Nightworld Academy: Term One(Nightworld Academy #1)(3)

"How lucky you are that Aunt Marie is paying for you to attend."

"Not to sound ungrateful, but I'd rather she'd bought me a car."

Jamie laughs but my parents aren't amused. My aunt's offer to pay tuition at an exclusive academy was a bolt from the blue. I'd finished my GCSEs and started A levels before the Tyler incident, destined for university. I heard Mum crying at my wasted opportunity, and the guilt burrowed so far into me that I didn't argue with the decision to send me to a boarding school.

Who cares that Ravenwood Academy is only for students my age and older? It’s still a boarding school.

I met my aunt a few times when I was younger, but not recently. My only memories are the tension in the room between her and mum and the large charm bracelet she wore that jangled every time she moved. Her white-blonde hair matches mine, much different to mum's auburn curls.

Her husband died recently, and Mum went to the funeral, but not me or Dad. I can imagine my drunk mother spilling to my aunt about her daughter's "problems". Why else would she offer to help?

A week after expulsion from Moorland High, here I am.

"The academy doesn’t often take students without an interview unless they have the right family connections. Your aunt either has a lot of money or you're talented," Jamie says.

"Maeve's very clever," Mum smiles with pride.

"Does she have the same surname?" he asks.

"No. Marie is my sister. She could have connections, as I know she attended the academy. It's Willowbrook."

His mouth parts as if we just told him we know an X Factor winner, but he keeps his thoughts to himself.

I trudge up the steps into the academy with my heart beating harder the closer I get to the gaping maw. Doorway. I mean, doorway.

"Oh, sorry. I've been rude and not introduced myself properly." Jamie shrugs the backpack further up one shoulder and extends a hand to my father. "I’m Jamie Greenwood and also a student at the academy. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Foster."

Confused but evidently impressed by the etiquette the academy instils, Dad shakes his hand. Jamie smiles and offers his hand to Mum. They awkwardly shake before Jamie holds a hand out to me.

I stare.

His hand remains extended.

I look at him harder.

He doesn't drop his hand.

Did I really see him die?





Chapter Two





MAEVE



I dig my hands into my jacket pocket, and I sweep forward into the large entrance hall. Black and white tiles line the floor in a chequered pattern and the walls are painted dark blue. Three large banners in different colours hang on the wall, each with a different symbol. Teal. Red. Yellow. House colours?

I twist my head further to the left, where gold trophies fill a glass-fronted cabinet. Across the wall opposite, the academy motto is painted. I can't read Latin—and hope that's not on the curriculum—but amuse myself with the thought that the words read 'abandon hope all ye who enter here'.

Beside the cabinet, more stone stairs spiral upwards and a second set lead upwards to the right. I tip my head to look at the vast ceiling. A map of the world is painted on the roof, in an antique style with gold and silver edging the blue seas and a much older artistic impression of the countries.

Jamie thankfully drops his hand and engages Mum in conversation. Dad surveys the surroundings, and I can almost hear his brain whirring. I wish they'd leave so I can hide in my new room, but we haven't met the headmistress yet, which they insist on.

My boots scuff along the hallway as I drag my feet, and Jamie guides us to a large door at the end of a nearby hallway. The thick wood is polished with a silver door knob to match, but there's no plaque on the door to indicate whose room this is. The occupant must be important enough for everybody to know. Jamie raps on the door.

I take a deep breath and pull on the polite, demure Maeve I can be if needed. I was warned to make a good impression. Was the academy given details about my last school? The door opens and a woman stands in the doorway. I'd imagined the headmistress as a squat woman with grey hair in a bun, ready to chastise people. Or a straight-laced, business-suited woman with a severe hairstyle to match her severe expression.

Instead, a curvaceous woman with glossy brown hair smiles down at us with perfectly painted lips on her beautiful face. I glance at Dad, who Mum looks at too. He's never had an affair, but his eyes tend to wander, and in this case, they’d have a reason. Her stunning figure, not hidden by baggy clothes but accentuated in a fitted, black, woollen dress, must distract her students. I guess that's one way to keep them in check—knock them speechless.

"Maeve!" She lifts a hand to usher us into the room. "And this must be Mr. and Mrs. Foster. So wonderful to make your acquaintance."

Her lilting voice has a smooth tone which would be perfect for an advertising voiceover. This woman’s tones could persuade anybody to buy anything.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Lancaster." Dad holds his hand out and she waves hers with a 'tosh' sound.

"Theodora, please. Everybody calls me by my first name—including the students, isn't that right, Jamie?"

"Correct."

I startle at how near his voice is to me, suddenly aware how close he must be. My stress over meeting my new headmistress fades away as his presence relaxes me. More than that, I feel I know Jamie, as if there's an affinity. Am I a mad person sensing kindred spirits? We could have a conversation: "Hey, do you hallucinate too?"