PROLOGUE
MAEVE
“Tyler told one blonde joke too many, and my hand slipped.”
“Into his nose?” Mrs. Peel’s frosty blue eyes remain on mine as my explanation for my behaviour falls flat. I’m not affected by her hypnotic stare and refuse to crumble into apologies for my behaviour. To begin with, I would, but not anymore.
Especially not for punching Tyler.
“He needed hospital treatment,” she continues.
“I am sick of him bullying me, and his jokes aren’t funny.” I push my long, blonde hair over my shoulder and wrinkle my nose. A floral scent always overpowers anybody summoned to Mrs. Peel’s room. The smell isn’t from the fake lilies in the corner, but rather her perfume. Maybe the student counsellor wears the scent to get information out of troublemakers quickly. Those who’ll tell her anything to get out of the room and stop choking on the perfume.
I fiddle with my jacket zip. “Okay, I hit him harder than I should.”
“You shouldn’t hit people at all. Don’t you have any remorse?” The famous glare continues.
I bite back the “not really” about to spill from my mouth and turn on my filter instead. I have no remorse, because I knew what Tyler planned to do tonight. How? This isn’t a case of my spider senses tingling, but the increasingly accurate and annoying visions that crack across my skull at unfortunate moments. They hurt and they blind me.
As a kid, I was diagnosed with migraines. Then tested for epilepsy. A couple of years ago, I was carted off to the psychiatrist to seek treatment for my hallucinations.
After that fun stay in the clinic, I kept my mouth shut and put up with the attacks.
Recently, they’ve been clearer and more frequent. In my last vision, I saw Tyler attack the chief geek from our science class. I hate a bully, but bullies who choose the weakest to make themselves feel powerful piss me off more. In my vision, Tyler punched him, and I saw Denny hit his head on the pavement curb, around the corner from the school playground. I watched as Tyler panicked when the kid wouldn’t move or speak. Then I bristled with anger when the Tyler in my vision ran, leaving the boy to die in the rain.
I don’t usually act on my visions—the world operates as it does for a reason, right? I’ve seen movies where people dabble with time and that never ends well.
But this is different.
The Denny in my vision died, and I decided to stop Tyler leaving school today. I had a chance to save a life.
Fortunately for me, Tyler also dislikes the scrawny blonde girl who sits in front of him in most classes. He goads me regularly, but I’ve never been brave enough to confront him. Until yesterday. I needed to stop him attacking Denny, so I stood up to him when he made a snide comment.
Unfortunately, smacking one of the school’s most popular kids in the face isn’t helpful behaviour when attacking other students leads to instant expulsion from the local high school.
To be honest, Tyler should be thanking me, because if I hadn’t spread his nose across his face, he’d be in bigger trouble than I am now.
The sun shines through the window overlooking the playground, picking up dust particles that dance around the room, and the beam spreads across the counsellor’s cluttered desk.
“You haven’t changed your calendar.” I point at the scenic image of Switzerland’s wild flowers. She blinks in confusion. My mind jumps around a lot, especially when I’m stressed. “It’s July 1st. Not June.” I point at the calendar and she glares harder.
Mrs. Peel reaches out and flicks over the desk calendar and the paper tears with the ferocity. “I am calling your parents.”
Crap. No. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound rude. I’m just stressed about exams and trying to block out yesterday’s trauma.”
“What trauma?”
“Tyler. “
“The trauma you caused?”
Oh hell, this isn’t going well. “Please don’t call my parents. I’ll do anything. Put me on litter duty for a month. I’ll even take on gum-scraping duty too.” Checking under every chair in every classroom for disgusting second-hand gum is the worst, but better than the alternative. If I’m expelled, my already shaky relationship with my parents will go south.
Mrs. Peel’s lips twitch and a look of triumph crosses her face at my sweaty-palmed fear. “I’m sorry, Maeve, but you know the school policy on violent behaviour. Perhaps this is for the best, considering your other issues.”
In the words of the great philosopher: FML
CHAPTER ONE
TWO WEEKS LATER
MAEVE
The pink and white roses growing around the gates to Ravenwood Academy do little to take away the institutional look of the building. There’s no barbed wire, but there are strategically placed “you’re being watched” security signs along the perimeter fence. I don’t doubt that applies to both students and intruders.
Dad’s car rolls along the long driveway leading up to the main building. The weathered grey brick blends with the cloudy sky, and the academy looms over the grounds, casting shadows across the surroundings.
“This was once an asylum,” I announce from the backseat as I stare at the rows of tiny windows. “I looked at the history.”
My parents look at each other and say nothing.
“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.”
“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 toldme 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?”
“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. “It’s very nice 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?”
Or not.
“Jamie, would you like to show Maeve to her dorm room while I speak to her parents? We just need to go over some boring paperwork. Perhaps goodbyes would be easier done quickly and now.”
Her easy, breezy words seal my fate, but worse, Mum looks like she’s about to cry. Tears prick my eyes too and I turn to Jamie. “Please do. I can’t wait to see my new room.”
He grins and drags his hair from his face again, the same ring flashing. If I had a fringe that flopped into my eyes as much as his does, I’d cut it. Constantly dragging at my hair would annoy the crap out of me.
Following an awkward public goodbye, and promises to call later, I escape the room with Jamie.
“I’ll show you part of the way to the dorms, then we can find Amelia. She’s your roommate, I believe.”
“My what?” I’m filled with scary images of boarding school dormitories—rows of beds and no privacy. Stupidly, I’d expected my own room.
“Most people share with one other, unless they’re particularly difficult to live with, or wealthy enough that daddy buys them their own room. Luckily, we don’t have many of either in Walcott house.” He scratches his nose. “People in Petrescu house tend to have their own rooms. There’s more space over there.”
“House?”
I follow him along the hallway and back to the entrance hall. He gestures at the wall covered by the banner. “Surely your last school had houses for sports carnivals, or friendly competition? We do too.”
“Right. And how did the academy choose which house I’m assigned to?” I glance at the gothic surroundings again. “Sorting hat?”
Jamie gives a wry smile. “No. Pupils are assigned where Theodora sees fit. For you, it’s Walcott.”
“Is the house any good?” Personally, I’d choose Petrescu. I could put up with the arrogance if it meant my own room.
He chuckles. “I think so. Walcott is my house too.”
“And the third?”
“Gilgamesh. They’re okay, but maybe avoid them until you’ve settled in.”
Silenced by his words, I follow Jamie up the stairs, which wind around to a second floor. He pauses by a large window with a view across the academy’s rear grounds. The building creates an L shape with a separate part of the academy opposite, not touched by the main building. “Is that where the teachers live?” I ask.
“No. That’s the Petrescu house.” His tone changes and I sense house wars.
“Right.”
I need to gather as much information as possible to decide where I want to place myself socially. Honestly, I’d rather climb into the car with my parents and go home. I argued I could find a job instead, now I’d finished my GCSEs, but my ambition to become a psychiatrist means I need a university education. I have a head start, having met a few shrinks.
“I haven’t seen a subject selection,” I say to Jamie. “What A levels are you taking?”
A small crease forms between his brows. “Oh. Uh…”
“They do teach A levels here, right?” I ask with a laugh. “Or is this all group therapy and crap like that?”
Jamie snorts. “No. You’ll leave with qualifications, don’t worry.”
Weighed down by my rucksack across his broad shoulders, Jamie continues along a different hallway. I’ve entered a maze of wood panelling and ugly maroon tiled floors. The building smells of floor polish and something sweet that could be air freshener. Or those oil things you plug into the wall. Two girls in academy uniforms rest against one, chatting, and appraise me as we pass. I smile, but the gesture isn’t returned.
Oh, great.
“Where is everybody?” I ask. The hallways should be filled with chatter or movement at 6 p.m., but… nobody.
“Most are at class.”
I stop and stare. “At six? Holy crap, how long is a school day here?”
“The students attend off campus activities in the daytime—internships, part-time jobs. Lessons start after lunch and end at six. Then those on the advanced program have extra.”
“More lessons? I hope I don’t end up on that. What do they study?”
I don’t receive my answer as a girl’s voice calls out Jamie’s name and practically skips down the hallway towards us. She’s shorter than me and curvy; her sharp features and large brown eyes are accentuated by a bobbed hair style chopped short around her face. Her eyes crinkle at the corners with a beaming smile that lowers my defences for the first time.
“Maeve, right? I’m Amelia.” She nods at Jamie. “Thanks for showing Maeve the way here.”
“Makes sense. I live in this part of the academy too. I was taking Maeve to the common room to wait for you.” He tips his head. “Why aren’t you in class?”
Amelia pulls a face. “I hurt myself.”
I take a cursory glance. She looks fine, but what do I know?
“You need to be more careful. I presume you mean Professor Turlington’s class?’
She huffs. “Yes, and Ash wasn’t with me to help.”
I chew on my lip and look around the hallway. The exterior of the building is matched by the interior—dated and depressing. For such a prestigious school, you’d think they’d be able to upgrade the decor.
“Never mind, it means I’ll be able to help my new roommate settle in,” Amelia continues.
I snap my thoughts away from my analysis of the decor. She laughs at my half-hidden horror. “We share a big room, don’t worry. You won’t hear my snoring.”
Oh great, this gets better. “Snoring?”
Jamie hands over my bag and wanders away; I follow Amelia. As I step into the dorm room, I’m relieved that Amelia was right about the size and this isn’t an intimate setting. Instead, a bamboo partition divides the room, and two comfy-looking red armchairs and a TV take up the space in the middle. A bathroom leads off to the left. The warm yellow walls are a contrast to the muted colours I’ve seen everywhere else. A large painting of an ocean hangs opposite the large bay window and the place is clean and tidy. I grimace. I’m not clean and tidy; I hope that won’t cause conflict.
Amelia enthusiastically shows me around the shared space, and I smile back politely, head still spinning. Somebody else has fetched up the bedding I brought with me, and the star-covered duvet knots my stomach. This is my room now. No more locking myself away from everybody and ignoring the world.
I squeeze my eyes closed to force back the stupid tears.
“Thanks for welcoming me,” I say as I sit in an armchair.
“Of course! I remember being new, and starting a week into term must be daunting.”
I wait for the question: ‘why?’ but Amelia gives one of her smiles again. Does she ever stop smiling?
“Dinner is 6:30,” she announces as I open my rucksack.
I’d protest that I’m not hungry and could lurk here for the evening, but I doubt she’d allow that. I return her smile, even though my face aches.
RELEASE DATE APRIL 16TH
PREORDER ON AMAZON