he walked away she couldn’t suppress the melancholy thought: If there is a later.



After Sylvain left with the guards, Allie hurried up the staircase, which curled upwards gracefully in a swirl of delicate white wrought iron. She ran down the airy landing to a set of tall, double doors, which swung open at her touch.

The afternoon sun filtered through the long sheer curtains that covered the floor-to-ceiling windows, giving her bedroom a creamy, apricot glow. A wide, canopied bed, draped in pale linens, dominated the room, but Allie headed straight to the dresser.

Quickly, she pulled a short skirt and a tank top over her bikini. After sliding her feet into sandals, she stopped in front of a door that could easily be mistaken for a closet. She knocked on it lightly.

‘Come in.’ Rachel’s voice sounded muffled through the heavy wood.

Allie opened the door to the adjoining room, which looked a great deal like hers, only with pale yellow curtains instead of peach.

Rachel lay on her bed surrounded by stacks of books. Her glasses had slid halfway down her nose and she blinked at Allie over the top of them.

Allie hated to break the news. Rachel was so happy here. So safe.

But no one is ever really safe, she reminded herself.

Safe is an illusion. A lie we tell ourselves to make it easier to go about our very dangerous lives.

‘You better come downstairs,’ she said quietly. ‘Nathaniel found us.’



‘You have to go.’ Sylvain’s father sat on a stylish armchair upholstered in lush, white linen. Allie, Sylvain and Rachel perched across from him on a long, matching sofa. ‘This was a real attack. You could have been killed.’ He held his son’s gaze. ‘You and I both know Nathaniel would have killed you to get to Allie. He’ll never give up.’

Sylvain’s gaze didn’t flicker but, for Allie, Mr Cassel’s words were the equivalent of someone opening the cover of an endless, dark well and shoving her down. They echoed in her head.

He’ll never give up. Never give up …

‘Where do we go this time?’ Rachel’s tone was neutral but Allie could sense the weariness she was hiding. They were both tired of running.

His next words stunned them both. ‘Back to Cimmeria.’

Allie’s heart flipped. Rachel shot her a disbelieving look.

Was it possible? They could go home?

Lucinda had always made it clear they couldn’t go back to the school until the situation with Nathaniel was resolved. Which it clearly wasn’t. So … what had changed?

‘You’re serious?’ Allie said. ‘We can really go back?’

Watching them from her seat near the tall windows that overlooked the pool, Sylvain’s mother seemed unnaturally calm in the face of all this upheaval.

‘Every place you’ve gone to has been discovered eventually.’ Her voice was a rich alto. Her French accent made each word elegant. ‘For you … no place is truly safe.’

A slight frown darkened Mr Cassel’s expression. ‘That is not precisely true.’ He turned to Allie. ‘Lucinda – your grandmother – has decided you will be safer in England. And –’ he hesitated briefly – ‘we agree. At least, we think you’ll be in no more danger there than you are here. And you can get on with your studies.’

Allie couldn’t believe it. She saw Rachel fighting an excited smile and she knew how she felt.

Home, she thought. I’m going home.

She would see Zoe and Nicole again.

And Carter.

The very thought of him made her nervous. She’d never got a chance to say goodbye. Never had a chance to sort things through.

Never made up her mind.

‘When do we leave?’ Sylvain held his father’s gaze, his expression intense.

Mr Cassel opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again as if he’d thought better of it.

Allie looked back and forth between them, aware some message was being exchanged but unsure of what it was.

Mr Cassel finally spoke. ‘Allie and Rachel leave tonight. If you choose to go with them … then that is when you will go, too, I suppose.’

‘Of course I’m going back with them,’ Sylvain said evenly. ‘You know that.’

From her seat by the window, Sylvain’s mother made a small sound. She was still gazing out of the window, her lips tight. As always, she was elegantly dressed – in her white linen blouse and grey trousers; a pale blue pashmina draped across her shoulders, she could have stepped out of a magazine.