Nightworld Academy Box Set 1

by L. J. Swallow

  "House ring." Jamie flicks a card over a reader to pay for my meal; if you could call chips a meal. He carries the tray over and as he places the tray down, then pulls the chair out for me to sit with the others. Flustered by his behaviour, I stare in disbelief until Ash gives a throaty laugh.

  "Girls don't like gentlemen these days, Jamie." His eyes sparkle as he regards me. "Don't tell me you like the bad boys, Maeve."

  I sit and drag the chair back under the table. "Sometimes."

  "Bad luck, Jamie," says Ash and slaps his arm.

  Jamie frowns and rubs his arm. "Why does chivalry have to be seen as hitting on a girl?"

  "Jeez, man. I'm teasing." Ash flashes that perfect smile at me again and stupid butterflies flutter in my chest. "But tell me if anybody's a dickhead to you. I know you're the new girl, but that's no excuse."

  He switches his glare to the other table. Katherine gives him a small wave then locks her arm through the red-haired guy's.

  "They're Petrescu. Stay away," says Ash.

  I groan and sink into my chair a little further. My old school divided students into four houses for sporting events, but nothing else. Rivalry wasn't rife. The biggest drama was those upset because they wanted to be in the red house and not the blue. Serious.

  "Who shouldn’t I avoid?" I ask.

  "You know that me, you, and Amelia are in Walcott house. Ash and the guys at the table behind—plus Clive, the big guy sitting with Petrescu—are in Gilgamesh."

  "I'm glad to hear you mix a little," I say with a hopeful smile. "You're not all mortal enemies."

  Ash and Jamie glance at each other.

  "Friendly rivalry that's not so friendly sometimes," puts in Amelia. "It's worse in spring term when we have the house trials. But we don't need to worry about those yet."

  My eyes widen. I do.

  "Have you told Maeve about the allegiance?" asks Jamie.

  "The what?"

  "There are old traditions about swearing loyalty to your house and upholding the name." She turns to Jamie. "I didn't mention that yet. I didn't want Maeve freaking out on her first day."

  The chip I'm eating sticks in my dry mouth as I watch the conversation unfold.

  "The swearing in is hardly a big deal," Jamie retorts. "It's not as if blood and humiliation are involved."

  I choke and the chip falls from my mouth. "Is this a euphemistic way of calling it an initiation ceremony?"

  Amelia laughs. "No. They're making a big deal. All that happens is you meet with the house head boy and girl, in their meeting room, read and sign the allegiance contract, and they give you your colours."

  "A blazer edged by the house colours," explains Jamie. "We're supposed to wear them to lessons, but not everybody does."

  My head spins. Don't I already have the uniform I need? Why didn't people mention blazers and initiation ceremonies and mean girls with jock and emo sidekicks? I close my eyes. Is there an escape route from here? If I call my best friend Tessa, she might come and collect me. I huff. Apart from the fact she wouldn’t want to drive this far at night.

  Chapter Four

  MAEVE

  The tables are empty at the cafeteria the next morning and the breakfast choice uninspiring. I sit in the window and stare across the grounds towards the road leading away from this bizarre place. I take a sneaky glance at the few people around me eating toast and cereal. Seriously, I'd kill for a bacon sandwich right now.

  I'd hoped Amelia would be around, but when I woke this morning and peeked into her side of the room, her bed was empty. What internship is she on? We never discussed last night. After they went to their advanced class lessons, I returned to the room and collapsed on my bed in a tired heap.

  I spread marmalade onto my toast and bite. I've not calculated the exact number attending the academy, but the idea the majority could be on internships or day release at a local college confuses me. For a start, the nearest college must be an hour’s drive at least. The thoughts dizzy me as I eat breakfast. Perhaps I should find someone to ask how I can spend daytimes away from this maudlin building and in the real world.

  I make my way from the cafe to the front of the academy. Today, the sun attempts to shine and gives the surroundings a less oppressive feeling. The sports fields at the back of the area are painted up for rugby and I wander over. A small group practices, passing the ball or joining the scrum. I wrap my arms around myself and stand close to the goal posts.

  I've met few people so far, but instantly recognise the guy who stands head and shoulders above the rest the moment he breaks free from the scrum. Ash charges across the field with the ball under his arm at a speed that would impress my sports teacher from my old school. That poor guy struggled to get anyone interested in the rugby team. I'm not a huge sports fan, but I can appreciate how vastly Ash's skill outweighs the others who struggle to catch him.

  I can also appreciate his tight shirt and how much the shorts reveal. Ash's blue and black top stretches across muscular shoulders and as he passes me, I stare at his face splattered with mud and hair plastered against his forehead. He moves with determination until he reaches the edge of the pitch, then kicks the ball over the crossbar. It sails high into the sky before landing the other side.

  Unsure whether I should stand and stare since I'm conspicuous, I wrap my coat around myself. The Yorkshire autumn weather is bad enough, but on these moors the rain and wind add extra dreariness, even with the sunshine struggling through the clouds. No wonder so many who live here are in bad moods. I watch anyway, short of something to do since no teacher has told me what to do in the daytime, and I don't want to sit in my room alone.

  Rain now spots from the sky and I wrinkle my nose, hoping this doesn't become another downpour. What happened to the sunny day? The practice match comes to an abrupt halt, and a muddied Ash approaches me.

  "Are you a rugby fan, Maeve?" he asks.

  Mud streaks his strong jaw and his cheeks are red, his face shining. The scent of the earth and perspiration mingle and add to the powerful guy's overwhelming presence.

  "Not really. I had nothing else to do."

  The loudest laugh I've heard in my life echoes across the playing fields. "Right. You just like the view, then?"

  I widen my eyes. Does he know I've watched from the side lines, objectifying him? "Uh. Um."

  Again, that laugh. "I meant the better view you have of the moors from this part of the academy grounds. What did you think I meant?"

  "Nothing. I don't know what to say to people here half the time." I tell him, which is halfway true. "Why are you here? I thought everybody worked or studied off campus in the daytime."

  He pushes damp hair from his face and a large silver ring glints on his middle finger. "Rugby. I'm a sports player."

  "Do you have a scholarship?" I ask.

  "Something like that." He continues to stare at me intently. "Are you on a scholarship?"

  "No. Long story. I'm your archetypal troubled teen, apparently. My family sent me here for my own good."

  "That's unusual." He inclines his head towards the academy building. "Want to get out of the rain?"

  As I squelch along beside him, my pulse rate picks up at his strange questioning and the secrets I swear he has. "Why is that unusual?"

  "All kids here have special talents, and there's an advanced program late in the evening for the most gifted." He pauses. "Do you have a gift?"

  I give a wry smile. "No. No sporting or musical talents here."

  "Academic?"

  "Above average but not genius level."

  He pauses and looks down at me. "It's weird that you don't know how this academy operates. Is there a family connection?"

  Wow, he doesn't stop. "I think my aunt attended here, but that would be fifty years ago."

  "Do you know any of the students?"

  Each question drives my heart rate upwards, and this last one pushes hard into my mind.

  I curse beneath my breath as the familiar pain spreads ac
ross my temples and a pressure builds behind my eyes. My blood courses with fear and horror as Jamie's death flashes in front of my eyes, as if I'm witnessing every second. I hold my hands against the side of my head and try to push the pictures away, but the vision takes hold. I can't see Ash. I can't see the academy.

  I can't see anything but a bloodied and dying Jamie.

  "Maeve?"

  Ash's voice sounds distant, and I open my eyes to focus on my surroundings as the images fade. Blackness is replaced with the grey clouds above—and Ash's face as he looks down in concern.

  I groan and cover my face with my hands before peeking through my fingers. "Sorry," I mumble.

  "I need to find someone to help. Are you epileptic? Did you have a fit?" His eyes search my face. "Lie on your side."

  "I'm fine," I groan. "Just fainted."

  "You were mumbling something about Jamie. Then you collapsed." He chews his lip. "Did you see something?"

  I rub my head with a trembling hand. Why would he ask that? "Fainted," I repeat and struggle to sit. "I'll be fine. Don't tell anyone."

  Ash takes my hand, which is hotter than I'd imagine from someone in the cold, especially now he's finished running around the pitch.

  "I don't want to be the focus of the day—the new girl collapsing and rambling like a madwoman."

  His brow knits for a few moments. "Okay. If you can walk back to academy, then I won't tell anybody. Sometimes people have strange... turns here."

  I smile gratefully and allow him to pull me to my feet. His warmth and care touch me and pushes away some of the loneliness. He isn't judging or laughing at me. He appears to genuinely care.

  Steadying myself with a hand on his arm, I glance around, hoping to hell nobody else saw.

  "Come on. Show me you can walk in a straight line." I frown at him. "I’m joking but stay upright. You can lean on me if you like."

  I refuse, even though hanging onto him is tempting, but that's another thing I don't want—the new girl seen with the popular guy, getting her claws into him.

  We reach the academy doorway and the rest of the rugby team files past us, some clapping Ash on the back and congratulating him on a good practice session. He graciously returns the compliment. A couple of younger-looking guys' smiles broaden when he speaks to them. Ash must be a bigger star than I thought.

  "Okay. You're fine. I'll let you go," he tells me as we step into the hallway. Ash pulls at the front of his top. "I'd better get cleaned up. I must stink."

  "Thanks for not telling anybody," I say.

  He shrugs. "All good. Nobody likes being centre of attention."

  "You seem to be centre of attention."

  "Exactly." He scratches a cheek. "What's your aunt's surname?"

  His out of the blue question confuses me. "Willowbrook."

  I don't know what significance this has to Ash, but he blinks at me and then looks as if seeing me through new eyes. "Jamie asked the same question. Why?"

  "I'm nosey. Catch you later. I think I'm in your history class this evening."

  Before I can push for more, he strides away, his tall frame straight and confident.

  There are two odd things here: his response to my aunt’s name—and the fact I have a History class at 7 p.m.

  Chapter Five

  MAEVE

  The history classroom overlooks the cloisters in the middle of the main academy building, through several long, arched windows which are bare but clean. The individual desks are arranged in rows of three with enough seating for twenty-four students. I hesitate in the doorway. Why did I arrive this early? Only a handful of people are in the room, and I don't know which desks are available. I don’t want to sit somewhere I shouldn’t and upset anybody.

  Amelia was called to an appointment with a school counsellor, and I was told to expect one soon by the middle-aged woman who came to collect her. Did Ash say something or is this the start of my 'help'? Amelia doesn't strike me as someone with issues, but I've known her less than two days. I study the faces of others in the classroom. How many of us have 'problems'?

  As if to answer my question, someone knocks into me. "Out of the way."

  I turn to meet Andrei's strange green eyes as he stands in the doorway beside me. "Rude much?"

  He crosses his arms. "I've been wondering something. You're not on the advanced program. Why is that? Don’t have the intelligence?"

  "I doubt everybody is," I retort.

  He taps his lips. "Aren't they?"

  My scalp prickles.

  "Leave her alone, hypocrite." Jamie guides me into the room by an elbow and my shoulders sag with relief. "Tell Maeve how old you are."

  Andrei's jaw clenches. "You know how old I am, arsehole."

  Jamie's words seem enough to repel Andrei and his rudeness, which surprises me. Jamie strikes me as the quiet, studious type and not one to challenge others. I have a lot to learn about these people.

  "Come on. You can sit beside me." Jamie's friendly face has the unfortunate effect of reminding me about my vision earlier. I take a deep breath and ground myself by touching the wall before anything hits me. I've never had a vision repeat itself before, or one this horrific.

  I thank Jamie and move to desks by a bay window, and Jamie sits in front of me. "Why did you ask Andrei how old he is?" I whisper.

  "He's a cocky idiot who doesn't study, so he’s no right to mock you. Andrei's almost twenty and repeating the classes. Again."

  I place my notebook on the table. "But he's in the advanced program."

  The setup in this academy gets crazier and more confusing. Jamie gives me a tight smile and turns around.

  The room fills, and I keep my head down, evaluating the room as those I recognise walk in. Katherine breezes into the room, her strong perfume following her. She sits with Andrei, which again I find odd as they seem poles apart. Amelia arrives with Ash and they take the vacant desks beside us.

  Ash mouths "How are you feeling?"

  How? Fuzzy inside that he asked.

  The door to the room slams closed and a woman walks in. Her armful of bangles jingle as she sweeps by in her long black skirts. Her red hair is striking against her pale skin and blue eyes, further accentuated by bright red lipstick.

  She drops a large book on the desk, and I flinch as the sound bangs around the room.

  "Who's finished the latest project?" Her tone is terse as her eyes flick from one student to another. "Anybody?" Her eyes come to rest on Jamie. "Surely you have, Jamie."

  Jamie glares over his shoulder at Andrei, who leans his chair onto two legs, hands behind his head. He chuckles at Jamie's death stare.

  "There's been a delay, thanks to a group member not completing their task," Jamie says, turning back to the teacher.

  She gives a despairing sigh, then her eyes widen as she spots me. "You must be Maeve. I'm Professor York. Welcome to my history class."

  She doesn't acknowledge my thanks as she immediately crosses her arms and scrutinises her pupils. "I'm aware you think my subject is a waste of time, but history is important to everyone. You cannot move onto the final year until you pass this subject. Can you, Mr. Tepes?"

  Andrei yawns at her addressing him.

  "I can't be bothered standing in front of you all feeding you the information, either, I’m busy tonight. I'm giving you leave to go to the library and complete the assignment." A guy near the front leans back to whisper something to someone at the desk behind him. "No, this is not free time to waste, Daniel," she retorts. "I'm deducting marks for each day this assignment is late. Starting tomorrow."

  "What the hell?" mutters Jamie.

  "That's unfair for Maeve," says Ash. "She hasn't started yet."

  "Maeve can join your group, Ash. I'm sure you can help her. Perhaps your group can all put in some extra work before lessons tomorrow?"

  Are all the teachers at the academy like this? I know students skip classes, but teachers too? Professor York doesn't appear to enjoy her job at all, and the stud
ents get the brunt. Ash mutters and pushes at the book on his desk.

  I lean forward to Jamie again. "Who's in your group?"

  He shifts his seat around to look at me. "Me, Ash, and Andrei."

  He couldn't look more annoyed if he tried.

  We head to the library with Andrei loping along behind, focused on his phone. This focus doesn't drop away as we walk into the vast space. I pause in awe as I stare at the circular room. There are four floors of tall bookshelves arranged around the centre, which is tiled with the academy house crest. A semi-circle librarian’s desk is placed at the top of the crest and a harassed-looking man sits behind, tapping a keyboard and frowning at the screen.

  This place holds more books than I’ve seen in my life.

  Having visited numerous times, the guys miss the magnificence that hits me, and they head straight for the stairs. The metal steps spiral upwards and stop on the second floor. Jamie leads the group to a quiet corner at the far end of the floor. A wide table surrounded by chairs is hidden between sets of bookshelves, and a bank of computers are lined up on a long table nearby.

  I hate projects, especially when I'm brought in halfway through. I pull out a chair and sit. History isn't my favourite subject, but I'm a skilful researcher so hopefully I'll be helpful. If I'm lucky, the project could be a topic from my old school.

  I pull my laptop from my bag and open the lid. "Fill me in. What do I need to research?"

  Andrei places his feet on a chair opposite and knocks together his tatty Converse at the toes. "You won't find anything on Google about this."

  "Ha ha," I mutter.

  "No. He's right. The information we need is in the books in that part of the library." Jamie points at a long line of shelves to our right, which hold huge books with peeling spines.

  "There's nothing at all on Google? That's impossible."