Night School: Resistance

Book 4: Night School

by C.J. Daugherty

Genres: YA Action & Adventure

Synopsis

In a few short terms since joining the exclusive Cimmeria Academy, Allie Sheridan has been kidnapped, fallen in love – twice, and become a pawn in an international power struggle.

After months on the run, Allie returns to find the school in turmoil. The atmosphere is thick with danger. Overshadowing it all is Nathaniel. He is close – very close – to getting everything he wants.

A secret civil war is tearing the British political elite apart. And Allie’s family is in the thick of it. Both sides want her. She knows Nathaniel will take her by any means necessary. But she is determined to fight him to the end.

With Carter and Sylvain both at her side, Allie must make up her mind - once and for all - who she really loves. And who she trusts most of all.

The fightback starts here. Everything is at stake now. Will everyone survive to tell the tale?

Resistance is the thrilling fourth book in the internationally bestselling Night School series.

What people are saying about Night School

"Just the other day I was sitting here, chatting with a friend and shamelessly making fun of boarding school books (with a few exceptions, of course), and now I am forced to eat my words. Or just add Night School to that very short list of exceptions. I adore Cimmeria Academy. I adore the idea behind it, I adore the teachers and I desperately want to be an advanced Night School student. (Only I’m not very athletic so that would never, ever work.) This series is a new favorite of mine." TheNocturnalLibrary.com

Release date: June 4, 2014

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 362

Sample

‘You must relax,’ Sylvain said. ‘If you’re tense, you’ll sink.’

Allie glared at him. Every muscle in her body was stretched tight as a wire. ‘I am relaxed.’

They stood in cool, waist-deep water, gentle waves jostling them. The sand was soft beneath their toes. Allie could feel the heat of the sun strong on her skin as she looked out over the cobalt waters.

Sylvain’s eyebrows winged up. ‘You are not relaxed.’ He gestured at her tight shoulders, and hands curled into fists. ‘Look at you. We’re swimming in the Mediterranean Sea – you act like you’re about to be tortured.’

Allie shrugged. She was affecting nonchalance but the fact was, she could hardly believe she was really here. With him. Doing this.

I am in the south of France, she thought, and Sylvain is teaching me how to swim. WTF?

Sylvain was still waiting for her to say something so she muttered darkly about waterboarding.

His lips twitched.

‘Here,’ he said. ‘It’s easy. Just … sit.’

Looking around at the utter lack of anything to sit on, Allie squinted suspiciously. ‘Sit?’

He demonstrated, lowering his body into the water, which seemed to pick him up and carry him, as if he were relaxing in an invisible chair. Then he leaned back and floated, weightless as a feather. ‘See? It’s easy.’

Hesitantly, Allie let her body drop into the water as he’d done. The second she lifted her feet from the seabed she sank like stone. Splashing wildly, she regained her footing and turned to him, sputtering and outraged.

‘I can’t sit,’ she said, fuming, ‘on water.’

Sylvain tried to hold a sympathetic expression but his eyes danced and his lips curved up.

‘That was … unfortunate.’

‘Unfortunate?’ Still tasting salt water, Allie seemed to have lost her ability to put a sentence together.

‘Look,’ he said, stepping closer. ‘Try it again. This time I’ll hold on to you.’

‘Oh no.’ Allie, who had just about had enough swimming for one day, stepped quickly away from him.

Laughing now, Sylvain followed her. ‘Oh yes.’

Allie tried to run towards shore but the sand and water conspired to slow her and in seconds his hands were on her waist. He pulled her back out as she flailed and giggled with helpless indignation.

‘I can’t swim. Please don’t make me learn,’ she implored. ‘I hate learning. Learning is stupid. Learning is bad.’

‘Learning,’ Sylvain said calmly, ‘is wonderful.’

He was swimming beside her now and her feet weren’t touching the sea floor. His hands were steady on her waist and then she was floating in the water without quite knowing how it had happened.

Treading water, Sylvain turned a slow circle, spinning her easily as she lay flat on her back, staring up at the perfect blue sky.

‘See?’ he said. ‘I knew you could do it.’

‘But you’re holding me up,’ she said.

‘No I’m not.’

And he wasn’t. At some point he’d let go. She was floating, free.

‘I can’t believe it,’ Allie whispered. But it was true. She wasn’t sinking or sputtering. The water held her, like gentle hands. She felt safe.

For just a second, she closed her eyes. It was so quiet and calm, the only sound the swish of the waves reaching the sand, and the sigh as the water returned to the sea. It was … perfect.

That was when the first shot split the air.

The explosive sound ripped through the quiet cove. Allie flinched and started to sink. Before she could go under, Sylvain grabbed her, pulling her close.

His eyes searched the shore.

Clinging to his shoulders, Allie followed his gaze. Everything was just as it had been: soft sand, towering boulders, blue sea. But suddenly it looked different; dangerous.

Irrational anger flashed inside her like fire. This was the first time they’d left the compound since they’d arrived at Sylvain’s family home a month ago. Now they’d never be allowed out again. Was this how her whole life was going to be? Constantly on the run?

Constantly afraid.

She thought of Rachel, who she’d left sitting by the pool at Sylvain’s family’s villa. What if she was under attack, too? They had to get out of here. Get back to her.

She sent up a silent prayer. Please let her be OK.

Still holding her tightly, Sylvain began swimming towards a rock jetty that edged the beach, jutting out into the sea. Feeling like a dead weight, Allie tried to make herself as small and light as possible. But he was a strong swimmer and they moved with sure swiftness.

The whole time, they both watched the shore. Nothing stirred.

Then another gunshot rang out.

As the sound echoed off the rocks, Allie and Sylvain exchanged a shocked look. They both knew better than to speak. Without a word, he shifted her to his other arm, putting his body between her and the suddenly deadly shore.

The water seemed colder now; Allie’s teeth began to chatter.

Guns. They’d faced a lot of things in England, but never guns. You couldn’t outrun a bullet. Or out swim it.

For three months she and Rachel had moved from safe house to safe house. Each more elegant than the last. Each more isolated. Each more lonely.

A few weeks ago they’d arrived in France to find Sylvain waiting for them. Like a piece of home.

And they’d actually been having fun … Until now.

I should have known it couldn’t last.

The second they reached the rock jetty, Sylvain navigated to a hidden nook where the boulders naturally shielded them on all sides, like a house without a roof.

They crouched down low, both of them tense.

In the safety of the rocks, Allie felt safe enough to whisper. ‘What …?’

‘I don’t know.’ His voice was taut, and a muscle worked in his jaw. ‘But I’m going to find out.’

Fear burned Allie’s stomach like acid. It must have shown on her face because he took her by the shoulders. His hands were steady and his eyes pleaded with her not to argue.

‘Stay here.’ Though whispered, the words seemed to echo around them. ‘Please, Allie. I’m going to see what’s happening then I’ll come right back. I promise.’

A visceral frustration shook her. She should go with him – she was trained for this.

But she didn’t know how to swim. If she insisted on going too, she’d make things more dangerous for both of them.

She held his gaze fiercely. ‘Be careful.’

For a moment he looked at her as if he wanted to say something; instead he pulled her close, hugging her hard. His skin felt wet and cold against hers.

Then he slipped out between the rocks and dived into the water, disappearing with barely a ripple.

As soon as he was out of sight, Allie wanted him back.

Her chest ached. She wrapped her arms tightly across her torso.

People kept getting hurt because of her. First Ruth, then Jo, then Rachel. If Nathaniel got his hands on Sylvain …

Three gunshots rang in quick succession and she gasped, ducking low. A bullet ricocheted off something with a high-pitched whine.

Allie gripped the stone in front of her, digging her nails into a crevice in the black rock. Barnacles were like razor blades beneath her fingertips and she welcomed the pain. It helped her think.

More time passed and Sylvain didn’t return. It was becoming difficult to breathe.

She couldn’t stay here, could she? He could be hurt. He might need her help.

For a long while she stayed low, torn between rushing out to find him and doing as he’d asked. She counted her breaths.

Fifty-three breaths in. Fifty-four. Fifty-five …

He should be back.

Finally she couldn’t take it any more. She couldn’t swim but she could wade or … walk. Something.

She leapt up. At that precise moment, he appeared, dripping from the sea.

Relief threatened to bring tears to her eyes.

Some of the tension left his face as soon as he saw her. He moved swiftly into the safety of the rocks.

‘I was sure you wouldn’t be here,’ he said.

‘I can’t bloody swim.’ Helpless frustration rang in her voice and she forced herself to lower it to a whisper. ‘What’s happening?’

His expression changed, becoming more business-like.

‘There are two of them. Our guards are holding them off for now but more could be on the way. We have to get out of here. We need to be fast.’ He held her gaze, his blue eyes dark with worry. ‘Stay with me – no matter what happens, OK?’

Allie, who had no intention of letting him out of her sight again, nodded vigorously. ‘I promise.’

Taking her hand, he bent down low as they left the shelter and slipped into the chilly sea. Fear had heightened Allie’s senses – she thought she could see things moving in the water; feel them brushing against her skin.

As he’d done earlier, Sylvain held her close, propelling them through the waves with strong kicks. But instead of steering towards shore, he headed away from it. Slowly, working against the current, they made their way to the end of the rock jetty, and then around it to the other side.

Here, no beautiful beach greeted them. The unsheltered coastline had been battered by waves and wind and allowed to become overgrown with scrub trees and weeds.

Somewhere in the distance she heard shouts. Sylvain’s arm tightened around her. Gritting his teeth, he kicked harder. With the waves at their back they glided swiftly towards the shore.

As soon as they reached the shallows, they stood and ran. Sylvain held her hand in a tight grip as they stumbled out of the sea, fighting the force of the waves tugging at their legs as if to hold them back.

When they reached the cluster of boulders that shielded the cove, they stopped to catch their breath. The relentless sunlight bleached the scene in front of them, tinting it all with hazy gold.

From the rocks, Allie could see their guards’ SUVs. Just beyond that a flash of bright red – Sylvain’s motorcycle.

Shouts erupted in the distance. Unfamiliar voices hurled French words at each other. Allie couldn’t see anyone – the guards had to be in the rocks.

‘Shh …’ Sylvain held up his hand as he listened. Then he turned to her, his eyes urgent. ‘They’re making a move. Get ready.’

Footsteps pounded across the hard sand. More shouts. A shot was fired.

He pulled at her hand. ‘Now.’

Taking off at a run, they hurtled across the sand. Thorny scrub bushes scratched at Allie’s legs, sharp shells cut into her bare feet, but she ignored them, pushing herself to run faster.

The sun turned the sand a brutal white. Her breath burned in her throat.

Ahead of them the motorcycle was like a beacon.

Red. Stop. Danger.

Then they were there. Sylvain leaped on to the bike, reaching back to help her climb on behind him. Shouts erupted behind them and he threw the helmets to the ground – there was no time.

They both knew what would happen when he turned the key, which glittered hot in the ignition where he’d left it.

The attackers would all come running. With guns.

He turned to meet her gaze; his piercing blue eyes were fierce and determined. ‘Hold on.’

The roar of the motorcycle’s engine was deafening; it drowned out every other sound. Someone could shoot at them and they’d never hear it.

Allie wrapped her arms tightly around Sylvain’s waist. His skin felt hot against hers; feverish.

He gunned the engine. The bike shot down the dirt road as if it had been fired from a cannon. It moved like a living creature beneath them and, even clinging to him with all her strength, Allie struggled to hold on, gritting her teeth from the force of the speed.

It felt like gravity was trying to tear them apart.

Sylvain’s muscles tensed from the effort of keeping the motorcycle upright and moving in a straight line. The rough dirt road jostled them so violently Allie’s teeth chattered.

Then an intersection with a paved highway loomed ahead of them. The road was crowded with late afternoon traffic; they’d have to slow down to merge on to it.

Crouched low behind Sylvain, Allie turned to look over her shoulder. In the distance she saw a dark vehicle roaring after them. It wasn’t close yet but it was fast. It would catch up to them when Sylvain hit the brakes to merge onto the road.

But as they grew closer and closer to the busy road, he didn’t hit the brakes. And, with sudden cold clarity, Allie realised he wasn’t going to.

He was going to turn into that crowded road at full speed.

There was no time to react – to say anything. To try and talk him out of it. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tightened her grip, pressing her face against the bare skin of his back.

They hit the intersection, cutting off a small car that slammed its brakes to avoid crashing into them. Tyres screamed as Sylvain turned the bike sharply. The acrid smell of burned rubber filled the air.

That was when he lost control.

The bike swerved wildly. The road shot up towards them.

Allie screamed and turned her face away just in time to see a lorry piled high with produce swerve off on to the dirt shoulder, sending up a dark cloud of dust and dirt.

Swearing in French, Sylvain fought to right the bike as it wobbled wildly. At the speed they were going, with no helmets or protective gear, Allie knew they’d likely die if they crashed. But there was nothing she could do but hold on. Holding her breath, she clung to Sylvain’s waist.

Then, just as suddenly as he’d lost it, he was in control again. The bike steadied. He revved the engine and they tore straight and fast down the road.

Exhaling in relief, Allie lowered her chin to his shoulder. She couldn’t tell whether it was her heart or Sylvain’s she could feel pounding but a fine sheen of sweat had appeared on his bare shoulders and she was finding it hard to breathe.

He glanced back at her. ‘You OK?’

No words seemed sufficient to convey how she felt, so Allie nodded her reply. As their speed picked up, he bent low over the bars. The sea was a blue blur beside them; on the other side fields rushed by, a watercolour of gold and green and lavender. He handled the bike smoothly now, passing cars without hesitation or fear.

She didn’t know how fast they were going but had a feeling it must be well over 100 miles per hour. She wondered how Sylvain could see – the wind burned her eyes, whipping her damp hair into a weapon that sliced at her face and the bare skin of her shoulders.

But soon traffic grew heavier and they were forced to slow.

Sylvain swerved, looking for a way out, but found nothing. It was summer time on the French Riviera. Traffic was inescapable.

Still, Allie told herself, at least they’d escaped the gunmen. And by now they had to be nearly back to the house. They’d made it.

Just as she’d begun to relax, though, a black BMW swung into the lane behind them, creeping so close it almost touched the bike’s rear tyre.

She could never be certain where it came from. Just, suddenly, it was there; its powerful engine roaring. Tinted windows hid the face of the driver, making the car seem as blank and menacing as a robot.

Allie felt Sylvain’s body tense as he studied the car in the bike’s side-mirror.

‘Is it one of us?’ she shouted, her voice disappearing in the wind.

He shook his head very slightly.

Allie’s heart sank. It was one of them.

By now, she knew what to expect – he didn’t have to warn her. She tightened her arms around his waist, bracing herself.

Sylvain pulled into oncoming traffic.

Cars scattered around them like toys in a playground. Discordant horn blasts formed a chorus of rage but Sylvain ignored them, speeding straight ahead.

Behind them, the dark car’s engine roared as if enraged.

A shriek of brakes and a crash. Clinging to Sylvain, Allie twisted around to see the BMW knock a smaller car off the road into the scrub brush. Then the driver floored it and headed right towards them.

‘Sylvain!’

Hearing the urgency in her voice, he glanced back. Swearing, he swerved hard to the right, on to the narrow, unpaved, shoulder. Pebbles shot out from under their tyres like bullets as they sped along the rough dirt strip for half a mile, passing cars like they were sitting still before careering at last on to a narrow road.

Thankfully, the tree-lined lane was mostly empty. Sylvain accelerated, taking the curves at impossible speeds. Allie knew she should be afraid but she’d seen what he could do. She trusted him to keep her alive.

She kept looking over her shoulder for the black car but it didn’t reappear.

Then an imposing metal gate appeared ahead of them. Two familiar dark SUVs sat outside it like sentinels.

The gate was just starting to open. The afternoon sunshine pouring through the black metal was so white and clean it looked like the gates to heaven.

The opening didn’t seem big enough for the bike but Sylvain obviously thought differently. He headed for it.

Allie’s hands clenched against his waist; she murmured a prayer under her breath. They shot through with inches to spare, skidding sideways on the elegant, flower-lined drive. Sylvain slammed on the brakes to avoid running into the house. They stopped abruptly, and Allie jolted forward against his spine before thudding back hard on to the seat.

Sylvain turned off the engine. The sudden silence was shocking.

Swinging his legs forward, he leaped athletically from the bike and held his hand out to her. ‘The gates are still open,’ he said. ‘We’re exposed here. We have to get inside.’

She wanted to do as he said but she couldn’t seem to move. Her knees felt like rubber, her stomach churned.

Had they ever been so close to death before?

‘I’m not sure my legs will work,’ she admitted.

A pleased smile quirked up his lips and he leaned casually against a handlebar.

‘It was fast, no? I trained with a Motocross champion. My father insisted as a condition of giving me the bike.’

Allie fought an absurd desire to laugh. How could he be so relaxed when they’d just nearly died?

She swung her legs over and jumped down from the bike. They ran up the steps to the front door.

‘I’m glad he insisted,’ she said, her voice shaking just a little. ‘I like being alive.’

The thing was, the day had started with such promise. It was so sunny the sky was like a sheet of blue glass. It was the day before Allie’s birthday, and she and Rachel had a busy schedule of sunbathing planned.

Rachel, of course, sunbathed with her chemistry textbook because Rachel did everything with her textbooks. She planned to go to Oxford and then to medical school, and nothing – not even an attack by Nathaniel that decimated the school and left them both injured – could stop her. They’d both been tutored long distance ever since they left Cimmeria Academy on a cold March night. Over the months, they’d become pretty adept at independent study.

As they sat by the pool that afternoon, Allie had attempted to do her history reading but found it hard to focus. It was only June but already it was summer hot and she kept finding reasons to drop the book.

After all, she thought, lying back on the sun lounger, do you have to study the day before your birthday? Isn’t that a bit like studying on Christmas Eve?

Overhead, a seabird wheeled in lazy circles, never flapping its wings, only soaring. Not a single cloud shadowed them.

Allie glanced over to where Rachel sat in the shade of a large umbrella, utterly immersed in her work. The scars Gabe had left on her body were hard to see now, and she was glad. Maybe eventually they’d disappear completely.

It had taken weeks after they left Cimmeria Academy for Rachel’s nightmares to stop. And she wasn’t the only one with bad dreams.

Allie touched the long, thin scar on her own shoulder. It felt hard beneath her fingers and still sensitive. A reminder of what she’d been through. And what she was running from.

It was only really when they came here that they’d both felt safe again.

They hadn’t even known whose house it was when they first arrived in a convoy of SUVs, after a short journey by private jet. When the heavy black gates opened, they revealed a grand villa that seemed to absorb the sun into its golden walls. Lush, magenta bougainvillea wrapped around it like a bright blanket.

It was beautiful. But it was just another mansion.

They had been standing in the heat, waiting for the driver to unload their bags, when the front door swung open and suddenly Sylvain was in the doorway, smiling at them like a piece of Cimmeria – like home.

Without even thinking about it, Allie had bounded up the steps and hurled herself into his arms.

He’d just laughed and pulled her closer, as if they hugged each other every day.

‘God,’ he’d whispered into her hair, ‘I’ve missed you.’

Later, as he showed them around, Sylvain would explain that this was his parents’ summer retreat. The grounds held several houses as well as the sprawling main villa, so there was room for guards and staff. High walls and a location at the top of a hill kept it secure.

It was the perfect place to hide and, after a week, Allie and Rachel had agreed they could pretty happily live here forever. In the constant French sunshine, it was easy to forget the chaos they’d left behind. Easy not to worry about Nathaniel and why the guards were constantly around. Why they never left the compound.

Except for today, when Sylvain had shown up by the pool with the tantalising offer of a few minutes of freedom.

‘I was thinking of going to the beach,’ he’d said. ‘Want to come?’

Allie hadn’t hesitated. ‘Are you joking?’ she’d asked. When he shook his head, grinning, she’d leapt to her feet. ‘Come on, Rach. You have to come, too.’

But Rachel had shooed them away. ‘You go, children,’ she’d said, glancing at them indulgently over the tops of her sunglasses. ‘I’ve got learning to do.’

So Allie and Sylvain had gone to the beach alone.

As they’d driven across the French countryside on Sylvain’s motorcycle, Allie had absorbed the beauty of the landscape with hungry eyes.

She loved it here.

The only problem was, they’d already been in France nearly a month. That was longer than they’d stayed any place since leaving Cimmeria. At any moment the call could come. Then the plane. Some new anonymous mansion would await them. And she and Rachel would be alone again.

Who knew when they’d come back here? When she’d ever see Sylvain again?

But so far the call hadn’t come, and Allie had begun to let herself dream that maybe they could stay. Maybe Nathaniel would never find them. Or perhaps he simply didn’t dare mess with Sylvain’s father. After all, Mr Cassel was a powerful leader of the French government and one of the country’s wealthiest men.

But on some level she’d always known this was just a fantasy. Nathaniel always found her.

Always.

The marble floor was cool beneath Allie’s bare feet. After the heat outside, the villa seemed as chilly as a refrigerator. Goosebumps rose on her arms and shoulders.

Above their heads, vaulted ceilings soared up twenty feet; at the top, fans circled steadily with a faint mechanical whirr.

‘I have to find Rachel,’ Allie said, turning towards the back of the house. But she’d only taken two steps when a trio of guards, clad in black T-shirts and shorts, burst into the room. Stopping in front of Sylvain, they spoke in rapid French as he listened attentively.

Allie, whose French was only so-so, waited impatiently for him to translate.

After a brief conversation the men ran off again. Sylvain turned to her, his brow furrowing.

‘Everything’s fine here,’ he said. ‘There was no attack on the house. Rachel is in her room. They’ve gone to get my parents.’

Allie breathed a relieved sigh. At least Rachel was OK. At least there was that.

But Sylvain didn’t look relieved. Worry still creased his forehead. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, searching his face for clues. ‘Has something else happened?’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Something they said … I just have a bad feeling …’

He didn’t have to finish the sentence. Allie knew that feeling well.

‘They’re sending us away.’ Her tone was matter-of-fact even though her heart ached. ‘To the next safe house.’

At her side, his hand found hers. ‘I won’t let them.’

He sounded determined and, as Allie looked into his eyes, the colour of the French sky, she wished it was possible. But it wasn’t. Sylvain could handle a motorcycle like a pro but even he couldn’t tell Lucinda Meldrum what to do with her granddaughter.

Even he couldn’t keep her safe.

‘They’ll make us,’ she said simply. Then, because it was true, she added, ‘I’ll miss you.’

He looked at her longingly, as if there was something he wanted to say but he couldn’t find the words. His gaze brushed her lips like a kiss.

‘Allie …’ he began but, before he could finish the thought, another guard rushed in saying something Allie couldn’t understand.

Dropping her hand, Sylvain gave her a helpless, apologetic look. ‘My father. I have to go.’

‘It’s cool,’ she said. ‘We’ll talk later.’

But as he walked away she couldn’t suppress the melancholy thought: If there is a later.

After Sylvain left with the guards, Allie hurried up the staircase, which curled upwards gracefully in a swirl of delicate white wrought iron. She ran down the airy landing to a set of tal. . .