Feared

Eight: Too Much TV

Night had already fallen, when their train finally pulled into Union Station in the centre of Washington D.C. The station, huge and sprawling, was deserted. The small stores and coffee shops were vacant, their shutters drawn, as the students moved, silent as ghosts, through its vast halls. Row upon row of glistening white buses stood waiting to bring them to their new, temporary home, somewhere in the twinkling city. Beyond the buses Charlotte could see the outlined silhouettes of armed guards, cordoning the station from anybody curious enough to approach, keeping back anybody who wanted to reach the students from Kingston Academy. Or perhaps, Charlotte thought wryly, protecting any onlookers from the pupils of Kingston.

The hotel accommodating them was a lavish tower of pale bricks and glass, stretching into the sky tinged orange by the city lights. Flags fluttered above its great entrance, their material cracking in the light breeze. Golden light streamed from the hotel windows, inviting the students into its warmth, into its embrace.

Two porters smiled at them as they passed into the foyer, a long, high-ceilinged room with a glittering gold and cream marble floor. A huge crystal chandelier was suspended above their heads, glistening in the soft light filling the room, as soft piano music wafted about them.

"Everybody, listen up," Fiennes called, standing on the steps of a great curving staircase leading to the higher floors. "The hotel has kindly offered to accommodate you for the entire length of your stay in the city. Be considerate of their kindness and to not take the generosity for granted," he proclaimed to the students filing into the foyer, while still more buses continued to arrive. "The public have been very moved by what they know of your story and have raised a substantial amount of money which will cover your stay here and will allow us to organise new clothes and other necessities for you".

Charlotte was half-listening to Fiennes, glancing about her as she stood between Ian and James. After the compound this hotel seemed to be luxury in the extreme, and after sleeping for days on end in a seat on a rattling old train, a bed seemed like the only necessity she would need.

"We have assigned you to rooms in an order we hope you will be happy with and if you're not..."

"If you're not, don't come crying to us," Maxwell Smith barked across Fiennes. "Go through the double doors on your left, to the hall to receive your room keys. Go to the table corresponding to your surname and be quick about it. You seem to think you are smart kids – figure out the rest yourselves," he growled. "Oh and absolutely no alterations! None what-so-ever! That means you O'Connell".

"Sir, yes sir," Ian saluted, his expression a little downcast.

"Can't let them know what we've become yet," Charlotte muttered to James, knowing nobody would understand the word alterations other than the students.

"Best behaviour O'Connell, at least until after the press conference, then it will be somebody else's problem," James smiled as Ian rolled his eys.

"We should join the queues for the keys now – we could be waiting all night once the other buses arrive," Ethan interrupted, jerking his head in the direction of the hall.

"Miss Owens and Mr Alexander?" Charlotte and James hesitated as a slim, smiling girl with dark, blue eyes approached them, her cheeks flushed. Her straw coloured hair was scooped back from her face, twisted and pinned at the back of her head. "My name is Vivian. I'm a manager here and I would like to welcome you warmly to our hotel".

"Thanks," Charlotte frowned, glancing uncertainly at James.

"Mr Ramsey has insisted that you take our top suite – if you will come with me..." Vivian said in a professionally sweet tone, though she couldn't seem to hide her excitement beneath it.