She was still feeling the thrill of that when Sylvain asked his next question.
‘So what led you to come to Cimmeria? I believe you were brought here as punishment.’
The thrill of power practically made a sizzling noise as it died.
Sliding down in her chair, Allie launched into the story of her brother’s disappearance and all that happened after: Her parents losing interest in her. Her arrest for breaking into the school and spray-painting obscenities on the walls. How this arrest had followed two other arrests for vandalism and petty theft. How Mark and Harry had stepped into her brother’s place in her emotions – only instead of helping with her homework they taught her the fine art of rebellion.
As she talked, Sylvain took notes in his neat, precise handwriting, occasionally looking up at her with a bemused expression but never interrupting. She wanted to gloss some of it over to make herself sound better, the way she did when telling Jo or Rachel about it, but found she couldn’t. She told him everything. And the more she talked the better she felt, as if the story were leaving her. With every word the weight on her chest seemed to lighten.
When she’d finished, he studied her with overt curiosity. The silver pen glittered in his long fingers. ‘This Allie you describe, she doesn’t sound like the Allie sitting in front of me. I don’t recognise that girl.’
‘Yeah, well.’ She shrugged. ‘When your life falls apart sometimes you fall apart with it. Hasn’t that ever happened to you?’
‘No – not like that. I just …’ He paused as if trying to think of the right words. ‘I admire your strength, Allie. It’s not possible for me to say what I would have done if I were in your feet, but I think I would not have handled it as well.’
‘Shoes,’ she corrected him automatically. ‘If you were in my shoes.’
But even as she spoke, a rush of unexpected emotion flooded through her. She didn’t know what it was – maybe it was just dredging up all that stuff again – but for some reason his words touched her heart.
‘By the way, have you heard from your brother?’ As his words sliced through her reverie, her eyes shot up to meet his. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘since the fire?’
Reflexively, her hand slid into her skirt pocket, touching the now familiar thick paper of Christopher’s letter. She tried to speak, but no words came out.
Three breaths in, two breaths out …
‘Allie?’ Frowning, Sylvain cocked his head to one side. ‘What’s the matter? Have you heard from him?’
‘No,’ she said, her voice hoarse. ‘Never. Not until … last night.’
SEVENTEEN
‘You have to go to Isabelle and Raj.’ Sylvain handed the letter back to Allie, who folded it carefully and put it back into her pocket.
‘No.’
‘Allie …’
But the warning in his eyes only made her more determined.
‘What will happen if I tell Isabelle?’ she asked.
‘She will have Raj’s people intercept him,’ he said.
‘And do what with him?’
His shrug told her he didn’t know. Maybe didn’t care either.
‘Don’t you dare tell Isabelle. I won’t let them kidnap my brother and use him as some sort of bargaining chip in their crazy war.’ Rising panic made it hard for her to breathe. ‘I’ll go by myself, Sylvain, I swear to God. I’ll warn him. I’ll run away with him,’ she threatened wildly. ‘Nobody is kidnapping him.’
‘Allie, no!’ Her reaction had clearly taken him by surprise and his words tumbled out in a rush. ‘Don’t – you could be hurt.’
‘Christopher wouldn’t hurt me.’
His eyes darkened. ‘Christopher nearly burned this school down with seventy-five people inside. Including you.’
‘You can’t …’ All of a sudden, her lungs felt compressed, as if the air had disappeared. It was hard to speak. The room swayed sickeningly. ‘… tell.’
She could see the puzzled alarm in his eyes. ‘Allie? Are you OK?’
The walls moved closer; her breath came in short gasps. A clammy sweat coated her skin. She struggled to get air.
It’s happening again.
‘I can’t …’ For a long minute she struggled to breathe, her heart thudding so loudly in her ears she couldn’t hear what Sylvain was saying to her. Then, leaping to her feet, she fled from the room. Without looking back, she clattered down the stairs to the back door (thirty-seven steps), and out into the cold rain.
Then she just ran.
The icy air was like a slap in the face as she hurtled through the darkness as fast as her feet would move, with rain lashing at her skin, fighting off the panic attack that threatened to overwhelm her.
As she ran, the cold and the movement seemed to make her lungs work again and she could feel the tension in her chest loosen. But still she didn’t stop. Her wet hair stuck to her scalp and face. Rain blinded her. Mud splashed up her bare ankles to her knees.
She was nearly to the treeline when hands grabbed her shoulders, yanking her back.
Flailing, she spun around, punching blindly. Her fist connected with Sylvain’s flesh and she was glad. For a moment she slithered free, her wet skin sliding through unwanted fingers, but she hadn’t gone three steps when she was wrapped in arms as strong as bands of iron. Only when she realised she couldn’t run any more did a sob finally shake her body.