Watching her, he gave a bittersweet smile. ‘I wish that were true.’ Then he pivoted and headed down the aisle of books. ‘Come on. We should go.’
Dropping her arms, Allie rushed after him so hurriedly she stumbled over a stack of books someone had left at the end of the aisle.
‘Here’s your hat; what’s your hurry…’ she muttered.
‘What did you say?’ Sylvain shot her an inquisitive look.
‘Nothing.’ Allie shrugged. ‘I was just quoting a line from a film I like.’
‘Do you like films?’ He looked genuinely pleased at the idea. ‘Which is your favourite?’
As always happened whenever someone asked her favourite book or film, Allie’s mind went blank – it was as if she’d never seen a film in her life. Everyone was always trying to impress everyone else with their great taste. So it took her a second to realise she’d just quoted a line from one of her favourite movies.
‘I like It’s a Wonderful Life,’ she said. ‘I mean, I used to watch it with my family every Christmas before… I mean… It’s pretty good, I guess.’
What she meant was, she used to watch the film back when she was happy. Before Christopher ran away and her world fell apart.
He looked at her seriously. ‘I think it is an amazing film – one of my favourites. I love Jimmy Stewart.’ His accent made the name sound adorable – ‘Jeemee’. They’d made it to the door and he held it open for her as he warmed to the topic. ‘I love films – when I’m at home I’m constantly watching movies – I particularly like old movies in black and white. They seem better than modern films, although I don’t know why.’ He cast a sideways glance at her. ‘Have you seen Jules et Jim?’
Mutely, Allie shook her head. It sounded French and sophisticated. Of course her parents wouldn’t have had that around.
‘It is by François Truffaut, a great French filmmaker – I think perhaps the best ever,’ Sylvain said as they stepped into the grand hallway. It was quiet at this hour and the polished oak panelling shone in the low light. ‘You remind me, sometimes, of the actress in it. Your hair… other things…’
His words made warmth bloom in Allie’s chest, uninvited. It was nice being compared to a French actress who was probably beautiful and mysterious as French actresses always were. The casual conversation served to distract her from worrying about the work ahead of them and she wondered if Sylvain had brought it up on purpose. It struck her that no one at Cimmeria ever talked about ordinary things any more. It was always Nathaniel, Jo, Isabelle, Lucinda, death. It felt almost odd to discuss something normal people talked about.
‘I’ll have to watch it,’ she said. ‘If you love it so much, it must be good.’
Jules et Jim, Allie said to herself, trying to memorise it. Jules et Jim, Jules et Jim, Jules…
‘Maybe we will watch it together some day,’ he said and gave her one of those Sylvain smiles that made her feel like no one else existed in the world except the two of them.
‘Now, we should go this way.’ Reaching for her hand, Sylvain pulled her with him to where the hall broadened to hold several classical marble statues. They ducked behind a wide plinth where they couldn’t be seen by anyone passing through. The entrance to the staff residence wing was just a few feet away.
Crouched behind Sylvain, Allie studied him curiously. His breathing was even but his muscles were tense – she could see the tendons in his neck, raised in relief under the smoothness of his tawny skin. His tension was contagious, and she could feel her own breaths shorten. As if he’d noticed this, he glanced over his shoulder at her.
‘Are you ready?’
Allie nodded. ‘Yes.’
He stood, and she stood with him. ‘Now.’
Moving silently, they ran across the empty hall to the door. Unlocking it with a key, he let Allie slip through first, running in after her and closing the door behind them.
On the other side, the corridor was dark. As Allie’s eyes adjusted she could just make out heavy oak beams and carved wood. This must be the older part of the building. On either side, the hallway was lined with widely spaced doors, each with a number on it. These were the teachers’ apartments.
They moved quickly down the hallway, walking in sync. Out of the corner of her eye, Allie noticed Sylvain was holding himself oddly. His biceps bulged as if he expected a fight; his hands were in fists at his sides. He was nervous.
The realisation sent adrenaline rushing into her veins. Sylvain was never nervous.
They were nearly at the end of the corridor when he held out his hand to stop her. Looking up and down the hall to make sure no one saw them, he stepped to the door marked with the numbers ‘181’.
He caught her eye. Each of them knew how much was at risk.
Allie kept her expression calm. She nodded her head.
Sylvain turned the handle.
TWENTY-THREE
The door wasn’t locked. As it swung open, Allie could see only darkness ahead – hear only silence.
Holding up his hand to indicate that she should wait, Sylvain slipped inside.
Seconds later he returned and silently motioned for her to follow. Taking a steadying breath, she walked into Zelazny’s room.
When the door closed the room was utterly dark. Allie stood still, afraid to move.
‘Sylvain?’ she whispered after a moment.
‘I’m here.’ His reply was muffled. She could hear the soft swish of his hands against the walls and realised he must be feeling for a light switch. Almost as soon as she thought it, the room was flooded with light. After the dimness, Allie had to shield her eyes.
‘Blinding,’ she said.
‘Only for a second.’
Through the cracks between her fingers, she squinted into the glare. Sylvain stood near the door, watching her with a quizzical half-smile, as if she’d done something amusing. His earlier tension had disappeared.
They were in an orderly room with a leather sofa and a low chair with a padded seat and wooden arms. A television and DVD player stood in the corner near a fireplace. The walls were painted a matte, masculine shade of grey with a clean white trim. Turning a slow circle she took in the bookcases lining one wall and a door leading into another room, which must be the bedroom.
‘It’s so small.’
‘It’s not so bad.’ Sylvain still stood with his back against the wall, looking around as if deciding where to start. ‘Why don’t you start with the bookshelves,’ he said. ‘I’ll take the desk.’
Zelazny’s bookshelves stood above low wooden cabinets and stretched all the way to the ceiling. Most of the books they held seemed to be about the military – Battles of Britain, The Gathering Storm, something that looked philosophical called The Seven Pillars of Wisdom.
Their dull navy and grey covers were rough beneath her fingertips. Their smell of ink and aged paper filled her nostrils.
With no clue how to really search, she felt around the edges and behind them for anything that might be tucked away. But they were just books. On a shelf.
She glanced over to where Sylvain rifled through the papers on the desk. ‘Am I just looking for the key?’
‘That is the main thing. But if you see anything odd or suspicious that would be good, too.’
Odd or suspicious? Like what? A gun with smoke rising from the barrel? A knife with blood on it? A pamphlet called How to Destroy Cimmeria Academy: A Rogue’s Guide?
But now wasn’t the time for sarcasm. She tilted books forward to look behind them, and dragged a chair over to climb on so she could see the higher shelves.