Page 116 of Cruel Saints (Lochkelvin Academy)

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If Hallowe’en had lent a new energy to Lochkelvin, the Christmas talent show is in a whole other league. It’s the first time guests have been allowed en masse through the hallowed entrance hall, and I swear the staff decorates it the night before to make it look more friendly than it actually is. There are signs hanging up on the walls, pointing to various places of note — signs that a new student could have done with when she first landed here. The candles in the walls seem to have been brightened up, less gothic mystery and more festive cheer. Every time the entrance door opens, flakes of snow drift in softly.

From her office, Headmistress Baxter eyes the front door like a hawk. The cab driver must inform her of incoming guests because she’s always the first to sweep across to them and introduce herself. The guests are then ushered into the main hall, where drinks (traditional Turkish coffee and a floral winter cinnamon tea blend) have been provided. There are also these strange pastry delicacies calledmince pies, which sounds absolutely disgusting. Danny nabbed one for me, laughing in disbelief when I said I’d never heard of them before. They’re warm and sweet, and not made with meat as I’d initially thought.

Lochkelvin is weirdly festive. The castle suits Christmas, as though it’s adorned a tailor-made festive sweater.

Like a serial killer in a sweater that readsHo Ho Ho, I still don’t trust it.

More people stream through the entrance hall when the talent show draws closer. At one point, multiple cars are parked outside the school, which is an oddity in itself. The school is busier than I’ve ever known it, and I gaze down at all the manicured people stepping into the hall.

“Wonder if your mum will bother turning up this year,” Rory remarks lightly to Finlay as a group of us gather at the top of the stairs to watch the parents arrive. When Finlay scowls at him, Rory adds, “Oh, but wait. Doesn’t she have more important business to do, like screwing her PAs?”

I swing my gaze in their direction. Every little shred of info I get on the chiefs, I grab it with both hands. It could always come in useful against them. But also… Iwantto see the chaos of their lives. For some reason, I find myself interested in their fucked-up, out-of-touch lives. The grim behind-the-scenes reality of the rich people stupidly admired by society.

And anyway, I don’t know why Rory’s sounding so chipper when there’s literally no chance his dad would show up at the school for atalent show.

At least, that’s what I thought.

It’s what I assumed.

But then the door opens and a tall, shadowed figure stalks inside.

Oscar Munro has an unquestionable sense of presence. Having only ever heard his voice on the radio, it’s the first thing I observe about him physically. He’s tall and dominating, with the hint of a permanent sneer across his face.

Each fall of his tall winter boots leaves a resounding thud around the silenced hall. He’s dressed in green and beige tweed, looking like he’s just walked off the pages of a hunting magazine.

When he removes his snow-dusted hat, I see that he has Rory’s dark blond hair and strong angular jaw. There’s a laziness to the way Munro Sr. casts his gaze around, the same way his son does, as though they’re both so bored that they’ll only pick it up for something worth looking at.

“Prime Minister,” Headmistress Baxter says, thrusting out her hand. “Delighted you could make it.” She doesn’t sound delighted at all, and I remember the list of demands Rory’s dad allegedly had her do to make his son’s life at Lochkelvin so much easier.

“It’s never a hardship to visit somewhere I own.” He says this in the clear, bell-like voice I recognize from the radio, a pointed reminder that everything regarding Lochkelvin ishisand not Baxter’s.

“Your dad came up from London?” Luke observes mildly, watching Rory’s face with interest. “For a talent show? You would think he would not risk being in public when they are forcing a general election.”

Rory looks ashen — every part of him has paled, the color drained from his face at the arrival of his dad. There’s the whiteness of his knuckles as they curl around the banister. The small, shocked parting of his mouth. The widened gray eyes.

“We need to take down the rigging,” he eventually mutters, running a hand across his dark blond hair. He turns his head from side to side, seemingly restless, and lands his gaze on me. “What are you looking at?” It comes out as a low growl. I’m taken aback that, in public, I’m deemed important enough to have his words spoken directly to me and not via the medium of his gremlins. His mouth twists into an ugly sneer. “Somehow I don’t thinkyourparents will be appearing.”

He may as well have punched me. I don’t know where to look anymore, so I blink down at the twisting ivy decoration winding its way around the wooden banister.

Rory glares at me, but he seems torn about where to focus — at the surprise arrival of his dad or me, the irritant by his side. Eventually, he pulls away from the banister with a frustrated sigh, stomping on ahead to his dorm.

Luke lifts his eyes to mine, that same look of calm on his face as before. “He is under a lot of pressure right now. Do not go out of your way to antagonize him.”

“What, byexisting?”

He says nothing. The part of me that’s always been subdued around Luke suddenly springs to life. It feels odd to be ignored by the chiefs, but it feels even odder talking back to Luke.

But Luke follows his friend without a second glance at me.

Finlay remains, gazing down at the new groups of people arriving. He glances at Luke’s departing back and mutters out of the corner of his mouth, “They’re gonnae disrupt yer act.”

Coldness falls to my stomach. “What?”

He turns around, as though Rory and Luke could be standing right behind him. “I’m tellin’ ye. Just trust me. They’ve been at it a’ morning, riggin’ up this thing tae the ceiling.”

“Whatthing?”

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