Nightworld Academy: Term One(Nightworld Academy #1)(2)

"But I guess you knew that. I bet it's haunted." I hit the button to lower the window and stick my head out. The smell of freshly mowed grass from the lawns closer to the gates mingles with the petrol fumes from the car, but I can’t see or hear anything. Or anyone.

"Do I have to stay long at the Academy for Bad Girls?" I ask. "Do I get time off for good behaviour?"

My parents are used to my sarcasm barrier and the light tone won’t fool them. I spent the last few days wavering between tears and anger. Yes, I was expelled, but this isn't fair. I'm uprooted from my home and stuck in an ex-mental hospital to finish my education.

"Maeve, that isn't what Ravenwood is," says Mum. She turns in her seat and her green eyes are filled with worry. "We've wanted you to attend for years and could never afford the fees. You’re lucky that your aunt decided to gift you with this education—this is a prestigious academy. We all know gaining your A levels and a place in university is important to you, and here, you’ll receive excellent teaching."

I sigh at her little speech.

"And we’d like you to finish your education without distractions," adds Dad, peering at me through the rear mirror.

Distractions? "Omigod, is this an all-girls academy?"

"No. Co-ed." My mother smiles but gives my father a wary glance.

I sink back in my seat. Good. I don’t have dreams of boyfriends and clandestine trysts, but an academy full of girls isolated on the Yorkshire moors is likely to become Mean Girls meets Lord of the Flies.

Still, I could use said distraction.

We park, and I clamber from the car. The gravel crunches under my heavy boots, one earbud still playing music in my ear while the other loops across my dark jacket shoulder.

As I stare at the open double doors into the uninviting darkened hallway, Dad casually says, "And there's better pastoral care here. Professionals."

I pull the other earbud out, in case the music is interfering with his undertones. "Professional what?"

Mum touches my hand with soft, warm fingers and the tears I've fought almost start again. "Your grades have always been higher than average and being a gifted child comes with added... difficulties. This could be part of the problem and why your grades have dropped. I heard that—"

"You mean there are psychs here, don't you?"

I walk forward into the shadow. Rectangular windows line the brickwork, four storeys high, and the front of the academy juts out and upwards to form a turret. The doorway looks like a mouth ready to swallow me whole. Do not cry.

Dad places a hand on my shoulder. "Extra support, Maeve."

I shrug him off. "You could've told me this was the Academy for Bad Girls Who Also Aren't Right In The Head." I pause. "But I guess that's a bit of a mouthful."

"Maeve. We discussed this. We haven't forced you to come here."

I don’t get a chance to reply as a tall, male figure appears at the top of the stone steps, emerging from the dark hallway behind.

"Oh. Look. I wonder if he's insane too?" I ask.

"Maeve Foster?" The guy squints into the sunlight and then shades his face with a hand. His ring catches the sunlight and dazzles me as he crosses towards us.

I blink faster when his face comes into view, in case I'm hallucinating again.

No.

He can't be.

I saw him in a vision — a snapshot of a horrific death that haunts me. The images usually fade with time, but he's scorched across my mind and I recognise him the moment his face becomes clear. His startling blue eyes and lean, muscular figure would make the guy memorable to most, but I want to forget the last time I saw him.

There was blood. So much blood.

This guy died in front of my eyes.

"Are you Maeve?" he asks again. Voice lost, I nod. "I'm Jamie, and I've been looking for you."

I’ve been looking for you. I shiver at the words I’ve heard him say before.

Jamie offers me a reassuring smile. "You look nervous. Don't be. We're mostly friendly here."

"Have I met you before?" I blurt and he frowns again. "I mean, you look familiar."

"No, but I'm looking forward to getting to know you." I purse my lips at the hint of flirtation in his voice. "Mr. Foster, should I carry Maeve's bag?"

My father hands over the rucksack and he effortlessly throws it over his shoulder. Jamie's eyes widen for a second and he grips the handle harder, avoiding my eyes.

"Is it too heavy?" I ask.

"No. And don't worry, I'm sure you'll enjoy this school more than your last."

"I did enjoy my last school," I lie and flash a look at my parents. I didn't, but it's preferable over whatever the hell this place is.

"I get the feeling you didn't." Jamie pulls the bag further up his shoulder, and his cryptic phrase puzzles me.

He accompanies me to the steps leading into the building, and I chuckle to myself as I hear the Star Wars 'Imperial Death March' in my head. There's nothing space-age about the great brick building ahead. I glance up to the highest window. I'm more likely to find a Victorian madwoman in the attic, or a heart beating under the floorboards.

"...would you agree, Maeve?"

I snap out of studying the architecture and look to Mum. "Agree with what?"