Isle of Night (15 page)

A surprisingly kind face met mine. He was also startlingly attractive. If I imagined a Japanese pop star, it'd be this guy. His features were chiseled and almost perfectly proportionate. His black hair was artfully tousled by a cut that I'd wager had cost him a bundle. A pair of black eyes and furrowed black brows seemed concerned with my response.

“One of
them
.”

As if on cue, a girl's voice trilled from behind us, “What is phena . . . phenoh . . . phenomenals, anyway?”

Then I actually giggled.

Heat immediately flamed my cheeks.
What am I doing?
I put on my nonchalant, I-don't-care-about-you face. “Oh,
them
. No, definitely not.”

There. Conversation concluded. I looked back down, getting ready to write my name very carefully in the top corner of my notebook.

Only he spoke again. “My name's Yasuo.”

Social niceties didn't come easily to me. I could reel off the name of every American president, in chronological order, but, believe it or not, an ordinary exchange like this required my concentration. “I'm Drew,” I said stiffly.

I felt Lilac enter the room. I looked up and there she was, the whole tall, honeyed length of her. I was in her sights, and she was slinking right toward me. I numbed myself, readying for the inevitable barb.

Shuffling his feet under his chair, Yasuo leaned, elbows forward, on his desk. Was he trying to look cool? Did he read the malice in von Slutling's eyes? Because here was his moment to throw me on the fire.

“Hey, Charity.” She raked her eyes over Yasuo. “How cute. I see you made a little friend.”

She'd lobbed him a softball. All he needed to do was sacrifice me and he'd earn the mother lode of popular points. I braced for it.

But Yasuo didn't say anything. It amazed me. He didn't smile, didn't look at her, didn't acknowledge Lilac in the slightest.

She gave a lilting laugh that made my flesh crawl. “Oh, that's right. The only way a boy will deal with
you
is if he doesn't speak English.”

Yasuo sneered. “I'm from L.A., girl.” He turned to me and said in a stage whisper, “That's so cool they mainstream the special kids here.”

I bit my cheek to keep a laugh from exploding out. My shredded faith in humanity was momentarily restored.

Lilac narrowed her eyes. “What
ever
.”

She swung away from us, and I had to duck to avoid getting clipped by her bag. It appeared our Lilac had a thing for wielding her accessories as weapons.

Yasuo and I cut looks over our shoulders, watching as she found a seat. Something had opened up in the back row. Go figure.

Yasuo turned back around, slouching over his desk. “Does she not get that I'm gonna be a
vampire
?”

I laughed at the joke, but it made me wonder about all the nascent hierarchies. If Watchers answered to vampires, and these boys were training to become them, what did that say about gender relations on our little isle?

“So, what'd you do to get queenie all riled up, anyway?” he asked.

“I was born.” Our gazes connected. His eyes were twinkly and dark, and I let myself smile.

The door opened, and the difference between regular school and this crazy vampire island became instantly clear. The teacher walked in, and the room fell utterly silent.

I recognized him at once from the headmaster's talk. He'd been one of the guys who'd helped Ronan clear Mimi's body from the stones. He was cute in a brown, puppy-eyed sort of way. He didn't have the same menace as the headmaster, or as the other vampire I'd spotted in the dark. Was he a Tracer, like Ronan?

“I'm Tracer Judge,” he said in an American accent, answering my unspoken question. “And I'm your phenomena teacher.”

There was a little explosive giggle in the back. Some idiot girl who couldn't stop herself.

He grew still, pinning her in his sights.

Here we go.
I'd seen what happened when these dudes were crossed. I held my breath, waiting for the evisceration.

But Judge surprised me by giving her a kind and knowing smile instead. “I'll bet you're wondering what phenomena is.”

I swore I felt the room give a collective exhale.

“Think of it as a fancy word for
science
. Vampires may be an ancient race, but they've kept alive—they've
flourished
—by keeping abreast of modern technological advancements. Computers, forensics, explosives. We'll study all these things.”

I forgot the kids behind me. I forgot Lilac and Yasuo. I even forgot about the whole swimming debacle. Tracer Judge had me at
forensics
.

I picked up my pen, poised to transcribe his every word, if necessary. Ronan had been right. I might just like my classes after all. This one, at least.

“We also study sciences of the natural world,” he continued, sauntering to the back of the room. He caught students' eyes as he walked. “Anatomy. Physiology. The vampiric process.”

It was creepy to consider why prospective vampires needed to study anatomy. But learning the vampiric process?
Cool.

“Today we'll start with the most basic of skills.” Judge opened a cabinet at the back of the room and retrieved a burlap bag.

I was mesmerized, wondering what could possibly be in there. The sack was big and lumpy, and by the way the teacher hefted it around, it seemed heavy. He'd just talked about topics in basic biology—for all I knew, he had a few heads in there.

Judge reached in, grabbed something, and slammed it on one of the jock's desks with a sharp
thud
. The boy flinched but then shot a cocky, dim-eyed grin, informing us that he was still, in fact, cool.

We all craned in our seats to see. My secret hope was that he'd laid down a protractor, and Meathead would be forced to perform a series of geometric calculations for us.

No such luck. But, oddly, when the teacher lifted his hand, what he revealed was almost as good. “Today I'm going to teach you the basics of lock picking.”

Yasuo and I gaped at each other, wide-eyed.

“The first locks date from ancient Egypt four thousand years ago. They utilized a wooden pin tumbler that's the basis of technology still in use today.”

Judge walked the room, placing a random assortment of items on each student's desk. I spied paper clips, forks, flat bits of metal, scissors, and a variety of locks. Padlocks, dead bolts, doorknobs—you name it.

“You were each given a set of tools in your kit.”

“Did you get tools?” I asked Yasuo in a whisper.

“A tool kit works in the best of circumstances,” the teacher continued. “But, unfortunately, the circumstances are not always best. Are they?”

Yasuo waited for Judge to reach the far end of the classroom before he whispered back, “Yeah, in a little leather roll.”

“Oh. Duh.” I smirked. “I'd thought that was, like, a nail kit or something.”

We shared a quiet laugh, then felt Judge's eyes on us. I tensed, but the teacher only gave us a smile. Like he, too, felt expansive about all this first- day-of-school lock stuff.

Sitting there whispering with Yasuo, smiling with this teacher who, so far, seemed completely and utterly benign—it all felt so
normal
. I'd never felt normal. I kind of liked it. I was sure it wouldn't last.

“You have a torsion wrench in your kit.” Judge made his way to me, where he set a knife, an empty soda can, and a padlock on my desk. “But, the fact is, you can shim most locks with any bit of metal.”

I stared at the assortment on my desk in disbelief. It couldn't be that easy. He walked away, and I immediately turned to Yasuo. “A Coke can? Seriously?”

“Well, look around.” He nodded to the back of the room.

A few students sat kicked-back and bored, spinning their padlock hinges or idly drumming with strips of metal. They'd been able to pick their locks the moment they'd received them.
Crazy.

“I should've figured,” I muttered. “Don't tell me. Are
you
a lock expert, too?”

Yasuo just waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Looking away, I bit my lips not to laugh. In-class bonding was one thing. But making the teacher's blacklist on the very first day was another matter entirely.

Judge came back to the front of the class. He leaned his hip against his desk, arms crossed casually in front of him. “Before today's class is over, you'll be able to pick your lock using only the materials in front of you. And that's a promise.”

Forget swimming. I was going to pick a lock with a soda can and a steak knife? The prospect made me giddy.

I set to slicing open my empty can, actively not thinking about why
this
was a skill I'd ever need to cultivate. Now, if I could only see past the monsters hiding in the dark, beyond the mean girls, the whip-wielding Initiates, and all that blood, I could really get into this place.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I
stood on the steps of the gym. I could do this. It wasn't even two o'clock on my first day, and already I knew how to shim a padlock, unlock a doorknob without a key, and crack the code on Master combination locks.

I'd even made a friend. After class, Yasuo and I walked to the dining hall and ate lunch together. And the food wasn't that bad—some sort of creamy fish soup that'd looked disgusting but was actually pretty tasty. Granted, Yasuo didn't make me feel all wiggly and agitated like Ronan did, but at least I could trust he wasn't using superhuman powers of persuasion to put thoughts in my head.

After the shock of so many positive events, I figured I could swing gym class.

What did they mean by
fitness
, anyway? I pictured something like an episode of
The Biggest Loser
. Hopping around, doing asinine things with body bands and medicine balls, while people yelled at me about my core.

I jogged up the gym stairs before I could think twice. I sensed these vampires had exquisite taste they'd refined through the centuries, and had envisioned a glossy, high-tech health club. I was sorely mistaken. I entered, and it was how I imagined an old-time boxing gymnasium might look. In Russia.

Damp heat and the smell of stale sweat greeted me. Blue mats were stacked in a tower in the corner, faded ropes hung from the ceiling, and a set of gray high bars loomed ominously along the wall. And, of course, in the very center, was a sparring mat.

I rubbed my forehead, letting my messenger bag slide from my shoulder to hit the floor. “Damn.”

“Be careful, Annelise.” I knew that voice. It sent every cell in my body standing to instant attention. “The vampires aren't overly fond of profanities.”

Crap, damn, dammit to hell.
What was
he
doing here?

“Ronan.” I turned to face him, feeling ill. Seeing me swim was one thing, but he wasn't really going to witness me floundering around in gym shorts, too, was he?

“It's
Tracer
Ronan now.”

The fish soup became a queasy slosh in my belly. I'd thought maybe Ronan and I were becoming less formal with each other, not
more
. He'd asked Amanda to look out for me. He'd seemed sincere when he'd insisted I trust him. Being friends didn't seem out of the realm of possibility. He seemed to care. Kind of.

His attentions had probably just been about seeing the girl he picked succeed. Maybe Tracers got extra brownie points if the Acari they'd recruited were the ones to excel. The thought made me sadder than I had a right to be.

He read the direction of my thoughts. “I'm your teacher now. We must respect protocol.”

I looked at the girls gathering along the bleachers. Some had already changed into the navy gym shorts and T-shirts we'd been issued in our kit bags.

Was I missing something? Would I get to skip gym class for our private study? “Wait. Are you here to take me to swim class?”

“Our private study is later. I'm also your fitness teacher.” He walked to the bleachers, leaving me there feeling like I might gag.

Then I thought: gym class, swimming . . . Would I get to see
him
in running shorts? Or maybe even in one of those teensy Speedos? The prospect cheered me a bit.

Scooping up my bag, I followed him, eyeing the other girls warily. I spotted Lilac and the scrappy heart-faced girl, plus some other familiar faces, including one of the French girls and someone from my dorm floor.

It struck me that there were a few predictable types on this isle. There were the Lilacs of the world, whose lifetime gym memberships had carved muscle from calves that somehow remained perennially smooth, toned, and tanned. With their perky ponytails, they looked like they might burst into a cheer routine at any moment.