Night School: Legacy

by C. J. Daugherty

  Normally cutting maths would have filled Allie with joy, but she was still too angry about being assigned to interview Carter to find any happiness in it.

  ‘It means,’ Eloise’s voice was patient, ‘that he’s had a lot of Night School training. So he’s probably quite skilled at deception.’

  Her words chilled Allie as if they’d been chipped from ice.

  Carter is the least deceptive person I know. He would never …

  ‘Right. Let’s try something different.’ Leaning back against the vividly painted wall, the librarian pulled her notebook on to her lap and flipped through the pages. They were in one of the study carrels at the back of the library. All the little rooms – each about the size of a small office with barely room for a desk and two chairs – were completely covered in seventeenth-century murals. This was the one Allie thought of as ‘Peace’, as the people in it were smiling. The cherubs fluttering near the ceiling seemed adorably plump and jolly. Nobody was killing anybody else like they were in the other rooms.

  ‘You tell me,’ Eloise continued, ‘what signs are you going to look out for in your next interview with Carter?’

  Allie thought about Carter looking at her with those eyes, his long lashes sweeping downward when he was upset …

  ‘Sweating,’ she sighed. ‘And if he touches his …’ she waved a hand at her own face ‘you know … nose or mouth.’

  ‘Good. And do you know why people cover their mouth when they lie?’

  Allie did know but, her lips set in a tight stubborn line, she shook her head anyway.

  Eloise wore a stylish pair of narrow glasses that barely covered her eyes. They sparkled in the light as she spoke. ‘Some believe it’s a subconscious effort to hide the lie.’ She flipped a page in her notebook. ‘You should also be looking out for eye movements.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Allie frowned at her. ‘Like, if he looks shifty?’

  ‘Actually, the opposite,’ Eloise said. ‘You’re looking to see if he makes too much eye contact. When people lie they often concentrate on looking you in the eye, not realising they don’t normally do that.’ She pointed at Allie. ‘For example, just now when I said you should watch his eye movements, before you spoke you looked up to the ceiling. Why did you do that?’

  ‘I did?’ Allie squirmed in her seat. ‘I don’t … Did I really?’

  Eloise nodded. ‘We do that when we’re thinking of an answer to a question. It’s like we’re trying to check our brain for the information we need.’ She leaned forward. ‘If Carter doesn’t do that when he’s thinking, he probably prepared the answer in advance.’

  Sighing, Allie looked down at her hands, which were now twisted into a tight knot in her lap.

  ‘Great,’ she said, miserably.

  ‘Here.’ She handed Allie a sheet of paper with three questions written on it. ‘When you interview Carter, you must work these questions in. They have to be in your final report with his answers.’

  Taking it, Allie stared at the first question. ‘Have you ever talked about me to Nathaniel or anyone who works for him?’ Her stomach churned.

  When she spoke, her voice was sharp with tension. ‘Eloise, you know and I know that whoever the spy is, it’s not Carter. This is a waste of time. Why can’t we concentrate on finding who it really is? What if it’s Zelazny or Jerry? What if it’s you? Who’s interviewing you?’

  Her voice rang out in the quiet room, and Eloise didn’t immediately respond. Instead she walked around to be closer to Allie. She took her glasses off, set them down and leaned forward. Her long dark hair was pulled back loosely. Not for the first time, Allie noticed how young she was. As she leaned forward, her face unlined, her brown eyes clear, she could have been another student.

  ‘Look, Allie,’ she said, her voice more gentle now, ‘I know you’re having a rough time with this. And we all knew you might. That’s why we’ve asked you to do it.’

  Resentment made Allie’s heartbeat rush. ‘What? You all wanted to ruin my life?’

  ‘No,’ Eloise said. ‘We want you to learn how to keep yourself safe – even from people who seem like your friends. Don’t forget Gabe. He was your friend, too. You trusted him – we all trusted him – but he wasn’t what he seemed. We were always going to have you interview the person closest to you.’

  ‘But why Carter?’ Allie’s voice was anguished. ‘He’s not my friend. He’s my boyfriend. That’s different.’

  Reaching out to untangle her tightly knit fingers, Eloise squeezed her hands. ‘Because the person closest to you can do the most harm.’

  That was a horrible thing to say. Furious, Allie wrenched her hands free. But when she opened her mouth to argue Eloise held up one hand to stop her.

  ‘Look, before you say it, I know. I know Carter is a good person. We know Carter very well and it’s extremely unlikely he has any secrets from us. But Carter might not always be the closest person to you. And you’ve got to learn how to assess the people you care about dispassionately. You’ve got to be able to separate what you want people to be from what they really are. Even if you love them.’

  At the mention of the word ‘love’, Allie flinched. ‘That’s stupid.’ She kicked a foot against the leg of her chair. ‘Nobody can do that. Nobody can investigate their boyfriend and then, like … make out with him after class. Nobody.’

  ‘People do,’ Eloise said simply. ‘All the time.’

  That evening after dinner, Allie sat alone in her room, pretending to read her English assignment, but as she stared at the words they seemed to float on the page in no particular order, as meaningless as a code for which she had no key. Her thoughts were elsewhere. The seeds of doubt Eloise had planted that morning were taking root and winding through her mind.

  How would I feel if Carter lied to me? she wondered, flipping a page. Then, horribly: Would he do that?

  Keep moving and you won’t die.

  Allie ran through the frozen woods repeating those words in her head – over and over.

  Keep moving.

  Blue moonlight suffused the forest, glinting off her white pyjamas.

  You won’t die.

  Nine hundred and seventy-one steps … Nine hundred and seventy-two.

  She was so cold she couldn’t believe she was still moving. Her frozen fingers clenched into fists that pumped at her sides. She could hear nothing except her ragged breathing and the sound of her sodden slippers crunching through snow.

  In the moon’s day-for-night glow, she could make out pine trees and frozen ferns as she skidded along the forest path. Her breath puffed in a crystalline cloud.

  She didn’t know where to go. And she was so cold. A sob welled in her throat and she forced it back.

  Not now.

  Then a sound – something moved through the frozen brush nearby. A bush shook off its mantle of snow.

  She skidded to a stop, then crouched in a defensive stance.

  As she held her breath and waited for attack, the undergrowth parted and a fox slunk out and stood facing her.

  His lush fur was a flash of elegant carmine against the white snow.

  Gazing at her with fearless, predatory eyes, he sniffed the air.

  Tears sprang to Allie’s eyes, and she dashed them away.

  ‘You’re so beautiful,’ she whispered, reaching out a hand – blue with cold – to touch him.

  His lips curled up to show his white teeth. Before she could withdraw her hand he crouched.

  Then, with a snarl he leapt for her throat.

  Her breath burning in her throat, Allie leapt out of bed. By the time she was fully awake, she stood shivering, her bare feet on the cold floor, clutching the corner of the duvet. Her eyes wild, she swatted at the desktop lamp until the light came on, then she searched the corners of the empty room.

  Finally satisfied that she was alone, she closed the open window, latching it tight. When she climbed back into bed, she pulled the duvet up across her chest like a shield.

  ‘Thank you
, my subconscious,’ she muttered, ‘for ensuring I never sleep again.’

  She stayed awake for a long time, and when she did sleep, she left the light on.

  THIRTEEN

  After the nightmare, Allie slept only fitfully, and it was still dark when she woke for good. She made her way downstairs before seven and sat in the dining hall watching the kitchen staff set up the hot plates and coffee urns. She was staring into the distance when Rachel walked up a few minutes later. Allie hadn’t seen much of her lately – she’d been too busy with Night School.

  ‘You look like hell,’ Rachel announced, dropping her books on the table. ‘Let’s stuff ourselves. And you can tell me all about it.’

  Now they sat in the still mostly empty dining hall with steaming cups of tea and piles of scrambled egg and toast that Allie hadn’t wanted but was nonetheless devouring. Somehow, she felt better just being with Rachel. She’d missed her. There was so much she couldn’t tell her – things she longed to talk about. But bantering with her over breakfast felt good.

  It felt like the old days.

  ‘I’m famished,’ Rachel announced. ‘Dinner was too weird last night for actual consumption. They should have just, I don’t know … framed it. Called it modern art. What are you doing up so early anyway?’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep.’ Allie yawned. ‘I had this messed up nightmare where I was running and then a fox ate me.’ She took a scalding sip of tea.

  ‘A fox ate you?’ Rachel looked impressed. ‘Was it gory? Did it hurt?’

  Remembering standing shivering and alone in her bedroom, Allie said, ‘I woke up when it started eating my face.’

  ‘Yum. Eating.’ Rachel took a bite of eggs. When Allie didn’t laugh, she tilted her head to one side. ‘Foxes don’t usually eat people, you know. Actually, they never eat people and I think I should be precise about that. Foxes do not eat people. Your dream self was probably just too delicious for that particular dream fox to resist. It just means he likes you.’

  Even as grim as she felt, Allie had to smile. ‘He? What if it was a girl fox?’

  ‘Lesbian fox dreams – you naughty vixen! I wonder what Freud would say about that,’ Rachel said.

  ‘I wish it had been a sex dream,’ Allie grumbled at her plate then she glanced up at Rachel. ‘Hey, speaking of sex … You and Lucas. What’s up with that? Is something up with that? Because I think something’s up with that.’

  Rachel blushed. She actually blushed.

  Allie’s eyes widened. ‘Something’s up with that – I can see it in your face! You tell me everything right now.’

  Rachel looked over at her shyly. ‘Well, Lucas and I … are together. It’s official.’

  ‘Oh. My. God.’ The words rose to a small scream as Allie jumped out of her chair and hugged her.

  Breathless with laughter, Rachel pushed her away. ‘Get off. You’re squishing my toast.’

  ‘Oh, Rach, I’m so psyched for you! When did this happen?’

  ‘Last weekend. Didn’t you notice I disappeared after dinner?’ Rachel asked. ‘And then on Sunday I was all giddy and stupid. It was disgusting. I hope you didn’t see.’

  A rush of heat coloured Allie’s cheeks. She hadn’t noticed. Not at all.

  She’d been busy last weekend, training with Night School, hanging out with Carter and Zoe. She hadn’t noticed Rachel acting giddy because she’d hardly seen Rachel in days.

  Last weekend? That was ages ago. And she didn’t tell me?

  It seemed inconceivable that Rachel wouldn’t have rushed to her room and jumped on her bed, eager to tell her everything.

  As Rachel chattered happily about moonlight and kissing by the stream, Allie nodded and smiled in all the right places, but in her head she was thinking that Night School was driving them apart.

  Even after lingering with Rachel over breakfast, Allie arrived early for history class, but Jo was already there, waving at her across the otherwise empty room.

  Her gamine short fair hair made her look pale and thinner. Or maybe she just was pale and thinner. Allie studied her critically as she sat down.

  ‘Hey! Quick, before everyone gets here,’ Jo whispered. ‘Who did you get?’

  ‘Who’d I get? Who’d I get for what?’

  Jo seemed jittery, overexcited. Her eyes were too bright. ‘You know what.’

  ‘I don’t …’ Her voice trailing off, Allie felt anxiety twist her stomach as she realised what Jo meant.

  She stared. ‘How do you know about …?’

  ‘Oh, Allie,’ Jo giggled. ‘My contacts are everywhere. I know all. So tell me. Who are you assigned to interview?’

  Her laugh seemed too high-pitched, her reply too glib, and Allie tried to hide the suspicion that had nestled in her chest like a shard of ice.

  This was Zelazny’s class room. Zelazny hated her. Jo knew that. Why would she ask something so forbidden somewhere so dangerous?

  ‘I can’t …’ Allie was horrified. ‘I just …

  I can’t tell you, Jo. You know that.’

  ‘What? Seriously?’ Jo seemed affronted. ‘I won’t tell anyone.’

  Thinking about the word ‘expulsion’, Allie shook her head emphatically. ‘Jo, I can’t,’ she said.

  But even as she said that, she knew that somewhere deep inside, she just didn’t want to tell Jo. She didn’t trust her. If she told her and word got back to Zelazny …

  ‘How nice to see students so eager to learn that they come to class early.’ Zelazny’s icy voice cut through Allie’s thoughts.

  Both girls spun around to face the front. The teacher stood by his desk in a military stance, feet shoulder-width apart, hands loose at his side, eyes alert.

  How long has he been standing there? Allie wondered.

  Luckily, Jo was never at a loss for words for long. ‘We just wanted to get a little studying done before class, Mr Zelazny.’ She dimpled cutely. ‘We didn’t think you’d mind.’

  As angry as she was at Jo right now, Allie had to admire her smoothness.

  ‘Far be it from me to deny students a place to study.’ His voice dripping sarcasm, he pulled his books out of a briefcase and began arranging his desk. ‘Please continue your work. Don’t let me interrupt.’

  He said the last word of each sentence as if it tasted bad.

  Jo and Allie exchanged another loaded glance before looking down at their books. After just a minute, though, Jo sprang to her feet.

  ‘I’m just going to dash downstairs before class to get something to eat,’ she announced as she hurried to the door. ‘I’ll be right back.’

  ‘If you are late you will be given detention,’ Zelazny called after her. He added in an almost panicked tone, ‘And don’t bring food into my classroom!’

  After Jo abandoned her, Allie busied herself reading over the short history essay due that day but she was acutely aware of Zelazny’s presence a few feet away. She could hear him breathing and it made her muscles tense. She found she was reading the same lines over and over. Still she didn’t look up.

  When he spoke she nearly jumped.

  ‘Is there anything you’d like to ask me?’

  Slowly, Allie raised her eyes from her paper to find him watching her fixedly.

  ‘Ex … Excuse me?’

  ‘I said. Is there anything you’d like to ask me?’

  Something about the way he said it was menacing. Allie’s skin crawled.

  What had he heard?

  She shook her head vigorously. ‘No … Sir?’

  ‘Are you certain?’ He leaned forward, his fingertips resting on the desktop.

  The colour drained from Allie’s cheeks but she held herself steady. She was starting to get angry, but she knew that was probably just what he wanted.

  What is he so pissed off about? All he could have heard was me refusing to talk about Night School. So why is he being such a wanker?

  She spoke coolly, her voice more confident than she felt. ‘There is nothing I want to ask you right now, Mr Zel
azny. Thank you.’

  Lowering her eyes to her book, she pretended not to notice the sharp intake of breath and the sound of a drawer slamming shut.

  Just as she thought she might have to flee the classroom, Sylvain walked in. ‘August,’ he said to Zelazny without waiting for a hello, ‘I have a quick question about the assignment …’ He seemed to notice Allie and the tension in the room at the same moment; his voice trailed off.

  Desperate, Allie caught his gaze, and tried to plead for help with her eyes. Her heart rate accelerated as their eyes locked.

  He did have the most ludicrously watercolour-blue eyes.

  ‘What’s your question, Sylvain?’ Zelazny snapped impatiently. ‘I’m busy.’

  But Sylvain seemed suddenly uninterested in being rushed. ‘The essay you assigned for tomorrow … Can you explain exactly what you’re seeking from it? I found the assignment a little vague.’

  ‘I think I was quite clear,’ Zelazny said. ‘I’ve got it right here.’

  As he flipped through the papers piled on his desk, Sylvain caught Allie’s eye again. And winked.

  All day Allie expected to hear from whoever was going to interview her. Each time someone called her name or tapped her on the shoulder, she expected to hear a voice asking her questions she didn’t know how to answer. Everybody else was preparing for their interview, but she had still not been contacted.

  She’d come up with a variety of conspiracy theories to explain the silence. Maybe, knowing what she knew about her family, Isabelle had kept her out of it altogether. Or maybe she was going to conduct the interview herself.

  Either way, she wasn’t going to talk about it to anyone except Isabelle. And she wasn’t in a huge hurry to do that.

  After the incident in the classroom she’d avoided Jo. That whole conversation had been strange. She hadn’t told anybody about it because she didn’t want to seem paranoid. But she still didn’t understand why Jo would have put her in that position.

  At dinner, she made sure she sat between Lucas and Carter. Both in Night School. Both safe.

  When Lucas suggested a game of night tennis, she looked at him doubtfully. ‘I am so behind on my work—’