Black Academy

Chapter 3

Elsa kicked off the last cotton sheet and lay spreadeagled, staring up mesmerized at the chandelier. It winked in the moonlight, tinkling gently. Half an hour ago she'd pulled the heavy damask curtains a little apart and slid the window open, but it hadn't helped. The room was too hot, the bed way too soft. Her cheap supermarket pyjama T-shirt clung to her clammy skin. And Rapunzel, sleeping the comatose sleep of the innocent, was snoring gently.

Elsa gave her roommate a wry grin. Nice that even tempestuous Italian American beauties snored. Anyway, Elsa had no intention of waking her. Of course Rapunzel wasn't going to be as over-excited as a scholarship girl on her first night. Oh, this was hopeless. Sliding off the bed, she padded back to the window and pulled the curtain a little wider. (A/N Don't look outside at night, for it is the witching hour. If you remember where this comes from please leave a comment.) 

Recognizable landmarks sparkled like huge jewels, familiar from the books Jake had shown her: the Arc de Triomphe, the towering obelisk in the place de la Concorde, The Eiffel Tower. And to the corner of her eye, she saw a large figure disattach itself from the shadows, holding a large stick and a suitcase (A/N Who is this person? Have a go and guess, leave your answer in the comments). Earlier tonight, Rapunzel had hauled her across to the window.

"It's so beautiful, look! La ville lumiére, Elsa - The City of Light!" Rapunzel had laughed with delight. "What better place for the Black Academy?" Their room was three floors up. How much more, Elsa wondered, would she see from the top? In the oppressive heat Elsa couldn't bear to pull on her dressing gown and slippers. Anyway, her T-shirt and baggies ensemble was perfectly decent, if a bit lacking in the Parisian style department. As she eased open the door,  Rapunzel stirred, turned over, and resumed her snoring. Exhaling, Elsa slipped out into the corridor.

She was so relieved to see that small wall bumps burned softly, creating pools of light in the darkness. Not that she was afraid of the dark. She knew there were worse things to be afraid of than ghosts and vampires and werewolves. Words, for instance. Words were like fangs, if they were sharpened by an expert like Claire Densmore. Words could bite deep. Oh, you're a worthless little slut, Elizabeth Song. Even a worthless big slut like your mother didn't want you.

She used to be scared of Claire Densmore. Too scared to tell anyone about her vile bullying. No one will believe you, anyway, filthy little liar that you are! It's in your file - compulsive liar. You try telling anyone and I'll have your privileges withdrawn again. So Elsa never told anyone. She learned to fend for herself instead. And as she got older and taller, and discovered that a cold, blank gaze of hatred worked better than crying or shouting. Claire Densmore left her alone and picked on smaller kids instead. Only now Claire never knew when she would turn away from tormenting some poor girl to find Elsa watching silently, her eyes full of the silent promise of retribution,one day.

That seemed to put her off. Made her keep her distance and bought the other girls some relief, if only for a few weeks. Elsa shivered, wishing she'd worn her dressing gown after all. At least she'd had Jake. She trusted him - just not with everything, that was all. He'd brought her out of herself, made her laugh, taught her that she wasn't worthless. And now here she was, at one of the most prestigious schools in the world. Life was funny . . . Barefoot, she crept towards the grand staircase. She wasn't scared, but boy, this place was creepy.

If she thought too much, if she listened too hard, she could almost hear sounds. Creaks. Whispers. The sight a faint breeze. A football. Oh, don't be daft. She gave herself a mental slap. No. There it was again. Freezing, she strained to listen. Yes. Definitely. The sound came from below. A very soft step; if it hadn't fallen on the marble floor of the entrance hall, she'd never have heard it. This wasn't the careful tread of someone who didn't want to disturb sleepers - it was someone who didn't want to be discovered. Elsa knew the difference.