Resistance (14 page)

Carter pulled the dagger from its sheath with a soft
snick
.

The weapon glimmered silver in the dim light. Allie couldn’t take her eyes off it.

It might be a fake but it looked lethal enough.

‘It’s unsharpened.’ Carter dragged the blade across his forearm, holding up his arm to show off the unblemished skin.

Taking the knife from him, Zoe turned it over in her hand. She touched the end experimentally with the tip of her finger.

‘You could do some damage with the pointy bit,’ she announced.

‘No stabbing, then,’ Rachel said faintly. ‘We should probably make that a rule.’

Rachel looked a bit green but not disapproving or upset and Allie couldn’t understand why. This was exactly the sort of thing she hated. Why wasn’t she protesting?

The cool clarity of realisation hit her like cold water. They were trying to convince her she was wrong about the parley the same way she’d wanted to convince Rachel she was wrong about Night School – by letting her go ahead with it. Hoping she’d drop out.

Dropping her hands to her sides she curled them into fists.

‘OK then.’ Her voice was tight. ‘Let’s do this.’

‘
G
o for the wrist
.’ Carter’s voice was sharper than the knife in his hand. Allie gripped his wrist hard but he twisted his arm until, somehow, the knife ended up pointed at her throat.

‘You’re dead,’ he said. ‘Try again.’

Sweat ran down Allie’s face, stinging her eyes. They’d been practising with the weapons for nearly an hour. She’d already been tired at the end of normal Night School training. Now her muscles felt like rubber.

Across the room, Rachel pointed a gun at Zoe, who promptly kicked it from her hand, sending it flying through the air.

Clutching the hand she’d kicked, Rachel grimaced at the younger girl. ‘Uh … that’s great, Zoe. You live. I, on the other hand, need extensive reconstructive surgery.’

‘
Yes
.’ Zoe gave a victorious air punch.

‘Again, Allie.’ Carter drew her gaze back to the blade. ‘You have to get better at this.’

Tightening her jaw, she squared off against him again.

‘Fine,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘Let’s go again.’

He slashed the knife towards her abdomen and she jumped back fast – too fast. She tripped over her feet, falling hard on to the mat.

Rage, white hot and blinding, rushed through her veins like fire.

Bounding back up she advanced on him, so furious she could hardly see him. She swung a vicious kick at his neck.

Sylvain stepped between them, blocking the blow with his arm. ‘That’s
enough
.’ He turned to Allie. ‘Watch your temper.’

Shooting him a resentful look, she ran a tired hand through her sweaty hair.

‘Look. I know why you’re all doing this,’ she said. ‘You can just … stop it. It won’t work.’

‘We’re doing this because we want to help you,’ Nicole said.

Too tired to play games, Allie shot her a withering look. ‘That’s bollocks and you know it. Let’s just be honest now, at least. Raj put you up to this, didn’t he? Because he wants me to change my mind about the parley.’

For a second, no one spoke.

‘We did talk to Raj about this, yes,’ Sylvain said carefully. ‘He thought it would be a good idea if we did the first training without warning. So you could learn to react instinctively.’

As she looked into his cool blue eyes, Allie’s heart seemed to contract in her chest.

‘Sylvain …’ Allie didn’t know what to say. He was almost her boyfriend. She had the necklace he’d given her safely tucked away in her room so nothing could happen to it in practice. He’d told her he loved her. And yet he let her walk into an ambush?

The sense of betrayal made her ache.

‘I can’t believe you …’ She couldn’t seem to find the words. ‘Why didn’t you just come to me?’

‘Would you have listened?’ he asked.

Her shoulders sagged. ‘You could have tried to find out.’

‘Hang on, Allie.’ Ever the peacemaker, Rachel stepped between them. ‘Sylvain did suggest other options but my dad thought it was best this way. He thought it wouldn’t be as effective if we went to you separately. He said this would remind you what it’s like, dealing with Nathaniel. How he always does what you don’t expect. We didn’t like it but …’

‘You did it anyway.’ The words came out as a whisper.

Hopelessness swept over her.

Do I have to fight everyone all the time?
She wondered.
Even my friends?

Her gaze darted to where Carter stood apart from the group. He’d said very little, and looked unhappy but he wasn’t exactly taking her side, either.

Rachel was still talking. ‘You agreed to the parley without really taking time to think about it. We wanted to kind of … shock you. To make you realise how serious this is.’

‘You think I don’t know this is
serious
?’ Allie’s voice rose sharply on the last word and Rachel flinched.

Allie wanted to say more but she stopped herself. She needed to look at this rationally. These were her closest friends. She’d obviously made a terrible mistake or they wouldn’t have gone to such extremes to show her how they felt. She’d scared them. Made them feel helpless.

Wrapping her arms across her torso, she looked around the cluster of familiar faces. Everyone in this room had been hurt by Gabe or Nathaniel. Some more than others. Nicole had been beaten up and her leg badly injured; Carter had been knocked unconscious and could have been killed; Rachel beaten and cut, Zoe beaten, Sylvain beaten.

No wonder they were unhappy that she’d just agreed to drag them back into this without consulting them. It must have looked like she didn’t care about how they felt. Like she was putting them all in danger again on a whim.

All her anger seeped away.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. Across the room, Carter’s head shot up and his eyes met hers. ‘I get it … OK? You can tell Raj I get the message. Let’s just … talk this through tomorrow. We’ll prepare properly. We’ll be ready. And I won’t –’ Tears burned the back of her throat. She had to force herself to complete the thought. ‘I won’t do anything you don’t all agree to.’

She needed to get out of here. The room seemed too small all of a sudden. She stumbled towards the door, blinded by a haze of tears.

‘Allie …’ Sylvain reached out towards her but she brushed his hand away.

‘I have to go.’

T
he next day
was grey and steamy. The air felt oppressive; so warm and heavy you got the feeling you could slice it.

After her last class, Allie headed down the main staircase. Her movements were stiff, and each time her book bag thumped against her hip, her muscles objected.

All day, no one had said a word about what had happened. They were all staying clear of her.

W
hile she understood their motives
, she wished they’d given her more credit. And she wished they understood why she’d said yes to the parley. That there was no other way.

After all, it wasn’t like she was completely self-destructive. She knew perfectly well the parley was a trap. And she had no intention of getting caught in it.

Dom was right. Not every trap catches its prey.

Besides
, she thought as she passed a team of security guards,
right now the school is as much a trap as the parley.

Hell, life’s a trap, when you stop and think about it. No one here gets out alive.

She’d nearly reached the bottom of the staircase when Zoe raced up to her, grabbing her hand.

‘Quick,’ she said, pulling at her. ‘Isabelle wants you.’

‘Oh God.’ Allie sighed. She really wasn’t in the mood for one of Isabelle’s lectures right now. ‘Do I have to?’

Zoe looked at her like she was crazy. ‘Yes.’

Reluctantly, Allie turned towards Isabelle’s office but she didn’t hurry her steps. Every time they’d spoken since the meeting in the chapel, Isabelle had tried to change her mind about the parley. There was no doubt she was in on last night’s plan.

On the ground floor, she made her way down the hallway to the office under the stairs and raised her hand to knock.

The sound of raised voices inside the room stilled her hand. Frowning, she leaned forward to hear what was happening inside.

‘It’s a terrible idea, Lucinda.’ Isabelle’s voice was sharp.

Allie’s heart jumped. Her grandmother was here? Now?

Even with her ear pressed to the door, she couldn’t hear what her grandmother said in reply, her voice was too low. But whatever it was she said made Isabelle angry.

‘She’s a child,’ Allie heard Isabelle say. ‘She should be worrying about her A-levels, not her life. I won’t let you put her through this.’

After that, she lowered her voice, and her words were lost in the thick oak panelling.

Wondering what Lucinda had said, Allie knocked. The conversation inside ceased.

‘Come in,’ Isabelle said after a moment. Her voice had regained its normal air of calm authority.

The door sprang open at Allie’s touch and she hurried in. Everything in Isabelle’s office was in its usual place – the large desk dominating one side, the low file cases and cabinets.

But other than the headmistress, it was empty.

For one perplexed moment, Allie peered into corners as if her grandmother might be hiding behind something.

She cleared her throat. ‘Zoe said you wanted to … see me?’

‘She’s here,’ Isabelle said to her desk.

‘Oh good. Allie, thank you for joining us.’ Lucinda’s voice emerged, thin and tinny, from a mobile phone resting on the green leather blotter in front of Isabelle. ‘I thought it was time we had a chat.’

‘
H
ave a seat please
,’ Isabelle said.

Feeling oddly nervous, Allie perched on the edge of one of the leather chairs facing the desk and shot her an enquiring look. The headmistress looked as if she wanted to speak but then she stopped herself and instead gestured at the phone.

Even when she wasn’t physically present, Lucinda was in charge.

‘Allie, I hear you’re doing very well, readjusting to Cimmeria life.’ Her grandmother’s powerful voice sounded almost comically small through the phone’s minute speakers. ‘I’m not at all surprised.’

Again Allie’s eyes flitted up to Isabelle’s face, searching for clues as to what was happening here. The headmistress kept her gaze lowered, giving nothing away. But Lucinda’s next statement answered Allie’s unasked question.

‘I’ve asked you here to discuss our plans for the parley with Nathaniel. I understand you have been informed of his requests?’

Allie nodded, then remembered her grandmother couldn’t see her. ‘Yes.’

‘And you think you should come with me?’

Allie hesitated – it sounded like a trick question.

‘Ye-es …’ she said with more caution.

‘You are fully aware of how dangerous Nathaniel is. What he’s capable of. And what he wants,’ Lucinda said. ‘Yet you still want to take this risk? Why?’

Across the desk, Isabelle lifted her golden brown eyes to meet her gaze. Last night’s tense training session flashed into Allie’s mind again. She remembered how sickened she’d felt seeing the knife in Carter’s hand.

Whatever she’d said at the time, and however angry that had made her feel, in some way it had worked. She was much more afraid now than she’d been when she agreed to go to the parley.

And yet she still knew in her heart it was the right decision.

Jump.

‘You’re going to the parley. You’ll be taking a risk,’ Allie reasoned. ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

‘We are not the same,’ her grandmother’s voice said. ‘I am trying to fix a problem I had some hand in creating. You, on the other hand, are purely innocent in this. Each side wants to use you to their own ends.’

Allie saw Isabelle’s eyes widen in surprise.

Each side wants to use you …

It was oddly comforting to hear an adult verify what Allie had long believed. But it still stung.

‘I know that.’ Allie tried to sound cool. ‘I’m not a complete idiot. But maybe I’m not the pawn you all think I am. If I don’t go, I can’t change anything. If I’m there, I have some control over what happens to us.’

‘Will you?’ Lucinda sounded unconvinced. ‘Even if you come, I’ll still be in control of what happens. You’ll just be there to prove my willingness to cooperate. To convince Nathaniel that I’m really listening to him. That doesn’t seem worth risking your life.’

‘Oh, please.’ Allie couldn’t keep the bitterness from her tone. ‘If I don’t come with you, he won’t talk to you. If you two don’t talk, he’ll attack the school, hurting people I care about.’ She tightened her lips. ‘He’ll never give up. When you look at it that way, I don’t think I actually have a choice. But no one else is dying because of me. I’m going with you.’

When she spoke again Lucinda’s voice was quiet. ‘Isabelle thinks you’re not ready for this. I think she underestimates you.’

The headmistress kept her gaze lowered. Allie felt suddenly protective of her.

‘She doesn’t underestimate me,’ she said. ‘She wants to protect me.’

‘And you don’t want to be protected?’

Allie didn’t hesitate. ‘I want to fight back.’

A long silence fell. Allie stared at the small, plastic phone.

‘Parleys are, by tradition, non-violent. You leave your weapons behind. As you can imagine, I do not expect Nathaniel to honour this noble tradition. Therefore, we are deciding now how best to stay safe. Guards must be with us every step of the way.’

Lucinda’s tone was brisk and business-like. The decision had been made.

Excitement and fear ran through Allie’s veins, heating her blood. She was actually going to do this. She was going to the parley.

‘We will not go in alone and we will have a plan,’ Lucinda continued. ‘Whatever that plan is, I’ll expect you to follow it. Regardless of what happens to anyone else. Regardless of what Nathaniel does. You will be allowed to accompany me only if you give me your word. No matter what happens that night, you follow the plan.’

Allie’s throat tightened. How quickly it all became real.

‘I’ll follow the plan,’ she said. ‘I promise.’

‘Good,’ Lucinda said. ‘Nathaniel will have endless annoying demands and will no doubt choose an utterly inappropriate location. He always does. As soon as a date is set, you will be informed, but I imagine he’ll give us little notice – he likes to catch us off-guard. So be ready. Are you practising?’

Allie blinked. ‘Practising …? What?’

‘Self-defence, of course,’ Lucinda said. ‘Isabelle said you’ve begun training with weapons.’

Allie’s gaze shot up to Isabelle; her returning glance was unapologetic.

‘Yes,’ Allie said with dry understatement, ‘we’re using the weapons.’

This seemed to satisfy Lucinda. ‘Good,’ she said. Then her tone changed. ‘Isabelle, do you have the item we discussed?’

The headmistress bent down and retrieved a package wrapped in brown paper from beneath her desk. ‘I have it here.’

‘Would you be so kind as to hand it to Allie?’

Expressionless, Isabelle held the package out across the desk. Allie rose to receive it.

It was heavy, and perfectly rectangular.

She held it gingerly. ‘Should I … open it?’

‘Of course,’ Lucinda said. ‘How else will you find out what’s inside?’

Carefully, Allie split the seam of the paper with her fingernail. The heavy paper fell open to reveal a battered book, its pages worn from use. The cover bore no lettering. It had the musty smell of age.

Intrigued, she opened it. Inside was a hand-written family tree, which seemed to go back to the twelfth century. Exploring further she discovered each page was topped with a name, faded with age, and a description of when that person lived, who they married, when they died.

‘If you are going to fight with your family, I thought it was time you learned who you are fighting for,’ Lucinda said. ‘This is the book of our family. My great-great-grandfather had it written, and each generation has filled in pages since. My father gave it to me. Now I’m giving it to you.’

Allie, who had only learned Lucinda was her grandmother a few months ago, knew very little about her own family. Her mother had kept her heritage from her until Nathaniel made that impossible. Since then she’d told her only the bare minimum about herself.

Few things meant more to her than finding who she really was and where she came from. But how could Lucinda have known that?

This book was one of a kind. Hand-made. A priceless family heirloom. It might answer all her questions but it was also a huge responsibility. Her grandmother was sending her a message. Telling her she trusted her.

She swallowed hard.

‘This is important,’ she said, looking at the phone. ‘Valuable. Are you sure you want me to have it?’

Lucinda didn’t answer right away. But when she did, all she said was, ‘I think it’s time for you to have it.’

Allie closed the book carefully and wrapped it back in the protective paper. ‘Thank you for trusting me. I’ll take very good care of it.’ Her voice was fervent. She meant every word.

‘I know you will,’ Lucinda said.

B
ack in her bedroom later
, Allie turned the pages of the book with careful fingers. The paper was thick but soft to the touch and the page ends were uneven, as if they hadn’t been cut by a machine.

She could see now how the handwriting changed periodically. The first half of the book was written in a spidery, swooping hand, and included names like Lord Charles Alton Finley-Gaston. His birthdate was 1681. Underneath, the book noted the years he’d served in Parliament. And the date of his death: 1738.

His wife was Mary and they’d had three children, two of them already dead by the time Charles passed away. One, Thomas John Finley-Gaston, survived. When she turned the page, his name headed the next entry.

Only now he was
Lord
Thomas John Finley-Gaston. Born 1705. Died 1769.

His children and grandchildren filled the pages after that.

This is my family,
Allie told herself. She was trying to feel the things other people felt when they talked about their ancestors – a kind of possessiveness; a clear connection.

But the names meant nothing to her. She might as well have been reading the books in the library downstairs.

She felt nothing at all for these long-dead men.

Flipping forward in time, she passed increasingly familiar names. Names she’d read in history books. A prime minister here, a chancellor there. Then suddenly a long name stared out at her, written in a confident, no-nonsense handwriting that slanted sharply to the right: Baroness Lucinda Elisabeth Eugenie Gaston St Croix Meldrum.

Each word was clear and clean – no embellishments.

The page held a description of her life, her role as first woman chancellor, head of the World Bank, UN advisor. Beneath that, her husbands were listed, along with Allie’s mother. Like the book’s other pages, the information was all straightforward. But there was something about it that bothered Allie. She was at the bottom of the page before she realised what it was.

The page was written in the past tense.

Dread twisted inside her like a blade. Slowly, she turned to the next page. When she saw what her grandmother had written at the top of the next page, the blood drained from her face.