The school looked the same as it had in the summer huge, solid and intimidating. The three-storey red-brick building towered over them its slate roof a range of Gothic peaks and valleys where wrought iron finials thrust into the sky like an armoury of dark knives. Symmetrical rows of arched windows seemed to watch them as they pulled their bags from the car.

The headmistress had pulled her light brown hair back tightly with a clip, and wore a white Cimmeria polo shirt over a pair of jeans. Allie couldn't remember ever seeing her in jeans before.

'Thank you for sending Mr P. to save me,' Allie said. 'I don't know what would have happened without him.'

'You followed my instructions perfectly.' Even on a cloudy day like today the headmistress' golden-brown eyes seemed to glow. 'You were very brave. I can't tell you how proud of you I am.'

Blushing, Allie looked down at her feet.

'And Rachel, my star student.' Smoothly deflecting attention, Isabelle turned. 'Thank heaven you're back; the library needs you. Eloise will be so glad you're here. Hello, Raj.' As she shook Rachel's father's hand she arched one eyebrow. 'Or should I call you, Mr P.?'

'If you must.' His smile was wry. 'I seem to have no say in the matter.'

Turning back to the stack of luggage beside the car, Isabelle said, 'I assume most of these hold your books, Rachel? You can leave them here between terms, you know. We won't throw them away.'

Grinning, Rachel picked up one of her bags and heaved it over her shoulder. 'You know how I am, Isabelle ...'

'Indeed I do. Well let's get you settled in. Everybody's busy with the repair work, so we're more on our own than usual.'

The headmistress picked up a bag and walked briskly to the door. The others lumbered themselves with luggage and followed her through the grand entryway with its stained glass window, dull on this cloudy day with no sun to illuminate it. Allie noticed the fanciful unicorn tapestry usually found hanging near the door was missing. And it soon became clear much more had changed since she'd last seen the school on the night it nearly burned down.

'Carter, Sylvain and Jo are here already.' Isabelle's voice echoed as they walked across the stone floor towards the grand hallway. 'Jules will be back in the next few days, as will Lucas and a few of the older students, but we'll be a small group until term starts.'

In the wide, main hallway, the wood floors were covered in an inelegant carpet of dirty canvas dust sheets. The dozens of oil paintings that usually brightened the glossy oak wall panelling had all been removed. Without them the space felt oddly naked and, to Allie, disturbingly impermanent.

Ahead, Isabelle was still talking cheerfully but Allie noticed how high-pitched she sounded; she could hear the strain the headmistress was trying to hide.

'Because some rooms were damaged in the fire, classes and bedrooms are being shifted around.' Isabelle's sensible, rubber-soled shoes gripped each step with firm assurance. 'We must be ready by the time the rest of the students begin arriving in ten days. I think you'll find volunteering to help is compulsory.'

At a brisk pace, she led them up the wide staircase, where the Edwardian crystal chandelier overhead was draped in a filmy, protective fabric that looked like a gigantic spider-web. As she trotted after the others, she could hear hammers banging somewhere, workers shouting orders and the sound of something being dragged.

She'd known repairs would be needed. Even though she'd left the day after the fire, she'd seen enough to know the work would be substantial. But somehow she hadn't envisioned the school so ... damaged. Stripped of the art and details that had made it feel like a fairy tale castle it seemed wounded, and she trailed her hand softly up the wide, polished oak banister as if to comfort it.

At the top of the stairs they turned on to a narrower staircase which led them to another hallway and then a second set of steps. The acrid smell of smoke was stronger here and Allie's stomach churned as she remembered the night a few weeks before when she'd seen her brother, Christopher, standing down the hall, a flaming torch in one hand, as he set fire to the school.

As if she'd expected this reaction, Isabelle was by her side in an instant, putting an arm around her shoulders and turning her away from her room.

'Your room had smoke and water damage, Allie, so we've moved you down the hall.' She steered Allie past her usual door to one marked 371. 'Your things have already been moved.'

'Hey, that's right next to mine!' Rachel said, throwing open the door marked 372. As she walked in Allie heard her say, 'Hello small, rectangular personal space. How I love you.'

Isabelle opened the door to Allie's room. 'I thought you might feel better living closer to Rachel.'

The plainly furnished room smelled of the sticky-clean, chemical scent of fresh paint. Allie stood in the doorway as Isabelle fussed with the arched, shutter-style window, pushing it open to let the watery grey light flood in.

The tall bookcase was lined with the familiar spines of her small collection of books. The bed was covered in a fluffy white duvet, and a dark blue blanket was folded neatly over the footboard just as it had been in her previous room. Everything was exactly the same.

Isabelle was already heading out of the door. 'Your parents sent some of your things over; I've put them in the wardrobe. Once you're all settled in, come and find me. Let's have a chat.'

As the door closed Allie's heart gave a happy flutter. She was back where she belonged.

This homecoming was so different from last term, when she first arrived at Cimmeria. Back then it had seemed intimidating and hateful. Most of the students had treated her like a gatecrasher at an exclusive party. Her parents had been so angry with her at the time she'd just been arrested they told her nothing about the school. They just drove her here and dropped her off. When Jules, the perfect, blonde prefect, showed her around on her first day she'd felt like an idiot. It was only then that she discovered its bizarre rules all electronic devices were banned, and nobody could leave the school grounds and the elite group known as Night School, which gathered secretly after curfew and took part in strange training rituals other students were forbidden even to watch.

But despite all of that weirdness, only two months later, this felt like her real home.

She opened the wardrobe and lugged out the small suitcase her parents had sent. She'd been quite specific about what they were to include. Several books, all her notebooks, a few changes of clothes and ...

She smiled.

There they are. Right on top.

Her red, knee-high Doc Martins.

She caressed the scuffed, dark red leather with one hand; with the other she held the note her mother had put in the case.

'Cimmeria provides your shoes, so I don't know why you need these ...' it began.

'I know you don't, Mum,' Allie muttered with mild irritation. She scanned the rest of the note it said nothing about what had happened in London that night. Nothing about Isabelle or Nathaniel. Nothing that mattered.

So they were back to pretending again, then.

Sometimes Allie felt as if she'd been accidentally scooped up from her rubbish, ordinary world and dropped into the middle of somebody else's life. A life in which everyone was at war. Now she was in the line of fire but had no idea who was doing the shooting. Although she was beginning to learn who to trust.

She hurried to empty the rest of the suitcase but it all seemed to take too long, and the case was still open on the floor when she ran out of the room. Rapping her knuckles with impatient force on Rachel's door, she walked in without waiting for an answer to find Rachel sitting on the floor surrounded by stacks of books, with an open text in her lap.

During the few days Allie had spent with Rachel's family, she'd felt as if she had the sister she'd always secretly wanted. As they'd splashed in the pool and wandered the family's well-guarded horse pastures, they'd talked about everything: Carter, Nathaniel, Allie's mother, Rachel's father. Allie felt that she could tell Rachel everything and not be judged. And she could tell her anything and know that she could trust her.

'Let's unpack later.' Allie hopped from one foot to another. 'Don't you want to see the library?'

'You mean, don't I want to go with you to find Carter?' As she closed her book and climbed to her feet, Rachel's smile was indulgent. 'Of course I do.'

On the ground floor, things were bustling. A clatter of hammering emanated from the classroom wing, and through the open door they could see workers tearing out damaged plaster. Blackened panelling leaned against a wall awaiting removal; a scorched desk was discarded nearby. Workers hustled in and out in a busy stream. Scaffolding scaled the walls in silvery mesh.

Elsewhere, though, things looked better. The dining room was undamaged, and the common room looked just as it had before the fire.

Stepping into the great hall, they saw that it was in good shape but so filled with furniture they could only just squeeze inside. Clearly furniture was being stored here from rooms being repaired.

Rachel made her way gingerly past the legs of a chair which rested on its side under a desk. 'I wonder where ...'

At that moment, the door flew open and Sylvain rushed in carrying an Oriental rug rolled into a long, heavy tube. He was so focused on getting his awkwardly shaped cargo through the doorway that for a second he didn't see them. Then he glanced up and his vivid blue eyes met Allie's. Startled, he lost his footing and the rug swung wildly. Allie and Rachel ducked out of the way as he struggled to regain control, finally dropping the rug on to the floor with a dusty thud.

In the silence that followed, Allie noticed how his dark wavy hair had tumbled over his forehead. His tawny skin glistened from exertion. Then she wondered why she'd noticed that.

She nearly jumped when Rachel spoke. 'Hi, Sylvain. We didn't mean to startle you.'

'Hello, Rachel. Welcome back.'

Hearing his familiar voice with its elegant French accent, Allie felt an indefinable surge of emotion. As if she'd moved, he turned back to her.

'Hello, Allie,' he said quietly.

'Hey, Sylvain.' She swallowed nervously. 'I ... I mean ... How are you?'

'I'm well.'

His oddly formal vocal cadence made him sound more sophisticated than his seventeen years, and when Allie had first met him just a word could make her melt.

But that was then.

'How are you?' he asked. As their awkward conversation continued, Rachel backed towards the door.

'I'm just going to ...' she explained vaguely before dashing out.

When she was gone, Allie took a step closer to Sylvain, trying to read his guarded expression. 'I'm ... OK.' Her throat tightened and she swallowed hard. 'I ... just ... I never got a chance. To thank you, I mean. After the fire.' She reached towards his arm. 'You saved my life, Sylvain.'

When she touched him, a spark of electricity shocked them both. Yanking her hand free with a yelp, Allie jumped backwards, tripping over the rug. Sylvain grabbed her arm to steady her, but quickly let go and stepped away from her.

This wasn't at all the way Allie had visualised this meeting. She'd wanted to be cool. Not a clumsy oaf stumbling over rugs and electrocuting him with her skin.

The colour rose in her cheeks. 'I'm sorry. I have to ... go and ...' Without finishing her sentence she fled the room.

When she was safely around the corner she stopped and leaned back against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut.

Replaying the scene in her mind, she banged her head rhythmically against the wall behind her.

'Hi, Sylvain,' she muttered sarcastically between thumps. 'I'm a complete moron. You?'

With a sigh, she straightened and stepped out into the hallway, running straight into Carter's arms. Laughing, he lifted her off the ground. 'I heard a nasty rumour you were back.'

His shirt was covered in paint spatters and his hair was a mess. A smudge of white paint marked his forehead endearingly. His hands were strong and warm on her waist. After her awkward encounter with Sylvain, just being with Carter was like a balm for her soul.

'Bad news travels fast,' she said, raising her lips up to his.

The kiss spread warmth through her body, and she parted her lips to his, tightening her arms around his shoulders. After a moment, he leaned his forehead against hers, whispering, 'God, I've missed you.'

She smiled into his eyes, still holding on to him. 'Right back at ya.'

'You look great,' he said, straightening. 'Are you great? When Isabelle told me what happened in London. I was ...' His voice trailed off and a muscle worked in his jaw. 'Well, by the time she told me about it we knew you were safe but ... You're really OK, right?'

'Yeah, I'm good,' Allie said. 'Rachel's dad came to my rescue. He's ... I don't know ... a rock star.'

'Yeah, he's supposed to be the real deal,' Carter said, smiling. 'Even Zelazny talks about him like he's Batman.'

At the mention of her least favourite teacher's name, Allie made a sour face.

Jokingly, Carter shook his finger at her. 'You two need to learn how to get along, Allie.'

'I know, I know,' she muttered. 'But it's not my fault he hated me first. I just hate him back.'

'That,' he laughed, 'is the lamest excuse I've ever heard.'

She couldn't believe she was here at last sparring with Carter. She squeezed his hand with sudden happiness. 'I really have missed you, you know.'

Pulling her into a nook behind the main staircase, he kissed her again, more passionately this time. His lips trailed down her jaw to her neck, raising a Braille pattern of goosebumps. She pressed her fingertips tightly into the lean muscles of his shoulders and he gave a small gasp of pleasure, raising his lips to hers.

'Oh, Carter. There you are.'

At the sound of Isabelle's voice, Carter spun around. Smoothing her hair, Allie tried to look innocent but Isabelle's knowing look told her she wasn't fooling anyone.

'Eloise is looking for you. And, Allie, she would really appreciate your help, too,' the headmistress said. 'If you're not busy, that is.'

She walked away without another word.

Allie's face flushed at her tart tone but Carter's shoulders shook with repressed laughter.

'I don't see how that's so funny,' Allie said primly, but Carter just laughed harder and pulled her gently in the direction of the library.

'Come on, Al. You know Isabelle's cool. She's not going to give us detention for a bit of snogging.' When she continued to pout, he tickled her until she laughed and pulled away.

As soon as they neared the library door, though, her mood changed. Dropping his hand, she slowed her steps, finally coming to a halt.

A step ahead of her, Carter stopped to look back, concern in his dark eyes.

'Have you been back there since the fire?'

Her eyes locked on the door, she shook her head mutely.

'You want to go in there now?'

She shook her head again. 'Nope. Not one bit.'

He reached for her hand.

'You don't have to do this, you know,' he said gently. 'You could give yourself some more time.'

Not taking her eyes off the door, which seemed to loom before her, she nodded.

'I know. But the thing is, the longer I wait, the harder it's going to be,' she said, her eyes flickering off his and back to the door. 'I need to get it over with. I mean, I can't just not go to the library. This is where they keep all the knowledge.'

Her weak joke didn't fool him and he held on tightly to her hand.

'Well. Just keep breathing, OK?'

Her eyes still focused on the heavy, oak wood of the door, she nodded. She knew perfectly well that it was just an ordinary door with an ordinary room behind it. But it was the room where she'd nearly died.

Watching her expression, Carter reached for the door handle. 'Ready?'

Her heart thudding in her ears, she nodded.