The Safekeepers

Prologue

Kaylee Addison adjusted her blazer in the mirror, removing her glasses to polish them on her shirt. Her hands shook nervously and she took a deep breath, staring skeptically at her reflection: banana blonde hair sliding out of a messy attempt at a French braid, freckled nose, brown eyes staring boldly out through the misted glass, mascara perhaps a little too thick for school. At least her glasses gave her slightly more confidence; they made her feel more prepared than she was. Tybolt, present, as always, at the right time, emerged in her doorway with a wry smile on his tanned face.

“You’re looking more subdued than normal. I’ve been called in to check you’re ready.” He came over and flicked a piece of fluff off her new suit blouse. “At least they don’t make you wear uniforms for this one”, he chuckled.

“I’m fine, I know the drill.” Kaylee replied steadily, “My briefing was very clear.”

Tybolt nodded briskly, “Then for your sake I’ll remind you that once you’re in there, failure won’t be an option.”

Kaylee moved away from the mirror and reached out to wrap a maroon scarf around her neck, imprinted with the rampant lion that dominated the school crest for St. Emilian College in Herefordshire. Beneath the scarf, she could feel the pulse in her neck beat wildly.

“Failure never has been.”

The phone in the hotel room rang and Tybolt leaned across her to retrieve it. She was used to seeing him dressed as a variety of characters but the difference in his appearance was particularly prominent today: despite only being in his mid-twenties, Tybolt was going to have to pretend to be her father.

“Kaylee, your Guardian requested me to wish you luck.”

Kaylee nodded. She wanted to ask, and what about Stefan and Anna, did they wish me luck too, but didn’t. Enough had been said. It was time.

***

Kaylee sat with Tybolt in silence in the back of the steel grey Rolls Royce he’d rented for the occasion. More than once, she wanted to childishly clutch him and she found herself nostalgically wishing that it was her parents beside her, that they were there to wave her off on her first real day of school: not Tybolt with a moustache, squashed hat and fake wrinkles.

“Ready sunshine?”

The car had stopped. Without waiting for a reply, Tybolt adjusted his tie in the rear mirror, popped a peppermint into his mouth and swung open the door.

Stepping out into the dappled September afternoon, Kaylee caught her breath. At the end of a sweeping drive the gothic, turreted school stood out starkly against a hilly outcrop, the steeple of a chapel rising high into the fragrant, woody air and a flag flying from the central tower, billowing in the light wind and emblazoned with the same crest that decorated her scarf. Tybolt asked the driver to wait and marched past Kaylee towards the heavy wooden front doors, taking hold of her hand and steering her with him. He knocked vigorously on the iron knocker, turning to give Kaylee an encouraging smile. She shot him back a contemptuous look, if he thought she was daunted by all of this then he had quite a shock in store. The door opened a fraction and a petite, silver sliver of a lady in a pale green suit slid through it to greet them.

“Sir Augustin Cross. I’m here to hand over my daughter, Rosa.” Tybolt stated briskly.

Kaylee smiled down at the wispy lady, who consequently shoved her spectacles further up her sharp little nose self-consciously and introduced herself as the receptionist, Mrs. Charm.

“I’ll need your identity confirmed before I let you in. Sorry about this, but we have had attempted terrorist attacks in the past.”

Tybolt fumbled for the papers in his briefcase, passing Mrs. Charm their passports and Kaylee’s health records. Kaylee reminded herself to ask Tybolt some time how he had got hold of the fake documents.

“Thank you Sir Cross, that seems to be everything. Do come inside.”

They were led into a wood-paneled waiting room with leather chesterfield settees where they were offered coffee while they waited for Claire, the Registrar.

“You’re very lucky to have been offered a place,” Mrs. Charm informed Kaylee while they waited, “officially the school is full. We have a unique application system here, students are granted places solely depending on the occupation of their parents. Obviously academic grades are also required and I’m told that yours were quite exceptional.”

Kaylee smiled politely. She knew all of this already; it had been in the information pack her Guardian had given her. St. Emilian’s wasn’t an ordinary boarding school; it was the reserve purely of the global elite. According to Forbes magazine, it was also the most expensive.

“Oh look Rosa, they offer both of your favourite activities here, fencing and debating.” Tybolt commented as he flicked through the school’s annual magazine, The Emilian.

“Good morning Sir Cross.” A non-descript lady with a reddish-grey bob came over to greet them, “I’m terribly sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Claire, how do you do?” She turned to Kaylee sweetly, “You must be Rosa.”

“I’m named after Rosa Luxembourg,” Kaylee commented drily as she shook hands with Claire. She had been given the opportunity to choose her name and was rather proud of her choice: Rosa seemed appropriate.

Claire gasped in horror, “The communist revolutionary?”

“Yes… but she wrote against German imperialism before the First World War and was later murdered for her beliefs. Her courage was admirable.”

“Look what schooling does to women!” Tybolt commented lightly, placing his hand, warningly, on Kaylee’s shoulder, “Don’t worry ma’am, Rosa’s a steadfast conservative – she was named after her great-great Grandmother Lady Rosa Cross. Did you know that the name Rosa originates from that of a thirteenth century saint?”

Visibly calmed, Claire replied with interest. She handed Tybolt a copy of the school prospectus, a list of contact numbers and his receipt for the term’s bill.

“Sir Cross, if you would care to have Rosa’s luggage unloaded I can show her to her boarding house,” she paused to double check her cream leather file, “I believe that you requested Machiavelli house?”

Kaylee confirmed that she had, or rather that her Guardian had.

Tybolt clapped his hands together. “Well if that’s everything then I’ll sort out the bags and be off. Is there a porter on site?”

There was indeed. Claire beckoned for him to collect Kaylee’s trunks from the taxi then Tybolt shook her hand and turned to say goodbye to his daughter.

“I’ll see you at half-term then Rosa” Tybolt said fondly, gathering Kaylee’s hands in his and leaning forwards to kiss her cheek. Kaylee froze then squeezed out a single tear, a technique she’d learnt specially to enact this heartfelt moment. For a split second, Tybolt’s eyes were trained on hers, transmitting both warning and compassion. Then, he was gone. Claire patted Kaylee’s arm reassuringly and said what a marvelous time she was going to have at St. Emilian College but Kaylee knew better. After all, she wasn’t there to have fun, or to learn for that matter.