Allie wondered if she was dead.

She couldn't see anything. Every part of her body hurt.

She couldn't move her left arm. Something hard had jammed into her back.

And worst of all, something wet and cold was dripping on to her face.

Using her right arm, she scrabbled at her face; she felt rough fabric under her fingertips and yanked at it. Her shoulder burned like fire as she pulled the bag off her head.

Now she could see but she couldn't figure out what she was looking at. It was dark and nothing made any sense. She seemed to be looking up at a steering wheel above her head.

Staring in blank confusion at the car keys dangling above her, she realised she was lying on the ceiling of a car, which was upside down in the snow.

Turning her head painfully to the left she saw a face, covered in blood and staring back at her with blank blue eyes that reminded her sickeningly of Jo's. The reason she couldn't move was because Gabe lay on her arm. She thought he might be dead but she wasn't certain.

Moaning in horror, she shoved at him, but he was heavy and every time she moved it felt like someone shoved a knife into her shoulder. Using her good arm and both legs, she pulled herself loose a little at a time; it took all of her strength and afterward she lay still, panting. The edge of her vision blackened and she feared she might faint.

Get out, Allie, a voice in her head was screaming. Get out of the car.

But it was so hard to move. With effort, she slid slowly to the door. Her left arm wouldn't do anything, she noticed with a kind of distant curiosity. It just hung there.

Using her right hand she fumbled with the door handle. At first nothing happened. Then she pulled harder and heard the latch give. She sighed with relief and shoved it. But it would only open about ten inches. Then it jammed against a wall of snow and branches.

Groaning with pain, Allie turned herself around. Bracing her back against Gabe's body, she rested her feet against the door. Then she kicked the window.

And again.

With each kick she cried out with pain, but each kick also moved the door another few inches. Three kicks, and it was open just enough for her to escape.

Feet first, she crawled through the opening, tumbling on to her knees in the snow with a scream of agony. For a moment she knelt still, sobbing.

Moonlight filtered through the trees around her. Grabbing a branch with her right arm, she pulled herself slowly to her feet, gritting her teeth against the pain.

Bewildered, she turned a slow circle. She couldn't see a road anywhere.

The car was in the woods.

With no idea where she was and consciousness slipping, Allie limped to the back of the car. After pausing to catch her breath, she began to follow the car's tracks, lurching through bushes and trees, and then up an embankment to the narrow country lane.

The way her left arm flopped uselessly at her side scared her so she held it still with her right hand as she stumbled unsteadily along the empty road. She was moving as fast as she could something told her she needed to get far away from that car.

She could see the skid marks the car had left as it swung from one side of the road to the other before leaving it completely.

But the road was blurred. Something was blocking her vision. When she reached up to swipe her hand against her eyes, it came back covered in blood.

I'm bleeding, she thought unemotionally. Guess that's no surprise.

Somewhere she could hear a car engine, but she couldn't tell where it was coming from. She tried to speed up. But as she limped down the road, she knew she was veering from side to side, and blood was now dripping on to the snow with each step, leaving a trail of scarlet behind her.

By the time she saw the car coming directly towards her, she was too exhausted to get out of the way. Standing slightly hunched over from the pain, she held up her good hand as if that would be enough to stop it and stared straight into headlights.

The car skidded to a stop.

She could hear a car door open but all she could see was the blinding light.

The moment seemed to stretch out for ever.

'Who is it?' she tried to say, through gritted teeth, but she didn't know if the words actually came out.

'Allie? Is that you? Oh my God.' A man's voice.

Then he stepped out into the light and she saw his horrified face.

Raj Patel.

As he reached out for her, she collapsed in his arms.

THIRTY-TWO.

Golden light. Soft blankets. Warmth. Pain.

Allie could hear voices but she couldn't seem to wake up.

'How is she?'

'Still unconscious.'

'Is it bad?'

'Well, it's not good. Just look at her, for God's sake.'

Someone holding her hand, whispering in her ear.

A pinprick.

Silence.

With a gasp, Allie opened her eyes. They felt gummed together and heavy.

Slowly the room came into focus all she saw was white. A white bed. White light streaming through white curtains. White walls.

Every part of her body hurt. When she licked her lips, they didn't feel right they felt swollen and torn. She tried to speak but her mouth was too dry.

She was so thirsty.

With effort, she turned her head to the right. It hurt to move. Sylvain was asleep in the chair beside her, arms crossed protectively across his chest. He looked young and vulnerable.

But when she reached out to him, a shock of pain shot through her and she whimpered. His eyes flew open; the light reflected in them like jewels.

'Allie?' He leaned forward, taking her right hand in his. 'It's OK. You're safe.'

She felt strange. As if she were cocooned. Sound seemed to come from a long way away.

'You were in an accident,' he was saying.

'I know that,' she whispered, although the words sounded fuzzy, as if spoken through a mouthful of gauze. 'I was there.'

A relieved smile spread slowly across his face and he bent down to kiss her fingers.

'Doctor,' he called over his shoulder.

A woman in white appeared behind his shoulder, eyes concerned. 'Hello, Allie. Please don't move.'

Reaching past Sylvain, she took Allie's wrist between her fingers and checked her pulse, looking at her watch. Then she studied numbers on a machine by the bed and wrote down the results.

'How do you feel?' the doctor asked.

'Hurts. Thirsty.'

'I'll give you something for the pain.' She handed Sylvain a cup with a straw in it. 'Tiny sips only. Don't let her have too much. I'll be right back.'

He held it to her lips. The tepid water tasted delicious she wanted to drink all of it, but he pulled it away. That was OK. It hurt to drink anyway.

Her eyes searched his. 'Jo?'

His face went blank. 'Don't talk, Allie. The doctor wants you to be still. We'll talk soon.'

Panic surged; the heart monitor beside the bed beeped in alarm. 'Jo?'

Half standing now, Sylvain called over his shoulder, 'Doctor?'

'I'm right here.' She appeared beside him, a syringe in her hand. 'Please don't move,' she told Allie firmly. 'We need you to be still.'

As she injected the contents of the syringe into the drip Allie watched, helpless. Something was wrong but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Then her brain lost interest.

Everything went dark.

When she woke again, it was night. Her bed lay in a pool of golden light. Now Isabelle sat in the chair next to her, reading a stack of papers. Her glasses were halfway down her nose.

Allie tried to say 'Isabelle', but her throat was too dry again. But the headmistress must have sensed her movement because she leaned forward, setting the papers aside.

'Allie here.' Isabelle held the glass of water for her.

Her face still felt swollen but the pain wasn't as bad now and Allie slowly turned her head, verifying that her room was otherwise empty. 'Sylvain?'

Isabelle leaned forward, her eyes sombre. 'I sent him to his room to get some sleep, Allie. He's been right here for days. He's exhausted.'

'Days?' She searched Isabelle's eyes. 'How long ...?'

'You've been unconscious for three days, Allie. You were very badly hurt you have a head injury. Your left arm is broken.'

Allie gave a slow shallow nod to show she wasn't surprised. Then her gaze met Isabelle's and held it. 'Jo.'

A long pause followed, but then Isabelle's reply came in a low, steady voice, as if she'd prepared for this moment. 'Jo didn't make it, Allie.'

Somebody moaned and Allie wondered if it was her. Picking up her good hand, Isabelle held it tightly. 'Zoe ran fast; we got there quickly, but she'd lost too much blood.' Her voice caught and she paused for a long moment. 'There was nothing anyone could do. She was already dead when we got there.'

A tear rolled down the side of Allie's face. 'How?'

The headmistress' lips trembled. 'We found some things in her room.'

'What?' Allie asked, although she thought she might already have guessed.

'Letters and notes,' Isabelle said, 'from Gabe.'

Hatred filled Allie's heart.

'They'd been in communication for a while. He told her he wanted to talk; that he missed her and wanted to say he was sorry. He played on her emotions, her unresolved feelings for him. They must have arranged to meet that night. When she got there the gate was open. They argued. She tried to run away. He had a knife ...'

A sob wrenched through Allie and she let go of Isabelle's hand to cover her face. 'Oh Jo.'

Was it her fault? Hadn't Jo warned her, in a way? She said, 'I never got to ask him why he did what he did.' Why hadn't she realised Jo wouldn't be able to accept that? That she'd insist on knowing why?

Now Isabelle was crying, too. 'You did everything you could, Allie. Nobody could have saved her.'

But that was a lie, wasn't it?

Early the next morning, Rachel appeared in her doorway with a steaming mug of coffee and a bowl of porridge. Her eyes were red and puffy but she was composed.

'I don't know if they feed you up here,' she said, forcing a sad smile.

Sitting in the chair by the bed, she stirred the oats ('with brown sugar and cinnamon, the way you like it'). Allie's bruised jaw and throat made eating painful but she was surprised to find she was hungry. Rachel fed her small spoonfuls and waited patiently while she forced the food down. When she'd eaten enough, Rachel closed the door to her room, moved the side table out of the way and climbed up on the bed beside her, careful not to jar her broken arm. Then, holding Allie's good hand, she told her everything she knew.

Gabe most likely passed notes to Jo through Nathaniel's spy. The last note probably arrived the night of the ball, thus sparking the panic that the school was being attacked. It must have been his footprints the guards saw in the snow. That person had then slipped the notes into Jo's room at night. It wasn't clear if Jo knew who the spy was, or if they had some system for her writing back.

'Then, just before eleven o'clock, that person, whoever it is, opened the gate,' Rachel said.

Allie's heartbeat seemed unnaturally loud in her ears.

'The gate opens by remote control kept in Isabelle's office,' Rachel explained. 'There is no other way. So whoever opened the gate is close enough to all of us to get into her office and not be noticed. A teacher, most likely. Although it could be a senior Night School student.'