Unhallowed Halls - Softcover

Wilkinson, Lili

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0593811011 ISBN 13: 9780593811016

Verlag: Random House LLC US, 2025

Inhaltsangabe

DARK ACADEMIA...WITH DEMONS.

A teen girl travels to an exclusive boarding school after a deadly incident at her old school, but the wood-paneled halls of Agathion are built over centuries of secrets—including an ancient society which may have ties to demonic magic—in this dark academia fantasy perfect for fans of Curious Tides.

Page Whittaker has always been an outcast. And after the deadly incident that destroyed her single friendship at her old school, she needs a fresh start. Which is why when she receives a scholarship offer from Agathion College, an elite boarding school folded deep within the moors of Scotland, she doesn’t even consider turning it down.

Agathion is everything Page has ever wanted: a safe haven full of dusty books, steaming cups of tea and rigorous intellectual debate. And for the first time in her life, Page has even managed to become part of a close group of friends. Cyrus, Ren, Gideon, Lacey and Oak help her feel at home in Agathion's halls--the only problem is, they're all keeping secrets from her. 

Page doesn't know it yet, but her perfect new school has dark roots--roots that stretch back to its crooked foundation, and an ancient clandestine society with rumored ties to demonic magic. Soon, Page will be forced to learn that not everyone at Agathion is who they say they are. Least of all, her friends.

Agathion claims to teach its students history…but some histories should stay buried.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Lili Wilkinson is the author of nineteen novels published in Australia, including Green Valentine, The Boundless Sublime, and After the Lights Go Out. She established the Inky Awards at the Centre for Youth Literature, State Library of Victoria. Lili has a PhD in creative writing from the University of Melbourne and spends most of her time reading and writing books for teenagers. Her fantasy novels include A Hunger of Thorns and Deep Is the Fen.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

1.

September 15

“What did you do?”

Streaks of rain glitter on the windows as the train races through unending bleak moorland. I didn’t think the journey would take so long--night has fallen and all I can see past the raindrops are shadows, deep and full of secrets.

The carriage is nearly empty--a woman bent over a laptop, fingers tapping a staccato counterpoint to the steady rhythm of the train. A man asleep, his head against the window. Three teenage girls, their feet on the seats. One of them stares at me from under false eyelashes, her question hanging in the air.

“What did you do?”

I always imagined British people would have posh accents, but this girl is proving me wrong. I can smell hairspray and spearmint and cherry lip gloss.

Since they got on a few stops ago, the girls have filled the carriage with their presence. Their shrieks of laughter, their cursing, the snap of their gum. I feel a stab of jealousy at their ease with each other, with the world. They inhabit their bodies so comfortably, propelling themselves through time and space with such confidence. I can’t imagine how it must feel.

The girl is still waiting for an answer, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what I did.

She stands and approaches me, swaying with the movement of the train.

She’s wearing an outfit that is simultaneously casual yet completely over-the-top--camo-print tracksuit bottoms and a lurid green tube top.

Her makeup is thick and applied with painterly precision, her skin unnaturally orange, her brows like perfectly sculpted punctuation marks.

She nods down at the brochure poking out of my battered copy of Middlemarch. I’ve been using it as a bookmark.

“That school is for posh fuckups,” she says. “So why are you going? Drugs? Stealing? Did you get into fights?”

I follow her gaze back down to the Agathion College brochure. Images of arched windows and turreted spires surrounded by romantic moorland grace the glossy pages. Blue-gray stone walls, wreathed in creeping ivy. Serious-looking students in wool kilts and tweed blazers bent over ancient books. When the brochure arrived in the mail, along with a full scholarship offer, it seemed too good to be true. It still does. I imagine myself there, surrounded by books and knowledge and history. I’ll wander the moors like Catherine in Wuthering Heights and curl up in the huge stone castle with a steaming cup of tea to read Dickens and Austen and my beloved Shakespeare.

A life of the mind.

Maybe sometimes I’ll engage with the other students, debating poetry or philosophy. Not friends, because I’m not doing that again. Colleagues, perhaps. Intellectual peers. Previous Agathion students have gone on to become famous politicians, writers and artists, according to the brochure. There’s even one former British prime minister who attended.

“Bet she killed someone,” says another one of the girls, whose long fingernails are pointed slashes of teal and gold. “She looks the type.”

Do I?

I stuff the book and brochure into my backpack. Out of the corner of my eye, I see green Tube Top Girl recoil slightly, and I know she’s noticed my hands.

“Come on,” the girl with the long fingernails says. “Before she puts a spell on you.”

I let my gaze drift up to meet Tube Top Girl’s, and see the faintest hint of fear there, behind her enormous false lashes and brash confidence. My hands curl in on themselves, obscuring my shiny pink palms.

The girl shrugs and returns to her friends.

My parents offered to come with me, but I insisted on traveling by myself. I wanted to get on board that plane and never look back. I wanted to get as far away from Lakeland, Florida, as I possibly could. From the smell of burning flesh and jasmine, and the sound of Cassidy screaming.

Agathion feels like the only way out.

A place where I can learn to control myself.

I can feel the train start to slow. We’re nearly there.

I feel a twinge in my abdomen--an echo of the deep dragging pain that is so familiar to me, and my pulse quickens.

Not now.

But, I remind myself, I only just had my period. This is nerves.

I stand and head down the swaying carriage to the luggage rack. I have to pass the three girls, who look up at me as I walk.

“Loosen up a bit, hey?” the bold girl says. “Let your freak flag fly.”

My cheeks feel hot and sweat prickles down my back. I am frozen in place, pinned by the casual, insolent gaze of this girl who I’ve never met before and will never see again. She doesn’t matter, so why can’t I move or speak? The dragging sensation in my belly intensifies.

Someone screams, and I’m back at St. Catherine’s, my hands burning and my lungs filling with acrid smoke.

But it isn’t Cassidy screaming. It’s just the squealing of brakes as the train slows. I’m thrown forward against the bold girl as we shudder to a halt.

“Hey,” she says, laughing. “Buy me dinner first!”

Her skin is smooth against mine; the scent of her lip gloss is overpowering.

I scramble to my feet and away to the luggage rack.

I can’t miss my stop.

I can’t.

The doors hiss open, and I am shaking with panic. I grab the handle of my suitcase and yank, but it’s stuck. I pull and pull, but it won’t budge. I try pushing instead, trying to jostle it into a better position, but that only seems to make the problem worse. I kick it.

Outside, the train’s whistle blows.

I’m out of time.

“Do you need a hand?” asks the bold girl.

It’s too late. The train is about to leave the station.

And I realize that whatever’s in that suitcase--I don’t need it.

I’m coming to Agathion to live a life of the mind.

I have everything I need.

“Weirdo,” mutters the girl, turning back to her friends.

I leave my suitcase behind and step off the train.

The platform is sparse and entirely empty. The air is cold--much colder than I had expected. I breathe deeply until my lungs ache, and I love the feeling. Icy drizzle caresses my skin, and I turn my face up to it.

I’m here. I’m really here.

A fluorescent light spits and hums next to a weathered sign reading RANNOCH MOOR. The train pulls away behind me, disappearing into the darkness. For a moment I panic, thinking I’ve gotten off at the wrong station. But I checked a million times. I’ve rehearsed this journey in my head over and over.

There’s a ticket office, but it doesn’t look like it’s been open for years. I step through the gate, and peer into the darkness. I can hear something huffing out there. Some kind of animal--barrel-chested and hulking.

A hazy orange glow emanates from behind the ticket office. I head toward it, past an ancient-looking pay phone and down a set of stone steps, finding myself on a worn dirt road.

Before me is a lamp, burning golden, affixed to, impossibly, a horse and buggy--the kind you might find in a Regency novel. The horse is black and broad, its head bowed, its breath blowing out in steaming clouds. It shifts from one foot to another as I approach, and it nickers softly.

Perched in the driver’s seat, reins slack in one leather-gloved hand and the other holding an umbrella, is a tall, thin woman wearing a dark wool coat. Her steel-colored hair is pulled back in a rather severe bun. Dark eyes turn to me, sharp as struck flint.

“Page Whittaker?”...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Random House LLC US
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2025
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593811011
• ISBN 13: 9780593811016
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Auflage: 1
• Anzahl der Seiten: 464
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: gpsr@libri.de; gpsr@libri.de; ; Europaallee 1; Bad Hersfeld; 36244; Deutschland